Page 19 of Bourbon and Lies

I sit up at the thumping knocks at my front door.

“Maybe she’s not in there,” a little voice says. Its tone instantly relaxes my shoulders and pulls a small smile from my lips.

“Maybe she ran away when she saw Uncle Grant so gross and sweaty,” another little voice says, giggling. The idea has me shamefully trying to look out the window to catch a sweaty Grant Foxx.

“Lark, if we can balance on the railing, we might be able to see inside.” I hear feet move around the small front porch.

My stomach rumbles as I drag my hands through my greasy hair. I could use a shower after spending so much time in bed.

“Miss, are you alive? Uncle Grant says he hasn’t seen you all week and we’ve been waiting for you to come out.”

The other voice chimes in, sounding defeated, “But you never come out.”

I twist my hair into a bun as I open the front door, the humid air slapping me. But I recover quickly as two smiling little blondes stare back at me. I can guess how crunchy I must look by now based on how quickly their smiles shift to a horrified surprise.

I pull my sweatshirt up over my mouth. “Hi.”

“Hi,” the shorter little blonde says. “I’m Lily.”

“I was just getting up.” I look back at the rumpled bed.

“It’s closer to lunch than breakfast,” the older one says. “Our grandpa says the only people who sleep until lunchtime are lazy or depressed.”

I snort a laugh. “Who’s your grandpa?”

They both rush past me and through my front door. I look outside and don’t see any adults. “Grizwald Foxx,” the older one says with her shoulders back and chin up.

“Sounds like something my dad would have said.” I smile at them.

They’ve clearly moved on from that discussion as Lily says, “We’re so bored. We came looking for Uncle Grant, but he wasn’t home.”

While I’m usually not the biggest fan of kids, I’m relieved to have some company.

“How about I meet you both outside when I’m done showering? I’d love to pick some of those flowers you have tucked in your pocket.” I tilt my chin toward the front pocket of Lily’s shirt. The wispy yellow and purple flowers look like they’re barely holding on to their stems, but if they’re bored, that’s something I know how to do.

“How didyou learn to make these look so pretty, Laney?” Lark asks as she wraps the stem of a purple aster around the wire hangers that were hanging empty in my closet.

Two hours after what felt like a life-changing shower, I’ve been talked into setting up a stand on the side of the road to sell flower crowns.

“I had a lot of jobs, but one of my favorites was working at a flower shop in high school. I mostly filled buckets and cleaned roses for the first few months, but after a while, I started paying attention to the way the designers would make bouquets.” I pull a few stems of daisies and yellow aster together, balancing the colors on each side. “Anyway, it was a little shop, and I had abig, huge crush on one of the delivery drivers, so most of my attention went to him.”

Lily laughs. “Gross.”

But Lark just listens and watches as I pull the stems together to make a small, handheld bouquet. “What was his name?”

“Jonathan Gofronty.” I smile, thinking about him. It feels like an entirely different life having that crush. “Anyway, I worked there until they fired me for spending most of my time flirting with him.” I move around the flowers so the colors and sizes of the buds are balanced. “Well, flirting, and for telling customers to go to the bodega around the corner because it was cheaper.”

“I don’t even have a job yet and I would have told you that wasn’t a good idea.” Lark laughs. “Here, you need to reapply,” she says, pulling the sunscreen stick from her backpack. It’s not lost on me that I’ve been out here with these girls for a while now and not a single grown-up has come looking for them.

“Who is supposed to be watching you two today?” I ask her, but Lily interrupts before she can answer.

“Customer! Customer!” Lily shouts at us, waving at the car coming down the road. Her handwritten sign waves high above her head that reads: Flower Crowns $5. The black Ford F-150 slows down. Grant Foxx. I’ve learned a few things about the girl’s Uncle Grant while we picked flowers behind his house today.

“Are you sure your uncle won’t mind that we’re picking all of these?”

Lily laughed like that’s the funniest thing to say. “No! Uncle Grant lets us do whatever we want. And he’ll be happy we picked these. He says,” she lowered her voice, “Whatever makes my little flowers happy, makes me happy.”

Little flowers.This man and his nicknames.

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