Page 112 of When Wildflowers Bloom

Either way, this is my chance to explain everything. To clear the air and give us a clean slate.

Shoving my fear and anxiety down as deep as I can, I tighten the belt on my coat as I walk. Across his yard, up the steps, to knock on the door that, only days ago, I would have just pushed open.

When Libby’s the one who opens the door, I’m flooded with relief. A friendly face.Thank God.

“Libby! Hi!” I say with an exhale.

She smiles but it seems forced. Nervous.

My eyes slightly narrow, but a high pitched, “Birdie!” interrupts my thoughts. Lucy pushes by Libby through the cracked door and wraps her arms around me. I kneel next to her and give her a hug, inhaling her sweet scent of strawberries.

“Lucy, I think you’ve grown since I saw you last week,” I tell her.

She laughs, then her little face turns serious, blue eyes wide. “Gran died.”

My stomach drops. “I know,” I whisper, running my fingers through her hair. “I’m so sorry. She was the best Gran.”

She smiles and hugs me again, whispering, “Daddy’s sad.” The words slice into my chest like a saw blade.

“Birdie, listen…” Libby says, her tense, hushed tone pulling me from the hug. “You should know th—”

Whatever she’s going to say next is hijacked by the door opening wider. There, a woman stands who looks like a slightly younger Libby. Beautiful in a long black dress with long dark hair and bright blue eyes, she reaches for Lucy.

“Who’s this, sweetheart?” she asks, eyes locked with mine.

I don’t have to ask; without introduction, I know it’s her. In the simple stare, another line gets added to the others that perpetually play through my mind.

Veda died.

Bo blames me.

Mandy is here.

“This is Birdie,” Lucy says, stepping back next to Mandy—her mother that I now see she looks a lot like.

She nods, her eyes moving along me in a way that’s assessing. “I see.”

I can’t say anything. My throat is so pinched, I know any attempt at a word will come out a choke.

Libby can’t comfort me. I can’t fall apart in front of Lucy—unfortunately a concept I now understand. I need to go.

Pulling the envelope from my pocket, my hand is shaking, moving so slowly toward Libby it’s like the actual air is made of clay, and it takes all my effort.

“I—I—”

Libby’s gaze clashes with mine; my own misery reflecting back to me.

“Lucy?” The familiar voice that calls from inside cripples me. Bo.There’s not enough time for me to run. He’s already there, in the doorway, next to hiswife, child, and sister-in-law.

When our eyes meet, it’s a sort of self-inflicted torture. As though the thickness of the air has been shoved down my throat.

My mouth opens andcloses silently.

The letter slips from my fingers and drops to the porch with a softthud.

I turn around as the first tear falls.

In a daze, I hurry across the yard.

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