Page 114 of When Wildflowers Bloom

And when I see his wife standing next to him, I remember the next line—Mandy came back.

“Birdie?”

I’m unlocking the door of my minivan when I hear a woman say my name. I pause, turning to look.Mandy.

Instinctively, my eyes dart around for any sign of Bo, but she’s alone. Beautiful in black with long, silky dark hair. I never asked what kind of music she sings, but she looks like a country music singer as she stands in front of me.

I force a tight smile. “Hi,” I say, which sounds lame on my lips.

“You know who I am,” she says, hands shoved in her black coat pockets.

I nod. “I do.”

“And you slept with my husband anyway.” She raises her eyebrows.

Really?Thisis what she wants to do?

“And you left him anyway,” I say, deciding not to shy away from whateverthisis.

Her laugh is almost an unsaid touché.

“Do you love him?” she asks.

“Do you?” I hurl back at her.

“Do you love Lucy?”

The question makes me stand taller. “Do you?”

Her eyes narrow, slightly, as she stares at me before she drops her head back. Perfect chin pointing up as she blows out a breath that sends a grey puff into the cold air.

When her gaze meets mine again, she surprises me by asking, “Do you ever feel like you’re trapped in your life?”

I don’t know what I expected the woman who left Bo and Lucy and never looked back to be like, but the question is one I am not prepared for. I have no idea how much she knows about me, but yes, I absolutely feel like I’m trapped in my life.

“Daily.” I’ve shocked her because her eyes widen instantly. “But never with Bo.”

Lips pressed together, her tongue moves around the inside of her mouth, as though she’s batting her unsaid words between her cheeks.

When the heavy silence hangs between us too long, I break it. “Would you have done anything differently?”

“Is it ever that simple?” she volleys back.

This time, it’s me who almost-laughs. Because no, it’s never that simple.

I imagined once that if I ever met Mandy, my disdain for her would be black and white. But standing here with her between all the words we are and aren’t saying, I realize it isn’t. I can’t imagine leaving everyone the way she had, yet I understand why Veda did it. Why I’ve never let myself get close to anyone.

A thought smashes into me, sticking. Mandy and I aren’t that different.

Veda asked me once what I would do when she came back—she knew she would. For this. I told her I’d let him decide. I meant that. But when I imagined the scenario, she was still here guiding me, and Bo and I still loved each other easily.

As sure as Mandy is standing in front of my face, Bo and I are over.

Yet when I open my mouth to talk, “I love him,” is what I hear myself say. Ache building in my chest like single bricks with every word. “I love him the way wildflowers love the warmth of the summer sun and the way Veda loved having her hands in the clay. I love him with Lucy and how he has a casual intensity on his face when he’s stacking logs on top of one another. I love that he hikes on Sundays and spends Saturdays with your sister laughing in her kitchen.” At the mention of Libby she winces, but I don’t stop. “I love the way he sees other people and knows how to hold me upright when the world feels too heavy on my shoulders. I love how he loves. How he laughs. How his goodness is a deep well that gives and gives and gives.”

Her eyes squint, like she’s trying to see me, and her lips tug to one side, almost a smirk. Something between amusement and admiration flitters across her face. As if the whole reason she walked over here was to hear me say that.

“And I know you think those same things, at least some of them, or you wouldn’t have come back.” The final words that come out of my mouth burn my tongue as I say them. “I love him but we’re over. I won’t interfere.”

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