Page 1 of Enigma
CHAPTER 1
TEN YEARS AGO
The kitchen table was covered with newspaper, and the smell of fresh flowers filled the house.
Olive’s mother, Margot, had returned from the grocery store with armfuls of blooms—roses, baby’s breath, chrysanthemums, and something purple Olive couldn’t identify.
It was Tuesday, and her father had left three days ago for another one of his “government assignments.” Sometimes, it was nice when he was gone. Though Dad added a lot of excitement to their lives, sometimes he addedtoomuch excitement.
He had so many crazy ideas.
When Olive was younger, she’d found his escapades thrilling. But now that she was a teenager, his ideas only made her anxious.
“Come sit with me, sweetheart.” Her mother patted the chair beside her. “I thought it would be nice to learn something new while the twins are at their friends’ house and your father is away.”
Olive abandoned her math homework and slipped into the chair.
They’d just moved to Texas after living all over the country. She didn’t foresee their stay here being different than anywhere else they’d lived.
It was a temporary stop along the way—whatever that way was. There didn’t seem to be an end goal.
All the moving made her hesitate to make any new friends. Since moving to Oasis, she hadn’t even tried.
She watched as her mother began sorting the flowers by color and type. Up close, she could see that some of the stems were bent, others had brown spots on their petals, and a few looked like they were already beginning to wilt.
“These aren’t very pretty.” Olive poked at a rose with a damaged bloom.
“That’s exactly right,” her mother said with a smile. “But watch this.”
Mom’s hands moved with surprising skill, trimming stems at sharp angles, removing damaged leaves and petals, and repositioning flowers so that the healthy blooms hid the imperfect ones.
Within minutes, she’d created an arrangement that looked like it belonged in a magazine.
“How did you do that?” Olive asked, genuinely amazed.
“The secret is understanding that everything has potential, even if it looks rough at first glance. Sometimes the most beautiful things require hiding the messy parts.” Her mother handed Olive a pair of small scissors. “Here, try with these.”
Olive took the scissors and began working on her own small arrangement, following her mother’s guidance. Her mother’s hands were gentle as she showed Olive how to angle the stems, how to use fuller blooms to conceal damaged ones, how to create the illusion of perfection.
But Olive’s end result looked like a bundle of weeds more than a flower arrangement.
“You always have been too stubborn for your own good.” Her mom laughed. “Like your father.”
Olive didn’t take that as a compliment, but she kept her mouth shut about it.
“You have to think like the flowers.” Mom’s voice took on that tone she always used when she was teaching Olive something important. “Each one has a different personality. The roses want to be the center of attention, so you put them in front. The baby’s breath is happy to support others, so it fills in the gaps. The chrysanthemums are sturdy—they hold everything together.”
“Like people?” Olive asked, concentrating on positioning a particularly stubborn stem.
“Exactly like people.” Her mother’s smile beamed warm and proud. “Mrs. Reynolds next door—she’s like a rose. She loves compliments about her garden, and when you make her feel special, she’ll do anything to help you. But Mr. Parker across the street is more like baby’s breath. He’s suspicious if you pay him too much attention, but he’s happy to blend into the background and observe.”
Olive nodded, filing away this information the way she always did when her mother shared these insights about their neighbors. Her mother seemed to understand everyone—their moods, their desires, their weaknesses.
“How do you know all that about them?” Olive glanced up at her mom, noting how pretty she’d probably been at one time. It wasn’t that she wasn’t pretty now. But she seemed tired. Maybe being a mom was exhausting.
“I pay attention,” her mother said simply. “I watch how people move, how they talk, what makes them smile or frown. It’s like learning their language.” She adjusted one of Olive’s flowers, rotating it slightly so the damaged side faced away from view. “People show you who they are if you know how to look.”
“I guess that helps you when dad moves us around so much.”
