“I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I ordered the flowers over the phone after my appointment was canceled. They just arrived a few minutes ago. I didn’t think it was right to send them back.”
“Well, now they are gone.” I snip the last of a stem. We don’t need to discuss them any longer.
Scarlett drops into a chair and for a long time we are quiet until she speaks. “Do you remember when we took Sadie to the botanic garden and when she saw the peach roses she wasso excited she started giving them names and assigning them personalities? I think one was called Princess Peaches. Was she seven at the time?”
“Yes.” I let my hands hang limp at my sides, scissors dangling. “It was the first time she had seen so many of them in one place and she refused to leave, saying they would be lonely without her.”
Scarlett’s mouth twitches, and suddenly she’s crying again, silent tears trickling down her cheeks. She presses the heel of her hand to her cheek to rub away the wetness.
I know her pain isn’t only about Sadie. Every time she looked at my daughter, she remembered hers.
Stifling my anger toward her, I go to wrap an arm around her shaking shoulders. “You would have made such an amazing mother.”
“No.” She shakes her head vehemently. “You’re a much better mom than I could ever be. Matt wanted children so much and I was so terrified when I fell pregnant.” She shrugs. “Maybe losing Amelia was my punishment for not wanting her in the first place. I told Matt I didn’t want children and he was okay with it. Until he wasn’t. I think at some level he blames me for what happened to our baby girl. I didn’t tell you this, but those two days with her I was not myself. I felt like I was drowning. I wouldn’t have been a good mom to her.”
“That’s not true. Never ever think that. Amelia would have been so lucky to have you.” When I saw how wonderful she always was with Sadie, I knew she would have been the best mom.
But Scarlett just cries harder, head bowed against my chest, and I rock her like I did Sadie when she was little.
She finally pulls away and grabs my hand. “I’m sorry. This is not about me. It’s about you.” She squeezes my hand tight. “I know you really feel that Sadie is still alive, and if you’re right, Iwant to help you find her. I mean it this time. We’ll look into this ourselves. You’re not alone, Judy.”
Just as I’m about to force a reply through the lump in my throat, the doorbell rings.
ELEVEN
When I open the door, a man stands in the hallway with a metal toolbox in one hand.
He’s in his mid-fifties, with sun-lined skin and a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard. From his rough-looking hands and the way he’s dressed, he is the kind of man who spends more time fixing things than sitting still. His work boots are scuffed, his T-shirt faded soft from too many washes.
“Mark Jacobs.” He offers his large hand. “I’m here about the window.”
His grip is firm and his palm feels like sandpaper. When I look down at our clasped hands, I notice the calluses framing his fingertips, and a thin scar that runs across the back of his right hand.
Behind me, I hear movement in the kitchen. Scarlett had been rinsing a mug at the sink, and though I don’t turn around, the sound of running water stops immediately and the room goes very still. I don’t need to see the look on her face, the guilt.
Gabriel steps out of the library, followed by Coco sniffing at his heels.
“Gabriel, this is Mark Jacobs,” I say. “He’s here to fix the window.”
“Window?” he asks, cocking his head to the side.
“Yes.” Mark steps forward. “I got a call about a defect window…broken glass.” He looks at me a little confused, perhaps wondering if he’s at the right apartment.
“Yes, right.” Gabriel’s shoulders stiffen. The movement is subtle, but it’s there. He carries the look of someone reminded of something they’d rather forget. But he comes to shake the handyman’s hand. “Thanks for coming.” His voice sounds like that of someone who has been smoking for years.
I smile at the man. “I’m the one who called you. You told me you wouldn’t be able to make it today.”
“That’s right.” He smiles, spreading out the wrinkles fanning the corners of his dark eyes. “But I had a canceled appointment. I was in the building fixing a washing machine in apartment five, and I figured I’d check in, see if you’re home.” He shuffles in, stepping carefully over the edge of the welcome mat, as if he’s not sure about the rules of entering a stranger’s home. Which seems odd, given his job.
“Well”—Gabriel glances at me briefly—“I was just about to take a call…a work thing.” He pats his jeans pocket where the phone must be. “I’ll…I’ll take it outside. Get out of your way.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. Just grabs his keys from the mantel, and heads for the door.
The door shuts behind him.
Scarlett, who I even forgot was standing there, clears her throat and also finds an excuse to escape, saying she’s going to read on the balcony.
As she backs away, she doesn’t meet my eyes. The sliding doors open, then close softly, shutting her outside with a book in her lap that just sits there unopened.
