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“Did you plant it on me?”
“No! I swear to god! On my children, never, ever.” I move to touch her but she jerks away. “You remember when Carla was riffling through my bag for my purse, the night you were looking after Matti? I had it in there, and I panicked, remember? I knocked the bag from your shoulder, and I put it in one of the pockets because I didn’t want Carla to find it. I didn’t want Luis to find it, either. I did it on the spur of the moment. I was going to tell you but with Ryan and Geoff I… I’m so sorry June, I just forgot.”
“Then why didyouhave it?” she asks.
“Listen to me. When I went to see her, she had the necklace around her neck and I was so upset, I yanked it off her. That’s how I got this, see?” I show her my hand, the light pink line only barely visible. “That’s all. I put it in my pocket and I left.”
She shakes her head slowly, her fingers on her lips.
“You have to believe me. I didn’t put it in your bag to hurt you, I just needed a hiding place and I was going to tell you.”
We stare at each other in silence for a moment. She looks like she’s going to cry.
“I should go,” I say. She nods. As I pass the hyacinth, on impulse, I start to unwrap the cellophane.
“I’m telling you the truth,” I say, my back to her.
“Don’t,” she says quickly. I turn around. She has one hand up, reaching toward the table.
“What?” I follow her gaze. Half sticking out from under the pot is a small square of paper on which she has scribbled something. I shift the plant and pick it up.
“Give it to me,” she snaps.
FlowersDirect,Purple lisianthus and daisies.Next to that is the address of the university and a date.
“What’s this?” I’m still staring at it when she lunges, tries to grab it from me. I hold it up in the air. “What is it?” I ask again, more firmly this time, becausePurple lisianthus and daisiesare the flowers that my mother always sends me. Always the same.
“Give it to me, Anna.”
“This is the bouquet my mother sent me.” I tap the note with one finger. “And this is the online florist who delivered them, isn’t it? On the day of the dinner in the hall. What’s this about, June?”
She’s silent for a long time, biting the inside of her cheek, rubbing her hands over her arms like there’s a draft in here.
“June?”
“I know you sent them to yourself.”
“What?”
She’s shaking all over now. “I was trying to help you. I really, really wanted to help you, because I liked you, Anna!” Her voice breaks and tears roll down her cheeks. She wipes them off with shaking fingers. “When they took you away yesterday, I wanted to find your mother,” she says.
“What? Why?”
“Because I thought you needed her, I thought it would be good for you, and she owed you and she should be here for you right now, and I didn’t know her last name or where she lived, but I remembered the flowers she sent because I was the one who took delivery and I remembered the name of the store.”
“Oh, June…”
“But it wasn’t her who sent them,” she says.
Her eyes grow wild suddenly, like she’s realized I’m standing here, barring her way, and she’s looking for an escape.
“Of course she sent them,” I say gently.
“No, she didn’t! You did.”
I shake my head vigorously. “No, that’s not true, don’t say that!”
“They told me who sent them, and it was you, Anna! And you’ve done it before! You’re a regular customer there, always the same bunch of flowers! You’re sending them toyourself!”
