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Lovely things, thecoelogynes, he’d said, stroking the puff of hair.
Soft, yet hardy. I brought these back from eastern India. Tolerate drought and neglect, and flower faithfully—snow-white or emerald-green with black stripes. Scent like a freshly peeled orange.
Nick had dutifully sniffed, gulping back emotion. Wanting to cry.
Never allowing himself to cry.
That’s how Nick would be with Alice. He’d see her everywhere. Hear her voice everywhere. He’d feel her soft hand on his cheek.
She kissed him. Holding him like a punishment for everything bad he’d ever done. It was a punishment because her love would torment him the most. Her love was his final error.
The darkness came again then, blotting her out, snuffing her voice to silence.
His bright, curious Alice. His greatest mistake.
