My mother and aunts have a Flower Black List they keep—it’s short—with the names of people who have wronged others.

My mother and aunts will give hats away to friends who are going through hard times to cheer them up. And sometimes they’ll sell their hats in Flowers, Lotions, and Potions for charity or for school fund drives. They also donate hats to other worthy charity fund drives. But if you’re on the Flower Black List, you’re on it for good, shame on you and your meanness.

I decided that tonight I would bring up one more teeny, tiny subject to see how they would react. “I’ve noticed more people coming in and out of the greenhouse.”

None of them answered, and the atmosphere suddenly felt charged. I almost laughed. My mother squirmed and reached for her wine. My aunt Iris suddenly found that she was extremely interested in the small wood bridge near the willow trees in the distance. Or maybe it was the pond with the red bench. My aunt Camellia hummed, the song rising and falling dramatically.

“What a wonderful place to grow your exotic flowers. From Hawaii and South America and Delaware.” Exotic flowers. From Delaware. I almost laughed again. “And your orchids. Why, your orchids must be in a delicate full bloom.”

My mother squirmed once more, rolled her shoulders, slugged down more wine.

My goodness! The willow that Aunt Iris was fixated on must be fascinating.

Aunt Camellia’s humming rose to a high, near-shrieking pitch.

“The greenhouse is particularly, uh, perfect, for the plants and flowers that are more . . . difficult to grow outside,” I said. “The ones that need special care.”

Squirm. Stare. Hum hum hum!

“More wine?” my mother said, and got up.

“I’ll get it!” Aunt Camellia and Aunt Iris said. They all three darted into the kitchen, chairs scraping the deck, to get more wine.

I laughed, then tried to muzzle it under a cough. There was already wine on the table. I had one more slice of cheese and garlic pizza. If I met my maker tonight I’d want to have a full stomach. We had a lot to talk about.

* * *

The bookstore was busy the next day. Tourists streamed in. Part of the reason was that I had an employee standing outside giving away samples of apple cider caramel cake. It was the treats that drove them in. I don’t blame them. I believe a treat a day keeps the doctor away. I also had my tea specials up on a board at the door: Honey Lavender and Cinnamon Chai.

But who couldn’t love a shop called Evie’s Books, Cake, and Tea? The finest things in life, right? They loved sitting in the café area and looking out over the bay. They loved the deck. They loved the bouquets I sold for my mother and aunts today labeled “Men Are Dense, Like Cheese. Buy Your Own Bouquets” and “A Woman’s Place Is Wherever She Damn Well Wants It to Be” and “Laugh More, Laugh Loud, Drink Beer.”