“I really do want to be a journalist, regardless of the whole college thing. Maybe I should write something down about Mom in case Molly wants to read it later.”

“I think that would be great. If it didn’t upset you. Not just your mom’s achievements, like running a company or a marathon, but stories that say something about who she was. How she hated picnics because of the wasps. That’s a good one.”

Izzy twisted the cap off the bottle and drank. “She once wore a long dress to a school picnic. That was embarrassing. Everyone else’s mother was in jeans, and mine shows up like she’s going to the opera. I wanted to hide.”

“She sounds incredibly glamorous.” Flora waited to feel insecure or envious, but nothing happened. At some point Becca had stopped being this mythical, impossibly perfect creature and turned into a real person with flaws.

“She was glamorous. I think she felt she had to be. That she had this image to keep up. She wanted to stand out. Be the best.”

Insecurity, Flora thought. It fitted with some of the things Clare had said when they’d been gardening together. “See that’s why you’ll be a good journalist.” She slotted a slice of cheese into her bread. “You’re finding the story beneath the facts. You’re asking the question why. Why did your mother feel she had to wear a long dress to a picnic? Do you have pictures? You could write it up and add pictures. Then if Molly wants to see it when she’s older, she can.”

Izzy wiped her fingers on her shorts. “Tell me a story about your mom. Not a what story, but a why story.”

Flora thought about it. “One day when I came home from school she blindfolded me and made me identify flowers just by the scent.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not kidding. I smelled what felt like a hundred flowers.”

Izzy grinned. “You sneezed and ended up in the emergency department?”

“Almost. And she was so creative. She decorated our apartment with things she found lying around on the beach. Shells. Pieces of driftwood. Our table was made from crates, but she sanded them and painted them and it looked like a work of art.” Flora finished her food and licked her fingers. “That was delicious.”

“Yeah, it was. I wish I’d stolen some cake.”

“I can help with that.” Flora reached into her backpack again and Izzy stared at her.

“You brought cake?”

“You probably don’t want it, because bringing you my lemon cupcakes definitely falls under the heading of people-pleasing.”

“If you’ve brought cake, I’ll forgive you.” Izzy almost drooled as Flora pulled the packet out of her drenched backpack.

“They might not be entirely dry.”