“Yes. Is that too late? You’d rather make it 4:15? Mom did that occasionally when she had a lot going on.”

Flora didn’t know why Becca had died, but she was starting to wonder if it could have been exhaustion.

“Five sounds like a good time.” She told herself it would be like doing the run to the flower market, only her reward would be blisters instead of blooms.

“Great. We’ll be back before Dad leaves for work. Does that sound like a good idea?”

It sounded like the worst idea Flora had heard in a long time, but that was what you got for allowing yourself to be intimidated by a tricky teenager and a dead woman.

Izzy flipped her smooth hair back over her shoulder. “We’ll start tomorrow. I’ll wake you at 4:45. Do you like tea in the morning?”

At that time the only thing that was likely to get her out of bed was a bucket of iced water over her head, but Flora didn’t say that. If she was doing this, then she was doing this. “I prefer to run on an empty stomach. I’ll have breakfast when we get back.”

“Yeah?” Izzy looked surprised. “My mother didn’t eat breakfast. She fasted all day and ate a small dinner in the evening. Usually just protein and vegetables.”

“Your mother was an impressive woman.” Oh for goodness sake, Flora, use a different word. Any word! “Special.”

“She was. Dad said she was the most special person he’d ever met.”

There really wasn’t an answer to that.

Flora glanced at the photos again. Apart from the one taken on Mount Kilimanjaro, they were all of Becca and her family. There was one of Becca sailing, her hair flying in the wind as she laughed up at Jack. Flora was sure that in the same situation half her hair would be in her mouth and the other half in her eyes.

Behind that there were two black-and-white photographs of Becca hugging the two girls. She was barefoot, dressed in jeans, and all Flora could think was that this was a woman who seemed to have had it all. Until she didn’t.

Life, she thought, had a sick sense of humor.

“I can move the photographs if they bother you,” Izzy said, and Flora stirred.

“They don’t bother me.”

“I hope you’ll be comfortable. My mother wanted it to be the perfect guest room.” Did she emphasize the word guest or was that Flora’s imagination?

Flora thought about all the times she’d tried to talk about her mother, and the times her aunt had cut her off. Flora had found it indescribably difficult. In time she’d forgotten how to talk about her mother and she didn’t want that for Izzy. If Izzy wanted to talk about Becca, then she’d listen.

“You must miss your mother very much.”