In any other circumstance, that tone, that eerie promise would’ve terrified the crap out of me. Except I had nothing to be afraid of. Not now that my worst fears had been realized.

My mother hated not having the last word. Hated having someone best her, shame her, especially publicly. It probably irked her even more since it was the day her son died. That wouldn’t matter to her. What mattered most was that Diane Henderson saved face.

But for the first time I’d ever seen, my mother retreated.

Yet I felt no joy in that.

I didn’t think I’d ever feel joy again.

* * *

Whenever something terribly tragic happens to someone, they often explain how ‘everything passes by in a blur.’ Now, I’m not going to call those people liars, but I couldn’t imagine the universe being that kind after being so indescribably cruel.

Because it certainly wasn’t for me.

For me, nothing went by in a blur. Not even for a second.

Everything happened in stark detail. Time slowed down to a crawl. I didn’t get a moment of respite. Not one. Even with Rowan’s constant presence. I had considered him to be some kind of force of magic, able to fix everything. Able to keep me safe from anything. To bring forth happiness.

But I quickly learned that just wasn’t realistic.

No one man, no matter how extraordinary, could fix everything. Could protect me from the realities of life.

But he was there. He was there as I turned my grief into purpose, organizing a funeral, deciding what to do with my brother’s apartment, his personal effects.

Fiona was there too. And Tina. They’d taken care of things at the bakery, I think. I vaguely remembered that as Rowan ushered me out, under his arm.

He’d put me in his truck and started driving me home. I’d stared at the road for a few seconds, lost in the yawning chasms of pain that came between every single second.

Then, somehow, I’d wrenched myself out. And I started making calls. Maggie was pressed into my legs when I was stationary and followed my every step around the house.

“Lilies,” I told the woman on the phone. “I need lilies.” I was pacing on my patio. It was cold outside. Or at least that’s what I thought. It was late fall, it was dark. There was wind coming from the ocean that always had a bite that time of night. I was wearing a thin tank and sweats, my hair still wet from the shower I’d taken earlier. Rowan had been in there too, washing my hair like I was unable to lift my arms or do anything for myself.

I should’ve been freezing.

But I couldn’t feel a thing.

“We don’t have a good stock of lilies right now,” the woman on the phone informed me. “What with the season changing. We can do roses, though.” Her voice was strained. Probably because I called her cell approaching ten at night.