Wow. Is this what happens when you get older? Can you just read people’s thoughts? If indeed I do grow old, I vow to become a mind reader. I will anticipate everyone’s move, every gesture. I will wear funny orange hats with flowers all over them, too.

“I quite like the rain, actually, now that I’m out of it.” She takes the matching wingback and stairs into the fire with me.

“Do you mind if I ask you something, dear child? I can’t help but wonder . . .” She trails off.

“Of course.”

“Well . . . it’s a bit strange, isn’t it? A girl your age spending her summer here. In this place? All alone? Aren’t you meant to be throwing yourself into the glistening water of a pool somewhere, or frolicking on the beach with friends? Shouldn’t you be . . . somewhere else? Somewhere bright and happy?”

She waits for me to answer, sipping her tea.

“Honestly, I don’t really have any friends.”

It comes out a bit harsher than I planned it.

“Oh.” She looks at me. “Oh, I see.”

And that’s definitely pity I hear in her voice. But the rain outside is pounding the roof, a rhythmic kind of song, and the fire is blazing and it leads my thoughts away.

If I close my eyes and listen to the rain, it sounds just the same as that night. Just the same as that night in April.

April showers bring May flowers. But that’s not all they can bring.

If I close my eyes I can see Zander standing there, outside in the rain.

Open your eyes.

Open your eyes, Daffodil.

“Well . . . I’m your friend,” Penelope offers. “So, that’s settled.” She pats herself on the knees as if the matter is closed.

“Thanks.” It comes out in an embarrassed laugh.

“It’s strange how life is, my darling. When I was young, I remember I was surrounded by friends, acquaintances really. Not real friends. But so many I couldn’t bother to remember their names. And then, as life goes on . . . they all just kind of drop off. Just sort of get lost somewhere in the ether. And one day, you look around . . . and they’re all gone.” She thinks. “And one finds themselves wishing they had taken the time. Had kept in touch. Had not spent all that time fussing about this or that, or trying to reach out and grab grab grab this or that. You want to tell them all to come back. To come back to you.”

She stares into the fire, a sadness coming over her. And it makes me sad, too, hearing her say this. Or thinking this is the way it is. For everyone. And I hope it’s not true. I don’t want it to be true.

“Um. So, you know, it doesn’t really seem like this rain is going to let up . . . I mean, not anytime soon,” I find myself saying.