Chapter 13: Not Unwell

Monday morning, Maeve unlocked the shop at nine and turned the sign to Open.

"Eat something," she said, and put a bran muffin in my hand.

Briggs was behind the counter, wrapping a bunch of tulips he had no business wrapping.

He had stayed the night upstairs on Maeve's couch.

Maeve had insisted on it out loud, in front of me, to make a point.

"He'll come with the doctor," I said. "Alister likes to do things properly."

"Then we do this properly too," Maeve said.

I put my phone in the pocket of my apron with the camera running.

At ten past ten, a gray sedan stopped outside, and Alister got out of the driver's side.

A man in a gray overcoat stepped out of the back, carrying a leather bag. A younger woman with a clipboard followed.

The shop had four customers in it.

A woman was choosing peonies, and two college students were arguing over a birthday bouquet.

An old man who came in every Monday for one yellow rose stood by the register.

Alister opened the door and the bell rang.

"Lena," he said, in his gentlest voice. "We just want to talk."

"Good morning," I said, loud enough for the phone. "It's Monday the fourteenth, in my aunt's shop."

I went on in the same even voice.

"My husband has brought two people I didn't invite."

The woman with the clipboard stopped walking.

"The doctor is a friend," Alister said. "He's here because you haven't been yourself."

"I haven't been yours," I said. "That isn't the same."

The student with the birthday bouquet laughed, and then covered her mouth.