Chapter 1

"Nell, sit this one out. Delphine's got it."

My husband said it across the church hall with the flower crew still holding the buckets, and the woman he almost married thirty years ago was already cutting my stems on my table.

Nine weddings that season. Twenty-nine years of them before that. The pastor looked at the floor.

"That's kind of you," I said. "Thank you both."

I have a bad habit of getting more polite the angrier I am, and everybody in that hall knew it except the two of them.

Delphine stopped with my knife against a white rose. She wore her sleeves rolled neatly past her wrists, the way she had when she worked beside me one summer. Royce stood close enough to move a loose curl from her shoulder, though he caught his hand before touching it.

"Royce thought I could help," she said.

"How generous of him."

The bucket handles pressed red half-moons into the crew's fingers. No one set anything down. They had worked nine June Saturdays with me, and every one of them knew the lilies for this wedding had to be opened by Friday and still stand through Sunday.

Royce smiled as if I had made this easy for him. "You've looked tired."

"Have I?"

"You have. Let her start here."

I folded the order sheet once, then again, keeping the bride's penciled changes inside. I had remade her mother's bouquet after a heat wave browned every garden rose in town. I had saved her sister's centerpieces when the church cooler failed two nights before the ceremony.

Pastor Ames cleared his throat. His hand rested on the back of a folding chair, but he did not pull it out for anyone. "The order is already signed."

Royce's signature sat below Delphine Sarr's name. The date was Tuesday, the same evening he had carried my supper upstairs and suggested I close early for once. My thumb covered his last name, which was also mine.

"All nine?" I asked.

The pastor's fingers tightened around the chair. "The remaining eight after this one too."

Delphine lowered the knife. "I need the work, Nell."

There it was, plain enough to deserve respect. Her shop windows were still papered, and the buckets beside her were mine. I could understand hunger without offering it my plate.

"Of course," I said. "Please finish the roses."

I walked to the supply cabinet and opened the narrow upper door. One brown jar stood behind the spare ribbon, its glass darkened by years of handling. I took it down, felt its familiar weight settle into my palm, then returned it to the shelf and shut the door.

Without it, the lilies on Delphine's cart would bow before the third morning. I had measured every summer wedding by that jar and by the changing feel of water against my wrist. Friday was two days away.

Royce came nearer. "See? This is better. You'll get some rest."

"Thank you for arranging it."

I removed my apron and folded it over the back of my chair. Then I gathered the nine order copies from my drawer, separated the one Delphine had already started, and placed the other eight beneath her hand.

"There," I said. "Now everything is exactly as you wanted."

Royce nodded. Delphine touched the stack but did not pick it up. Around us, the crew finally lowered their buckets, one by one, the metal bottoms striking the floor harder than necessary.

I carried my knife to the door. Pastor Ames was still looking at the floor.

"I'm sorry, Nell," he said.