Chapter 5

I stared at the necklace. The sunflower petals were gold, with a yellow gemstone set in the center.

"Why didn't he give it to me?" I asked.

"After Emily told him you'd left, he tucked it away. I asked him why he didn't give it to you, and he said..." Daniel looked away. "He said there was no rush, since you'd always be around."

I picked up the necklace and looped the chain twice around my fingers. It felt cold. "And then?"

"And then you 'died,'" Daniel said. "He sat in the club for three days, holding onto this necklace.

"On the third day, he downed a whole bottle of sleeping pills. Your photo was right there beside him. Along with this."

He placed the notebook on the counter. The cover was dog-eared, and the pages had turned yellow.

I flipped it open. The first page read: [Day 1. He told me to pour water. I scalded my hand; he didn't even look.]

[Day 12. Daniel made me bow to pour the wine. He said, "Fill it up."]

[Day 47. I kissed their boots. He said, "Make sure it's clean."]

[Day 89. Emily came back to the country. He told me to go to the bathroom and clean up the mess.]

[Day 134. He was wasted. He called out Emily's name.]

[Day 267. The anniversary of my mother's death, he went to pick up Emily.]

I remembered every single page, every single word.

I turned to the very last page. [Day 365. Mission accomplished. Alex, I really did love you once. Goodbye.]

In the blank space below, a new line had been added. It wasn't my handwriting. It was a jagged, messy scrawl, like it had been written by a drunk.

[Sophie, I can't find you anywhere.]

I snapped the notebook shut.

"Alex said he could smell you," Daniel said. "The day he bolted from the ICU, he crouched outside your old apartment building, clutching the scraps of the things you'd burned.

"He insisted your scent was still on them. We all thought he'd lost his mind. Those things were burnt to a crisp. How could there be any scent left?"

The wind chimes jingled again. A customer walked in, and I stood up to help them. I wrapped a bouquet of eustomas, took the cash, handed back the change, and told them to have a nice day.

The door closed. Daniel was still standing there.

"Sophie," he said. "I'm not here to plead for Alex. I just wanted you to know that the empty box really wasn't from him. It was all Emily's doing.

"Once Alex found out, he cut all ties with her. She went to Sterling Estate three times to see him, but he wouldn't give her the time of day."

I picked up the shears and went back to the roses.

"Are you doing okay these days?" he asked.

"I am," I said.

"Then I won't bother you anymore." He turned toward the door. He paused as he reached for the handle.

"By the way," he said, his back still toward me. "I kept this scar. I didn't go for the laser treatment."

"Why not?" I asked.

"To remember." He pushed the door open, letting the sunlight flood in. "To remember that the most bastardly thing I've ever done in my life was laughing when I watched you kiss his boots."

The wind chimes gave a single jingle. He was gone.

I set the shears down. The necklace was still sitting on the counter, its golden petals glinting in the sun.

I picked it up, watching the chain sway gently as it hung from my fingers. Then, I put it back in the box, snapped the lid shut, and tucked it away in a drawer.

I picked up the notebook and went through it one more time.

Beneath the line Alex had added, there was another. The handwriting was even more erratic, the strokes jagged and broken, with some words smudged by water stains.

[Day 366. I've finally learned.]

The sentence trailed off there, the tip of the pen having torn a hole right through the paper.

I snapped the notebook shut.

*****

The preschool across the street had let out, and the chatter of children drifted through the glass door.

Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the flower stands, casting swaying shadows across the ivy leaves.

I stood up and placed the roses in a vase. The water rushed over the cut on my finger, a sharp, stinging pain.

I stared at the wound for a long time. The bleeding had stopped, leaving only a thin red mark.

It reminded me of the streaks of snow water sliding down Alex's car window the day my mother died.