An Ocean Between Us

by Ann O'Loughlin, Ann O''Loughlin

Genres: Marriage & Divorce; Sagas; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

What if your life was built on a lie?

When Cora Gartland learns that her husband has been killed in a car crash in Ireland her world falls apart. But then she is told that there was a woman in the car with him, a woman identified as his wife, Amelie.

Devastated, she flies to Dublin to try to make sense of her husband's secret life. As she grieves, she must learn to survive, and to do that she must find the truth. What else has he been keeping from her, and how will she survive this betrayal?

Release date: January 23, 2020

Publisher: Orion

Print pages: 368

Sample

Prologue

Lily Walpole pulled on her cardigan and buttoned up the small, gold-coloured buttons at the front. She made her way slowly down the stairs to the hall.

This was her favourite part of the day.

In the hall, she stopped at the ornate mahogany table. Pulling out the drawer she scrabbled inside for her powder compact and lipstick. Angling herself to best use the sunshine flashing in through the fan light, she dabbed a little powder over her face, before carefully applying some peony pink lipstick.

Gently, she pulled back the heavy front door, and lingered for a moment on the steps to breathe in the chilly morning air. The city was still, and so was De Courcy Square. Lily glanced next door. Sometimes if Amelia or Jack were working inside the window, they waved, but this morning there was nobody.

Lily stopped to deadhead the pink Cosmos and Michaelmas daisies in pots to one side of the front door. She threw the withered and spent flowers behind the pots and out of public view, before descending the granite steps to cross the road to the park. The city streets were, for now, silent. A blackbird balancing on the park railings let out a throaty call. Lily slowed her pace. The blackbird, its eyes darting, fluffed its feathers before suddenly whooshing away into the thickness of the trees. Taking her key out of her pocket, Lily pushed it in to the old iron gate lock and twisted until the bolt released with a click. The gate creaked as she shoved it open, the sound tearing through the tranquillity of this early morning in Dublin city.

All her life she had lived on De Courcy Square, but this did not lessen her sense of anticipation as she wandered down the narrow path around the park.

This is when the park was hers only.

Running her fingers lightly across a small bank of rosemary, she breathed in the perfume. The patch of elegant lupins was next. There was a certain comfort in the upright lupin, returning year after year, a steady beauty which she admired. Sweet peas climbed up an old piece of fencing, cascading in a mass of colour from the top. A wagtail dropped down on the grass to one side of her, warily pecking at the remains of a sweet wrapper which had blown in from the street. Lily waited until the bird flitted off before picking up the shiny packaging and scrunching it into her pocket.

Best she came across it, she thought, rather than Gladys, who would probably blame the office staff who worked on the square and trooped into the park at lunchtime.

The park was for the sole use of the property owners on De Courcy Square. There was a time every house was occupied by families, but these days many of the old four storey brick houses had been converted into offices. Lily liked the young workers; they brought a sense of fun and vibrancy to this city square. They reminded her, too, of her own youth. Back then, she liked to walk barefoot on the grass early in a summer morning, the dew curling between her toes, her face full of excitement as she stole out to meet Eamon.

Lily turned to her favourite seat under the lilac tree and sat down. If she closed her eyes, she could peel back the decades, feel the rising sun on her face as she waited for the sound of his footfall behind her. If she closed her eyes, she could forget all the life that had happened between then and now, and for a few moments she would feel happy, wrapped in Eamon’s love. This garden was her sanctuary, a retreat from the everyday, a place where she felt young again and full of hope.

Lily was so preoccupied with the past that she didn’t see Gladys come across the grass until she plonked down beside her, making the seat shake.

‘I am so glad to have caught you Lily. And just in the right place. What do you think of a makeover of sorts for the garden?’

Lily opened her eyes. When she saw Gladys she turned slightly away, so she didn’t have to look directly at her. ‘What do you mean, “makeover”?’

‘The Association has a bit of spare cash – maybe we could upgrade the garden furniture?’

‘Upgrade? You mean replace it, right?’

‘We in the De Courcy Square Association think...’

‘What you think, Gladys, you are the association.’

‘Now that is a little unfair, Lily. I know you love our little park and—’

Lily stood up. ‘Gladys, we’ve known each other a long time.’

‘Oh, this sounds serious,’ Gladys said, not making any attempt to hide her relish for a friendly spat.

‘I don’t want the benches changed; I like this park just the way it is.’

‘I think you are in the minority, Lily.’

Lily shook her head in exasperation. ‘I have lived on De Courcy Square all my life; there are a lot of memories here.’

‘And many more to make, I hope.’

Lily stared sternly at Gladys. ‘Why change what isn’t broken?’

Gladys guffawed loudly as she flicked off the white paint peeling from the bench armrest. ‘Broken, maybe not, but certainly run down.’

Lily sighed heavily and turned to walk away.

‘Why don’t you think about it and we can talk another time?’ Gladys called after her.

Lily whipped down the path. She was cross at Gladys, but more cross at herself. She loved this park, she never wanted it to change.

She shook herself fiercely as she felt tears rising up inside her. The park was the one place where she felt completely at home. It was so important to her that she was about to blubber about it now and this made her even more agitated.

She didn’t stop to admire the roses or the patch of wildflowers full of scraggly growth, but hurried to the gate and across to her house. Rushing up the steps, she didn’t even glance at Jack and Amelia’s window.

Lily knew she was being a little bit silly, but she didn’t care. The park at De Courcy Square meant the world to her and she would not let anybody, not even busybody Gladys and her silly notions, do anything to change it.

De Courcy Square was just right the way it was.

Chapter One

Long Island, New York. July 2018

‘You and Jack, I’m jealous. Hell, we’re all jealous.’

Donna slapped the steering wheel of her old station wagon and looked at her friend. ‘Everybody wants a Jack.’

Cora giggled, tilting her head so she could get the rush of cool air spewing from the dashboard vent.

‘Jack’s a bit special all right. He’s back home next week, you and Chuck must come over.’

‘Chuck can watch and learn.’

Donna swung into Cora’s driveway.

‘Ooh, you have a flower delivery, honey, no need to guess who from.’

‘Stop it, Donna, now you’re sounding jealous for real,’ Cora said as she got out of the car.

She picked up the bouquet of roses propped in the shade of the front porch. Donna, who was unloading framed paintings from the trunk to the garage, stopped what she was doing.

‘Girl, you’re so lucky. My Chuck wouldn’t even think of picking a bunch of weeds from our backyard, his idea of a good time is sharing a plate of ribs and a few beers at Smokin’ Als.’

‘Nothing wrong with that, I wish Jack was home more, it’s just me and my paint brushes most of the time.’

‘You keep painting, some day we will all be even more jealous when you land a big exhibition downtown.’

Cora guffawed loudly. ‘That’s never going to happen.’

‘Keep doing what you do, sweetheart, your time will come.’ Donna reached over to smell the bouquet.

‘Ugh, how did that get there?’ she said, jumping back quickly.

Cora pulled a rose from the bunch and flicked off a spider.

‘It’s only a spider. Chill.’

‘You should complain. Are you sure he even ordered yellow roses?’ Donna asked.

Cora unlocked the door and left the bouquet on the hall table.

‘I know, something about yellow roses standing for a range of unlikeable qualities such as infidelity and jealousy. That’s old hat; these days, they say remember me.’

‘I wouldn’t care what colour the flowers were if Chuck bothered his ass.’

Tearing off some of the cellophane, Cora carefully selected five roses.

‘Here, take these home, add some green foliage and you’ll have your own unique bouquet.’

Donna gathered the five stems together.

‘Are you sure, honey?’

Cora nodded.

‘You can route your flower delivery to me anytime,’ Donna laughed.

‘Come in, we’ll have coffee.’

Donna shook her head. ‘Chuck is going to the ball game and I have to pick up Jess from her play date. Don’t forget to lock up the garage, you don’t want anybody stealing your work.’

Cora stood at the front door and waved as her friend reversed her car and drove down the street.

Carrying the bunch of roses in one hand, she made her way to the kitchen.

Placing the bouquet on the draining board, she snipped away the remainder of the cellophane before spreading the stems out. Reaching for the mallet she normally used to tenderise Jack’s steak before putting it on the grill, she bashed the stem ends until they cracked open. Jack liked to send flowers, so many flowers. Soon, they would celebrate ten years together; what would he do then, finally ask her to marry him? She didn’t much care either way, it had worked all these years, there was no need to change a thing. Carefully she arranged the blooms in the cut-glass vase. She read the card. ‘Thanks for all the wonderful years. Love, Jack.’

Taking out her phone she snapped a photograph of the arrangement. ‘Just perfect. What a surprise. Thank you, see you soon. All my love, C. Xx’ she texted. Balancing the card between the stems of the half-open roses, she thought she should be more grateful, but she didn’t like roses. Jack didn’t know, because he never bothered to ask.

The buzz of the doorbell pierced through the house. Thinking Donna must have forgotten something, she called out, ‘Come around back.’ When there was no answer, she picked up the vase and strolled to the hall. Swinging open the front door, she stepped back when she saw Jack’s boss, Mike Underwood.

‘Mike, what are you doing here?’ Cora asked as she placed the vase on the glass table inside the door. His hands clasped in front of him, Mike Underwood hesitated. Nervous, Cora blabbed on.

‘Jack sent flowers to remember the first day we met all those years ago.’

She suddenly stopped, rubbing the palms of her hands on the back of her jeans. Slowly, she took in Underwood’s face, his pallor highlighted even more by the dark jacket he was wearing, the strange look, a mix of fear and sadness in his eyes.

‘Why are you here? Is there something wrong?’

Fear snaked through her, tightening across her chest. ‘Is it Jack? Tell me. What’s happened?’

Clearing his throat, Mike put his hands out to Cora.

‘Can I come in, Cora? I’m afraid I have bad news.’ Panic rose up through her. She felt the comfort of her world fade away.

‘Something has happened to Jack, hasn’t it?’

Slumping against the door jamb, she felt Mike grab her by the shoulders and attempt to steer her back inside. His touch made her flinch. She pulled away, stumbling against the glass table, making the vase wobble.

‘Mike, please tell me.’ She bent over like she was going to throw up, but nothing came.

He reached out to help her up, but she jerked her arm away. ‘Tell me now.’

Mike moved closer, she could smell the tobacco on his breath from when he had dragged on a cigarette before walking up the drive to the house. ‘Jack has been in a car accident, Cora.’

The washing machine in the basement pinged loudly to signal the end of the cycle; the cat on the inside sill of the front window stretched and yawned.

‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’

A woman passing on the sidewalk watched as Mike gently shut the front door, Cora beside him, her face crumpled in pain.

‘I’m afraid he is, Cora.’

‘I don’t believe it.’

She pulled out her cell phone from her pocket and called up Jack’s number.

Mike reached over, gently taking the phone from her hands, before guiding her slowly towards the velvet stool to one side of the stairs. ‘Jack was in a car which crashed on a rural road outside Dublin city, Ireland. I’m sorry, he has been confirmed dead.’

She could see through into the living room, to his leather wingback chair, where he liked to sit and read on a Sunday evening. His to-be-read pile was too high, she counted ten books up and ten down.

‘Let’s move out of the hallway,’ Mike suggested, steering her slowly towards the wingback chair. The smell of Jack enveloped her. She breathed in deeply. Running her hands across the armrests, she reached out and picked up his notebook from the side table. He kept it by his chair to jot down notes and reminders. His last entry, the time and date of his flight out of JFK to Dublin, his return date seven days later underlined in red.

‘What happened?’

Her voice was peculiarly flat, her head thumping. Mike sat down on the couch opposite. ‘They’re not exactly sure, only that his car hit a wall.’

‘What car? He never said he was hiring a car.’

Mike jumped to his feet. ‘Cora, do you have brandy, anything like that in the house?’

She pointed to the mahogany cabinet in the corner. ‘Jack keeps …’

Her voice trailed off. Why did it have to be Underwood breaking the news? Jack loathed him and now she did too. Mike turned the key of the cabinet, taking out a bottle of brandy and a crystal glass. Pouring a generous measure, he handed it to Cora. Wrapping her fingers around the glass, she smiled.

‘Jack bought this crystal the last time he was in Ireland. It was to be a crystal table lamp on this trip. I thought it might be nice in the hall.’

‘Is there anyone we can call? Family, friends?’

She gulped more brandy. ‘Not yet.’

Mike paced the room. Once he stopped in front of Cora, but said nothing. When he got to the window, he swung around. ‘Do you know what Jack was doing in Ireland, Cora?’

‘Why do you ask? He was working, I don’t understand.’ Her voice was impatient.

‘We sent Jack to Amsterdam; he wasn’t supposed to be going to Ireland this trip.’

Cora pulled herself out of the chair. ‘What exactly are you implying?’

‘We didn’t send Jack to Ireland.’

‘What does it matter?’

‘It matters to the company. Jack was meant to be inspecting premises and taking meetings in Holland as part of our plan to push into Europe. Sites in Ireland had already been examined and rejected.’

‘Why should any of this matter now?’

Mike sighed loudly.

‘I know this is an incredibly difficult time, Cora, but if Jack was in Ireland on business, I need to know about it and I need to know why.’

Cora stared at Mike as he stood, his hands in his trouser pockets, jiggling his keys.

‘Jack’s dead, but you don’t care. He always said you only ever cared about the bottom line and everybody, including him, the man who helped drag your stupid components company into countries all over the world, was only a number.’

‘Cora, that’s unfair and you know it.’

‘I know I never want to see you again … Get out,’ she shouted so loudly her throat felt like something had ripped up through it.

‘You shouldn’t be on your own. Do you want me to contact anybody who could come over?’ he asked quietly.

Tears streaming down her face, Cora pointed to the door.

‘OK, Cora, Jack’s immediate supervisor, Richard Jones, will call by in a while. By then we may have more information. I’m sorry if I upset you.’

He hesitated at the sitting-room door before hastily moving away.

When she heard the click of the front door closing, Cora curled up in Jack’s chair and shut her eyes. She saw him standing laughing at her, telling her not to be a silly and to stop worrying so much. Jack never worried; he said there was no point, that she did enough for the both of them. Maybe, just maybe, somebody somewhere had made a stupid mistake.

Cold crawled through her, making her shiver. Loneliness folded around her. She walked through the rooms searching for her phone, finding it on the hall table, where Mike Underwood had left it. She rang Donna’s number, feeling a sense of comfort in her friend’s sunny greeting.

‘Hi doll, what’s up?’

‘Can you come over?’

‘You don’t sound so good. What’s wrong?’

‘It’s Jack, he’s dead.’

‘What?’

‘Jack, I’ve just been told he’s dead.’

She heard the sharp intake of breath at the other end of the phone.

‘I’ll be there in ten.’ Cora slipped to the floor, too numb to cry, too exhausted to think.

Chapter Two

Cora was concentrating, intently, tracking a small ant creeping up the leg of the hall table as Donna pulled her station wagon into the drive. She couldn’t help smiling when she heard her friend bang her car door and scurry up the front steps before cursing loudly and sprinting back to grab her purse from the front seat.

Cora couldn’t move; she continued to follow the ant on a determined course to the yellow roses. Donna tried the door, but it was locked.

‘Shit honey, let me in.’

Unable to respond, Cora remained slumped on the tiles.

‘Cora, just open the door,’ Donna said, tapping lightly on the glass.

Cora didn’t budge. Outside, Donna threw her hands in the air, before disappearing down the side of the house. Cora heard her pull open the side door.

‘I’m coming through. OK honey?’

Cora didn’t answer, but when she saw Donna rush into the hallway, tears streamed down her face. Donna, letting her purse drop to the ground, skidded across the tiles until she was beside Cora, cradling her in her arms.

‘I’m so sorry, honey.’

‘What am I going to do without Jack?’ she sobbed, burying her head against Donna’s spangly T-shirt, letting the beads scratch her skin.

‘I don’t know honey, I don’t know.’

Gently, Donna pulled Cora to her feet, leading her to the kitchen. She sat Cora at the counter. ‘We need a drink.’

‘Top cupboard,’ Cora said quietly.

Donna took down a bottle of Jameson whiskey and two crystal glasses.

‘Jack got it in the duty free the last time …’ Cora stopped and gulped the whiskey, spluttering so Donna wasn’t sure what she said next.

‘What happened?’ she asked gently.

‘Car smash.’

‘Oh my God.’

‘I just don’t understand, what was he doing in a car?’

‘Darling, maybe you should lie down.’

‘To sleep? What’s the point? Jack’s dead. We can’t make that better.’

‘Honey, I’m only trying to help. Hell, I don’t know what to do.’

Cora reached over and took her friend’s hand.

‘Just being here is enough.’

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Donna said, downing her whiskey in one.

‘Jack always said you drank too much.’

‘If he wasn’t dead, I might have something to say about that.’

Cora winced, making Donna immediately regret what she had said. ‘Hell, I’m being insensitive, Chuck always says I talk too much when I’m nervous.’

Cora picked up Jack’s mail from the bowl on the counter. ‘Should I open these?’

‘They can wait until later. Have you told anybody else? Family …?’

Cora snorted.

‘Jack said I was his family and he was mine. Neither parents were around, though he has a sister; lost touch with her a long time ago.’

‘I could get the word out.’

‘I couldn’t face the sympathy of others, not yet.’

‘But …’

‘Richard Jones is being sent over to tell me more. Maybe after.’

‘Rich from my street?’

‘He works with Jack and is liaising with the US embassy in Ireland.’

Rooting through the laundry basket, she picked out Jack’s old cardigan.

‘Lucky I didn’t wash it,’ she said, burying her head in the blue cashmere. It smelled of his tobacco and aftershave, the heavy, spicy scent that conjured up who he was, that reminded her of his broad shoulders, his curly black hair. In the aroma, she felt him, his arms wrapping around her.

Pulling on the cardigan, she dragged it tight around her. ‘Donna, tell me what do I do now, what the hell do I do?’

‘You have me and Chuck …’ her voice trailed off and Cora smiled nervously.

‘At least Chuck in his own way is helping, by making us smile,’ Donna said.

The sound of the doorbell twirling through the house made them both jump.

‘Shall I answer it?’ Donna asked.

Cora shook her head.

‘I can’t deal with this, Donna, tell whoever it is to go away.’

‘It might be Rich.’

Cora shrugged. ‘OK.’

Stepping out into the backyard, Cora gulped some fresh air. She wanted to run away, to forget that Jack was dead, to go back and live a normal life. She wanted to climb up to her studio in the loft and finish the clouds on her sky, to inhabit that scene of a carefree, sunny day. She wanted to paint, to forget she had been told the news.

She listened to mutterings at the doorway, before Donna showed Richard Jones in to the living room.

Donna came out onto the deck, placing her arm around Cora’s shoulders.

‘Rich is waiting,’ she whispered.

‘Can you talk to him? I don’t think I’m up to it.’

‘Doll, you have to do this. He’s pretty insistent he talks to you. We can do it together,’ she said, taking Cora by the hand.

Too exhausted to resist, Cora followed her friend. She wanted to withdraw, live in the limbo of believing he wasn’t dead. Details would only shatter that illusion.

When they reached the living room, Richard was standing at the bay window, his back to them, his hands in his pockets. Cora pulled Donna back, hoping to delay the encounter.

‘I’m here, right beside you,’ her friend said.

Richard walked towards them, extending his hand.

‘I wish we were meeting under happier circumstances, Cora. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. Everybody is gutted by what has happened. Jack was special to all of us.’

She grimaced at the tightness of his grip.

‘What can you tell me, Richard? Is it true?’

She felt stupid for asking, but she was not going to believe he was dead, unless she heard the words again.

‘You need to sit down, Cora.

‘Please tell me everything. I don’t need to sit down.’

A grey colour washed across his face, making her tremble.

‘There’s something else, isn’t there?’

Discomfort flashed across his eyes as be blurted out what he knew. ‘Police say the other person in the car was Jack’s wife.’

He paused, not sure if he should continue, but knowing he had to. ‘She has been positively identified, they both have.’

Pain took over like somebody was punching holes through her. She expected to fall wounded, but Donna’s arms came around her and dragged her to the couch.

‘What do you mean, his wife?’ Cora enunciated each word slowly and carefully.

‘They are pretty sure that’s who she was, Cora.’

‘The only person in Jack’s life was Cora. They’ve been together so long … It can’t be right. How could Jack have a wife on the other side of the world?’ Donna asked.

Richard, his head bowed, didn’t answer.

‘What the hell do you mean, his wife?’ Cora asked again, louder this time.

‘Police there are definite. There have been positive identifications of Jack and his …’

Pain coursed through her again. Feeling faint, she curled up on the couch. She heard Jack’s laugh, his huff of indignation; she felt small for believing this news. ‘When did he marry her?’

She tried to make the enquiry sound casual, as if it had come up in normal chat, but when the words came out, they were too loud, booming across the room.

‘I don’t know, Cora.’

Richard looked defeated. He took a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and mopped his brow.

‘Did you know?’ She stared intently at him. ‘Did any of you know?’

‘I swear I didn’t,’ he said, shaking his head. Cora laughed out loud, a peculiar sound that hacked through her body.

Donna marched to the cabinet and poured a glass of brandy and handed it to Cora.

Her fingers touched the glass, the curved smoothness of the shape somehow bringing home to her the reality of what had just happened. Gripping the glass tight, she turned and aimed at the far corner of the room. The glass spun through the air, flying under the chandelier and thudding against the wall, chipping off a chunk, the brandy spilling across and down the striped wallpaper. ‘Jesus Christ, honey,’ Donna said.

Cora heard Mrs Winters next door fuss about her garden, talking to her dog; the mailman stuffed letters and advertising pamphlets in the mail box.

‘Somebody must have known,’ she said, dipping her head into her hands.

Nothing had changed and everything had changed.

Chapter Three

De Courcy Square, Dublin

Lily Walpole switched on the kettle and waited, tapping a sound like a drum roll on the worktop because she was agitated. When she heard the news of the crash on the radio, she never thought she could know the victims. It said the names weren’t being released but Gladys Spencer knew, of course she did. She had made a beeline for Lily as she pruned the pot of Michaelmas daisies on her front step.

‘Have you heard the terrible news?’

Lily continued to dead-head the spent daisies with her small scissors.

‘It really is the most dreadful news.’

Gladys walked up the steps and tugged at Lily’s arm. ‘It’s about Amelia and Jack.’

Lily straightened up.

‘What about Amelia and Jack?’

‘I’ve only just heard. My brother-in-law the fireman was there, the accident on the news … the car crash, it’s Jack and Amelia.’

‘What?’

Gladys put an arm around Lily.

‘I wanted to tell you myself, I know you and Amelia were tight.’

‘Jesus Christ, how can it be? I was only talking to her yesterday evening, they were going out for dinner to some fancy restaurant in Wicklow.’

‘They must have been on their way back, it happened after midnight.’

Tears ran down Lily’s face. She pulled her blouse cuff out from under her cardigan sleeve and used it to dab them away.

‘It can’t be, not Amelia.’

‘Shocking,’ Gladys said.

‘That girl was so lovely, way too young to die. You must have it wrong.’

‘I only wish I had,’ Gladys said quietly. Conscious that people passing by had begun to stop and stare at the two of them, she suggested they go inside and have a cup of tea.

Lily pulled away. ‘Do you mind, Gladys, I think I need to be on my own.’

Gladys let Lily go, calling out as she shut her front door, ‘I’m here if you need me, I’ll flash out an email in a while, I am sure everybody in the association will want to know.’

Lily got inside as quickly as possible, letting the door thud closed behind her. She stood unable to move, but her mind was racing, the impact of the news making involuntary tremors shudder through her. Scrabbling in her pocket for her phone, she called her daughter Hannah, but there was no answer. Going through to the kitchen, she thought she should keep busy, because if she didn’t, she might just slip to the floor and not get up again.

She heard the roar of the kettle now, but she didn’t remember switching it on.

Moving to the kitchen window, she gripped the edge of the old ceramic sink for support as she surveyed her back garden. It offered little comfort today. It was wild and unkempt at the far end where the lilac tree and the cherry blossom vied for space, brambles licking up the trunks, strangling the lower branches. Up near the house, there was more order, because she had managed to get out, prune and dead-head as well as dig out with a small shovel. Her daughter Hannah refused to allow anybody in to tend the garden, saying a vulnerable woman living on her own might be fooled into handing over her valuables and cash.

Hannah dropped by after work most days, but Lily needed her to come sooner today. Hannah might never understand why her mother, as she approached her sixty-ninth year, would not leave the big draughty house at No. 22 De Courcy Square, but on everything else, they mostly agreed.

Lily made a small pot of Earl Grey tea and sat in to the kitchen table. She was going to miss Amelia and their chats. Amelia never gave out or passed a remark on the old-fashioned lino, which was cracking at the corners, or the rickety wooden dresser crammed with crockery. Amelia knew too that she loved flowers and often came by with a pot or two, saying she saw Lily’s name on them and had to buy them for her. Glancing out at the calla lilies, tears for Amelia rose up inside her again. Two. . .