Chapter Seven
Sadie
“Five hours until our baby is officially in her late twenties!” I say, lifting my margarita in the air to clink glasses with the others.
“Twenty-six is not late twenties. It’s mid-twenties,” Rose argues.
“Twenty-five is mid,” I say. “Twenty-one to twenty-four is early twenties. Six to nine is late.”
“Sorry, Sadie, but she’s right,” Evelyn says. “Twenty-one to twenty-three is early. Four through six is mid. Seven to nine is late.”
I look at June to back me up, but she gives me an apologetic grimace.
“Fine, whatever. Either way, we have a very fun night planned. And don’t give me that look.
You’ll all survive one late night.” June and Evelyn both open their mouths, probably to argue that they have boyfriends and work and shit, so I hold up my hands to stop them.
“No arguments. And no boyfriends.” I turn my gaze from June to Rose.
“Or girlfriends. You get to celebrate with Vanessa tomorrow.”
After a short argument, they agree.
Thus begins a night of revelry, dancing, drinking, with a highly inadvisable attempt to sneak into a temporarily closed water park, then all four of us passing out at June’s house.
I’m the second one awake the next morning. Evelyn, unsurprisingly, is already in the kitchen, drinking coffee and working on her computer. She did an admirable job pretending everything was fine with June last night, but I noticed the happiness drain away anytime she thought no one was looking.
I jump on the counter next to her computer. “You never rest, do you?”
“People need me.”
“And they’ll lose you if you don’t take time to care for yourself.”
“Why don’t you stick with your flowers and leave the therapizing to the professionals?” I blink and lean away from her. “Shit.” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
I press my lips together in a passable imitation of a smile. “Sure you did. But that’s okay.”
She drops her eyes to her computer. I look at her closely.
The bags under her eyes are dark enough to look like bruises.
Lines around her mouth suggest she’s been frowning or scowling more.
Her lips are chapped and her skin is pale.
It’s been getting steadily worse ever since she showed up at Seedling Sanctuary and asked me to go to James’s fight in January.
“Are you okay?”
She doesn’t look up from her computer. “I’m fine. Just busy.”
“Ev.” I attempt to keep the worry out of my tone because I know it’ll have her walls up so fast that I’ll have no chance of getting past them. “You love me, don’t you?”
“What?” Her attention snaps back to me. “Of course I do.”
“Then you have to let me be there for you. Supporting my friends is my love language. You know this.” It’s true, which is why having June as my best friend has been…
difficult, because she kept half of herself locked away out of self-preservation.
I had to figure out how to be there for her without her knowledge.
“You’re here for me all the time. You’re here for me now.”
“But what am I here for you about? What’s been going on?”
“Nothing.” She pauses, then adds, “One of my clients just… his story got to me. It hit close to home.”
“I’m sorry. Does he have parents who’ve been arrested? Drugs?”
I don’t expect Evelyn to answer, so I’m pleasantly surprised when she says, “Partly. He just… he’s not been set up for success. I’m having trouble getting through to him. He…” She shakes her head.
“How old is he?”
She blinks, considering the question. “He, uh. He’s thirteen.”
“That’s so hard, I’m sorry.”
Before the conversation can continue, there’s the soft sound of footfalls from the hall, and Rose joins us, yawning loudly. June isn’t far behind, and an hour later, we’ve all left, reluctantly returning to our real lives.
“Good morning, Lauren,” I say, nodding to the young woman behind the checkout counter at Seedling Sanctuary.
She was my first hire. She’s also the only other person with keys to the locked greenhouse where the special plants grow.
Though she doesn't know the extent of that particular part of my business, she knows enough to support what I’m trying to do.
She even brought one of her friends in once to buy cherry laurel.
“Hey boss,” she says with a bright smile. “How were the birthday celebrations?”
“Great! It’s a miracle I got all three of them to stay out so late.”
“I’m not sure if you know this, but you’re hard to say no to. It’s the magnetic energy.”
“I’m just persistent.” I learned a long time ago that matching someone’s energy is a great way for them to feel comfortable. Or, when in doubt, enthusiasm masks most negative feelings. People rarely look past blinding joy for whatever’s hiding in its shadow.
“We got a wedding request,” Lauren says. “The bride called this morning.”
“Really?” We’re a nursery, not a florist. I enjoy designing floral arrangements and bouquets, but it’s not our specialty.
She nods. “She’s coming in this afternoon with her fiancé to discuss it with you. Apparently, she bought an anniversary plant a couple of years ago for her now ex-husband.”
I lean against the front counter, eyebrows raised. This woman managed to leave whoever the abusive asshole was who warranted the purchase of some poisonous plants, and now she’s remarrying, hopefully to a more worthy man. “She wants more traditional bouquets?”
“Yes. She said it’ll be a small wedding. They’re coming in at four. I put it on your calendar.”
“Thanks, Lauren.” Intrigue swirls through my mind. After a short conversation, I disappear into my office and pull up my calendar. Spring, our busiest season, is around the corner, and I want to get ahead anywhere I can.
I work for three hours, before there’s a knock at the cracked open door. Lauren pops in, holding out a bag.
“Delivery for you,” she says.
I frown. “From where?”
She shrugs, setting the bag on my desk. “He didn’t say.”
After she leaves, I open the small package. There’s no note, but I instantly know what it is. Snapping a photo of the tracker detector, I type out a quick message. James’s response comes ten minutes later.
ME
This is the weirdest gift I’ve ever received.
HARTLEY. JAMES HARTLEY.
It’s not a gift.
He’s so goddamn serious all the time. Trying to loosen him up is more difficult than trying to dig a hole into a rock using a plastic spoon.
ME
Good. Because this is some Claire Dunphy level gift giving.
HARTLEY. JAMES HARTLEY.
I don’t know what that means.
ME
Have you ever watched TV a day in your life?
HARTLEY. JAMES HARTLEY.
I have better things to do.
ME
You’re right. My bad. TV would get in the way of your stalking and brooding time.
He doesn’t reply, which isn’t surprising.
I unpack the tracker detector and read the instruction manual before using it to scan my office.
I’m more relieved than I should be when it doesn’t detect anything.
The package reminded me about my promise, so I spend the next twenty minutes attempting to locate Amber Wallace, Theo’s ex-girlfriend.
Unfortunately, I don’t have the stalking skills of my best friend, so I come up with nothing.
Since I can’t consult June, my next option is Maple. She doesn’t ask questions and is more than happy to violate people’s privacy.
She answers my call after two rings. “Sadie. How can I help you?”
“I need you to find someone for me. I just need to know where she’s living.”
“What’s her name?”
“Amber Wallace. She’s twenty-one I think.”
“Stand by.” There’s a light clicking in the background, and I imagine Maple typing away on her laptop in a dark cave. In reality, she’s probably in a perfectly lit office. I don’t actually know what she does or who she does it for. I like to imagine her as the darker version of Penelope Garcia.
Not two minutes pass before Maple speaks again. “Found her. She’s in Tucson. Just left a rehab facility last week. Do you have a pen and paper?”
I snatch up a pen and turn over an empty envelope to write on. “Yeah. Go ahead.” I copy down the address and phone number as she reads it. “Thank you, Maple.”
“Of course.” She pauses, and I’m expecting her to hang up without another word, but she hesitantly adds, “How’s my sister?”
I grin. “She’s great. We had a blast last night. We would’ve loved to have you there.”
She scoffs. “And ruin Rose’s perfect birthday?”
“Having her sister there wouldn’t have ruined anything.”
“Yeah,” she says. “Well. Is there anything else you need?”
“No, that’s all. Thanks again.”
“No problem.”
Plugging the address into my phone, I learn it’s an apartment about forty-five minutes south, probably in South Five territory. I consider calling first, but I don’t want to give her the chance to avoid me.
A few hours later, Lauren lets me know the bride and her fiancé have arrived. I meet them out in the shop and immediately recognize the woman. It’s been two years since I last saw her, but she looks younger now. Happier. Healthier.
Her smile is wide as she greets me. “Ms. Oliver. I don’t know if you remember me, but—”
“Macy,” I interrupt, giving her a quick hug. “Of course, I remember you. How are you? You look amazing.”
“Thank you. I’m really great.” She steps back, gesturing to the tall man next to her. He looks older, maybe in his forties. “This is Christian, my fiancé.”
I hold out a hand for him to shake, not bothering to hide the way I study him.
Macy’s last boyfriend had been so bad that she came to me three times before I finally suggested she go see June.
I don’t think she ever did, but clearly she got out of the relationship.
Still, I know the statistics. Survivors of abusive relationships are far too likely to end up dating another asshole. It’s easy to fall into old patterns.