CHAPTER 5
I gently touch the bruise on my cheek, amazed at how well it’s faded. The arnica gel has worked wonders and with a little dab of concealer you can hardly tell it was ever there. The face in the mirror looks more like me now, and less like a victim. I sweep my blonde hair into a disheveled topknot, letting a few blonde strands fall loose around my face and Lisa’s response from my first text to her the other night flashes in my mind.
Oh, Bailey I am so proud of you! You did the right thing. Please call or text me anytime. I mean it.
My thoughts continue to race through all the ways this could go wrong. Matt’s face comes to my mind, that dangerous glint in his eyes when he’s angry, the way his jaw ticks right before he explodes.
What if he goes back to Lisa’s house now that I’ve reached out? What if he threatens her again? My fingers tremble as I clutch onto the bathroom sink and close my eyes.
“Mommy! Look what I found!” Sophie’s voice carries through the open living room windows.
I smile, watching her roam around the front yard with Mr. Hoppy tucked under one arm, stopping to pick wildflowers with her free hand.
“Those are beautiful, baby!” I call out, joining her. The morning sun is warm on my skin, and I breathe in deeply, savoring the fresh country air.
It’s been a week since we arrived, and each day feels a little lighter than the last.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, startling me so badly I nearly drop the small bouquet Sophie just handed me. My heart hammers against my ribs as I pull it out with trembling fingers.
Lisa’s name flashes on the screen, and my stomach twists into a knot before I even read the message.
“Bailey, I need to tell you something. Matt showed up at my house, completely wasted. He was screaming that I helped you ”run away” and demanding to know where you two are. I threw him out and called the cops. He left before they arrived, but I wanted you to know.”
The phone feels like a brick in my hand. I can’t breathe. The beautiful morning around me dims as I read the text three more times.
“Mommy, you okay?” Sophie tugs at my shorts, her little face scrunched with concern.
I force a smile. “Yes, baby.”
But I’m not okay. The sick feeling in my gut spreads through my entire body. This is exactly what I feared. Matt won’t stop. He’ll never stop. In his mind, Sophie and I are his property, and no one steals from Matt Monroe.
I text back with shaking hands.
Are you safe? Did he hurt you?
Her response comes quickly.
I’m fine. Just shaken up. He was too drunk to do much damage. Please tell me you’re somewhere he can’t find you.
We are. I reply, though the words feel hollow. Is anywhere truly safe?
I look down at Sophie, who’s wandered a few feet away to pick another wildflower. She deserves so much more than a life spent looking over her shoulder.
My phone buzzes again.
The police took a report, but you know how these things go. Be careful, B. He was saying some scary stuff.
The nausea intensifies. I know exactly what “scary stuff” means coming from Matt. Threats. Promises of what he’ll do when he finds us.
“Can we make a flower crown, Mommy?” Sophie asks, her little hands full of yellow sneezeweeds, purple cornflowers and some firewheels that have bloomed beautifully, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“Of course, sweetie. Here, let me show you how.” I will my heartbeat to slow.
And just as I’m finishing up Sophie’s crown I hear the rumble of an approaching vehicle.
My eyes dart up at the sound, heart instantly hammering against my ribs. I snatch Sophie up so quickly she squeals in surprise, her half-finished flower crown falling apart, colorful blooms scattering across the grass.
“Mommy! My flowers!” she protests, but I clutch her tightly against my chest.
“Shh, baby,” I whisper, already backing toward the tiny house. My legs feel leaden, uncooperative. I can’t see the vehicle yet, just hear its approach growing louder down the long driveway.
How did he find us so fast? My mind races through horrifying scenarios as I scan for escape routes.
Sophie wriggles in my arms. “Too tight, Mommy!”
I loosen my grip slightly but don’t let go. The rumbling grows louder, and I finally spot the vehicle emerging from behind the tree line.
It’s not Matt’s truck.
Relief floods through me so powerfully my knees nearly buckle when I recognize Ms. Lucy’s side-by-side utility vehicle bouncing down the drive in front of us. She waves cheerfully, completely unaware of the terror she just put me through.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite taste testers!” She calls. “I’ve got a new pancake recipe that needs some expert opinions before I add it to the diner’s menu. Y’all want to come up to the house and help me out?” Her smile fades as she looks at me. “Bailey? You alright, honey?”
I try to nod, try to speak, but the words won’t come. This is what my life has become, jumping at shadows, terrified of every vehicle, every phone call, every knock at the door. How long can I live like this? How long before the constant dread consumes me entirely?
Finally, I’m able to speak. “I’m fine, Ms. Lucy. Just a little dizzy from standing too fast.”
I set Sophie down gently, smoothing her hair with a shaking hand. “Sorry about your flowers, baby girl. We’ll make another crown later.”
Ms. Lucy climbs out of the vehicle, concern etched across her face as she approaches. The morning sun catches the silver strands in her hair, making them shimmer.
“You sure you’re alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She studies me with those keen green eyes that seem to see right through my flimsy excuses.
“Just a little startled,” I manage, forcing a smile that feels brittle on my face.
Sophie, already recovered from my sudden panic, looks up at Ms. Lucy.
“Are they blueberry pancakes?”
Ms. Lucy bends down, hands on her knees. “Well now, Miss Sophie, these are special cinnamon apple pancakes with my secret ingredient. And I need an expert four-year-old opinion.”
“I’m four and a half!” Sophie corrects. “Almost five.”
“My mistake, darlin’. That half makes all the difference.” Ms. Lucy winks at her before turning back to me. “And I’ve got something that might help you too, Bailey. My grandmother’s special chamomile and lavender tea. Works wonders for frazzled nerves.”
The kindness in her voice nearly undoes me.
“That sounds nice,” I whisper, unable to muster more enthusiasm despite my gratitude.
“Well then, it’s settled. Y’all hop in and we’ll head up to the house. I’ve got them all ready for my special taste testers.”
“Let me just grab our shoes,” I say, trying to steady my voice. “Sophie, can you go find your sandals, honey? The pink ones by the door.”
She nods and races toward our tiny house, her excitement about pancakes already eclipsing the flower crown incident.
“We’ll be right back,” I say, following Sophie inside.
The cool air of our little home hits my flushed face as I step through the doorway. Sophie’s already sitting on the floor, wrestling with her sandals.
“Need help, baby?” I ask, kneeling beside her.
“I can do it,” she insists, fumbling with the buckle. “I’m a big girl.”
I smile despite everything. “Yes, you are.”
While she works on her shoes, I slip my feet into my worn flip flops and grab my purse from the hook by the door. I check inside quickly. Wallet, the small canister of pepper spray I bought at a gas station. The weight of it against my palm offers little comfort, but I keep it anyway.
My fingers brush against the folded papers tucked into the inner pocket. Sophie’s birth certificate, the remaining emergency cash. Everything we’d need if we had to run again.
“Ready, Mommy!” She announces, proudly displaying her successfully buckled sandals.
“Good job, sweetie.” I sling my purse over my shoulder, take a deep breath, and force a smile. “Let’s go try those pancakes.”
We climb into the vehicle, and I buckle us up, my body still heavy with the aftermath of adrenaline.
As we bump along the drive toward the house, Ms. Lucy glances at me. “Sometimes a good cup of tea and some quiet conversation is just what the doctor ordered. No pressure, though. We can just eat pancakes and talk about the weather if that’s what you need today.”
The lump in my throat grows. This woman barely knows us, yet she offers exactly what I need, comfort without demands, kindness without expectations.
“Thank you,” I manage. “The tea sounds perfect.”
As soon as we step foot into her home the smell of fresh cinnamon and apple pancakes mixed with a faint smell of maple syrup makes my mouth water instantly.
Sophie walks into the kitchen with me and I pull out a chair at the long granite island, she carefully climbs up and arranges Mr. Hoppy on the countertop next to her. We both settle in to watch.
Ms. Lucy bustles around her kitchen with practiced efficiency, pulling plates from cabinets and silverware from drawers. The kitchen is warm and inviting, with copper pots hanging from a rack above the island and herbs growing in small pots along the windowsill.
“Here we go,” she announces, sliding a plate in front of Sophie. “One official taste tester portion.”
Sophie’s eyes widen at the stack of golden pancakes, steam still rising from them. They’re perfectly round and impossibly fluffy, with thin apple slices peeking out between the layers. A small pitcher of amber syrup sits beside the plate.
“These are for me?” Sophie whispers, suddenly shy but unable to hide her excitement.
“That’s right, darlin’. And I need your honest opinion.” Ms. Lucy taps the side of her nose. “No sugarcoating, even if there is plenty of sugar in that syrup.”
Sophie giggles, looking to me for permission before picking up her fork.
Ms. Lucy places another stack in front of me, then turns to grab a delicate teapot from the stove. The tea she pours into my mug is a pale golden color, fragrant with herbs.
“Here you go, dear,” she says, sliding the mug closer. “My grandmother swore by this blend. Said it could calm even the most troubled heart.”
I wrap my hands around the warm ceramic, inhaling the soothing scent. “Thank you.”
Sophie takes her first bite and her eyes light up. “Mmm! It’s like… like eating a cloud with apples in it!”
Ms. Lucy laughs, delighted. “That might be the finest review I’ve ever received.”
I take a sip of tea, feeling its warmth spread through me, then take a bite of pancake. The flavors melt on my tongue—butter, cinnamon, tender apples, and something else I can’t quite place.
“These are delicious. What makes them so fluffy?” I ask.
“That’s the secret.” She winks. “Vanilla cake batter.” She says mischievously.
My eyes grow wide. “Really?”
I would have never guessed that.
We eat in comfortable silence for a moment. The tea is working its magic, steadying my nerves. I gather my courage.
“Ms. Lucy, I was wondering… does the town have a library or maybe a flower shop? I’ve been thinking it might be a good idea to look for work, at least part-time.”
Her eyes crinkle with approval and she turns to look at me.
“You know what they say, the best time to plant a tree was twenty years ago, the second-best time is now. Same goes for putting down roots.” She heads to the sink and starts washing her hands. “As it so happens, Magnolia Blooms, that’s our local flower shop, is looking for help. Owner’s an old friend of mine. I could give her a call if you’d like.”
My heart leaps. “That would be wonderful. Thank you.”
She beams drying her hands, already reaching for her phone. “While y’all finish those up, let me give Mary Beth a quick call.”
As she steps into the other room, I watch Sophie happily demolish her pancakes, Mr. Hoppy, now propped up beside her plate like he’s joining us for breakfast. The rising sun streams through the dining room windows where Ms. Lucy is leaning against the table, catching the silver in her hair as she talks animatedly on the phone.
I’m still trying to process her words when she bustles back into the kitchen, flour dusted apron swaying with her movement. Her face is lit up with that knowing smile I’m starting to recognize.
“Well, honey, looks like you’ve got yourself a job!” She dives her hands into the flour container and measures some out. “Mary Beth’s just tickled to have some help, especially someone who appreciates flowers as much as she does.” She wipes her hands on her apron, leaving more flour streaks. “She said you can head over there anytime today to talk details.”
My fork freezes halfway to my mouth.
“Today? Like right now?” My anxiety kicks in. “But Sophie—”
“Oh, honey.” Ms. Lucy waves away my concern. “I wouldn’t expect you to rush off this minute. Just sometime today when you’re ready.”
I set my fork down, appetite suddenly gone. A job at a flower shop sounds perfect, exactly what I’d want. But leaving Sophie, even for an hour…
“I don’t know if I can…” My voice trails off.
Ms. Lucy sits across from me, her weathered hands folding over mine and I tense at the sudden contact. “Bailey, I understand your hesitation. Truly I do.”
“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” I whisper, glancing at Sophie who’s now decorating Mr. Hoppy with tiny bits of pancake. “It’s just—”
“You’ve been through something that’s made it hard to trust anyone.” Her voice is gentle but matter-of-fact. “That’s not something to apologize for.”
I nod, my throat already tightening.
“But sometimes, taking one small step leads to the next. And the next.” She squeezes my hand. “I’ll keep Sophie right here. We’ll make more pancakes, maybe add some chocolate chips this time. You’ll be gone an hour, tops.”
Sophie’s head snaps up at the mention of her name. “Where’s Mommy going?”
I turn toward her. “Just to talk to someone about a job, baby. With flowers.”
Her bottom lip immediately trembles. “No! Don’t go!” She scrambles off her chair and flings herself against my legs. “Don’t leave me.”
My heart shatters. I slide off my chair, pulling her into my arms. “Oh, sweetie—”
“I wanna go with you.” Tears spill down her cheeks. “Please, Mommy.”
Ms. Lucy crouches beside us, her knees cracking slightly. “Miss Sophie, I sure could use a special helper for my next batch of pancakes. I’m thinking chocolate chip this time, but I need an expert to make sure I get the recipe just right.”
Sophie hiccups, still clinging to me. “But—”
“And when your momma gets back, we can show her our masterpieces. Maybe even make some pancake art. Have you ever made a pancake shaped like a bunny?”
Sophie shakes her head, her sobs quieting. “Like… like Mr. Hoppy?”
“Exactly like Mr. Hoppy. But I need a brave helper. Think you could be brave for just a little while?”
Sophie looks up at me, her lashes wet with tears. “You’ll come back?”
“I promise. So fast you won’t even have time to miss me.” I smooth her hair back. “And then you can tell me all about your pancake adventures.”
She considers this, then gives a small nod. “Okay.”
I wrap my arms around Sophie, breathing in the sweet scent of her. She hugs me back fiercely, her little arms tight around my neck.
“I’ll be back before you know it, baby girl,” I whisper against her ear. “You be good for Ms. Lucy, okay?”
She nods against my shoulder. “I’ll make you a bunny pancake, Mommy.”
“I can’t wait to see it.” I kiss her forehead and force myself to stand up.
“I promise we’ll be just fine.”
“Thank you,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. “For everything.”
“Mary Beth’s expecting you.” She smiles warmly.
I nod, grabbing my purse from the counter and heading toward the door before my courage deserts me completely. My hand closes around the doorknob, and I pause, turning back for one last look.
Sophie stands in the kitchen doorway, Mr. Hoppy clutched to her chest. Ms. Lucy’s hand rests on her shoulder, both watching me. My throat tightens painfully, and I feel my smile falter. This is the first time we’ll be separated since we fled Oklahoma. What if something happens while I’m gone? What if Matt somehow—
Sophie gives me a small wave, and then, unexpectedly, a thumbs up—something I always do when I’m trying to encourage her to be brave. The simple gesture nearly breaks me.
“I love you, Soph,” I call, my voice catching.
“Love you more Mommy,” she replies, our familiar exchange.
I open the door and step outside, forcing myself to keep moving forward even as every instinct screams at me to run back and scoop her into my arms.
I sit in my car outside of Magnolia Blooms, my hands still gripping the steering wheel. The quaint storefront with its neon pink sign stating that ‘We’re Open.’ is on full display and the flowers that are out front are beautifully crafted in unique ways. I see some purple petunias in a basket that’s attached to the front of a yellow old school bicycle, and on the opposite side of the storefront I see a big wooden wire spindle that houses an array of colorful flowers and a sign that says ‘Fresh Local Flowers Inside.’ Seeing these flowers would normally make my heart sing but at the moment it’s doing the complete opposite and my stomach forms knots.
“You can do this. It’s flowers. You love flowers, Bailey,” I whisper to myself, catching my reflection in the rearview mirror. My eyes look wider than usual, filled with anxiety.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. The last time I had a job interview was before Sophie was born. Before Matt convinced me I didn’t need to work, that he’d take care of everything. Before I understood what that “care” would cost.
“It’s just an hour. Sophie is safe.” I repeat the words like a mantra, trying to believe them. Ms. Lucy is kind and genuine. Nothing like the predatory charm Matt had perfected.
My phone buzzes with a text. For a terrifying second, I think it might be him, that somehow he’s found us. But it’s from a number I’ve already programmed into my phone.
“Sophie wants you to know she’s already helped make three pancakes. One looks suspiciously like a blob with ears.”
A photo follows. Sophie standing on a kitchen chair, wooden spoon in hand, her face mesmerized as she watches batter sizzle in a pan. Something loosens in my chest.
Thank you I text back quickly then tuck my phone away.
“Okay, Bailey. One foot in front of the other.” I check my appearance one last time, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind my ear. “You know plants. You’ve got this.”
I step out of the car, the humidity immediately enveloping me. I push open the door to the floral shop the scent hits me immediately. A heavenly mix of fresh flowers, greenery, and what might be lavender candles burning somewhere in the small space. The shop is exactly what you’d expect from a small-town florist, charming and welcoming with buckets of fresh-cut flowers lining the walls. Sunlight streams through the large front windows making the space open and airy.
“Hello? You must be Bailey!” A woman emerges from behind a stunning display of wildflowers, her warm smile matching the colorful blooms perfectly. She has her dark brown hair pulled into a tight bun, silver strands mixed throughout, and she’s wearing a tan canvas apron that has the word ‘Local’ embroidered across the front with what looks like her logo in the “O” part of the word. “Lucy said you’d be stopping by. I’m so glad you’re here! I’m Mary Beth.”
“Thank you for having me,” I say. My fingers fidget with the strap of my purse as I try to focus on the flowers instead of my anxiety. “Your shop is beautiful.”
“Oh, this is nothing. You should see it during wedding season!” She guides me to a small table near the window, covered in order forms and what looks like a wedding magazine. The morning light makes the glass vase centerpiece sparkle, filled with fresh baby’s breath and delicate pink roses. “Now, let’s get the boring stuff out of the way first.” She hands me an employment form. “Just the usual, contact information, availability, that sort of thing.”
As I fill out the paperwork, she bustles around, straightening displays and sharing stories about the shop. Her enthusiasm is infectious as she works, adjusting stems and misting leaves with practiced care. “You know, I never thought I’d need help, been running this place solo for almost fifteen years. But here lately, between the regular deliveries and wedding consultations, I can barely keep up!” She comes back over to the small table and sits in the chair opposite me. “My dear husband, bless his heart. He helps when he can, but I like having this little piece of pie all to myself.”
“I’m happy to help however I can,” I say, pausing to check my phone. There’s a picture from Ms. Lucy showing Sophie with flour on her nose as she’s putting a chocolate chip in her mouth. The text reads: “Chocolate chip testing in progress!”
I tilt the screen, so Mary Beth can see the photo and she smiles. “Ms. Lucy. She’s something else, isn’t she? Your little girl is precious.”
“Thank you,” I beam with pride. “They’re apparently conducting very serious pancake experiments.”
“Well, you’re in good hands here while they do their testing,” she laughs, then starts walking me through the shop. “Most mornings, I’m here by seven, processing fresh deliveries and getting started on the day’s orders. We do everything from Get Well Soon bouquets to full wedding installations.”
She shows me the cool room where completed arrangements wait for delivery or for in person pick-ups. “This will be your domain for deliveries. Each arrangement has its delivery ticket attached, address, special instructions, that sort of thing.”
“Seems straightforward enough,” I nod, already imagining myself driving around town with a van full of flowers.
“Oh, and Bailey,” her eyes glint mischievously, “delivery is never just delivery in this town. You wouldn’t believe the stories these flowers could tell if they could talk! Just yesterday, I had Mrs. Jones send an ‘I’m Sorry’ bouquet to herself and signed it from her husband!”
I can’t help but laugh. “Really?”
“Oh, that’s nothing! This shop sees more drama than a soap opera some days. Between the secret admirers, the make-up flowers, and the passive-aggressive arrangements. Lord, the things people will put on these little cards!” She shakes her head, arranging a bunch of pink roses. “Sometimes I think we get more gossip through here than over at Judy’s Hair Haven, and that’s saying something!”
We laugh again and then she goes over the basics of processing orders with me, how to properly handle different types of flowers, and the computer system for logging deliveries. It all seems manageable, and I find myself getting more and more excited about the prospect of this new chapter in my life.
Matt never wanted me to leave the house let alone get a job. He would always tell me that a woman’s place is at home. Where she should cook, clean and wait on her husband hand and foot and make sure he wants for nothing. I always wanted to help contribute towards the bills, but that conversation was always shut down faster than a lightning strike, so eventually I stopped trying, stopped asking and just did my ‘duty’ as his wife.
“Now, don’t worry too much about the arranging part yet, that’ll come with time,” she assures me. “Though I have to say, the way you’ve been eyeing all these flowers, I bet you’ve got a natural talent for it.”
My phone buzzes again, another picture from Ms. Lucy, this time of Sophie carefully stacking a few pancakes.
“Our chef insists these are for Mommy’s special taste test later,” the message reads.
“You know,” Mary Beth says softly, noticing my smile, “we can work around yours and Sophie’s schedule. And we can always adjust if needed.”
I feel a wave of relief wash over me at Mary Beth’s words.
“Really? You wouldn’t mind if my schedule’s a bit… unpredictable at first?” I ask, hardly daring to believe my luck.
She smiles. “Honey, life with a little one is nothing but unpredictable. I raised three boys myself, each one wilder than the last.” She chuckles, adjusting a spray of baby’s breath in a nearby arrangement. “Until you find solid help with Sophie, you just come in when you can. Mornings, afternoons, couple hours here and there, we’ll make it work.”
I swallow hard, fighting back unexpected tears. “That’s incredibly generous.”
“It’s practical,” she corrects me with a wink. “I need help, and you need flexibility. Simple as that. Besides, Ms. Lucy mentioned you have quite the green thumb. That’s worth accommodating.”
My cheeks warm at the compliment. “I’ve always loved plants. My grandmother taught me everything she knew about gardening.”
“Well then, this is where you belong.” Mary Beth gestures around the shop. “And between you and me, I think Ms. Lucy’s taken quite a shine to your little girl. That woman’s been mothering this whole town for decades—she’ll be over the moon to spend time with Sophie while you’re here.”
My phone buzzes again. Another picture: Sophie with a smudge of batter on her chin, beaming proudly next to a stack of misshapen pancakes.
“See?” Mary Beth points at my screen. “Looks like your daughter’s already found herself a fan club.”
I laugh, feeling something tight in my chest begin to unravel. For the first time in years, I’m making decisions for myself, without calculating Matt’s reaction.
“So,” she says, placing one hand on her hip. “Do we have a deal? You help me keep this place running, and I’ll work around whatever schedule you and that precious little girl need?”.
“Deal.”
“Well then,” she claps her hands together, “welcome to Magnolia Blooms! Fair warning, before you know it, you’ll know more about this town’s goings-on than the local paper.”
And as if on cue, an elderly woman walks in, looking determined. “Mary Beth, I need your biggest, brightest arrangement. And the card should read ‘Congratulations on your retirement Billy… finally!’”
She turns and winks at me. “See what I mean? Never a dull moment!”