18. Conrad
CONRAD
Mother’s Day arrived bright and warm and painfully beautiful. The pleasant weather seemed rude somehow. It should have had the decency to rain.
Instead, sunlight spilled through the kitchen windows while Billie argued with Senator Crunch, and CJ tried to convince Bianca that tulips were part of a government conspiracy.
“They close at night,” CJ said seriously around a mouthful of bacon. “You know what else closes at night? Military installations.”
Bianca didn’t even look up from her tea. “You once got your finger stuck in a shampoo bottle.”
“That’s unrelated.”
“It speaks to credibility.”
I stood at the stove, pretending to focus on my coffee, when I was really watching Winnie smile. She’d come over early even though it was Sunday. She technically had the day off, but she’d insisted on joining us for the special celebration of Jade.
She’d dressed lighter than usual for the weather, though still entirely in black.
Long flowing skirt. Sleeves thin enough for spring.
I’d caught myself staring at her twice already that morning and had immediately redirected my attention toward safer subjects.
Like taxes. Or electrical fires. Anything less stimulating than the memory of her groan as I slid my finger inside of her.
We’d talked long after the kids went to bed on Friday night, attempting to plan the perfect day for the kids. And we were keeping the activities a secret. The anticipation was killing me.
The kids were suspicious from the moment they came downstairs.
“You’re being weird,” Bianca informed me.
“I’m literally pouring coffee.”
“You’re doing it secretively.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It is today,” CJ muttered.
Billie narrowed her eyes at Winnie. “You’re dressed like a fancy crow.”
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“I chose to receive it as one.”
I cleared my throat. “Finish breakfast. We’re leaving in twenty minutes.”
“Where are we going?” CJ asked immediately.
“It’s a surprise.”
“That means cemetery or enrichment activity.”
I scoffed. “Those are not the only two categories for surprises.”
Bianca pointed with her fork. “Last time you said surprise we ended up at a taxidermy museum.”
“And you loved every second of it.”
A laugh burst out of Winnie, and all three kids stopped talking to gape at her.
It still happened sometimes. Those little pauses where the children seemed almost startled by how much they liked her. Honestly, I understood the feeling.
We entered the botanical gardens through a wrought iron archway wrapped in climbing roses.
Billie gasped dramatically. “Oh my god.”
An elderly woman nearby looked scandalized.
Billie pointed toward a massive floral installation shaped like a butterfly. “That’s the biggest flower bug I’ve ever seen.”
The old woman relaxed.
Then Billie added, “Do you think it eats people?”
The old woman looked alarmed again.
Winnie bent slightly toward Billie. “Only the rude ones.”
“Good. I’ll be safe, then.”
The gardens stretched out around us in bursts of spring color. Tulips. Peonies. Dogwoods. Wisteria climbing over white trellises. Families wandered along winding paths while fountains splashed quietly nearby.
It was easy to see why Jade had loved this place.
I waited for the ache to slice through, but it didn’t. Lately, thinking about Jade hurt less than it used to.
CJ darted ahead toward a stone statue near the center path, but Bianca stopped at the first informational plaque like she’d discovered buried treasure.
“Papaver orientale,” she read aloud reverently. “Oriental poppy.”
Winnie walked beside her. “Used medicinally in several forms throughout history.”
Bianca’s head whipped around. “You know about this, too?”
“Plants and old remedies have been a hobby of mine for quite some time.”
Bianca launched into rapid-fire discussion. “Foxglove can regulate heart arrhythmias but also poison you if prepared improperly. Monkshood was historically used on arrows. Nightshade gets overrepresented in fiction because hemlock is actually more practical?—”
“Correct,” Winnie said with all the calmness in the world.
Bianca visibly lit up. She was engaged in a way I hadn’t seen much before Winnie entered our lives.
The two of them drifted over to a section of medicinal herbs.
Bianca pointed excitedly at different plants, and Winnie listened attentively.
It struck me again how she wasn’t like other adults, who would only nod absentmindedly.
She was really listening to my little girl, giving her the one-on-one intellectual conversation Bianca craved.
A few feet away, Billie was trying to climb onto a decorative boulder next to the koi pond.
“Billie,” I warned.
“I’m exploring.” She jumped from one slippery rock to the next.
“You’re going to fall.”
“Adventure requires risk.”
Winnie glanced over without missing a beat. “Most adventurers died terrible deaths.”
Billie paused, one foot in the air, ready to jump to the next rock. “Really?”
Winnie grimaced for effect. “Horrible.”
Billie hurriedly clambered down.
Managing the kids with Winnie was strangely seamless. I handled boundaries while she handled their curiosity. Neither of us undercut the other. It just… worked.
Ahead of us, a small crowd had gathered around CJ.
I heaved a sigh. “Oh no.”
CJ stood beside a marble sculpture of a woman holding a vase. “…and after the duke’s third wife vanished under mysterious circumstances,” he was saying gravely, “the grieving staff commissioned this monument in her honor.”
That elicited a few oohs.
“The vase symbolizes forbidden devotion,” CJ continued. “And the flowers represent betrayal.”
The woman gasped softly.
None of what he was saying was remotely true.
I opened my mouth to intervene when Winnie murmured, “Most historians ignore the deadly argument with the beekeeper.”
She kept a perfectly straight face.
One of the tourists frowned. “There was a beekeeper?”
“Oh yes,” Winnie said solemnly. “Quite the scandalous business.”
CJ looked up at her with open admiration.
I rubbed a hand over my face while trying not to laugh. “You’re encouraging him to lie to these poor people.”
Winnie laid her hand on my arm. “Oh, he’s just telling a story. And if these people believe an eleven-year-old’s tall tales without question, that’s on them.”
“But he’s lying to retirees.”
“He’s enchanting them.”
One of the tourists turned toward another couple nearby and whispered urgently: “There was apparently a murderous beekeeper.”
Fantastic. Absolutely fantastic.
I should’ve stopped it, but then I noticed my son had become animated and confident because Winnie gently nudged his imagination instead of correcting it into submission.
She never made the children feel as if they were too much—too strange, emotional, or loud. She just… met them where they were.
CJ caught sight of me finally and froze. I could see the panic creeping into his eyes. But then Winnie winked at him, and it faded.
“The beekeeper was never convicted,” CJ finished gravely.
The tourists thanked him. Actually thanked him.
One elderly woman insisted he take a five-dollar bill as a tip.
As they wandered away, discussing floral aristocratic murder conspiracies, I attempted to give Winnie a stern look. “You’re a menace.”
She looked genuinely pleased with herself. “And yet you’re smiling.”
I was.
Damn it.
We spent the next hour wandering through the gardens. At one point, Billie stopped dead in front of a carnivorous plant exhibit. “Could that eat kindergarteners?”
“No,” Bianca said immediately.
“A determined one could maybe eat a toe,” CJ offered.
I sighed. “CJ.”
Winnie crouched next to Billie. “Most carnivorous plants evolved to consume insects because the soil where they grow lacks nutrients.”
Billie frowned at the plant. “So, it’s just trying its best to survive?”
“Yes.”
Billie nodded solemnly. “I can respect that.”
Eventually, we reached a quieter section of the gardens lined with flowering trees and shaded benches.
Winnie paused beside a climbing rose display. “These would do beautifully near the new pavilion in the backyard,” she said.
Billie bounced up and down. “We could make a flower tunnel! Please, Daddy!”
CJ pointed dramatically. “A secret garden entrance.”
All three children began talking over one another about possible additions to the garden back home. I watched Winnie listening to them, completely relaxed.
A soft yellow petal had landed against the sleeve of her dress. Before I thought better of it, I brushed it away, my fingers lingering a beat too long.
Her eyes caught mine. The awareness between us had become impossible to ignore. Every glance seemed to last a heartbeat longer than it should. Every accidental touch noticed instead of instantly forgotten. Even the silence between us had begun to feel like its own kind of conversation.
I found excuses to stand beside her in the kitchen. She somehow always appeared when I walked outside after work. We’d even begun sharing little smiles over the children’s antics before either of us spoke. It all felt wonderfully effortless.
A breeze shifted through the trees, and sunlight moved across the pathway toward her. Automatically, I adjusted the angle of her parasol so the shade covered her more.
Winnie’s mouth curved. “You’ve really done a one-eighty, Mr. Lawrence.”
The words caught me off guard. Clearing my throat, I said, “Hopefully for the better.”
“You’re not checking your emails every six minutes.”
“I checked twice today.”
“An impressive recovery.”
I let my gaze drift to the kids. CJ had convinced Billie she needed to inspect every flower for fairy activity while Bianca followed behind correcting their botanical terminology with exhausted patience.
“They seem happier than they were on Friday,” Winnie said gently.
I smiled. “They really are happier. Less burdened.”
“You are too.”
She was right. “For a long time, I convinced myself that surviving was the same thing as living, especially on special holidays like today.”
Winnie didn’t interrupt. Didn’t rush to comfort me.