Chapter 18 Hunter
HUNTER
The red carpet was chaos. Photographers shouted out to actors as they posed, turning this way and that. Publicists whispered instructions. Handlers herded people along like cattle through a chute. Fans lined the barriers on either side of the carpet, holding phones aloft, shouting names.
Tyler and I flanked Seraphina on both sides, almost pushing her forward.
“Don’t worry, they’re all focused on the actors,” Tyler said to his mother. “Just keep walking.”
“That’s right,” I said. “No big deal. We’ll be inside soon.”
Pepper Griffin, the lead in the film, stepped out of her car and the screaming doubled in volume.
She was escorted by her hunky husband, Stone Hickman.
He stood back, letting her do her thing.
And boy, did she know how to work it. Although tiny, she commanded the carpet like it had been invented for her purposes.
Her dark hair was parted on the side and slicked behind one ear, dangling diamond earrings sparkling.
She wore a red gown that flattered her slim figure and toned legs.
She posed, she waved, she blew kisses. The cameras loved her and she loved them right back.
She reminded me of Ivy in that way.
“Thank God,” Seraphina muttered beside me. “Everyone’s looking at her.”
We slipped forward in her wake, mostly unnoticed, but then Pepper turned, scanning the carpet behind her, and spotted us. Her face lit up.
“Seraphina.” She broke away from her handlers and came toward us, heels clicking, arms outstretched. “Darling, you look incredible. Are you having fun?”
Seraphina blinked, clearly not expecting this. “Thank you. This is a little frightening.”
“I know, but they’re all harmless.” She took Seraphina’s hand. “Come with me for a photo.”
Pepper dragged her back to the spotlight, calling out to the photographers that she was the writer of The Bellflower Girls. She and Seraphina wrapped their arms around each other, smiling for the camera.
Her husband joined Tyler and me, the three of us watching Seraphina and Pepper.
“Stone Hickman.” He held out his hand for each of us to shake. “Pepper’s my wife. She loves all this. As you can tell.”
I nodded, chuckling. “Seraphina does not love all this, but she’s hanging in there.”
A few people near the barrier held up paperback copies of The Bellflower Girls. Pepper noticed before Seraphina did.
“Oh, stop for a second,” Pepper said to the handler. “Seraphina needs to sign their books.”
Seraphina broke away to the barrier, signing books with a still-shaking hand, thanking people who told her how much her stories meant to them.
“This book got me through chemo treatments,” one woman said.
“Two miscarriages for me,” her friend said.
“Thank you for writing books about women like us,” another said.
Seraphina’s expression had changed. She no longer looked frightened. Instead, she seemed deeply touched by their comments.
“That’s wonderful to hear,” Seraphina said, her eyes shimmering. “Thank you for coming to see me.”
“We’ve been out of our minds with excitement,” the first woman said. “We weren’t sure if you’d be here.”
“You look beautiful,” one said.
A reporter with a microphone stepped into our path. “Ms. Sinclair, how does it feel to see your book on the big screen?”
“Surreal,” Seraphina said, smiling. “Absolutely surreal. It’s a dream come true.”
Our friends had already gone inside the theatre to find our section of seats. After Seraphina had signed all the books, we escaped into the lobby. Seraphina let out a breath. “That was unbelievable. My heart’s pounding. Did I say anything dumb? I think I blacked out.”
“You did great,” I said.
“Mom, those women loved your book enough to come here. That’s pretty amazing.” Tyler hugged his mother. “I’m proud of you.”
“I’m proud of you,” she said.
“I’m proud of both of you,” I said.
We were escorted to our seats, where our friends were waiting.
I sat on one side of Seraphina, with Tyler on her other. She reached for my hand as the lights dimmed. Her pulse thumped against my palm.
“I can’t believe this is really happening,” Seraphina said.
The Netflix logo appeared. Then the title card: The Bellflower Girls.
And for the next two hours, I watched Seraphina’s creation play before us.
The story followed the five Bellflower sisters in a small Alabama town called Honeysuckle Creek.
Pepper played Rose, the second oldest, who managed the flower shop and was raising two children on her own after a divorce.
She was sunny, warm—the emotional heart of the family—but beneath the brightness was a deep loneliness.
Eliza was the oldest, a writer, raising a teenage son alone.
She narrated the story, watching her sisters stumble toward happiness while convinced it wasn’t in the cards for her.
Violet was a former dancer whose career had ended when she’d had to adopt her deceased best friend’s baby.
Lily was the quietest sister. She’d found her husband cheating on her with a much younger woman.
Starting over, with her young daughter, she opened an interior design studio.
And then there was Dahlia. Sharp-tongued, fiercely independent, who ran an art gallery in town. Her husband had died, leaving her to raise her daughter without a father. She delivered lines that made the audience laugh—cutting observations, perfectly timed wit.
In the five-book series, the sisters had each had their own love story.
But the film script was not a romance. It was about family and sisterhood and powerful women.
Seraphina had mentioned that Netflix intended on making more films featuring each sister’s romance. If the first one did well, that is.
The settings in the film were eerily familiar. A neighborhood bar called The Boar; a small bookstore; one of the character’s garden bursting with flowers. And, obviously, the flower shop.
About midway through the film, Lily learns that her ex-husband is marrying his girlfriend and they’re going to have a baby.
The sisters find her crying on the floor of the flower shop.
They rally around her, much like Robbie’s penguins.
And that was the heart of the film. This was a story about women who supported one another through good and bad times, without judgment.
They all sat down on the floor next to Lily, letting her cry, holding her close. Not trying to fix anything but just reassuring her that she was loved. That she was a wonderful mother and sister. How proud their mother would have been of her for being so tough even when she was hurting.
“Listen here now,” Dahlia said. “Mama didn’t raise us to sit around crying. She taught us to get back up and take care of what needs taking care of. We’ve got kids who need us.”
“That’s right,” Rose said. “We’re all they’ve got in a big old cruel world.”
“They have all five of us,” Eliza said. “Aunties who would do anything for them.”
“We don’t need men,” Rose said. “Which is a good thing, because there ain’t one in sight worth a darn.”
“And we’ve got to be mothers and fathers,” Eliza said. “But we’re doing it. Every day we’re doing it.”
“Which means we’re all going to be all right,” Lily said. “Right?”
“Heck yeah, that’s what it means,” Dahlia said. “Now let’s get off this floor and put our big girl boots on and head to The Boar. They’ve got a live band, and we’re all going to dance, you hear me? And pretend, just for a night, that we know exactly what to do next.”
“Even if we’re not really sure?” Lily asked.
“But what about babysitters?” Eliza asked. “We’ll never find one for tonight.”
They all started laughing.
“So much for our big night out,” Rose said.
Dahlia got to her feet, offering her hand to Lily. “Okay, well, instead, we’ll order pizza and crank up the music and dance in Eliza’s kitchen with the kids.”
The last shot was the five of them in the kitchen, country music playing as they danced with the kids and one another. The camera drew away until it showed the scene from outside the kitchen window. Then, the screen went dark.
I looked down the row to see that all four of the women were crying, as was the one next to me.
For a moment, the theater was silent. Then the audience broke out in thunderous applause. There were cheers. A few women stood up and lifted their glass to the screen.
When the applause died down and people started to stand, we all remained where we were.
The ladies were looking at each other across the darkened theater, their love and devotion to one another as palpable as anything else in the theatre.
The Bellflower Girls wasn’t just a movie.
It was Seraphina’s love letter to her friends and their children.
“I wasn’t prepared to see us on the screen,” Esme said, wiping her eyes. “I mean, I was, but wow.”
“It’s … astonishing, really. So beautiful,” Lila said. “I’m just in awe.”
“Truly,” Delphine said. “And the film—the actors—the directing and adaptation were exquisite. Even though they told it in a different way than the books.”
“I don’t even know what to say. It was all so lovely and sad and joyful and everything,” Gillian said, then started crying again.
“I wrote those books when the kids were nine years old,” Seraphina said. “After we’d had a really hard year.”
“When I was left,” Lila said.
“And we lost Jon,” Delphine said.
“And I kicked Jeff out,” Esme said.
“And I’d gotten that terrible flu and had to close the studio for a month and wasn’t sure how I was going to pay all the bills,” Gillian said.
“I was heartsick over all of it,” Seraphina said. “The only thing I could think to do was write about us. About all of you. Your grit and strength. And how much we love one another. How full you’ve made my life.”