six to zigzag their way through the shop in order to avoid being smacked in the face by a leaf. Then there were the buckets of roses, the small potted plants, the ficus trees and the musty smell of damp soil. It was such a tangle of sensory delights that it took me a moment to identify what was wrong with the picture.
What was wrong was the employee on duty. Amelia stood frozen, partially hidden by a towering areca palm with leaves almost as wild and unruly as the mass of light brown curls that fell over her naturally tanned shoulders. “Sophie,” she said quietly.
“Amelia, what are you doing here?” I quickly closed the distance between us.
“I—I—I’m working,” she stammered and then held up a small watering can as if to prove her point.
“But you’re supposed to be in Nicaragua!”
“Yes, well, I didn’t…um…make it.”
“You and Kim canceled the trip?”
“Oh, Kim’s there. We just thought…or he decided…I decided…sometimes we all need to find ourselves, you know?”
“Wait, I’m confused. Is someone lost?”
“Kim is…sort of,” Amelia hedged. “Traveling alone can open your mind to what’s important,” she added. “It can help you see things differently and…and appreciate what you have a little more.”
“Okay, I get that.” I glanced around the shop. There was a bucket full of lilies that were such a deep red they were almost black. I wanted to ask Amelia a little bit more about Kim’s sudden decision to fly solo, though not because I was really all that interested. I just wanted to avoid telling Amelia the news.
“Did you come here for flowers?” Amelia asked. She shifted the watering can from hand to hand. Her eyes were even more red than Anatoly’s had been that morning.
“Amelia,” I said slowly, “something awful has happened.”
Amelia looked up suddenly, frightened. “Awful?” she breathed. “Have things gotten worse?”
“Worse? Worse than what?”
A small crease formed itself across Amelia’s forehead. “I…I don’t think I understand.”
“Well, that makes two of us. I have no idea what you’re referring to but what I’m talking about is Dena.” I took a deep breath for courage. “Amelia, Dena was shot last night.”
Amelia looked at me blankly for a moment, apparently absorbing nothing.
“I know it’s hard to take in but she is going to be okay.” Even as I said the words I knew how unconvincing they sounded. What was the definition of “okay,” anyway? Did you just have to live to be okay?
“You don’t know…” Amelia hesitated midsentence and stared down at the watering can as if it could give her some kind of clue as to what she should say next.
“No,” I said gently. “I don’t really know anything. But you know Dena. She’s going to want a full recovery and she always gets what she wants in the long run, right?”
Amelia kept her eyes down but I thought I saw her flinch. “Dena’s never had to wait for the long run.”
“Well, there you go!” I offered her a shaky smile. “She’ll be up and dancing in the clubs before the next major holiday.”
A large truck drove by, making the ground beneath our feet vibrate ever so slightly. Amelia looked up and I could see the tears forming. “What’s wrong with me?” she asked. “I should be at the hospital! What’s wrong with me?”
“Amelia, you didn’t know. No one expects you to be psychic.”
She shook her head fiercely as if not knowing was no excuse at all. “I’ll be there. I’ll get someone to come in and cover for me. Please tell Dena I’m coming, okay?”
“Yeah, sure…um…I actually came in because I wanted to bring her a bouquet. I know she likes the one that has these lilies in it.”
Amelia wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry for being like this,” she whispered as she stared at the dark red lilies.
“Come on, Amelia, you just found out that a friend of yours has been shot. There’s no way to handle that well.”
“I guess you’re right.” She took a deep steadying breath. “The bouquet you’re thinking of is the one we call Sense and Sensuality. I just finished putting one together for delivery. You can take it to her.”
“You were making one for someone else?” I asked.
Amelia didn’t seem to hear me. She wiped her eyes again and gestured for me to follow her to the counter at the back of the store. Next to the register was the bouquet, already prepared. “So I guess it’s a popular arrangement?” I asked.
“Not as much as you would think. It’s been months since I’ve put together one of these for anyone other than Dena…I mean, I did today, but before today months and months.”
“Really?” I asked. The bouquet was beautiful and the sinewy curves of the chosen flowers and leaves justified the name. “Who ordered the flowers today?” I asked as I fished out my wallet.
“What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?” Amelia snapped.
I stepped back and did a quick mental inventory of every word I had said in the past few minutes in hopes of finding the one that could have offended.
Amelia pressed her hand against her stomach, perhaps in an attempt to push the demon who had just spoken back inside her. “I think I’m a little on edge,” she offered. “I just didn’t expect this. How could any of us have expected this?”
I swallowed and glanced down at my watch. “It’s already eight. I should get to the hospital…find out what’s going on.”
Amelia handed me the bouquet. “On me. You will tell Dena I’m coming, right?”
“Yeah, of course. You know she really is going to be fine. Everything’s going to be fine.” I laid the flowers against my right arm, like the first runner-up in a beauty pageant after she’s accepted her lesser tiara. And like a runner-up, the smile I offered Amelia was forced.
CHAPTER 4
My ex-boyfriend is kind of like a cold sore. He’s always popping up at the most inconvenient times, he’s hideously embarrassing, and it takes forever to get rid of him.
–Fatally Yours
The person in the hospital bed was totally unfamiliar to me. I had expected to see a wounded Dena but this was a…a…girl. Not a woman. Without styling products, her thick, dark hair flopped carelessly around her face. There was no burgundy lipstick or meticulously applied eyeliner. Without the help of her powder foundation you could make out the beginnings of a pimple right on the bridge of her nose. The only things that hadn’t changed were her eyelashes. Naturally dark, curvy and thick, Dena had never seen a reason to coat them in mascara. Now, without the competition
