‘The old neighborhood.’ A turn of phrase that made him almost smile. It was well-meant, he knew, but there was very little about that part of town that could be considered neighborly, and anyone who could avoid it was smart to do so. Still, it had been a home when he’d nowhere else to turn, and the hardship of it paled in that light.
“I know Vincento’s.” He nodded. “I–” Lip caught between his teeth as he thought back. “Gamlen, right?” It had been a while since he’d heard that name, but he thought he remembered Merrill mentioning the man’s relation to Hawke. Honestly, he was almost certain the man had lifted his wallet once, but since there’d been little enough to steal he wasn’t about to mention such to Hawke.
“You’re right.” He said gently. “I think she’d like chrysanthemums.”
He twisted, looking around the shop as though he wasn’t certain exactly where those flowers waited.
“They’re my sister’s favorite.” He added, tilting his head to indicate she should follow him. “But you’ll have to help me pick the color.”
“Oh, you have a sister? What’s her name? Is she younger or older?” Hawke asked in quick succession, letting her curiosity trample over a twist in her heart as a picture of Bethany in her big bonnet and sunglasses, waving from the hatch of her plane to Columbia–six years ago–rippled past like a fish in a dark pool. Perhaps she and mother were together now. Trying on dresses.
She followed Iander’s gaze, not really knowing what she was looking for but eager to help in any way she could. When Hawke was being useful, she was at ease. “A color, a color…” she echoed. There were orange marigolds in a flat that reminded her immediately of Aveline; white daisies in another corner that brought Merrill to mind, anything tropical would fit Isabela…but Mother?
She closed her eyes and pictured the long, pinned up hair, trim waist, and the green eyes that could turn from calm meadows to tornado clouds the moment you set so much as one toe out of line. “Hmmm. Do they come in violet?“ Hawke asked after a moment. “She had this blouse, a present from father. I knocked a mug of hot chocolate all over it, once.”
“Thought she was going to hang me out with the laundry.”
Marian Hawke 