Free Her Reason to Stay by Anna Adams Page B

her effort was not in vain.
    The woman at the podium waited with a smile for Daphne to take the first open chair. “My name is Camille,” she said, “and I’m an alcoholic.”
    “Hello, Camille,” Daphne said with the others.

CHAPTER SIX
    W HEN R AINA FINALLY picked up the receiver, Daphne almost sang with happiness.
    But then Raina spoke. “I’m sorry I’ve been so out of pocket. I’ve had a busy week, several meetings, some loose ends to tie up from my mother’s work.”
    The voice didn’t even sound like Raina’s, and Daphne could find no response. In the nine days since she’d seen her sister in the church, Raina had kept putting off the talk they needed to have. Her compassion seemed to have been instinctual, but premature.
    “Daphne?”
    “I’m digging for the courage to ask the obvious question.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “Maybe you don’t want to talk now that you know I’m an alcoholic.”
    “Where do you get these ideas?” Raina must be moving around. A door squeaked on her side of the conversation. “Give me a sec.” A few footsteps—heels on marble—and then she seemed to push through another squeaking door. “I sounded so stiff because I felt ridiculous saying I had engagements and commitments when you’re working at a florist’s.”
    “I assume you’re not being condescending?”
    “Of course not. But your situation is making me very aware of mine. I was sitting at a conference table yesterday, eating foie gras while we decided how many blankets a shelter down near your hotel needs.”
    “You waste money on foie gras while people are sleeping cold in the street?”
    “Don’t make me think about it any harder. I feel ridiculous talking about my stuff when you do real work.” She lifted her voice. “But I did tell them we needed to eat pb and j from now on, like the clients who use the facilities.”
    “Clients?”
    “Give me a little bit of understanding.”
    Daphne changed the subject. “When do you want to meet?”
    “Tonight would be great if you can make it.”
    They agreed on a time, and Daphne told herself to take Raina at her word and stop borrowing trouble. She shut her phone and entered the shop to find a crowd, several layers deep.
    Of course. It was the day before Mother’s Day. Miriam had put up posters and advertisements before Daphne had even started at the shop, but Daphne hadn’t connected Mother’s Day with Raina’s loss until now.
    On the day before her first Mother’s Day alone, she’d be celebrating by hearing the tale of her sister’s ugly past.
    Miriam hurtled out of the back, peering over the heads of three customers. “Remember how we discussed your working in the shop, too?”
    Daphne went to the counter, already reaching for an apron.
    The morning sped by. She had no talent for arranging, but she could gather the stems and blooms Miriam wanted. She sold most of the arrangements waiting in the refrigerators.
    “Talk about trial by fire,” Miriam said a little after noon as she took over a bow Daphne had manhandled into tattered ugliness. She tossed Daphne’s bow into the waste can and cut a new length of ribbon. “I’ll get this.” As someone else opened the door, she pressed her hands and the ribbon to her ears. “That bell is driving me crazy.”
    “I’ll see to them.” Wiping her hands on her apron, Daphne watched Miriam replace the mess she’d made.
    “Don’t worry.” Miriam glanced over her shoulder. “It’s a matter of practice.”
    Daphne went to the front, and almost collided with Patrick, studying the meager selection of bouquets still arranged in one of the refrigerators.
    Seeing him so unexpectedly was more than startling. “Hi,” she said, her voice squeaky because her throat had tightened. He was wearing a dark suit and a white shirt. Office uniform for billions of men every day. But Daphne had to fight to keep from sliding her hand over his chest, searching for the flat stomach muscles beneath