Free The Flower Arrangement by Ella Griffin Page A

not imagine anything lovelier.
    She melted butter in a copper pan and cut slices from a crusty loaf. She dipped them in the egg, drizzled them with maple syrup and dropped them into the sizzling butter.
    She had craved white bread when she was carrying Ryan, the yeastier the better. She remembered Michael driving to the all-night petrol station at 2 a.m. to buy her yesterday’s baguette. Bringing it to her in bed spread thickly with butter.
    For the first time in five years, she let herself imagine being pregnant again—the surge of life in her body, the thrill of it. Then she allowed herself to imagine the thing she had not been able to think about since Ryan died. Holding a healthy newborn baby in her arms. A small head tucked beneath her chin, the beat of a tiny heart against her ribs.
    â€œLara!” She opened her eyes and saw Michael standing in the doorway. She flushed.
    â€œYou’re up!” he said. He was wearing jeans, an old check shirt,scuffed Caterpillar boots. Lara felt a flutter of desire for him, a winter creature waking up from a long hibernation.
    â€œAnd you’re dressed!” She smiled at him. “I was going to bring you breakfast in bed.”
    â€œOh.” He looked surprised.
    She could still feel the baby she’d imagined against her heart. She was smiling as she walked over and put her arms around him. Her heart began to race.
    He blinked down at her warily.
    â€œI’ve been thinking,” she said softly, “that I’d like us to try for another baby.”
    She had expected his face to light up, but it clouded over.
    â€œI know we’ve left it late, but I thought we could give it six months, then if nothing happens we could think about IVF. I can take the money out of the shop.”
    He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I can’t do this to you.”
    â€œYou’re not doing anything to me. It’s my own decision.” She wished he would look at her. “Look, I fell apart after Ryan, but I promise I’ll be okay whatever happens this time. And this is our last chance. I don’t think I could stand it if we don’t at least try.”
    He pulled away from her and she saw that the color had drained from his face. He looked as if he might be about to pass out.
    She pulled out a chair. “Don’t move! I’ll get you some water.”
    He sank into the chair and took the glass she handed him, but he did not drink from it. She crouched down beside him, the nightdress pooling on the tiles around her, and looked up at him.
    â€œI’m sorry, I didn’t mean to spring this on you. I’ve been thinking about it for months. Dad’s illness”—she shook her head—“it’s kind of put things in perspective for me.” She fiddled with a button on Michael’s cuff. “I’m not sure whether he’s going to get better, and when I drove him to the hospital, he asked me to try again.”
    â€œHe asked me too.” Michael stared down at the glass. “A few weeks ago. I should have told you then.” He gave her an anguished look.
    â€œTold me what?” Her heart slowed down to a sickening thud. She hoped he wasn’t going to say that it was too late, that they were too old to think about being parents.
    â€œIt’s not working, Lara,” Michael said in a whisper. “This. You and me.”
    â€œI know.” She put one hand against his cheek. “I just realized that this morning. We’ve drifted apart, Michael. We shouldn’t have let it happen, but we can change that . . .”
    â€œWe can’t.” He shook his head sadly. “I can’t.”
    She stared at him, trying to understand. “What do you mean?”
    â€œI’m sorry!” he said, almost to himself.
    â€œFor what?”
    He closed his eyes and took a long, shuddering breath. “Lara”—his voice was so faint that she had to lean forward to