“True.”
“I’d try not to worry about the police right now. You’ve done nothing wrong. It sounds like you may be transferring the anxiety you’ve been feeling onto your encounters with them.”
“All right.” Her advice gives me something I can actually latch on to, a life raft in dark, turbulent waters.
“How about your writing?”
“I was making a little progress, but the murder’s derailed me again.”
“Consider giving yourself a goal of writing just ten minutes a day at first. And remember to practice your breathing, Bryn. Do it whenever you feel the least bit stressed.”
I glance at the clock. Only three minutes left. I haven’t even had a chance to tell her about Guy.
“How are things with Guy?” she asks. She has a way of reading my mind. “Has he been helpful during this time?”
I let out a long sigh and rake my hands through my hair.
“Things have been . . . off.”
“In what way?”
“I can’t quite explain it. He was upset initially that the murder might create an issue with the donors who were at the dinner. And now he seems distant. I think the police interview wigged him out, too.”
“Why don’t we really focus on this next week. In the meantime, could you try asking Guy about it?”
“You mean why he seems distant?”
“Yes, but don’t put him on the spot. Ask him about his impressions of the police interview now that the dust has settled. See if you can get him to open up about it.”
Something else to latch on to. A plan.
Before signing off, she asks whether I’m still okay with the mild antidepressant I’m taking, and though I’m about as much fun as a fever blister these days, I say I want to stick with the same dose for now.
After the call, I’m better, less agitated. Maybe she’s right about the police. And I do need to talk to Guy. I’ve been tiptoeing around him, worried he’s annoyed with me for traipsing down to Eve’s office in the first place.
I notice, as I start to close my laptop, that I’ve accumulated a slew of emails in the past few days. I forward many of them to my assistant, asking her to handle as best she can, declining interview requests and assignments for guest blogs. It makes me feel as if life is hurtling by, leaving me behind. I want to engage again, I want to be the girl who captures the flag, but I still can’t summon the necessary energy.
There’s also an email from Barb responding to the one I sent her. Rather than meeting for lunch, she wants to know if I’d like to come by her florist shop today and have a glass of wine with her there. Four o’clock. Now that it seems likely that the police won’t be bothering the dinner guests, I feel less of an urgency to connect with her, but I decide to accept anyway. Sharing a drink with her not only will help take my mind off the murder, it will be doing something.
The ping from an arriving text startles me. I look down at my phone and see that it’s from Guy. I’ve forgotten to call him like he’d asked.
“In meeting but wanted to be sure you’re ok. Let me know. xo.”
I write back that I’m definitely better and look forward to seeing him tonight. Dr. G was right. I need to be more direct with Guy, the way I always used to be in our relationship. No more tiptoeing. It’s time to leave the murder behind and get back to our lives. And from there I can hopefully make strides to put the accident behind me, too.
Later, I take off for Barb’s florist shop. It’s not in the center of town but rather on the outskirts. I lose my way, despite the GPS instructions, and end up being ten minutes late.
“Don’t worry about it,” Barb says, greeting me at the door. “I’m just so glad you could drop by.” She’s dressed in a pink-and-yellow sleeveless Lilly Pulitzer dress, and her bright blond hair is pulled back with a pink velvet headband. She leads me into the store.
I’d been expecting a typical florist shop, stuffed with potted philodendrons and spider plants, and a glass-fronted refrigerator showcasing roses, daisies, and mums. But it’s more of a garden store, and absolutely charming. There are huge, lush bouquets of blue and purple hydrangeas and captivating jungle-like blooms I don’t even recognize. Lots of garden accessories, too, and offbeat items to put both outdoors and in: weathered urns, lanterns, bleached elk horns, mounted sea coral, and plaster copies of centuries-old Greek and Roman busts.
And the smell is intoxicating, both rich and exotic.
“This is absolutely gorgeous, Barb,” I tell her. “What inspired you to open this?” My guess is that her husband, the soft-spoken Jerry, footed the bill so she’d have something to occupy her time once the kids were in school.