Tea And Primroses
“Four days after Constance’s death, Sutton had a memorial at the house, arranged with Louise’s help, complete with food and drink and buses.
That afternoon, as the house filled with townspeople paying their respects, Sutton wandered out to Constance’s yard in an attempt to breathe. Since the news of her mother’s death, Sutton’s chest was tight and she felt breathless, like she’d run a hill. She stood for a moment at the bottom of the deck’s stairs, taking in the view and the air into her lun...gs. It was then she saw him.
A man, a stranger, stood at the fence, his long, delicate fingers holding a petal of one of the yellow primroses he must have plucked from the tidy row planted along the white fence. The sea and sky were a mass of blue beyond the fence.
How often her mother had stood in the exact same spot, her eyes fixed on the water. “The plots come to me in the sea breeze,” she’d said to Sutton more than once.MoreLess
That afternoon, as the house filled with townspeople paying their respects, Sutton wandered out to Constance’s yard in an attempt to breathe. Since the news of her mother’s death, Sutton’s chest was tight and she felt breathless, like she’d run a hill. She stood for a moment at the bottom of the deck’s stairs, taking in the view and the air into her lun...gs. It was then she saw him.
A man, a stranger, stood at the fence, his long, delicate fingers holding a petal of one of the yellow primroses he must have plucked from the tidy row planted along the white fence. The sea and sky were a mass of blue beyond the fence.
How often her mother had stood in the exact same spot, her eyes fixed on the water. “The plots come to me in the sea breeze,” she’d said to Sutton more than once.MoreLess
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