“Well, aren’t those pretty,” she said when she saw the flowers in his lap. He nodded glumly. “Caitlyn picked ’em.” “By herself?” “Yep.” “Bless her heart.” His mother moved to the top of the steps. “Where is she?” she asked, surveying the empty yard. “I didn’t hear her come in the house.” The chair creaked as C.J. tipped it forward. He stared down at the flowers dangling between his knees and muttered, “I don’t know, she’s out there somewhere.” “By herself?” “Yep.” The chair creaked again as he leaned back in it and defiantly met his mother’s mildly disapproving look. “You think that’s a good idea?” He shrugged and scowled down at the wildflowers, noticing as he did that they were looking somewhat the worse for wear. He picked at a floppy daisy and his heart grew heavier. “Probably not. However, she definitely does not want me with her. She’s grieving,” he said, and took a long breath that didn’t do much to ease the tightness in his chest.
