Page 88 of Shelter
This was new. And I liked it.
“Fine. If you want to see Flora, we’ll go see Flora.”
Chapter 20
COLE
After we’d decimated the last of our pancakes, and Ava and I cleaned up the kitchen together — something that literally had not happened in about five years — I told my sister goodnight, assuring her I’d try to get in touch with Flora.
But I didn’t immediately do that. Instead, I pulled out my phone and searched online for Elise Nicole Cormier. And surprise smacked me in the face. The first hit was her website. Elise Cormier Originals. The same one I’d created for her.
It looked nothing like the one I’d mocked up, of course. The themes, color scheme, and fonts were completely different. And a hell of a lot nicer. But the URL was the same. And the contact information listed the same email I’d set up for Elise years ago.
Wow.
The site featured page upon page of custom-designed jewelry. Delicate, stunning, intricate stuff. She seemed to prefer silvers and blues. Pewter and sterling. Aquamarines and sapphires. The site had pictures of earrings, bracelets, necklaces, rings.
But no pictures of Elise.
According to the homepage, customers could find the high-end items of Elise’s jewelry line at Buttross Jewelers in the South College Shopping Center, but the rest of her designs could be ordered online or sampled at the farmer’s market at the old horse farm on the first Saturday of the month.
More searching yielded her Instagram account, which was public, but the first twenty or so images were jewelry, sketches, or shots she’d hashtagged #inspiration. These ranged from wildflowers to wedding dresses, all striking, and I could see something stirring in each. Something delicate and elevated. Mysterious. Like she was.
But then I found her. A picture she’d posted about two months ago. It had clearly been taken at her farmer’s market booth. The morning must have been a cold one because her cheeks and nose were pink. She wore a form-fitting denim jacket, buttoned up tight, and a scarlet scarf at her throat. She’d painted her lips a matching shade, and the brilliant red made her amber eyes blaze.
A little girl, who couldn’t have been older than seven or eight, appeared to be Elise’s customer. The girl had her back to the camera, but she had all of Elise’s attention. Elise’s mouth was curved up in an stunning, open smile as she pointed to a ring on her table.
But that smile.
I couldn’t take my eyes off it. She looked happy. More than that.
She looked like happiness.
I stared, question after question lining up in my mind. Did she still sing off-key while she worked? Did she still love sweet tea? Did she still like to be read to? Did she have a boyfriend now who did that for her?
It was the last question that pushed me to open my contacts and tap Flora’s number.
* * *
The next morningfound Ava and me at Cafe 20.3 on the Bayou.
As it turned out, Flora’s number hadn’t changed in eight years — and after her initial fit of squeals and prayers of praise — we’d made plans to have breakfast at the new restaurant where she now worked.
As soon as we cleared the door of the small cafe, a loud whoop from the back was the only warning we got before Flora — heavier, grayer, and a little slower than I remembered — crushed us in her embrace.
“Oooohhh, my babies!” She pulled both of us into her generous bosom, planting a kiss on my cheek before landing one on the top of Ava’s head. “My babies.”
Growing up, I hadn’t tolerated Flora fussing over me. She’d manage to claim the rare hug, but most of the time she’d had to settle for patting me on the back or squeezing my bicep. Now, tucked into the comfort of her billowing arms, I cursed my younger self for being so stupid.
Flora’s hug eased me. As though weights I’d held on my shoulders for decades slipped to the earth.
Ava obviously sensed it too. I felt her beside me, her arms wrapped around both of us, holding tight. With a force that surprised me, my eyes stung, and I had to grit my teeth and clear my throat to keep control.
“Just look at the two of you,” Flora murmured, releasing us to brush her eyes with the back of her hands. Of course, Ava’s cheeks were streaked with tears, but she was smiling beneath them.
Flora grabbed us each by a hand and pulled us to the table closest to the kitchen. “Now, y’all sit right here. I’ll have to be in and out, but it’s usually quiet this early.”
Indeed, there were only three other customers, an older gentleman sipping coffee at the bar and two women in running attire at a table, drinking smoothies.
