Truman leaves and takes life as I know it with him. All of these thoughts that I thought about Logan over the last couple of weeks are completely false. He was completing a mission for this country and died on his mission. And I caused it. If I hadn’t screamed, then none of those other men would’ve come in and killed him. The thought of that is devastating. I can’t breathe. I start to cry, and I can’t stop. Cynthia isn’t here to help me. Not that she could anyway.

I sob and cry and sob for hours until my tear ducts run dry. And when twilight falls and the moon comes out, I cry some more. It starts like a wave, a tsunami, that I have no power of stopping. I cry myself to sleep and when I wake up, the first thing I do is cry again. The very thought of Logan breaks me down. Suddenly everything in the apartment reminds me of him.

There’s a knock at the door. By the sound, I can tell that it’s Cynthia. I mumble something and she comes in.

“Oh my God, Avery, what’s wrong?” she asks. “What happened?”

I look at her and break down again. My eyes fill up with tears that I didn’t know I still had and then roll down my face. My eyes are so dry that the salt in my tears feels like someone’s cutting at my naked eyeball with razorblades.

She goes to the kitchen and comes back with something. I can’t see very well. When she presses something cold and soft to my face, I feel a little better. If only you could die from crying, I think to myself. Then I’d be dead already, and maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

After I calm down a bit, Cynthia asks me what’s wrong again. I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to lie. I can’t. Since Logan is dead, what does it matter anyway? So, I tell her. Everything. As it happened. She gasps and then doesn’t say anything for a while. From what I can make out of her face, she’s in shock.

“I can’t believe this,” she shakes her head.

“I know,” I mumble. My throat is dry, and I cough. She hands me a bottle of water. I gulp it all down before either of us says anything else.

“So, all this time, you thought that he was a killer? That must’ve been so scary for you.”

“That’s why I stayed at your place.”

“Oh wow, it all makes so much more sense now,” Cynthia says. “And now he’s dead?”

I nod. Something about her presence makes the pain not so acute anymore. I still feel it, but it’s no longer like a knife through my chest. Suddenly, I feel a little numb to it.

“And all this time, I was fearing him. Terrified of seeing him again,” I say calmly. “And now, all I want is just one more moment with him.”

Cynthia puts her arm around me, and we stay in bed for the rest of the day.

A couple of days later, things calm down a bit. The pain and the heartbreak aren’t as intense. It doesn’t mean that my world isn’t full of regrets of all the things that I should’ve done or could’ve done that night on the beach. It just means that I’m able to go back to work and cut flowers. I’m able to answer the phone and explain our services to customers. I’m able to arrange bouquets and even design a few new ones.

Being back in my shop puts me a little bit at ease. The splashes of greens and colors swaddle me as if I’m wrapped in a tight blanket. Everything’s going to be okay, eventually, they whisper to me. It might not be as you planned, it might be without Logan, but you will find love again.

Cynthia walks in with two coffees and a big smile. Her positivity has really played a big role in bringing me around these last few days. After I gained some control over my senses, I realized that I probably shouldn’t have told her about Logan working for the CIA, but Director Truman never did explicitly tell me that I’m supposed to keep his identity a secret. Besides, someone was supposed to contact me for a debrief over what happened, but no one has yet.

If they do contact me, then I’ll tell them that Cynthia knows, I decide, and that I didn’t think it was a big deal to tell her, because he’s dead.

The thought of Logan being dead sends shivers up my spine. Instead of breaking down, I bury my face in the daffodils that I’m holding in my hand and try to think of something else. Something more pleasant and not so hopeless.

The door to the shop opens.

“Well, hello, there!” the woman says. I can’t make out her face because she’s flooded with light from the outside, but I recognize that West Texas accent anywhere.

“Hi Dolly!” I say with a newfound pep. I’m not faking. I’m actually happy to see her.

Cynthia looks up as Dolly comes closer. She’s dressed in a white Chanel suit, which has undoubtedly been tailored to accentuate some of her most prominent features.

“Oh, wow, are you Dolly Monroe? The Dolly Monroe?”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Dolly extends her right hand. Cynthia’s eyes focus for a second on a ten-carat diamond ring. I nudge her out of her trance.

“It’s such a pleasure to meet you,” Cynthia says. Dolly smiles. “I’m not sure if you know, but I’m the one who got the gift certificate for your services for Avery.”

“Oh no, I had no idea. Well, isn’t that swell?” Dolly asks. “So, this is your shop? It’s very cozy in here.”

I smile. She’s being nice, but I know that cozy is just a euphemism for tiny. A bit too small, actually.

She walks around the shop as if she owns the place. Some people I’m sure find her arrogant and full of herself, but I love her confidence. I know that she’s coming from a good place.

“I love your designs,” she says, holding up one of my bouquets in front of her. “I wish the woman I hired to do my niece’s wedding had half the talent you have.”

“Thank you,” I say. “I really appreciate you saying that.”

“Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?” I ask. “We don’t make it here, but there’s a coffee shop right outside.”

“Oh no, there’s no need. I’m fine.”

She explores the shop a little more, carefully examining the flowers and the bouquets. I get the feeling that she isn’t just dropping by. I wait for her to talk about what actually brought her here.

“You have a beautiful place here, Avery,” Dolly finally says. “I’m going to get all of my flowers from you in the future.”

“Oh wow, thank you,” I say, but she continues before I even finish.

“But I’m also here to talk to you about something else.”

Here it goes. I take a deep breath. Logan.

“We are all wondering about Logan,” she says, carefully choosing each individual word.

“We?” I ask.

“Mainly, Liam, Kora and I. We haven’t heard from him for a while. Not since the wedding.”

I nod. I don’t know what to say.

“Have you heard from him? Kora said that you left the wedding without saying goodbye. Did something happen?”

Dolly’s face has an earnest, eager expression on her face. She isn’t accusing me of anything. She’s just interested in finding Logan.

“I thought he was just not staying in touch with me. But then Kora called and we realized that none of us have heard from him since the wedding. Not even Marilyn.”

“Who’s Marilyn?” Cynthia asks.

“His housekeeper.”

I nod. Take another deep breath. I had hoped that Director Truman would notify the family members, but I guess he didn’t bother. I don’t know what else to tell her, but the truth. I can’t just string her along, making her believe that everything’s fine when he’s really missing. And not just missing. Dead.

“I’m not sure if I should be telling you this,” I start. “But I think you deserve to know.”

I tell her everything.