Brittany stood over me, fingers to her mouth, staring at the rose. My hands hovered above the box, unable to draw back, fearful to touch the flower lest it crumble away like the one in my dream.
Mom, myself, Brittany. We were the only ones who knew the significance of this gift. Other than my father.
I stared at the box, my vision blurring.
“Isn’t that a card?” Brittany whispered. “Underneath.”
Could this really be …? “He’s not supposed to even know who I am.”
“I know.”
Slowly my trembling fingers reached inside the box. I touched the soft velvet of the petals, heard the crinkle of cellophane as I reached beneath for the card and pulled it out.
Across the front in hand-printed letters: SHALEY. “Preston Floral” read the business name on the envelope.
I pressed my fingertips to the printed letters. Had my father written them? Was I now touching something he had touched?
Holding my breath, I slid my finger underneath the flap.
All the times I’d wished for my father, all the tears I’d shed. My daydreams never told the story this way. In my fanciful wishing he always showed up in the flesh, magically walking into my life as if he’d never left it. Never to leave again.
The envelope slit across the top. I reached inside for the card. It was folded over, white, with a calligraphy S on the front.
Throat tightening, I opened it.
Shaley,
I’m watching over you.
I read the words five times.
What was this? Why would my father write such a message?
Brittany leaned over to see, and I tilted the card toward her. She spoke the message aloud.
“You think that’s your dad?”
“I don’t know.”
She sat down on the bed. “Doesn’t it have to be? No one but your mom knows about the white rose.”
My fingers rubbed the smooth card. “Maybe it’s just a coincidence.”
“Some coincidence. I mean, just a white rose, maybe. But the green cellophane and a red ribbon — “
“Why wouldn’t he say so then? Why this vague message?” I swallowed. “I’m not even sure I like what it says.”
Brittany’s eyes lowered to the card. “I know. After what happened last night, it’s almost kind of … creepy.”
I stared at the rose. “If Mom saw this, she’d freak.”
“You going to tell her?”
I shook my head. “Not now. Tom’s death is upsetting enough. She’s interviewing this afternoon, and tomorrow we have to travel. Then she performs again tomorrow night. Why lay this on her?”
“But maybe she’d have some idea who sent it if it wasn’t your dad.”
“Oh, she’d insist it wasn’t him.” My voice edged. “He’s not supposed to know I exist, remember?”
Truth was, I didn’t want Mom to crush my hope. Even if the note did feel kind of creepy, it wasn’t meant to be, I told myself. Not at all. My father had sent it, and when he was ready, he’d tell me his name. He’d arrange to meet me.
Please, God.
“I need to find out about the person who brought this.”
I put the card down and walked over to the phone. Punched 0 for the front desk.
“Yes, Miss O’Connor.”
It was the woman who’d called me. I recognized her voice.
“Hi. I just wanted to ask about the person who left this rose for me. Did you see him?”
“A cab driver brought it.”
“A cab driver?”
Brittany twisted her mouth.
“Yes. He just said it was a delivery. He put it on the counter and left.”
My heart sank. “Oh. Okay. Thank you.”
I clicked off the line.
Disappointment rippled through me. The note could still be from my dad. But if so, he obviously didn’t want me to find him. Delivery by a cab driver. How impersonal could you get?
I glared at the phone, then pushed talk to dial outside the hotel for 4 – 1 – 1. “What’s the name of the florist, Brittany?”
She picked up the envelope. “Preston Floral.”
From the operator I got the number and punched it in. My pulse snagged as I listened to the line ring. Did I really want to find out who’d sent the rose? As long as I didn’t know, I could hope — “
“Good afternoon, Preston Floral.” A cheery woman’s voice.
“Hello. My name is Shaley O’Connor. I just received a beautiful white rose sent by cab from your shop. Could you tell me anything about the person who bought it from you?”
I glanced nervously at Brittany. She stood nearby, arms clutched, watching my face.
“Yes, Miss O’Connor. I’m glad you like the rose. But the purchaser didn’t come into the shop. It was ordered over the phone.”
My shoulders slumped. On the phone, I mouthed to Brittany. “Was it a man’s voice?”
“Yes, I took the order myself.”
“By credit card.”
“Then you must have a name for the card.”
“Oh, goodness, with all the orders we get, I couldn’t possibly remember. This is a big shop. Besides —”
“Can’t you look it up?”
“As I was about to say, we have a store policy against giving out that information.”
“Please. It’s really important.”
“I can’t, really.”
“But you have to. I need to know.”
“I’m sorry. I cannot break store policy.”
Heat flushed my cheeks. “Just this once can’t hurt.”
“Miss O’Connor.” Her voice firmed. “I cannot give you that information.”
I knew the tone. She thought I was being a brat just because of who I was. Shaley O’Connor thinks she can get anything she wants because she’s the spoiled rich daughter of a rock star. Normally I would have cared. Normally I would have bent over backward to be nice.
“Great. Thanks for nothing.” I punched off the line and slammed down the phone.
Anger and fear sloshed around inside me. I balled up my hands, tears biting my eyes.
“Shaley, I’m sorry,” Brittany said.
“Yeah, me too.” Pain over my father mixed with grief about Tom. What was happening in my life? Why all this stuff at once?
And if my father sent the rose, why would he want to torture me like this?
With a small cry I stalked to the bed, snatched up the card, and stuffed it back beneath the rose. I clamped on the box’s lid, threw the thing in my suitcase, and closed the top.
There. Now I didn’t have to look at it.
The phone rang. My head jerked toward it, all anger whisking into sodden hope. Was it the woman, changing her mind?
I picked up the phone, my hands jittery. “Hello?”
“Hi.” Bruce’s deep Lurch voice. “The car’s out front. You two ready?”
I let out a long breath. “Oh.” Shopping. I’d forgotten all about it. “Yeah.”
“All right. I’ll be at your door in thirty seconds.”