Mrs. Bell smiled the second she saw me. “White roses, Tom?”
“With lilies and lavender, Mrs. Bell. Same as always.”
She tied the bouquet with cream ribbon. I had given Evelyn those exact flowers the day I proposed, back when we still believed forever was something love alone could protect.
“You never miss a Sunday,” Mrs. Bell said softly.
“I made my wife a promise.”
Then I drove away with one of Evelyn’s favorite songs playing quietly through the Mustang’s speakers.
At the cemetery, I carried the flowers through light gray rain. Her headstone glistened wet, her name darker beneath the drizzle. I touched the carved letters with two fingers. Flowers
“I still miss you, darling. Every room in that house feels too quiet without you.”
I stayed longer than usual that morning. I told Evelyn Anna had been acting strange lately. That the gutters needed cleaning. And that I still couldn’t make decent coffee inside the blue mug she liked because somehow it always tasted worse in mine.
Then the rain grew heavier. I promised I’d return next Sunday and stopped for Anna’s favorite donuts on the drive home.
That was the last normal Sunday I would ever have.
