Flowers in the Snow Read Free

words on the front of the envelope. “I miss you already, Alma.”

Chapter Two
     
    Staring at the letter for most of the night, Betty let her mind roll through the past. Reflecting on days gone by was usually a happy thing for her, but the part of her life this letter was forcing her to relive wasn’t quite as welcoming. It’s funny how the mind can be selective in its archiving of memories.
    The next day, with a little nudge in the right direction, she stepped into the rundown shed behind her house. It was the keeper of all things she’d tried to forget, so she normally avoided it at all costs. She began digging through boxes of photos and keepsakes. It wasn’t long before she was holding the only photograph of her with Alma. For most people who considered themselves lifelong friends, there were albums full of pictures. But this solitary frozen moment in time was the only photographic proof of their friendship.
    Brushing off the dust, Betty pushed her glasses up on her nose and inspected it. She hadn’t looked at the photo in ages. Shockingly, it was well-preserved, still holding most of its vibrant color. It had nestled for the last couple decades between the pages of an old book. Looking it over she sighed. There she was, standing with one of the best people she had ever known. Her arm was thrown over Alma’s shoulders as they laughed at some joke she couldn’t recall. There wasn’t a single physical thing similar about the two girls. Their features, their hair, the color of their skin: all polar opposites.
    The day the photo was snapped focused clearly in Betty’s mind as she sifted through the box for more things that might jump-start her memory.
    “Everyone’s settled on the porch and ready to listen,” Clay said in his naturally calming voice as he peeked his head in the shed. That’s why Betty fell in love with him—he sprinkled tranquility everywhere he went.
    As Betty stepped out of the shed with a box full of yesterdays in her arms, she took stock of the group that had gathered. Bobby was holding the monitor, allowing him to keep an ear out for the twins while they slept upstairs on Betty’s bed, and Jules was nursing the baby who was starting to fall asleep.
    Everyone was still bustling around as she joined them. Frankie was out in the yard, gathering more twigs for roasting marshmallows, and Betty took the opportunity to address one thing that had been weighing on her. “I’m not sure I want Frankie hearing all this. She still has this picture of the world being all perfect and shiny. I don’t want to take that away from her. There are some dark moments she may not be able to understand.”
    Jules thought for a moment about her daughter’s readiness before replying, “If it starts going that direction I’ll send her to bed or something. I know dribs and drabs of the stories from your childhood. I know it was no picnic. Frankie can learn from this, we all can. I want her here.”
    Betty nodded her head in reluctant agreement. One of the hardest things about being Grammy was stepping back and not butting in on every decision. Nine-year-old Frankie was just about two years younger than Betty had been when she met Alma. She’d always believed the best way to keep from reliving the past was to face it, so Frankie could at least face it here with her family.
    “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.” Betty took the hand Clay had extended to her and squeezed it tightly.
    All sorts of chairs were squished together so everyone could have a seat. Bobby and Piper settled onto the porch swing. Michael, Jules, and Frankie had three foldout camping chairs pushed together. Clay sat down in his rocking chair and held on to Betty’s hand as she sank into her own.
    “So we’re all covered in bug spray, we’ve popped popcorn, and we’re settled in for the evening. The floor is yours, Betty,” Michael said, tossing a blanket over Frankie’s legs. His sandy blond hair was now infiltrated by