After the Sunflowers

I slipped my phone into my purse and looked at Adrian Hawthorne, who stood a few yards away.

He had lowered his head so Celeste Monroe could straighten his cuff links.

Her fingertips brushed his throat. He did not so much as flinch.

The graduates around them laughed and began to tease.

"Adrian takes such good care of his former sister-in-law. Anyone watching would think they were the couple."

Someone tossed out the joke.

Adrian did not correct him. He only smiled and clapped the speaker on the shoulder.

"Knock it off. Celeste has been sick. Of course I look after her."

I took two steps back and turned toward the campus gates.

The afternoon sun was painfully bright, but I never looked back.

Ten minutes after I got into a cab, Adrian called.

His voice was already accusing when I answered.

"Where did you go? We were supposed to celebrate at your favorite sushi place. Celeste and I have been waiting outside the school forever."

I watched the streets slide past the window.

"I'm tired. I went home."

Celeste coughed weakly in the background.

Adrian's voice softened at once, though every word cut into me.

"Clara, Celeste finalized her divorce today. This is her first time out since then. Couldn't you have stayed and supported her? You're usually so understanding. Why are you acting like this now?"

My fingers tightened around the phone.

"I said I was tired."

"Enough with the attitude. I'll bring home those maple cream pastries you like. Be good."

The cab radio was still running a special about college commitment season.

The host said choosing the right path mattered more than working hard on the wrong one, and that people should cut their losses when they realized they had made a mistake.

I smiled faintly.

Apparently, that advice was not only for eighteen-year-olds.

In the past, one quiet "be good" from Adrian had been enough to make me pretend nothing had happened.

Before the call even ended, Celeste coughed again and Adrian was already fussing over her.

"Celeste, it's windy out here. Let me get you back to the car. What do you want to eat? Sushi might be too cold. How about soup instead?"

I said nothing more and ended the call.

I returned to the penthouse where Adrian and I had lived together for three years.

After stepping inside, I changed my shoes and stared at the evidence of our shared life.

The bird-of-paradise plant on the balcony had come from a charity auction because I once said I liked it.

We had chosen the handwoven pillows on the sofa together at the Claybrook artisan market.

A framed photograph from our trip to Northstar Ridge to see the northern lights still hung on the wall.

Now every memory in the apartment looked ridiculous.

I went into the study and opened the bottom drawer.

Inside was my full-scholarship acceptance letter from Northlake Academy of Art and Design in Port Sterling, New Albion.

I had handled the paper so often that its edges were soft and wrinkled.

The desire to leave had taken root long ago, every time Adrian abandoned me to run to Celeste.

Beneath the letter was a business card from Julian Mercer.

He directed Northlake's visiting-artist program. His email had contained one sentence:

If you decide to leave, I can arrange a safe, private trip.

I ran my fingers over the sapphire bracelet on my wrist.

It had belonged to Adrian's mother. He had fastened it around my wrist years ago and said I was the only woman he would ever welcome into the Hawthorne family.

Yet for three years, all Celeste needed was a look, a sigh, or a cough, and Adrian would leave me without hesitation.

He always said she was vulnerable, that her health was poor, and that the Hawthornes owed her.

He simply forgot that I was his girlfriend.

I removed the bracelet and placed it in the exact center of the coffee table.