On Thursday afternoon, Mother put a little phone stand on the garden table.
“Just the four of us,” she said. “Before anything else gets in the way.”
Nate had taken the afternoon off to help with the wedding. He was carrying boxes of clean glasses out to the table. Bea and I were sorting the taller flowers, trying to make a stem stand upright in a jar that wasn't tall enough.
“It's leaning,” Bea said.
“It's resting,” I said. “We've worked it hard.”
She took it from me and cut the bottom. It stood properly at once.
“Show-off.”
“Special training.”
Mother moved the phone stand until it faced the flowers. “We'll have the roses behind us. Lucy, you can stand beside Bea.”
I looked up.
“For the photograph.”
“Yes. Come on, darling.”
She sounded as if the week had been lovely so far and we only needed to record it.
Bea put the scissors down. “I've been meaning to ask you something.”
“About the picture?”
“About Saturday.”
Nate set his box on the paving and went back for another. Mother checked the phone screen.
“I want you to do the flowers for my dress,” Bea said. “And take the bouquet, like we said. Stand with me.”
I looked at her.
“You've changed your mind?”
“Yes.”
“Has Mum?”
“I've changed my mind.”
It was the better answer. I had wanted her to make her own choice.
“Thank you for asking,” I said.
Her face lifted a little.
“But I don't know about standing there yet.”
“Okay.”
“I'll still help with the flowers.”
She glanced down at the jar between us. “I'd like that.”
Mother came toward us carrying her phone. “Is something wrong?”
“I'm talking to Lucy,” Bea said.
“Well, do it in a moment. I've set the camera up.”
“I'm not taking a family photograph today,” I said.
Mother looked at me as if she'd misheard.
“Nobody's asked you to do anything difficult.”
“Then take one without me.”
“It's a family picture.”
I put a stem into the jar. It was too long. I took it out again.
“You haven't taken back what you said in the group,” I told her.
“We've discussed that.”
“You said people should forget it.”
“And they will.”
“I'm not standing beside you smiling to help them.”
She lowered the phone.
“You can be happy for your sister without approving of everything I do.”
“I am helping my sister.”
“You know that's not what I mean.”
I knew exactly what she meant. She wanted the picture to follow the other one. Lucy in the garden with the bride and groom, everyone smiling, no reason for anybody to ask whether Mother had been wrong.
Nate came back with the second box. He looked at Bea, then at me.
“Are we doing a picture?”
“No,” I said.
Mother pressed the phone against her palm. “Perhaps you could be sensible about this.”
I wasn't sure which of us she was addressing. I didn't wait to find out.
“I'll bring the shorter flowers,” I told Bea.
I went into the kitchen. The cool air felt good after the sun. I lifted the bucket from beside the sink and stayed there for a moment, letting its weight pull on my arms.
Through the window I could see Mother speaking to Bea. Bea shook her head. Nate picked up the box of glasses and carried it to the table, giving them both something else to look at.
He hadn't offered me any secret comfort. I was glad. Last night I had told him what I needed, and this was what it looked like.
I carried the bucket out.
Mother had moved the phone stand to the far end of the table. She was straightening a chair that was already straight.
“We can take one another time,” Bea said.
“You can take one now,” I said. “I'm only saying I won't be in it.”
Bea nodded. She didn't ask again.
I set the bucket down and gave her the shorter stems. We worked on the jars while Nate unwrapped glasses behind us. One had a chip in the rim. He held it up.
“Decorative vase?”
“Put it aside,” Bea said. “Mum will want to count them.”
“I'm already counting,” Mother said.
“Then that's one,” I said.
Bea's shoulders moved with a small laugh. Mother didn't look at me.
I went back to my jar. With the shorter flowers, it finally looked right. Bea turned it, moved one leaf and pushed it toward the finished ones.
“Good,” she said.
She had said the same thing when I made the buttonhole at the shop. I had liked it then. I liked it now.
Her spare key was in my pocket. I thought of the little room, the clear bed and the soft blanket. I could leave Mother's photograph alone and still have somewhere to come back to. Bea had given me that.
Mother shut the notebook.
“I need to speak to you about the payments,” she told Bea.
“Now?”
“Yes, now. Some things can't wait until everyone feels like dealing with them.”
Bea put down the scissors.
I started to carry the finished jars toward the kitchen. Mother held the door open, then followed Bea through it.
Nate brought the remaining glasses. I set the first two jars on the counter and turned back for the others.
I hadn't agreed to a photograph. The flowers were still getting done.