“I just want to know what would happen.”
“You know what would happen. It would cause you unimaginable pain, and you’d die within the hour. Those flowers are extraordinarily dangerous, and that’s why we went to such great lengths to get them off the island.”
There is nothing in her tone that sounds off, nothing that makes me think she’s being anything but honest, and I realize she doesn’t know the truth. She has been told the same thing I have since she was a child, the same lie, and she knows nothing different.
I grasp for some kind of explanation, something to make sense of a falsehood this far-reaching, but I come up short. My mother has always been a steady foundation for me, has always had the answers, but she doesn’t have this one, and it feels like the ground I stand on is beginning to shake.
I blink and bring myself back the present, realizing both my parents are still watching me. “Well, I certainly hope I never come into contact with one, then,” I say. I try to make the words sound light, but I don’t succeed.
“Your mother’s right, sweetheart,” Dad says. “You don’t have to worry about that. It’s a very recognizable flower, so even if one did appear, which is highly unlikely, you’d know it before you ever risked touching it.”
My dad believes in me, and it makes my heart break that he’s trying to comfort me, trying to assure me that the flower is nothing to worry about. My mother nods in agreement and rests her hand on my knee.
“Thanks, Dad,” I say, giving him a small smile.
“Are my girls ready for breakfast?” he asks, moving back into the kitchen.
“Absolutely.” I stand up and follow him, grabbing silverware and setting the table. We sit down and talk about the shop and my next date with Landon, and the flower doesn’t come up again.
But I still need the truth, need to understand how my mother, the most powerful person on this island, doesn’t know about moonflowers. I don’t want to be ignorant anymore, and I don’t care if the knowledge shatters my foundation, because it’s shattering anyway. I feel it as I clear the table and do the dishes and walk with my mother to the perfumery. I feel it the entire day, each step a little less stable than the last.
Ivy walks through the door of the perfumery moments before we close, handing me a leftover scone from the tea shop. It grounds me, this routine of ours, and I breathe just a little deeper.
“What kind did you make today?” I ask.
“Lavender and honey.” It’s one of my favorites, and I eagerly take a bite.
“Delicious,” I say. “How was your day?”
“Busy. Would you like to guess what our current bestseller is?”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am. Our Tandon blend is a huge hit.”
“Oh, it’s delicious,” my mother exclaims from behind the register. “Have you tried it yet, honey?”
“Tana won’t try it on principle,” Ivy says.
“And what principle is that?”
“Well, for starters, it’s called Tandon,” I say, and Ivy rolls her eyes.
“You’ll try it one day,” she says.
“I know.”
My mom turns off all the lights, and I flip the sign on the door to CLOSED. The three of us head out into the chilly evening air together, and Mom runs a quick errand while I walk home with Ivy. Our houses are only ten minutes apart, and it is so hard to think that one day soon, those ten minutes will stretch to the entire width of the Passage.
“My parents are going out tonight, so I thought I’d harvest some of our night flowers for a new blend I want to try. Do you want to join me?” Ivy asks.
Usually, I’d accept right away. I love harvesting at night, when the island sleeps and the moon is my guide. But Wolfe was right: I want to know the truth, and if my mother doesn’t have it, I need to find it somewhere else.
“I would, but I didn’t sleep well last night and have a headache I haven’t been able to shake all day. I think I’m going to go to bed early and try to sleep it off.” Even though both things are true, the words still turn my stomach sour. I’m not helping Ivy because I’m planning to search for answers in a place she would never approve of. And I can’t tell her that.
“I’m sorry you’re not feeling well,” she says, stopping at her front steps. “Let me know how you feel in the morning, and if your headache is still around, I’ll make you a pain reliever.”
“You’re too good to me,” I say, and she wraps her arm around my shoulders.