Page 124 of Imperfect Arrangement

A voice message. Ray’s number, but Quill’s voice.

She spoke to me as if nothing had changed, her little voice bubbling through the phone. She told me about her day, asked about Captain Lick, and then, toward the end of the call, she said something cryptic, something she has whispered every single evening in her texts since I left.

“Willow, Dad and I are wishing for you, and we’ll keep wishing until you’re less scared. Just know we’re here, waiting for you.”

How does this little girl, with her infinite wisdom and her bright heart, know just how much those words would mean to me?

Every night, I reply to her voice texts, telling her about my day, making sure she knows that I’m still here, that I’m still listening. But I leave out the important parts—the hollow feeling in my chest when I wake up alone, the way my hands reach for something that isn't there, the way I miss her and her dad so much it physically hurts, and yet, I can’t bring myself to ask her about Raymond.

I can’t gather the courage to ask her if her dad listens to my voice texts or if he deletes them the second she’s finished playing them, wiping me from his life as easily as I had walked out of it.

“Did you see her…or him?”

“Yes,” Daisy replies to my question after a beat. “Quill wanted to see Penny, so Charles and I went to Ray’s for dinner last night.” She tilts her head, taking a pointed pause, watching me carefully. “He grilled under the pergola, the place where your footprints are still there, by the way.”

Damn.

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly tight. “How are they?”

What I really mean to ask is “Do they miss me?” But I’m not brave enough to say that out loud.

“They seemed…okay. Except that when we got there, Ray and Quill were both knee-deep in mud, helping Grandpa Will plant sunflowers in the garden.”

I blink. “Sunflowers?”

She nods. “And not just in the garden. Every vase in the house had them too, like they were stocking up for some future sunflower apocalypse.”

A strange pressure builds in my chest, so tight it steals my breath. Quill’s words echo in my head.Dad and I are wishing for you.Were they literally wishing…?

No. That doesn’t make sense.

But the thought won’t leave my head. The sunflowers, the way Quill keeps sending me those voice messages, the way Ray hasn’t told her to stop.

“Don’t you go to the Ferris wheel with sunflowers?” Elodie looks at me carefully.

My friends know that the Ferris wheel is my thinking spot. But I’ve never told them about the wishes. At first, it had seemed too silly to say out loud, like something a child clings to when the world feels too big. And then over time, it became a personal, sacred thing, something I’ve only shared with Quill.

“I wish upon them.”

“The sunflowers?” Vi’s eyes rise to a concerning degree.

I nod. “Dandelions seemed too fragile to carry the weight of my wishes and too dull to gift to the fairies.” My lips press together as I shake my head. “Sunflowers seemed…right.”

For a moment, there’s silence, and then, before I can brace for impact, Violet launches herself at me, wrapping me in a tight hug.

“I knew it! Iknewyou were more like me than you cared to admit, Wills.” She sounds like she’s won some long-standing argument.

An unexpected laugh bubbles up in my throat, and against everything, I find myself smiling.

“So, what is Raymond doing with the sunflowers?” Elodie’s question lands like a pebble dropped in still water, sending ripples of tension through me.

Every pair of eyes at the table shifts to Daisy, who hesitates, biting her bottom lip. “I overheard Ray telling his cousins that he’s been late for his morning calls because he has to be at the town center first.”

Elodie’s sharp inhale is the first crack in the silence. “You don’t think”—she pauses, her eyes wide with realization—“that he’s going to the Ferris wheel, is he?”

A hundred things race through my mind, but I can’t hold on to a single one. My grip tightens around my untouched margarita glass, my fingers cold and damp against the condensation.

Why would he be there?