But anything involving patience or delicate hands?
Hopeless.
Whoever folded that flower had hands exactly like his.
At 10:42, I left the house.
The yellow dress rested over one arm.
The enormous bouquet filled the other.
The old train station was only a short distance away.
Passenger trains hadn’t stopped there for decades.
The town had eventually restored the building into a historical site, but I had avoided it my entire adult life.
I had not stepped inside since the morning James left.
Until now.
I stood beneath the
