'Til Grits Do Us Part by Jennifer Rogers Spinola

mom.”
    â€œI was talking about the silent killer.” My words came out in a whisper. At exactly the same moment my eyes lit on the sleek shine of something tall and flute-shaped in a shadowy corner of the table, right next to the pepper grinder. A bottle of olive oil? A flask of balsamic vinegar?
    I carefully slid it between our plates. And found myself staring not at a white freesia bloom, but a vase topped with a full, fragrant, dark red rose.

Chapter 7
    W ho put this here?” I shoved the crystal vase away from me, practically knocking Adam’s plate in his lap.
    â€œWhy, what’s the problem?”
    â€œIt’s the same color rose.”
    â€œSame color as what?” Adam paled. “You mean like the bouquet that came on your birthday?”
    â€œDefinitely.” The beautiful square plates and white tablecloth blurred into a shadowy mess of lines, punctuated by a dark red splotch. “Jerry wouldn’t have ordered this, would he? He hates roses. Says the smell makes his allergies flare up—hence the practically odorless freesias and orchids and things.” I waved toward the other tables. “And not only that, it’s a red rose.”
    â€œRed?”
    â€œJerry’s color blind. Red flowers all look brown to him. He never buys anything red on purpose.”
    â€œOkay, but think with me here. He did it for you, Shiloh. It’s your birthday.” Adam diplomatically placed the vase back over to the side, against the wall. “I asked Jerry to set up a table for us, and he did. I’m sure it’s not what you’re thinking.”
    Before I could reply, Trinity appeared with the match, lighting the pair of slender white candles into flickering pulses of golden flame. I waited, all my theories about roses still on my tongue, as Trinity shook the match—and I stared into the twin glimmers of flame. So fragile. So easily extinguished. Like a life, suspended between two worlds.
    I breathed, and the candle on my right sputtered and went out, leaving a faint trail of smoke. And a hole of darkness, pricked with a single fading ember where the light had been.
    â€œThirsty? It’s been hot lately.” I looked up at the sound of Trinity’s voice. Her gold rings glistened in the candlelight as she struck another match, her slender, coffee-brown fingers moving as if in slow motion.
    â€œSure.” I pushed my glass forward. Glowing spots still hung behind my eyes like memories, draining slowly into darkness.
    â€œSo when are you going to Grandma’s again? She’s been asking about you. Says you haven’t been to dinner in a month, and she wants to help with your wedding plans. Whatever you need.” Trinity opened the bottle of sparkling apple juice, a wisp of mist trailed up like smoke.
    Before I could answer Trinity’s question, she winked. “Nice touch, Adam. I didn’t know you had such good taste in flowers.”
    â€œWhat?” Adam and I both jumped at the same time.
    â€œThe rose. It’s pretty.” Trinity’s nail polish sparkled as she passed a finger over the spicy-scented petals. “So fess up. Where’d you put my chrysanthemums?”
    â€œHuh?” I spun around in my chair to face Trinity. “What chrysanthemums? I didn’t see any.”
    â€œJerry asked me to set up the table.” She waved a hand in the direction of the kitchen. “ ‘A bouquet of chrysanthemums, even if the allergies kill me,’ he said. Where’d they go? I put them right in the middle of the table.”
    â€œChrysanthemums. I get it. This gorgeous Japanese setup.” I smoothed the bamboo placemat.
    â€œExactly. I think he wanted to make you feel at home. Japan-home.” Trinity turned and looked around the restaurant then shrugged. “Beats me where they went though. I’ll ask Jerry. Maybe he… Nah. Forget it.” She waved it away.
    â€œForget