I wasn’t there when my cousin Sebastian passed away. So the climax of my novel? He and Elise’s souls flying into each other’s arms? I just had to imagine it.
It wasn’t too hard to picture, though, the way they looked at his funeral — both smiling, fingers entwined. With a wink, Sebastian pointed to the flowers.
Had blossoms gotten switched? Here of all places? (How does that work with fresh flowers, come to think of it?) But no. Under a leaf, I found what he wanted me to find:
The screwdriver. This time, more than my gut said “keep it.”