Lyllian is hunched over the growing pile of dark earth and gravel when she hears the raspy squeal of the garage door. Michael makes his way carefully around the over turned flower pots and root ends and sidesteps the wheelbarrow leaning perilously to the side.

“Lyllian, love.” He squats down beside her and she lifts a gloved hand shielding her eyes from the blinding sun full-fledged over the front garden.  His eyes seem drawn. “I know you hate the news and tend to avoid it but I wanted to let you know the latest. “

Lyllian sits back on her heels squinting and sighing. “What now?” Although she knows, another bomb. Or explosion. Or a knifing. Or maybe bullets being sprayed across the world.

“London, the bridge. A van took out some people walking there and then there were some stabbings. Sounds like more terrorist attacks.” He stops talking and fingers the soft yellow petals of the African Daisies she was midway through planting. There is silence. What is she supposed to say to this?

“Ok. Thanks.” She turns back to her flowers wiping her gloved hand across her forehead leaving a streak of dirt. Michael brushes her loose hair behind her ear and leaves her. 

Her eyes are shut tight though the sun is behind her.  

Next Chapter: Lyllian, 4th Sunday in May 1994, Seattle