The morning was dark and rainy, much like my mood. Sipping my black coffee, I stared out the window at the dreary day, pondering your death. The short seven years we had together weren’t nearly enough. I can still hear your laugh like it was the first day we met. Your wavy red hair cascaded down behind you as your head threw back in joyous laughter. You were wearing that blue dress I love. Loved…I guess. We buried you in it. It was the night we met that I knew I wanted your laugh to ring in my ears forever.

My phone startled me back into reality. It was only then I noticed the tears dripping off my chin. I placed my coffee on the table and wiped my face clean. My sister was calling again. Her voicemails were riddled with worry. I cut myself off from the world when you died, not by choice but because I didn’t know what else to do. The voicemail chimed—another missed call. I hadn’t picked it up in a while. I knew I had to get going to avoid her inevitable drop-in.

Before I knew it, I was driving your car. The radio was still on your favorite station. I hated that station. I used to beg you to change it, but now I listen as if your ghost is singing every word. Lost in a memory of lyrics pouring from your perfect pink lips, I lost my sense of speed. An impatient yellow Porche blared its horn as it sped up to cut me off. I slammed on the brakes, screeching to a halt. That ridiculous fake succulent still hangs from the rearview mirror, swinging back and forth. You used to talk to it as if it were a living thing. I couldn’t move. Back and forth, back and forth. Tears soaked my eyelashes before they formed new tracks on my unwashed face. This Sudan was the tomb of my affections. More cars sped around me, anxious to get where they were going. I sat there stuck. Frozen in memories of a lost love.

Another horn, and I realized I had stopped on Clarkson Street. Our first apartment was a few blocks west. We were so excited to move in together that we didn’t care how rundown the place was. You did everything you could to make it a more beautiful place. You painted walls, installed shelves, and hung pictures of our life together. You even potted plants and flowers to make it feel more like home. The planters were constantly disrespected and vandalized, but you never gave up. You just kept cleaning them and replanting. You loved Mother Earth. Your green thumb was just one way you continuously gave back. That was the moment I remembered! I remembered where we buried a secret.

I turned onto Clarkson and parked a block from our old complex so no one would see me. Creeping down the street like a thief, I snuck around the back of the complex. Under a dead bush near the back gate was a fake rock with a set of keys inside. It was still there! The gate key slid into the lock, and I was inside the complex. A few voices approached, so I shoved the keys into my pocket, quietly latched the gate, and hid behind the dumpster. The last time I was here, something awful happened. It was best not to be seen.

Once the voices passed, I was on the move. My anxiety spiraled as I thought about our buried secret. All I had to do was cross the courtyard without being seen in broad daylight. In the center of the square was a beautiful, thriving potted marigold plant surrounded by dead flowers and unkempt bushes. I remembered the day you planted it fondly. I couldn't believe it was still alive. You said we should take it with us, but we left so suddenly that night we both forgot. Shaking the distraction of the marigolds, I hid behind a brick column to survey the area. You didn’t come here for that, I told myself. Focus. Once I decided to cross the courtyard, I had to move fast. I could see the apartment door from where I was hiding. My heart was pounding in my throat as I worked up the courage to run towards the door. Without another second of hesitation, I ran.

My adrenaline was in full swing! Was I about to commit a felony? All I knew was I needed it back. Nothing could stop me. You can do this, I told myself. All I had to do was enter the apartment that wasn’t mine with a key that might not work, get to the private backyard, and dig up the roses. That was, of course, if no one was home. When I got to the apartment, I noticed something strange. The door was slightly ajar. Almost as if I was being invited in. Some grand gesture from the world letting me know I was supposed to be right where I was.

The door creaked as I slowly pushed it open. Stepping inside, not much had changed. The walls were still seafoam blue with oil marks where our memories used to hang. The shelves had gathered dust, as had the sconces. It appeared no one had lived there since we left without notice in the middle of the night all those years ago. How strange, I thought. I crept further into the apartment, peering into each room on my way to the backyard. Empty. The sliding back door was filthy, and there was a long crack through the glass that wasn’t there before. The backyard was unruly and overrun with weeds. The rose bush fell victim to the weeds and lack of care. Thankfully, it wasn’t the rose bush that I came for.

I began to dig with my hands. Deeper and deeper, cutting my hands on old thorns and rocks. It wasn’t there. I searched under the other dead flowers in a panic, digging and digging. Nothing was there! Perplexed, I sat back in the dirt. If it wasn’t there, did someone move it? Did somebody find out the truth? I had to get out of there fast! As I stood up to leave, somebody came through the front door. I scurried on the ground and hid along the wall under the window. They closed and locked the front door behind them.

“Hello?” He called out.

Frantically, I looked around for a way out without being seen. The fence was high, and the gate was in vulnerable sight. If I tried to climb it, he would see me.

“Olivia, was that you?” He waited for my response. “You’re not supposed to be here.” As he made his way deeper into the apartment, I heard the cock of a gun. He was getting close. As I pushed my body against the wall, I noticed a small, rusted digging fork half hidden by dirt. I picked it up and waited for my moment. Quietly, I crouched by the sliding glass door ready to strike. My breath was shaky, and my heart was racing. As he stepped through the door onto the deck, I plunged the digging fork into his foot and shoved him as hard as I could. A gunshot went off in a deafening blow next to my ear. The gun skidded across the deck as he screamed in agony. I couldn’t hear anything, but I saw his pain. RUN! I told myself.

I took off through the apartment. I unlocked the door and began to run. Another gunshot! Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the potted marigolds. I changed directions. Slowing only long enough to grab the planter, I returned to a sprint in no time. Another gunshot! That time, it hit the marigold pot. Dirt exploded everywhere. I dropped to the ground to pick up what was left. Half of the planter was still intact. You can do this, I told myself. I ran with the broken clay pot in my arms, the edges cutting my skin. Another gunshot! I cut across the courtyard and hid behind a brick column. The back gate was right in front of me. I took a deep breath and made a run for it. I blew through the gate and took off down the street. Another gunshot!

I ran around the corner to my car. I threw the broken marigold planter onto the passenger seat and sped off. I couldn’t believe I made it out of there. As I sped away, I saw him in the rearview mirror standing in the street. Another gunshot! He shattered the hatch window. When I turned the corner, there were several police cars with their sirens blaring heading towards the gunfire. I didn’t doubt that they would soon learn the truth and come to arrest me. I pulled into a vacant lot and parked behind shrubs and bushes. I badly needed medical attention. In the trunk I found a bottle of vodka, some rags, and a change of clothes. I poured the vodka over my wounds while I bit down on a rag. I wrapped them up as best I could and changed my clothes. I hid my hair under a hat and climbed back into the driver’s seat.

For a moment, I just sat there. How stupid could I have been? Returning to the scene of a crime to dig up evidence! Evidence of a crime you and I committed together. Evidence we disposed of. How stupid I felt. I was going to have to leave town. That was when I noticed a glimmer out of the corner of my eye—something shiny in the dirt covering my passenger seat. I reached over and pulled a heavy, silvery package from the soil and broken clay. I wiped off the dirt with one of the rags and opened it. I couldn’t believe my eyes! It was the murder weapon! Not just the murder weapon, there was an envelope. Inside was a handwritten note, in your handwriting, and a safety deposit box key. The note read:

My Dearest Olivia,

If you’re reading this, it means you decoded my messages. Take this key to the Ivory Western Bank. Tell them your name is Hannah Marie Goldstein. Bring a large duffle for the contents of the deposit box, then close the account. Try to answer as few questions as possible and get out of there. Further instructions are in the box.

With all my love,

Amy

PS Don’t let this gun out of your sight.

Messages? What messages? I racked my brain but came up short. When did she plant this in the marigolds? So many questions and so little time. Without wasting another breath, I drove to Ivory Western Bank.

The banker didn’t ask many questions. Instead, she seemed slightly bored with my request to close the account. She walked me into the back room, explained the rules, and left without saying another word. Inside the box were as follows: a passport and IDs for Hannah Marie Goldstein, several thousand in cash, a wig, another gun, ammo, and another note. As I opened the letter, a picture fell out onto the floor. It was Amy. She held a newspaper in one hand and a bouquet of marigolds in the other. The paper’s date was two days after her death. There was only one line in this note, and it read:

Follow the marigolds, my love.

It was then I knew exactly what to do.