“No, I didn’t. I thought it was odd at the time it happened but I just dismissed it,”
I said.

“Why don’t you go by the flower shop on the way to work and ask her about it? She opens at 8am. When do you need to be in the office today?” Maggie asked, interrupted now by Layla’s morning “I want to be fed” fussing sounds from the baby’s room.

As Maggie threw off the covers and sleepily walked into the hall, I thought to myself, “Why not?”

Making my way to the coffee, I glanced at the old clock that Maggie had bought at the second-hand store. It was an Art Deco looking thing, probably from the 60s, kind of a garish white and orange plastic, and because she wanted a clock in the kitchen she brought it home one day. I thought it was the ugliest clock I’d ever seen but I didn’t offer an opinion. I remember hanging it by the stove, wondering how on earth she had found such a thing. The time was 7:30am.

Thinking I’d get to Mama’s shop at 8am, I wondered what she could possibly know about any of this.