He fell back into a high-backed floral armchair, its springs groaning under him.

“She never put it in the ground, Arthur,” I said.

“She kept it right there in the house.”

Arthur looked down at the tiny dress.

He pressed his lips into a thin, bloodless line.

He didn’t say one word about trust funds or burst pipes.

“For fifty-five years I bought three-dollar carnations,” I said.

“I bought them from the grocery store clerk on my lunch break.