Samantha came around the corner from the kitchen at that point and stopped dead.

She looked at the two of us — me on one knee in a dress uniform in a service corridor, Hannah with her basket, petals on the floor — and my sister’s face went through about four things in a second and a half and landed somewhere I had never seen it.

“Where was she,” Samantha said.

“Laundry room.”

“Who put her there.”

I stood up.