It slipped out casually, the way harmless things often do. Carrie was bathing Maxine when their daughter touched the water and murmured something soft and garbled. “Flower,” Maxine said. Carrie laughed, then paused. “Flower?” “Flower tea.” Carrie looked up slowly. “Mom,” she called. “What kind of tea have you been giving her?”
Eleanor appeared in the doorway before the question had fully landed. “It’s our routine,” she said. “Maxine and I pick flowers from the garden together. She loves it. We make tea.” Mike’s stomach tightened. “Flowers?” he asked. “Are you sure they’re safe for a child to ingest?” Eleanor’s expression hardened. “It’s all natural. I’ve been drinking the same teas for years.