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A bright blue sky sparsely with clouds. Spruce trees oozing glittering amber sap through every nook and cranny of its resin-scented oak. The swaying of the branches and the soft rustling of the waxy needles in synch was like watching Mother Nature perform a choreographed dance, with assistance from the gentle caress of the breeze that glided down from the heavens.

Beams of sunshine skewer through whatever space they could squeeze through the cluster of trees. Birds chirped in a lively manner overhead. Talia felt her eyelids cracking open. She sat up and rubbed her neck, feeling the wild green grass tickle her feet. She felt refreshed and happy, like she could get up and dance around the maypole for a few hours.

It felt like such a waste to spend the first day of Midsummer's Eve taking a nap, but her body was still trying to adjust to Sweden's time zone. Jet lag would forever be her least favorite thing about traveling.

This summer, Talia and her parents had the opportunity to travel to Sweden— and lucky were they, because their trip overlapped the Midsummer Celebration! Talia read about European Midsummer traditions online and in books, but it was always her wish to actually experience one. And in Delarna, nonetheless!

Talia had no idea how euphoric it was to wash her face with morning dew or clad a maypole with leaves and flowers and raising it in an open spot. That was when the traditional ring-dances would ensue, to the delight of children and some of the adults. Here, people sang and danced until the sun said its goodbye. Talia heard the commotion and laughter from men, women, and children dressed in folk costumes to celebrate their respective region, holding hands and dancing or playing a variety of games. Some picked flowers in silence while walking backward to create flower wreaths.

Talia reached a hand up to touch her own flower crown, composed of the seven different flowers she chose from the field. Every activity so far was the best part of this trip.

"Taly!" A familiar voice called out from away.

Talia instinctively grinned. But of course, nothing was better than her best friend here on the trip as well. Her red-haired friend trudged up the flowery hill where Talia rested at, carrying a plastic cup in each hand. She wore a white T-shirt under overalls.

"Took you long enough," April said, offering Talia a cup.

"What is this?" Talia peered down into the fizzy pink drink.

"Lemonade. It's the only 'adult-friendly' drink they had. And don't worry— it's not spiked. I checked." April went ahead and took a huge sip.

Talia blinked. "You checked?"

"My dad's a cop, remember? Plus, he made me promise that I would. 'Watch your drinks', 'Never go anywhere alone'— y'know, that kind of thing. It's not like he's going overboard with his overprotectiveness this time."

"This time?"

April looked at her like the answer was obvious. "Well, we are tourists in a foreign country. That makes us vulnerable. In the news once, this journalist covered a story about 'The Mimic— a serial rapist whose M.O was gaining the trust of female college-aged tourists at bars, putting roofies in their drinks, and then raping them back in their hotel rooms."

"I am afraid to ask, but why 'The Mimic'?"

"This guy could mimic any accent— French, German, Canadian, you name it. It made it harder to track and capture him."

"Authorities caught the perpetrator, did they?"

"Oh, sure. After this sicko escalated to murder when he reached his fifteenth victim— who fought back, by the way. His DNA was left under the victim's fingernails. Europol caught him."

"My God, that is terrible. What the victims went through, at least."

"Mmm-hmm." April set down her cup. "Anyway, I didn't mean to 'kill' the sunny vibes with a depressing news story. I just think my dad is right to some degree: you can never be too careful."

Talia played with the hem of her white sundress. Who would plot something so evil if they masked their intentions with suave words and a kind smile? What drove them to commit such a thing?

April said nothing. She watched a group of women pick flowers in silence while walking backward to create flower wreaths. "Does that serve a purpose?" She nudged Talia and pointed to the scene.

"Many," Talia confirmed. "You know how many people believe flowers have the 'magic touch'? Well, Europeans believe the same thing when it comes to Midsummer. I have read that here in Sweden, at least, walking backward is supposed to maintain the magic. And if you talk during this process, it is said the magic shall be broken."

"And then those flowers are to be placed under a pillow at night so the picker will dream of their future spouse." Talia started to get riled up. "Did you know it's almost supposed to be like a love spell? It originated all the way back in Sweden's agrarian times when Midsummer celebrations were held to welcome summertime and the season of fertility and—"

"Uh, Taly?" April interjected. "You're doing the thing where you ramble about long but interesting facts."

Talia blushed. "Right. Sorry. You should know by now that I can get carried away."

"We're not in school and yet I'm still learning things." April pat Talia's shoulder. "So that's it, then? I put some flowers under my pillow and I'll find my Chad somewhere in my dreams, huh?"

"That is the common belief here."

"Sounds like a dream cut out for you, then. You always told me you dreamt about 'the one' several times and each time the description varied. I think you even took one of those personality tests that determined what kind of guy you'd date in the future!"

"I was in middle school!" Talia defended, but she could not help but laugh. "And I did not even know those kinds of tests existed, so I wanted to try it out! What did yours say, again? Blonde, good cook, messy hair, tattooed?"

"You can't trust everything a computer algorithm says."

"I actually can really see you dating a guy that fits that criteria."

"The results also said I would most likely have three kids with him," April snorted. "I'm sorry to say that I would like to remain intact until I visit the almighty Jesus Christ."

Talia passed a glance over to the maypole. Surely enough, a couple of male teenage Swedes joined the expanding circle of tourists and native residents dancing around the pole. They were really cute— blonde curly hair and tanned skin.

"Come on, get up." Talia grabbed April's hand and pulled her up. "We should dance with them."

April narrowed her eyes slightly. "I don't see a tattoo anywhere."

Talia chuckled, bopping April's nose slightly. "I am not going to set you up with anyone, I promise. We are just dancing the ring-dance."

"And if they want to chat with us?"

"Then we chat with them. We will be friendly. It could be great!"

"You sure they won't appear in your dreams tonight when you stick those flowers under your pillow?"

Talia grinned, shaking her head. She and April were about head over to the maypole when they heard someone call out for them. The girls instantly knew who it was.

"Imma!"

"Hey, Mrs. Elbaz."

Talia's mother wedged her way in with a bright smile. "Your father left me to talk to one of his colleagues visiting here as well," she said jokingly. She kissed the crown of Talia's forehead. "How was your nap?"

"It was much needed," Talia admitted. "I am going to take much more of those when we fly back to the states."

"Oh, I am sure you will." Her mother turned to April. "So, April, are you enjoying the trip so far?"

"It's more than what I expected, that's for sure," April said. "I just want to say thanks for letting me tag along; you shouldn't have."

"Nonsense! Any friend of my Talia is a friend of mine. She insisted so much until her father and I gave in."

April smiled what looked to be a little flushed. "Well, thank you again. I'm gonna go get some more lemonade. Wait for me, Taly?" She walked off in the opposite direction.

When April was out of earshot, Talia's mother took the opportunity to say, "I've noticed that April looked a little overwhelmed. This is her first trip, am I correct?"

Talia looked over to the line formed at the drinks table, April at the very back, circling her finger against the rim of her cup. "Yes." She paused to collect her thoughts for a moment. "Do you think I made her feel. . . uncomfortable? The meals, the fancy hotel. . . I do not want her to think I'm undermining her status."

"April has known you long enough to know you would never do that," her mother assured. "She knows you do not pay heed to any of those things."

"After we moved from Israel, she was the first friend I made who saw past my family name and gave me a chance. I do not want to lose that friendship."

"Talia, you know that you have such a kind heart that anyone would wish to be your friend— wealthy or not. You have to trust in her judgement as much as yours."

Talia sighed in affirmation. "Maybe you are right."

Her mother pursed her lips. She extended a hand towards Talia's head, touching her flower crown. "You have quite the diversity there," she complimented. "Beautiful."

"My first ever attempt," Talia said bashfully. "I never knew how fun it would be."

Her mother hummed. She slightly cocked her head. "Ah, you picked Dreamweaver," she observed.

"Dreamweaver?"

"This índigo poppy that you've picked. It's a species of the genus Papaver. Gets mixed up with the Himalayan blue poppy flower sometimes."

"I needed a flower of every color. I could only find that one in the shade of blue, however."

"Very potent, Dreamweaver," her mother murmured. "Even more so than its brothers and sisters— except the opium poppy."

Now Talia got a little interested. "How?"

"Many countries call it the sinister version of a 'forget-me-not', because once ingested, you will have no memory of anything in the span that it is in your system. Bees, birds, and chipmunks forget where they are or how to return to their homes."

"Can a flower really do that?"

"Flowers can do so much more than that. They are not to be underestimated."

"If Dreamweaver can do that to an animal. . . what would it be like for a human, then?"

Her mother squared her shoulder, her face almost hardened neutral. She looked at the flower like she was trying to analyze one of her complex equations. "Maybe one day we will find out."

***

HONK! HONK!

"Hey watch where you're going, will ya?!"

Talia gasped hearing the blaring honking and the screeching of the wheels. The driver poked his head out of the window, glaring and signaling her with his hand to get out of the way.

"Sorry, sorry," she mumbled, stepping onto the sidewalk. The driver cursed and shook his head, speeding off.

Talia wanted to hit her head against something. What was wrong with her? Did she not see the 'don't walk' symbol activated? Did she not see the stoplight turn green? Oh, she was pretty sure she saw it all right. . . but it was hard paying attention when crossing the street when her brain was somewhere else.

She had one again— another dream-memory. The vacation her family and April took to Sweden last summer. At first Talia could not understand why she dreamed about that memory in particular, but then she realized it had everything to do near the end: that indigo flower. That same flower in Sweden appeared in one of her early nightmares. What was it called? Nightweaver? No. Dreamweaver.

It did not seem like a coincidence for the same flower to show up in her dreams— one in a day-dream-turned-nightmare and the other in a beautiful memory. But why? It was just a flower. What possible significance could it have?

Talia looked up at the cotton-candy shaped clouds. She had actually never tasted cotton candy before in her life, but she imagined it tasted like biting into a cloud. Alas, she had to stop thinking about last's night memory. The last thing she needed was her being distracted enough to almost cause yet another accident.

She long trekked the path until she came before the decent-sized remodeled brick government building that stepped into view, with the sides painted baby blue, the narrow rectangular windows and glass double doors, and the metal railing lined around it. Talia subconsciously intertwined her necklace around her fingers. She didn't know why she felt so intimidated. It had nothing to do whatsoever with the building itself, but rather why she came here.

When she made her detective board a while back and browsed through the internet about reports and articles covering The Ricky Yao case, an ad appeared about this free grief and support group. Maybe it was a sign from the universe, but Talia visited their website and learned they held meetings twice a week for anyone willing to share their story. Talia considered it, but something held her back. Going to talk about what happened would be like accepting this was her life right now, that this was not like when her mother would travel overseas for her job and her arrival was to be expected days later.

If she were to be honest with herself now, Talia still felt like she was not ready to accept this tragedy as part of her life. And more so when she realized the possibility that her mother could have lied to her and her father about who she really was from the beginning.

She stacked up her courage, took a deep breath, and slogged her way inside. The lobby was vast with a receptionist's desk, a couple of waiting chairs, racks full of pamphlets and newspapers, and different advertisement posters for programs and non-profit organizations plastered on every wall. The floor faintly smelled like pinewood. The fluorescent lights cast a harsh glare over the room.

Talia strolled over to the lady working the front desk. The click-clacking from the computer's keyboard was an oddly satisfying sound to hear.

"Hello?" Talia said. The lady looked up from her screen. She removed her rhinestone cat-eye glasses and rubbed her eyes.

"Can I help you, ma'am?"

"I heard there was a grief group meeting today?"

The lady nodded. "Follow me."

And so Talia did. Each step felt like Talia was walking towards the house of doom. What would be everybody's reaction when they recognized her and then connect the dots? Nobody was supposed to 'feel' left out in a room talking about their grief, but she was not necessarily'wrong' for grieving someone regardless if they were criminal, right?

"Right over here." The lady showed her to the room. It was bigger than the other rooms in the hallway and had no door. The lady offered her a small smile before heading back to her station. Talia lingered at the doorway, peeking inside a little and saw people seated in their chairs in a circle.

Here goes nothing. Talia made her move. She got the attention of a middle-aged man in a buffalo-checked shirt, who stood up and greeted warmly, "Hello. Are you here for the group talk?"

Everyone simultaneously turned their heads to see who had walked in. They blinked and scrutinized her from head to toe. This kind of reaction made Talia feel awkward and uncomfortable.

"I guess I am," she said glumly.