The Art of Arranging Flowers (21 page)

W
ELL,
she's lost about ten pounds, but that didn't hurt her.” Dr. Cash is finishing up his exam of Clementine. She's completed the course of antibiotics and there are no more welts or swelling. She's mostly back to herself, albeit a smaller version.

“I still don't know what got into her, chasing that thing.” I am standing beside her as she sits on the table.

“Maybe she thought it was a cat,” he suggests.

“Maybe,” I say. That's about as good an explanation as any, I suppose. Clem does love to chase the cats.

“And what about you?”

I sense him looking at me, and for some odd reason I blush. “Oh, I'm fine,” I answer.

“No, I mean what were you doing chasing the porcupine? I never did figure out how you got all those quills in you.”

I shake my head. “Honestly, I don't remember. I think I tripped and fell on the thing, and then I carried this one all the way to the truck, so I don't know. Either they came out when I landed on it or I got them from her.” I motion toward Clem, who turns away. She's still embarrassed about the whole thing.

“What did they feel like?” he asks, and I can see Clem glance at me, happy she is no longer the center of attention, happy to have someone explain what it is to be punctured by hundreds of tiny needles.

I shrug. “I don't know. I didn't feel anything at first. Then, after a day, my whole body hurt.”

He nods, gives a sympathetic smile. He opens Clem's mouth to examine her throat and I see that he's wearing his wedding ring. I hadn't noticed this before, even though I had seen him at the weekend weddings with a woman who was both a little clingy and quite beautiful. I had thought she was a new lover. I see now she was his wife.

“The swelling is gone in her throat and tongue too. It doesn't appear to be inflamed anymore. I'd say she's back to normal.” He removes his hands from Clem's snout and leans in to touch her nose to nose. It's sweet. He takes the medical chart that is behind my dog and starts to write some notes. Clementine, happy to hear the news that she is fine, settles down on the table.

“They were both nice weddings,” he says. “This past weekend,” he adds, explaining, as if I weren't paying attention.

“Yes,” I respond.

“The flowers were beautiful,” he adds.

I nod, even though I realize he can't see me because he has his head down.

Clementine is watching me. I give her my
What?
look, and she just sighs and turns away.

“I didn't know Dr. Buckley was ordained. He officiates with great professionalism.”

“Yeah, I guess we're the only town in Washington where the veterinarian is licensed to wed. I heard he used to run a special where he'd neuter your dog and marry you at a twenty percent discount.”

Clementine shakes her head. I know it was lame.

“Maybe I should get ordained too,” he says, and looks up with a smile, and man, he is beautiful. “I'm a sucker for weddings.”

“Yeah, I've heard marriage can be a good thing.” And I can't help myself, but I glance down at his left hand and he knows exactly what I'm looking at.

He stretches out his fingers. “My ex-wife called a couple of months ago. She wants to try again,” he says, explaining the ring, his date over the weekend.

Suddenly, I want to finish up this appointment as quickly as possible. I just nod and shift my weight from side to side. Could I look any more awkward?

“I'm sorry. You don't need to hear any of this.”

I shake my head, trying to dismiss his need for an apology. “It's quite all right,” I say. “I hope things will work out for you.”

I keep waiting for him to finish up and take Clementine off the table. I would do it myself, but she hates it when I try to lift her. I was surprised that she let me carry her after the porcupine attack, but now that I think about it, she didn't have a lot of say about that. Besides, I think she was in shock and couldn't really stop me.

“I thought we deserved another shot.”

I'm thinking,
Okay, okay . . . call Dr. Buckley and talk to him. He's ordained; he was married. Why are you telling me this?

“It's just . . .”

And suddenly, my prayers are answered. My cell phone rings.

“Oh, excuse me,” I say, and pull my phone out of my coat pocket. I glance at the number before I answer.

“Hey, Nora.” I am very cheerful.

“What's wrong with you?” she asks.

“I don't know what you mean,” I say.

“You sound weird. Are you being carjacked?”

“No, no, no . . .” I realize I do sound a bit too enthusiastic and try to tone it down just a bit. “What do you need?”

There's a pause on the other end. She's trying to decide if there's something wrong and if I'm talking in some code. I know her far too well.

“I was going to see if you wanted me to wait until you got back or if it was all right to go ahead and close up.”

I left the shop a couple of hours ago to make deliveries and didn't mention this appointment. I knew if I did, she'd make me go home and change clothes. She thought I was only going to the nursing home to drop off a few single roses in bud vases for the monthly birthdays; take a plant, a small dish garden variety with dieffenbachia, dracaena sanderiana, variegated ivy, palm, and green philodendron to James Harvey, who was in the hospital recovering from gall bladder surgery; and a large vase of blue hydrangea, crème roses, graceful white oriental lilies, a white disbud mum, purple statice, and lavender limonium to Trina Earl, sent by her sister in Dallas, who just wanted her to know she was thinking of her. I told Jimmy I would make the deliveries because I needed to run a few personal errands. I hadn't told either of them what time I would be finished.

“Yes, yes, go ahead and lock up. I'm on my way back but you don't need to wait. I'll be there in just a few minutes.” My voice is pitched a little too high. Even Clementine seems bothered by my tone. She is staring at me with concern.

I smile and make a goofy gesture, pretending that I am just so very busy, all for the benefit of Dr. Cash.

“Okay, then, I'll hurry on down there.”

“If I'm going to lock up, you don't have to hurry on down here.”

“That's right. I'll be right there.”

“Are you on crack?”

“No, no, not today. Okay, then I'll see you tomorrow. Bye-bye now.”

“If you're being carjacked, start counting. I'll hang up and call 911.”

There's a pause.

“Are you going to start counting?” she asks.

“Nope. I am just fine and dandy and I will see you tomorrow.” And I hang up before she can ask me anything else.

“Everything okay?” Dr. Cash wants to know.

“Just fine. But I guess we need to be heading out of here. You must be wanting to get home too.” And I wish I had chosen something else to say. This offered him a perfect opportunity to tell me more about his wife, who is probably waiting there for him. And frankly, I don't want to hear any of that.

I pick up Clementine, who grunts, and set her on the floor before Dr. Cash has a chance to respond or help. I click on her leash and give him a big smile.

He seems surprised. “Uh, okay.” And he reaches down, gives Clementine a good pat on the head. “You stay away from those spiky cats.”

I open the door and we walk out. The lobby is empty as I realize that I must be his last appointment of the day.

“Shall I pay you now?” I ask, even as I am still walking. “Or you can just use my card. I'm sure it's on file.” I'm almost at the front door.

“I'll just bill you,” he replies, stopping at the reception desk, and he says something else but I am already in the parking lot, waving good-bye.

“Just get in the van and don't say a word,” I tell Clementine, who looks at me like I am the craziest human in all of the Pacific Northwest.

W
ELL,
good for him; any marriage is worth a second try.”

I came over to Dan's house because he wanted to show me something. I haven't seen him since Jenny's wedding, where he took the role of her father, escorting her to the altar to stand next to Justin. He gave the blessing of the community since she refused to be “given away” and because she thinks of Creekside as her family now. She asked him to represent this little town, offer the blessing of the people, and walk her down the aisle.

“I guess,” I say.

We are in his den. He's fixed us martinis and even made Clementine a special chicken broth cocktail that she's drinking from a margarita glass. There's classical music playing on his stereo. Mozart, Symphony no. 41. It's from 1788. I know this because he showed me the CD when I came in.

It's nice being with Dan. I feel comfortable and at ease. Either the astronaut has become a very good friend or he makes a strong drink. Whatever the case, I'm relaxed. I just told him about Dr. Cash and my visit with him a few days ago.

“Were you hoping for something to happen between the two of you?”

“Maybe,” I answer.

“That's good,” he responds.

“That's not good,” I reply. “He's back with his wife. How can that be good?”

He smiles at me, takes a drink from his martini, and then puts down his glass. “Come with me.” And he guides me to a sliding glass door, opens it, and leads me out to the deck.

There's a large telescope pointed upward and it has gotten dark enough now that the stars are filling up the sky.

“If you look, you will see the planet Jupiter.”

I place my eye against the eyepiece and see many stars, but there is one brighter and more prominent than the others. I am sure this is the planet.

“Did you find it?”

And I nod.

“I don't think you're able to see it tonight, but sometimes with the right telescope, you can make out a small oval ring on its surface. It's called the Great Red Spot.”

I look and look but I don't see an oval ring.

“It's actually a storm and it's been there for more than three hundred years. Nobody knows how it goes on for so long.”

“But if I can't even see it, it must be really small,” I say.

“It's actually big enough to contain two planets the size of Earth.”

“Wow!”

“The planet's quite beautiful, don't you agree?”

“Absolutely.”

“Jupiter has been called the wandering star since prehistoric times. I guess the early astronomers had a hard time locating it.”

“She just had somewhere else she wanted to be,” I say, and I glance over at Dan, who is smiling.

“Maybe that's what it was,” he replies.

I look again at the sky and I see so many lights, so many stars, I can now understand how Dan was changed once he was in space. Just to see what I see from a deck in Washington State is beyond words. I move away from the telescope and take Dan's hand. “Thank you,” I say.

He nods in understanding and we return to the den and our drinks and the music. We are quiet for a while and then my curiosity gets the better of me.

“Why do you think it's good that I was hopeful that something might happen between Dr. Cash and me?”

“It's good because you're letting your guard down a little.”

“I don't have a guard.” I sit down and take a big sip of my drink.

“Okay,” he responds.

I see what he's doing.

“You think I have a guard?”

“Did you know that I met you and your sister when you were little?” he asks.

I shake my head. This is news to me.

“I came to Creekside to accept some civic award and I spoke to your elementary school.”

I try to remember, but I don't recall the event.

“I shook your hand before the ceremony began. You introduced your sister to me and then you took your seats with your designated classes.” He pauses and I keep trying to remember the event that he seems to recall so clearly.

“Your mother came in the auditorium just as I was finishing my speech.” He hesitates again. “I think she had been drinking.”

And suddenly, it all came back. The humiliation, the attempt to hide, the desperate way I searched for Daisy sitting on the other side of the gymnasium, the principal taking my mother by the arm, leading her out, all the kids looking at me, staring at me, laughing at me. No wonder I didn't remember an astronaut's speech. No wonder I don't remember the astronaut; I repressed that entire afternoon, most of that entire school year, in fact. We had moved in with our grandparents and out of the blue our mother showed up at school and wanted to see her little girls. It was a terrible day.

“How did you find out it was my mother?”

“I asked around. I was going to speak to you and your sister later, but you left the school and the principal couldn't find you.”

“Yeah, well, it was kind of a bad day and we wanted to get home.” I remember grabbing Daisy when the bell rang and running all the way to the farm. I didn't want anybody to have the chance to tease or bully us. I wanted to get out of there as fast as I could.

“I recalled your names when I came back and bought the property out here. The real estate agent showed me your grandparents' farm first because it was for sale. She mentioned you being in law school and your sister's death and when she said your names, I remembered you from that day at the elementary school. She said you both had lived here until you finished school, but you had moved away and you didn't want the property. She said your grandparents died and then later your sister. You came, but only for brief periods. You asked her to put the farm on the market only a few months after the death of your sister. Her name was Daisy, right?”

I nodded, remembering all of that, noting all of it was true. Granddaddy went first, suffering from diabetes, the doctors removing one limb after another, him begging to die. And then Grandmother had a heart attack and I found out from the farmer's wife who lived beside them. Daisy ended up living there on and off, paying the property taxes from the little bit of money they left us, but not really taking care of the place. And finally, after Daisy died I just sent an e-mail to Kathy Shepherd telling her to sell it and get whatever she could. It was the farmer next door who ended up buying it, the sale helping me open up the shop.

“When you came back and I met you again, I remembered that little girl from the elementary school. I remember seeing you holding your sister's hand and running out of the auditorium. The truth is I've known you a long time and I have always hoped that you would find a way to survive all the things you were handed in this life.”

I hold up my martini glass. “And so I did,” I say in response.

“And so you did,” he agrees.

I clear my throat. I don't know why but I am starting to cry.

“But in order to do so you had to make a few adjustments.”

I nod.

I remember getting into bed after Daisy died, the simple easy way I pulled back the covers, slipped inside, and planned never to get out, how I lay there for days and days, waiting to die. And how I never did. How the flowers got me up, how beauty lifted me from that place and brought me back to life. But I was never the same after that. And I see now that the astronaut is right. In binding up my shattered heart in order to get out of the bed and on with my life, I had become bound to my grief, restricted by my losses.

“It has served you well,” he noted. “Your guard. I doubt you could have done all you have done without it.”

I nod, listening to him describe my life, reveal the intimate details, speak of the harbored secrets. And I think of my grief, my sorrow, as the Great Red Spot on Jupiter, a storm that has been brewing for three hundred years. I cannot imagine my life without it.

“You have helped along a lot of loves, celebrated births, honored lives, marked occasions, found ways to encourage forgiveness. You have done a great service to this little town.”

I clear my throat again, take a drink.

“And yet, when I hear you made a little space to think of love for yourself, a tiny little opening for someone else to come in, it gives me pause.” He waits. “It gives me hope.”

“That I might lower my guard?”

“Yes, that you might lower your guard,” he answers.

I think about John Cash, the decision to ask him to the wedding, the shame I carried around with me, the awkward way I felt in his presence. I think I prefer having my guard up to feeling all that I have felt in the last few days, but I don't say these things to Dan. I don't want to hear some grand bit of wisdom like
It's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all
. I think I've heard all I can bear of that stuff tonight.

“So, let's talk about you,” I say, changing the subject. “What is going on with you?”

He puts down his glass and nods, not at all hesitant to move the conversation in that direction. “I have started to die,” he says.

This is not at all what I expected to hear.

“I know, it sounds odd,” he adds. “But I can tell by the things that are happening in my body. I have less desire to eat or drink, to engage in common activities. I dream brilliant dreams and I have to pull myself awake. I think of people I have not thought about in years, remember things, want to be forgiven.”

He shakes his head in wonder or disbelief. I can only guess.

“It is magnificent.”

This man mystifies me.

“I am finally returning to stardust, back to the beginning of time, back to the exquisite matter from which we first came, and I am so lucky that I know what is going on, that I am conscious to this experience.” He closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath. “Magnificent,” he says again.

“How do you plan to go?” I ask, wondering if he will become a hospice patient, hire a caregiver, or if he'll check himself into the hospital when he knows he is near the end.

“I haven't quite decided that, but I will. Sometime soon, I will.”

The music crescendos and we stop to listen. I watch him close his eyes, and I decide to close mine too. And it is beautiful and rich and full. When it stops, I look over and Dan is weeping. And I understand now that this is what he wanted me to see. Not the planet Jupiter, not the stars on a bright clear night, not a storm that never diminishes.

He wanted me to observe this, know this, understand this. He wanted me to see a heart fully open. And he is right. It is magnificent.

I turn away as the symphony's fourth movement, Molto allegro, begins, and I close my eyes, and breathe.