The Art of Arranging Flowers (9 page)

W
HAT
'
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wrong with you, and what is Captain Miller talking about in this message he left that the invitation states ‘cocktail attire'? And who is this little boy and why does he want to put a leash on Clementine?” Nora met me at the back door.

It's about three questions too many, and I walk in without answering any of them. Will is sitting on the floor near the table petting my dog. I had forgotten about the boy. It took a little time to get things straightened out with his grandmother for him to have the job. I never said anything to Nora about him joining the staff and now I'm surprised he's actually here. He clearly thinks of this as his first day of work.

“Don't take her near the cats,” I tell him. “Clementine doesn't like cats.”

“Where are the cats?” Will asks.

It's an appropriate question, and I'm impressed that he's thinking about his task. “They hang out at the garage on the corner and the empty lot by the railroad tracks.”

He considers the aforementioned locations. It appears this was the direction he intended to go.

“Take her across the street, go over the tracks, and walk down past the old Mexican restaurant and out to the creek behind the Lutheran church. She likes it out there and there aren't any cats.”

Will nods, hooks Clementine to the leash he had in his lap, and she stands and seems happy to have a place to go and someone to take her. I walk around the counter and open the front door. The two of them walk out to the sidewalk. Will stops. Clem sits. They both look up and down Main Street and then cross together. I can't tell who is walking who, but I think they'll be fine. Clementine is an easy companion. Unless there are cats. Then she's somebody I don't recognize.

“Who is that kid?” Nora is standing right behind me, watching.

I turn around and almost run right into her, she's so close. She backs up and moves into the store. I follow.

“Will Norris,” I answer.

She shakes her head. The name isn't ringing a bell.

“Juanita's grandson,” I explain.

“That's Diane's boy?” she asks, peering over my shoulder, still able to see Will and Clementine until they finally disappear behind the old house on the corner of the street.

I nod.

“He looks nothing like her,” she comments.

“What did she look like?”

“Short, chubby, purple hair, piercings in her nose and lip and eyebrows, a tattoo of a feather across one side of her face.” She continues watching out the window.

I don't say a thing. I just follow her gaze.

“Of course . . .” She turns around to face me when I move behind the counter. “If you take away the hair color and the tattoo and the piercings, it's possible that they bear a resemblance.”

I roll my eyes. “You think?”

She waves her hand in front of her. “Never mind about him. Why did you seem so funny when you came in?”

I pick up the orders by the cash register that must have been placed while I was gone and glance over the tickets. “I don't know what you mean,” I reply.

She walks over to me and gets real close to my face. She starts to sniff me and pulls away.

“You met Kathy's customer. You met that veterinarian.”

I stare at Nora. I do not know how she can pick up on things so quickly. I swear she's psychic, and I wonder what she would know if she hadn't damaged herself so much in her drinking days. I figure she'd be working for the government or writing an astrology column for the paper at the very least.

She's right, of course, but I'm not letting on. “I just ran into him on my way out the door,” I lie.

She gets real close again, leans in, and tilts her head from side to side like she can see better out of one eye, hear better out of one ear.

I back away and move around the counter to the other side of the design table. “What is this order from Kyle Bridges?” I glance down at the ticket she filled out.

She is studying me; I can feel her staring but I don't look up.

“He wants twelve long-stemmed roses for Nancy,” she answers, referring to Kyle's wife.

“He work an extra shift again?” I ask.

Kyle buys twelve long-stemmed roses when Nancy gets mad, and she usually only gets mad when he takes an extra shift at the fire station. Creekside firemen work four days on, three days off, ten-hour shifts, but Kyle has a reputation for filling in for his buddies. Sometimes he works twenty hours straight. Nancy doesn't think Kyle is as much kind and generous to his colleagues as he is invested in the late-night domino games that take place at the fire station after hours. Kyle has explained this little hiccup in his marriage to me before.

“She changed the locks,” Nora replies.

“Again?”

“Did it and then went to work. Kyle still can't get in. He had to go back to the station to take a shower and get his meals. I guess he's hoping the roses will at least help him make it through the front door, if for no other reason than to pack a suitcase for the rest of the week.”

I make a kind of humming noise that I like to make when I've heard hard news, and Nora appears as if she's not going to make any other inquiries about John.

“Is he coming by to get them?” I ask, heading to the rear of the shop.

“He should be here any time.”

Glad to have a task so that I don't have to get the third degree about John Cash or about a message from Captain Miller, I go into the cooler and pull out twelve of the healthiest red roses I have. I examine them closely and snap off a few of the leaves still attached to the bottom of the stems. I pick out about ten branches of seeded eucalyptus and a handful of variegated pittosporum. I also grab one full-bodied stem of snapdragons, tiny white flowers, that I can delicately place somewhere in the bouquet.

Snapdragons are a natural reducer of anger, and I figure Nancy could use a little anger reduction even though I'm pretty sure that the newlyweds are going to have to find some way of compromise regarding Kyle's work schedule. The flowers help, but eventually the fireman is going to have to make a choice: the buddies at the station or his lonesome wife.

I suspect he's not far off from figuring it out, and I think maybe I should add a few white chestnut leaves in the bottom of the vase. Maybe the herb can help Kyle decide to settle in more at home.

I walk the flowers out to the front of the shop, drop them on the table, go through the other door to the closet near the back door, and find my jar of white chestnut leaves on the third shelf. I open the container, shake out a few leaves into my hand, and put the jar back where I found it. When I return to the design table behind the counter, Will is back and Clementine is helping herself to some water in her bowl by the sink.

“We didn't see no cats,” Will reports. “And Clementine peed a bunch of times. We went all the way down the creek to the liquor store, back around the diner, and down Second Street by the church.” He pauses. “She's a good dog.”

Clementine glances over from the bowl. She raises her head in my direction as if to say,
He's a good boy
.

I nod at them both.

“You want to empty the buckets in the cooler and pour in some fresh water?” I ask.

He shrugs, and I turn to Nora.

She immediately understands that I'm asking her to show him how and waves Will around the counter and toward the cooler. “It's hard,” I hear her explain. “You can't touch the tops of the flowers, have to pick them up only by the stems very carefully, and then you walk the buckets all the way out past the back steps to empty them.”

I smile, find my scissors, and start snipping the ends off Kyle's roses.

I
GLANCE
at the clock above the door. Cooper is already six hours late delivering the Valentine's flowers. I had planned to spend the morning getting a good start on the specials: one single rose, a bud vase tied with a red bow, and just a bit of greenery, stems of dagger fern or emerald palm. Nora had already secured the little boxes of candy to the stuffed animals and there was a line of teddy bears standing beside empty vases, covering the entire design table.

Without the shipment of roses, however, that activity, along with assembling the standard dozen long-stemmed bouquets, was sidelined and I had to work on the other arrangements. Those included the funeral spray for John Clover's service over at the Baptist church, red and white and blue carnations, the American flag made out of flowers, a special for the veterans; a birthday bouquet of pink and yellow gerberas for Nancy Wilkerson to be delivered this afternoon just before she leaves from work at the hardware store; and a dieffenbachia with three tiny butterfly ornaments and two helium balloons to be picked up after three for a housewarming gift for a friend of Maude Peters in Colville. I certainly had enough to keep me busy, but on the day before Valentine's I needed my red roses as early as possible.

“Do you want me to try to call him again?” Nora asks. She is sweeping up the leaves and stems from the floor. She is clearly aware of how many times I have looked at the clock.

I shake my head. “I still have other things to do,” I answer. “He's always late for Valentine's,” I remind both of us. “He'll get here before five.”

She walks over to the front window and glances up at the sky. She turns back to me and doesn't say what I know she is thinking. The weatherman is calling for snow later tonight, and that can mean real trouble for florists trying to make deliveries. Jimmy is still employed at the shop, printing out the tiny gift cards and pinning them to the ribbons, keeping the storage room clean and the van tidy, carving out bricks of green foam. He's in the back room now, washing and cleaning out the vases; there are plenty of chores to be done, but without a license, he can't make deliveries. Nora doesn't drive so well in snow, so that means if we wake up in the morning to more than a couple of inches, I'll have to make the runs.

I prefer to stay in the shop on Valentine's Day because I'm usually swamped from morning to evening creating all those last-minute bouquets. It doesn't matter how many Hallmark commercials there are or how early in the month retail owners hang their red holiday banners, there are always four or five frantic customers running in wanting something beautiful to take home to their sweethearts. Without Jimmy to make deliveries and with Nora uneasy about winter driving, I know I'll be out for most of tomorrow, so I need to make some extra arrangements to stick in the fridge before I leave today.

Since I've already used all the red roses I had, those last-minute shoppers are going to have to do with the white ones left over from Kathy's anniversary bouquets and the pink spray roses I always have on hand. I walk back to the cooler to see what else I can use. And when I return about fifteen minutes later, my arms full of freesia and bells of Ireland, daffodils and the flamingo mini gerberas, John Cash is standing at the counter. Nora, I can easily see, is charmed by the new veterinarian, as is Clementine, who has been roused from her sleep and is standing by his side.

“Oh,” I say, wishing I had checked myself in the mirror, wishing I had not put on the old green smock I was wearing that was covered in spots and stains, and wondering why I was suddenly wishing for things I never remember wishing for before.

He smiles. Clementine turns to me but then quickly looks back up at Cash, presses her nose against his leg. She is so transparent.

“Dr. Cash bought a house,” Nora announces.

“Oh,” I say again.
Maybe we could opt for another word
, I think. I glance around, trying to find a place for all the flowers I have in my arms, since the table is stacked with Nora's work.

“You were right. The place on Flowery Trail is perfect.”

I feel the “oh” about to surface again and I tighten my lips around it, and instead I simply nod.

“Looks like you got a busy day ahead of you tomorrow.” He eyes the overflowing design table, the bud vases, the bunch of blooms in my embrace. “I always wondered how florists manage to get all those orders filled for Valentine's Day. I never imagined enlisting the help of an army of bears.”

I follow his glance ahead of him, behind Nora, and I understand his reference. The stuffed bears are standing at attention, ordered in a perfectly straight line. They are soldiers armed and ready for duty.

Suddenly, Nora laughs. It is way too exaggerated and John catches my eye. I smile and shrug and Nora stops, realizing she's the only one laughing. She clears her throat.

“I'm just going to go to the back and see if Jimmy needs any help.” She peers over her glasses and gives me a wink. It's as big a gesture as her laughter and it embarrasses me. I see that John has glanced away. He is scratching Clementine, which is, at the moment, greatly appreciated by us both.

I lay the flowers on the edge of the counter and wipe away the tiny leaves clinging to my smock. “So, the house is good?” I should probably move over and stand across from him, but I feel more comfortable with a little distance between us. I prefer a bit more space than apparently does my dog. I glance down and see how she is leaning into his legs.

He rises and I realize I had forgotten the blue of his eyes.

“It's just like you said,” he replies. “I love the little creek, and the great room is, well, great. And even though I must say the tree house is inviting, I'm not quite sure it was built for someone my size.”

I smile.

“I made an offer last night and it was accepted this morning.”

“Well, congratulations,” I say. “Sounds like you're happy, and I know the Chathams are glad to have a buyer, and I'm sure Kathy is pleased to have made the sale.”

“Truthfully, I'm not so sure about the real estate agent. I think she was holding out to the last minute with the hope that I might change my mind and take the Buckley house.”

I had forgotten that she was counting on selling that property and suddenly wonder if she knows it was my suggestion that he see the other house.

“Oh, don't worry,” he quickly adds, apparently reading my expression. “I never asked specifically about the place. She doesn't know you gave me the idea. I just described my ideal home, which happens to have a creek and a tree house, and she took me right to the address. She's beating herself up, actually, because she thinks it was entirely her idea.”

I nod with relief. I don't really want to lose Kathy's business. Her parents' anniversary party helped pay for some necessary repairs on the van. She's a good customer, not to mention the only yoga instructor in Creekside. If I make her mad I'll be back doing my fitness routine in my living room using borrowed videotapes from the library. And I know my posture would suffer. I suddenly feel myself straighten at the thought of Kathy's Saturday morning class.

“I came by to get the bamboo.”

I'm not sure what he means. “Oh.” There, I said it again. I shake my head and I realize he means the plant that I used at the Buckley house. I suppose he wants to buy it.

“I'm hoping that it will look just as good in this house as it did in the other.”

“I can't think of a reason that it shouldn't work just as well.”

“And it does bring luck, right?”

“Peace, actually,” I answer. “It's called a good-luck bamboo, but it's really considered lucky because of its peaceful vitality and sturdiness.” Suddenly, I'm sounding like an encyclopedia. Clementine glances in my direction; she notices the same thing.

“Well, one certainly can't go wrong with that growing in a corner of his house.”

I'm just about to respond when I hear the back door swing open and Cooper's loud and booming voice. I smile at John, and I'm not sure whether I'm relieved or disappointed that my Valentine shipment has finally arrived.