The Art of Arranging Flowers (23 page)

I
DON'T
see Will again until the funeral three days later. He is dressed in starched khaki pants and a light blue dress shirt. He is even wearing a tie, a clip-on that looks like one from his grandfather's closet. For a little boy he appears terribly old. He nods at me when he comes into the church with Claude. At least he doesn't seem mad. And I am glad for that.

It turns out I was right. As soon as they heard about Juanita's death, Jenny and Justin called Claude and they do in fact want to adopt Will. Everyone thinks they'll make a lovely family and I am sure the newlyweds will be excellent parents. It's easy to see that they care about the boy and it's good for him to have two caregivers, two young parents, a father and a mother.

Jenny's hair has grown back and even though it's still short, it's thick and curly and she's eating more and has gained weight. She stopped in the shop yesterday, telling me their plans, telling me and Nora how she and Justin want to move into the little house next to the Catholic church, the old parsonage that has been vacant for years, raise Will and have a couple of other children. She was so full of life that I envy her cheerfulness. She and Justin are sitting with Will, their arms wrapped tightly around him. Already, they are bonding.

I am sitting with Nora. Jimmy is a pallbearer, situated up front with the family, and the church is packed with everyone from Creekside. Juanita was well known and well liked. I glance around at all my customers, thinking of them and their floral preferences. Yellow roses and belladonnas, calla lilies and sunflowers, I know them all. And when we catch each other's glances, there are smiles and nods. We are a tight community.

The altar is filled with arrangements. I know Juanita would have asked that money be given to charity rather than purchasing all the flowers, but Claude didn't think to list the instruction in the obituary and since it wasn't listed, I got the calls. I only hope Will likes what has been made and that he is pleased with the pink tulips and the gold gerberas that cover the casket and fill the vases and baskets that line the altar.

“Dear family and friends.” The minister starts the service and I begin to drift, remembering Daisy's funeral, remembering how broken and alone I felt, how resolved I was to death, to endings, to a life muted and colorless. I sit in the crowded church and suddenly I am back to where I think I must have started.

“For everything there is a season,” he reads from Ecclesiastes. “And a time for every matter under heaven. A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted . . .” And on and on he goes while I peel away the years, remembering how it was to become who I am today.

“You're too serious,” Daisy would tell me when we were teenagers and I was studying for a test or writing a paper. “Let's go out.”

“I can't go out,” I would say night after night, watching her sneak out the bedroom window, laughing as she fell into the backseat of some boy's car, then later feeling her crawl into the bed beside me, her breath hot on my neck as she curled around me.

“You awake?” she always asked.

“No.”

“You sleepy?”

“No.”

And she would tell me about the boy and the date, the things she did, the places they went.

“One day you won't come back,” I would say, dreading how it would feel when I would sleep alone.

“No, one day you won't come back. You'll go off to college and leave me here.”

And she was right. That's what I did and I guess, thinking about it now, that was why she sneaked out every night, leaving me alone. She was learning how to make it on her own, learning how to make it in Creekside without me. And she was helping me learn how to make it without her too, helping me understand what it feels like to sleep alone.

Only I didn't learn. I always thought she'd come back. Just before dawn, just before the light broke across the sky, I always thought she'd sneak through that bedroom window, crawl into bed, and come back.

I glance over in Will's direction. I can hardly see him, pressed between Jenny and Justin. I wonder how he's feeling. I wonder if he finds comfort in thinking Juanita is with his mom or if he just feels abandoned, left alone once again. I wonder how we are ever able to fit all the sorrow and loss into one heart, one lifetime.

“She was a compassionate and caring woman whose life was built around the service of others.” The pastor was a friend of Juanita's, and it's easy to see that he is moved by this loss.

The preacher who did Daisy's service did not know her. He was recommended by the funeral home director, a retired military chaplain who had to keep looking down at his notes to recall my sister's name. A few friends were horrified at his mistakes, the way he spoke of her as if she had been sad and suffering, but I was in such a state of shock it hardly even mattered. No one could have said anything that would have comforted me anyway. I simply went through the motions, one foot in front of the other. I breathed in. I breathed out.

“You okay?”

I realize that I am sitting alone in the church. Everyone else has left, including Nora, including Jenny and Justin and Will. I do not even know what time it is.

I turn around and the pastor has taken a seat in the pew behind me.

I nod.

“How long have I been in here?” I ask, checking my watch.

“The service was over about an hour ago. We all went to the cemetery. When I got back I saw that your van was still in the parking lot. I've been in my office a while and I'm getting ready to leave, but I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh.”

“Are you?”

“What?”

“Okay?”

I nod.

“You're Ruby Jewell, right? The florist. I know that Madeline does most of our orders. I guess we haven't really ever met.”

“You're Reverend Frederic,” I say. “We met at the Guilfords' wedding and the Shepherds' anniversary party. I fixed an arrangement for your wife when she was in the hospital.”

He nods. “Yes, yes, that's right. I'm sorry. Since I live over in Valley and only come a couple of days a week, I feel like I don't always know the people in this community.”

He is still sitting behind me, and after glancing only once in his direction, I am facing forward.

“Juanita was a special person,” he says, and I remember how he got a bit choked up in his eulogy.

“I didn't know her very well,” I confess. “I'm more of a friend with her grandson.”

“Will.” He calls out the boy's name. “Sweet kid.”

There's a pause.

“He does some work for you, doesn't he?”

I nod.

“And he was with you when you had an accident?”

I recall the porcupine, the broken ankle, the way Will begged not to leave me.

“He made his grandmother bring him to church to pray.”

This was something I hadn't heard before.

“Madeline came and unlocked the door for them. She said they stayed here all night. And I think you and Clementine were on the prayer list for a month. I'm not sure that any of the church people ever realized they were praying for a dog, but it probably wouldn't have mattered anyway; they love Will and would have prayed for the porcupine if he asked.”

I manage a smile.

“Did you know that he comes in early on Sundays and freshens up the floral arrangements? I see him in here every week, pinching off a few of the leaves, adding a little water. He likes to tell me the names of the flowers in the vases. I think he knows them all.”

More surprises. He never told me he even notices the flowers in the sanctuary on Sunday mornings.

“It seems like you've taught him a lot in the short time he's been with you. Funny what kids pick up, isn't it?”

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

“You never know what you're teaching somebody. And I suppose you don't always know when you're learning, either. Funny how that works, too, I guess.”

And I think about what Will has taught me, how he showed me the clump of bighead clover near the cemetery and the few delicate stems of gayfeather near the creek across the street from the shop. I think about how he made me close my eyes and guess the wildflowers by how they smelled and how he thought deer fern was a crisper green than the dagger. I think about how he makes me feel hopeful.

“Well, anyway, you can stay here as long as you want. Just pull the front door closed when you leave so it locks.”

I feel him stand behind me. He places his hand on my shoulder. “We appreciate all you do for this town, Ruby,” he says and squeezes. “You have your own ministry, you know, bringing beauty into our lives.” He lets go. “Sometimes I think it's the only thing that will save us.”

And I turn to say good-bye, but he has already gone.

S
HE
wants a nice bouquet and a couple of boutonnieres for Justin and Will.” Nora is giving me the morning messages.

I was at the club in a meeting with the ladies' tennis team. They are very specific about the flowers they want for their banquet. They're branching out this year and are requesting tropical: heliconia, birds of paradise, ginger. Apparently, a tennis player from Colville said Creekside copied their banquet design ideas year before last, going with pink and purple dahlias, so this year they want to steer clear of any resemblances. They're going with fern curls and anthuriums, single stems with just a few strands of ti leaves. With the other tropicals they've ordered, this banquet certainly won't look like any others, but they're going to have to pay. Tropicals are the most expensive flowers I sell.

“I thought it was just a paper being signed at the courthouse,” I say, knowing that the formal request made by Jenny and Justin to adopt Will was pushed quickly through the system and has been approved. They are moving into their new house later this week. Will stopped by yesterday to tell me.

“Well, it is, but Jenny thinks there ought to be a ceremony. She wants flowers.” Nora slides the receipt behind the others. “She's invited the priest to go and offer a blessing, and then she wants to have a little reception at the church. She wants you to decorate.”

I feel my chest tighten.

“And Vivian called and wants to meet about the wedding.”

“I just met with her last week. She's sticking with the sunflowers and blue irises.”

Nora shakes her head. “I think she's changed her mind. She likes oriental lilies. She was surfing the net and saw a floral design she liked. She's thinking she'd like to have an Asian theme.”

I blow out a breath. “I've already made the order.”

Nora shrugs.

“And Stan wants to know if you can deliver flowers to the clinic in Moses Lake. His sister is getting her nose fixed.”

“That's almost two hours away!”

“Hey, I'm just passing along the messages here. Don't shoot the mailman.”

I walk around the counter to the design table behind her.

“I'm just so tired of bending over backward for the people in this town. I do everything for them—plan their weddings, manage their calendars, handle their funerals—and do you know I haven't raised my prices in ten years?”

I throw my notebook and keys on the table. Clementine gets up and leaves the room.

“Gas has gone up and all of my expenses have increased and I'm hardly making enough to cover costs. And now they want me to cancel orders I've already made and then drive clear to Moses Lake for a twenty-five-dollar vase of mums for somebody having plastic surgery?”

I go over to the refrigerator and take out a soda, slamming the door when I'm done. When I turn around, Nora is staring at me.

“What?” I ask, knowing that she clearly wants to say something.

She holds up her hands in a gesture of surrender. “I've not got anything to say,” she replies, but she keeps staring like she does.

I wait.

She doesn't disappoint. She does have something to say.

“Have you been reading your
Oprah
magazine I subscribed for you?”

I don't answer. I have no idea where she's going with this. I shake my head.

“Well, you need to start taking a look at her columns.”

I wait.

“You want to tell me what Oprah would have to say to me?”

She pauses. “Well, who am I to speak for the queen? But I think she would probably say that you need to make some changes or start a gratitude journal or put the oxygen mask on yourself before others because you are clearly not living your best life.”

I look around for something to throw at her, but she immediately sees what I'm contemplating and she hurries around the counter, making it to the front door and out of my range.

“I'm going to Walmart,” she announces. “We're out of the double-faced satin pink ribbon and I know Jenny will want that on her bouquet.” And she is gone before I can reply or pick up anything and hurl it.

I sigh and watch her leave, and then I walk over and pick up the messages that Nora was reading and glance at them. I look up when I hear the bell on the front door signal that someone is coming in.

“You're still in danger of getting hit in the head,” I say, thinking Nora has returned for something.

It isn't Nora.

“Wow. I didn't realize florists had a violent streak.” John Cash has entered the shop.

I put down the messages and smooth down the front of my sweatshirt, lifting myself for a proper greeting. “Well, of course, you knew that,” I say, trying to regain my composure. “You know what happened to the porcupine.”

“Ah, right,” he says, smiling. He glances around me. “And speaking of . . . where's the pooch?”

I turn to look where Clementine is usually resting and remember her recent departure. “She also knows the harm I can do.”

And just like that, she appears from the back room, walks around the counter, ignoring me, and heads straight to the veterinarian. He promptly gives her a good scratch and tender greeting. “Hello, Miss Clem,” he says, and she looks at me smugly.

I roll my eyes.

“She's gaining some of her weight back,” he reports.

And I give that same smug look back at her. She is very sensitive about her weight and I know it.

“Yeah, she's a little portly.”

She turns around, offering me her backside.

“No, not portly. I think she's perfectly fit.” And he's rubbing her belly now.

She turns around to face me and she's one up.

He turns his attention to me, and Clementine returns to her spot beneath the table.

“So, how are you?” he asks. Being polite, I suppose.

“Good. And you?”

He nods. “I'm okay.” And he slides his hands in his pockets just slowly enough that I am able to see his fingers, his unadorned fingers. The wedding ring is gone.

“I need a new plant,” he announces.

“What happened to the old one?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Oh well, that is a good story.”

I wait. I like good stories.

He clears his throat. “Maria,” and he pauses. “That's my ex-wife,” he explains.

I nod.

“She left a couple of days ago and it seems she took a few of my things.”

“She stole your bamboo?” I ask, thinking that is pretty low, even for an ex-wife. “It's for peace and good luck. How can you steal something that's supposed to bring good luck? It seems like that would alter your karma.”

He shakes his head. “She's never really cared much about karma.”

“Oh,” I reply. “So, you want something different?”

“Because that first good luck wasn't all that good?”

I hadn't said that, but I guess that's what I was thinking.

“Well, it
was
stolen.”

He laughs ever so slightly.

I walk around the counter over to the plant stand near the window. I pick up a hot pink kalanchoe. “How about a calendiva?” I pinch off a dead leaf and hold it up.

He studies it and then notices the hanging plant above my head. “What's that one?”

I put down the plant in my hands. “
Senecio herreanus
,” I answer. “This one is bananas.”

“That sounds about right for my life right now.”

And I reach up and take it from the hook in the window. I walk around him and stand behind the counter. I take a towel and wipe off the bottom of the planter, turn it around and make sure it is tidy and in good shape. After clearing out a few dead leaves, I am convinced it is ready to go. “Put it in a place that isn't too sunny; this succulent prefers a little shade. And keep it well drained.”

He is nodding his head. He reaches in his back pocket and pulls out his wallet.

“Nah, here.” I hand him the hanging plant. “This one is a makeup gift for the one that was stolen. Maybe it will bring you better luck than the bamboo.”

He smiles and reaches for it. Our fingers touch as I hand him the plant and I feel a bit of a charge run through me. I quickly pull away.

“I guess I'll see you at Will's party,” he says, and I know I look surprised.

I had forgotten there was a party.

“When he's adopted,” he explains. “Jenny invited me.”

I nod. I guess once I decorate, I'm invited too.

“You know, I sort of thought you'd adopt him,” he says.

I don't respond.

“You too seem to go together.”

I am at a loss for words.

“Okay, well, I'll see you soon. Thanks again for the bananas.”

I nod. I find my voice. “You're welcome,” I say.

And he turns and heads out the door.