Bed of Roses (39 page)

No looks of sympathy from the scores of people who’d know she had those cracks on her heart.

She could do good work. All those tropical flowers. A perpetual spring and summer. A little house on the beach, maybe, where she could listen to the waves every night.

Alone.

She shifted when she heard the door ease open.

“I’m awake.”

“Coffee.” Parker crossed to the bed, offered the cup and saucer. “I brought it just in case.”

“Thanks. Thanks, Parker.”

“How about some breakfast?” Moving briskly now, Parker walked over to open the drapes, let in the light.

“Just not hungry.”

“Okay.” Parker sat on the side of the bed, brushed the hair back from Emma’s cheek. “Did you sleep?”

“I did, actually. I guess it was an escape route, and I took it. I feel sort of musty and dull now. And stupid. I’m not suffering from some fatal disease. I don’t have broken bones or internal bleeding. No one died, for God’s sake. And I can’t even talk myself into getting out of bed.”

“It’s been less than a day.”

“You’re going to tell me to give myself time. It’ll get better.”

“It will. Some people say divorce can be like death. I think that’s true. And I think something like this, when the love is so big, so deep, it’s the same.” Parker’s eyes, warm and blue, radiated sympathy. “There has to be grief.”

“Why can’t I just be mad? Why can’t I just be pissed off? The son of a bitch, the bastard, whatever. Can’t I skip off the grief part and just hate him? We can all go out, get drunk, and trash him?”

“Not you, Emma. If I thought you could do it, if I thought it would help, we’d blow off the day, get drunk, and start the trashing right now.”

“You would.” Finding a smile, finally, Emma sat back against the pillows and studied her friend’s face. “You know what I was lying here in my ocean of self-pity thinking right before you came in?”

“What?”

“That I should take Adele’s offer. I could go to Jamaica, relocate, help her launch her business. I’d be good at it. I know how to set it up, handle the reins. Or at least find the right people to handle the various reins. It would be a fresh start for me, and I could make it work. I could make it shine.”

“You could.” Rising, Parker walked to the window again, adjusted the curtains. “It’s a big decision to make, especially when you’re in emotional upheaval.”

“I’ve been asking myself how, for God’s sake, how can I deal with seeing Jack all the time? Here, in town, at events. He’s invited to one of our events every month or so. We all know so many of the same people, our lives are so interlinked. Even when I get to the point where I can think about him, about us, without . . .”

She had to pause, dig for control. “Without wanting to cry, how can I handle all of that? I knew it could be this way, I knew it going in, but . . .”

“But.” Parker nodded, turned back.

“So I was lying here imagining taking the offer, starting fresh, building something new. The beach, the weather, a new challenge to focus on. I considered it for about five minutes. No, probably closer to three. This is home, this is family, this is you, this is us. This is me. So I’ll have to figure out how to deal with it.”

“I can be really pissed off at him for bringing you to the point you’d have considered that for even three minutes.”

“But if I’d decided it was best for me, you’d have let me go.”

“I’d have tried to talk you out of it. I’d have done spreadsheets, bullet points, graphs, charts, and many, many lists. With a DVD.”

Tears spilled over again. “I love you so much, Parker.”

Parker sat again, wrapped her arms around Emma and held tight.

“I’m going to get up, take a shower, get dressed. I’m going to start figuring out how to deal with it.”

“Okay.”

 

 

 

S
HE GOT THROUGH THE DAY, AND THE NEXT. SHE BUILT ARRANGEMENTS, created bouquets, met with clients. She cried, and when her mother came by to be with her, she cried some more. But she dried the tears, and got through the day.

She dealt with crises, managed to handle her team’s spoken and unspoken sympathy when they dressed an event. She watched brides carrying her flowers walk to the men they loved.

She lived and worked, laughed and ate, walked and talked.

Even though there was a void inside her nothing seemed to fill, she forgave him.

She came into the midweek briefing a few minutes late. “Sorry. I wanted to wait for the delivery for Friday night’s event. I’ve got Tiffany processing, but I wanted to check the callas. We’ll be using a lot of Green Goddess and I wanted to check the tone with the orchids before she started.”

She went to the sideboard, chose a Diet Pepsi. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing yet. Actually, you can start,” Parker told her. “Since Friday’s our biggest event this week, and the flowers just arrived. Any problems?”

“With the flowers, no. Everything came in, and looks good. The bride wanted ultracontemporary, with a touch of funk. Green calla lilies, the cymbidiums—which are very cool in a yellow-green shade—with some white Eucharist lilies to pop the colors, in a hand-tied bouquet. Her ten, yes ten, attendants will carry three hand-tied Green Goddess callas. Small bouquet of Eucharist lilies, and a hair clip of orchids for the flower girl. Rather than corsages or tussy-mussies, the MOB and MOG will each carry a single orchid. Vases for all will be on the tables at dinner and reception.”

Emma scrolled down on her laptop. “We have the Green Goddess again for the entrance urns, with horsetail bamboo, the orchids, trails of hanging amaranthus and . . .”

She tipped the top of the computer down. “I need to step out of business mode for a few minutes. First just to say I love you, and I don’t know what I’d have done without all of you the past week or so. You must’ve gotten sick of me moping and whining at first—”

“I did.” Laurel rose her hand, waved it, and made Emma laugh. “Actually, your moping is substandard and your whining needs considerable work. I hope you’ll do better in the future.”

“I can only strive. Meanwhile, I’m done. I’m okay. I have to assume, since Jack hasn’t dropped by, hasn’t tried to call me, or e-mail or send up a smoke signal, you warned him off.”

“Yes,” Parker confirmed, “we did.”

“Thanks for that, too. I needed the time and distance to work the whole thing out and, well, level off. Since I haven’t seen a sign of Del either, I’m going to assume you asked him to steer clear for a while.”

“It seemed better all around,” Mac said.

“You’re probably right. But the fact is we’re all friends. We’re family. We’ve got to get back to being those things. So if you’ve worked out an all-clear signal, you can send it. Jack and I can clear the air, if it needs to be cleared, and we can all get back to normal.”

“If you’re sure you’re ready.”

She nodded at Parker. “Yes, I’m sure. So, moving to the foyer,” she began.

 

 

 

J
ACK SLID INTO A BOOTH AT COFFEE TALK. “THANKS FOR MEETING me, Carter.”

“I feel like a spy. Like a double agent.” Carter considered his green tea. “I kind of like it.”

“So, how’s she doing? What’s she doing? What’s going on? Anything, Carter, just anything. It’s been ten days. I can’t talk to her, see her, text her, e-mail her. How long am I supposed to . . .” He trailed off, frowned. “Is that me?”

“Yeah, that’s you.”

“Jesus Christ, I can’t stand to be around myself.” He glanced up at the waitress. “Morphine. A double.”

“Ha-ha,” she said.

“Try the tea,” Carter suggested.

“I’m not quite that bad. Yet. Coffee, regular. How is she, Carter?”

“She’s okay. There’s a lot of work right now. June is . . . It’s insane, actually. She’s putting in a lot of hours. They all are. And she spends a lot of time at home. One of them usually goes over, at least for a while, in the evenings. Her mother came over, and I know that was pretty emotional. Mac told me. That’s the double-agent part. Emma doesn’t talk about any of this with me. I’m not the enemy, exactly, but . . .”

“I get it. I haven’t gone by the bookstore either because I don’t think Lucia wants to see me. I feel like I should be wearing a sign.”

Caught between annoyance and misery, Jack slumped back in his seat. “Del can’t go over there either. Parker decree. God, it’s not like I cheated on her or smacked her around or . . . And yes, I’m trying to justify. How can I tell her I’m sorry if I can’t talk to her?”

“You can practice what you’re going to say when you can say it.”

“I’ve been doing a lot of that. Is it like this for you, Carter?”

“Actually, I’m allowed to talk to Mac.”

“I meant—”

“I know. Yes, it’s like that. She’s the light. Before, you can fumble around in the dark, or manage in the dim. You don’t even know it’s dim because that’s the way it’s always been. But then, she’s the light. Everything changes.”

“If the light shuts off, or worse, if you’re stupid enough to shut it off yourself, it’s a hell of a lot darker than it was before.”

Carter shifted forward. “I think, to get the light back, you have to give her a reason. What you say is one part, but what you do, that’s the big one. I think.”

Jack nodded, then pulled out his phone when it signaled. “It’s Parker. Okay. Okay. Yeah?” he said when he answered. “Is she—What? Sorry. Okay. Thanks. Parker—Okay. I’ll be there.”

He closed the phone. “They opened the door. I have to go, Carter. There are things I need to—”

“Go ahead. I’ll get this.”

“Thanks. God, I feel a little sick. You could wish me a whole shitload of luck.”

“A whole shitload of luck, Jack.”

“I think I’ll need it.” He shoved out, strode quickly to the door.

Jack arrived at the main house at exactly the time Parker specified. He didn’t want to piss her off. Twilight fell softly, sweet with the perfume of flowers. His palms were sweaty.

For the second time in more years than he could count, he rang the bell.

She answered. The gray suit, and the smooth roll of hair at the nape of her neck told him she hadn’t changed from work mode. One look at her—so neat, so fresh, so lovely, made him realize how much he’d missed her.

“Hello, Parker.”

“Come in, Jack.”

“I wondered if I’d ever hear you say that again.”

“She’s ready to talk to you, so I’m ready to let you talk to her.”

“Are you and I never going to be friends again?”

She looked at him, then cupped his face, kissed him lightly. “You look terrible. That goes in your favor.”

“Before I talk to Emma, I want to tell you, it would’ve killed me to lose you. You, Laurel, Mac. It would’ve killed me.”

This time she put her arms around him, let him hold on. “Family forgives.” She gave him a squeeze before stepping back.

“What choice do we have? I’m going to give you two options, Jack, and you’ll pick when you go to Emma. The first. If you don’t love her—”

“Parker, I—”

“No, you don’t tell me. If you don’t love her, if you can’t give her what she needs and wants—not just for her, but for yourself—make it a clean break. She’s already forgiven you, and she’ll accept it. Don’t promise her what you can’t give or don’t want. She’d never get over that, and you’ll never be happy. Second option. If you love her, if you can give her what she needs and wants—not just for her, but for yourself—I can tell you what to do, what will make the difference.”

“Then tell me.”

S
HE WORKED LATE AND ALONE, AS SHE DID MOST NIGHTS NOW. That would have to stop soon, Emma thought. She missed people, conversations, movement. She was nearly ready to step outside the safety zone again. Clear the air, she decided, say what she had to say, then get back to being Emma.

She missed Emma, too, she realized.

She took the finished work to the cooler, then came back to clean her station.

The knock stopped her. She knew before she walked out it would be Jack. No one was more efficient than Parker.

He held an armload of bold red dahlias—and her heart twisted.

“Hello, Jack.”

“Emma.” He let out a breath. “Emma,” he said again. “I realize it’s shallow. Bringing flowers to clear the way, but—”

“They’re beautiful. Thank you. Come on in.”

“There’s so much I want to say.”

“I need to put these in water.” She turned, went into the kitchen for a vase, a jug of the food she kept mixed, her snips. “I understand there are things you want to say, but there are things I need to say first.”

“All right.”

She began to clip the stems under water. “First, I want to apologize.”

“Don’t.” Temper licked around the edges of his tone. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m going to apologize for the way I acted, for what I said. First, because when I got over myself I realized you were exhausted, upset, not feeling well, and I had—very deliberately—crossed a line.”