Burning Flowers (2 page)

Clarke looked at herself critically in the
mirror as she tried, with no success, to straighten her large
curls. She had been trying to get rid of them for years, but they
just kept coming back like a family of cockroaches after the
apocalypse. She wanted to stomp around in frustration like she
sometimes did, but she didn’t want to wake her house guest. So, she
just scowled at herself in the mirror. Then, she quickly
straightened her face out, remembering how scowling could give her
wrinkles way earlier than she was ready for them. She spent
hundreds of dollars and several hours in the morning to keep her
33-year-old-self looking ten years younger. There was no reason to
ruin it in one fit of frustration.

She grabbed her makeup kit and riffled
through it until she found just what she needed; all 12 items. To
some it may have seemed extreme, but Clarke knew the importance of
perfection especially now that she owned her own business. If her
mother had taught her absolutely nothing else, it was that.

As she drew on her perfect face she caught
her bed in the corner of the mirror and saw a lump in it tossing
and turning. She’d met that one at the grocery store the day before
when she went to pick up some tofu. She thought his name was Steve
or Stephen or something like that. She couldn’t quite remember.
They had ended up going out for dinner and then he came home with
her.

Clarke had managed to get
a couple orgasms out of the guy after a bottle of wine, but then he
passed out and began snoring. She had spent most of the night on
her couch, avoiding the train-like sound. Now, in the light of day,
she just wanted him out of her house. But she wasn’t about to wake
him up and risk him asking her to have breakfast with him or
another date. She was going to stick to her usual
modus operandi.

She placed the final touches on her cheeks
and lips before making sure everything was straightened out with
her black and pink pant suit. She huffed at the lump on her bed
before leaving the room to go to her office and grab a piece of
paper and pen.

“Lock up on your way out.”

That was all she wrote on the paper, and she
took it into the bedroom and laid it on top of the pillow on her
side of the bed as quickly and quietly as possible. The guy better
be gone before she got back; that was all she cared about the
matter.

She went around every room, making sure all
the lights were turned off before stepping out the door and
slamming it shut. It probably woke up her snoring guest, but that
was probably a good thing. Otherwise, he might never leave.

Clarke climbed in her gold car and adjusted
the mirrors; giving herself another quick look in the mirror to be
sure no piece of hair had gone astray in the wind. Things like that
might not have seemed like a big deal to others, but it was to her.
For her, it was part of professionalism to look her best.

She pulled out of the driveway with purpose,
not wasting another moment. She needed to get her coffee and get to
work. She was already running late, which she always seemed to be,
but then she always made it there early anyway. It was a routine
that perplexed her just enough to frustrate her.

She barreled down the road, weaving in and
out of traffic. In that way, Richmond and New York City couldn’t be
too far off from each other. There always seemed to be some delay
and some reason for a line of thousands of cars constantly tapping
on their brakes. So, she had adapted a way of driving that got her
from point A to point B much more efficiently than the rest of the
drivers on the road. Though, she did get several honks and rude
gestures.

Sometimes, if she was bad tempered that day,
she would honk back or even roll down her window and say something
that would make a sailor blush. Anger was the easiest emotion for
her; always had been. She had probably gotten that from her mother;
the angriest person she’d ever met. But she somehow maintained
these soft and silly looks so that people often mistook her for
easy prey. Usually, people only made that mistake once, though,
before learning their lesson.

She cut off an older couple in Lexus and
then a couple of trucks that could probably squish her in less than
a minute. Clarke began mumbling under her breath in frustration at
how the world was today, which was consequentially how it seemed to
be every day.

Finally, she made it to her favorite coffee
shop which was just a few steps away from her business. There was a
sudden calm that came over her as she got out of her car and walked
towards the familiar shop to pick up her morning cup of coffee. It
was a familiarity that always made her feel at home.

Chapter Three

“Well, well, well, if it
isn’t the Elizabeth Bennett of the 21
^st
century,” came a voice dragging through the coffee shop as
Clarke walked in. She had been going to that coffee shop every
morning for three months, and the staff had gotten to know her
pretty well. They thought it was funny to call her that because
they thought she was stubborn like that. It was probably because
one of the baristas kept hitting on her, but she kept turning him
down.

She walked up to the counter where the
barista in question was sweeping the floor. He bumped the other
cashier over to take her order. His name shined at her on his
badge, catching her eye and making it burn with the glare. It read
“Joe” in all caps. “So, what can I get for you today, ma’am?” he
said with a wink.

Clarke looked at him with her hands on her
hips for a second. She always got the same thing, but he still
asked her every morning anyway. Sometimes, he would even offer to
surprise her with some new combination that she would love. But she
would always stick to her soy chai latte. It kept her calm, yet
awake.

“The usual, Joe, please.”

“One usual, coming up for Clarke!” Joe
called to a young female Clarke had also seen about a million
times. She was the only one that stayed silent and minded her own
business in that place. But if she were honest, Clarke wouldn’t
have it any other way. It had become a comforting part of her
routine to have the staff at the coffee shop mess with her.

“So, are you ready to go out with me yet?”
Joe asked, leaning across the counter with his chin resting in his
hand. “Because if you are, we don’t even have to go anywhere. You
can walk over and have lunch here with me. I can make you a really
good cappuccino maybe, or an iced coffee of some kind, and we can
just talk.” It was hard to take him seriously with the big goofy
smile on his face and his pushiness to change her tastes. Clarke
had to fight down a smile as not to encourage him any further.

She just shook her head and moved down to
the side of the counter where her hot coffee would be sitting once
it was made. She kept her head down and ignored any looks Joe or
the others gave her. She was in the zone already, worrying over
what she might find when she got to the flower shop. They had just
done a reset over the weekend to get ready for prom season as well
as Easter. It was one of the busiest times of year for the shop.
And everything had to be perfect.

She heard the cup hit the granite counter
top and looked up to see a tall white cup with her name written on
it in black sharpie. “Thank you,” she directed at the young woman
that made her coffee before she turned on her heel and walked
towards the exit.

She could hear Joe calling after her. “You
know, one day I’m going to shake up your world and you’re going to
wish you would have said yes to me earlier!” She could tell there
was some laughter in his voice.

“Today is not that day, Joe!” she called
back before pushing the door open with her palm and walking out
into the cool morning. Clarke’s body shivered just a little as the
wind hit her on her way down the street. It was going to be warming
up soon, but for now it was still in the high 50s outside, making
mornings have a bite to them. Clarke was ready for the bite to
leave and the warmth of the sun to follow her on her short journey
over to the shop.

When she got there, she just stood there for
a moment, looking into her dark shop. She admired the cursive pink
writing that read “Virginia Clarke’s Petals”. The name of the shop
always sounded more like a novel, but that was how she liked it.
She wanted the place to be more than just another corner flower
shop. She wanted it to tell a story.

Clarke sighed and pulled out the golden key
from her purse and unlocked the glass door leading into the shop.
She walked through, flipping on lights so she could glance at the
work that had been done as she took her belongings into the back to
lock them up.

She locked her purse in a desk drawer and
glanced at the large corkboard which was the only decoration of any
kind against the white walls. She kept meaning to do something with
the office, but she didn’t know what. At least the employees kept
the corkboard filled with employee of the month pictures, happy
customers and their favorite bouquets each month. A lot of them
were custom pieces for events like weddings and conferences. That
was her life’s work up there, narrowed down to a tiny space on the
wall with some cheesy photos.

Clarke knew all she had accomplished with
her flower business, but she was always looking for ways to be more
or do better. It just never seemed enough. It probably had
something to do with her mother’s constant criticism that ran
through her mind as if it was her conscience.

Her shoes clunked against the hard floors as
she came out of the office and out into the shop. It was still more
than 30 minutes before they were set to open, but she was so sure
she would be moving things around, displeased with the layout.

She had given a map of what she wanted the
shop to look like to the assistant manager so she could delegate
things over the weekend, but Clarke was always weary about trusting
others with her ideas. Plus, she had to see her idea in action to
know if it was even good enough.

She walked to the front of the store,
standing up against the door, and she looked thoughtful, squinting
at every angle to see if anything could be better. The orchids and
carnations had been placed in front of the cold section in order to
make the prom shop. They were the most common for people to buy for
prom, and she made sure to display the most popular colors. At the
table in front sat the look book that showed possible colors that
the flowers could be dyed in order to make a custom boutonniere or
corsage. It even suggested flower combinations.

She walked over to the book and counted the
pages, opening it to the exact middle. She was almost tempted to
get out measuring tape to make sure the flowers were an even
distance from each other as well as from the book, but she knew
that drove her assistant manager crazy. So, she held her obsessive
compulsive disorder back just a little but made a mental
calculation of the distance just the same.

Then, she went back to the front and
surveyed the Easter section of the shop. There was a look book with
a sample Easter basket on each side with a stuffed bunny, some
eggs, and some flowers. One of them had silk flowers and the other
had real ones. Both arrangements were yellow, pink, and blue
pastels. She wanted to have a complaint about the Easter section so
badly, but there was really nothing wrong other than the
repetitiveness of the colors. But there was no helping that.

Lastly, behind the counter, she double
checked on the small portion of the wedding and events section that
always had to be represented. People got married and had parties
year round. She kept all those look books under the counter, but
there were two small tables with small arrangements of white or red
roses and peonies as well as photos of unique wedding creations
like a headband, a belt, a boutonniere, and even a wreath they had
made for the pulpit.

Those were the projects she loved doing the
most. It made her have to think; challenging her and the team to
find new and innovative solutions. Though, she would never say it
out loud, it was those pieces that made her proud to own the
place.

She heard the clanking sound of keys tapping
against the glass door and squinted her eyes in frustration. The
last thing she needed was scratches on the front of the shop.
Clarke looked to the front to see her assistant manager, Katie,
coming in the door.

The chubby girl with the ageless face and
dishwater blonde hair waved and headed back into the office with
her patriotic bag that was way too big to fit in any of the desk
drawers. In so many ways, Katie was the exact opposite of Clarke.
Clarke imagined that Katie’s house was full of half-eaten food,
clothes on the floor and an unmade bed. But when it came to running
her shop, if she could ever learn to trust anyone with it, it was
Katie. She was a hard worker who had a passion for flowers and art.
And she’d come in with plenty of experience and didn’t make too
many complaints about the way Clarke did things while still keeping
her more frustrating quirks in check.

“I should have known you would be here to
check up on me,” Katie commented with a wide smile on her face.
There was that too. The clients loved her because she was so sweet
and cheery. “I told you everything would be fine, Clarke. So, tell
me what you’ve changed.” Clarke felt slightly like a scolded child,
but Katie was a mother after all. It seemed to make sense.

“Honestly, I opened the look book for the
prom selection. I wanted to measure out that display, but I knew
that would drive you crazy.” Clarke followed Katie behind the
counter and watched as she opened the drawer like she often did. “I
can’t believe this doesn’t make you nervous.” It wasn’t the first
time she’d said this to Katie.