The Art of Arranging Flowers (14 page)

W
HAT
was the main course?”

“What was the First Lady wearing?”

“How was the flight over to Seattle?”

There are way too many questions thrown at me at once. They are standing at my door like Jehovah's Witnesses or trick-or-treaters, waiting to be invited in. I wonder if they'd settle for a piece of candy.

Clem and I move aside, making room for all three.

“I brought a cheesecake,” Carl reports. “It was left over from an event at the club last night.” He shakes his head as he places the dessert on my kitchen counter. “It was the Spring Ladies' Golf Social. They brought silk flowers, Ruby,” he says to me, shaking his head. “Hideous.”

Carl hates artificial arrangements almost as much as I do.

“But they did select the best dessert choices and since most of the women at the club are anorexic, we have leftovers! The cheesecake has a fresh cherry topping so it's perfect for breakfast. Where are your dishes?”

“The plates are right above the stove. Should I make coffee?” Nora has made her way to the kitchen.

“Hey, Ruby.”

“Hey, Jimmy. You can sit if you want.” I motion to the sofa and he takes a seat.

We both listen as Nora and Carl go through all my cabinets, taking things out, putting things back, discussing my brand of coffee. Apparently I buy the cheap kind.

“You have a good time?” he asks.

“I did,” I answer, and yawn, wondering what time it is and how somebody like me got to do what I did last night. I feel like Cinderella after the ball, only I don't have to clean up after a mean stepmother and I came home with both shoes.

“Is Captain Miller a good pilot?”

I think of the long, slow way we took off, the strength of his hands, the calm manner in which he spoke into the radio microphone spouting off speeds and latitudes, the polite means by which he transported me.

“Very good,” I answer. And I sit down in the chair across from Jimmy, lean back, and close my eyes, recalling how our conversation in the cockpit began. “Do you like to fly?” he had asked.

I had my arms wrapped around my knees and I was leaning against the door, staring out the window. It was spectacular, the narrow tops of trees, the winding rivers and creeks, our movement in and out of clouds. The late-afternoon sun. I was transfixed. It was actually my first airplane flight, so how could I answer? I simply nodded, and as if he understood my enthrallment completely, he didn't ask another question. He did not try to take me from where I had ascended.

“It is beautiful,” I finally said, sitting back, breathing deeply, and he nodded knowingly.

“Wake up there, missy.” It's Carl standing over me with a piece of cake. “It was a classic tux, right?”

“Does classic have a narrow satin ribbon along the side of the pants?”

“Was there one on the lapel of the jacket?”

I think for a second and then get up from the chair, walk over to the kitchen counter, and get the purse I used last night. I open it and take out a piece of paper, which I hand to Carl.

He unfolds it and reads, “Two-button black satin with an edge notch lapel, pleated pants with a Venice champagne cummerbund, vest, and tie. An ivory microfiber point collar shirt and black patent leather round-toe shoes. Versace.” And he clasps the paper against his chest like it is a love letter. “Perfect,” is what he says in response, “Absolutely perfect.”

“What is he reading?” Nora wants to know as she makes her way out of the kitchen and onto the sofa next to Jimmy.

“Dan wrote down what he wore because he knew Carl would want details.” I walk back, take the piece of cake Carl is holding, and plop down cross-legged on the chair. I smell the coffee brewing.

“Dan?” Nora asks, lifting her eyebrows in a huge question mark.

“Yes, Dan,” I answer, feeling my cheeks start to burn.

“Okay, give it to us all, and don't leave out a thing,” Carl says, going back for his slice of breakfast cheesecake.

I chew and swallow. “It was like a fairy tale,” I reply. “In all my life I have never felt so pretty, so elite, and such a part of something so glamorous.” I put the fork on the plate and put the plate down so I can better explain.

“On every table there was an arrangement that I can only call a masterpiece. I only wish I could afford to make such exquisite art. There were pink orchids, pink tulips, the blooms just dusted in a hint of blush, pink hydrangea, white roses, lavender roses, pink and white spray roses, pink alstroemeria and lavender button spray chrysanthemums with just a few stems of viburnum. There were so many flowers I couldn't even count them and they were perfectly arranged, at just the right height for table conversation, overflowing these thick mercury glass bowls. It was . . .” I stop and close my eyes, recalling these floral works of art. “It was like little gardens of rhapsody on every table. They were divine.” I shake my head with the memory of such beauty.

When I open my eyes, all three of my friends are staring at me as if I just grew another head.

“What?”

“That's what you got?” Nora asks. “You go out with an astronaut, you meet the president, you're having dinner at an event where people paid thousands of dollars to attend, and you tell us about the flowers?”

“Well, the mercury bowls sound pretty special,” Carl says, and I don't know if he's being snarky or if he really means it.

He rolls his eyes at Nora and I know he's being snarky.

“We had salmon, wild king salmon, grilled with a kind of tangy sauce that made the fish melt in your mouth. There was champagne and these perfect little desserts. It was the best meal I've ever eaten. The president was charming and smart and seemed to like a good grip with his handshakes.” I smile at Carl.

“The first lady wore a pink dressy dress. She matched the flowers on the tables; I guess her people called the governor's people and made sure she would shine. She is tall and beautiful and kind and she said she loved my wristlet.”

I wink at Nora.

“We sat with three other couples; the men were all astronauts. Dan was the only one of the four who walked on the moon. The women were sweet to me but I wasn't so comfortable with the small talk. Dan is an excellent pilot, very knowledgeable, and prefers flying piston twin engines, and he is partial to the Cessna 337. He was married once but she was a behaviorist and could not understand how an astronaut could give up being in the space program to delve into the world of noetic sciences. They didn't have children and he sometimes regrets not having a family with him in his retirement years. He was the perfect date, attentive but not clingy, formal but not stiff, a true gentleman in every detail.”

I pick up my cheesecake. “We left at three o'clock, arrived at the Seattle airport at five thirty, and had a car pick us up and take us to the dinner. We were back in Creekside by midnight and I hurried home before my perfect Nordstrom's dress turned into an apron and rags and my truck turned into a pumpkin.” I take a bite and await the questions even as I know what I will and will not tell.

T
HERE
are things that happen between two people that, no matter how you try to duplicate the conversation or replay every detail, will always be something that only those two people understand.

That's the way it was with my date with the astronaut. I can tell my friends all the facts and even share all the pleasures. I can paint the picture of the room where we ate, the sky at sunset, the flowers on the tables—but I will never be able to explain what it was to feel so special, to dine and dance in such opulence, to have someone hold out his hand for me. The sheer delight of flying above clouds, the intimate way our conversation shifted. . . . The entire night was magical and perfect and I cannot explain it to anyone who wasn't right there with me; even to try and relive the event with Dan or even myself, I'm not sure I can tell it exactly like it was.

Nora, Jimmy, and Carl left when they had exhausted their questions, when they had gotten as much as I could give. Now it is just me and Clem sorting through what happened. I have coffee and I am still wearing my pajamas. There is sunshine pouring through the window and jazz on the radio.

“Dan has cancer,” I tell my dog. “He's healed himself twice already but he's not going to do it again.”

Clementine stares up at me.

“He thinks it is his time.”

There is a nod from my dog, and then she decides to take a nap. She jumps up on the sofa to join me, settling at the other end.

“I didn't try to change his mind,” I continue, even though it's clear my companion has heard all she wants to hear. “With him, I didn't feel like I needed to. As odd as it sounds, I think he's right.”

I lean back and put my feet on the coffee table, close my eyes, and remember the night.

“Tell me about the moon,” I said after we were back in the plane, after Dan had taken off from Seattle, the lights of the city dancing below us.

He engaged the autopilot and I watched as we climbed in the sky.

“It is full and silent,” he replied. “It is like a woman with a secret.” He looked at me and winked.

“Was it dark?”

“Yes,” he answered. “Very dark.”

“And how did it make you feel to step out on it? Were you afraid? Did it change you?”

He shook his head. “No, not afraid,” he replied. “I was mentally and emotionally ready for the exit from the shuttle and how I needed to ambulate once I got outside. We had spent a lot of time preparing for that door to open, for that jump out; and no, the moon itself didn't change me, but I was different after the landings.”

I waited.

“I had an epiphany on my second mission.”

I turned in my seat to be able to listen more intently. I was still a little tipsy from the champagne, but I was alert enough to know this was important, this was something I didn't want to miss.

“What kind of epiphany?” I asked, remembering what I had read in his book and wanting to hear it all in person.

“My work on the missions included getting us to the moon, and then I had tasks once we landed. On the way home I had very few responsibilities, so I just sat and watched the sky out of the big window in front of us. And every few hours I would have the same view. I would see the sun and the moon and the Earth all lined up, like three balls in a row.” He rested his hands on his knees and stared out the windshield. “There was a perfect order to them.”

I know so little of planets and suns and moons, I cannot even imagine how such a thing must appear. I made no comment.

“And the stars . . .” He shook his head, recalling the sight, I suppose. “They were so bright, so big and bright.”

I stared straight ahead as well, trying to get an idea of what he must have seen flying in space, returning home after walking on the moon.

There was a pause.

“Have you ever felt connected to something or someone, had a sense that you had always been together and that no matter how much distance there is between you, you are always and forever linked?”

I immediately thought of Daisy, how deeply attached I was to her when we were together and how it is that even after her death I feel her with me, around me, inside me. I know she is still here.

I nodded.

“When I was in space and saw the stars,” he continued, “I felt as if I were seeing something of myself, something that belonged to me but that I hadn't seen before. I didn't feel it was something I had conquered or mastered. I felt as if I were somehow connected to these great beings, these masses of light and gas, as if everything I was made of could be found in them as well, that everything lines up, like the sun and the moon and the Earth, that everything is ordered and intersects.”

It was quiet in the cockpit as I considered such a thing.

“Is it strange, what I am saying?” he asked.

And when I turned to him I simply shook my head.

“For the longest time,” he said, “I couldn't find anyone to understand. My family thought I was a little off, that I had been in space too long. My colleagues, even though a couple of them had experienced a similar kind of thing when they were up there, didn't want to discuss what happened. I know it sounds odd and perhaps I shouldn't have told you about this, but somehow I thought you might understand.”

I smiled.

I turned to watch the sky again. I could see blinking lights below, the moon ahead of us. I could see how he would discover such a thing.

“When I arrange flowers,” I said, thinking about my craft, “I know which stems belong together. I feel a certain energy that guides me. I think of the person who placed the order, their emotion when they call or stop by. I think of what they want to tell someone, what they need to say, and somehow, when I go into the cooler, the refrigerated storage room where we keep the inventory, the flowers have this kind of energy to them and it's as if I know which ones need to be taken and exactly how they should be arranged.” I turn to Dan again. “I've never told anyone that before.”

He nodded.

And that was when he told me about the cancer, how he had been healed twice before but that this time there was a kind of weight to the doctor's pronouncement, a different view on the x-rays. This time, he told me, was a final time, and he found this information not unsettling at all. He felt almost comforted by the news, he said.

“There used to be this janitor at the NASA headquarters,” he told me. “His name was Josiah but everybody just called him Jo. Jo must have been a hundred when I met him, but he worked another twenty years after that and he never missed a day.”

“I'd see him every morning. He'd stand and salute all the astronauts when we came in the building and he'd always say the same thing when we asked him how he was doing. ‘Everything's good with my heart,' he'd tell us, and being young and brash we'd just hurry past him, slap the old man on the back without too much thought; but you know, I always knew that what he said was important and I always thought that was the thing I wanted to be able to say, too.”

I sat, listening.

“And it took a while, but you know, I can finally say the same thing as Jo. Everything is good with my heart.” And he tapped his chest and nodded. “I have a few more things I need to do but mostly I am finished with my time on Earth. I feel ready to return to stardust. Everything is good with my heart.”

And I reached over and took his hand and we stayed that way, in darkness and silence, touching and linked until we began our descent. Except for my brief thank-you and a moment when we stood at my truck, the breeze stirring all around us, a polite and tender kiss good-bye, we said nothing else.

What we had shared was more than enough.