The Art of Arranging Flowers (28 page)

W
ELL,
let's try the daisy tea,” I tell him.

Justin has come over to the shop because Jenny is sick again. It's been a number of weeks that she's been nauseated, vomiting everything she eats. She's dizzy and very fatigued. I've already sent her violets and nasturtiums to ease her symptoms, but nothing seems to help and she's reluctant to go back to the doctor. Neither she nor Justin can stand to hear bad news.

I go over to my shelf of petals and seeds and take out a pack of daisy leaves. “Just put these in a strainer and pour boiling water over them. Let it steep a few minutes,” I explain. “That's how they work best.”

He looks at me and nods. He has tears in his eyes. “Maybe we should call that healer,” he says.

“I think you should,” I agree. “Do you know how to reach him?”

He nods. “He gave us his number in New Mexico before he left, but Jenny doesn't want to call him because she's worried she's done something wrong to bring the cancer back. She doesn't want to disappoint him.”

“She didn't do anything wrong to bring the cancer back,” I say, and he nods.

“I know,” he replies. “But it's hard to convince her.”

“Do you want me to call him?” I ask.

“I don't know, maybe,” he says, and I decide to let it alone.

“Let's make her a bouquet too,” I say cheerfully, thinking that maybe some pink gerberas will lift her spirits. “I'll put some more violets with them, to help with the dizziness.”

I walk back to the cooler and grab what I have. I take the brightest standards, the boldest minis, and I find a few stems of deep rich purple violets, and as I fill my arms with flowers I realize I am as desperate as Justin. I cannot fix Jenny. I cannot put enough stems in a vase to wipe away the worries, the sorrow, the fear. I walk back to the design table and face him.

“She's been really good for so long,” he says, as if he's been waiting for me to return so that he can say the things he needs to say.

I nod.

“It was a miracle she got better before,” he adds.

“Then maybe there will be another miracle,” I tell him. I place the flowers on the table and begin to arrange them. A stem of pink, a bunch of purple.

“But how many do you get?” he asks, and the question stumps me.

“I don't know.”

“Isn't it selfish to ask for another one?”

I feel the heat in my fingers as I pull and place the flowers. All of my energy is pouring into the vase.

“Everyone asks for more than one,” I say. “It's not selfish, it's just human.”

I think about all that I have wished for, all I have wanted and needed, all of my prayers. I think about Daisy and Mama and Clementine and Will. I think about all the people lining up at my door hoping for a miracle, buying flowers, wanting to express what it is they cannot pray for. “We all ask for more than one,” I say again.

He is silent as he watches me arrange the flowers.

“Is Will doing okay?” He changes the subject.

I smile. I am glad to talk about my son. “He's is doing very well. He's playing indoor soccer and is thinking about signing up for baseball in the spring. He likes his math teacher a lot and has decided that science is his favorite subject. In fact, he has already won a prize in the school's science fair.” I stop what I'm doing and glance over at Justin. “He built the entire solar system and not one of those with painted Styrofoam balls.”

Justin nods. He's seen the kind I'm talking about. I'm sure that everyone has.

“He used some computer program that I don't understand and used photographs and 3-D technology. I can already tell that I won't be able to help him with his homework by next semester.”

“Yeah, he's a smart boy,” Justin notes.

I add a few sprigs of bear grass, a strand of eucalyptus, and spin the vase around to make sure it's just right. I stop what I am doing and glance up. I look at Justin and it hits me.

“I don't think I ever thanked you for letting me adopt him,” I say.

He drops his face, and suddenly I understand.

“It was harder on you and Jenny than you let on,” I say, realizing now what I hadn't before.

He shrugs. “We could see he wanted to be with you.”

“But you were both excited about having him.”

He doesn't respond.

“I'm sorry, Justin.” I reach over and touch his hand.

“We figured he'd be our first child and then we'd have a couple more.”

I leave my hand there, on top of his, such a simple thing.

“We both wanted a house full of kids.”

I think about what he's saying, the telling of a dream.

“She wanted two girls and two boys and I just wanted whoever came.” He pulls his hand away from mine and runs his fingers through his hair, a nervous gesture. He glances over at the clock and then at the arrangement. “We both thought Will would help us get ready, you know, make a great older brother.”

I nod. He's right; Will would make a terrific sibling. I look down at the flowers and the pink gerbera. The large standard is staring at me; it's as if it has something to say. I study its face, the fresh bloom, and suddenly I think of something I had never considered before.

There is an awkward pause and I feel Justin stand up from the stool where he was sitting.

“I guess I need to be going, Ms. Ruby,” he says. He notices what I am doing. “Are you okay?”

I stare at the flower, its message quietly coming through.

“Justin, has Jenny seen anybody about her symptoms?” I ask. “Her regular doctor, a nurse practitioner, the pharmacist?”

He shakes his head slowly. “I think we've both been denying what's going on. We dread having to start all those appointments again. We've been hoping she just had a virus and that she'll get better.”

“Tell me her symptoms again.”

He lets out a long breath; it's a litany he doesn't want to repeat, but once more, for me, he does. “She wakes up sick every morning, feels like she's going to throw up. She's really tired all day, has to take a nap after lunch. She's nauseated, only wants to eat saltine crackers or potato chips. She made me go to the store for the vinegar ones, the saltiest ones they have.”

He stops.

“She thinks salty things will make her feel better. It's like she craves them or something.”

And his eyes light up. Just like that. The light comes on. He's having the same thought I just had, the one the pink gerbera gave me.

“Justin, I can't speak from any personal experience, but that sounds a lot like being pregnant.”

There is a wild look in his eyes. “What should I do?”

“Well, first, breathe.”

And he inhales.

“And then, I'd say you go to the drugstore and buy one of those pregnancy tests.”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head.

“Breathe out,” I tell him.

He exhales, opens his eyes.

He doesn't move.

I wait.

“The pharmacy is that way.” I point to the right.

He is still shaking his head but manages to walk around the counter. He opens the door.

“Wait!” I hurry to his side. “Don't forget your jacket.”

I walk over to the coat hook where he had hung his light coat. I hand it to him, and he puts it on and turns to leave.

“Oh, wait!”

He turns to me again.

“Don't forget these.” I hand him the vase of flowers, but he stares down at them as if he doesn't know what to do with them, as if his hands can't wrap around them.

“Never mind,” I tell him, taking back the magic flowers. “You can come get them later, like maybe when there's good news.”

He stares at me, still in a state of shock.

“Go!” I say, and I watch him turn and run up the street.

P
OINSETTIAS,
poinsettias, poinsettias.” Nora is looking over the orders called in over the last few days. She and Jimmy took a short trip to Seattle to celebrate their birthdays. She's come back to a pad full of holiday orders. “How did that plant get to be so popular?”

“Fleur de Bueno Noche,” I say. “Flower of the Holy Night, also called the Christmas Stars; it's the celebrated plant of the season.”

“Well, at least there's no arranging them, right?”

I smile. “Right. We just order the plants from Cooper and give them out as they come in.”

“When is he coming, anyway?” she wants to know.

“He called about an hour ago. He's stopping at Valley to meet the new florist.” I turn to Nora. “She's young,” I say.

“Then we should expect him tomorrow,” she adds, and we both laugh.

“What else you got going on?”

I think about the question. “There's the club Christmas party. Carl wants ilex and hypericum.”

“Berries?” she asks. “Carl wants a room full of berries?”

“He's tired of blooms,” I tell her and shrug. “It'll be nice.”

“There's Jenny's baby shower December twenty-third.”

“Pink or blue?” She eyes me as if I might know that too.

Everyone in town seems to think I had something to do with the pregnancy. The way Justin tells it, I knew it before anyone else and that I somehow made it happen.

“I don't know,” I answer, but feel myself leaning in the direction of the delphiniums, most of which happen to be blue. I won't tell this for now and will mix in a few pink roses so as not to reveal my premonitions.

“Boy, what a year!” She sighs and takes a seat on the stool. Clementine yawns and I see her feet stretch out from under the table.

I stop making the arrangements for the nursing home holiday party and walk over and pour myself a cup of coffee. It's nice to have a break. I hold up the pot, offering it to Nora, but she waves it away. “It has been, hasn't it?” I shake my head and walk back to the table. “Accidents, adoptions, marriages, pregnancies . . .”

“Deaths,” Nora adds, and I stop, remembering Dan and Juanita.

“Yes.”

“Moves.” She takes off her glasses and wipes them with the sleeve of her sweater. “You out of all your boxes?”

I nod. “Even have the decorations up.”

“Well, aren't you the chipper house owner?” She puts her glasses on and places her hands on her knees.

“Just living my best life,” I say, and I reach over and give her a big nudge, almost pushing her off her seat.

“I'll write Oprah and let her know,” she says, retaining her balance.

“Please do,” I reply.

“So has John stopped by?”

“I can't believe it. You actually made it an entire fifteen minutes without asking me about John Cash.”

She grins. “Well?”

“He helped put up the tree,” I answer.

And she claps.

I roll my eyes. “Why is it so important to you that I have romance?”

She stares at me like I've just said the most ridiculous thing she's ever heard. “You ask me a question like that?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Ruby Jewell, you are the queen of romance. You're the Cupid of Creekside. You've been arranging relationships, putting couples together, stirring the pot, making the magic for everyone in this town as long as you've been sticking roses in a vase. Everybody here has been waiting for you to drink the Kool-Aid you've been handing out for twenty years.”

I am stunned by her speech. I have never really noticed a disconnect from what I want for others and what I have wanted for myself. “Who says this?”

“Who says this?” she repeats. “Who
doesn't
say this?”

“Well, I don't believe you,” I tell her.

“Fine. Let's call somebody and ask them.” She walks over to the phone, picks it up, and dials a number.

I go over, take her seat, and watch.

“Madeline, it's Nora. Will you please tell me what you ask about Ruby every time we talk?” She hands me the phone.

“I ask you if Ruby's found love.”

There is a pause.

“Nora? Nora? Are you still here?”

I hand her back the phone.

“Thanks, Madeline,” and she hangs up and dials another number.

“Stan, it's Nora at the shop. Can you tell me what you said to me about Ruby the last time I saw you at the chiropractor's?” She holds the phone up so I can hear.

“Let's see.” I recognize Stan's voice on the line. “I think I said that for somebody so artful at arranging the hearts of others, Ruby doesn't seem to have the same gift for herself.”

I feel a little offended.

“Nora, are you there?”

There is a pause as she puts the phone to her ear. “Oh, it's fine, you didn't say anything she doesn't need to hear.” And she tells him good-bye and hangs up.

She dials again. “Vivian, it's Nora. What do you think about the fact that Ruby is still single?”

She hands me the phone.

“Oh gosh, Nora, I don't think anything more than anybody else thinks about that.”

And I am about to hand her the phone and tell her that she was wrong about that call when Vivian goes on. “Everybody thinks she's too busy worrying about romance for other people and not worried enough about romance for herself.”

“Well, that's because it takes some of you so long to figure things out, I don't have time to think about myself,” I say, and then hear the line go dead.

I keep the phone this time.

“Okay, so what?” I ask. “So what that people think I don't do enough for myself to have romance? I like spending my time helping love along for others. What's so wrong with that?”

“There's nothing wrong with it,” she answers. “It's just that we all think it's time now for you.”

I am about to respond by telling her all that I have to do, all the arrangements I have to make, the wristlets for the high school holiday party that need to be created by the weekend, the church socials that require decorations, the nursing home centerpiece, the berries for the club—but before I can start my litany, she asks the question I have refused to ask myself all of my life.

“What are you so afraid of?”

And suddenly, I think about Will and the thing he said to me months ago, the thing he said when we worried that Jenny wasn't going to make it.

“I am afraid that everyone I love will die.”

The truth blossoms right in front of me.

And Nora walks to me, stands very close, reaches out, and holds my chin in her hand. She smells of lilac, Charles Joly, the double magenta variety that blooms early.

“Everyone is going to die,” she tells me. “You can't stop that from happening whether you love them or not.” She studies me. “What made you finally decide to adopt Will?”

I shrug. “I don't know,” I answer.

“You opened your heart,” she says. “You fought against the fear and you let your heart open. That's how you did it.”

I lower my eyes.

“And you can do it again,” she says. “Because now you see how good it feels, don't you? Wouldn't you do the same thing all over again even if Will dies today? Wouldn't you be glad that you had whatever time you had with him, your heart completely open, wouldn't you do it all over again?” She lets go of my chin, stepping away, and the smell of lilacs fades.

“I don't know,” I repeat to myself. “I don't know if love can really overcome grief.”

“Well, I do,” she says confidently. She pauses, and I think she has said her piece.

But she has not.

“Do you remember when I was pulling out those porcupine quills from you after the accident?”

I nod slightly. Much of that night still feels like a fog, but I remember Nora leaning over me, yanking the tiny needles from my hands and chest.

“It was horrible and I kept thinking how much I must be hurting you. I almost couldn't do it but I pulled them, spine after spine, telling myself,
Ruby has quills all around her heart. There is a wall of spikes that must come down. I must find a way to get to her heart.
”

She glances away, shaking her head. “It was the only way I could do what was necessary, the only way I could keep doing what I was certain was hurting you. But then I began to think that what I was saying was more than just words to keep me pulling out the quills. I began to think it was true.”

She has me now.

“I have known for a long time that you built a wall around yourself. I know what Daisy's death did to you, how it broke you, and how the only way you could survive was by closing yourself off to anything or anybody who scared you. That wall was thick and strong. I know that Dan Miller helped you crack it open and then Will walked in and blasted through it, and now it is time to let yourself love again, let yourself be wide open, risk it all.”

I look away and face the front window.

“You just got it taken down,” she says. “The wall around your heart, it just got taken down. Don't build it up again. Now is the time to love. Now.”

I close my eyes and try to breathe. I try to let her words in. I try to see how it might be.

It is a long time before I open them and when I do, Nora is peering out the window. There is just a second as I try to understand what she is seeing and then she turns back to me and smiles; and it is clear. I take in the breath and release it, and as I do I watch as the winter sky collapses. It is as if all the stars are exploding. Everything bound is suddenly loosed. All around us, descending from heaven like petals of white roses, the first snow of the season is falling.