Thursday, February 27, 2014

Flowers for My Lady


I was in the process of dethorning roses in the back room of my shop—Kathy's Rainbow Florist—when I heard the bell tinkle above the front door.
I pushed back the curtain, and stepped to the counter. David Wright, still the most eligible bachelor in town, was peering into a refrigerated showcase.
Ten years ago we'd been in high school together, though our paths seldom crossed.
"Did you sell another house?"
I smiled, and wiped my hands on my apron.
Dave is in real estate. About six months ago he started having flowers delivered to new homebuyers on their move-in dates. Though he can place the orders over the phone, he always stops by.  We chat and laugh. He bought flowers for his mom's birthday and Mother's Day. Once he even bought flowers for his secretary's birthday. A little pang of jealousy pricked me as I wondered about their relationship and what she was like.
Now he turned and smiled at me with his boyish good looks.
"No house sale," he said.  "And it's not Mother's Day—I might have a date next week...my graduating class's ten-year reunion."
When I thought of his dating someone, that pang of jealousy pricked me again, but I told myself, Kathy, get a grip. He's a customer!  Then I said, "You need to order a corsage, right?"
"Right." David peered into the showcase again.
"Who's the lady?" I asked, trying to sound only vaguely interested.
"Liz Chambers. She emailed me. Said she'd be in town."
He looked sheepish, and I felt my eyebrows rise.
Liz was the best-looking, most sought-after girl in high school. When she started dating David during their senior year, everyone thought she had finally settled down and the two would marry someday, but after graduation they broke up when she flew off the New York to seek a modeling career. David joined his dad here in Lost Grove in the real estate business.
"What's she going to wear?"
He scratched his head of curly black hair. "Don't now."
"Something slinky? Flashy? Elegant?"
"Really, I have no idea—are you going to be there?"
I shook my head and felt a little disappointed he didn't remember I was a year behind him in school. "My ten-year anniversary is next year. "
He studied me a moment, as if seeing me for the first time, and I felt myself blushing.
"Why don't you ask about her dress?"
"I can do that." He pointed at the showcase. "What are these, here in front?"
"Sweetheart roses."
"They're beautiful. You make corsages out of them?"
"Frequently. They're feminine. Delicate."
"Would you like a corsage made of sweetheart roses?"
"My absolute first choice, but I think Liz would like something more spectacular. An orchid perhaps."
"You're right—I'll ask about her dress. And if she'd like an orchid."
All week, I kept thinking about David and the right corsage for Liz. I suspected Liz's dress might be red. Something off-the-shoulder. Definitely slinky.
Monday morning, first thing, eight o'clock, David shuffled through the front door of my shop. "Did you contact Liz?" I asked.
"I did."
"Did you ask about her dress?"
"I didn't."
That surprised me. "Well," I said, "that's okay. I can fix an orchid to go with nearly anything. Would she like it for her wrist or dress?"
He shrugged. "Didn't you say you'd like the sweetheart roses?"
"Yes, but I'm not sure Liz—"
"The roses will be fine."
"Wrist or dress?" I said again.
"What would you prefer?"
Suddenly our eyes locked.  My heart went all fluttery. "David, it's not up to me."
"Yes it is," he said, suddenly looking hesitant and fearful yet hopeful—all at the same time. "Because I've been coming into this shop for several months now, and I've finally decided I like a girl who likes roses—not orchids. Would...you be my date? I know it's short notice."
I blinked. My knees nearly wilted. "Liz—?"
"I told her I had someone else in mind. I said I was sorry." A smile crept across his face. "I'd be honored if you'd be my florist—and my date."
I blinked again. Twice.
In slow motion.
"This could be a perfect match," he said.
I inhaled. Exhaled. Gulped. "I'd love to be your date," I said, my heart racing, and I immediately decided that for my wrist I'd fashion—you guessed it—a lovely corsage of sweetheart roses.

                                      The End
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Monday, February 24, 2014

The Girl Most Likely


"Mind if I sit next to you?" the girl asked, and smiled.
I was sitting on a park bench in the shade of the willow tree. I scooted over and said, "Be my guest."
"All the picnic tables seem to be taken."
She was short, her hair curly and copper-colored, her smile dazzling. I recognized her from high school: Katie McCoy, a laughing, mischievous little creature, always the center of attention.
She was focused on balancing a huge funnel cake on a paper plate in the palm of her left hand, while clutching a cup of lemonade in the other.
"The park's so crowded," she said.
"Isn't it a beautiful day for the Dixieland Fest?"
"Yes, indeed," I said.
It was noontime. I'd taken an hour off for lunch and had wandered down to LeClaire Park to sit in the cool breeze and listen to the Dixieland bands. Adults and kids sprawled on blankets in the grass, lounged in lawn chairs under trees, or sat at picnic tables scattered about. Laughing couples danced on the concrete pad in front of the band shell.
After giving me a curious look, she eyed her funnel cake, sprinkled with powdered sugar and took a bite. Then a sip of lemonade. She looked at me and said, "Free concerts like this in the park, such a marvelous idea. They're good for downtown."
"Are you part of the downtown community?"
She dabbed her full lips with a napkin. "Computer Service Center," she said. "Katie McCoy, owner and manager. "
"Ah," I said, nodding. "I'm Justine Parker. My Dad and I own the Blue Moon antique and collectible shop two blocks from here."
"Glad to meet you." She leaned toward. "I'll tell you a secret. Once a year I give myself a break from all the hassle. I come down here to the park to spend the afternoon and soak up the music."
"I always show up at lunchtime for a while."
"I usually don't talk to strangers," she said, "no matter how nice-looking and gentlemanly they appear to be, but since I sat down, I've had this feeling I know you..."
The Wooden Nickel Band revved up with "The St. Louis Blues March." The music from the horns, drum, bass, and piano seemed to stir the treetops.
"Fifth period English," I said. "Ms. Larsen's class. I sat across from you."
Her blue eyes got big. Her hand flew to her mouth "Yes! Oh my, yes. I remember—you were always so quiet."
"And you were probably the most popular girl in school."
She blushed a light pink. "Not quite, but I had lots of fun."
"Lots of boyfriends."
Laughter brightened her eyes. "Never ever could make up my mind who was exactly right for me. So what have you been doing all this time?"
"Two years in business college," I said, "then I went in with Dad at the antique shop—biggest and best in the area. And you?"
"College. Then retail sales—and now I have my own business. She eyed me. "I can't believe how...how you've changed except for the curly black hair and being so tall. You were always so—" She halted.
"Skinny. Awkward," I said for her. "Late bloomer, I guess."
I glanced at my watch. My lunchtime in the park was nearly up. I hated to tear myself away from Katie. Yet I had to leave, if only momentarily.
"Will you wait here a few minutes? " I said. "I have to check in at the store, but I'll be right back."
"All right."
I hurried up the street to the Blue Moon and told Dad I was going to spend some time in the park this afternoon with someone I thought was very special. He'd have to struggle through the expected rush of customers without me. With a twinkle in his eye Dad said, "If it's a girl, it's about time."
But after I returned to the park, Dixieland music still filling the air, Katie was gone, and another couple sat on the bench. After searching for maybe twenty minutes, I scurried back to the bench for a final look. My mouth dropped open and my heart skipped, for there sat Katie
"Hi," I said. "Been looking for you."
Her face broke into a sheepish little smile. "Sorry I left."
I sat down. We were silent a moment. I was so happy I'd found her again, I said, "I've got to tell you something."
"What?"
"In senior year, I had a major crush on you. You absolutely stole my heart."
She blinked. "You're kidding."
"Nope. And I thought you the girl most likely—well, to do achieve whatever you wanted in life. College, career, marriage—all yours."
"Almost," she said with a wry smile. "Except for the last part."
"No marriage?"
"I expected a proposal after I graduated from Michael Lancaster—he'd hinted—but he kissed me passionately one evening and in effect said, 'See you. I've found someone else.'"
"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to dredge up bad memories."
"That's all right." She looked at her hands, folded in her lap. "I just met him again—just moments ago while you were gone. Michael Lancaster. He's divorced now."
My heart dropped into my stomach. I wondered if she'd come back to tell me they were going to make an afternoon and evening of the Dixieland Fest. Renew their passion.
We sat listening to the "Muskrat Ramble," tapping our toes.  Finally I said, "So you and Michael...?" My question trailed off.
"Michael had his chance long ago," she said, and looked at me with her clear blue eyes. The cool tone in her voice told me that Michael was definitely history.
Gathering my courage, I said, "How about if we walk up to the band shell where we can hear and see better?"
"I'd love to."
At the band shell, we stood among the spectators, again tapping our toes, this time to "The Dark-Town Strutters Ball."
I faced Katie, slipped my hand into hers, and said, "Shall we—dance?"
The Girl Most Likely titled her head at the word dance, apparently catching my deeper, intended meaning, her smile warm.
Circling her arm around my shoulder, she said, "Let's…"
                                                           The End
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Monday, February 17, 2014

Reunion


The principal of Jefferson High School, who had been here ten years ago when I graduated as an seventeen-year-old girl, stood on the stage in the Starlight Ballroom and finally said into the microphone, "Now that I've finished with my little speech, let me tell you that we are fortunate to have with us tonight for your reunion your Homecoming Queen and King—Danielle Collier and Reid McMahon."
Applause exploded through the ballroom, smothering out the clinking of cocktail glasses and the murmur of conversation.
"As is our tradition, I'm going to ask our king and queen to come forward and lead off the next round of dancing."
The murmuring stopped.
Everyone seemed to be holding their breath. I'm sure they'd all heard rumors about what'd happened shortly after Reid and I graduated.
Blond and still handsome, he came strolling across the dance floor to stand within inches of me. My breath caught. My heart pounded. I searched his face for a sign of pent-up anger, and I prayed for forgiveness.
"Dance, Dani?" he said softly, no hint of anger in his voice or eyes. The music was slow—a song from back in our time but my mind was reeling so fast I couldn't remember its title.
"We can't break tradition," I said, and offered a smile.
Smiling back, Reid opened his arms, I stepped into them, and the crowd applauded. As the music surrounded us, other dancers joined us on the dance floor.
With Reid's arms around me once again, my mind flashed back to a decade ago. A week after Reid and I graduated, my mom whisked me away early one morning on a plane to Boston. Dad remained here in Lost Nation—our little Midwestern home—for a short time. He eventually sold our house, closed down his real estate agency, and moved to Boston, where Mom was from. They'd moved to Lost Nation originally because he'd wanted me to grow up in a small Midwestern town like he had.
"Your leaving devastated me," Reid said, as I swayed in his arms to the music. "I never knew exactly what happened. I managed to talk to your dad before he left town. He said he was saving you and me from ourselves, from making a mistake, and besides your mom wanted to move back East. He said someday you and I would thank him. Your mom had found a letter—what letter?"
"Mom found a letter in my dresser that I'd written to her and dad, telling them you and I had run away to be married. I wanted the letter to be ready so when the moment to leave came I wouldn't have to think about writing it."
"All we needed was a few hundred dollars more," Reid said wistfully.
I lifted me eyes to his. "The move back East was forced on me," I said. "Honest. But when I look back, I realize it was the best thing for us. I mean, we were only kids—in love, yes, but by no means ready for marriage. "
"I admit," Reid said, smiling ruefully, "your folks did the right thing. They saved us from ourselves and gave us a chance to grow up."
"We needed that."
"Since my folks died, I've had to work night and day—I would've had no time for a family—but the farm is finally prospering now." Then he said solemnly, "I didn't know where you were, but you could've written. Or called. Or emailed."
His forehead dipped. Touched mine. A warmth spread though me.
"Oh, Reid, I wanted to, but what would any of that have done but bring us more misery? I was in college, you were here...fifteen hundred miles away. I thought it best to keep the break clean." My eyes slid up to his. "You're not angry, are you?"
"I was—bitterly. But not any longer. I'm...just delighted to see you." He seemed to hesitate. "Married?"
"Divorced. Three years ago. No children. I kept my maiden name. I know you're not married—I asked about you."
He pulled me closer, my heart pounding again. "Will you be staying in town for a while?" he asked.
"I could. I'm a teacher. I have the summer off."
The music stopped. But another slow ballad started up. Reid's arms roped themselves around my waist. My arms tightened around his neck. As if I were in high school again, I felt flushed and happy. I could think of nowhere else I wanted to be.
"Would you like to see the farm?" he asked.
"Love to," I said, and we continued to dance.

Monday, February 10, 2014

A Date for Valentine's Day


I tossed the red dress on the bed and reached in the closet for the black one. Suddenly, my fourteen-year-old daughter, Emily, inched my bedroom door open. "He'll be here in ten minutes, Mom."
"I need you a sec."
The door swung open.
"What do you think of this dress?" I held it front of me.
"Wear the red dress.
It's Valentine's Day."
"But the red is so—flashy. And this black one is simple, elegant."
"Red equals love, Mom."
I smiled at my daughter. "Ben's a great guy, Emily. We've been seeing each other quite often, I like him a lot, but love...that's a scary thought."
"You're not seeing each other, Mom. You're dating! Admit it."
"Ben and I are simply friends who enjoy each other's company."
 Emily rolled her eyes. "The red dress, Mom. You've got eight minutes before he's here. Max."
I'd met Ben Cunningham on a warm Saturday afternoon in October last year, when I attended the Halloween Parade to watch Emily, a flute player, march in the high school band. Youngsters riding the scarecrow float threw hard candies at the crowd. Kids rushing to snatch the pieces off the pavement accidentally shoved me. I slipped off the curb and Ben, who had been standing next to me, caught me before I toppled over.
He'd been watching his nephew, a trombone player in the band. Later, we sat on a park bench and talked and talked. He managed the Ace Hardware franchise in town. I owned a craft shop. Both small business people, we've been friends ever since—a widow and widower.
I eyed the two dresses now, the black one and the red one. To me, seeing someone seemed to imply a casual relationship. Dating seemed to imply romance.  My husband had died five years ago—I wasn’t sure I could deal with romance again. I was positive I'd forgotten how.
But I wore the red dress.
We had made reservations for a table for two at the Starlight Supper Club. Ben, tall and handsome with a bit of gray in his wavy brown hair, wore a dark suit and tie. "You look beautiful," he said as he seated himself across from me at the table. "But of course, I told you that earlier, didn't I?"
I blushed, wondering if my face were the color of my dress and of the red table cloth. "And you're quite handsome."
A waiter appeared. Bowed. Introduced himself. Left menus.
I ordered lobster. Ben ordered steak. We ate.  We talked about our businesses. We talked about city taxes and politics.  New movies. The February weather: sleet, snow, ice. We hoped spring would arrive soon. We talked like casual friends do, but all the while I felt a warm glow between us.
Finally, I asked, "Are we seeing each other or are we dating?"
Ben's head tilted. "Umm...I haven’t thought about the difference," he said. "But I don't know what I'd do without the wonderful moments we spend together."
I didn't know what to say. I especially didn't want to say anything foolish, so I reached into my handbag sitting on the floor next to my chair and plucked out a tissue-wrapped package. The white paper was crinkly, and the red bow stuck to the top was squished from being stuffed into my bag.
I handed the gift to Ben, surprising him.
"For me?" he said, his eyebrows lifting.
"A little Valentine to let you know I appreciate our times together, too."
He unwrapped the package. His eyes grew big. "Oh, wow! It's beautiful." I'd knitted him a scarlet-and-gold scarf. Scarlet and gold are the colors of the university he'd gradated from. He wrapped the scarf around his neck. "I can't thank you enough."
He beamed, and my heart swelled.
I said, "I thought something personal would let you know—well, you're a friendly breath of fresh air in my life."
"I feel the same way," he said.
Ben tugged the scarf from his neck, folded it, and laid it carefully on the table. Reaching into his suit-coat pocket, he pulled out a small box wrapped in red tissue with a white ribbon and bow.
My heart skipped. He handed me the gift. When I opened the box, I saw a beautiful silver bracelet. I was breathless. "I can't accept—"
"Yes, you can. I only wish my gift could've been more personal. Like yours."
"But, Ben..."
His hands reached across the table and gripped mine.
"How many times have we gone out?"
"Um...I'm not sure. A few..."
"More than a few, Kathleen." His look was tender, his grip on my hands firm. "I'd say we're dating."
I swallowed. Was it my red dress making me feel so warm? I didn't think so. Was I actually falling in love again? "You're right," I said, squeezing his hands. "We're dating."


The End
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