A Bouquet of Dreams

Chapter 2

Every flower must grow through dirt.

—Laurie Jean Sennott

Early the next day, Claire woke to the buzz of an incoming happy birthday text on her cell phone. She picked it up, blinked, yawned. It was her dad, texting from Germany. She smiled. He always remembered.

Dad

Happy birthday!

Claire

Thanks!

A package should arrive soon. It’s Nana’s Bible.

It came! Thank you! I love it. I remember how often she read it at the kitchen table. I’ll take good care of it.

Maybe read it now and then too.

Haha.

Have you given any more thought about moving to Germany? They need florists here too.

Nope. Can’t. My plans here are in liftoff mode!

Sort of in liftoff mode. More like ... sputtering-to-start-the-engines mode. But there was no way on God’s green earth that Claire would move to wherever Dad was stationed. She knew the drill. As soon as she arrived, he’d get transferred somewhere else.

She set her phone down, slipping into a vortex of memories. She’d spent her entire childhood as a military brat. Her mother had gone AWOL (Dad’s euphemistic term) after a few years as a military wife, when Claire was a toddler. “One too many moves” was all Claire knew of her mother, or why she’d left them. Years later, she thought she might understand it. By high school, she’d been to seven schools and Dad had new orders for another move—this one was somewhere in the Middle East. Enough, she’d decided, and told Dad she wanted to live with his parents in Sunrise, North Carolina. Happily, he didn’t object. It was a good decision. She had loved high school, other than the school part. And she had adored her grandparents.

So what was she doing in Savannah, Georgia?

Well, first and foremost, the South was the only place to live. Claire had seen enough of the world as an army brat to know that much for herself.

By Claire’s senior year in high school, life at home was rapidly changing. Her grandfather had passed away suddenly. Dad was given compassionate leave to fly in from overseas. While Nana was napping, Claire and her dad had sat in the big room near the woodstove, sipping tea. She’d been telling Dad that Nana seemed to be getting forgetful in the worst way.

Dad was listening carefully before he dropped a bombshell. “Claire, I’m moving Nana to a nursing facility. That’s one of the things I came back to do while I’m on leave.”

Claire’s stomach rose and fell. Hold the phone! She wanted her dad to say he was coming home to stay ... not to put Nana in a home. She tried to object, insisting that she could take care of Nana, but she knew she couldn’t. A tiny part of her was relieved when her dad wouldn’t hear of it. Nana liked to wander, especially during the night. Right after Grandpa had died, Claire had woken and couldn’t find her. She finally called the police, and they had found Nana walking in her nightie along the dark, winding mountain road that led to Asheville. Speeding cars, wild animals, slippery ditches. Terrifying.

“The thing is,” Dad said, “Grandpa had compensated for her in more ways than we realized. With him gone, Nana’s dementia is not only more obvious but far worse.”

And then came another blow. To pay for Nana’s nursing home costs, Dad needed to sell the house. “You can stay in the house until it sells, which ought to happen right around graduation time,” he told Claire. “Then...”

Then what? She would turn eighteen in July. She had a pretty good idea what came next in his mind. “I’m not joining the military.”

His brow wrinkled. “I thought we’d agreed you planned to join up.”

“Nope.” Claire shook her head firmly. “I never agreed to that. You’ve just always hoped I’d follow in your military footsteps.”

He frowned. “It’s a good life.”

“Sure, if you choose it. You did. I don’t.”

His frown deepened. “So what do you want to do after you graduate?”

College wasn’t an option. School had never been easy for Claire, and she was happy to leave academics behind. Dad had never pushed her to excel, which she had appreciated. “Just get your diploma,” he would tell her. “That’s all the army needs.” Joining the military was his constant drumbeat. Learn a trade, travel the world, enjoy excellent job security. And don’t forget duty to your country. That was probably his top reason to join the military. He was a patriot through and through.

“I want to have my own flower shop.”

His eyebrows shot up. His voice rose an octave. “Flowers?” No career choice could be farther from his. Her dad was an army mechanic. He worked on diesel engines. He could fix anything. It was why he was wanted at army bases all over the world. His face scrunched up. “Flowers? You want a lifetime of sticking flowers in a vase?”

Put that way, it sounded silly. But it wasn’t silly. It was so much more than arranging flowers in a vase. Flowers touched a person’s life in a deep and personal way. They marked life’s important milestones—from births to weddings to funerals, and everything in between. They could transform an environment like magic. Flowers were magical. “Rose said that anyone who works with flowers is in the business of happiness.”

“Rose. You really think a lot of her, don’t you?”

“She’s fabulous. She’s taught us so much. She lets us help make arrangements. Not the whole thing, but she lets us start it. Jaime and Tessa and I are planning to have a shop together. Just yesterday, we told Rose that someday we want to buy the flower shop from her.”

“What did she have to say to that?”

“Rose said...” Claire paused and looked up at the ceiling. “Actually, she didn’t have an answer. She just told us to get back to work.”

He laughed. “Well, let’s get you to the finish line for high school.” He held up her report card, which wasn’t her best. “Then we’ll figure out what comes next.”

“Don’t you worry, Dad. I can handle what comes next.”

But what came next turned out to be a disaster.

Nana’s house sold quickly, and three months later, Nana died in her sleep. Claire had been staying at Rose’s—an arrangement her dad had cooked up before he left for Germany. He didn’t want her to be alone. On that hot August night when everything changed—and she meant everything—she had hopped on the first bus that passed through.

Nine hours later, the only reason Claire got off the bus in Savannah, Georgia, was because the bus driver said it was the end of his route. Something about the reluctant way she left her seat must have tipped him off, because he swore under his breath. “You a runaway, ain’t ya?”

“Nope,” Claire said, clutching her backpack. “I’m not. I’m not running away.” She was running to something. A new life. A fresh start. “And I’m over eighteen.” Just barely.

He gave her a suspicious look. “But you got no place to go?”

“Well, you see—”

The driver pointed to a tall steeple down the road. “You go to that church and ask for a lady named MaryBeth. That lady’s an angel. Tell her Hiram sent you. She’ll make sure you’re looked after.”

Claire did not need looking after. She just needed ... a little immediate help. Some food and a place to sleep. Just for tonight. She’d been in such a panic to leave that she didn’t even bring the wad of cash she kept hidden under the bed at Rose’s house. “Thanks,” she told him and started down the road to the church. At some point, she knew she would have to process the tumultuous events of the past twenty-four hours, to try and figure out how everything went so badly. Someday, but not today. For now, she wanted to live in the world of possibilities.

But she was hungry and tired after spending the night on the bus. The front door to the church was locked, so she walked around to the church office. A small dour woman sat in front of a computer at a desk and looked up when Claire opened the door to her office.

“I’m looking for MaryBeth.”

The woman pointed to the door. “She’s in the kitchen. Down the hall to your left.”

Claire went down the hall to her left, following a scent of baking bread that could’ve led her to the right place without directions. In the kitchen, she saw a handful of women at different spots at the counter. It looked like they’d baked bread for communion, because now they were cutting the bread into tiny little squares, the way Claire’s nana used to do at the church in Sunrise. The women chatted companionably as they sliced and diced. Claire felt a sweep of longing for Rose’s Flower Shop. This was what it had been like for them—for her, Jaime, and Tessa. How could it all be over? All because of Rose’s charming yet deceptive nephew, Chris Reid.

Struggling to tamp down emotions, Claire’s eyes started swimming with tears, and she hunted through her backpack for a tissue.

A thickly accented Southern voice interrupted her moment of self-pity. “Sweet pea, can I help you?”

Claire’s head snapped up. Standing just a few feet away from her was a Betty White look-alike. A petite older woman who dressed with care: a crisp bright pink blouse over ironed white pants. Her face was pretty, with fine features and carefully applied makeup, sprayed hair, and big pearl earrings. Something about the kind, maternal look in her warm eyes made Claire know she’d found the right person. “If your name happens to be MaryBeth, then you sure can.”

And so she was.

Anyhoo, that was then and this was now. She squeezed her eyes shut. Only the good memories, she reminded herself. It was her mantra. Only remember the good memories. She threw off the covers to start the day. Today was her twenty-fifth birthday!