A Bouquet of Dreams

Chapter 11

All the flowers of all the tomorrows are in the seeds of today.

—Native American proverb

As soon as Arthur arrived, MaryBeth closed the workshop door and sat on a stool, ready for that chat. Apparently, Claire learned, MaryBeth and Arthur had been in negotiations to sell Same Day Delivery to Turner Flowers for quite some time. “Now, I know you had a hope to buy Same Day Delivery,” MaryBeth said, “but the truth is, you don’t have the money to buy it. This shop has been our livelihood. It’s our retirement package. The whole kit and caboodle. If we sold it to you, we’d have to be your bank, and you’d be paying us in installments. That’s assuming that you make a success of the shop. What if things took a downturn? Flowers rise and fall with the economy. They’re a luxury, not a necessity. If things go bad, Arthur and me, we don’t have years and years to recover. We’re getting older. We need the money now.”

“But I would make it a success.” Claire knew she would. She just needed the chance.

“Sweet pea, you just got kicked out of a conference designed to improve customer service skills. If that doesn’t tell you something about yourself, I don’t know what will.”

Claire opened her mouth to defend herself, but MaryBeth wagged a finger in the air.

“I had such high hopes for you, sweet pea. I told Jim Turner to keep a lookout for you. I was hoping he would hire you on, so you could stay right here. And what happened? You got yourself ejected because you lost your temper.”

“It wasn’t my fault! You see, I recognized—”

“Jim Turner told me you were belligerent in the breakout circles.”

“Belligerent?!”

“That’s what he said. According to Jim Turner, you sounded like you knew better than the customer about what flowers they should send. I had no words to defend you, Claire. I’ve seen you do the same thing with customers at the shop. Always suggesting something else.” She let out a deep sigh. “I’m sorry. I really am. I know you’re disappointed, but Arthur and me, we’ve done all we can for you. You’re twenty-five years old. It’s high time to figure things out on your own.”

Claire felt her stomach rise and fall like lead. Her vision grew distorted, and she blinked to get it back into focus. She tried to keep her game face on, tried to remain calm. Later. She could fall apart later. “But you promised. You promised to sell the store to me.”

“No, sweet pea. We never promised. Did we, Arthur?”

As if on cue, both Claire and MaryBeth turned to look at Arthur. He swiveled, suddenly terribly interested in straightening the tools on the peg wallboard.

Arthur was the one who had told Claire that she’d be a good choice to take over Same Day Delivery one day. She had counted on his words as a promise. But MaryBeth had never been a part of that conversation. She’d never said a word about selling the store to Claire. Only Arthur had. And MaryBeth ran the show. Big mistake.

A numb feeling settled over Claire, which turned out to be a blessing. She made it through work all day without any unpleasant emotions rising to the surface, she handled customers very politely, and she processed a large order of carnations for an upcoming wedding. She kept as busy as possible to crowd out troubling thoughts of the future, or unbidden ones from the past. Later, she reminded herself. Later, you can fall apart.

At the end of the day, she arrived home to an empty house. Another blessing. Her housemates had some church event tonight and wouldn’t be back until late. She tossed her purse on the little table by the door, kicked off her shoes, and flopped onto the couch. In just two days, she had lost everything and everyone that mattered to her. She still had her dad, of course, but he was thousands of miles away. She had thought, mistakenly, that she belonged to MaryBeth and Arthur. But she didn’t. She didn’t belong to anyone. She didn’t belong anywhere.

Now, she could fall apart.

Claire wasn’t sure how many tissues she’d gone through when an incoming text buzzed. Dabbing her eyes, she lifted her phone to read it.

Sophie

CONGRATULATIONS!!!!

Claire

For what?

The Savannah Blooms contest! YOU WON!!!

Claire bolted upright.

How do you know?

Just announced on Facebook. Aren’t you watching?

No.

For goodness’ sakes, girl. Why not?

Because she forgot all about it.

Got some bad news today at work. My employers are selling their shop to Turner Flowers. I’ll be out of a job soon.

Well, don’t you worry. After winning Savannah Blooms, you’ll be getting more job offers than a dog has fleas!

Hope you’re right! Doubt it, but I hope you’re right.

Sophie’s optimistic prediction was wrong, just like Claire had thought it would be. That week, she did receive some local media attention for winning the coveted award, lots of pats on the back, but not a single job offer. All because of Jim Turner. He spread the story about Claire’s outburst all over town, and it grew bigger with every telling. Sophie said she heard the words “domestic terrorist” linked to Claire’s name. Ridiculous! But effective.

Since the conference, Claire had become a flower shop pariah. She thought of striking out on her own and arranging flowers from her kitchen, but when she looked into it, she found out that Jim Turner’s influence reached to local suppliers. No one would give her a line of credit. There was no way she could buy flowers for clients’ events without that.

Less than one week to go before the Same Day Delivery business became Turner Flowers. That stupid ditty “Turn her day around with Turner Flowers” was stuck in Claire’s head, like a song on repeat. Well, Jim Turner sure did turn her day around. Her life had turned upside down.

One morning, MaryBeth put a hand on Claire’s shoulder. “Sweet pea, why don’t you go get yourself a new hairdo? That always makes me feel better. I’ll treat you to my gal. She’s a whiz.”

Noooo thank you. MaryBeth’s hairdo was something straight out of the 1970s. It never, ever changed. Very Betty White–ish. “Thanks, but my hair stylist is quite territorial. She’d be furious with me if I went elsewhere.” That was partly true.

Later that day, MaryBeth said she had to cut back on Claire’s hours.

“Cut back?” Claire was an hourly employee. How could she manage to pay her bills if her hours were cut back?

“With the shop going to Turner Flowers soon, I just don’t want Same Day Delivery to take on any new orders and run up a tab to get more flowers. I think it’s best to use up the inventory we have with walk-ins. And I can handle those, sweet pea.”

When Claire said she’d like to stay and help, MaryBeth hemmed and hawed, and then gave her the truth. “Sweet pea, customers are a little put off by how woebegone you’ve been lately. I think that maybe you need a little time to yourself.”

“But I don’t,” Claire said. She had way too much time to herself. Her thoughts were not good ones. Talking to customers, even annoying ones, was better than thinking. “I’ll try to act less woebegone.” Whatever that meant. It was true that the famous Claire temper had disappeared. She didn’t feel like eating, she didn’t feel like sleeping. There was nothing to look forward to, nothing to feel happy about, and nothing she could bring herself to do. Was that what being woebegone meant?

Claire set aside her woebegone feelings and tried to be clearheaded and rational. At one point, when the store was empty, she took out a pad of paper to brainstorm, to examine her options.

Where should she go? What else could she do?

The problem was that she didn’t want to do anything else with her life but work with flowers. They were all she knew. All she loved. All she counted on. Unlike people, flowers did not disappoint.

But if she wanted to work with flowers, it meant she’d have to move somewhere else far, far away. Those Turners were related to just about everybody in the state of Georgia. Her rent was paid to the end of the month, but she didn’t have enough saved to coast along for another month or so. Saving money had never been easy for Claire. She didn’t make much at the flower shop, and when she did have a little extra cash, she spent it on flowers. She was under the curse of living paycheck to paycheck. It worked so long as nothing broke.

She thought about emailing her dad, taking him up on his offer to move to Germany. But then what? He never remained long at any base. That scenario had happened all through her childhood. She’d barely have time to make a friend and boom! Dad would be sent elsewhere.

It was a recurring cycle in her life, this loneliness. She couldn’t seem to outrun it.

MaryBeth came in from the workshop. “Arthur just called. He’s coming over to help me do inventory. You can head on home. We’ll take everything from here.” When she saw the disappointed look on Claire’s face, she added, “Sweet pea, I know things haven’t worked out the way you wanted, but when the Lord—”

Oh no. Claire braced herself. Here came a platitude.

“—shuts one door, he opens another.”

MaryBeth loved those little sayings. She thought of them as cherries on top of ice cream sundaes. Claire thought of them as wimpy Band-Aids over a gaping wound.