Out of the Blue Bouquet (Crossroads Collection)

by Amanda Tru

  Thankfully, this would be a short trip. Not even a full week in Korea, and then he’d be on his way home. Work at the office didn’t slow down just because he was on the other side of the world.

  He quickened his pace when the rain began to pour. Who was stupid enough to walk around Seoul without an umbrella? He’d already been sweltering in his suit. Now he was about to get drenched as well.

  Why hadn’t he taken a cab? It wasn’t that much more expensive, and work would have paid for it either way. But he’d been hot and thought a short walk outside might help him clear his mind. As if anything was refreshing or relaxing about the polluted air in a city this crowded.

  He’d developed a small cough, usual after traveling to such a smoggy part of the world. Given his track record, there was a one in four chance he’d develop bronchitis in the following weeks and end up on antibiotics.

  Hurrying toward the B&B, Joseph wondered what he was even doing in this area of Seoul. For some reason, when his office assistant booked this trip she didn’t put him up in one of the usual hotels downtown. Joseph didn’t know if there’d been a price special or if Misty thought he’d enjoy a more authentic Korean experience staying in a traditional hanok, but he didn’t appreciate having to sleep on inch-thick mats instead of a regular bed or being forced to walk three or four extra blocks to the subway station.

  Especially in a downpour.

  There had been a time when he loved the rain. Back in college in Seattle, he and Jolene would run outside, laughing like the children they were, splashing and skipping in the spray.

  A little rain never hurt nobody. How many times had he said that to her?

  It had been raining when they shared their first kiss.

  Raining when he got down on one knee and proposed.

  Raining when they drove to the hospital the night Chelsea was born.

  And yes, raining the day they got the call about her accident.

  He still avoided Seoul Tower. Over a dozen trips to South Korea, and he hadn’t ventured anywhere near the city’s biggest tourist trap. What would be the point? The pilgrimage wouldn’t bring his daughter back to him.

  Usually, he was so good at burying her memory. How had he started thinking about her again?

  That’s right. The weather.

  His memories started with him and Jolene dancing in the rain and ended with the news of his daughter’s death.

  A little rain never hurt nobody? Yeah, right.

  No wonder he and his wife had divorced. His stupid affair aside, how could their marriage have survived if every single happy memory they once made together turned into a jagged, barbed reminder of the daughter they lost?

  There was no recovering from wounds like that.

  Maybe it was pessimistic. Some might listen to him and tell him he’d lost faith. Well, Joseph believed in God, believed in Jesus, believed in the Bible.

  But he no longer believed in miracles.

  Which is what it would have taken to keep his marriage from crumbling apart.

  Jolene couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone out with a woman half her age and enjoyed herself so much. Probably never. While they waited for their food, Mena talked about everything at once—her non-profit work for Korea Freedom International, her fiancé, Jin-Sun, who was one of the staff members in her organization, the plans for their wedding, their upcoming honeymoon in Greece.

  It was like talking to Chelsea’s twin. Jolene was reminded in every one of Mena’s smiles, every inflection in her voice, every animated story how similar the two girls had been.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t kept in better touch with you,” she said once the food arrived. “After we lost Chelsea …”

  Mena offered a smile full of warmth and sympathy. “I know. It’s embarrassing to admit, but I was really nervous about asking you to be in the wedding. Like it would hurt your feelings too much.”

  Jolene understood that rationale all too well. How many women from church stopped talking about Chelsea altogether because they didn’t want to bring up painful memories? As if ignoring the fact that Jolene’s daughter had died a tragic, early death would somehow heal her brokenness. As if erasing Chelsea’s memory was easier than confronting the pain of what happened.

  How long had it been since she’d had a conversation with anyone about Chelsea? She and Garcia used to talk about her. That’s what made her feel so safe, so loved early on in their relationship. Garcia was a psychologist. He wasn’t afraid of Jolene’s grief.

  But apparently, even a thriving career as a marital counselor doesn’t make you the perfect partner.

  Hence the fling with his client’s sister.

  He was remorseful. He apologized more profusely than her ex-husband had ever tried to.

  But she was done. Done with him, done with dating, done with men in general.

  If she thought Garcia deserved the second chance he was begging for, she was even more naïve than she’d been to marry Joseph half a lifetime ago.

  Joseph opened the door to his room and scowled at the colorful arrangement of flowers on the counter. If the men back at the Seoul office wanted to offer him a gift, they could have chosen something a little more practical and hopefully more masculine. Or maybe Misty sent it. His assistant spent half of her mental energy figuring out the flower arrangements in the Seattle office. It was a nice touch that probably made the space warmer and more inviting, but there was no way to gauge whether or not that actually translated into increased sales.

  It certainly didn’t make a difference here, except for the fact that one of the flowers—the purple ones with such huge petals—had such a strong smell it was sure to turn his headache into a full-fledged migraine.

  Just what he needed.

  A card peeked out at him. He yanked it from the envelope, wondering how soon he could dump the arrangement without offending whoever sent it to him.

  I’m so sorry. Can you please forgive me for what I’ve done? I love you and can’t stand it when we fight like this.

  It was a dumb delivery mistake. That explained it all. Some pushover ordered flowers for a disgruntled lover, but they’d been sent here by accident.

  Laughing at himself for actually thinking his secretary would order him such a gaudy arrangement, he checked the name on the envelope.

  Joe Gregory.

  Wait a minute.

  He turned the paper over once. Twice. As if some clue or ink stain might explain what his name was doing on an arrangement that was clearly not meant for him.

  He took a deep breath, but the flowery perfume was so strong he ended up letting out a sneeze instead of a sigh.

  Great. Now some repentant or guilty lover was going to be wondering why his flowers never made it to their destination. What do you expect when you put the wrong name on an envelope like that?

  But still, why was it his name, and what was it doing there?

  He picked up the arrangement, holding his face away to ward off another sneeze and hoped the B&B hostess hadn’t gone home for the night.

  He had to get this thing out of his room.

  Jolene was so tired her eyes were half shut by the time she hugged Mena goodnight. Entering the bedroom, she ignored all the unpacking and organizing she should probably start on and headed straight to the pile of thin mattress pads. Was she supposed to leave them stacked on top of each other like that and make herself a bed? Or spread them out to give herself more room?

  And if nobody was there to watch, what did it matter?

  She was tempted to go to sleep without taking care of any of her toiletries, a mistake she knew she’d regret when she woke up in the morning with breath rancid enough to scare off a dozen tourists.

  Then again, if nobody was around but her, did it make a difference at all?

  She could leave her suitcase shut, avoid the clutter it would make once she started strewing everything around. She could sleep just like she was. Start tomorrow fresh with a shower and a clean set of clothes.

/>   She leaned back on an oversized pillow propped against the wall and shut her eyes. Just a few minutes to clear her mind. Then she’d put on her pajamas and wash her face and brush her teeth and do all those other things she was supposed to do as a responsible, self-respecting adult.

  Just a few minutes’ sleep first …

  A knock at the door.

  Had Mena forgotten something?

  If it were anybody else, Jolene would make them wait. But she’d connected tonight with Mena like she hadn’t with any other woman since Chelsea died. For once, Jolene didn’t have to worry about making people uncomfortable by talking about her daughter too much. She didn’t have to make excuses for the way her brain was still stuck in five-year-old memories that were strong enough to hold her in their clutches no matter how hard she struggled to break free.

  Mena understood. Even when they weren’t talking directly about Chelsea, it was like her daughter was still there. In Mena’s smile. In her cheerful laughter. In the way she talked so hopefully about the future.

  Where would Chelsea be right now if she were still alive? Here in Seoul, obviously, preparing to be Mena’s maid of honor. But what about in her day-to-day life? Would she be a teacher? A psychologist? A grad student finishing up her studies? Would she travel the world like Mena? Would she have found her true love by now? Would she be married? Maybe even a mother?

  Another knock.

  Jolene snapped her eyes open and resisted the gravity that tried to keep her on the pile of bedding.

  She walked to the door, hating the way each muscle was so stiff after the twelve-hour flight.

  “What’d you forget?” she started to ask, except it wasn’t Mena.

  She saw the flowers first. Huge, purple geraniums with oversized leaves and an overpowering stench.

  And then she saw Chelsea’s dad.

  Her ex-husband.

  “Jolene?” Joseph stood staring, certain at first he was mistaken.

  “Joseph.” He could see the surprise in her eyes, but still, she said his name flatly.

  He glanced around before finally finding the voice to ask, “What are you doing here?”

  Any initial shock she displayed at seeing him was gone. “Mena’s getting married.” Her tone was icy. Even after all this time, the degree of pained bitterness he heard in her voice each time they spoke managed to surprise him. Make him regret his mistakes all over again, which was probably what she was aiming for.

  “Who’s Mena?” He realized it was the wrong question to ask the instant Jolene’s eyes narrowed and her expression clouded over. As if the fact that he couldn’t keep all of Jolene’s friends straight was proof that he was a negligent spouse.

  “Mena’s been Chelsea’s best friend since the time they were in seventh grade.”

  Memories clashed around in his gut. That Mena. “So she’s getting married?” It was all he could think to say. What a night to have stayed away from the soju. “What’s she doing in Seoul?”

  “She lives here.” Jolene’s expression didn’t change. “She’s been here for several years now.”

  He knew that. At least he should have known that. Mena. His daughter’s bleeding-heart, world-traveling best friend. The reason Chelsea came to visit South Korea in the first place.

  The reason she was no longer alive.

  “What are you doing at her wedding?” He didn’t mean to sound so brusque, but he’d done everything he could to move on and forget about what happened in this city five years ago. It was bad enough he had to travel here so often on business. Had to confront these memories that haunted him every step he took, but what choice did he have? It’s not like he could avoid work because this city was distasteful. But why would his wife put herself through so much misery voluntarily?

  Jolene was still staring at the gaudy flower arrangement and didn’t answer his question.

  He thrust the bouquet toward her. “This showed up in my room. I assume it was meant for you.”

  She took the oversized vase, opened the envelope tucked inside, and read the words.

  The words of a lover apologizing.

  Joseph wasn’t sure what he had expected. For her to stare at the arrangement in surprise and ask who would be sending her flowers halfway around the world? She scowled at the letter.

  “So you know the guy?”

  Her eyes flashed. Why had he said that? What business was it of his? He was the last of all people who should ever make her feel guilty if she’d found someone else.

  If she’d finally moved on …

  He raised his hands as if in surrender. “Never mind. I’m sorry about the mix-up. Who would have thought there’d be two Joe Gregorys staying at the same B&B?”

  His attempt at humor fell flat. No surprises there.

  He probably hadn’t heard her laugh once since they’d lost their daughter.

  He cleared his throat. “Well, nice bumping into you.” The kind of thing you’d say to a neighbor you ran into at Walmart. Not what you tell your ex-wife when you both happen to be staying at the same bed and breakfast halfway around the world. “Enjoy your flowers.”

  He stepped outside again to walk the thirty feet to the front door of his own room. The rain had stopped, but he hardly noticed.

  Jolene sat and stared at the flowers. What an ugly arrangement.

  But she couldn’t focus on that, even if she wanted to.

  Joseph is here in Seoul. Of course, his travels took him all over the world, especially now that he had fast-tracked his way up the corporate ladder and headed the Seattle office. It shouldn’t surprise her that he was in South Korea. Even when she’d been raising Chelsea, that man had never been home.

  But what was he doing at her hanok? It wasn’t the expensive luxury hotel she knew he was accustomed to.

  Why, God? Why?

  Was this some cosmic practical joke? Did God think she needed more chaos in her life?

  Her phone beeped. Why had she given Garcia the name of that app?

  I sent you a present. Did you get it?

  He was the last person she wanted to talk to right now, but if she didn’t respond, he’d probably pester her all night long.

  She should be asleep.

  Thanks for the flowers, she wrote back. Haven’t changed my mind.

  It wasn’t like her to be so terse, but she was tired and cranky and ridiculously confused. She still couldn’t figure out what Joseph was doing here, why Garcia’s flowers had ended up in his room …

  Did he read the note? What would he think?

  Garcia sent several more texts. She didn’t have the energy to deal with this.

  Will you please forgive me?

  Funny. Had her ex-husband ever said those five simple words to her before?

  If she was younger, she might try to patch things up. Try to make things work. Garcia was a good listener. Sympathetic and compassionate.

  But in the end, he was no different from Joseph. It was time for her to count her losses and move on.

  She didn’t know how, but she’d find a way.

  Another text. Maybe she should feel flattered he was trying so hard, but in the end, it didn’t matter.

  Jolene slammed off the phone.

  Out of all the hotels his assistant could have booked for him.

  What was Misty thinking?

  Joseph hadn’t stopped pacing since he got back to his room.

  Jolene. Here in Seoul.

  The flowers. The note.

  Of course, it must be from the marriage counselor. Stupid jerk. Whatever he’d done to make Jolene mad at him, he didn’t deserve her forgiveness.

  Why was she here? Here, when there were literally thousands of bed and breakfasts to choose from in the city of Seoul. And why right now? Why not in two days when he’d be on his flight back to Seattle?

  Why not next month, when he was scheduled to be in South Africa, about as far on earth as you can feasibly get from the Korean peninsula?

  And why couldn’t he even th
ink about her without remembering that terrible night?

  The rain had been falling. There was a leak in the attic, a leak he’d promised to fix weeks earlier but never got around to. Jolene had been nagging him. That woman was always nagging.

  And then the rain was pounding so hard he had to go up to change the bucket, or else the water would start seeping into the master bathroom.

  They’d been fighting. No real surprises there. The irony was that he didn’t even remember what it had been about. His long hours at work? Something to do with Chelsea? The way Jolene had accused him of checking out the new intern at the company party?

  His cell phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number or the area code. Thought it might be someone from one of the international offices trying to get through.

  “Dad?”

  He could live to be a hundred and ten, his brain might get riddled with Alzheimer’s, but he would never forget the way her voice squeaked when she made that last call. He had known even then. Something in the way his gut seized up.

  “What is it?”

  Jolene could tell from his tone too. She stopped whatever it was that she was doing and watched. Frozen.

  “We’re stuck in a cable car.” Had he ever heard his daughter—his strong, courageous, spunky daughter Chelsea—with such terror in her voice?

  “What do you mean a cable car?” he asked as images of San Francisco and Rice-a-Roni flitted through his head.

  “Mena’s taking me up to the Seoul Tower. We’re hanging on a cable, but something went wrong. The attendant said …”

  And then the scream. Not just from his daughter but from the forty-eight others with her that night. Forty-nine voices shrieking in terror, and he could still tell which one was hers.

  Her scream, then silence.

  The beeping telling him the call had been lost.

  And then the waiting. The waiting until the authorities confirmed what Joseph already knew.