The Art of Arranging Flowers

by Lynne Branard

  “What?” he asks, surprised to have all the attention drawn in his direction.

  No one responds.

  “He’s a regular at the club and I asked him where he shops,” he follows up. “He told me,” he continues. “I’m not a stalker, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  Nora has raised her eyebrows again. This time her look means something totally different from the I told you so one she gave me earlier.

  “I think it’s nice you’re going on a date, Ruby.” Jimmy has joined the conversation.

  I had almost forgotten that he and Will were sitting back there.

  “It’s not a date,” I reiterate to those riding in the van, but it’s as if no one is listening.

  “Why don’t you date?” Lucy asks. “You’re a good-looking woman, own your own business. Are there no eligible bachelors in Creekside?”

  Before I can answer, she turns to her son. “We should fix her up with your cousin Stanley,” she says.

  “Mom, Stanley got married last summer.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” she responds. “They had the wedding in a barn.”

  “It was a stable,” Carl notes. “Some new venue on the coast,” he explains to the rest of us. “It was quaint.”

  “It was a barn,” Lucy repeats.

  “You’d have liked the flowers, Ruby,” Carl says as he leans up closer. “They had long-stemmed oriental lilies, pink and white ones, purple iris, and a kind of tulip I’d never seen before. The petals curled in on themselves; the edges were almost like feathers.”

  “Parrots,” I say. “Parrot tulips. They usually bloom later in the season. What color were they?” I ask.

  “Yellow and pink,” he replies. “And she had them everywhere.” He sits back. “You’d have been pleased.”

  I smile. It’s satisfying to be known for who I am, for my artistry to be honored, for Carl to know what I would think is tasteful.

  “So, why don’t you date?” It’s Lucy again.

  I was hoping that we had moved on from this topic.

  Everyone is waiting.

  She sits up now, shifts in her seat so she’s very close to me and Nora. “You’re not a lesbian, are you?” she whispers.

  Carl answers for me. “Mom, no, Ruby is not a lesbian. As far as I know, I’m the only gay person in the van.”

  Lucy sits back. “It’s a legitimate question,” she responds. And I can feel her watching me from behind. “Well?” She is still waiting for an answer.

  I shrug. “I haven’t thought much about it,” I answer. “I started my business, created my life, such as it is, and I just never have much time to socialize.”

  “Frank Goodrich tried to get you to go out with him when you first opened the shop.” Nora remembers everything.

  “Frank Goodrich tried to get you to go out with him when I first opened the shop,” I say back.

  She smiles. “We went out,” she responds.

  I see Jimmy glance up.

  “You dated Frank Goodrich?” Carl wants to know.

  “A couple of times,” Nora answers. “He’s interesting.”

  “He gets around, I’ll give you that,” Carl responds. “He brings someone different to the club every weekend.”

  “He does like the ladies,” Nora adds.

  “Is that why you don’t date him anymore?” I ask.

  “Oh, we still date,” she replies.

  Jimmy turns to look out the window.

  “It doesn’t bother you that he sees other women?” Lucy asks.

  Nora waves away the question. “We’re not engaged,” she answers. “We just enjoy each other’s company from time to time.” She pulls down the visor and checks her makeup in the mirror. She slides her lips in and out and I see her catch a glimpse of Jimmy. I’m not sure of the meaning of this brief eye contact; it’s not a look from Nora I know, but it is easy to see the spark between them.

  “Well, I’m dating someone,” Lucy announces, and it appears as if she has dropped a bomb in her son’s lap.

  “Who?” Carl asks. “Who are you dating?”

  “Mr. Eldwin,” she replies.

  There is a pause.

  “The plumber?” Clearly, Carl has placed the man.

  “He’s retired, but yes, he made his living as a plumber,” his mother answers. “He owned his own business, too.”

  This, I believe, is for my benefit. I nod.

  “Well, when did this happen?” her son wants to know.

  “About a year ago,” she says.

  “Mother.” Carl sits up and turns to face her. “You’ve been dating someone for a year and you didn’t tell me?”

  I can see them both from the rearview mirror. She is fingering the collar of her silk blouse and he is waiting for her answer.

  “He moved in last month.”

  There is an awkward silence. Everyone suddenly seems uncomfortable.

  “You’re living with the plumber?” He is shaking his head. He blows out a long breath.

  “Carl, I’m a grown woman. I have needs.”

  “Oh, I do not want to hear this,” her son responds.

  Nora pipes up. “I kind of do,” she says.

  “Are we there yet?” comes the little voice from the back. “I think Clementine has to pee.” The rest of us sigh and smile, especially Lucy. I think we are all glad for the interruption.

  “Almost,” I answer, making the turn toward the park, and when I look in the back I can still see the surprise on Carl’s face. No doubt Lucy will have a lot of explaining to do when they get home tonight.

  •TWENTY•

  I BOUGHT a black cocktail dress, my first little black dress, which is apparently a rite of passage I missed in my twenties. It’s a slim dark sheath with soft ruffles and a small peplum at the hips. It has cap sleeves with a triangle cutout that shows off just a bit of my back. It has a black narrow belt with thread loops at the waist, a hidden back zipper with a hook-and-eye closure, and it is fully lined in amethyst charmeuse with the silky side resting against my skin.

  After trying on at least thirty dresses and narrowing my choices down to two, Nora cast her vote for the strapless faille with a structured corset bodice. However, once I modeled the two for what I declared was my final showing, she finally agreed with Carl that the sheath was more slimming. Besides, I told her I don’t do strapless. I’ve never done strapless. I tried the dress on three different times and kept pulling my shoulders up to my ears, thinking that would somehow keep it from falling down. Lucy said I looked like I had been frozen in the middle of a shrug so Nora finally consented and I bought the one with the ruffles and peplum.

  It turned out that the dress was the easy part. Once that was purchased, I was led downstairs to find appropriate outerwear, a long wool peacoat, then over to the shoe department for a pair of high heels, black patent leather, then to the jewelry counter for a faux pearl necklace and earrings, and then over to the accessories for a pair of black silk hose. Even with everyone chipping in, I spent as much money on this shopping trip as I did furnishing my house. I spent so much money that Nordstrom’s wanted to assign me a personal shopper to assist me on future wardrobe purchases. After I explained to the department manager that this was just a onetime event and that I would likely never buy so many items in one trip again, Carl politely informed her that even though he was confident that Nordstrom’s had great sales representatives, he was really the only personal shopper I needed. Still, when I opened the shoe box to show Jimmy the high heels, she had slipped a business card inside with a note saying Candi was available to assist me at any time.

  By the time we left the store, everyone at Nordstrom’s knew all of our names. They even knew where I was going to wear the little black dress, and, thanks to Nora, they knew that I was being accompanied by an astronaut. We were given champagne and free makeovers, which Carl especially seemed to enjoy. We were escorted by store personnel from one department to another, and when we had bought everything, everyone who had assis
ted me wanted to see the complete outfit. If it hadn’t been for the booze, I’m pretty sure I would have turned down the request, but when I heard the cork pop on our third bottle, I knew I owed them a peek.

  Dressed with assistance from the manager of the special occasions department, I walked out of the dressing room in the black dress and the high-heeled shoes, the coat thrown over my shoulder, the jewelry in place, the makeup fresh and my hair pinned up by Lucy, and you would have thought I was somebody. There were oohs and ahhs from the Nordstrom’s folks, and I swear Nora even shed a tear or two. I felt like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman when she came out dressed for the opera and Richard Gere couldn’t take his eyes off her. Of course, most of my audience was drunk, and the ones who weren’t, except Nora, were at least being paid to tell me I looked good, but it didn’t really matter; I felt beautiful.

  * * *

  It’s after ten o’clock and I walk into my house, place all my bags on the sofa, and fall into the chair next to it. I just sit for a second, trying to catch my breath. Clementine saunters in behind me, goes over to her water bowl, and then returns, dropping down beside me. I think she is worn out as well, Will having taken her on the river walk, going from end to end, at least three times while waiting for the adults.

  I’m tired from the shopping excursion and I see now that I suffer from a bit of buyer’s remorse, too. I’m sure I could have borrowed some jewelry from Kathy Shepherd or even found something in my own stash; I’m pretty sure I have a suitable coat, and I know I have an old pair of black panty hose. Still, I feel happy in a way I haven’t in a very long time. Even with the fatigue and my concern over the amount of money I paid, I feel uniquely included in something that I haven’t experienced in a long time, and an odd sense of belonging. I have spent the day intricately connected to members of a group. I feel like part of a family.

  I don’t remember feeling this way since I was I was kid, and as I consider this, I suddenly remember the strangest thing from when I was nine or ten years old.

  I stand up, pull off my coat, throw it over the Nordstrom’s bags, yank off my scarf, tug at my shoes until they fall, and sit back down.

  Before my grandparents bought their farm and moved closer to town, they lived out in the country. Back then they still worked my great-grandfather’s farm out past Quartz Mountain. I remember Daisy and I staying at their house for about five months one of the early times we were taken from Mama, several years before she died. Their nearest neighbors were the Darbys, a large family who lived in a small log cabin about a half a mile behind us.

  There were at least six kids, ranging in ages from a newborn to a teenager. We played with them all summer long. The father was a sharecropper, working the hayfields and tending the cattle that roamed the land all around their little house. He helped my grandfather and was able to stay for free in the cabin, eventually leaving in the fall when he got a job working in the apple orchards down at the Oregon border.

  According to my grandmother, the Darbys were very poor, but as I think about them I remember that back then it didn’t matter to me if they were wealthy or not. They were the happiest family I ever knew. I thought they had the best toys and the prettiest clothes, never realizing that everything they owned was made by hand or given to them from charity drives at local churches. They served the best dinners I ever ate, even though there was never much more than a pot of stew, glasses of fresh lemonade, and a plate of cold biscuits. And every time Daisy and I got to ride with the Darbys to the lake or to town in their old station wagon, every time we squeezed into the backseats with all six children, I always felt like I was a part of something big and delightful and even very, very rich.

  On those rides I was shoved onto somebody’s lap or pressed hard between two other children and we laughed as we fell into the pile, laughed as we slammed forward with every stop, Mr. Darby driving that way, speeding up and then putting on the brakes, just to watch us having fun, and we laughed as we got stepped on or pushed aside as everyone moved in and out of the car.

  The trips that summer were always loud and rowdy. They were the best trips my sister and I ever had. Being in that station wagon was the only time I felt completely relaxed and completely at ease with being a child. I didn’t worry about Mr. Darby getting drunk and crashing the car. I didn’t worry that a police officer would stop us at the crossroads and we’d be taken to the station and have to wait on Granddaddy to pick us up. I didn’t worry that I might have to drive home if Mama passed out, something I did at least twice before I turned thirteen, or whether she would pull out of the parking lot, forgetting me or Daisy and leaving us in the bar or at some store.

  I squeezed myself between two other kids and laughed and sang and slid around in the car like everyone else in the back. I don’t remember that much about where we were going, what we did when we got there; I mostly remember the rides themselves. The trip home was always, hands down, the best part of the day. That was, after all, when everyone fell silent, where we all found a place beside or near another and where most of us, the children anyway, exhausted from the day’s adventure, eventually fell asleep.

  We piled up on each other, some lying on the car floor, others stretched out in the back, and it didn’t matter where I landed. I could always find a small view out the window and watch the stars. And even with the breeze blowing through the car, if I listened very closely I could hear Mr. and Mrs. Darby talking quietly to each other.

  Sometimes their conversations were romantic, Mrs. Darby snuggled beneath her husband’s arm, their whispers to each other marked by quick kisses and soft laughter; sometimes they spoke of more serious concerns, bills and unforeseen costs, or just of ordinary things, of meals and neighbors and schedules. It didn’t matter what was discussed. Never did the Darbys speak to each other with raised voices or expressions of blame. No matter what the subject was, I loved to hear the things they said, the simple, everyday things that I always imagined a husband saying to his wife, a wife saying to her husband.

  On those long-ago trips, I would take in a deep breath, close my eyes, and pretend I belonged to the Darbys, that Daisy and I were not a part of a family where a father never existed and a mother was almost always drunk or high, always talking a little too loud, laughing or screaming a little too harshly. I would pretend that my sister and I somehow belonged to this large and raucous family, somehow ordered in between Nancy, the teenager, and Louie, the littlest one, still resting in his mother’s lap. I would close my eyes and pretend, and for however long it took us to reach our grandparents’ place, where Mr. Darby stopped the car and carefully lifted Daisy and me from among the other children, opening the door and carrying us out, I belonged to something big and wonderful and safe.

  I reach down now, feeling for Clementine’s neck, and think about how the six of us crammed ourselves into the florist van today, how Lucy was convinced she had lost her glasses and how we returned to each department we’d visited, searching for them, until Carl finally discovered that they’d been hanging around her neck the whole time; how Jimmy pulled Will into the backseat, tugging so hard that he slid from one side of the van to the other, crashing into the door and then laughing so hard he got the hiccups; how we all groaned when Nora needed to make a stop before we even left town so that she could go to the bathroom again; and how we all decided together that everyone having an ice cream cone would help keep me awake on the drive home, stopping at the Dairy Queen, piling out and then piling back in, our fingers and lips still sticky.

  The drive to and from Spokane with my friends was as loud and rowdy as any I took with the Darbys—and even though I know I spent way too much money, I also know that on that ride home I felt happy and safe. And as I glance over at my purchases, which I will likely still be paying off next year, I feel delighted and exhausted and I find myself grateful to Captain Miller for already giving me the best night I’ve had as a grown-up even if we haven’t even gone out yet.

  “Well,” I say to Clementine, who
barely lifts herself as I find the spot behind her ears and give her a good scratch. “I may have spent way too much for this outfit, but I have to say it was worth it.”

  She sighs in agreement and I lie back in the chair and close my eyes, imagining Mr. Darby reaching in and lifting me tenderly from the backseat. He smiles and I pretend I am asleep as he carries me all the way to my grandmother’s door.

  •TWENTY-ONE•

  HOW do you know it wasn’t for his mother?”

  Nora started pestering me about the new veterinarian when I got back from making today’s deliveries. She thinks I should go to his house or his office and take him a welcome gift. She suggested an amaryllis or one of the new primrose plants I just bought online. I reminded her that he already bought the bamboo and then I mentioned the bouquet he bought for Valentine’s Day.

  “That wasn’t a son-to-mother flower arrangement,” I tell her.

  She makes that huffing noise she makes a lot when she’s exasperated.

  I keep leaving the design area and heading to the cooler or to the storage room in the back to select the flowers and the supplies for the missionary supper at the Baptist church this weekend. They want small floral displays for sixteen tables. I had Jimmy bring up a box of vases from the basement. She keeps following me.

  “Ruby, not everyone sees what you see when you make the arrangements. Not everyone knows that marigolds increase positive energies or that the rose is the ultimate gentle healing herb of love. Not everyone knows what you do when you make a bouquet. They don’t feel what you feel.”

  I go inside the cooler to check out my inventory once more. I’m thinking that creating something simple is best, Matsumoto asters and some hot pink miniature carnations, a few stems of alstroemeria and a little heather.

  “He picked the biggest one in the refrigerator. That’s all he did. He saw a bouquet he wanted and he bought it. That does sound like a son-to-mother gift. He didn’t know the particular qualities of each stem or bloom. He just liked the colors.”