Bouquet: Sequel to 'In Full Bloom': The Trilogy of the Rose (Volume 3)

by B. A. Beers

  Mark had deliberately veered any conversation about Sami’s past to other topics. That subject would be covered at greater lengths when treatment began, and he did not want to awaken ‘Mrs. Carter’. The three discovered that they had all shared an isolated past, and had no families to anchor them. The shared discovery that out of over six billion people in the world the three had no living blood relatives was humbling. Each was the remaining survivor of their families, and each suffered from their own personal demons. This realization had been a bonding moment. They knew fate had a role in bringing them together.

  Finished with securing the last of the bags to Molly’s paws, Mark located his stiff, wet shoes and reluctantly tied them on his bare feet. Eyeing the back door, he frowned at the thought of Molly’s plastic-covered paws on the icy steps; Molly would have zero traction. That exit was quickly checked off the list. Moving back into the dining area, Mark opted for the front porch. “No steps for you, girl,” he said. “Do your business on the porch.”

  Remembering Molly’s keen sense of smell, Mark did not want her to have the opportunity to take off on him again. Scanning the room for her leash, he couldn’t find it. Not wanting to go in search for it, he looked for another option to maintain some type of control if she decided to bolt. Spotting Grandma Jo’s yarn, he reasoned that it was not strong enough. His eyes fell on the spool of holiday ribbon that Sami had placed on the table to use as a visible reference for the path to the cabin for David. Mark picked up the spool and tested it for strength. The wide ribbon held firm as he yanked on it. It would work. Unspooling the ribbon, he guessed that he had roughly eight feet of ribbon. “Good enough,” he said softly to Molly as he bent over to secure it to her collar.

  With the free end of the ribbon in his hand, he reached for the coat that someone had hung near the door. Swinging it over his shoulders, he refrained from actually putting it on. He had no wish to have it hug his tender back. Stepping to the door, he unlocked it and braced himself for the cold. “Make it quick,” he directed to Molly as he opened the door.

  The blast of cold wind pelted them as he opened the door wider. Molly’s whimper at the contact of the wind spoke of the shock it was to her. Mark felt her retreat from the door. “Oh, no you don’t,” he stated, taking two steps forward onto the porch. “This was your idea.” Molly held firm, glaring at him. “I know it is cold,” he said softly, pulling on the ribbon.

  Mark saw her look at her bagged paws. He understood her reluctance to leave the warm house. Stomping his feet, Mark called, “No ice. It is dry.” Molly looked at him suspiciously. “Come on,” he urged, applying pressure on the ribbon. “I am freezing.” The tugging did the trick and Molly gingerly stepped onto the porch and immediately squatted. “Great,” Mark said, seeing the steam escape around her bottom. “There will be ice now.”

  Molly stood and without turning, backed up into the cabin. “Well, at least we weren’t inside,” Mark laughed, stepping over the threshold to avoid the wet spot. Closing the door, he released the ribbon from her collar and walked to the kitchen for a pan of water to rinse the porch. Securing the pan, Mark laughed lightly as he returned to the door and spotted Molly who had parked next to the fireplace. “You, baby,” he called, opening the door and pouring the water over the spot. With the area rinsed, he closed and locked the door. Needing to remove her plastic booties, he called to her, “Come here.”

  Molly did not move; she eyed him closely. Mark pulled out the chair of the table and sat. “Come here. I need to remove the bags,” he informed her. Molly looked at him and then down the hall. “No, you cannot go back there with your ‘booties’. Don’t even think about it,” he directed, seeing her hesitation.

  Molly turned to him, and he could swear that she was challenging him by her expression of playfulness. “No, you don’t,” he ordered, pointing to her paws. “Not a good idea.” Molly looked down at her paws and reluctantly made her way to him. “Smart girl,” he said softly, removing the bags.

  As the last bag was removed, Molly shot down the hall before Mark even had a chance to sit back. He braced himself for the sound of the door banging against the wall in Sami’s room when Molly would force her way into the room. Moments passed and no sound came from the back of the house. Mark leaned over the arm of the chair and looked down the hall. He could see Molly positioned outside Sami’s room; she had not entered. Interesting, he thought, getting to his feet and moving over to switch off the track lights. Flipping the switch, he cautiously made his way back toward his room, guided by the faint glow of the nightlight.

  He spotted Molly looking at him. “What are you doing? Guarding her door?” he asked softly, moving to her. As he neared her, he heard her low growl. “You are guarding the door,” he whispered, turning into his room, partially closing the door, and taking a seat on the edge of the bed. Watching his door, he observed that within seconds, Molly’s head appeared. Ignoring her, he removed his shoes and stretched out on top of the bed, still in his sweatpants. The pain in his back had eased and he turned on his side, facing away from the door. The pressure of the tape in his pocket caused him to flip to the other side to remove it. He placed it on the night stand and looked at the doorway to check on Molly. She was still looking at him. “What is it?” he asked.

  He watched in total disbelief as Molly entered his room and jumped up on the bed with him. “I don’t get you,” he said, petting her as she stretched out beside him. “First, you growl at me, and now you want to share my bed? I wish you two would make up your mind about me.” Closing his eyes, he drifted off to sleep within seconds.

  ***

  SEVEN

  Mid-morning found Mark out in the snow-covered yard, leaning on the hilt of the snow shovel and taking a breather from the backbreaking task of clearing an area for the dogs. The glare of the sun off the white snow was blinding.

  “Coffee?” Sami’s voice called from behind him.

  Turning to the porch, he spotted her holding two mugs in her hands. Smiling, he anchored the shovel in the snow bank he had created and trudged back to the porch, pounding his gloved hands to remove the packed snow and then, removed the gloves. Reaching up, he untied the knot that held the hood in place and pushed it off his head.

  Her light laughter made him aware of the sight he presented. Scanning the visual parts of his body, he noted the layer of fine snow coating him. “Didn’t know this was part of your job description, did you?” Sami chuckled.

  Mark laughed. “Wrong. It is covered in the fine print. ‘All other assigned duties’,” he answered, taking the offered mug.

  “That is a bummer,” she concluded.

  “Nah,” Mark replied, holding the hot mug in both his hands to warm them.

  Seeing his tight grip on the mug as he brought it to his lips, she offered, “Come up on the porch.”

  Mark looked at his snow-covered boots. “Not wise,” he declared, kicking the bottom step to remove some of the snow. “Thanks for the boots. My feet are extremely grateful. I cannot imagine doing this job in my tennis shoes.”

  “I am glad they fit,” Sami stated sadly, eyeing the boots. “They belonged to JW.” Mark only nodded, upset with himself for causing her pain. “Need help?” Sami asked.

  “Depends on how large an area we should clear and if you feel you can help with a cast on your arm,” Mark replied, scanning the already cleared-off ground and frowning, knowing he was not yet half way to his goal. “I was planning to make it all the way to that tree.”

  “I’ve still got a good arm. Why all the way to the tree?” Sami asked.

  Without turning, Mark replied, “I, for one, don’t want to step into anything unpleasant.”

  “Good point,” she laughed, turning to enter the cabin. “I’ll be right back.” Opening the door, Molly shot past her in her bandaged paws. “No, Molly,” she cried.

  Molly didn’t stop until she reached Mark’s side on the snowy ground level. “Well, I wanted to check her paws anyway,” Mark stated. “Go prepa
re to help me, and I will tend to her feet.”

  “You sure?” Sami questioned.

  “Yes,” Mark replied, kneeling before Molly.

  “Should I get her baggies?” Sami asked, refusing to budge from the open doorway.

  Placing his mug in the snow bank, Mark removed the bandage from Molly’s front right paw and inspected the pad. The pad was still raw, but had stopped bleeding. Shaking his head, he responded, “No, she should be fine if she stays in the cleared areas. The melting snow will probably feel good. We can reapply the bandages later.”

  “Alright,” Sami called, turning into the cabin.

  “No adventures today, girl,” Mark directed, removing the rest of the bandages. Molly eyed him and licked his face. “No ma’am,” Mark spoke firmly. “I mean it.” Molly dipped her head. “I do not want a repeat of yesterday’s performance. Stay near me,” he ordered, getting to his feet and watching her as he placed the wet bandages on the edge of the porch.

  Molly took a tentative step and looked back at him. Her eyes showed no signs of pain. “Good?” he asked. Molly wagged her tail. Satisfied, Mark retrieved his coffee mug from the bank and took a large gulp of the warm brew while keeping an eye on Molly as she explored the path he was making.

  “I am ready,” Sami called.

  Shifting his eyes to the porch, he saw that Sami was decked out in pink snow bibs and an ugly brown, oversized snow jacket. “Your outfit clashes,” he laughed.

  “You try finding something to fit over this cast,” she retorted.

  Mark spotted a store’s price tag on the sleeve of the jacket. “Brand new?” he asked, pointing to the tag.

  “Lucky guess,” she laughed, pulling on the tag with her gloved hand to remove it. “Found it hanging in the closet and thought it would serve me better than the sweats.”

  “You are so right,” he laughed, moving to the porch and placing the mug on the rail. “The only thing missing in this picture is . . .” he said, reaching for her and scooping her in his arms, “. . . is snow.” Turning with her in his arms, he plopped her on her rump in the deep snow.

  “Mark?” she giggled playfully, balling-up snow in her right, gloved hand and tossing it at him.

  “Now, you do know what this means?” he asked throatily, moving to a fresh patch of snow to his left. “War.”

  For the next few minutes, the pristine snow around the front porch was the scene of utter chaos as not only the two combatants pelted each other with snow, but Molly soon joined in on the fight. Their wild laughter echoed throughout the clearing, causing the wildlife nearby to scurry from their warm hiding places.

  Mark couldn’t recall the last time he had laughed so much or had this much fun. Breathless from the exertion and the altitude, he formed a ‘T’ with his hands. “Time out,” he called just at the same moment a large snowball exploded on his face.

  “Too much for you, Dr. Stevens?” Sami called lightly, doing a happy dance in front of him. “Or, is that ‘Loser’?”

  Coughing snow out of his mouth, Mark groaned, “Oh, go make a snow angel.” Seeing her look to her cast, he added, “One with a hurt wing.”

  “With pleasure,” Sami cried, lying on her back in the snow and fanning her right arm and legs.

  Mark took stock of Sami as she played in the snow. Her aura was bright; she seemed to radiate as brightly as the sun on the white snow. This was pure simple joy. “When was your last moment of joy?” he asked, staring down at her and not realizing that he had voiced his question until she froze her movement. Stupid, Mark admonished himself, watching her sit up slowly and frowning.

  “So, we begin?” Sami asked, dusting off the snow on her gloves.

  “Yes,” Mark affirmed, offering her his hand.

  ***

  EIGHT

  “Sami, you must understand. The treatment plan I have in mind for you is unorthodox,” Mark stated.

  “Why?”

  “Many reasons, but the primary one is our opportunity here at this cabin,” he answered, walking over and pulling the snow shovel out of the bank. “This place holds your memories. You are the only one connected to it, not us. Your request to come here has deep meaning for you. You subconsciously granted me access into your world. This is not normal for me. I have never passed my patients to another person and focus all my energy on one.”

  “What makes me special?”

  “I wouldn’t say special. It is more of the mystery involved. I am intrigued by your case,” he offered, leaning on the hilt of the snow shovel. “When I first interview a new patient, I am able to pinpoint their exact location on my scale of diagnoses, ranging from the clinical schizophrenics to the ultra-lonely who wish only to hear another’s human voice. You, my dear, are different. With you, I feel like a mathematician, needing to adjust my slide rule to solve a complicated problem. Your case requires me to draw on my own emotions and demands me to stay on my toes.”

  “Why are you sharing this with me?”

  “Good question,” he answered, shaking his head and heading to the tree he had indicated earlier. As he walked, he dragged the snow shovel down his right side, forming a path.

  Confused, she asked, “Where are you going? Do you want me to follow you?”

  “No. Stay there; I will be right back,” he directed.

  Sami watched his progress to the tree where he reversed directions and returned to her, keeping the shovel on his right side. Stepping before her, he passed the shovel to her. Taking the offered shovel in her right hand, she looked at it. “What do you want me to do?” she asked.

  Mark turned and pointed to the deep snow between the two grooves made by dragging the shovel. “See those grooves?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she replied softly.

  “Take the shovel and clear the snow between them,” he directed.

  “You want me to shovel the snow with my broken arm?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he replied, turning to her. “We need a path to the tree. You said you still have one good arm. Use it.”

  Glaring at him, she asked, “What are you going to do?”

  “Listen to you,” he answered, stepping out of her way and indicating with his right arm for her to start.

  Sami tilted her head to one side. “That doesn’t seem fair,” she remarked.

  “I am not under treatment,” he replied.

  “Loser!” she bellowed.

  “Nope, you cannot use it here. It is your ‘catch word’ to tell me you are not ready to share something, not for you to use because you don’t like my methods. Start,” he directed.

  “That is not fair,” she repeated.

  “That is the second time you used the word ‘fair’. What does fair have to do with it? This is not a vacation or holiday. This is a full-court press. My presence here is to mend you. I will push and pull you in many different directions to achieve your desired results,” he informed her.

  “My desired results, Dr. Stevens, or yours?” she asked.

  “Let’s call it a common goal,” he suggested.

  Sami eyed the distance and moaned. “I don’t think I can do it,” she whispered.

  “Oh, you can,” he assured her. “We are not in any hurry. Use little scoops to begin with to test your tolerance. I don’t want you to further injure yourself.”

  Sami picked up the shovel and frowned as she looked at the task ahead of her. “Talk it out, Sami,” he encouraged as he saw her eyes squint in concentration. “Tell me what you are thinking.”

  “I am trying to figure the best way to tackle it,” she answered, examining the shovel.

  “Go on,” he urged.

  “The shovel is too large to handle with one arm. I could balance it on my cast to act as a fulcrum, but then it might flip due to the width of the scoop and the unbalanced weight of the snow. I would only end up dumping whatever I do scoop. My broken arm gives me a handicap. I have the wrong tool to get the job done. I need a smaller shovel — one that I could scoop and balance with one arm. Howe
ver, the smaller tool would mean more scoops to remove the snow,” she rambled.

  After a few moments, she looked at him, “My goal is to clear the path to the tree, right?” she asked.

  “Correct,” he responded.

  “No other limitations?” she asked.

  “None,” he assured her.

  “So, I can get a smaller scoop?” she asked.