Delivery
by Brock Booher
Beep. Beep. Beep. Becky backed the delivery truck up to the rear entrance of the funeral home and set the parking brake. Just the thought of this delivery made her chest tighten and she squeezed the steering wheel until her knuckles were as white as funeral lilies. What is wrong with me today? You would think that after all this time I would get over this. She leaned her forehead against the steering wheel and closed her eyes. Just concentrate on the flowers. After a few moments, the aroma of roses, orchids, and lilies calmed her. By mustering all of her willpower, she delivered the floral arrangements to the funeral home.
When she made it back to the truck, her breathing returned to normal and her hands no longer felt clammy and cold. She told herself that nothing worse could happen today, but before she could drive off, her phone vibrated. It was her ex-husband.
She stared at the phone for a moment, wondering if she should answer. She hadn’t heard from him for over two years. You know he only wants money. But he could be in trouble again. Who’s going to help him if I don’t? A wave of unwarranted guilt washed over her. She sighed, and tapped the phone. “Hello Nate.”
“Hello Becky,” he replied. His voice seemed strained like he was having difficulty forcing the words from his mouth.
“I’m not giving you any money.”
“I’m not calling for money.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I need to speak to you in person.”
Becky took in a deep breath to firm her resolve. “I don’t think so.”
“It’s a matter of life and death.”
“Whose life and death?”
“Mine. But you have to promise that you won’t tell anyone.”
Becky clenched her teeth. For years she tried to save her ex-husband from himself, even after the divorce, but to no avail. But she still loved him and her heart ached when she thought of how much the man she once loved had suffered. “Okay. What time? Where?”
“Tonight. At your flower shop.”
Typeractive Tales: A Collection of Clean Short Fiction Page 3