Maybe This Time

by Kasie West

  “I wasn’t wishing death upon someone!” Andrew said.

  “It’s the silver lining,” Micah said. Then she leaned forward and tugged on the layered sleeve of my black blouse. “You look cute.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What about me?” Andrew asked. “Do I look cute?”

  “No,” I said at the same time Micah said, “Always.”

  “Why do you encourage him?” I asked.

  Micah pinched his chin. “Because look at this face. It’s so adorable.”

  Andrew smirked, eating up the praise.

  Micah turned her attention to the road in front of us. “Where are we going again?” she asked me.

  I made a left onto Main Street. “Like I said, we only have four flower arrangements. I’m getting a few more from the shop.”

  “We get to see headquarters?” Andrew asked.

  “Yes, you get to see where Sophie gets her powers,” Micah replied with a laugh.

  “Ugh,” I said. “You get to see what drains all my energy in a huge fragrant time suck.”

  In the rearview mirror, Micah gave me a big eye roll. On the right, we passed Everything, and then I pulled into the parking lot of Every Occasion.

  I shut off the engine, and we climbed out of the van. The sign on the door of the shop announced we were closed for the John Farnsworth funeral, basically shaming anyone who wasn’t doing the same. I unlocked the door and held it open for Micah and Andrew. The scent in the shop was powerful. Roses, mainly, with a hint of decay. The door shut behind me with a bell ring.

  Two walls of the shop were glass-doored fridges to keep the already-arranged flowers fresh. The display table at the center of the shop was full of various types of fresh-cut flowers. We also had a wall with cards and small stuffed animals.

  “We won’t be here long,” I said, making my way to the half-off fridge on the back wall. I examined the selection in there. Most were completely inappropriate for a funeral—a pink-and-red rose display, a cheery yellow-daisy-and-orange-chrysanthemum arrangement—but I found some more neutral options. One that was all white roses, one that was various shades of hydrangeas. I remembered we had some leftover lilies in the back, so I decided I would quickly grab those as well.

  Andrew laughed from somewhere behind me, and I turned to see him examining the large standing chalkboard in the corner. We usually displayed it right outside the door during business hours. Caroline used it to make store announcements. I used it to highlight different flowers. This morning, before we closed, I had added a paragraph about lilies. At first Caroline hadn’t liked my snarky, seemingly negative assessments of flowers, but the customers liked them so much that she’d eventually come around. Now I’d even found her chuckling at a few.

  I went to the back, grabbed the bucket of lilies, and brought them to the front counter.

  “So many lilies.” Micah picked a large white one out of the bucket and tucked it in her tight curls, which she wore natural today.

  “Didn’t you say lilies were your favorite?” Andrew asked, walking over to the counter.

  He remembered what I said my favorite flower was? “No, I said calla lilies were my favorite.”

  “Um …”

  “They’re not the same thing,” I said. “They’re not even in the same genus.” Okay, so I wouldn’t have known this before working at the store, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to use it against him.

  “They just have similar names,” Micah said. “Not sure why you would’ve confused them at all.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Andrew said.

  I looked back and forth between two vases, trying to decide which one I wanted to use. I picked the one on the right. I didn’t have a lot of time so I bundled a group of lilies together in my hand, creating a symmetrical pattern.

  A car pulled up outside.

  “Is that Mrs. Davis?” Micah asked, peering through the store windows. “I’ll go tell her the shop is closed before she has to get her three kids out of the car.”

  Andrew pushed himself off the counter to follow Micah but she held up her hand. “I got it. Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

  “I think she did that on purpose,” I said after Micah had left.

  “What?”

  “Left us alone. She wants us to be friends.”

  “She’s delusional,” he said.

  I laughed. “So delusional. Hold these.”

  He took the flowers from me. I clipped the stems and added several more to the bundle in his hand.

  “What’s the secret to a good arrangement?” he asked.

  “Shape,” I said, and took a step back to get a better look. “Good enough.” I slid the vase up the stems and Andrew released his hold.

  “They look nice,” he said.

  “You can’t compliment the ones I make in less than five minutes.”

  “It’s the first one I’ve seen that you weren’t making specifically with a client in mind.”

  I shook my head. “I definitely had John Farnsworth in mind.”

  “The dead guy? How so?”

  “I used lots of lilies.”

  The bell rang on the door and Micah poked her head in. “My friends, we should probably go before we miss the funeral.”

  “We wouldn’t want that.” Andrew picked up the two arrangements I’d pulled out of the fridge and I carried out the third. This would be a much better showing. John deserved it.

  At the pulpit, Pastor Greenley was giving a sermon about death and salvation. One of John’s grandsons, Joseph, in from out of town, kept looking over his shoulder to where Micah sat in the back row of the chapel, smiling at her.

  “That guy is going to give himself a neck strain,” Andrew said. “This is a funeral. Even I know it’s not the appropriate time to flirt.”

  “Everyone deals with grief in different ways,” Micah said, smiling at Joseph as he looked back again.

  “Do you see the good in everyone?” Andrew asked.

  “Pretty much,” she whispered.

  “She’s more forgiving of the cute ones,” I said.

  “So untrue,” she said.

  The couple sitting in front of us turned around and shot us annoyed looks. We went silent.

  The sermon wasn’t too long and it was followed by John’s son giving a eulogy. There was a large photograph of John set up by the casket and I stared at it as the words about his life were read: He’d served in the military; he was married for fifty-four years; he had two sons, one daughter, and eight grandchildren. He volunteered at the veterans’ hospital; he had a problem with alcohol when he was younger that he overcame. The facts of his life were read off like a checklist and I, like I assumed most people did at funerals, started thinking about what facts would be read at mine.

  She got by in school; she loved her brother; everyone loved her best friend; she longed for a life she couldn’t even imagine because it was so foreign to her.

  “He had a special place in his heart for the underdog,” John’s son said, bringing me back to the moment. “Probably because he felt like he was one. So he always stood up for them.”

  “I guess that makes you an underdog,” Andrew whispered.

  I elbowed him in the ribs and he let out a grunt.

  Mr. Farnsworth finished up with a teary declaration of gratitude to his father and then sat down.

  Pastor Greenley stood back up again. “We will now all proceed to the graveside. After the burial, Mrs. Lawson has opened up her home for a reception.” He closed with a prayer and then everyone was leaving.

  Andrew headed for the door with the rest of the congregation but stopped when neither Micah nor I followed.

  “We have to bring the flowers,” Micah said.

  “Oh, right.” He came back to stand next to us.

  Joseph headed up the aisle right next to us and gave Micah a wink as he passed. I shot him a dirty look and Andrew chuckled. I scanned the rest of the people filing by. I hadn’t seen Kyle during the ceremony and I didn�
��t see him now. The last of the patrons left the room and then it was just the three of us. Micah grabbed the flowers from the pulpit while I went for the ones on the credenza next to the wall.

  “Um …” Andrew said.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I think the family forgot something.”

  “What?” I asked again, joining him. “Oh.” The casket sat unassuming on its wheels, the large picture of John and the spray of flowers on either side.

  “They forgot?” Micah asked. “Isn’t that what pallbearers are for? It’s like their only job.”

  “Maybe they forgot to assign pallbearers,” I said. “Or the pallbearers were just thinking they were required at the cemetery?”

  “I’m sure the hearse is out front right now,” Andrew said. “The hearse wouldn’t leave without the casket.”

  “You know who drives the hearse?” Micah said.

  I put a hand to my forehead. “Oh crap, you’re right. Harry.”

  “What’s wrong with Harry?” Andrew asked.

  “He’s a total space case,” I explained. “He’d forget his own name if someone asked him.”

  We were all walking to the double doors that led out of the chapel. By the time we got outside, we saw the last car pulling away. Only the flower van remained.

  “It’s possible …” Andrew said, staring at the van.

  “No,” I said.

  Andrew crossed his arms. “Why not? By the time they get to the cemetery, realize the mistake, and come back, it will be forever. It’s hot out here. Hot and muggy. Do you really want to make everyone wait outside for Mr. Farnsworth?”

  “We couldn’t even lift that casket with just the three of us,” I said.

  “It’s on wheels,” Micah said. Why did she always take his side? Even when it was dumb. “And the cemetery is twenty-five minutes away.”

  “I know how far the cemetery is,” I said. “They’ll realize before they get there.” I looked at both of them. Andrew had an of course you’re chicken look on his face, while Micah had a they will never realize one on hers.

  I let out a breath.

  “Fine,” I said. “Let’s see how hard it is to move.”

  Andrew smirked like he’d just played me. He hadn’t. Micah’s logical argument—the distance to the cemetery—was what swayed me.

  The casket was surprisingly easy to wheel down the aisle and out the doors. It was when we got to the back of the flower van that we realized we might be in trouble. The van was higher than the casket. I began clearing away buckets and bins so we’d have room.

  “I think there’s a way to raise or lower the wheels,” Andrew said, bending down.

  “Like an office chair?” I asked.

  “Yes, something like that, smart aleck.” Despite his confidence in casket knowledge, though, Andrew couldn’t find this device he was sure existed.

  “Well, we tried,” I said.

  “Is this really happening?” Micah wondered out loud.

  Andrew pointed. “How about if I stand at the end, and you two lift it up front from the sides so it clears the lip, and then I shove from the back?”

  “You’ll be in the back?” I asked. “Okay, yeah, let’s see how that plays out.”

  Andrew crossed his arms. “She wants me to get smashed. By a coffin.”

  “It was your idea,” I said. “I’m just agreeing with it.”

  “While she’s picturing you being smashed,” Micah said.

  “Are we going to try this or not?” I moved into position.

  Andrew got into place, putting his back against the end of the casket. “Ready?” He paused for a minute. “You’re actually going to try, right?”

  I laughed, Micah laughing along with me.

  “It’s a fair question,” Andrew said.

  “We’ll try!” she said.

  For a moment I had a surge of guilt at how we were acting. There was an actual dead body in this casket. But then a realization came over me.

  “John would’ve found this hilarious,” I said. An image of him eating that tiny cup of dessert, of him telling Andrew to move along, popped into my mind. His smiling, satisfied face. His bright, shining eyes. And suddenly I was crying.

  “Soph,” Micah said, coming around the casket and putting her arms around me, which immediately had this way of making me feel better. “What’s wrong?”

  “One of her only dates in the last year is dead,” Andrew said.

  “Seriously,” Micah said to him, “you think now is the time?”

  “I was trying to lighten the mood.”

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The finality of John’s life had just hit me. Had he done everything he wanted to do? Did he feel like nobody understood him? Like nobody supported him? Was he ready to move on? “It’s fine. I’m fine,” I said, wiping beneath my eyes.

  “Are you sure?” Micah asked. It’s not that she’d never seen me cry, but it was still a pretty rare occasion.

  I nodded. A car pulling up beside us had me straightening up. I wiped my eyes again and looked over. The long black hearse idled there.

  Harry rolled down the window. He was twentysomething and clueless. “Yeah, we forgot that.”

  “You think?” Micah said.

  Harry hopped out and, like it was nothing, transferred the casket into the back of the hearse. The wheels being the exact right height really did make a difference.

  “Bye, Micah. Later, Sophie,” he said. He climbed back into the hearse and was off.

  “Am I invisible?” Andrew asked, and sat down on the back of the van.

  “He just didn’t know your name,” I said. “So it’s more polite to ignore you.”

  Micah rolled her eyes. “That’s not true.” She looked at Andrew. “You’re like a celebrity around here so people are embarrassed to treat you with familiarity.”

  I scoffed.

  “It’s true!” Micah said.

  I watched the hearse disappear down the street.

  “You okay?” Micah asked.

  I didn’t have time for this weird breakdown I seemed to be in the middle of. “The flowers are supposed to be graveside too,” I said.

  “Then I guess we’d better get them,” Micah said, and started heading back to the church.

  Andrew was a little slower to comply. He lingered, as though he had something to say.

  “I don’t have time for you to analyze me,” I told him. “Keep it to yourself.”

  He shrugged and walked off after Micah.

  The graveside service itself was surprisingly uneventful. Hot, a bit depressing, but uneventful. Now we were at Mrs. Lawson’s house. I stood in the middle of the crowded living room all alone. Micah and Andrew had driven over with me, but now I couldn’t find them and I was ready to go home.

  “Soph.” There was a tap on my arm and I turned to see Kyle.

  “Hey, you’re here.” I swore I said those words to him more often than normal. Was it weird that I was always surprised to see him somewhere? “I mean, I didn’t see you at the church.”

  “Yeah, I wasn’t there. Had band practice.” He nodded his head to Jodi, who was at the table filling up a plate with food. I didn’t see Bryce or Lincoln, though. “Are you here alone?” Kyle asked me.

  “No. I’m here with … friends,” I said. It would be nice if those friends showed up now so I didn’t seem so pathetic, but apparently Andrew only appeared when I didn’t want him to.

  “Cool,” Kyle said. “I’m going to go get some food.”

  “Okay. Have fun.” Have fun?

  He gave me a slow smile and joined Jodi at the food table.

  We’d been out three times. Interactions shouldn’t still be so awkward. I wound my way through the crowd and out to the back patio. It was empty except for two couches and a porch swing. I opted for the porch swing.

  Minutes later, Andrew walked outside with a plate of food. Of course he’d show up now.

  “For one second I was wondering why everyone wa
s packed inside and nobody was out here,” Andrew said. “But then I was suffocated by the air and understood perfectly.”

  “Yeah, it’s hot,” I agreed.

  He sat down next to me, the swing jostling a little.

  “Where’s Micah?” I asked.

  “I saw her talking to Lance,” he said.

  “Oh, okay.”

  “They like each other, right?” Andrew said. “Tell me I’m not the only one who sees that.”

  I laughed a little, glad I wasn’t the only one who thought that. “They already dated once. You know how stubborn Micah is. Maybe you can talk some sense into her.”

  “I may have mentioned it a couple of times, but you’re right, she shuts me down.” He looked at his food. “So, etiquette coach, what is the appropriate amount of time to stay at a funeral reception?”

  “We have done our duty. We just need to get Micah.”

  “Maybe we should give her a minute, considering who she’s talking to.” He took a bite of ambrosia salad. “What is this?” he asked through his mouthful.

  “Dessert pretending to be healthy.”

  He nodded. “What are the little chunks?”

  I looked at what remained on his plate. “I don’t know. Probably coconut?”

  He scooped up a bite and held it out for me. “That is not coconut. Try it.”

  I wasn’t in the mood to argue. I ate the salad off his fork, let it sit in my mouth for a moment, then said, “Cherries? Is that what you’re tasting?”

  “Ah. That’s probably it. I’m not a maraschino cherry fan.”

  “That’s one of those things people are either passionate about or loathe. Like cilantro.”

  “Or pecan pie,” he said.

  “Pecan pie?” I asked. “There is no debate about pecan pie. And if there is, then you haven’t tried …” I trailed off, about to sound like a small-town girl again.

  “Whose pecan pie do I need to try?”

  “Never mind. You don’t know her.”

  He nodded slowly. Then, despite his claimed hatred of maraschino cherries, he continued to eat the salad. “Do you believe in an afterlife?”