Design for Life

by Masters, Cate

  If she wanted? Was he kidding? When she opened her mouth to speak, she held back for fear she’d awaken to find it all a dream. Instead, she pressed her lips to his in a warm, wonderful kiss. By the time she finally eased away, the coffee shop window had darkened, and not even a dog walker in sight.

  ***

  Monday flew by while Becca immersed herself in making bouquets and baskets. She loved to lay out the flowers on the table in a rainbow of petals. Arranging flowers was like working with a palette of silk, combining new colors and textures to make unique pieces.

  “You’re awfully chipper today.” Grace paused the coffee cup before her lips.

  “She’s practically glowing.” Even passing through, Emmie’s critical eye always accurately assessed any situation.

  Becca giggled. “I feel as if I am glowing. And floating.”

  Halting, Emmie’s mouth dropped open. “The exhibit Saturday night! What happened?”

  As the three women gathered around the table, Becca filled them in on the evening’s highlights.

  With a sigh, Emmie leaned her elbows on the table. “I knew from the way he looked at you–not the way a teacher should look at his student. I’m glad he’s quitting.”

  Becca grinned. “Me, too.” Saturday night had been almost magical. The showing, their kiss, his invitation to coffee, how he complimented her artwork— A sudden horror made her freeze, a hand gripping the table. “Oh, no.” Rushing to her handbag, she dug inside, but her sketch book wasn’t there. “Oh, no!”

  “What is it?” Deb set an empty basket atop the table.

  Slumping against the chair, she racked her brain. “My sketches. I left them at the coffee shop.” She’d spent the past day and a half in utter bliss, reliving the previous night. Never before had a day passed without her at least opening the pad, dreaming of new designs. Despair now left her paralyzed.

  “It’ll turn up.”

  Grace’s reassuring tone only filled Becca with more despair. How would she ever find it?

  “Call the coffee shop,” Deb urged. “I’m sure someone’s turned it in.”

  Already on her way to the front desk, Emmie said, “I’ll look up the number. What’s the name?” Flipping through the phone book, Emmie recited the number.

  With tense fingers, Becca dialed. The boy who answered put her on hold while he checked. She bit her nail, praying he’d bring good news. Her heart leaped as the phone clicked, but he said no sketch book was in the lost and found box.

  As she thanked him and hung up, panic mounted. Years of work gone. Years of trial and error, sketching and erasing, refining each individual line until it was in perfect synch with the rest. Those drawings were the culmination of her talent and sweat. Now they probably sat in some dumpster, soiled and torn. Her heart broke at the thought.

  Emmie patted her shoulder. “Someone found it, I’m sure.”

  With a leaden nod, Becca shuffled to the arranging table. Those designs represented years of hard work. In recreating them, she risked losing vital details.

  In the afternoon, Deb came in the back room. “I’m going to check out Abbey’s Arbor, that new shop in town. The newspaper ad showed some nice vases. And I have a twenty percent coupon.”

  “Great.” Grace pointed her pen. “Don’t forget three extra large vases. We’ll need those for the hotel. Twenty percent off would be a big help.”

  “We have two small deliveries this afternoon. Would you be able to take those, Becca? You could go on home from there.”

  “Be happy to.” She infused some life into her listless voice. As terrible as it was to lose her sketches—her dreams—she could start again. One design at a time, she would reconstruct her portfolio.

  Grace tilted her head. “Whose cell phone’s ringing?”

  All paused to listen to the musical tones.

  “That’s mine.” Becca hurried to the corner where her handbag sat beneath her jacket. Rummaging through it, she found her cell. The number in the display wasn’t familiar, but she opened it.

  “Hello? Yes, this is Becca Lyndon. Yes, Charlotte Lyndon’s my mother.” As she listened, her throat constricted. “What? When? I’ll be right there.” With shaking hands, she grabbed her handbag and jacket. “Sorry, I have to go. My mom collapsed, and she’s in the hospital.” On her way to the door, she pressed a hand to her trembling lips.

  The women followed her. “Let us know if there’s anything we can do.”

  “I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.” Becca hurried to her car. Had she missed something this morning? Her mom had looked more alert, more healthy than she had in weeks. What had gone wrong?

  ***

  At the hospital, she waited in the visitors’ lounge for two hours. Each time the door opened, she tensed, ready to jump to her feet, but then sat back in disappointment.

  Finally, a white-coated man came to the doorway. “Anyone a relative of Charlotte Lyndon?”

  On shaky legs, Becca stood and followed him into the hall. Gray peppered the tall doctor’s sandy hair, whose name tag read Dr. Thomas Maynard. “Your mother’s cancer has spread. We found two large tumors in her lungs. We’re scheduling surgery for first thing tomorrow.”

  “Surgery.” Her heart fell. Of all the things her mother hated about her disease, staying in the hospital ranked at the top of her list. Hopefully Mom’s insurance would cover most of the costs, but they’d worry about those details afterward.

  “The sooner we remove it, the better her chances.”

  “Right.” Fear kept her from asking how Mom’s chances stood. They’ll know more after surgery anyway.

  The doctor clasped his hands. “She’s heavily sedated now, but she’ll be in a room very soon. I’ll have the nurses at the desk let you know when she’s settled.”

  “Thanks, doctor.” Becca watched him stride away, and envied his detached attitude. How he could deal every day with tragedy and every life it touched left her in awe, but at the moment, she felt as if she might sink too deep into her own sorrow if she allowed herself to. Life was a fragile thing, so tenuous.

  She’d have to find a way to reassure her mom about the surgery.

  While strolling to the window at the far end of the hall, she pulled out her cell phone. “Deb…hey, it’s Becca. I’m still at the hospital. They’re operating on Mom tomorrow to remove two tumors, so I’ll be here all day.” She listened to her friend’s sympathy and her throat thickened. “Thanks, I will. Good night.”

  The cell phone display showed seven fifteen. Still time to call Mike, leave a message… No. Later, she would email him and let him know what had happened. After powering down the phone, she dropped it in her handbag.

  Afraid of missing the nurse, she dragged herself back to the lounge and sat as far away as possible from the television. From her handbag, she pulled a note pad and a pencil. Lines came together on the page as if transferred from her sharp memory. A squared chin with a strong jaw line. A wide lower lip, the upper lip a bit thinner, tapered to a slight curl at each end to form a perfectly shaped mouth. Black, rectangular-rimmed glasses resting on the narrow bridge of a nose that flared at its end. Dark eyes lit by an inner fire. Tousled hair curling over an ear, not quite to the collar of his jacket. A wrinkled cotton shirt with the first three buttons undone.

  The vivid image sprang from the page as if alive with his being. Had only a few days passed since she saw him?

  The nurse pushed open the door. “Ms. Lyndon? Your mom’s been taken to room 504.”

  After flipping the pad shut, she sprang from her seat, thanked the nurse and rushed to the elevator. Now was the time to worry about her mom.

  ***

  As Becca stumbled in the front door of her house, the clock chimed eleven. Her feet ached, her back ached, her head ached, all thanks to falling asleep in the hospital chair. All she wanted was her bed.

  While climbing the stairs, Becca unbuttoned her blouse, thoughts crowding her mind. Today’s scare was behind her, but tomorrow would be lon
g. The three women needed her at the shop, but she had to take the entire day off. She’d go to the hospital first thing in the morning, and check in with the Basket of Blooms during the day.

  Mike. She had to email him.

  As the computer whirred to life, Becca slumped, head in her hand, eyelids drooping. One quick email, and she’d go to bed. She clicked the mouse on the email icon and her fingers flew over the keyboard by rote. Clicking the send button, she hoped the message made sense. Warmth eased her weariness, thinking of him reading it.

  Exhausted, she lay on her bed. Her grumbling stomach reminded her she hadn’t eaten. Too tired to get up, she curled up beneath the covers. Tomorrow. She’d eat tomorrow. And think.

  Sleep overtook her, but dreams woke her throughout the night. Dreams of Mom calling her from outside her window, but when she went to the window in her dream, no one was there. Of Mike switching off the classroom light, shutting the door and pulling her close, the classroom falling away to a moonlit beach as Mike’s lips pressed to hers, sending tingles along her spine.

  Becca gasped and sat up. Sunlight, not moonlight, streamed through her window. The clock on her night stand read eight o’clock.

  The haze of sleep blurred the line between reality and dreams. For a moment, she laid still to decipher which were which. Her life had turned topsy-turvy in the past six weeks, and taken a direction she could not have guessed.

  Yes, her mom was in the hospital. And yes, Mike Hunter had kissed her.

  His kiss hadn’t been a dream. The sensation had been much more exciting.

  Chapter Five

  For the next five days, Becca went from home to the hospital to work to the hospital back to work then back to the hospital then home to bed, to start all over again the next day.

  Each day, her mom looked more haggard. Hopefully Mom's insurance covered extended stays, or else she'd have to quit school and take a second job. That thought stung. When would she have time to see her mom? Or Mike?

  Her mom slipped in and out of consciousness, and endured multiple tests and midnight vitals checks without complaint. One night, she surprised Becca by saying, “You should go to class tomorrow, sweetie.”

  Becca had trouble keeping track of each day of the week. How her mom managed, she couldn’t guess. “No, I want to be here.” When her mom opened her mouth to protest, Becca squeezed her hand. “I’ll keep up with my work.”

  What she didn’t mention was that every time she picked up her sketch book, Mike Hunter’s image materialized at the end of her pencil. Not so much work as blissful daydreaming. How she wished she could see him, sink into his embrace.

  Even though tomorrow night would be Mike’s last teaching session, she couldn’t leave her mom all alone. She’d meant to get his cell number. His earlier emails said a project at work kept him working long hours. A message appeared in her email last night. The contents made no sense, but she attributed her confusion to her lack of sleep.

  The next day at the Basket of Blooms, the bell over the door tinkled. Even back in the work area, Becca heard a man say her name. She wiped the dampness from her hands and walked to the front.

  Standing at the counter, Mike looked up and smiled.

  “Mike, what are you doing here?” A thrill zinged through her like a ricochet. During the past few days, she’d missed him, but seeing him now brought a rush of feelings to the surface. If the store had been deserted, she’d have thrown herself into his arms and smothered him with kisses.

  First glancing at Emmie, who stood at Grace’s desk, he shifted closer and held out a stack of papers. “These are the handouts from class. Your email said you might not make it tonight, so I thought I’d bring them by.”

  “How nice of you.” Struggling to maintain a professional tone, she gripped the counter, wishing she could reach out to him instead.

  He shrugged. “No problem. I wanted to see how your mom is doing. And how you’re holding up.” The yearning in his tone twined through her, making her want to pull him close.

  Becca slid her hand in his, and his warmth surged through her. She whispered, “I’m glad to hear it.” Although worrying about her mom took precedence, she’d held him in her thoughts.

  In a normal tone, she said, “My mom’s a little better. She should be coming home any day now.” No sense worrying him, too.

  “Good.” He leaned further over the counter and whispered, “Actually, I wanted to see you. The company’s sending me to the Pittsburgh office for a few weeks, and my schedule’s going to be crazy.”

  “Oh, no.” An ache filled her. Things were beginning to click so well between them. Life always threw up roadblocks at exactly the wrong times.

  The telephone rang. “Excuse me one minute.” Reluctantly, she slipped her hand from his and picked up the receiver. “Basket of Blooms, this is Becca. How may I help you?”

  Acutely aware of him watching her, she answered the caller’s questions, and then jotted the order on the notepad. After hanging up, she turned to him with a smile. “Sorry for the interruption.”

  The bell jingled when a woman wearing a business suit entered the shop. Her no-nonsense approach told Becca she’d want attention as soon as she was ready to check out. Too many people stealing precious moments away from her short time with Mike.

  The woman picked up an arrangement and walked toward the counter. “Are you in line, young man?”

  Young man? Becca stifled a giggle.

  Mike took a step back. “No, go right ahead.”

  “Thank you.” The woman set the basket by the cash register and opened her purse.

  Becca gave Mike a reassuring smile and held up a finger to let him know she’d be one more minute. “Is that all, ma’am?”

  Tapping her credit card against the glass, the customer said, “I’ll need a card to go with it.”

  Becca moved the display of free cards closer so she could choose. The sooner the woman left, the sooner she could get back to Mike.

  He leaned over the counter, his voice low. “I wondered if you had time to go for coffee.”

  Glancing up, the customer raised an eyebrow and then pulled a card from the rack. “This one is fine.” Her clipped tone demanded attention.

  If only Becca could get away for a little while! But Emmie, Grace and Deb had their hands full, and she couldn’t leave them. “Sorry, I can’t today.” She smiled at the woman. “Anything else?”

  With a tentative smile, Mike stood straight. “Maybe later?”

  Oh, no. He couldn’t be leaving already. Tensing, she willed the customer to go away.

  The woman tapped her red nails on the counter top. “That’s all. I’m in a hurry, if you don’t mind.”

  Becca swiped the woman’s card and waited for the approval. “Would you like this in a box to protect your car seat?”

  She pressed her lips tight. “Yes, please.”

  From the cabinet behind her, Becca pulled a flattened box. As she fumbled it open, she turned to Mike. “I’m going straight to the hospital from here. And you have class.” The receipt printed and Becca laid it before the woman. “Can you sign this for me, please?”

  The customer scrawled her signature.

  “I’ll let you get back to work.” Mike headed toward the door.

  Her heart sinking, Becca took the shop receipt and handed the woman hers. “Thanks for visiting the Basket of Blooms. Have a nice day.”

  Mike was halfway through the door as she called, “Thanks for bringing the assignments!” Of all the things she wanted to tell him, class work ranked the lowest, but she’d have to wait until she saw him alone to tell him the rest.

  He paused to wave, but the woman’s heels clipped toward him, so he continued outside, holding open the door.

  The phone rang and Becca reached for it. “Basket of Blooms. This is Becca, how may I help you?” Normally, she loved the busy atmosphere. Today, she’d have given anything for the shop to remain deserted—except for Mike. She could stare into his eyes, feel safe
in his arms…

  The caller asked the shop hours, and Becca relayed the information. Hanging up, she stood a moment gazing out the front window, straining for any glimpse of Mike. Seeing none, she gave a frustrated sigh. Who knew when she’d see him again? The thought pricked at her.

  Emmie walked from the back room. “How’s it going? Need any help?”

  Biting back her disappointment, Becca filed the receipt in the drawer. “It’s busy, but I’m covering it.”

  Emmie smiled. “I have no doubt.”

  If only Becca felt the same way. These days, her mind was so scattered, she didn’t know what to do next. At least the shop provided a structure for her to follow each day. Otherwise, she’d be completely lost.

  ***

  The hospital room was anything but quiet. The woman in the next bed had six visitors, two were rowdy children. Becca understood how much they must miss their family member, but wished they’d be more considerate so Mom could sleep uninterrupted.

  Her mom had dozed off watching CNN, so Becca took out a new sketch pad. She’d given up on getting back her old sketch book. Like so many other things in her life, she was learning to keep moving forward, not let life’s stumbling blocks stop her. At first, the loss of her sketches hit her hard. They represented so much–her future. Recreating them wasn’t as awful as she’d thought. And some of the results looked even better.

  Dr. Maynard strode in and pulled the clipboard from the end of the bed.

  Becca sat straight, setting aside her pad. “Hello, doctor.”

  After studying the chart, he glanced up. “Good evening. And how are you, Mrs. Lyndon?”

  Her mom’s eyes fluttered open. “I’m fine, doctor.”