Rise and Shine, Benedict Stone

by Phaedra Patrick

* * *

  At midday Gemma knocked and poked her head around his door. “No one has come in,” she said. “Nobody.”

  Benedict lowered the necklace. “Some days, the shop is quieter than others. In fact, most days. Here, take some money and buy us lunch.”

  Gemma accepted a ten-pound note and reappeared just ten minutes later. She set some loose change down on the counter and handed him a bag. “I don’t know what the grass thing is.”

  Benedict looked inside and took out a clear plastic carton. It contained lettuce, tomato, cucumber, red pepper, cress and a splodge of mayonnaise. There was a sprinkling of orange cheese across the top. “It’s cress. Is this for me?”

  “Yes. Nice and healthy.”

  Benedict stared at it. “I need proper food. I’m a big bloke.” He patted his stomach and looked inside the bag again. There was a bottle of water and no cake. Gemma sat on the edge of his workbench and he pointed his finger and flicked it, to tell her to move away from his straight lines of tools.

  She tutted and picked up a piece of cucumber, held it, then gnawed around the edge like a squirrel nibbling at a nut. “You want Estelle back, right?”

  Benedict poked his finger into a slice of tomato. The yellow pips oozed out over his nail. “Is this part of WEB?” he asked suspiciously.

  “I think you should try to shape up. We should go for a walk up on the moors. That can be part of the operation.”

  “Estelle likes me the way I am. I like me the way I am. Okay?” He bit into a slice of red pepper then screwed up his nose. He put it back in the box.

  When Gemma finished her lunch and went back into the showroom, Benedict stuffed his half-eaten salad into the wastepaper basket then searched through his pockets, drawers and cupboards. Hunger seemed to run through his every vein and he needed something sugary.

  In his drawer, under a wodge of sticky notes, he found an old Humbug. He peeled the sticky cellophane off the brown-and-cream sweet and sucked on it gratefully.

  * * *

  When it reached midafternoon, Benedict’s blood sugar levels had dropped, making him feel irritated and drowsy. He told Gemma not to disturb him in the workshop, where he started to ruin link after link for the anniversary necklace. None were good enough and he wondered when his quest for perfectionism had started. Maybe when his parents died and he tried to make everything right for Charlie growing up. Before then, he didn’t recall striving so hard for everything to be in order. His current self-discipline seemed to be only for tangible objects and never for himself.

  The electronic beeper sounded when the shop door opened, and he looked through the gap in the showroom door to see Margarita Ganza come inside.

  Even though she had moved from Italy to Noon Sun when she was eight years old, Margarita still had a soft Italian accent, and whenever she saw him, she said, “Ciao, Benedeect.”

  Really, he should forget about his carbohydrate deficit and plaster a smile on his face. He should, at least, say hello to Margarita, even if he felt sluggish. But then he pressed his hands to his gurgling stomach. Gemma was handling this. She wanted to serve customers, so he should let her. Even so, he stood and sidled over to the showroom door to keep a secret eye on his niece.

  Benedict used to hear Margarita singing Italian love songs as she placed fresh daffodils, roses and peonies into brightly colored buckets outside Floribunda. “Ore d’amore,” she sang as she happily inhaled the scent of her flowers and waved to him.

  But he hadn’t heard her voice for a while now. The buckets that used to burst with blooms now housed a few straggly flowers. Floribunda sometimes didn’t open until late morning, and anyone wanting flowers either did without or traveled over to the garden center in Applethorpe instead.

  Benedict saw that, under Margarita’s stained white Floribunda apron, she wore a turquoise silk dress nipped in at the waist. Her long black curly hair had a singular wide streak of silver, which was the only clue that she had just turned thirty-five. Benedict thought that she looked more like a ballerina than a florist.

  With her dark, exotic looks, Margarita attracted a lot of male attention in Noon Sun, but she had been dating fellow Italian Tony for almost a year.

  Benedict thought that Gemma might greet their customer with a teenage grunt, but instead she said a lively “Hi there.”

  “Ciao,” Margarita said as she twirled a finger nervously through her hair.

  The door opened again and Benedict saw Tony come into the shop. He was tanned and dressed all in black, but wore a white tie. He had a shaved head, and a large diamond stud sparkled in his left ear. His shoulders were hunched with his hands shoved in his pockets. He was probably at least five years younger than Margarita.

  “Hmm,” Margarita said as her turquoise heels tapped around the floor. “Hmm.” She looked in each cabinet in turn.

  “What about this?” Tony asked. He moved over to a tall cabinet and tapped loudly on the glass.

  “It is lovely, but too plain.” Margarita brushed her black locks from her shoulder and clipped around the shop once more. “I want something special that I will love forever. But I’m not sure there’s anything here...”

  “Perhaps you’re looking for something, like, more magical?” Gemma offered.

  Benedict closed his eyes. Oh, god, Gemma. Something magical. This was a jewelry shop, not a fairy kingdom. He didn’t sell jewel-encrusted magic wands.

  “Yes. Yes, I am,” Margarita said. “I want something different. Unique. Maybe, as you say, even magical. Is Benedeect around?”

  “He’s busy working. I’m his niece, Gemma.”

  “Ciao. So pleased to meet you. I am Margarita, and this is my fiancé, Tony. We’re looking for an engagement ring.”

  “For you? Congratulations. My uncle makes all the stuff in the shop and it’s kinda traditional. But he can make anything you like...”

  “Yes?” Margarita didn’t sound convinced.

  “Sure. Take a look at these...”

  Peeping through the gap in the door, Benedict saw Gemma take a ball of tissues out of her bag and set it on the counter. His mouth fell open as he realized that she’d brought his test pieces into the shop. For a moment, he thought about storming through. His old jewelry had been for Gemma’s eyes only.

  But then Margarita spoke. “These are so beautiful,” she said. “I love this clamshell.”

  “Me, too. And there’s a blossom brooch...”

  “A flower? It’s very gorgeous.”

  As Margarita admired his pieces, Benedict lifted his chin a little. He hadn’t heard praise for his work in such a long time. Even his commission pieces usually only garnered a smile and a thanks. Margarita’s voice was full of warmth and...surprise.

  “I’ve been to a few jewelry shops already but I haven’t found anything. We were at a party and Tony twisted a piece of metal from a can into a ring. He gave it to me, so I am wearing that for now.” She presented the back of her hand to Gemma.

  Tony smirked and looked at his watch.

  Benedict leaned the side of his head against the door frame. Margarita was too glamorous to be wearing a metal ring. She wanted passion and surprise in her jewelry, just as Gemma said customers wanted. His niece was right.

  “Hmm,” Gemma said. “I think I have a special idea for you.”

  “You do?” Margarita said.

  You do? Benedict thought to himself in the workshop. He didn’t think that the ball of tissues contained anything that would work as an engagement ring, and he didn’t make and stockpile rings because of the multitude of different sizes needed to fit people’s fingers. He did have a couple of gold bands set with solitaire diamonds on display; however, he had a strong feeling that wasn’t what Gemma had in mind.

  “Uh-huh,” his niece said. “We could copy your metal-twist ring, but make it in platinu
m. It would be, like, the same shape and style as the original, but in a precious metal.”

  “Your uncle Benedeect, he could make this?”

  “Yes. He’s totally talented.”

  Benedict almost laughed out loud. Talented! But then his eyes grew a little glassy. Feeling embarrassed, he blinked them hard and wished that Estelle was here to overhear the comment, to show that there were positive things about him.

  Margarita didn’t speak for a few moments. “That is such a great idea.”

  “We could set a small gemstone in the middle of the twist. It will look lovely...”

  “I like it,” Margarita said. “What do you think, Tony?”

  He gave a small grunt. “I dunno...”

  “Let me get some gemstones to show you.” Gemma flung open the door to the workshop. It was too quick for Benedict to move out of the way, and the door banged against his shoulder.

  “Gemstones?” she buzzed as if she’d overloaded on caffeine. “Where do you keep them?”

  “I don’t have any in the shop.”

  “Right.” Gemma cast her eye around the workshop once more to make sure. She took the white cotton gemstone bag from her jacket pocket. “I can use these, though, right?” Without waiting for an answer, she flitted back into the shop. This time she left the door to the workshop open wider so that Benedict could see Margarita and Tony more clearly.

  Gemma shook out the gemstones and they rattled onto the glass counter.

  Margarita picked one of them up. “I love this pale blue stone,” she said.

  “It’s an aquamarine.”

  “It’s very pretty, the color of my favorite flower, sea holly. I’m going to have them in my wedding bouquet.”

  “Are you going to arrange your own flowers?”

  “We’ll hire a professional to do it,” Tony said. “We want them to be perfect.”

  “But I am a trained florist,” Margarita said in a quiet voice.

  “Your shop is more of a hobby. It doesn’t make any money.”

  “It is because I need to get to the flower market in York earlier. By the time I arrive, the best blooms are all gone.”

  “You disturb me when you get up early.”

  Margarita looked at Gemma. “Tony works in a nightclub. He gets home late, but for my shop I need to rise early...”

  “Why are we even discussing this?” Tony asked. “We’re here to find a ring. Engagement rings are gold with a diamond.”

  “We don’t have to follow tradition...”

  “The ring I gave you was just a bit of fun. I didn’t think you’d still be wearing that crappy bit of metal on your finger.”

  “Oh.” Margarita looked down at the back of her hand. Her face fell. “I didn’t know you felt like that, and I really like Gemma’s suggestion. Though I suppose I like diamonds, too. So, you think we should go for something more traditional?” She lifted her eyes, seeking out his approval.

  “Sure. A simple band and a solitaire diamond.”

  “Well, okay,” Margarita said. “If you think so...”

  Gemma let her breath out in a hiss. “The aquamarine suits you better.”

  Tony fixed her with a glare. “We want a diamond.”

  “The aquamarine is right. And Margarita wants platinum.”

  In the workshop, Benedict felt the tendons tighten in his neck. Gemma, you can’t tell customers that they’re wrong, he thought. He’d obviously made a big mistake in letting her serve on her own and he should have interrupted sooner. He wanted to step into the showroom and take over, but didn’t want to show her up.

  An awkward silence followed.

  “We can think about it,” Tony said curtly. “No need to decide now.” He took hold of Margarita’s hand and pulled her toward the front door. As she left, she looked over her shoulder and gave a small, quick smile to Gemma.

  When the door closed behind them, Benedict entered the showroom. “Why are you telling customers what’s right and what’s not?” he asked. “You should just try to sell them a ring from the display cabinets.”

  Gemma shook her head. “I read about aquamarine in Grandpa Joseph’s journal this morning. Here.” She turned the journal so Benedict could see it. “It’s a good stone for Margarita.”

  AQUAMARINE

  A light blue gemstone, with good sources in Pakistan and Brazil. Its color is determined by impurities of iron, meaning that the gem can range in hue from almost colorless to a deep ocean-blue-green. Aquamarine can clear blocked communication and helps you to express your ideas and imagination. It can give you courage to make dynamic changes. In ancient times, sailors regarded it as a lucky stone.

  He read the description twice. “But they’re just words in a book. It doesn’t mean they’re true.”

  Gemma shrugged. “Margarita will come back to the shop when she realizes...”

  “When she realizes what?”

  “That Tony is the wrong man for her, and to order her aquamarine ring.”

  “They’re never going to come back into the shop again. And how do you know he’s not the right man for her?”

  “The way he looks at her and speaks to her.” Gemma folded her arms. “Did you know that the word diamond comes from the Greek adamas, meaning ‘unbreakable,’ and diaphanous, meaning ‘transparent,’ Uncle Ben? A diamond signifies honor and pure intention. I don’t think Tony has that.”

  “But they were here to buy jewelry, not for you to interfere in their lives.” Benedict felt his cheeks growing redder, from having to defend what was right, in his own shop.

  “You should read the journal some more.”

  “It’s not a bible. If any more customers come in, please try to sell them something we already have in stock. I have some nice triangular silver brooches that we need to shift...”

  “I can’t do that.” Her fierce expression was the same as when she hurled the bag of gemstones at him. “Not if it’s wrong. You asked me to help you out, and I am doing that.”

  “It’s my shop, and you’re not exactly helping.” He regretted the words as soon as he said them. They were harsher than he meant them to be. “What I mean is...”

  But Gemma slammed the gemstone journal shut with a bang. She snatched it up and held it tightly to her chest. Blue veins popped up on her temples like gnarled twigs. “Well, you obviously don’t think I’m helping. So, I’ll leave you to look after your own shop, huh?” She marched around the counter and toward the front door. She reached out and tugged it open, and a chilly blast wound around their ankles.

  Benedict helplessly reached out an arm to stop her. She didn’t have a coat on or have keys to the house. “Where are you going?”

  “What do you care?” Gemma wiped her nose with the back of her hand. She stood defiantly, holding the journal as if clasping a shield to her chest to protect her. “You’re just happy in your boring shop, shutting yourself away and not listening to anyone. You didn’t even do the Romeo thing, I bet.” She lifted her nose in the air. “I’m not surprised your wife left you.”

  “Hey.” Benedict raised his voice at her sharp words. “That’s a horrible thing to say.”

  “Well.” Gemma tossed her head and looked away from him, though she didn’t make a move to leave.

  On the counter, Lord Puss lifted his head, as if enjoying the drama.

  Benedict stood for a moment. His head throbbed and there was a pain behind his right eye. The days of quiet, with only him and Cecil in the shop, seemed so long ago.

  Gemma was right, in that he didn’t like change, and he supposed he didn’t listen to other people much, but she couldn’t go around trying to rule and change people’s lives. Her words about Estelle leaving were cruel. He knew he was stuck in a bit of a rut. He couldn’t deny that.

  “Maybe,” he
said finally.

  Gemma stared out into the street, her hands balled into fists. “Maybe what?” she asked as if she didn’t care.

  “Maybe it’s not a surprise she left me.”

  When Gemma finally spoke, her voice was fragile. “I shouldn’t have said that,” she sniffed. “But I know that you want me to leave.”

  A car passed by and Benedict couldn’t quite make out her words. “I want you to what...?”

  Gemma spun back and a tear trickled down her cheek. “I said that I know you don’t want me here. No one does.”

  Benedict walked toward her. “Who doesn’t?”

  “Anybody.”

  “Are you crying?”

  “No.” She rubbed her face with her sleeve.

  The first thought in Benedict’s mind was that it would be better if she wasn’t here. Even though his life wasn’t perfect, it was steady. But he supposed that was before Estelle left him. That’s the life he really wanted back, not the one he’d been enduring for the last six weeks. So even if Gemma irritated him, provoked and challenged him, she was the only person who had come up with any ideas for how he could get Estelle back.

  He tried to pin words down as they rampaged in his head, wanting to keep them simple. “I want you to stay,” he muttered.

  “Why?”

  Benedict tried to think of some reasons, but there weren’t that many. “So I can tell you about my Romeo episode. Okay?” he said.

  Gemma scratched her nose. “You said that you weren’t going to tell me.”

  He stepped toward her, feeling hurt prickle inside him as he again thought about his wife and Lawrence. “It was a disaster, but I gave it a go.”

  He told Gemma how he stood behind the bush and watched his wife and the gallery owner on the balcony. Gemma’s lips twitched into the faintest smile as he explained how he threw stones up at the balcony, and about the dog peeing on the flowers. “I wanted to do it. I wanted to be bloody Romeo, but I ended up telling her about you instead...”

  Gemma pushed her hair over one ear. “So, she knows about me? And that I’m staying with you?”

  “Yes,” he sighed. “Look, Gemma. I heard you talking to Margarita and you have more ideas than I could ever have. So, even if I don’t always agree with you, I want you to stay. For as long as you need to, and so long as that’s alright with Charlie. I just want you to try to be...less forceful, okay?”