The Colour of Broken

by Amelia Grace

  He saw me and grinned, but all I could manage were burning eyes and down-turned lips. His expression changed at once to one of concern. I had successfully managed to sour his mood.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

  ‘I can’t do it, Xander.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Dance with you.’

  ‘But you must! You’re the only one!’

  ‘I’ll make you look bad—’

  ‘We will look good.’

  ‘I’ll make mistakes—’

  ‘I won’t let you.’

  ‘I’ll fall down.’

  ‘I’ll lift you up.’

  ‘I’ll be a jittery mess of nerves.’

  ‘I’ll take them from you.’

  ‘I’ll let you down.’

  ‘You won’t.’

  He held out his hands to me. I looked at his long fingers, the ones that had wrapped around mine with warmth and strength and reached into my broken heart while we danced. I lifted my hands to his and he pulled me onto my feet. He wrapped his arms around me and hugged me with a gentleness that made me believe in miracles.

  ‘Dance with me,’ he whispered, like a magical spell that wound its way into my heart and mind, changing my outlook on life, so that the sun shone so brightly it changed the colours of the world, and beamed rays of supreme happiness and everlasting love.

  I couldn’t answer yet. I wanted to bathe in whatever it was that he was injecting me with.

  ‘Dance with me,’ he whispered again.

  ‘Yes,’ I whispered back, ‘but please forgive me for my inadequacy.’

  ‘Are you going gooey la-la on me, Yolande?’

  Was I? I hoped not. I never went gooey la-la over a man! ‘No. Just realistic about my skill level as compared to yours.’

  Xander stepped back from me. He reached for my hand and placed it over his heart. ‘Feel my heart beating?’

  ‘Slowly, yes.’ I gazed into his beautiful eyes.

  ‘It means I’m human and will make mistakes. That makes us even. Change your shoes on your hobbit feet, warm-up and stretch, and let’s nail our dancing!’

  I looked down at my work boots, smiled and nodded.

  ‘How did you get in?’ Xander asked.

  I sat on the pew and started to remove my boots. ‘Through the window!’

  ‘Of course you did!’

  ‘Yeah—I’ll have to add break and enter to my resume!’

  ‘That’s an employable skill to have ...’

  ‘Clearly.’ I stood after I put on my dance shoes and walked away to warm up and stretch.

  Xander followed soon after.

  ‘How was the party?’ I asked.

  ‘Happy. Loud. Tipsy. Freedom. It was a person short, though.’ He looked at me and raised his eyebrow.

  Oh ... me ... ‘I would have been the walking dead.’

  He nodded his head. ‘A zombie could have been an interesting addition.’ He held up his outstretched left arm. I placed my right hand into his left hand. His right hand came to rest just under my left shoulder blade, while I placed my left hand on his right shoulder.

  The music began, and we took our first dance step.

  Our third practice session had begun.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  ‘FLOWERS, TEA, COFFEE OR BOOKS?’ The words rolled off my tongue without a second thought. I tapped my work boot on the floor, annoyed at the long question Gram insisted on being used each time. People only came to the sales desk for flowers, otherwise they headed over to the café if they wanted tea of coffee. It was a no-brainer, really. Yet, for Gram, I continued the façade.

  The neatly dressed man before me stared with a confused look. I couldn’t blame him really. He snapped out of it and shook his head. ‘I find myself standing in a flower shop with uncertainty. Why should I buy flowers?’ He was the colour of dark, dark gray with an “a”, turning black—sadness, spiralling into a depth of numbness of emotion.

  ‘Well ...’ I took a deep breath, trying to stop the burn of heated dread filling me. ‘Flowers are mood-enhancing, production-boosting powerhouses if you’re in business, or, they’re a reminder of you. They are sorry, thank you, sympathy, condolences ... love. Who are they for?’ I was rambling on, trying to drown out the alarm bells ringing inside of me.

  He pressed his lips together. ‘They are for ... incredible happiness, and, for ... unbearable sadness.’ He stiffened and held his breath. ‘New life, and ... death ... at once.’ He released his breath and his eyes reddened.

  My heart felt heavy. Too heavy. I felt like collapsing in a heap on the floor from grief. The man before me was in incredible pain. I swallowed the lump in my throat. ‘A celebration of new life, and a celebration of a life,’ I said, trying to find a way around the devastation, almost choking on my words.

  He cleared his throat. ‘Yes,’ he said as a released breath, almost as if his saying yes out loud would make it come true.

  I slid a piece of paper along the sales desk. ‘If you could write the details of the flower arrangements on this paper, I will create them for you while you have a cup of tea in the café. Tell Darcy that Andi sent you.’

  The man blinked at me and started to write. I closed my eyes, wishing not to see the details of the death. So final. With words left unsaid. Love shattered. Hearts broken. I opened my eyes when I heard the paper slide along the desk top.

  ‘Thank you ...’ I looked at the paper for his name, ‘Mr Anderson. I will do these at once for you.’

  He pressed his lips together and walked over to Darcy.

  I cast my eyes onto the piece of paper. There was only one name for the recipient of the flowers. A baby. With the same birth date, and death. I crouched on the floor behind the sales desk and hugged myself. There were no words. There could never be any words. Only a crushing heartfelt pain for this spirit-destroying event.

  After a moment, I stood and dragged my feet over to the workbench, my mind numb. There was no way I could create a hello/goodbye arrangement of flowers for a beautiful baby. I opened Gram’s book of designs and slid my finger down the contents page, slowing at the word fatality ... no ... it wasn’t a fatality like that ... funeral—for a baby - girl - pale pink roses and pink mini carnations offset by baby’s breath, ivy and lush greens. An ivory plush bear, a sheer white ribbon and a pink ribbon with “Little Angel” in gold metallic lettering.

  I left Gram’s book open and headed to the cold room. There, I gathered the flowers and greens and stilled. I hugged the flowers to my chest and sobbed, holding a tissue against my right eye. I hated the mortal earthly sleep. I had to remind myself there was also an everlasting spiritual life. It is when the mortal became immortal. Like ... I squeezed my eyes shut and turned my head to the side and blocked out a memory.

  After a long moment I straightened my back and lifted my chin. I had a job to do. And I would lather the creation with love and adoration to honour the baby and her grieving parents and family and friends. On the way to the workbench, I chose the ivory plush bear with care, choosing the one with the most adorable face. Then I got to work at creating a masterpiece.

  Mr Anderson appeared before the workbench as I put the finishing touches on the arrangement. ‘Thank you. How much to do I owe you?’

  I shook my head. ‘They’re a gift from Flowers for Fleur, created with heart.’ And tears, I wanted to add. But I didn’t.

  Mr Anderson put his hand over his chest. ‘Thank you.’ He picked up the flowers and teddy bear with care, turned and left, holding his head high, and I suspect, stopping the flow of tears from his broken heart.

  I hung my head. If it was a perfect world, there would be no terrible tragedies. No death, no war, no disease, no hate, no evil ... I swallowed the lump in my throat and returned to the sales desk and the next person waiting to purchase flowers.

  The rest of the day was filled with joyous flower sales. I needed it. I couldn’t even begin to think what it would be like working in a funeral parlour where you dealt
with only death. How did those people do it?

  At 5pm I closed the front doors and sighed with relief, then got on with the jobs I had to do before I could leave and meet Xander for dancing.

  At 5.45pm there was a knock on the French doors. Darcy answered the door and took care of the delivery. The smell of curry awakened my hungry stomach when he walked closer.

  ‘Yolande. Dinner for two. See you at the table in two minutes.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No buts. Two minutes.’

  I finished listing the orders for tomorrow and closed the three books I had been working in. I walked to a table Darcy had set up with plates, glasses, cutlery, a candle and flowers.

  ‘Stolen flowers!’ I said as I sat opposite him, wondering what he was up to.

  ‘Borrowed,’ he said. ‘Eat and enjoy.’

  ‘What have I done to deserve this?’

  ‘You work too hard and you’ve lost weight.’

  ‘Oh, so you’re trying to fatten me up?’

  He lifted his chin and looked down at me, gazing into my eyes. ‘Yes. Someone needs to take care of you.’

  My blood began to boil. I didn’t need a man to take care of me. That was my job, and my job alone. ‘Darc—’

  ‘It’s what a real man does.’

  I looked at him and decided to bow out of the disagreement. He was being kind. ‘Thanks,’ I said, and placed a bite of food into my mouth to make him feel good.

  ‘I’m taking you to a movie afterward.’

  I stopped eating. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t. I have dance lessons every night this week.’

  His eyebrows crinkled together. ‘Since when do you dance?’

  ‘Since forever. It’s only been the last three years that I haven’t danced.’

  Darcy looked down. ‘Oh.’

  ‘But thanks for the movie invitation. After the dance competition has finished, I’ll go with you.’

  ‘Good,’ he said, unconvincingly. ‘Who’s your dance partner?’

  ‘Xander.’

  Darcy put his cutlery down and placed his hands under his chin and looked into my eyes with a frown. ‘Is he any good?’

  ‘He’s okay, I guess.’ He obviously didn’t know that Xander was a danseur. His secret was well hidden. I finished eating and took a long drink of water. ‘I have to go. I’m late.’ I put my hand over my heart. ‘Thank you ... for all of this.’ I waved my hand over the table. ‘After the comp—dinner and a movie ... I promise.’

  ‘Without your work boots?’

  I stilled. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘One day,’ Darcy said, and gave me a small smile.

  ‘One day,’ I repeated, wondering if that day would ever come.

  *~*~*~*~*

  Xander was waiting for me outside the hall. He was the colour of fire orange; a flamboyant mix of energy and happiness. A handsome smile grew on his face when he saw me.

  ‘For a moment I thought you had changed your mind,’ he said, when I ascended the steps, two at a time.

  I shook my head. ‘No. But I do prefer entering via the window.’

  ‘I thought you would. How am I supposed to tame you and turn you into a dancer?’ He smirked at me.

  I gave him a light punch on the arm. He pulled an “ouch” face. ‘You’ll keep,’ I said, and stepped past him to go to the pew, where I sat to change into my dance shoes.

  Xander stood before me. He smelled like a spicy blend of cedarwood and cocoa-vanilla today. ‘I’ll pick you up at work and drive you home afterward from now on.’

  I sat up and looked at him. ‘I’m fine riding the black beast.’

  ‘It’s just ... I don’t want anything happening to you before the comp.’

  ‘Conceded ... and thanks.’ I stood to begin the warm up and stretch routine. ‘Sorry I’m late. Darcy decided to feed me before I left. He works at the store.’

  Xander warmed up and stretched opposite me. ‘With candles and flowers on the table?’

  ‘Yes, why?’ I slowed my stretches.

  ‘He’s wants to be more than your friend?’

  ‘No, no, no. We work in a flower shop. There are flowers everywhere, and candles are already on the table.’

  Xander raised an eyebrow at me. ‘We’ll see. If he asks you to a movie ...’

  That, he had already done. ‘He’s not my type.’

  ‘What is your type?’

  ‘One who doesn’t ask so many questions.’

  ‘You mean who digs deeper instead of scratching the surface?’

  I looked down and smiled. He was repeating my words from when I went to his mother’s birthday party with him.

  ‘Do the questions make you feel uncomfortable? Are you scared of what they’ll find—like the real Andi?’ he continued.

  ‘Oh—stop it!’ I smiled at him and put my hands on his chest to give him a push. He placed his hands over mine and held them there. ‘Let’s dance, shall we?’ He bowed to me.

  I bowed back and gazed into his mesmerising blue eyes, and the world slowed down. Once Upon a Time started, and we fell into step for the waltz, cementing the steps we already knew, building layer upon layer until our minds responded to the music with muscle memory. We danced for an hour and a half, and it seemed so effortless.

  And then I stumbled, and fell.

  Xander wrapped his arms around me to lessen the impact of the fall. He eased me down by holding me and lifting me in our forward motion as the floor approached. I landed with only a slight bump, but lied flat on my back, staring up at the ceiling. Xander slumped down beside me.

  ‘Sorry, and thanks,’ I said. A tear rolled from the corner of my eye towards my ear.

  ‘No problem, and no problem,’ he said. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Yeah ... it’s just ... my mind went off on its own tangent.’ I turned my head to look at him. ‘There’s no cure for Gram’s disease. If I leave the flower shop, my grandparents will close it down because they want to keep it strictly as a family business, passed down through the generations. Gram’s heart will break, and I can’t do that to her ... so here I am, the only aeronautical engineer trying to make flowers fly.’

  ‘What about other family?’

  ‘Apparently, they don’t have the same “heart” that I do,’ I said, punctuating the air with inverted commas. ‘I don’t blame them ... there’s nothing worse than working in a job that you didn’t choose. And why should another person’s dream destroy your own dream?’

  ‘And your dream?’

  I took a deep breath. ‘I’m too kind hearted, and my grandmother means the world to me.’

  ‘Even over your own career?’

  ‘Yes. And that’s why I am determined to find something that will halt her disease, and then I can return to what I love to do!’

  Alexander closed his eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘On the other hand, we’re both stuck here in Tarrin, together. Maybe you can invent a flying machine to get us out, fuelled by flowers!’

  I started laughing. Deep belly laughing. ‘Sounds like a deal!’

  ‘Done!’ he said.

  I drew an imaginary rocket in the air above my head, and pushed it over to Xander. ‘Gramps use to sing in the forest not far from here once, practising for the opera. His mother threw him out of the house because he was too loud.’

  ‘I’ll bet,’ Xander said and smiled. He gathered my imaginary rocket in his hands, then moved it towards his lips, and blew it away.

  I drew an imaginary heart next, and pushed it towards him. ‘Gram was walking by the road when she heard his voice and searched him out. It was love at first sight, according to Gramps.’

  ‘Nice ... a true love story.’ Xander captured the heart in his hand and pressed it to his chest.

  My breath hitched.

  He rolled onto his side and looked at me.

  ‘Do you know what the worst thing is about Gram’s disease? She’s going deaf. She won’t be able to hear the one thing that brought their hearts together ... I catch her cry
ing when Gramps sings now, and at the ballet, she closed her eyes and listened to the music to put it to memory for when she can’t hear anymore.’ Another tear slid down to my ear.

  Xander wiped it away. ‘Being present is the kindest thing you can do for her. It shows that you love her, and she needs to know that.’

  ‘Hmmm ... a prince with sensible advice.’

  Xander stood and reached out his hands to help me off the floor. ‘You’re welcome.’

  We assumed the waltz position and started again, working smoothly as one, like we were made to dance together.

  At 8.30pm, Xander closed the door behind us. He held my bicycle while I hitched my backpack over my shoulders, then watched while I rode away.

  ‘I’ll pick you up at six!’ he called. I lifted my hand and gave him the thumbs-up.

  Our fourth practice session had finished.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  ‘FLOWERS, TEA, COFFEE OR BOOKS?’ The words rolled off my tongue with a melodic sound. Gram was here, with a flamingo pink surrounding her—love, acceptance and calm.

  ‘Pink flowers, please,’ said a middle-aged woman in a coral coloured double layered dress. She was the colour of lavender—femininity and grace.

  ‘Of course. Would you like dark pink or light pink, and what type of flower?’

  The quiet-natured woman shook her head. ‘My friend has been diagnosed with breast cancer ... what flowers do you recommend?’

  ‘I’m so sorry to hear. Let’s go over to Gram. She will create something beautiful for your friend.’

  I stopped on Gram’s right side so she could hear me. ‘Gram—could you make a floral bouquet for someone who has been diagnosed with breast cancer, please.’

  Gram looked at me. ‘Absolutely. Landi, what flowers would you use, if you were making the arrangement?’

  I looked at Gram and raised my eyebrows, surprised by her question. She was in charge of the workbench of flower imagination and all designs today, now that she was feeling that a vertigo attack was not imminent.

  ‘Hmmm ... possibly pink roses, pink Matsumoto asters, white daisy poms, pink mini carnations, a couple of pink gerbera daisies, and ... myrtle. What do you think?’ I asked.