Chapter 18: No Flowers

Alister came to the shop on Sunday night, after Maeve had turned the sign.

He knocked on the glass with one knuckle, the way he used to knock on the bathroom door at home.

I was alone downstairs, wiring the last camellia branches for Table Nine.

Briggs was upstairs with the green dress hung on the back of the door. I could have called him down.

I unlocked the shop instead.

"Five minutes," I said.

"That's all I need."

He stepped in and looked around the room, at the buckets and the cooler and the stool by the register.

He wore a gray sweater I had given him two Christmases ago. He hadn't shaved.

"You look tired," I said.

"I haven't slept."

"Neither did I, for seven years."

He winced. He didn't argue.

"I'm not here to fight," Alister said. "I'm here to ask you to stop."

"Stop what?"

"Tomorrow. All of it."

He rubbed his face.

"I'll fix everything. I'll tell the donors I was wrong about your health. I'll put my name on a statement."

"What would I have to do?"

"Hand her the award and sit down."

I put the wire cutters on the counter.

"That's what you came for," I said.

"It's all I'm asking."

"And if I speak?"

"Then it goes badly for everyone." He kept his voice gentle. "I don't want that for you."

"Is there an ambulance behind the ballroom?"

The silence went on a half second too long.