Chapter 7: Flowers for the Clinic

"No," I said.

Glen's hand stayed where it was, held out between us over the cafe table.

"I'm not going home," I said. "I'm going to work."

"Kaitlyn."

"I'm already late."

I slid out past Gabe and walked to the door. The whole room watched me go.

Glen did not follow me. He did not raise his voice.

"Then I'll see you there," he said quietly.

I thought it was a threat.

It was worse. It was flowers.

At two the next afternoon the front desk called me out of the back.

The waiting room had half a dozen people in it. A man with a beagle. A teenager holding a rabbit in a towel. Two women with a cat carrier.

Glen stood in the middle of the room with two dozen white roses in his arms.

He was wearing his good gray coat.

My coworkers had stopped what they were doing behind the counter. The receptionist was holding a pen in the air.

"Kaitlyn," Glen said, in his reasonable voice. "I owe you an apology, in front of the people you work with."

The man with the beagle looked up.

"I was wrong to let you walk in on that. It was thoughtless of me. I've been a poor husband, and I'm going to spend the rest of my life fixing it."

He held out the roses.

Somebody's phone was already up. Somebody else sighed.

It was a very good performance.

He had picked the one place where I could not make a scene.

I took the flowers.

I took them, and I turned to the beagle's owner.

"Sir, would you like a rose?"

He blinked. "Sorry?"

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