As the Roses Bloomed Beneath His Feet, I Buried Our Seven-Year Marriage. novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Good With Flowers

Carina is warm and useful over a lunch about gala flowers, and says her husband is away. Then she tells Lena that Alister told her about the divorce first.

I called Carina myself.

I told her I wanted to help with the flowers for the gala, since I was the donor of record and I'd be the one on the stage.

She said she'd love that, and could I come by the foundation office at noon.

The office was two rooms above a bike shop, with a banner leaning against the wall that said THE MADDOX RESCUE FOUNDATION.

Carina opened the door in jeans and a gray sweater.

"Lena, you're so kind to come." She hugged me before I could step back. "I know I'm the last person you want to see."

"Why would you be?"

"Because I crashed your anniversary." She winced. "I felt terrible all night. I should have walked straight out."

She sounded sorry, and she looked sorry, and I almost believed her.

She poured me coffee and turned the cup so the handle faced my right hand.

"Alister says you're left-handed," she said.

I hadn't told her that, and I hadn't told Alister either. He had noticed, somewhere in seven years.

I held the cup and said nothing.

She spread photographs of ballrooms across the desk and asked what I thought of white lilies against dark blue linen.

She was good at this. She knew the sizes of the tables and what each florist would charge.

She asked about my illustrations and remembered the name of my last book.

When I said I thought lilies were too heavy, she laughed and crossed them out.

"You have a better eye than I do. Please tell me when I'm wrong."

I looked at her left hand.

A thin gold band sat on her ring finger.

"You're married," I said.

"Oh." She turned the ring with her thumb. "My husband is away. We're, well. It's complicated."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Alister has been a good friend through all of it."

Her phone buzzed on the desk.

She glanced down, and a smile crossed her face before she could stop it.

The floor under her chair split open.

Red roses came up through the boards, one after another, and curled around the chair legs.

They were the same roses I had seen around Alister's shoes, the same deep red with the same dark edge to the petals.

She picked up the phone and typed a reply with her thumb.

I watched the stems climb her ankles.

"Sorry," she said. "Work."

"Of course."

"Where were we? The centerpieces." She set the phone face down. "What about camellias?"

My hands went cold.

"Why camellias?"

"They're in season, and they photograph beautifully. White ones, in low bowls." She tilted her head. "Is that all right?"

"No camellias," I said, and my voice came out sharper than I meant.

"Of course. I'm sorry. I'll cross them off."

She did, with a neat line through the word.

For the next hour I let her talk, and I nodded, and I picked a florist.

At one o'clock I stood and picked up my bag.

Carina walked me to the door and held it open.

"Lena."

"Yes?"

She put her hand on my arm, lightly.

"Alister told me first," she said. "About the divorce. He called me at midnight, and he was in pieces. I just want you to know I'm not going anywhere. If you need anything, I'm here."

The roses around her ankles were already climbing her knees.

I smiled at her, and I said thank you, and I walked down the stairs with her hand still warm on my sleeve.

My husband had called her at midnight.

He had not said a word to me.

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