Читать книгу Elly in Bloom - Colleen Oakes - Страница 8

Clayton, Missouri, present day, well past daybreak, this time at a civilized hour in the morning.

Posies, a high-end floral shop in the wealthy suburb of Clayton, Missouri, on the corner of Wydown Street, was owned and operated by one Elly Jordan. These days, when she awoke at seven to the sounds of an obnoxious radio deejay and lifted her head weakly from the pillow, her first thought was of work.

It always was, these days. She lived and breathed for Posies, and at times it seemed everything she thought about or did revolved around her shop. Honestly, it was pretty pathetic. Of course, most mornings she went back to bed for another hour or so after the alarm went off, but eventually she would descend from her tidy apartment to the store below, her bright blue eyes glazed over with sleep, her flip-flops smacking the stairs as she flipped on the lights, a toasted breakfast tart hanging out of her mouth.

It never failed to make her heart swell as she looked around Posies and knew that all of this was hers. For just a minute, she enjoyed the warm breeze fluttering through the windows, and tried to enter into a peaceful Zen-like state. It never worked, so Elly gave an amused shrug and started her morning routine anyway. She began with a quick cleaning: the windows, the design table, and the front door all got wiped down and things were put into their correct places. She pulled open and swagged the curtains, and picked up any leftover stems or dropped leaves off the carpet. This morning, after she made sure that the cooler temperature had stayed steady as she snored the night away, Elly grabbed a small arrangement of orange ranunculus and plodded out the front door, finally ready to face the world outside of Posies, which was so warm and safe.

She walked up the block and entered Ada’s Coffee. Brita, the ridiculous barista, greeted her with more sunshine than Elly was prepared to handle.

“Good morning, Elly!” she chirped.

Elly nodded tiredly in return and suppressed an eye roll. She was not her optimal self before 10:00 a.m. Mornings were rough. She set the flowers on the bar, almost knocking over a steaming latte, and took the old vase filled with decaying veronicas and bachelor buttons, and stuck it under her arm. There was a spot of coffee on her blouse. The barista looked over at her.

“Elly! You are so funny! Every day when you come in here you either spill something or have a stain on your shirt! It’s like you’re a toddler. I think it’s adorable.”

Elly sighed.

“Good morning to you, Brita.”

The barista smiled brightly.

“Hot chocolate today?”

Elly nodded.

“Yup. Same as yesterday … same as every day.”

Amnesia, thought Elly. Brita beamed at her.

“Those flowers are sooo amazing. I just love looking at them. You must love your job.”

Elly cringed inside.

“Yeah, I do. But it’s not always just flowers and—”

The front bell chimed and Brita jumped to the welcome.

“Hi! Welcome to Ada’s Coffee!”

Elly was still finishing her sentence and suddenly found herself talking to no one. She hated when she was caught trailing off alone. Awkward. She sighed and looked around the coffee shop, taking in dozens of couples enjoying their morning brew. It was here, two years ago, that she had met her best friend; it was here, that she had decided to stay. She inhaled the rich aroma of burnt beans and was taken instantly back those two years, to the day that changed her life. The day she met Kim.

Elly had arrived in St. Louis exactly two days after her overly dramatic departure from Georgia. Eyes puffy with tears and travel, hair a ponytailed mess and her mind in tatters, she somehow steered her way into an upper-class neighborhood coffee shop and ordered a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream. She looked around anxiously. All she truly wanted was to get back into her car and drive until she collapsed. An adorable blond girl behind the counter looked at her, confusion written across her pretty face.

“Extra whipped cream. Really? Do you know it already comes with whipped cream? That would add about 100 calories.”

Elly snarled and heard a muffled laugh behind her. Ready for an argument that she would no doubt win in her crazy state of mind, she spun around and came face to face with one of the most stunning women she had ever seen. She let out a low gasp. Long brown hair with golden highlights flowed over tan freckled shoulders, and big sea-glass eyes with thick mahogany lashes peered out from a flawless, makeup-free face. She was as tall and lean as Elly was short and, well, somewhat rotund. Instantly intimidated by such beauty, she whirled back on the counter girl.

“Do you have a problem with that? Do you have a problem with people who order extra whipped cream?”

The girl looked taken aback.

“No, no ma’am, it’s fine.”

She looked at Elly with the kind of pity reserved only for the chubby and dirty. Elly was about to attack when she felt a cool hand on her shoulder.

The beautiful woman whispered in her ear, “Don’t worry, it’s not you; I come here every day and Einstein behind the counter here gets my order confused every … single … time.”

Elly’s anger melted. For the first time in forty-eight hours, she smiled.

Elly got her hot chocolate, with extra whipped cream piled haphazardly across the top, and sat down at a small table by the window. She was startled when the radiant woman sat down across from her like they were old friends.

“Hi, I’m Kim,” she said as she stuck out her hand. Elly shook it. “I can’t stand this place, but I’m hooked. If I don’t have my latte every day, I’m a miserable beast.”

Elly watched her as she silently stirred her drink, totally unaware of the oddness of this interaction. She suddenly smiled.

“Where are you from? You look like you’ve come a long way,” as if Elly needed reminding how she looked … and felt. Here she was, dirty, probably smelly, and wearing gray track pants and a black camisole that had a pumpkin on it. Her mascara had run away from her eyes a long time ago and her hair was full of grease. Elly’s exodus in the car had hit her like a brick in the face.

“Um … ,” she paused and willed herself not to let hot tears run down her face. This was the moment she knew would come. Would she lie about her past? Would she start fresh? Pretend it never happened? She opened her mouth to lie, but the truth rushed out in its place.

“I’ve been driving for days. Honestly, I don’t really even know what day it is. My husband … he….” The tears had started flowing. Crap. “He is … ,” she waved her hand around, agitated, unable to say it. “I’m not ready to talk about it. I don’t even know what I’m doing here. I just left Georgia. My house, my job, my friends … and now I’m here. I don’t know if I’m driving to California or Washington or maybe over a cliff, I don’t know.” She let out a strangled sob. “I can’t even think about what I left. I thought that if I went away that I could pretend it didn’t happen, but now I’m just thinking that this was the dumbest decision ever and that I will never be able to repair what he broke. Which it turns out, was me.” Elly put her palms over her eyes and shook her head.

“I’m sorry. I must seem like an insane person.”

Elly heard a smile in Kim’s voice as she replied, “A little, but please, keep going.”

Afraid to look up, Elly kept her face down.

“I’m—no, was—a secretary for a large shipping company. I was good at my job—executive secretary to the president. I’m pretty sure he couldn’t live without me. It was good pay, vacations even. I was saving up to buy a nice house in this suburb that was just … perfect. I thought I had everything I ever wanted. Then I met Aaron.” It was the first time in days that she had said his name. It caught in her throat like a lemon drop. “I met Aaron and he was totally different.”

He was like a light that I didn’t know was out in me, she thought to herself. Kim nodded, knowingly.

“I fell in love so fast, so hard. I couldn’t even breathe. And I thought, if I don’t marry this man, I’ll die, and so I did. He made me love art, and food, but more than that, I loved him. It was like a great love story you see in the movies. He made me things. He encouraged me to buy my house and we were so … happy. I was always overjoyed at my life and found it incredible. My friends, I think, saw something else. He was very caught up in his art and his successes and trials made him very … emotional. I feel so stupid now, but—”

Kim’s face softened. She offered, “You thought it was sexy.”

Elly felt her heart wilt. “Yes! But more than that, I loved being a part of him expressing his creativity. I was part of his passion. My job was so boring, and I was grateful that he was an escape from all that. We got married. He loved my mother, but didn’t handle it well when she passed away.” She felt her anger pouring over the table, out onto the street. “He had no roots in anything but his art. I knew he loved me. Then why did he, I mean how could he?” Elly stopped. “I’m sorry. I’m done for today. This is the first time I’ve talked about this to anyone. I feel terrible—you are a very nice person. I’m sorry to unload all this baggage on you. You can go if you want. I’d understand.”

Kim narrowed her eyes. “Are you kidding me? This is the most exciting thing I’ve heard in a long time. You picked up and just drove away from your life. You’ve done what a lot of us have thought about doing, many times.” She put her hand over Elly’s. “Not that it’s a good thing. It’s just … a brave thing. The people around here,” she said, waving her arm around, “are pretty boring. They are stuck in their upper-class lives, get their coffee every morning, talk about politics—about which they all agree anyway, spend too much money on their children’s schools, and get plastic surgery. You’re the most honest thing to come my way in a while.” Elly surrendered a small smile.

The morning passed quickly. Elly shared more about herself than she ever had with any of her friends in Georgia. Kim told her stories that made her blush and laugh about the neighbors, the inhabitants of this strange little chic suburb, this Clayton. Elly had three hot chocolates and Kim had two more lattes and pumpkin bread. By the time noon rolled around, Elly’s ambition to drive into oblivion had disappeared. Her exhaustion soaked into her bone marrow.

“So what’s next for you?” Kim asked.

“I don’t know…. I was headed west. I thought it would be pretty.” Elly winced at how stupid she sounded and stretched her arms above her head. “I’ll probably just find a hotel, stay the night, and leave in the morning.”

Kim pestered her with rapid questions, “So there is no one there that you are going to meet? What is your plan? Do you know anyone out there?”

“Nope. I just thought I would drive until I found somewhere I liked.”

“So, what about here?” Kim asked.

“Where is here?” Elly asked. Kim gave a grin. “You are in Clayton, Missouri. Land of heat and flowers.”

“Here?” Elly glanced around at the well-dressed crowd sipping their overpriced drinks behind the shiny marble countertop. “Yeah … I don’t think I really fit in here,” she lamented, unable to picture her squat body waddling down the posh main street.

“Yeah. I don’t either.” Kim turned her head thoughtfully.

That’s true, Elly thought. Kim didn’t really fit in. She was dressed like a hippie—wearing a light-blue dress that seemed to have the stitches on the outside, an expensive-looking turquoise necklace, and black-and-white espadrilles. It was quite urban for this posh suburb. Still, Elly knew that beautiful people like Kim seemed to fit in everywhere; it came as naturally as smiling. Even now, she could feel men’s eyes on their table. A handsome yet chubby man wearing an apron had been staring at their table since they sat down, unsuccessfully hiding behind his newspaper.

“What would I do here? Honestly, I probably need to go home … beg for my job back.” The thought of facing her boss, who would offer unsolicited advice and give her a gift card for Macy’s, sent a pang of nausea through her stomach. Kim frowned at her and looked directly into her eyes.

“Why would you do that? You left for a reason. You haven’t driven two days straight just to turn around. Whatever you left behind, it hasn’t changed just because you’re gone. If you go crawling back, you’ll end up where you were before.” She paused. “I would know. I’ve left many men and gone back again, only to find myself in the exact same moment, leaving again. The wasted time that I will never get back is depressing to think about, especially now that I’m married to someone wonderful.” Kim was now on a roll and getting louder by the minute. Her hands flailed around wildly. Elly wanted to shrink in her chair.

“Elly, your heart is broken. I can see it on your face and hear it in your voice, and I know that I don’t know you, but I feel like you’re meant to be here … here, in this ridiculous coffee shop.” She giggled and then grew suddenly serious. “I woke up today and felt that something important was going to happen. I saw you snapping at the barista and I felt like I knew that you were going to be a part of my life. It’s the oddest feeling. I’m not a person who usually believes in signs, but I can’t shake this feeling that my reason for being here this morning is you.” Kim paused and reached for her hand. “I think you should stay.”

Elly was overwhelmed by exhaustion and the emotion of the moment. She blinked back tears as she lifted her head to look past Kim, to see the sun streaming in through the windows. Suddenly she was back in her car, the sun rising, sitting in front of her house, trying to breathe. She was walking down the stairs in her house, hearing two voices, muffled through the door….

She wouldn’t go back. She couldn’t go back. Not yet. And maybe, if she waited long enough, he would come for her. By then, she would surely be mended.

“So … where are we again?”

“Clayton, Missouri. St. Louis.”

Elly smiled and repeated the name to herself. “Clayton. Okay.”

And so she had decided to stay. And it was almost two years ago to the day.

Elly snapped her mind back to the present in Ada’s Coffee. She grabbed her drink with her free hand, gave the barista a smile, and headed back to Posies. As she stuck her old-fashioned gold key into the large brass lock and opened the door, the bell chimed and Cadbury, her English sheepdog, trotted down from upstairs. He nuzzled her feet as she closed the door with her hip and pushed play on the stereo. Cadbury emitted a high-pitched whine as she ignored him to set her drink down.

“That’s enough. I’m right here. It’s not like we didn’t spend the last eight hours together. Remember? When you kicked my stomach?” Cadbury licked her elbow. “Oh love,” she said scratching behind his ears, “you are the worst dog in the world.”

“Good morning!” chimed a voice from somewhere in back. Elly set her hot chocolate down mid-grin. Her loyal staff was already here, hard at work for tomorrow’s wedding. She headed for the back room, where dozens of buckets held flowers that were being processed. Elly stepped over a mound of dried leaves and twigs and looked over at her assistant manager.

“This one’s a no-greenery. No surprise there.” Kim stood, arm halfway down an ambiance rose stem, its dewy cream petals blushing to a bright pink at the tip. “What? You know she is.”

Elly sighed. “You think everyone is a no-greenery bride. You have a low tolerance for needy women.”

“Why am I friends with you then? I’m just saying, she e-mailed me twice this morning to ask about whether her roses were really blown open or just blown open, that put her into the no-greenery bride category,” Kim retorted. Elly grunted. She was probably right.

There were two types of brides that came to Posies, their high-end flower studio. Greenery brides were easygoing, laid-back, daisy kind of girls. No-greenery brides were antichrysanthemum, antifoliage, antieverything.

Kim continued her ranting. “If they had their way, we would all be carrying white-rose bouquets with pearl flower accents, a white wrap, and NO greenery to enhance the bouquet whatsoever.” They also called eight times every day to have lengthy conversations about the boutonnieres, thought Elly. They were a handful, but Elly loved them anyway. Most of them. She paused. Okay, some of them.

With a triumphant flourish, Kim finished stripping the flower and plopped it into the bucket. “You deal with her then!” She looked over at Elly. “Wow, you’re really sweaty.”

Elly nodded and wiped her face with her sleeve. “Thanks. It’s nice of you to notice.”

Kim, she noted, was simply glowing, her perfectly freckled skin radiating light and warmth. Elly mentally punched her. “Well, at least I don’t have tulip dirt in my hair.”

Snarky Teenager, her other employee, walked into the work area, grabbed some marguerite daisies out of Elly’s bucket, and left.

“You’re welcome,” Elly called after her.

Snarky Teenager poked her head around the corner. “You’re welcome for what? For doing my job? I should thank you for letting me do my job? Whatever.” On her second day on the job, Kim christened the girl “Snarky Teenager,” and it stuck.

She stomped to the back, her bright pink bra blazing through her sheer shirt. Kim rolled her eyes and mouthed, “Boyfriend drama.” Elly shook her head, exasperated, and wandered to the front office where she sank heavily into her oversized chair. Her damp blond hair stuck to her face. It was only April, but it already felt like the hottest month ever. The back room of the shop wasn’t air-conditioned. Even with fans blowing every which way (which resulted in having make-out hair—though everyone knew there was none of that going on), the heat seeped into her body like a steaming lotion. She never got cool and sweat trickled like a stream between her breasts. Wonderful. Boob sweat. It felt like walking in a warm, living womb.

Kim had threatened many times that she would quit if they didn’t buy air-conditioning for the back room, but they were empty threats. Kim would never leave. She loved the flowers too much, as Elly did. And Elly loved flowers, and her store—her little piece of heaven. The front of the store was painted pale yellow with antique white accents, not unlike cake piping. English ivy snaked down bookshelves filled with wedding and flower books: The Language of Flowers, Your Unique Bouquet, Martha Stewart Weddings, and others. Her dark cherry wood desk had very little clutter on it besides a photo of her mom, a computer—a complex machine that she barely understood, and a ceramic mug with “Love” blazoned on its side and pens jammed into it. Elly grimaced at the irony of what was clearly lacking, but that mug was one of the few things she brought from Georgia. There was no reason for it; she loved her love mug. Everything was placed in the right spot on her desk, simple and clean. While looking effortless, it took a lot of work to maintain.

To the right of the desk was a huge cottage window. It peeked out onto a tiny courtyard that faced Wydown Street. Elly and Kim had tried their hardest to decorate the barren, overgrown area—they put topiaries in the corners, rose bushes tucked into a raised brick seating area, white lights in the trees—but it still looked a little … ugly. It would always be a little ugly, but Elly liked it anyway.

She sighed and took a sip from her water bottle, delighting in the cool liquid trickling down her throat, into the wrong pipe. Elly wheezed and choked. Just when she was feeling sexy, it all fell apart. Oh well, it wasn’t like anyone was looking anyway. She shrugged; at least her store was beautiful. Tall ribbon holders stretched across the walls, displaying a pastel rainbow of satin. Two coolers hummed all day long and added a much-needed sense of urgency to all projects. Posies had a variety of walk-ins every day—from older women, who lived in the grand mansions lining the street, to awkward high school boys buying single roses for their girlfriends. The boys were Elly’s favorites. Other than that, it was mostly brides. Ah, the endless brides.

They would come in, their faces flushed with the excitement of their upcoming wedding, mothers, sisters, and friends in tow, clutching various wedding books and magazine cutouts. She would greet them at the door, seat them at her table and proceed to talk about such lovely things that they always left a little dazed. She had a large glass covered table, and under it were the thank-you notes from dozens of brides, all grateful and gushing. There were a small handful of brides over the past two years who didn’t like their flowers—“too earthy” was always their complaint—but the vast majority of Posies’ brides loved their flowers and couldn’t refer them fast enough.

Elly would spend a couple of minutes every day running her fingers aimlessly over the notes. Her brides, her girls. She would often become more than a florist to each of them—a friend, a confidant, a trusted wedding advisor. This was her favorite part of the job, besides the designing. Elly loved creating her organic magic, a bundle of beauty that when handed to a bride made her gasp in delight. Elly was constantly thinking up new combinations and could sit for hours writing down flower types and color, and today, standing in front of the picture window, she let her mind wander to just that.

She was shaken out of her freesia-induced stupor by the shrill ringing of the phone. She took a quick sip of water to clear her throat, and answered.

“Thank you for calling Posies. This is Elly.” And so went the day. Consultations, flower orders, processing, talking with Kim, yelling at Snarky Teenager—it was all a joyful blur of work and play.

At five, when business was winding down, Elly switched the sign over to “Closed” and watched the professionals driving by, on their way home to big lives in big houses. She sighed peacefully and leaned her head against the cool glass. Elly never dreamed she would be here. She never dreamed that she would have her own shop—her own life—after the nuclear sex bomb decimated her life in Georgia. Starting over was painful, heartbreaking, and exhilarating. She was anew. She was blessed. She was … really hungry. Pizza?

With a new urgency, Elly switched off the lights, took one last look at the quiet shop, clicked her tongue at Cadbury to follow her, and headed upstairs to her apartment. Unlocking the door, she reveled in the air-conditioning before stripping off her apron, and pulling off her pants and sweeping her hair up in a ponytail holder. She ate her homemade pizza quickly, settling on the couch next to Cadbury. A few television reruns later, she headed up to the roof.

The roof of her building, which was directly above her apartment, was a hundred-square-foot rubber-tarp paradise. Plants covered the ground, and there was just enough room for two outdoor loveseats covered in a beautiful terra-cotta fabric and bright-pink pillows to snuggle with. She loved to come up here to think, to nap, and to cry. Relaxing back against the cushions, Elly stared up, transfixed by the night sky, trying not to think on her past or worry about tomorrow’s wedding. Her elbow bumped the loveseat and she dashed red wine across her bare legs. She threw back the blanket.

“Crap!” she cried out loud and then instantly felt exposed.

She looked around and calmed herself. She was the only one up here, the only one with a roof-deck, the only one without pants. There was no one to care that she was drinking wine in her underwear, or that she had eaten a whole small pizza by herself earlier. She was alone. She was always alone. Shaken by the thought, Elly leaned her head back against the couch. It had been two long years since she had driven away from him. Him, the man whose name she would never think. Kim had been right. Clayton was … okay. She was okay. Elly lingered on the thought. She was, right? With that, Elly longingly began counting the hours until she went back to work, for at night, her loneliness awakened deep within her—a nagging finger pressing against her heart making her aware that something was missing.