well.”
“Promise.”
Now Martin almost never pulled that string, and it was one we both honored.
“Okay. If she’s not actually throwing up, I’ll have her here.”
“Good,” he said. “Now, what can I bring you from Chicago?”
I thought of the big stores, the endless possibilities. I didn’t like that many choices myself.
“Surprise me,” I said with a smile he could hear in my voice.
We said some personal good-byes, and then he went back to his work world, which I could hardly imagine.
I piffled around the house for a while, cleaning the downstairs bathroom and sweeping the front porch, the patio, and the steps that led up from the covered walkway running between the garage and the side kitchen door. Finally, I called Angel.
She said dutifully that she’d be over before four o’clock, and I apologized for disturbing her on such a day. “Martin made me promise,” I explained.
“It’s my job,” Angel said. “Besides, I don’t want to just sit here and wait for Shelby to come home.”
The doorbell rang.
“There’s a florist’s van in the driveway,” Angel said. She must have been on her portable phone, looking out the front window of the garage apartment. “I’m coming down.”
She hung up unceremoniously, and I went to the front door and turned off the security system. I heard Angel unlocking the side door leading into the kitchen as the doorbell rang a second time. By the time I shot back the dead bolt, she was standing behind me.
“Delivery to this address,” said the young black man in blue coveralls. DeLane was stitched on the left chest pocket. He had in his hands a huge arrangement of mixed spring flowers in a tall, clear glass vase. It was lovely: daffodils, baby’s breath, irises, roses.
“Who’s it for?” I asked.
DeLane looked very uncomfortable. “It only says, ‘To the most beautiful.’ You ladies have to fight over it, I guess,” he added more cheerfully. He’d had a look at Angel, and I could tell he’d decided who would win.
“Who placed the order?” Angel asked sharply.
“We got it Call-a-Posy from Atlanta,” he said with a shrug. “It seemed pretty strange to us, too, but the shop in Atlanta said it had been paid for. Probably someone’ll call you ladies before long, tell you he sent it.”
“Thanks,” Angel said abruptly. She took the vase from his hands.
I said good-bye and shut the door.
Angel was holding the flowers, looking them over carefully. She put them on the low coffee table and peered at the stems through the clear glass; she gently poked the flowers apart with a long finger.
“I don’t like things coming without a card, coming ‘to the most beautiful,’ ” she said. “That’s creepy. Presents without names on them make me very suspicious.”
I wondered if Martin could have sent them, perhaps stopped in at a florist’s on his way to the airport. I didn’t think so. He knew there were two women at this address, he would have signed a card, it just didn’t feel right. And the same thing held true for Shelby, who was much more likely to buy Angel a new running outfit or a punching bag than a huge bouquet of flowers. (For Christmas he’d gotten her a new holster for carrying a concealed gun.)
“ ‘Mirror, mirror, on the wall, Who’s the fairest one of all?’ ” I quoted, trying to make light of the situation. “You want to take them home, make Shelby jealous? Or maybe he sent them.”
Angel shook her head morosely. “Having to answer questions about these flowers would just complicate things even more, and I know damn good and well Shelby didn’t send them.”
Our formal dining room lay between the living room and the kitchen, so I went through the large open archway to put a plastic mat in the center of the dining room table. Angel came after me, still frowning, and put the vase on the mat, wiping her hands on her jeans right afterward as if rubbing off the feel of the vase. We both stood and gazed at the
“Promise.”
Now Martin almost never pulled that string, and it was one we both honored.
“Okay. If she’s not actually throwing up, I’ll have her here.”
“Good,” he said. “Now, what can I bring you from Chicago?”
I thought of the big stores, the endless possibilities. I didn’t like that many choices myself.
“Surprise me,” I said with a smile he could hear in my voice.
We said some personal good-byes, and then he went back to his work world, which I could hardly imagine.
I piffled around the house for a while, cleaning the downstairs bathroom and sweeping the front porch, the patio, and the steps that led up from the covered walkway running between the garage and the side kitchen door. Finally, I called Angel.
She said dutifully that she’d be over before four o’clock, and I apologized for disturbing her on such a day. “Martin made me promise,” I explained.
“It’s my job,” Angel said. “Besides, I don’t want to just sit here and wait for Shelby to come home.”
The doorbell rang.
“There’s a florist’s van in the driveway,” Angel said. She must have been on her portable phone, looking out the front window of the garage apartment. “I’m coming down.”
She hung up unceremoniously, and I went to the front door and turned off the security system. I heard Angel unlocking the side door leading into the kitchen as the doorbell rang a second time. By the time I shot back the dead bolt, she was standing behind me.
“Delivery to this address,” said the young black man in blue coveralls. DeLane was stitched on the left chest pocket. He had in his hands a huge arrangement of mixed spring flowers in a tall, clear glass vase. It was lovely: daffodils, baby’s breath, irises, roses.
“Who’s it for?” I asked.
DeLane looked very uncomfortable. “It only says, ‘To the most beautiful.’ You ladies have to fight over it, I guess,” he added more cheerfully. He’d had a look at Angel, and I could tell he’d decided who would win.
“Who placed the order?” Angel asked sharply.
“We got it Call-a-Posy from Atlanta,” he said with a shrug. “It seemed pretty strange to us, too, but the shop in Atlanta said it had been paid for. Probably someone’ll call you ladies before long, tell you he sent it.”
“Thanks,” Angel said abruptly. She took the vase from his hands.
I said good-bye and shut the door.
Angel was holding the flowers, looking them over carefully. She put them on the low coffee table and peered at the stems through the clear glass; she gently poked the flowers apart with a long finger.
“I don’t like things coming without a card, coming ‘to the most beautiful,’ ” she said. “That’s creepy. Presents without names on them make me very suspicious.”
I wondered if Martin could have sent them, perhaps stopped in at a florist’s on his way to the airport. I didn’t think so. He knew there were two women at this address, he would have signed a card, it just didn’t feel right. And the same thing held true for Shelby, who was much more likely to buy Angel a new running outfit or a punching bag than a huge bouquet of flowers. (For Christmas he’d gotten her a new holster for carrying a concealed gun.)
“ ‘Mirror, mirror, on the wall, Who’s the fairest one of all?’ ” I quoted, trying to make light of the situation. “You want to take them home, make Shelby jealous? Or maybe he sent them.”
Angel shook her head morosely. “Having to answer questions about these flowers would just complicate things even more, and I know damn good and well Shelby didn’t send them.”
Our formal dining room lay between the living room and the kitchen, so I went through the large open archway to put a plastic mat in the center of the dining room table. Angel came after me, still frowning, and put the vase on the mat, wiping her hands on her jeans right afterward as if rubbing off the feel of the vase. We both stood and gazed at the
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