Forever Together Read online

  “Hello!” The elderly lady beamed at Travis as she maneuvered herself into the hall uninvited. Hastily, Travis managed to stuff the gun into the back of his jeans before she saw it. The last thing he needed was to draw attention to himself.

  “Mr. Phelps told me that you got in very late last night. I thought you could do with a bit of a pick me up,” she smiled, lifting the tray. “I know you young things never have a crumb of food around. I’m Miranda, by the way. Miranda Sharpe.” Shifting the tray onto one hand, she stuck out the other for Travis to shake. Hesitantly, he did so. Miranda’s grip was firm and vigorous and the strength of her fingers surprised Travis.

  “Um,” he said. “I’m Travis,” he told her.

  “Lovely to meet you, Travis. Now, let’s get you fed and watered, shall we?” Miranda smiled at him and made her way up the stairs, once again not waiting for an invitation. “It’ll be lovely to have another florist in town. Old Mr. Singh, he was our last one, died of a heart attack at 89, wouldn’t you know? Can’t complain about that, can you? 89 years old and nice and fast. The only thing better is going in your sleep!” Miranda cackled. “Mind you, it’s been a year now that we haven’t had anyone to do the flowers. A whole year, can you imagine? But you’d think we lived on another planet, we get so few newcomers here. But we muddle along as best we can, of course. Yvette down the street grows some lovely roses, but she’s not much for arrangements, you know. Just sort of stuffs the poor things into a vase and there you are. No grace or elegance to it whatsoever. But now you’re here so I suppose our troubles are over. And a good thing too. We’ve got two weddings coming up in July and high school graduation just around the corner. You’ll be busy then, let me tell you. Corsages, bouquets, crowns, the whole kit and caboodle.”

  “I see,” said Travis, who was doing his best to follow Miranda’s unending stream of talk. “That’s good,” he added, feeling that his first response hadn’t been enough.

  “I dare say it is!” Miranda agreed. “Can’t have you moving in and then turning around and leaving for want of work, can we? No, sir. We’ve been in desperate need of your services. We’ll make sure you have all the work you need, don’t you worry, young man. Now,” she put her hands on her hips and eyed the tea service, which she’d laid out on his plain wooden table, “that’ll do nicely. Sit yourself down and eat before you faint straight away. Look at the state you’re in, poor man. Haven’t got a lick of fat on you, have you?”

  Travis looked down at his lean, muscular frame. It probably wouldn’t reassure Miranda to know he worked hard to keep himself ‘without a lick of fat’.

  “Though,” Miranda continued, smirking, “our floral needs aside, I’m sure your looks will keep the shop bustling just by themselves.”

  Travis blinked and, to his amazement, felt a blush creeping up his neck. At six foot two, he was a striking man even without his bright green eyes, tightly cropped black hair, and tanned skin. But he wasn’t used to having old ladies tell him so to his face. “Thanks?” he replied uncertainly.

  Miranda nodded. “Eat,” she instructed him as she made herself comfortable on one of the two wooden chairs.

  Travis, who really was hungry, sat down and reached for a scone, cutting it open and spreading it liberally with butter and jam. Smiling, Miranda poured him a cup of tea from the giant teapot she’d brought. It was covered in a thick, crocheted tea cozy that Travis could only assume Miranda had made herself. “Milk?” she asked.

  He didn’t really know how he liked his tea so he took it like he took his coffee. “Please. But no sugar. Did you make these yourself?” Travis asked, holding up the scone as Miranda fixed his tea.

  She nodded. “I did indeed. You’re not going to find that kind of quality in store bought, let me tell you, young man. I made the jam too. Strawberry rhubarb from my own garden.”

  “It’s delicious,” said Travis, and he meant it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d tasted homemade baked goods. He wasn’t much of a cook, never mind a baker. And the only thing he could remember either of his parents baking was one of those pre-baked garlic breads that came in foil bags from supermarket rotisseries. “Thank you for this. It’s very kind. I was expecting…well, I wasn’t expecting anything, really,” he admitted.

  “No need to thank me,” said Miranda as she buttered herself a scone. “Just common courtesy to welcome newcomers,” she smiled at him.

  “Well, thanks,” Travis repeated.

  “When do you think you’ll have the shop up and running again?” Miranda asked. “Only I know my niece would just love to have a nice bouquet for her kitchen. She’s just had it remodeled, you know.”

  “Of course,” said Travis. “Um, well, I’ll try to have the place going as soon as possible, but there’s still paperwork and the suppliers and, erm, well, it might take me a bit before I’ve really got the place running,” he replied vaguely.

  Miranda nodded sagely. “Well, I’m sure it’ll be worth the wait,” she smiled.

  “I hope so,” Travis answered, covering his grimace with a sip of tea. God, what had Bruce gotten him into now?

  ***

  Travis had been getting ready to lie low in the picturesque little town, but he soon realized that that was not going to be possible. Just a few hours after Miranda left, other new neighbors were knocking on his door to bring pies or chicken salad sandwiches and to enquire about the florist shop. By the end of his second day, Travis was sure he must have met the whole town.

  “These people are crazy for flowers,” he told his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he shaved on his third morning in town. “You’d think I was a goddamn surgeon the way they’re going on about it. I don’t even know the difference between a rose and a…a…” Travis searched for another kind of flower, “a carnation! That’s a kind of flower, right?”

  His reflection didn’t answer him and he groaned, his head hanging between his shoulders.

  As it turned out, there was still at least one member of the town’s tiny population that he hadn’t met. That afternoon he went down to take a look at the florist’s shop, just to see what all the fuss was about. As he was standing in the middle of the front room, eyeing the dusty shelves and old cash register with despair, there came a tap on the large glass display window. Travis whirled around, his heart racing and his hand going to the gun he had tucked into his waistband. He was still expecting to find assassins at every turn. Instead, a petite Asian woman was looking at him through the dirty glass, her large, dark blue eyes amused.

  Opening the door, Travis looked down at the delicate woman. “May I help you?” he asked. He bit his lip. Seen in full, the stranger was very beautiful.

  “I hear you’re the new florist,” said the woman, without introducing herself. Her dark hair was up in a sleek ponytail and her green t-shirt ended a tantalizing inch above the belt of her jeans, hinting at a smooth, golden stomach.

  “Yes, so have I,” he replied without thinking.

  The woman chuckled. “Yeah, we’re a pretty tight-knit group. You’re going to have to get used to hearing the same news and answering the same questions a million times over.”

  Travis smiled. “At least everyone seems really nice.”

  “That’s because they are. We take care of our own here,” she told him and Travis wondered if that was a threat or a promise.

  “I’m Travis, by the way,” he said, suddenly remembering his manners.

  The stranger nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ve already heard. I’m Karen. Karen Itsumi. I teach at the local high school. My students are very excited you’ve moved to town. It’ll save the boys having to make their own bouquets for first dates. And just between you and me, I feel like you’ll do wonders for their chances of a second date.”

  “Their bouquets are that bad?” Travis asked, laughing.

  Karen nodded. “I’ve seen more attractively arranged roadkill.”

  “Ew,” said Travis, but he couldn’t help but sni
cker.

  “Well, it was nice to finally see the new sensation for myself,” said Karen with a grin, “but I’ll let you get back to work. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for holding up your grand opening.”

  “Right,” said Travis, trying to sound cheerful. “Nice to meet you.”

  As she turned to go, Karen gave him a once over and said, “I hope you don’t mind me saying so but you don’t look like a florist.”

  Travis’s stomach clenched but he rallied. “Well, from what I understand, your last florist was a geriatric Pakistani man, so, no, if that’s your image of a florist, I’m not surprised.”

  Karen laughed, but she didn’t look convinced.

  Watching her go, Travis made a face. He was going to need some flowers and quick. The last thing he wanted was some suspicious townspeople poking around in his past and blowing his cover.

  ***

  As it turned out, being a florist was a lot harder than it looked. Just cleaning out the shop itself took him a few days. But it had been empty for a year and things needed a good cleaning – he even shelled out a few bucks for some paint and gave the whole place a few coats. As he’d hoped, this kept the questions at bay for a little while. Townspeople would peer in the windows, see him working and give him a cheery wave and smile and keep going about their business. But there was only so much fixing up he could do before even he had to admit that the place was ready for business – except for the complete lack of flowers.

  “Have you ordered stock yet?” Miranda asked him one afternoon. She’d stopped by with some freshly baked brownies and her usually tea cozy-covered teapot and it hadn’t taken her long to convince Travis to take a break. This whole “tea” thing was really a lot tastier than he’d been led to believe. Maybe Maud had been right.

  “Er,” said Travis as he chewed one of her delicious, fudgy brownies and thought about the run he’d have to go on to work it off. “Erm, I’m talking to some people, but it’s going a bit slowly. There’s, uh, been some problems getting a hold of…uh…carnations.”

  Miranda shrugged. “Oh well, nobody really likes carnations anyway. Get in some nice dahlias and lilies. Oooh, or some gladiolas. I love showy flowers, can you tell?”

  Travis smiled and laughed and, as surreptitiously as possible, scrawled dallias, lilies, gladdiolas on a scrap of paper so that he could Google them later. “I’ll make sure to have plenty of all three just for you, Miranda,” he said, with a sinking feeling in his gut. “After all these treats you’ve been bringing me, it’s the least I can do. You’re spoiling me rotten.”

  “Oh shush,” said Miranda. “I don’t have anyone to fuss over now that my Eddy’s gone, God bless him. And like I said, you haven’t got a speck of flesh on your bones. It warms my heart to see you eating proper food.”

  Travis smiled at the old woman with her giant straw hat, over-sized glasses, and wiry, fly-away gray hair. He’d never known either of his grandmothers, but he’d always wanted one just like Miranda. Although, all of her guileless generosity made him feel guilty for lying – and not just about being a florist. “Thanks, Miranda,” he said.

  That night, he went on the hunt. He would have flowers in his shop tomorrow morning come hell or high water. It had been over a week now and he knew he could put off the opening no longer. At two in the morning, he rolled out of bed, pulled on a pair of dark jeans and one of the long-sleeved black shirts he used to wear when breaking into houses, and set out to find some flowers. At the end of his block, he turned around, went straight back home, and rummaged around in his kitchen drawers for a minute before finding what he was looking for. He’d forgotten scissors.

  As he canvassed the streets of the small town, he kept his eyes peeled for likely buds. But all the flowers he saw were in people’s gardens, behind fences and hedges. While he could easily have hopped over and stolen some blooms without anyone noticing, he soon realized that he felt bad about stealing people’s flowers only to sell them back to them. So he always kept walking, no matter how nice the flowers were.

  At last, he came to a small church near the center of town. “Finally,” he whispered, catching sight of the two large shrubs on either side of the entrance – they were covered in large, bushy white flowers. Without hesitating, Travis snipped off several of the large flowers. They were awkward to carry because they were so big, but he managed. Then he went on.

  By the time he came home a few hours later, Travis was feeling pretty proud of himself. He had the white flowers – though in the light of the florist shop he could see that they were actually a pale blue – some ferns that had been growing out of a crack in the concrete next to a bus stop, some weird leafy vine that he’d pulled off a lamp post, and some of the papery reeds that grew in the sand dunes by the beach. He’d been tempted to take home some seaweed too, but then thought that might be pushing his luck. Then, on his way home, he hit what he saw as the floral jackpot of Chilloot Bay: an empty lot with a clump of large, waist-high daisies. He took them all.

  Filling the buckets he’d found in the back room with water, he arranged the flowers, vines, and reeds into as many bouquets as he could. When he ran out of the flowers, he arranged the remaining greenery until he thought it looked semi-decent. He tied everything with some twine he’d found in a drawer. Twine was back in fashion, he told himself. It was rustic-chic. Or something like that. Besides, what did the people in this backwater town know about flower arranging trends anyway? He could always just say that this was what was popular in New York these days.

  Feeling very pleased with his night’s work, Travis went up to bed. Setting his alarm for 8:00 am, he fell asleep feeling satisfied and secure for the first time since he’d left his apartment in Chicago.

  The next morning, his shop was full. While he only had a dozen or so bouquets for sale, people came just to see his wares and talk to their neighbors – as if they didn’t get enough of that already. Travis felt oddly proud of himself when he made his first sale – to Miranda, of course.

  “It’s for my niece, you see. It’ll go very well with her new redecorating. She’s gone very modern as well, you know. This’ll fit right in,” Miranda beamed at him, placing one of his bouquets on the counter. Now that he’d had some sleep, he could see that the bouquet looked pretty bedraggled. But, if the townspeople were happy, that was all that mattered.

  “Do you have change?” Miranda asked, bringing out two twenty dollar bills.

  “Oh,” said Travis, suddenly realizing he had absolutely nothing in the till. “Fuc—dge,” he caught himself just in time. “Fudge. In the, uh, excitement, I forgot to go to the bank.” He drew out his own wallet and, luckily, found the necessary change.

  Miranda laughed. “Do you want me to run to the bank for you, sweetheart?”

  “Would you mind?” Travis asked, feeling like a complete idiot.

  “Not at all—oh, Ted! What a nice choice!” As Miranda took back her two twenties, a middle-aged man holding a bouquet with one of the bushy blue church flowers came up to the cash.

  “Thanks, Miranda,” said Ted, looking down at the bouquet. “Julia just loves hydrangeas,” he told her. “This will go perfectly in the living room. Julia’s my wife,” he told Travis. “She’s got MS, so she doesn’t get out very often. I try to bring the outside world in to her as much as I can.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” said Travis. “I hope she likes the flowers.” He looked down at the bouquet that Ted was holding and wondered which plant in it was the hydrangea.

  “I’m just running out to get the poor lamb some change,” Miranda explained to Ted. “He was so excited to finally open that he forgot all about it, don’t you know. So if you just wait a few minutes, I’ll be right back.”

  “No need to rush on my account, Miranda,” Ted smiled. “I’m in no hurry. Karen’s visiting with Julia so she’s well looked after.”

  Miranda shook her head with a smile. “What a gem our Karen is,” she said and turned to
Travis. “Have you met Karen? You two pretty young things would get along like a house one fire. I’ll have to make sure she drops by.”

  “We’ve met,” said Travis, feeling another blush rising. “She seems very nice.”

  “Yes, isn’t she just,” Miranda gave him a knowing smile and waved the twenties in one hand. “I’ll be right back!” she said.

  “Sad story, though,” said Ted, leaning against the counter, clearly getting ready for a good long chat. Travis resigned himself to more town gossip. “Her mother’s family moved here from Japan in the 50s. They were from Hiroshima, you know. All three of them died of cancer before they were fifty, even Karen’s mother, and she hadn’t even been born yet when the bombs dropped. Karen herself was only barely 18 when her mother, Michiko, died. And her father had left them when she was just a kid – God, did Michiko work hard to keep the two of them afloat. Anyway, there was Karen, 18 years old, just graduated from high school and not even a grandparent. Anyway, she’d always been a bright kid and she used to tutor the other students – sometimes even the ones in the grade above her. So the teachers at the high school decided to take her on as an assistant. You know, help them to grade homework or take over if someone was sick. After a few years of saving her wages, she went off to the teacher’s college in Portland to get her degree so that she could become a proper teacher. We threw her a big ole party when she left to raise some more funds. Everyone was so proud of her, of course. And we were all thrilled when she decided to come back here once she’d got her degree. Coulda gone anywhere, our Karen. Nothing gets past her. Plus she’s a marvel with the kids. They love her to bits, they do.”