An hour passed in front of my computer before I stopped. I had arranged a meeting with Marie’s boss, Stanley, at their law offices.
I drove over and we got straight to business, reviewing the financial operations and assets I had generated in prison and the tax implication of me bringing the money back from the safe havens they were currently parked in.
During the meeting, Stanley had a domestic emergency. It sounded like his wife had found out about his mistress. Flustered, he asked to be excused for ten minutes.
“Sure, man,” I said with a shrug. I didn’t want to judge, but what a dick.
After he rushed out, Marie cleared her throat and spoke. “Would you like more coffee?”
She looked embarrassed. “Nope.” I was wondering if I should leave and finish this meeting another time when she filled the silence again.
“How did your visit to Willow’s shop go yesterday?”
I stared at her in surprise. Gone was the super-efficient, Marie. She was looking at me with an expression that was softer, more caring.
“I know it’s a very personal matter to you, and asking is intrusive, but I can’t help it. It is the most romantic thing I have ever seen. When I came to see you in prison, the first thing you asked me, before even your own freedom, was for me to find her. Your reunion with her makes me incredibly happy. Did she recognize you?”
I shook my head slowly. “She didn’t.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
“What now?”
“I have no idea,” I said truthfully.
“What do you want to happen?”
“I want to get close to her again … to become a part of her life.” Actually, I wanted to become her whole life, the way she was to me. The way we both once were.
“Date her. Go back to the store and ask her out to dinner.”
I nodded in agreement. That indeed was the logical step, even though my chest tightened at the thought. At this stage in my life very little had the ability to crush my spirit, except the possibility of Willow rejecting me.
“I do have another idea,” she said with a smile, “one that will make a meeting between you two a bit more natural.”
“What do you have in mind?” I asked curiously.
Her smile widened, then she headed over to her windowsill towards the small cactus plant there.
She brought it over to me, her face beaming with pride. “Do you know, I’ve killed everything I’ve ever grown, except this cactus plant. It has been with me for two years and it has been thriving. So I’m very proud of it and it means a lot to me, but it’s sort of outgrown its home and I’ve been meaning to get it repotted, but I just haven’t found the time so this is the perfect opportunity to have it properly repotted by a professional.”
She passed the plant over to me, and I received it gingerly. She seemed to be very proud of it, but it actually seemed to be a sorely neglected thing. If I was being honest, almost half-dead.
“What should I tell her I want done to it?”
Her smile was kind. “Just tell her that you want it repotted. If she asks you if you want to do it yourself, say no. Ask if she can help you with it, so that way, you both get to spend a little time together even if it’s for a few minutes. I’m sure you’ll be able to find your opening line from there.”
There had not been too many people who were kind to me in my life so I appreciated it wherever and whenever I found it. “Thank you, Marie. I’ve got to go. Tell Stanley to call me later when he’s not so distracted. We can finish our discussion over the phone.”
“Sure, I’ll do that.”
I rose to leave.
“If she offers you some pebbles, please accept them, and if you see cactus pompoms then please get a few for me. I love them in bright colors … so blue, green, red, all of that will be great.”
I frowned. “Cactus pompoms?”
She grinned. “I’ll send a photo to your phone.”
9
Willow
I was reviewing flower arrangements with Sandra late that afternoon, when the doorbell tinkled.
We both looked up and there he was, the man who made my heart flutter. I heard Sandra’s breathing hitch, and I didn’t blame her one bit. It was almost as though in the space of just a few hours he had gotten even more handsome. The previous evening, he wore a close-fitting, navy blue suit, with a white, open collared shirt.
But today he had gone all black, with a banded collar dress shirt tucked into tailored slacks, and highly polished black shoes. His jet-black hair was combed away from his chiseled face. He looked as though he had jumped off the pages of a glossy men’s magazine.