by Amanda Tru
“I don’t know what happened, Lord, but Kelsey is hurting. If I know her like I think I do, it’s more than just her. She hurts for others. So, whoever else is hurting, please comfort them, too. Her prayer-song is right. Help us remember that. Help us remember that only You can really comfort the broken, strengthen the weak, and love the lonely.” He swallowed a rising lump in his throat and choked out. “And yes, help her know just how much hope You have for her.”
Tears splashed onto their hands. A hiccough filled the room. Kelsey’s shoulders shook. Unable to do anything else, Reid reached across her for a box of Kleenex and squeezed her hand as a hint to take them. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He tried again, this time remembering the verses he’d learned to pray when nothing seemed to go well. “Lord, I pray with the Psalmist. ‘The righteous cry, and the LORD hears and delivers them out of all their troubles. The LORD is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the LORD delivers him out of them all.’ So please deliver us from the afflictions hurting Kelsey and those she cares about. Stay near to their broken hearts and relieve their crushed spirits. We cry out to You and know You will hear us…’”
The hush of The Prayer Room, the Scriptures spoken with confidence and faith, and that wonderful connection that happens when two people pray together worked the Lord’s magic in Kelsey’s heart. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. A smile hinted they might be happier ones. “I love how you’ve memorized so much already. It shames and encourages me at the same time.”
“When you don’t have much else to do…” He squeezed her hand again. “Are you going to be okay?”
“I will. But Lily Allen… probably not.”
She led him to the small, semi-private room at the back of the building. There, stuck to the wall, hung hundreds of sticky notes, each with a prayer request. One asked for favor with a job opportunity. Another requested restored relationships in the family. Children had written a row of beautiful, simple prayers—health for a sick puppy, Daddy to say it’s okay to a new kitten, that a bully at school would be nicer. Above them all, Romans 12:12 had been painted in a lovely, flowing script. “…rejoicing in hope, persevering in tribulation, devoted to prayer.”
But there, off to the right and rather low Reid spied Kelsey’s bubble writing before she had a chance to point it out to him. The words… simple. Please pray for Lily Allen—health.
“Tests came back?”
A fresh tear fell on her cheek. Reid ordered himself not to wipe it away, even as his thumb caught it and flung it aside. That’s all it took. Kelsey dropped her forehead to his chest and wept. “They can’t do any more for her, Reid. Six months at the most. That’s all we have with her.”
All caution fled. Reid pulled Kelsey close and held her. “I always feel like I should be happy for someone going home to Jesus. My head says that’s the right attitude, but…” He swallowed hard. “I just can’t. Their girl isn’t old enough to be without a mom.”
How long they stood there, he didn’t know. No one came in, no calls interrupted them, nothing. All at once, Kelsey stepped back, obviously embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I just blubbered all over you. I—”
“I thought that’s what Christians did. Something about bearing the unbearable?”
She grinned and brushed away fresh tears. “Bearing one another’s burdens. Yes. You’re right.”
And then Reid saw it—her eyes catching sight of the daisy in his pocket. Without a second thought, he pulled it free and tucked it behind her ear. “There. It looks better on you than me.”
Inadequate as a declaration of his feelings? Definitely. But I’m not exactly the declaring type. That’s more for those old movies Mom likes. The smile on her face—in her eyes. Does she know what I want to say and can’t?
“I love Wayne’s daisies.” Reid’s heart sank at the words and rose again as Kelsey added, “Thanks for bringing it. It can’t be fun walking around with a daisy in your pocket.”
Don’t say it—don’t say it—don’t—He said it. “Some people are worth the utter humiliation.”
The small smile, the way she touched the petals half-covering her ear… it all meant one thing. Appreciation.
Kelsey didn’t look at him again, but she did speak. “I’ve always wondered why he does it—buys all those daisies. It’s got to be expensive giving away so many.”
He nudged her from the close quarters of the “prayer closet” and back to their usual spots in the corner. “He told me about it when I first moved in. I guess the whole shamrock thing for St. Patrick’s Day? It’s a thing. Supposed to remind you of the Trinity—three leaves in one little leaf.”
“Yeah, I heard about that in school—back before telling kids stuff like that was ‘teaching religion’ and forbidden.” Her face drained of color. “Did I just do a ‘back in my day’ thing? I’m not old enough for that!”
Reid gave her the blankest look he could manufacture and shook his head as if to clear it. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. Anyway, for Wayne, it’s a reminder of God—who He is.”
That caught Kelsey’s attention. She stared at him, gape-jawed, confused. “What? I didn’t know Wayne Farrell is a Christian!”
“Well, calling himself one isn’t easy. The way he put it was, ‘I’ve been burned by the church. I’m done with them for now. I’m barely holding onto God.’”
“Oh! Did he say what happened?”
The old Reid wouldn’t have hesitated to tell the whole story, but Christian Reid couldn’t do it. “I want to tell you, but he didn’t say I could. Bet he’d tell you if you asked him, though. But those flowers… Those are how he is the church right now.”
A click sounded, and the furnace kicked on. Hot air whooshed up behind their chairs as Kelsey wrestled with that idea. “I should pray for him more. I never really think of it, but man…”
Reid retrieved the flower from behind her ear again and handed it to her. “Wayne says the sunny golden yellow is the Light—Jesus, the ‘S-U-N’—of God. He says that we need the sun to grow from little seeds to strong plants. So, it’s new life in Jesus—a strong life.” He pointed to the ring of white around that sun. “Those white petals are the purity He creates in us. Wayne says Jesus took away the ugliness and created a pure me. He dumped red blood all over me and now only sees white. I’m pure in His eyes.”
A giggle—the last thing he’d expected. Kelsey gave him a sidelong glance and a wisp of hair slid along her cheek. Reid ached to brush it away again. His finger twitched, but he resisted… barely. “I thought you were going to say something about plucking the petals.”
“I always thought that was kind of awful. I mean, one second you have a nice flower, and the next you have a broken heart and half a flower.”
“Leave it to a guy to kill all the romance from the thing.”
If he hadn’t seen a smirk try to form before she managed to hide it, Reid’s awkwardness might have shifted into panic. Instead, he tried to remember what else Wayne had said. “Wayne calls daisies ‘nature’s sap-o-meters,’ you know. He says people say it wrong. They look at the daisy and start pulling them off with the whole…”
Reid paused, snatched up one of many sticky note pads lying about the room and a pen.
he loves me
he loves me not
he loves me
he loves me not
he loves me
“Yeah. I mean, you get a fifty-fifty chance.” Kelsey’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Just like in real life. He either does, or he doesn’t.”
Pulse pounding, heart racing, Reid fought to maintain his cool. “Well, according to Wayne, because of Jesus, it’s really like this.” And one by one, he crossed out the nots and turned each of the lowercase Hs into capitals. “With Jesus, it’s always, ‘He loves me.’ Period.”
“Wow…”
Every instinct screamed for him to cup her jaw, turn her face toward him, tell he
r how he felt—better yet, show her. Only the Lord’s assistance could have kept him talking at that moment. “Wayne said, ‘When I give people those flowers, the people don’t know all that. But I pray over that barrel when I fill it every morning. I pray over every one I personally hand someone. I pray for the ones I know are missing every night. I ask God to show those people just how much He loves them.’”
Tears flowed again. Reid held her hand and waited, praying that they were good tears this time. Praying that she wouldn’t know he’d gone upstairs that day and cried, too. And then, before he knew it, he’d told her. “If I’d known that God’s love was real, maybe I wouldn’t have made some of the stupid choices I did.” It felt a little fanciful, but Reid found himself adding, “I wouldn’t have gotten all those petals so dirty.”
“But they’re all clean now.” Kelsey brushed her thumb against the white petal. “I’ve never seen a daisy as special before—except that Wayne gave them out. I always kind of thought they were ‘filler flowers’—like carnations, but happier-looking ones. Carnations always look overdressed for the party, you know?” A blush filled her cheeks as she added, “Silly, huh.”
“Nope. I’ll have to tell Wayne that. He doesn’t like carnations, either.”
A faint whisper reached Reid’s ear as she stroked a petal once more. “He loves me…” Her other hand gave his a squeeze. “You know, I never did that ‘he loves me—he loves me not’ thing. It felt like a recipe for disappointment.”
As she spoke, an idea bloomed in his heart. Reid extricated his hand from hers and folded the sticky note in half. He stared at it for a moment before tucking it into her now-empty hand. Lord… three months. I’m trusting that if it’s right, in three months…
“Thanks.”
The word might have been underwhelming or disappointing had he not seen her tuck it into her wallet as she climbed into her Beetle a few minutes later.
As always, Reid stood, watching until the taillights disappeared around the corner and out of sight. Okay, Lord… okay…
The apartment above Wayne’s florist shop boasted one room, a bathroom, and a combination kitchenette-living room. But windows looked out over the Fairbury square and the back alley. “Just in case I ever have to get out in a hurry,” Reid had joked when Wayne showed him around. Finding out one guy had nearly been iced in that very apartment—by his ex-gang, no less—hadn’t inspired much confidence. Still, Reid’s license had been suspended until the following June, and his job was in Fairbury. That meant needing the cheapest apartment possible.
The clock read seven-thirty as he grabbed his chef’s jacket off the ironing board and pulled it on. If he hurried, there’d be time to stop downstairs and order flowers for his mother’s birthday. Sunflowers—her favorite. He checked his wallet, double-checked that he still had the fifty-dollar bill stuffed behind his ID, and with jacket in hand, jogged down the steps to the back door. Wayne had it propped open as he carried bucket after bucket of fresh flowers into the shop.
“Hey, Reid.”
“Need a hand?”
“Nope!” Wayne winked and held up beefy arms that were probably rock-solid muscle wrapped in a protective coating of “insulation” as he called it. “Gotta get in my workout. You need something?”
Reid inched toward the door. “I just wanted to write a card out for Mom’s flowers. You said you’d get her some—” He broke off as Wayne hauled out a bucket of rich, autumn sunflowers. “You got ’em.”
“Can’t let your mama down on her special day. You go in and write your note. Leave it on the ticket wheel. I’ll get it delivered before you’re off work. Mandy’s not going to make it today, but if I have to, I’ll get Señora Rojas to drive it over. She picking you up after your stint at The Prayer Room?”
“Yeah. Couldn’t get anyone to take my slot, so…”
“I could come down after six if I get done—would probably know by five-forty or so if it’ll work for me.”
In other words, you want to make sure I have plenty of time with Kelsey before you take over. Gotcha.
“Reid?”
“Thanks. That’d be great. I’ll just go in and write that card. Don’t want to be late. Not after yesterday’s performance eval.”
Wayne followed him inside. “Good one?”
“Great. I’m getting a raise.”
Reid considered half a dozen of the birthday card offerings, but none suited his mother or the arrangement. Instead, he grabbed one with a creamy background and the words, For You in an elaborate script at the top. It would take some tiny print to write out what he wanted to say, but his penmanship had always been on the microscopic side. After a moment’s thought, trying to recall the message he’d worked on for days, Reid wrote.
I never know how to tell you how I feel about you, so I don’t. But you mean everything to me. I love you. Reid.
A second read told him he’d done his best. With a heart light and an even lighter wallet, he left it and the money on the ticket wheel and took off for The Coventry at a half-jog. She’ll love them.
At the corner, Officer Crane waved at him and told him she’d be in for lunch. A group of teenagers raced up the road, backpacks bouncing as they rushed to meet the first bell—and wouldn’t make it. And Mike, the general manager, pulled into the parking lot just as Reid reached the back door. He climbed from his car and called out, “I almost beat you today!”
“Got hung up with Wayne.” A glance at his phone told him he still had three minutes to spare. “Good thing I jogged it!”
“It’s not going to hurt anyone if you’re five minutes late now and then. As long as we’re ready to go for lunch, you’re good.”
Do the other guys have it this good? I doubt it. His gaze rose heavenward as he waited for Mike to unlock the door. Yeah. Didn’t read this morning, either. Didn’t pray. Well, I’m praying now. Thanks for this place. I still can’t believe You did this for me.
In the humid coolness of his workroom, Wayne Farrell eyed the bucket of sunflowers in much the same fashion as a sculptor might regard a block of marble. Mason jars and sunflowers—there couldn’t be a more harmonious mix. But his sense of aesthetics protested against an easy or clichéd choice. If time were of no issue, he would have spray painted a miniature milk can a milky white to set off the fiery golden yellow of the petals to perfection.
But every clip on his order wheel, something he’d bought on a whim from a closing diner, held at least two pending orders. “There’s no time for that.”
Although muttered under his breath, the words didn’t escape the Vulcan-like hearing of his assistant in the main shop. “No time for what?”
Before he could answer, the phone rang, and Wayne snatched it up and punched the button before Señora Rojas, otherwise known as Mrs. Efficiency, could move a hand. The name on the screen registered half a second too late. “Mom!”
“Oh, Wayne. It’s terrible. Brooke made some awful mess at work. You should call her. I think she’d appreciate sympathy from someone who understands the business.”
Just like you to expect me to read between your blank lines and decipher your meaning. Saying it, while cathartic, would produce the loudest silent treatment known to man. So, Wayne settled for a simple question. “What did Brooke do?”
“Oh, it’s awful!”
So you said.
“—had all these orders, and I don’t know how she did it, but she sent them out all mixed up.”
“How do you mix up orders? It’s on the printout. You don’t just mix them up. I think Brooke is pulling your leg.”
No matter how carefully he tried to explain the process, his mother insisted that his niece’s job was now on the line. “They’re making her call everyone involved and issue an apology as well as do whatever it’ll take to leave all parties satisfied, but Lydia is convinced that Brooke will lose her job over it.”
“If she did this—if she sent a bereavement bouquet to someone instead of a dozen proposal roses or something, yeah,
she’ll lose her job. There’s no way she won’t. But it’s probably not going to be that bad. Surely, a florist with any sense is going to go, “I don’t think this bunch of black roses is supposed to go on a congratulations on the new baby bouquet,” and make a call.”
“But it’s already done! And she’s just picking up the pieces. Call her, Wayne. She needs to hear that it could happen to anyone.”
Refusing? Not an option. But he could delay. “Look, Ma. I can’t do it this minute. I have twenty orders to fill myself—fill, not process. But when I’m done, or maybe after I close, I’ll call. She’s a gifted floral designer. Even if she loses her job, someone will snatch her up. I’ll tell her to get references from the people she made it right with. People respect that. It’ll be okay. Tell Lyddie not to worry.”
If he disconnected a little too quickly, well, could anyone blame him? His gaze shifted to the sunflowers once more and then to the receipt with the hand-scrawled enclosure card. A mix-up like that could destroy relationships. Or spark them. His dedication to excellent customer service protested. You can’t do it. No way.
But the idea, once planted, sprouted and bloomed before his mind’s eye. It would work. Just deliver the flowers to Kelsey and then “fix” his “mistake.” And he could confess. After the planned mishap. “Sometimes serendipity changes the entire direction of a person’s life.” The fact that serendipity required no interference to be serendipity interrupted his burgeoning plans for only a moment. “And at other times, we have to arrange for a little premeditated serendipity.”
“What are you talking about in there?” Señora Rojas swept aside the curtain that divided workroom from shop. Hands on hips and looking more like a flamenco dancer than the efficient shop manager that she was, she eyed him with suspicion. “Look at you.” Her thick, Spanish accent always added just a hint of spice to the air. “You have twenty-one orders, and you stand there looking e-stupid. Get to work.” And with a hand flung over her head as if to finish an act, she turned and swung the curtain shut in one fluid, graceful movement.
