Finally Mine: A Small Town Love Story

by Lucy Score

  Her thin lips were pressed in a tight line of disapproval.

  Life had not been kind to Mrs. Diller.

  Deciding there was nothing more to see, Aldo drove on.

  45

  “That was one hell of a celebration yesterday,” Claire announced, packing an arrangement of daisies and mini-sunflowers into a white florist box. Their delivery driver, a crabby woman in her fifties whose standard comment was that no one had ever sent her flowers, would be making the second pick-up in a few minutes. “You did good, kiddo.”

  They’d done a brisk enough business that morning that this was their first chance at conversation.

  “Thanks. I’m pretty proud of myself,” Gloria said, double-checking the orders in the computer and printing the delivery slips. It was a busy day for her. She had a full day of work, a therapy session scheduled over lunch, and a secret appointment that evening that she’d finally decided she deserved to make. To top it off, she was still riding the heady high of waking up in the arms of Aldo Moretta while processing her feelings about her confrontation with Linda Diller the night before.

  It had been a complicated twenty-four hours.

  “Rumor has it, the town council wants to ask you to organize the Christmas festival,” Claire pressed.

  She gave a non-committal, “Hmm.” They already had that morning. Gloria had thought about the long hours, the endless meetings, the schmoozing of local business owners for sponsorships…and gave an emphatic yes.

  At least Mrs. Diller’s outburst hadn’t completely ruined everything she’d worked toward, she thought. With care, she opened each of the four delivery boxes and smoothed back the tissue paper, double checking the contents against the orders. Satisfied everything was perfect, Gloria stuck the peel-off delivery tags on each box.

  Claire chattered on about how much Harper and the kids had enjoyed the fireworks and the festival while Gloria busied herself with the next item on her to do list: snipping the stems of freesia to encourage the tight buds to open for their weekend centerpiece order.

  “So, Aldo…” Claire let his name hang in the air between them.

  Gloria dunked the freesia into a plastic vase where they would stay until the blooms were ready for their arrangement. “What about him?” she asked innocently. She knew exactly what Claire was asking but decided it would be fun to make her work a little harder for the information.

  “You left the festival with him last night, and he came to work with you this morning.”

  “Are you snooping on me, Claire?” Gloria asked, more amused than appalled.

  “I happened to be perusing this morning’s sales receipts and saw his name on the first one,” Claire said, a picture of innocence.

  “Hmm,” Gloria said.

  Claire threw herself down onto a stool dramatically. “You’re killing me here. I feel like I’m talking to one of my kids when they were teenagers!”

  A reluctant laugh escaped from Gloria. “We’re giving the dating thing a try,” she admitted. “It’s very new—as in not even twelve hours old—and I have no idea what I’m doing. Or how I’m going to screw it up before he does.”

  Claire clutched her hands to her heart. “I’m so proud of him and you. The idea of you two together makes me want to sprout wings.”

  Gloria laughed. “We haven’t been on an official date yet,” she said, managing expectations like it was her job.

  “You forget. I have almost thirty-five years of marriage backing me. I know a real relationship when I see it.”

  “Don’t you think it’s a little soon? I mean, I just got out of a train wreck, and Aldo’s still healing.” Didn’t she need more time to be better before she added someone else into the mix? Didn’t she owe it to him to be the best she could be?

  “Maybe you’re meant to heal together?” Claire offered. “Maybe you can do a world of good for each other, and now is the perfect time?”

  “I don’t know,” Gloria said honestly. She wasn’t sure she was ready to think about that. She had enough trouble wrapping her head around whether or not she should call Aldo Moretta, high school football star and hometown hero, her boyfriend. She wondered what Aldo would think about the appointment she’d scheduled for herself tonight. The appointment that she was equally nervous and Christmas-morning excited for.

  “Don’t let one bitter apple make you doubt yourself,” Claire advised.

  “Heard about that, too, did you?”

  Claire gave a dainty shrug. “I have my sources.”

  “What’s this one?” Gloria asked, picking up an order printout next to the register. “It says ‘make it pretty.’”

  “Oh, that was a phone order,” Claire said, waving her hand. “They gave us an unlimited budget and said to make it beautiful. Why don’t you work on that while I prep the foam and vases for the freesia?”

  “Me?” Gloria blinked. She’d put together the occasional bouquet, small arrangements here and there like Aldo’s order this morning for Jamilah. But she’d never had creative free rein. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

  Claire lifted her eyebrows. “Make something you’d love. Don’t overthink it.”

  Something she would love? What if what she loved no one else would? What if she had horrible taste in floral arrangements?

  “I can hear you overthinking it from here,” Claire called from the back room.

  “Make something I’d love,” Gloria muttered under her breath. She could do this. And if she screwed it all up, Claire would fix it. Or Claire would be too worried about hurting her feelings and let Gloria send out a terrible arrangement that someone would hate.

  “Omg, when’s the last time someone complained about getting flowers?” she asked herself. She was overthinking and over-panicking.

  She picked up the order and glanced out the front window. There was an old Buick just like Glenn’s mother’s idling across the street. Gloria thought of the letter that Aldo had read and promised to drop at the station with Ty. He didn’t want it in her presence one second longer, and she appreciated that.

  Gloria felt an invisible shadow creep over her. Anyone could watch her in here through the front windows. She felt exposed, unsettled.

  “What is it?” Claire asked, poking her head out of the back room.

  The Buick pulled away from the curb and disappeared around the corner. “Nothing. Just thought I saw something.”

  “Okay, give me your honest opinion,” Gloria begged. She’d spent an hour and a half—in between the phone, the order system, and customers—on the mystery arrangement. She’d started with the hot pink Matsumoto asters and gone crazy from there. It was happy and dramatic and whimsical…in her opinion.

  To a normal human, it was probably a monstrosity.

  “Do you love it?” Claire prodded.

  Gloria studied the arrangement with a critical eye and then gave up. “I love the crap out of it. But I don’t know if anyone else will.”

  “It’s stunning. Happy and hopeful and beautiful,” Claire surmised.

  “Really?”

  She patted Gloria on the shoulder. “Really. Now, what are you doing for a vase?”

  Gloria chewed on her lower lip. “I was thinking about that pretty yellow terracotta pitcher, but…”

  “Unlimited budget,” Claire reminded her. “You’ve had your eye on that pitcher for weeks.”

  It was true. There was something sunshiny about the short, curvy piece of pottery. Maybe she was hesitating because she didn’t want someone else to have it. But the pink asters and the peach roses would look amazing with it.

  “Legitimately unlimited budget or ‘I’m saying unlimited, but I really mean fifty bucks tops?’”

  Claire laughed. “Legitimately unlimited.”

  “Who’s getting this bad boy, anyway?” Gloria asked. There was no buyer or recipient listed on the order form.

  “Wasn’t it on the order? Oh, the system must be glitching again,” Claire said innocently. “It’s a pick-up, so
don’t worry about scheduling delivery.”

  Gloria was instantly suspicious. “Claire. Who is this for?”

  “Is that my phone?” Claire said, patting her apron pockets. “Go get the vase, and I’ll help you put it all together.”

  Gloria wiped her hands on her apron and walked into the shop. The yellow pitcher was currently playing home to a pretty tangle of exotic greenery. She transferred the greenery to a new concrete planter and brought the pitcher into the back.

  Claire took over, filling the pitcher with filtered water and flower food before tucking the arrangement in place.

  “Oh,” Gloria sighed. It was perfect. And she had made it.

  “Here’s the card,” Claire said, handing over the small envelope.

  “Should I get one of the card holders—Why is my name on this?”

  Claire beamed. “Surprise!”

  “You’re kidding me.” Gloria stared down at the white paper in her hand, afraid to open it.

  “Go on,” Claire prodded. “Open it!”

  Gloria slid her thumb under the flap.

  Beautiful flowers for (and by) a beautiful woman.

  Love,

  Aldo

  “You sneaky, underhanded…” But Gloria was out of adjectives. It was lovely and perfect and so very thoughtful.

  “He signed it ‘Love, Aldo,’” Claire pointed out in case Gloria had missed that.

  “I see that. I should be annoyed that he made me work for these,” Gloria said.

  “But you’re not,” Claire teased.

  She wasn’t. It was simply perfect.

  “He snuck the card while you were working on Jamilah’s arrangement today and hid it on a shelf then texted me.”

  “Diabolical,” Gloria said, fussing with an aster. “Absolutely diabolical.” The smile on her face couldn’t get any wider.

  46

  I planned the entire Fourth of July celebration for my town. Everything down to what color the trash can buntings were. I made sure there were enough properly located porta-potties. I helped with the permits for the food stands and vendors. Laid out the entire carnival map. Organized the parade order so there wouldn’t be any fighting between the Kiwanis and the Lions Club.

  I did a damn good job.

  And what’s everyone talking about? Glenn’s mother calling me a whore.

  I can’t help asking: Am I ever going to get away from this? Am I always going to be tied to that situation, that family? Should I have moved to a new town where no one knows me? Or is there some value to living through this humiliation over and over again?

  She called Aldo a cripple. I think that was the moment when I realized just how diseased this woman’s perception is.

  Diseased.

  I used to be as sick as she is. But I’m not now. I may not be normal yet. But I’m not where she is.

  Yes, I felt ashamed. Yes, I was embarrassed. But if she could stand there and call Aldo Moretta, a man who fights for his country and has a heart bigger than the moon, a cripple then maybe she didn’t really see me either. Maybe I’m more than the ungrateful whore that she sees.

  I know. Her opinion of me shouldn’t have any bearing on my own. But being embarrassed like that in front of everyone I’d tried so hard to prove myself to… It was like being stripped naked. It was a reminder that I can’t outrun this shadow of shame. I have to face it. Live with it. Walk through it.

  Maybe then I’ll think more of myself, and eventually everyone else will follow suit. Or they’ll keep whispering behind my back for all of eternity. Won’t that be fun? Me in a rocking chair in the old folks’ home with a bunch of white-haired gossips talking about how sixty years ago I had an asshole boyfriend.

  Aldo came home with me last night. Held my hand while I blurted out my life’s story and didn’t call me an idiot for staying. He held me while I slept. Made me feel safe.

  And I know what you’re going to say. It’s too soon. I know it is. But he’s waking up feelings that I didn’t know I was capable of. Feelings I don’t know if it’s smart to feel. But I feel…good. I know everyone’s going to be talking about Mrs. Diller. I know they’re going to be rehashing every time they saw me in town with bruises. A few of the early birds in town are going to mention they saw Aldo leaving my apartment this morning. I have to be okay with it. I have to know my truth and believe in myself.

  Aldo has his own scars. We haven’t talked much about those.

  Maybe he doesn’t trust me yet. Or maybe he doesn’t know what he’s feeling. But he’s my friend—my boyfriend—and I’ll listen when he’s ready to talk.

  He sent me flowers. Actually, he did better than that. He ordered flowers, and I made the arrangement. He knew I’d get more out of it if I was trying to make something beautiful for someone else. He really seems to get me. Is that even possible? Can he really see beneath my scars? Can I see beneath my scars? I want to.

  The letters? They’re still coming. And I think he’s feeding some of those threats to his mother. She came at me with a “he’ll make you pay” threat. I don’t doubt that he’ll try to hurt me again if he gets out. He will. The only thing that’s keeping me safe right now is the fact that he has no one to pay his bail.

  That doesn’t give me a sense of security. It feels like something big and dark hanging over my head ready to drop at any second.

  But I can’t live my life tensing for the next blow-up, the next punch or slap. I have to move forward.

  47

  Aldo pulled into the flower shop’s parking lot and gave himself a minute to watch her through the window as she worked her way down the closing checklist. She was wearing navy blue shorts and a cute little white blouse that still looked fresh and crisp even after a day of work. She was a breath of fresh air on a muggy summer day.

  Gloria came out of the front door carrying a cheery bouquet of flowers in a sunshine-yellow vase. He grinned. She was taking the flowers home with her. He watched her juggle the flowers and dig for her keys in the depths of her bag.

  Aldo slid out from behind the wheel and approached. “Nice flowers,” he said, taking them from her and freeing her hands.

  “Thanks and thanks,” Gloria said, shooting him a shy smile. “What are you doing lurking in the parking lot?”

  “I thought if I was cute enough while I lurked, you’d say yes to dinner tonight.”

  She gave him the once-over. “Well, you are pretty cute,” she admitted. “But I already have plans.”

  “Can I be part of those plans, or would it be weird?” he pressed.

  She studied him, debating. “Hmm.”

  “Is that a good hmm or a bad hmm?”

  She tugged her lower lip between her teeth. “Fine. You can come with me,” Gloria decided. She stopped him with a point of her finger. “But you don’t get to have an opinion."

  “An opinion on what?” Aldo asked, immediately intrigued.

  “You’ll see.”

  He put her and the flowers in his truck and let her direct him across town to a little storefront with a few neon signs in the window.

  “A tattoo parlor?” he asked. Okay, this was a surprise.

  “No opinion,” she reminded him, unfastening her seatbelt.

  “How about questions? Can I ask questions? What are you getting? Where are you getting it?” They got out of the truck and headed for the front door.

  “You’ll see,” she said again, primly.

  He held the door for her, and she brushed past him into a small, artsy space. Aldo had enough ink done over the years to be a good judge of tattoo parlors. This shop was new to him but clean, bright. There were red vinyl armchairs arranged in an L on the black and white checkered floor of the waiting room. Instead of a TV on the wall, there was a bookcase stacked with worn paperbacks and magazines.

  The guy behind the counter was tattooed from neck to wrist, but his t-shirt was fresh, his hair cut.

  “Gloria,” he said, reaching out a hand. “Good to see you again.”

  �
�Hi, Curtis,” Gloria said, shaking his hand. “This is my friend, Aldo. Aldo, this is Curtis.”

  “Nice place,” Aldo told him.

  “Thanks, man. Listen, I’m going to grab the stencil from the sketch if you guys want to go back. Room 2.” He handed over a clipboard of the requisite ‘No, I won’t sue you if I spell something wrong’ paperwork.

  Aldo hesitated, holding his breath and hoping. Gloria gave him another one of those long looks while she fiddled with the pen. “Okay. I guess you can come back with me.”

  He followed her behind the counter and down the bright hallway. There were art prints, black and white shots of tattooed skin on the walls. Tasteful, unique. Aldo didn’t see a single rose tramp stamp or cartoony dragon-festooned bicep. He felt the familiar tickle, the desire for another design, and wondered what Gloria had chosen for her own stunning skin.

  Gloria bypassed a room that was decked out with red walls and black leather furniture and stepped into one with cool blue paint and a white dentist-style chair. There was music in here, soft and spa-like. It was a small space but well-organized.

  She eyed the chair and straightened her shoulders. When she began unbuttoning her blouse, Aldo felt a strangled noise rise out of his throat. This was not how he’d imagined his first time seeing Gloria undress. He turned around abruptly to face the wall.

  Her soft laugh had him peeking over his shoulder. She was wearing a thin-strapped camisole under her shirt, and he relaxed. But it was short-lived. “Where are you getting it?” he asked, his voice rough, picturing her sprawled out on the chair while Curtis worked on breasts Aldo hadn’t been lucky enough to be invited to see yet.

  She slid onto the chair and tapped the inside of her arm. “Here.”