The Colour of Broken

by Amelia Grace

  Gram placed her cupped hands under her chin. ‘Philosophical ponderings will be continued later, my dear. The flowers are in need of a refreshing drink to lure in the people.’

  ‘Right you are, Gram.’ I stood and collected the teacups and teapot. I balanced them and took them over to Darcy. ‘I owe you. It’s true. Tea solves everything.’ And nothing, I wanted to add, but didn’t.

  ‘Aye. For a moment in time,’ he said and gave me a small smile.

  I sighed. ‘A moment in time is all I needed. Thanks.’ I bent at my waist and performed an altered ballerina’s bow to him.

  ‘I’m only nice to you because I get paid to work here, you know,’ Darcy said with smiley eyes.

  ‘Nah ... you would be nice to me even if you didn’t get paid. Genuinely nice people can’t be bad, even if they tried.’ My words were true.

  ‘You should leave now before you see my bad side,’ he said, and threw a tea towel at me. I smiled and gathered it in my hands, and threw it back at him, twice as hard. He chuckled, looked down and shook his head, his admiral blue colour comforting me.

  I walked over to the sales desk and pulled out my to-do list for the day, and the typed note for Xander. It needed to go into the flowers of the bicycle basket. I opened it up and reread it. Surely this would be the note to put an end to the notes. He certainly would not want to meet a bossy old woman who would point and wag her finger at him.

  Dear Xander,

  Then you must meet Grandmother Fleur.

  I didn’t sign it for the same reason that I typed it. I wanted to keep him guessing who wrote it, and hopefully scare him away. I walked outside and placed it into the flowers of the bicycle basket. Today it was a living pot of Tumbelina petunias—pinks, white and purples. There was no scent, as they only released their perfume from dusk and into the night. The note looked obtrusive sitting amongst the foliage. I decided I would keep watch for the persistently annoying Xander while I worked. In my mind’s eye he was a middle-aged, balding, rotund man dressed in a suit with polished black shoes with beady, greedy dark eyes.

  I rearranged some floral blooms for sales near the front entrance to the store, then returned to the sales desk and checked the jobs off my list.

  I looked up when the sound of the shoes stopped before me. It was a middle-aged woman. She wore a white layered cotton linen dress. She was the colour of indigo, like she was restructuring aspects of her life.

  ‘Flowers, tea, coffee or books?’

  ‘Flowers, dear.’

  ‘Flowers for ...’

  ‘Myself. It’s the anniversary of my divorce.’

  In an ideal world I would like to have said I’m sorry to hear. But the reality was, there were some men who were pitiful excuses for human beings. And some women as well. ‘Good for you,’ I said.

  ‘Take my advice. Never marry ...’

  I looked into her weary eyes. They were filled with pain.

  ‘Advice taken and considered. Let me create a special gathering of blooms for you with an aromatic infusion that will leave you breathless and fill your house with victory.’ I don’t know where those flowing words came from. But they sounded astounding. I hoped Gram could create something like that.

  I looked down, aware of my scars. No man would ever get past them, even if I did want to marry—which I didn’t. Not after that terrible day with Mia ...

  ‘Oh my. That sounds like a celebration!’ Her words pulled me back to the present.

  ‘It is indeed. Give me your name for when your gathering of blooms is born.’ I twirled my hand in the air, adding a swirl of mystique.

  ‘Maria.’

  ‘Thanks, Maria. Please have a complimentary drink while you wait. Tell Darcy that Andi sent you.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Absolutely. I’ll bring the flowers to you when Gram finishes the work of natural art.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  I inclined my head to her and turned to Gram. She watched me walked towards her with a twinkle in her eye. She had the type of face that lit up a room when she smiled. The type of face you looked at, lingering, floating on the light and happiness she gave, and when you walked away, your heart overflowed with warmth like the golden sunshine on a beautiful spring day.

  It was day three without vertigo, and I was glad for her.

  ‘Maria would like a bouquet to celebrate her divorce, Gram,’ I said. ‘I told her you would create something that was like victory.’

  Gram slowed her movement and a sadness fell over her face. ‘Granddaughter ... divorce is never a victory. It’s the breaking of sacred promises. It’s broken dreams and hearts.’

  ‘Grandmother ... divorce is also freedom ... freedom from a toxic relationship ... freedom from betrayal ... freedom from abuse. You don’t know her story.’

  ‘You’re right, Andi. I’m just a forever romantic. It’s easy for me to forget the world is not a nice place for some ... I’ll build a victory bouquet and spoil our Maria. She’s been through an emotional journey of the heart.’

  Sometimes I wished I had rose-coloured glasses like Gram, instead of my jade-coloured glasses.

  Healing takes time, I reminded myself ...

  Healing takes time ...

  Chapter Nine

  ‘FLOWERS, TEA, COFFEE ... OR BOOKS?’ I said, according to Gram’s script, still looking at my list of jobs and trying to decipher Gram’s shaky writing. It was so unlike her meticulous decorative cursive script ...

  ‘None. I’m delivering this letter in person instead of putting it in the flowers of the bicycle.’

  I froze, unable to move my sight from the list. Xander was standing before me? His voice sounded so unlike a rotund, balding, middle-aged business man. I looked up at him and my thoughts scattered. His blue eyes were decadent, his dark hair inviting me to run my fingers through it. I blinked to find my senses. This tall, slender, fit looking, god-like person standing before me was the persistent, annoying, pigheaded stranger becoming an unstranger, the one wanting to acquire Gram’s Raleigh Cruiser bicycle? He was the colour of azure blue, like a male morpho butterfly—determination and ambition—with a splash of ... light red passion and sensitivity. What? Two colours? That was indeed a rarity. I raised an eyebrow at him, impressed by his presence of being. ‘So, you don’t want flowers today?’

  ‘No. Never in fact.’ His voice was fruity; deep and strong in a pleasant way.

  I breathed out the luring potion he offered. ‘You know what flowers do—don’t you?’

  ‘Of course ... they die!’ His lips curled up on one side.

  I smiled. He was being obscure and intentionally annoying. I cocked my head and narrowed my eyes at him, then burst out laughing.

  He frowned at me and smirked.

  ‘Flowers are happiness, bundled into a bouquet—they are regret, an apology, a bridge to amends, friendship, thinking of you, you make my heart sing, they are the colour at a funeral, get well soon, thank you, a surprise, a grand celebration ... I miss you—’ Was this really the man I had been writing notes to? He was stunning. ‘I love you.’ I stopped speaking and swallowed. He was hard to convince. If he was a flower, he would be a Nigella damascena, otherwise known as Love-In-A-Mist, or Jack-In-Prison. The petals would definitely be in shades of blue, it’s flowers hidden in the misty foliage. In the language of flowers, Nigella damascena was equal to perplexity.

  ‘Have you finished your rambling sales campaign?’ He lifted an eyebrow at me.

  I sighed. I needed to dig deeper. Who was this beautiful man who stood before me who wasn’t responding to my sales tactics? They always worked.

  ‘Flowers for a girlfriend?’ I continued. Surely he had an elegant woman who graced the social pages.

  No response.

  ‘Boyfriend?’

  He took a deep breath.

  ‘Mother, or Grandmother?’

  No response.

  The phone rang. I held up my finger. ‘Wait ... one moment, and I’m yours again.’ I picked up the ph
one and put it to my ear, and wrote down the flowers ordered for delivery. I finished the phone call and looked up at the beautiful Xander.

  He let out an audible breath. ‘Just take the letter. I need an answer.’

  What’s his problem? He seemed so arrogant. I took the letter from his hand, placed it on the desk and tapped it. Twice. ‘I’ll read it after the rush hour and get back to you.’

  He nodded, removed a pink Peruvian lily from a container on a table to the right of the sales desk, and held it out to me. ‘For persuasion.’ He raised an eyebrow at me.

  I half smiled, conscious of the warmth that flowed through me. ‘Flowers don’t work their magic on me. I live and breathe them five days a week. You’re going to have find something else. I hope your day gets better ...’

  He looked down at the flower and ran his hand through his dark hair, gazed into my eyes and pulled his eyebrows together. ‘I don’t think anything can beat the education about flowers you just gave me—but you forgot one description of them—they’re beautiful, like you.’

  I laughed more loudly than I intended. Conversations stopped around the store and people turned to look at me, then him.

  He looked around and gave a nervous smile.

  ‘Well played, Xander. The power of flattery. For a moment there, I almost believed you. Kindness and intelligence rank more highly on my list as a compliment. Beauty fades with age and fake beauty deceives and is all too abundant.’ I stilled for a moment, looking into his blue eyes, and sighed. ‘I’ll give you an answer, later today.’

  He put his hands into his pocket. ‘I can’t ask for anything more. Thanks.’

  He gazed into my eyes for a little too long. My lips parted in response to his unexpected, intimate, eye connection. He narrowed his eyes at me, took a deep breath, turned and left.

  I watched as he threw his backpack over his broad shoulders, then took long strides out the door. I frowned. He was dressed in a black, sleeveless hoodie and black jogger pants, but he had the walk of a man raised with wealth and privilege. What’s his story?

  A muffled scream sounded in the store. Gram.

  I looked around for her, but she was nowhere to be seen. I rushed to her office and hesitated at the door, my heart thudding. When I opened it, Gram was sprawled on the floor, and blood was pooling near her head.

  She was staring at the wall, her head held still.

  I grabbed five sheets of paper towel and swooped down to her, and pressed them to her forehead to try to stop the bleeding, ignoring the poison of anxiety that tried to control me.

  I watched her eyes. They were moving rapidly from side to side. What’s going on?

  ‘Enough of this. I’m calling the paramedics.’ My voice was more forceful than I intended.

  ‘No. I'll be fine, after a few hours—’

  ‘Gram, you’re bleeding! You won’t be fine!’ I tried to keep my panic from her.

  Gram reached up to her head. The only part of her body that moved was her arm and hand. It was like she was a robot, the rest of her body fused into place.

  Slowly, she moved her hand in front of her eyes, then vomited. Spectacularly. I squeezed my eyes shut while her body went into a spasmodic movement each time she expelled the contents of her stomach, numerous times.

  ‘I can’t do this anymore ... please help me ... please help me ... I can’t do this anymore ...’

  Tears streamed down my face. There was something seriously wrong with Gram. I didn’t want it to be sinister ... what would I do without my Gram? She meant everything to me.

  I pulled my phone from my pocket with my free hand, and pressed some numbers. ‘I need an ambulance ... please.’

  Chapter Ten

  HE WAS AT THE DOOR WHEN I ARRIVED at 7am, looking at his watch. He was a spectacular azure blue colour. I faltered in my step, remembering that I didn’t open his letter. I turned around and placed my hand on my forehead and closed my eyes for a moment. How should I explain why I haven’t read his damn letter?

  I turned back to him. His dark hair was manicured. He stood tall and confident, today in jeans and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows. His broad shoulders gave the impression he was an athlete.

  As I got closer he lifted his chin and looked down at me, his pupils large. A curious heat rushed through me.

  ‘You didn’t read my letter, did you?’ His tone was clipped.

  I pushed past him to open the door. I was already twenty minutes late. The aroma of fresh coffee permeated the air and I took a welcoming deep breath.

  ‘Why didn’t you read it?’ He was behind me, and I could smell his citrusy scent with a hint of liquorice, vanilla and ... lavender, perhaps. It reminded me of fireplaces and winter and mulled wine—warm and comforting.

  I stopped walking and closed my eyes. I wanted him gone. Do I tell him the truth or spin him an untruth to get rid of him?

  Lie.

  I stepped forward with determination towards the workbench of flower imagination and reached for my apron, turned around and tied it on while I looked up at him. I pulled the top of my dress up, ensuring the scar on my chest was covered, even though I knew it was. He was frowning, his face filled with ... sadness?

  Truth.

  ‘Gram had vertigo and fell over. She split her head open. I went to the hospital with her.’ I looked down and shook my head. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll read it today.’ My eyes were wet, and tears gathered on my eyelashes. I blinked quickly to empty them from my eyes.

  Xander put his hands into his pockets. ‘It’s me who’s sorry. Can I help in anyway? I know some good doctors. I—’

  ‘No. We have it sorted. Thank yo—’

  ‘It could be serious. Don’t wait to get the symptoms diagnosed. Your gram may ha—’

  ‘We have it sorted. Thank you,’ I said a little louder and sharper than I intended. He was annoying me.

  Xander blinked at me. Not a slow calm blink. But short irregular blinks, like I had insulted him. I didn’t mean to.

  ‘Forget about the bike, and ah ...’ He looked down and tapped his finger on the wooden workbench. ‘I hope your gram is okay.’ He took a deep breath and gazed deeply into my eyes. And that curious heat was there again.

  ‘Me, too,’ I whispered, my throat constricted.

  He pressed his lips together and walked toward the door, running his fingers through his thick dark hair, then disappeared.

  I knotted my fingers together, then turned to find Gram’s famous bicycle.

  It was in her office. I ran my fingers over it. It wasn’t just a bike. It was the romance of my grandparents. And an heir loom.

  I wheeled it through the flower store, through the French doors and outside, then leaned it against the antique-white storefront of Flowers for Fleur where it had sat for the last fifty years.

  I walked with quick steps back inside and orchestrated a symphony of white, light pink, dark pink and golden yellow old-fashioned peonies for good health and prosperity. They were Gram’s most favourite flowers. I returned outside and placed them into the basket. Just for Gram. I inhaled the scent—a heady mixture of sweet rose and clean citrus. I held my breath and closed my eyes, then blew out my scented breath with a prayer. Just for Gram.

  The sound of running footsteps came close. I looked up and was greeted by a wide smile, framed by gorgeous flowing blonde locks, like mine once were, before I dyed my hair dark-brown.

  My smile matched hers. ‘Lucy!’ Enthusiasm poured from each letter of her name as I said it. She was the colour of bright, energetic orange—radiating warmth, happiness and cheerfulness.

  ‘Yolande! Charlotte can’t make it today, so Gramps sent me. He’s at the hospital with Gram. They’re testing for a brain tumour.’

  My heart missed a beat. No! I knew it could be a possibility, but I didn’t want it to be a reality for Gram! ‘I’m not surprised really ... vertigo ... vomiting ... loss of balance.’ I shook my head. ‘Whatever it is, they’ll be able to fix it!’ I a
dded as a silent request, brimming with sparkling hope.

  ‘They will,’ said Lucy. ‘It could just be a virus, you know.’

  ‘Really? That would be great ... I mean, it’s bad, but, it’s good, because the virus will go away, and we’ll get our beautiful Gram back.’

  My favourite cousin smiled at me. She linked her arm through mine and pulled me through the front door of Flowers for Fleur.

  The aroma of freshly brewed coffee hit me again. This time I let it caress me—comforting and soothing. Gram’s dream of flowers, tea, coffee and books was visionary for her time, and was a huge success in this town of Tarrin, this town of “more”.

  The mad morning mayhem hadn’t started yet, so I put on my barista hat and made myself a kind of cappuccino to soothe my heart, much to the dislike of Darcy. I carried it to the sales desk and placed it down and focussed on the to-do list. I sighed. The flower truck would be here in twenty minutes. No rest for the weary.

  When I lifted my coffee to my lips I caught sight of the unopened letter from Xander. He said he didn’t want the bike anymore, so I picked up the envelope and dropped it into the wastepaper basket. I wrapped both of my hands around the coffee mug and enjoyed the warmth of the brew before the day took over.

  I frowned. Why would Xander deliver a letter in person instead of leaving it in the flowers of the bike like he had done previously?

  There was only one way to answer that question. I retrieved the letter from the wastepaper basket and carried it over to the workbench, then flipped it over to open the seal. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Gramps. I placed the letter onto the workbench and looked at my phone ...

  GRAMPS: Singing softly to Gram at the hospital.

  I hope Lucy has arrived. xxx

  I grinned and texted back: Lucky Gram!

  Give her my love. Lucy is here with her

  boundless energy. Thank you xxx

  I pocketed my phone and opened the order book. I had ten orders of flower art to create and deliveries to be made. Not to mention the orders that had come in overnight—five of them. Gram had told me to start at 7am each day. Clearly, I would need to start much earlier to get everything done. At least Lucy was here today, and I had already given her my usual “to-do list”.