Reason to Breathe

by Deborah Raney

  “Why would you think I’d do that?”

  “I could just tell. You were worried about me. I just wanted to prove that I can stay by myself if I have to.” She gave a humorless laugh. “I guess I blew that, huh?”

  “It’s okay, sis. I probably would have done the same thing. And I’m sorry you had such a scare.”

  Britt rolled her eyes. “It’s funny. Now that I lived through that, it really wasn’t so bad. I can’t believe how fast the police got here!”

  Phee had to smile. “Well, it would have been bad if it had been a real break-in! Don’t let this be the little boy who cried wolf.”

  “I didn’t cry wolf! I really thought someone was breaking in—”

  “No, no …” She put a hand on Britt’s arm. “That’s not what I mean at all. I meant, don’t let this make you think it’s just Melvin next time you hear a noise.”

  Britt’s forehead knit with worry, and Phee suppressed a groan. Oh, great. Now she’d have her sister focused on what could have happened. Would she ever learn to control her big fat mouth? “I have to work tomorrow, sis. You okay if I go home? Or do you want to stay with me tonight?”

  “No, I’m fine. I’ll be fine. Sorry I woke you up. I’m not sure why I called you, really.”

  “Because I’m your big sister. What else are sisters for if not to come and rescue you when your house is surrounded by handsome policemen?”

  Britt giggled. “Oh, yeah, now I remember.”

  Phee wrapped an arm around her, emotion thick in her throat. It should have been Mom and Dad here, comforting Britt. Phee felt as if she’d been thrust, most unwillingly, into the role of matriarch—and she didn’t like it one bit.

  The alarm on Phee’s cell phone went off far too early, and Phee stumbled to the bathroom to get ready for work. She avoided checking her phone for fear there’d be texts from her sisters pressuring her to let them know her decision about the property.

  She probably should call to check on Britt after what had happened last night. But she didn’t really have time. She felt bad that her younger sister had seemed scared to open up to her about her fear of staying alone. And yet—Phee squeezed a line of toothpaste onto her toothbrush—she was almost flattered that Britt thought Phee might make her decision purely out of love and concern for her baby sister.

  Phee glanced at herself in the mirror. If only she were that selfless.

  But somebody had to be practical. Someone would need to keep Mom and Dad’s house ready to show and staged for the open house. Not that there was any rush about that. She’d checked this morning, and the money from Mom’s inheritance hadn’t been deposited yet, so even if they did sell the house, it wasn’t as if they could make an offer on the other property until the funds were there. Part of her was inclined to take her sweet time. And if the place was still for sale when they had the cash, then she’d take it as a sign they were supposed to buy it.

  She’d never been one for putting out fleeces, but she didn’t know how else to make a huge decision like this. Not without Dad to guide the way.

  A short while later, she arrived at the flower shop to find half a dozen cars crowding the parking lot. By the time she’d hurried in through the back door, a queue had already formed at the counter.

  Mary Feldman, the owner, finished ringing up a bouquet of carnations, then hollered over her shoulder, “Phee! Thank goodness you’re here.”

  Phee glanced at the clock over the checkout counter. “I’m not late, am I?” She’d already decided she wouldn’t mention the excitement of last night. Small-town gossip could turn a simple call to the police into an international incident. But she felt bad making Mary stress out. Her boss had been down off and on with some kind of bug for at least a month now, and Phee didn’t like the pallor of her complexion today.

  “No, you’re not late.” Mary waved a hand. “But we’re swamped. Apparently some speaker told the men’s group at First Christian last night that flowers were the way to a woman’s heart.”

  Phylicia laughed. “And how much did you have to pay the speaker to say that?”

  “Hey, if I’d paid, I would have specified roses and orchids.” Mary rolled her eyes and ran a hand through her salt-and-pepper hair. “We’ve had a huge run on daisies and carnations.”

  “I bet you won’t hear the wives complaining.”

  “True. And business is business. I’m not complaining.”

  “For a minute I thought it was Valentine’s Day already.” Phee grabbed an apron off the hook, looped it over her neck, and tied a loose bow at her waist. “You want me at the register or in the back?”

  “Back, if you don’t mind. Burgess isn’t coming in until one to deliver, but we have some orders that need to go out over the lunch hour. From that church group, I assume.”

  “Man, that must have been some speaker.”

  Mary shot her a droll grin. “Do you mind arranging those … and maybe delivering them too?”

  “I don’t mind.” That wasn’t exactly true. If anything hammered home her still-single status, it was delivering flowers to somebody’s sweetheart. Still, it beat delivering funeral flowers—just barely.

  As she beelined for the back room, two customers stopped her along the way. She quickly answered their questions and then continued on to the back, where she looked over the orders. Except for the few “Please deliver over the lunch hour” requests, nothing unusual popped up. She could listen to music and get lost in her work. Besides the flowers themselves, that was her favorite thing about this job. A job she’d had since graduating from Southeast Missouri State—with a teaching degree. She’d been offered the job at Langhorne Blooms her first summer after graduation, and when the teaching offer finally came, it was for a halftime kindergarten job—the one grade she’d adamantly not wanted to teach. She’d chosen to stay on with Mary just for the school year, even though the money was nowhere near as good.

  Six years later, here she still was. Mary had been generous with raises each year, and Phee had never even put in an application for another job. If she were honest with herself, she had no desire to teach now. It was kind of the default degree at Southeast, and she’d come out of four and a half years of classes with no clearer idea of what she wanted to be when she grew up than she’d had the day she started school.

  And she liked the flower-shop job a lot—liked making people happy with the bouquets and arrangements she created. Liked working with the amazing colors of God’s creation, choosing unique containers for her bouquets, and experimenting with unusual combinations of flowers and greenery. Oh, the job had its downsides, but what job didn’t?

  She put together half a dozen little bouquets she thought would be just what the men’s group was looking for—sweet pastel posies tied with ribbon or twine. When she finished, she carried them to the front and arranged them on the little flower cart by the checkout. Mary had created a sign for the top of the cart that read, “Buy a Bunch of Happy. Or Two!”

  Phee thought it a little cheesy when she first saw it, but the little posies sold like hotcakes and proved to be a perfect way to use up the blooms left over from wedding and funeral flowers and the more formal, arranged bouquets.

  By eleven, the crowd had thinned considerably, but as she turned to go back to the workroom, the bells on the front door jangled, and she turned to see a familiar figure walk through.

  Quinn saw her before she could make her escape to the back, so she approached him with her best retailer smile. “Good morning. How can I help you?”

  “Oh …” He glanced from her name tag to the hem of her apron and back, looking uncomfortable. “I was kind of hoping you wouldn’t be working this morning.”

  “I’ve been working here for seven years, Quinn. Why would I not be here this morning?”

  “My bad.” He held up a hand. “Well, this is awkward.”

  “Excuse me?”

  His grin turned sheepish. “I was going to have flowers sent to you. You and your sisters, of course. N
ot just you—”

  “Flowers?” The man was acting as if he’d just robbed a bank or something. “Why would you send us flowers?” And which one of their apartments did he plan to have them delivered to?

  He shuffled his feet and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I heard about what happened last night.”

  “What? With Britt?”

  He nodded.

  “Seriously? How on earth did you hear? It just happened a few hours ago!”

  He shrugged. “Gotta love small-town gossip.”

  She made a face. “So, who told you?”

  “I’m friends with a couple of the guys at the station.”

  “The police station?” She narrowed her eyes. “Aren’t they supposed to keep this stuff confidential?”

  “They didn’t mention any names.”

  “Then how’d you know it was Britt?”

  His expression turned sheepish. “Promise you won’t get mad?”

  Britt had said the same thing to her last night. Did everyone think she was a cranky old witch? “Why would I get mad? Just tell me.”

  “One of the guys—a cop—who was on the call mentioned … it was two hot chicks. In pajamas.”

  Hiding a smile, she put a hand on one hip and tried to act annoyed. “What? So you’re telling me he said ‘two hot chicks in PJs,’ and you just immediately deduced it was Britt and me?”

  “He might have mentioned the street it happened on.” He poked one cheek out with his tongue. “Oh … and that a cat named Marvin might have been involved.”

  She glared at him. “It’s Melvin.”

  “Sorry. Melvin.”

  She closed her eyes. “Great. Just great. Way to protect our confidentiality, policemen of the world.”

  “Hey, I don’t think you need to throw all policemen everywhere under the bus. This was a good buddy. He knew I wouldn’t say anything.”

  “Did he know you’d come to the flower shop—where I just happen to work—to buy flowers for the victims?”

  “Victims? The way I heard it, the cops were the victims.”

  She sputtered a few nonsensical syllables before she found her voice. “Tell you what …” She put a hand on his elbow and steered him toward the front door. It took great effort to keep a straight face. “You can just save yourself forty dollars and go right back to your car. You are aware it was flowers that started this whole mess in the first place? Or maybe your friend left out a detail or two.”

  He didn’t even try not to laugh. And she had to admit it was kind of funny. But not funny enough that she was going to encourage him. She was still … confused about why he would want to buy them flowers.

  “Hey, I just thought some flowers might cheer you up.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Excuse me for being thoughtful.”

  “It was a sweet thought, Quinn. It really was. But if I want flowers, I can get them with my employee discount. Thanks for coming in.” Barely curbing her laughter, she took his arm and escorted him through the door.

  She closed the door behind him. But even with his back to her, she could see his shoulders shaking. If her sisters managed to talk her into this little business venture Quinn was suggesting, she would need to search for some tasty recipes for preparing crow.

  Chapter 10

  Hiding behind the huge Langhorne Blooms logo etched on the plate-glass window, Phee watched Quinn drive away, waiting until his SUV was out of sight. She turned back to the checkout desk.

  Head tilted to one side, Mary stared at her. “What’s so funny?”

  Phee quickly wiped the smile from her face. “Oh, nothing.”

  “Wasn’t that Quinn Mitchell?”

  “Yes. You know him?”

  “He was the contractor when we remodeled the store.”

  “Oh, I kind of remember Dad saying something about that. That was before I came to work here.”

  “He’s a great guy. Want me to put in a good word for you?”

  “A good word for what?”

  A smirk tipped the older woman’s mouth. “Don’t play dumb. I saw the way you were looking at him. And vice versa, I might add.”

  She cringed, looking around the shop to see who might have overheard her boss’s comment. “How old do you think I am, anyway?”

  “Are you an adult?”

  “Yes. Just barely.” She grinned, hoping her boss would drop the subject.

  “I happen to have access to your most private information, which clearly says you’re almost thirty.”

  “Hey! Isn’t that supposed to be kept strictly confidential?”

  Mary ignored her teasing and tipped her head. “How old do you think Quinn is?”

  “Too old for me.”

  “Dear girl, there’s no such thing as too old when you’re as old as you are.”

  “Now that’s hitting below the belt.” She knew Mary was teasing her, but the comment stung a little. “So, how old do you think Quinn is?”

  “Ah, so you are interested.”

  “He’s a nice guy, but he must be … at least forty.”

  “So? Forty is just getting good. Most men aren’t ready to settle down until they hit forty. I say grab the man while you can.”

  “Stop. You make me sound desperate.” Phee didn’t know how old Quinn was, but she’d always thought of him as a whole generation ahead of her. Closer to Dad’s age than hers. That had never kept her from thinking he was a fine specimen of a man, but to be talking like this with Mary was a whole different thing. Still, if Mary didn’t think it was awkward for her to think of Quinn that way, maybe—

  The bells on the door made them both turn—and offered a blessed interruption.

  Burgess, the retiree who did their flower deliveries, came through, shrugging out of his jacket before he even stepped over the threshold. “Got to strip down for this hothouse.”

  Mary laughed. “Maybe you should work back in the cooler and let Kelli do the deliveries today.”

  “Oh, no …” Burgess chuckled and shook his head. “You don’t want me arranging flowers … any more than you want Kelli driving the truck.”

  That cracked Phee and Mary up. Kelli Parsons had gotten her third traffic citation last week—this one for going the wrong way on a one-way street.

  When their laughter died down, Phee blew out a sigh of relief, thankful that Mary seemed to have dropped the subject of Quinn Mitchell. With a wave to Burgess, she escaped to the back room.

  But she couldn’t quit thinking about what her boss had said. She wondered what Mary had seen on her face. How, exactly, did she think Phee was looking at Quinn? Worse, did Quinn see the same thing in her expression? Her cheeks heated to think that her feelings were that transparent.

  But Quinn was her father’s coworker. Sure, he was handsome … and turning out to be a pretty decent person too. She’d often wondered why he wasn’t married. But what if Mary was right and he was only forty? That wasn’t such a big deal—

  Instantly, she thought of her father and Karleen. That was a big deal. An almost creepy deal. But that was different. For one thing, Dad was probably close to twenty years older than Karleen. And he’d just lost his wife. That was the real issue.

  The anger she’d been harboring toward him roiled.

  She worked on bouquets for the flower cart for the next hour, then relieved Mary at the cash register so she could get some lunch. Phee was just about to take her own lunch break when Joanna’s ringtone sounded from her purse in the break room. The shop was empty, so she fished out her phone and plopped down at a table near a window overlooking the alley.

  She pressed Accept. “Hey, sis—”

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “Well, hi to you too, Jo. My day’s going great, thanks for asking. How about you?”

  “Me? Not so great. It would have been nice not to find out from someone else that the police made a middle-of-the-night run to our house.”

  “Someone else? Who?”

  “Quinn Mitchell called me. Why didn’t
you tell me?”

  “Seriously? You heard from Quinn? What, did he try to send you flowers?”

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind. So Quinn told you about Britt’s run-in?”

  “Yes, and right after I talked to him, my boss asked me about it.”

  “Are you kidding me? Is that the most exciting thing people in this town have to talk about?”

  “What happened, Phee? Why didn’t you guys call me?”

  “What did Quinn tell you?” She wondered if he’d talked to Joanna first, or after he left the flower shop. An emotion she couldn’t quite identify niggled at her. It felt oddly like … jealousy.

  “Quinn said it was a false alarm. But there were three police cars there? Why would they send that many cops for a false alarm?”

  “There were two police cars. Langhorne doesn’t even have three police cars, do they? Good grief. It’ll probably be on the front page of the Missourian tonight too, and blown all out of proportion! What is wrong with people?”

  “Is Britt okay? She’s not answering her phone.”

  “She’s probably embarrassed. But yes, she’s fine. Or she was when I left there last night. It was just Melvin. You heard that, right? He knocked a stupid vase over.”

  “Yes, that’s what Quinn said.”

  “I’m actually proud of Britt for staying by herself.”

  “She stayed even after the police came?”

  “She did. Said it actually made her feel good to know the police could get there so quickly.”

  “Well, that’s rich.” Joanna sighed. “But that’s good, I guess. Okay, I’d better get back to work. But … I don’t mean to nag you, Phee, but I just wondered if you’d thought any more about the property.”

  Her hackles went up, and she scooted back from the table. “How could I think about anything else? Between you and Britt and then Quinn and Dad, that’s all I can think about.”

  “You talked to Dad about it?”

  She hadn’t told her sisters about calling him last night. Another thing she resented Dad for. She and her sisters had become so close during Mom’s illness. But it seemed as if they’d been at odds more often than not these last few weeks. She blamed her father.