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Delivery

By Diana Prusik

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November 1988
Three words ripped open scabs two decades thick on Livi’s heart: Bink Carter died.
When Olivia Wilson Jarvis agreed to help her daddy start Wilson’s Florist, she knew she’d sometimes face servicing the funerals of loved ones. Why Bink? Why now? She added those to her long list of life’s unanswered questions when the doorbell chimed. She glanced toward the shop’s front door, and Mount Helicon’s beloved Mom Robinson entered, clutching a paper sack. On a day like this, when the gravity of grief pulled hard upon Livi--and the temptation to numb it pulled even harder--sighting Mom felt like spotting spring’s first blossom peeking through a blanket of snow.
In her Dr. Scholl’s loafers, Mom shuffled through the saloon-style doors separating the storefront from the workroom. She pulled her cardigan across her stooped torso and sidled next to Livi, who toiled at the worktable with the shop’s three other floral designers. Mom’s hand warmed the small of Livi’s back, and her Ozark drawl, a remnant from her childhood home farther south, floated through the air. “Are you girls doing okay today?”
Livi nestled a bow into Bink’s casket spray and shrugged. She should be curled up at home with a good book, since the scheduled rotation gave her this day off, but in the floral profession, their hours fluctuated with the work load, subject to change at any time. Servicing a funeral the size of Bink’s required a full staff today.
Mom nodded. “Poor Bink.”
The women’s faces grew long, and unusual silence descended upon the room. Only the display cooler hummed in the storefront.
A lump rose in Livi’s throat while she attached gold floral script to ribbon that swept across Bink’s casket spray. Beloved Husband and Father. Eileen Carter requested that text as if those words added more significance to her husband’s life, but who needed a label to describe how much folks loved Bink, the Wilson’s dear family friend?
Livi’s aching heart dredged up memories of another death, so long ago. Please, not now. She longed to visit the walk-in cooler, where comfort waited only a few sips of beer away.
Mom hoisted the paper sack onto the table. “I brought you sweet girls a treat from Lawson’s Bakery, in case you feel up to a snack later on.” She fondled a red carnation in the spray. “Bless her heart. Eileen chose my favorite flower.”
“She sure did. And the wholesaler sent more than I ordered.” Livi drew six red carnations from the bucket of flowers on the floor beside her, wrapped them in floral tissue, and presented the bundle to Mom. “Why don’t you take these with you? I don’t want them to go to waste.”
Mom took the bouquet, slipped her free arm around Livi’s waist, and squeezed. Her brown eyes glistened. “God loves a cheerful giver, Olivia. Now, where’s that pretty smile?”
Livi shook her head and frowned. I’m not sure what God loves.
“Your work today is heavy, girls.” Mom patted Livi’s back. “I best be on my way. I’ll see you ladies at the visitation this evening, won’t I?”
Veteran designer Miss Ellie nodded. “Sure thing, sweet pea. With all these orders to fill, we might be a bit late, but we’ll be there.”
Mom turned and shuffled out the front door and onto the sidewalk, where sunshine lit her silver hair. With the bouquet cradled like a baby in her arms, she turned west to cross the intersection, toddling toward the Bank of Mount Helicon. Like a metronome, Mom’s weekly visits set a steady tempo for life on Main Street, and for Livi.
When Mom disappeared from sight, Livi glanced at the clock and turned to her sister. “Gretta, we better get these flowers on the road before Eileen beats them to the funeral home.”
* * *
Livi peered into the coffin to learn that Thomas Whitman, the town’s only mortician, kept his promise to the late Bink Carter. Bink’s body stretched upon the coffin’s pristine lining, dressed in his denim overalls, his favorite John Deere hat in his grasp. A tuft of chest hairs twisted over his t-shirt collar. Even Thomas could not scrub years of tractor grease and cornfield soil from Bink’s burly hands and fingernails. If Bink were lying in the back of a pickup truck, he would appear to be sleeping off fried chicken and beer after St. Augustine’s Annual Catholic Picnic. Livi half expected him to rise up and ask for another Budweiser. If Bink could see himself now, he would be pleased. A smile played upon her lips, only to vanish when three yellow petals dropped into his ear.
Fussing, Gretta lowered the bulky casket spray onto the closed portion of the split lid. She nodded toward the stray petals. “Grab those, will you?”
Livi plunged both hands into her pockets. “Are you crazy? You’re the one who shattered that mum.”
The sisters peered into the casket, mouths agape.
After a long pause, Gretta checked her watch. “Eileen will be here any minute. We can’t leave those petals there.”
“Try blowing them out.”
Gretta shrugged, leaned toward Bink’s sunburned ear, and puffed, but the ear hairs twining around the petals held them hostage.
“Come on, Gretta.”
“Why don’t you do it?”
“Just blow harder.”
Livi caught the familiar spark that ignited in Gretta’s eyes whenever Gretta hatched one of her hasty plans.
Gretta plucked a wad of gum from her mouth and shrugged again. “No big loss. The flavor’s gone.” Her nimble fingers rolled the blob into the shape of a worm. She mashed one end into a sticky stub and stabbed at the petals with it. When she tugged to extract them, the warm gum stretched into a limp string, one end attached to Bink’s ear hairs.
Livi’s chest tightened.
“Hold this.” Gretta stuck her end of the gum on Livi’s fingers. A wisp lingered between her thumb and Gretta’s, until Gretta severed it and dashed from the room. Gretta’s footsteps faded down the hall, and her voice called, “Be right back.” A door clicked shut, trapping silence inside.
Livi stood with one hand still in her pocket and the other hand leashed to a dead man’s ear. She should have sent rookie designer Sophie to help make this delivery. She surveyed the familiar room, ringed with more floral sprays and plants than she had seen at one service in many years. Change rarely visited her hometown of Mount Helicon, Missouri, including the funeral parlor. The room appeared as it did that dreadful day so long ago—same wall paper, same chairs. Even the same guest book table stood in the hallway where, over the years, each townsperson signed in countless times. One by one, folks of Mount Helicon made their ways from signing guest books to filling coffins. Bink’s turn had arrived; she shuddered to wonder whose came next.
That does it. Sophie gets this job from now on.
Scurrying back, Gretta wielded her large handbag. She rushed to a nearby table, shoved aside a tissue box, plopped down her pregnant purse, and rummaged through it.
“Ah-ha!” She held high the object of her search before dashing to the coffin. With tweezers in hand, she poised over the body. “Sorry, Bink.” In one swift jerk, she plucked out the petals, complete with gum and hair. Without hesitation, she deposited the sticky mass under the leaves of a potted begonia tagged with a card from “Brand X,” Gretta’s code name for the local competitor, and clucked her tongue. “Their work is so tacky. Tacky, tacky, tacky. They’ll be out of business in six months. Mark my word.”
Gretta cleaned the tweezers with a tissue, deposited the instrument into her handbag, swept her handbag from the table, and fled the scene.
Livi beat her sister to the get-away van. Before Gretta hopped into the passenger seat, Livi started the engine and held the gearshift in reverse. With Gretta struggling to close the passenger door, Livi backed the van into the street. The engine roared, tires squealed, and Livi sped away, wanting nothing more at that moment than to return to the shop—and to the walk-in cooler.

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