Page 2 of The Mobster's Flower

“Move!” she cries out, grabbing my arm and pulling me away from my flower cart. I struggle against her for a moment, but she has an iron grip. “Leave it, Rue! There’s no time!”

Several agonizing seconds later, the car drives straight into my flower cart. The sound of metal hitting metal fills the air. The collision with my flower cart is enough to slow the car, and the bollard in front of the bakery on the other side of it halts the car’s momentum entirely.

It all happens in less than a minute, but it feels longer, and at one point, my eyes connect with the driver’s panicked expression. She looks just as terrified as I feel, but I am helpless to do anything but stand there and watch her destroy my dream.

Flower petals and broken stems fall like colorful confetti, swirling and twirling in what would be a mesmerizing scene if my heart wasn’t breaking. The delicate blooms float gracefully in the air before gently descending to the ground. The scent of crushed petals mingles with the smell of oil, creating a bittersweet aroma in the air.

It’s like a beautiful scene in a movie. A horror movie in which I am starring.

I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience, watching as everything settles. Moments ago, I had a beautiful new flower cart, and now in its spot is a Porsche with a crushed front fender, covered with flowers in a kaleidoscope of colors.

My flowers!

A few passersby gather around the car, stepping on my flowers as they approach it, and with every crushed petal, I feel my heart break further.

“Rue, are you okay?” Annie whispers from my side, rubbing a hand on my arm.

Am I okay?

I want to laugh at the question, but I can’t move any of my muscles. All I can do is stare at the wreckage and feel my heart give in from the crushing weight of despair.

When I first came to Valor Springs, I was a little girl, about five years old, and my mother brought me with her to visit Annie. On the way, we stopped at a flower shop to grab some flowers and a gift to bring to my aunt, and that was when I fell in love. That flower shop felt like a magical place to five-year-old me. The lady who helped us pick the right flowers looked like a fairy to me, and for a long time, I believed fairies lived in flower shops, and I wanted to become one.

A fairy.

Every moment of my twenty-one years has been spent trying to be just that. I started working at a greenery, living in my parents’ house to save every last penny I earned so that I could come back to Valor Springs and fulfill my dream. Three years of hard work and determination, and I just watched it all go down in flames. Well, in my case, crushed into a pile of shattered petals.

The tears come first, and I blink them away. Or at least I try to, but they fall anyway. My eyes shift from the crushed flowers to the mangled cart. There isn’t one stem to be salvaged anywhere in sight.

A groan from the car snaps my attention away from the wreck that is my cart to the car where someone has opened the driver’s door to check on the young woman behind the wheel. While my cart kept and the bollard kept the car from hitting Annie’s bakery—thank God—it is clearly totaled. The front is caved in and I can see that the air bag deployed. I hear a pained moan coming from the driver’s seat. Christ, I can’t believe I am thinking about my flowers when there is a girl still in her car and possibly injured.

“We have to help her,” I tell Annie, rushing forward with my aunt on my heels.

“Rue…”

I reach the driver’s side and good Samaritan who’d stopped to help moves aside at the sight of my aunt and me. The driver is a girl with jet-black hair. She’s still wearing her seatbelt, and there’s an angry red welt on her face, but the airbag has fortunately deflated already. She groans again and raises a hand to hold her head.

Behind me, I hear my aunt barking orders at the man who’d stopped to help. “Gerry, call an ambulance. I think she’s hurt.”

“I’m fine,” the girl mumbles, sounding dazed. She turns her head to me, and her hair parts to reveal striking hazel eyes that speak volumes about her age. Good Lord, is she even old enough to drive?

“No, you are not fine,” I tell her, unsure of what to do. “You just had an accident. Can you tell me where it hurts?”

“I’m sorry,” she whimpers, her lips trembling. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, just tell me where it hurts.”

Her eyes fill up as she stares at me, and I can hear the remorse in her voice when she speaks. “I’m sorry,” she chokes out, pain in her eyes. “I tried to stop, but the brakes wouldn’t work. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine, help in on the way.”

“I’m sorry,” she sobs. “I’ll…. I will pay for everything.”

“Hush now, sweetie. The important thing is that you’re okay,” Annie says at my side. A feel a pang of guilt at her words. Here I am, upset over a destroyed cart. It’s a devastating blow, but by no means more important than this girl’s life. From the sound of it, this could have gone much worse.

Annie reaches in and releases the seatbelt, but when the girl tries to turn in her seat, she puts a gentle hand out to stop her. “Stay still. We don’t know where you’re hurt yet. Better to let the paramedics have a look before you try to move.”

The girl is clearly in pain, and as much as my loss hurts me, her genuine remorse tugs at my heart, so I grab her hand in mine and gently squeeze her fingers, hoping both to distract and reassure her. We just need to wait until help gets here, and then I will worry about the rest.

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