Page 35 of Baby, Be Mine

What the hell had Jackie meant by that? Food was comfort. It was just being kind to bring her food. And to make sure she was okay.

It was the neighborly thing to do, that was all.

EIGHT

I backedout of my space and drove out the side entrance. It was a bumpier road, but it cut onto the lake road. I headed for my dad’s place. His greenhouse was half a mile from his house, and I figured I’d find him at one or the other.

His battered green Jeep was parked beside the old sign for Brooks’ Greenery. The latticework layer of the sign had seen better days and needed a good coat of paint again. I remembered doing the last coat just before I’d moved away. God, it felt like another lifetime ago.

However, the stone pavers and flowers were well-tended.

The trumpeting daffodils were being phased out since spring was in our rearview, but a few strong ones were interspersed with his prize tulips. The deep variegated white and purple petals were shiny with a fresh afternoon watering. Baptisia framed the tulips and were fluttering gently in the summer breeze with their delicate lavender petals.

A few pops of yellow and pink flowers I’d forgotten the names of that looked like new plantings peeked up along the front of the stones bordering the flower bed. My dad wasn’t very good with change or updates, but he never let his flowers look scraggly.

I dug into the to-go bag for an order of the mac and cheese and barbecue. A bribe for my dad for some flowers might get me a little something extra to take with me to Emma’s place.

Gravel crunched under my boots as I crossed the parking lot to the door. The tinkle of the bell brought me back to days working behind the counter as a kid.

An ancient circular table was tucked near the windows with a pile of look-books with cracked spines. As many babies were born in Crescent Cove, there were still a ton of funerals that happened as well.

Flowers were always a necessity at the beginning or the end of life.

My dad’s feature wall was filled with photos of his arrangements from various floral expos, weddings, and a pegboard of thank you notes from happy customers. Beside that was a trio of coolers that held single stem roses in an array of colors, lilies, wildflowers, as well as the greenery fillers he used for quick bouquets.

As usual, the front end wasn’t manned. He was probably in the back working on an arrangement or at his favorite propagating bench.

“Dad?” I set the bag on the counter and went around it to the doorway.

The lilting orchestral music he played for his plant babies played softly. He was wearing his usual plaid shirt and a pair of lightweight work pants in deference to the heat. His mossy green Crocs were covered in flower shrapnel and his oiled canvas apron pockets bulged with his usual tools. Shears, knives, and bits of foam he used for his arrangements all had their own pockets.

My dad was old school in every way, even in his tools.

An array of daisies, Black Eyed Susans, and his signature Perfect Pink roses were spread out on his bench with a crystal vase in progress. A pair of cheaters perched on the tip of his nose as he was carefully grafting a stunning magenta rose into one of the stems of a potted Perfect Pink.

When my dad was in propagating mode, he didn’t hear anything. His patience was never-ending for his ‘babies’. Customers didn’t exist when he was in his zone.

Sometimes a delivery of mine could jar him loose.

I returned to the counter and dug into the barbecue, flipping off the top and returning to his work room. I set the carton beside his elbow and waited. Either he’d finish what he was doing, or the scent of food would do the trick.

Either way, rushing him wasn’t an option.

I leaned against the doorjamb for all of five minutes before he took a sniff of the air and pulled off his glasses. “Mason!”

“Hey, Dad.”

“How long have you been there?”

“Just a minute or so.”

“Liar.” He peered into the carton beside him. “Bribe?”

“I can’t just bring my dad some lunch?”

“Not with the way you’ve been running around that restaurant of yours lately. And that sparkly new boat.” His eyes crinkled at the corners and his sandy hair was disheveled around his strong face.

“Been out to my place?” Surprised, I backed out of the doorway and grabbed the mac and cheese and brought it back inside.

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