A cheerful jingle announced Hubert's entry. Not an electronic beep or a mechanical buzz, but a real bell hanging over the top of the door. Earthy smells wafted through the air. Damp dirt, sweet blossoms, and the green smell of snapped stems.
D. K. Wall:Myrtle's Florals felt like a place out of time, but that's why he had always liked the shop, especially now as he felt like a man out of time too.
D. K. Wall:A young woman, all bright eyes and a smudge of pollen on her cheek, looked up from a flurry of ribbon and tissue paper. Hello there. Welcome in. What can I get you on this crazy day?
D. K. Wall:She was young, maybe 20. The math was stark. He was four times her age at least. Good morning. I was hoping to see Myrtle.
D. K. Wall:A flicker of recognition, then an apology. Oh, she's out on a delivery run. It's Valentine's Day, you know, all hands on deck. She wiped her hands on her apron. I'm Jessica, her granddaughter. I'm home from college for the weekend doing my share. Can I help you find something?
D. K. Wall:Hubert's shoulders sagged just a fraction. Myrtle knew. She always knew. I need flowers for my wife, Ava.
D. K. Wall:Jessica's professional smile tightened into a wince. Oh, sir. I am so sorry. We've had a run on everything. We're completely out of long stemmed roses. I might have a few carnations left, but...
D. K. Wall:He offered a gentle reassuring smile. That's quite alright, my dear. Roses aren't for Ava. He let his gaze drift over the buckets of leftovers, some cheerful yellow daffodils, a few stems of pale pink stock, a spray of delicate white baby's breath.
D. K. Wall:For the first few years, I brought her roses big expensive bouquets. I thought it was what you were supposed to do. Then one evening, she confessed. She said roses felt obligatory. She preferred wildflowers. A surprise she'd say in each bundle. Whatever was in season all mixed up. A happy little riot of color, she called it.
D. K. Wall:Jessica's hands, had been nervously twisting a ribbon, stilled. Wildflowers, she repeated softly, a genuine smile blooming on her face. I can do that. That's a much better story than roses.
D. K. Wall:As she began selecting stems, her movements quick and practiced, she asked, so how long have you and Ava been married?
D. K. Wall:The memory surfaced as clear as the winter sun outside, a small country church, the scent of honeysuckle through the open windows, sweat dribbling down Hubert's back under the borrowed suit, the button straining to keep the coat closed. Ava's hand so small and warm in his as they stood nervously in front of the minister. Sixty four years last June.
D. K. Wall:Jessica held a daffodil midair. Her eyes glistened. 64. Wow. My grandparents made it to 48 before grandpa died and left Myrtle a widow. My parents didn't make it half that long before they divorced, and everyone thought even that was a miracle. She lowered her voice slightly as if asking to be let in on a deep secret. What's the trick to it?
D. K. Wall:Hubert chuckled, a low rumbling sound. He thought of all the years it took him to learn, the long hours at the office, the missed anniversaries, the times he had chosen work over a walk in the park.
D. K. Wall:There's no trick really. I learned to listen, truly listen. He watched Jessica group the flowers, her brow furrowed in concentration.
D. K. Wall:When I listened, I learned things. She didn't enjoy fancy restaurants. She'd tell me saying she'd rather have a picnic with fried chicken even if it was chilly. She didn't wear jewelry. She craved a hand to hold. She didn't want roses, preferring flowers I picked myself from the side of the road even if they were mostly weeds. He laughed quietly at the memories.
D. K. Wall:The secret, I suppose, is learning that the biggest gestures are usually the quietest ones. Jessica gazed out the plate glass window where sunlight bathed the sidewalk in a deceptive warmth. Picnic sounds lovely today. It almost feels like spring. It does, doesn't it? Hubert agreed.
D. K. Wall:With a final flourish, she wrapped the bouquet in simple brown paper and tied it with a pink ribbon. Well, I'm happy the weather is cooperating for your picnic this year. You'll have to plan something magnificent for your anniversary in June. Sixty five years is a big one. Blue sapphire. Right?
D. K. Wall:Hubert's heart gave a quiet, aching throb. June. He wouldn't see June. The doctors had been clear. Their words cloaked in kindness, but carrying the weight of finality. The cancer he had beaten back twice had returned for a third decisive round. He agreed to stop treatments, knowing there would be no more victories. Weeks, they said, not months.
D. K. Wall:But he didn't wanna burden the girl with his story, so he simply smiled. Every year with Ava is a big one. He paid for the flowers, the scent of them, a sweet promise in his hand.
D. K. Wall:The drive was short to where he would meet Ava for their picnic. The route, a geography etched onto his soul. In the passenger seat, the picnic basket radiated the savory aroma of fried chicken and baked beans.
D. K. Wall:He had made sun tea this morning, just the way she had done so many times for him, letting a glass jar of water and tea bags steep in the window sill. Probably left it brewing too long again, my love. My timing has never been as blessed as yours.
D. K. Wall:He felt a familiar weariness settle deep into his bones, a profound exhaustion that sleep no longer touched. He took a deep breath, pushing it away. Tomorrow, he would have that discussion with the doctor about hospice, but not today. Today was for Ava.
D. K. Wall:He turned off the main road and down the twisting route among the manicured landscape. The crunch of tires on gravel was the only sound. The grass, still in its winter slumber, was a pale tawny green, but it was impeccably neat.
D. K. Wall:He gathered the picnic basket in one hand and the bouquet in the other and walked the last short stretch. He didn't need to look for their spot. His feet already knew the way, having worn this path more times than he dared remember.
D. K. Wall:He spread out the old quilt, its plaid pattern faded to pastel softness by a 100 sunny afternoons. With meticulous care, he unpacked their lunch.
D. K. Wall:Two plates, a piece of crispy chicken for each, a scoop of potato salad from the deli, a pale imitation of her famous recipe, but it would do. He spooned the steaming baked beans from the thermos into small bowls. She never liked her food touching each other on the plate. For dessert, two spoons for the banana pudding.
D. K. Wall:And finally, the tea. He poured it into two glasses. The amber liquid reflected the light. It was a little dark. He had left it in the sun too long. He smiled. She teased him about the importance of getting tea just right.
D. K. Wall:He leaned back surveying the spread, a perfect picnic for his perfect girl, everything in its place except... The jaunty paper wrapped bouquet lay forlorn on the edge of the quilt. Can't forget the flowers, old man, he murmured.
D. K. Wall:He unwrapped them, and kneeling on the soft ground, arranged them carefully in the small bronze vase. He fluffed the daffodils and tucked the baby's breath in around the fuller blooms, balancing the pinks and yellows until it looked just right, the smattering of colors Ava loved.
D. K. Wall:Satisfied, he let his hand drift down from the vase, slide across the polished granite. His fingers traced the cool incised letters. Ava Marie Peterson. Beloved wife. Forever my sunshine.
D. K. Wall:She wasn't supposed to go first. In all their years together, that was the one scenario he had never allowed himself to imagine. But three years ago, her heart had fluttered its last, leaving a silence in his life that roared louder than any storm.
D. K. Wall:His lips moved as he whispered, but he knew she could hear him no matter how softly he spoke. They say I won't make it to our anniversary in June, my love. They don't know. That's the best news I've had since you left.
D. K. Wall:He picked up his glass of tea, the winter sun warm on his face, and held it high. To my forever Valentine, he whispered to the quiet air. I'll be home soon.