Page 111 of Cash

Epilogue

“Missus Flannigan,we’re out of Cleveland Sage,” Billy said. “And there’s a man here who wants a full pallet.”

I pulled off my reading glasses and set them aside. “How can we be out of Cleveland Sage? I just brought two-dozen pallets up on Wednesday.”

“You were gone yesterday, ma’am. Someone from El Cajon came in and bought all that was left. He bought all the Matilija Poppies as well. I put a note on your desk.”

My desk was a mess, but it was always a mess by the time Saturday arrived. I glanced around my desk only to find a dozen notes I hadn’t got to yet.

“No more notes, Billy. Send me a text message or an email. Or find Tisha, or Jennifer if you have to.”

He lowered his head. “Okay.”

“I’m not mad,” I said apologetically. “I just. I’m sorry. I’m frustrated. Not with you, though. Who bought the Cleveland Sage?”

He looked up. “He was a contractor for that new golf course. He said they’re the best he’s seen.”

My heart fluttered at the thought of such a compliment. But my operation was small. We didn’t buy flowers from wholesalers and resell them. We grew them from seeds. They were my babies.

“Oh, wow, tell him we appreciate his business,” I said. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t here yesterday. Cash and I were at the…we had a meeting.”

“Was it?” His face lit up. “Did you hear?”

“It was. And no, we haven’t. Not yet. We’re still waiting. Praying is more like it. Have you seen him? This morning?”

“He was in earlier, but just for a few minutes.”

Saturday was Cash’s only day to work at our nursery. He devoted about four hours to situating things, loading trucks, and doing heavy lifting.

Sometimes Reno would help him, and from time to time Tito or Ghost would show up. All in all, my dreams had come true. All but one, that is.

I set my glasses aside. “Thank you. I’ll see if I can find him.”

As Billy walked away, I glanced at my desk. Covered in notes, catalogs, and magazines, it was impossible for me to see all the notes Billy left on my desk. He was a great kid, but he wasn’t much of a techie.

The offspring of two SoCal hippies, he carried an old-school flip phone that he used for emergencies only.

I lifted one of the magazines, looked at the cover, and then tossed it aside out of frustration. As I dug through the piles of hand-written notes, my desk phone rang.

“Sherwood Florist,” I said. “This is Kimberly.”

“Kimberly, this is Janet, from placement. How are you?”

My heart stopped. “I’m uhhm. I’m.” I tried to swallow but couldn’t. I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth and swallowed hard. “I’m great.”

“I’m sorry to call on Saturday, but I felt it would be best if I did. I know how you and Brock have been disappointed with…well, there’s no sense in prolonging this. I’m sorry, I’m stammering, I think I’m as excited as you two are going to be.”

My heart pounded against my ribs. “Do I….do I have a reason to be excited? Do we have a reason to be excited?”

“You do. You’ve been selected,”she said. “Congratulations.”

I gasped, and almost dropped the phone. My eyes welled with tears. “Really?”

“It’s true. I have the paperwork drafted, and all we have to do is get everything signed. She’s scheduled to be born on the eighteenth of next month, so I hope everything’s in order.”

I reached for the Parenting magazine I’d cast aside and admired the cover. A precious photo of a baby girl holding a rattle brought tears down my cheeks.

“Kimberly? Are you there?”