Page 2 of A Bouquet of Dreams

After the first few weeks of lockdown, Claire happened to be listening to a podcast about how people were desperate for connection. A light bulb went off in her head. Flowers were messengers! So why not encourage customers to send flowers that conveyed a message?I miss you(pink and red carnations, Stargazer lilies),I love you(red roses, red chrysanthemums),I’m thinking of you(daisies, lilies, tulips), on and on. Claire’s favorite:Have patience(aster). MaryBeth had given Claire’s idea a rare thumbs-up—probably because sales had dwindled so dramatically and she was scared. Claire proposed a subscription service for Same Day Delivery, where customers would spend a fixed amount each month to send two bouquets to whomever they wanted. What a difference it made! Same Day Delivery weathered the pandemic and Claire had proved her worth.

So why were MaryBeth and Arthur waiting to retire? Claire was more than ready. And she was turning twenty-five—her target age to start her empire. No wonder she was acting squirrelly lately.

But she didn’t say any of that out loud. As petite and coiffed and manicured as MaryBeth was, something about her scared Claire.

Out of her apron pocket, MaryBeth pulled a brochure. She handed it to Claire. “Plan on attending this.”

The Georgia drawl in Mary Beth’s voice had thickened like clotted cream. There was a tone to it that meantend of conversation. If that wasn’t clear enough, she turned and went through the swinging door into the workshop.

Claire looked at the brochure’s cover.Blooming with Excellence: Elevating Customer Service Skills for Florist Shop Workers. Tidy, prim little flower arrangements covered every spare inch of the brochure.Ick.And that’s when Claire realized she was going to have to give up her birthday to sit in a room and listen to speakers teach her things that she already knew. Unbelievable! This was not how turning twenty-five was supposed to roll out.

two

Every flower must grow through dirt.

—Laurie Jean Sennott

Early the next day, Claire woke to the buzz of an incoming happy birthday text on her cell phone. She picked it up, blinked, yawned. It was her dad, texting from Germany. She smiled. He always remembered.

Dad

Happy birthday!

Claire

Thanks!

A package should arrive soon. It’s Nana’s Bible.

It came! Thank you! I love it. I remember how often she read it at the kitchen table. I’ll take good care of it.

Maybe read it now and then too.

Haha.

Have you given any more thought about moving to Germany? They need florists here too.

Nope. Can’t. My plans here are in liftoff mode!

Sort of in liftoff mode. More like ... sputtering-to-start-the-engines mode. But there was no way on God’s green earth that Claire would move to wherever Dad was stationed. She knew the drill. As soon as she arrived, he’d get transferred somewhere else.

She set her phone down, slipping into a vortex of memories. She’d spent her entire childhood as a military brat. Her mother had gone AWOL (Dad’s euphemistic term) after a few years as a military wife, when Claire was a toddler. “One too many moves” was all Claire knew of her mother, or why she’d left them. Years later, she thought she might understand it. By high school, she’d been to seven schools and Dad had new orders for another move—this one was somewhere in the Middle East. Enough, she’d decided, and told Dad she wanted to live with his parents in Sunrise, North Carolina. Happily, he didn’t object. It was a good decision. She had loved high school, other than the school part. And she had adored her grandparents.

So what was she doing in Savannah, Georgia?

Well, first and foremost, the South was the only place to live. Claire had seen enough of the world as an army brat to know that much for herself.

By Claire’s senior year in high school, life at home was rapidly changing. Her grandfather had passed away suddenly. Dad was given compassionate leave to fly in from overseas. While Nana was napping, Claire and her dad had sat in the big room near the woodstove, sipping tea. She’d been telling Dad that Nana seemed to be getting forgetful in the worst way.

Dad was listening carefully before he dropped a bombshell. “Claire, I’m moving Nana to a nursing facility. That’s one of the things I came back to do while I’m on leave.”

Claire’s stomach rose and fell. Hold the phone! She wanted herdad to say he was coming home to stay ... not to put Nana in a home. She tried to object, insisting that she could take care of Nana, but she knew she couldn’t. A tiny part of her was relieved when her dad wouldn’t hear of it. Nana liked to wander, especially during the night. Right after Grandpa had died, Claire had woken and couldn’t find her. She finally called the police, and they had found Nana walking in her nightie along the dark, winding mountain road that led to Asheville. Speeding cars, wild animals, slippery ditches. Terrifying.

“The thing is,” Dad said, “Grandpa had compensated for her in more ways than we realized. With him gone, Nana’s dementia is not only more obvious but far worse.”

And then came another blow. To pay for Nana’s nursing home costs, Dad needed to sell the house. “You can stay in the house until it sells, which ought to happen right around graduation time,” he told Claire. “Then...”

Thenwhat? She would turn eighteen in July. She had a pretty good idea what came next in his mind. “I’m not joining the military.”

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