Flowers for Rachel

Yellow Marguerites

"Hello? Rachel? are you with us? Earth to Rachel!" Tina cried, shaking me by the arm as I clean a glass case full of jewellery repeatedly with the same swipe of my left hand, and doing so since my shift began. I worked Thursdays with Tina who was a freshman at college, and we were the only two willing enough to drag our butts in during one of the deadest days of the week...you can be sure that we did not make our sales goals whatsoever.

It's just us, Jane, and crap radio music on a loop.

"Sorry," I muttered, casting my eyes down at the obnoxiously loud carpet that's embellished by our brand's logo. "I've just got a lot on my mind."

"School? You've got midterms coming up, right?" she asked with a flutter of compassion, her face contorting into worry as she sails on the same academic boat as me.

"Er...yeah," I replied, mentally disregarding all my worries as a student and occupied entirely by the hooded man who darted out of aunt Gillian's front lawn. Whoever that obscured guy was, I'd catch him no matter what. All I know so far, is that this person has a serious thing for flowers and lives in my neighbourhood...or is eerily familiar with it.

Yikes...maybe Beth is right. This guy could be dangerous and every fibre of my being engrained by the slogan, "stranger, danger" since the age of five is screaming at me to be cautious rather than a hopeless romantic who's pinning her daily dose of serotonin by the sweeping grand gesture that involuntarily makes my heart twist.

"Do you want to talk about it after work?" Tina suggested, giving me a tiny smile of consolation.

Returning her smile, I shake my head to snap my thoughts away from playing detective. "Thanks, but I think I'll be okay once I'm home and in bed."

And true to my word, I manage to endure the heinously boring evening shift, smiling contentedly when Jane locks up the doors and we each go our separate ways.

I don't even have one foot through the grey-stone house before I'm hounded by aunt Gillian who's watching me with narrowed eyes full of suspicion. "Do you have anything to tell me, young lady?"

"Young lady?" I questioned, stunned eyes widening at her hardened face containing forehead wrinkles that scrutinise me closely.

"Okay...I had an awkward encounter where a man wanted to buy a peace offering, so his wife would forgive him from a falling out and he came back today to return the purchase, letting me know that she filed for a divorce."

"What that man needs is to buy him and his spouse therapy sessions, not some half assed material make-up item," Gillian huffed angrily, absorbed by my story but can't refrain from asking her next question. "Well, how much did this sorry lump spend?"

"About seven hundred on a bag, I guess," I said, tossing off my shoes at the entrance and slipping into comfortable slides.

I'm about to make my way past Gillian when she plants a firm foot on the ground, blocking access to the remainder of the house. "That's not what I wanted to hear, although Deloris is going to get a kick out of that story when I go over to her place tomorrow for tea."

"Then what? I'm doing okay in school and I haven't been fired from work yet, so everything's good, right?" I hurriedly spluttered out, shrinking back from her imposing old figure.

"Those daisies," she fumed, struggling to churn the words out of her mouth.

"What about them? I placed them in water."

"Do you know the meaning of those flowers, Rachel?" Gillian countered, unrelenting in her interrogation.

"No," I mumbled weakly, not sure what the issue is or if they were taboo in her home. Gillian has a lot of quirks and there's plenty of things she dislikes, like yellow coloured towels or dried dill.