“I can’t believe we’re getting married,” she said, staring at the ring, then wiping the tears from her cheeks with her fingertips.
“It’s been a long time coming,” he said, kissing her still-damp cheeks.
“And we can spend the rest of our lives making up for that.”
Nine
THE ENTIRE SHOPwas packed to the brim with flowers. Expected, for a florist shop, but more jammed in than usual. There was barely any room to move, and the scent from the extra bunches of lilies had become so intense that Charmaine had to pop out of the shop every now and then to gasp for breaths of fresh air. The preposterous idea that floral arrangements would be too beautifully scented had never once entered her mind before. But now she understood why so many of their clients asked to hold back on the lilies when they put together an arrangement for a special occasion.
Betsy had rushed from appointment to appointment all morning long. But now it was midday, and she was seated at the small desk in the back of the shop doing paperwork while eating a sandwich. There was a crease of concentration across her forehead, and one foot tapped incessantly on the floor. Her long silk kaftan was purple with orange and yellow flowers, and she had a matching ribbon tied neatly around her grey curls. Purple eyeshadow coated both eyelids, and she had red lipstick smudged around one side of her mouth while perfectly applied on the other. She glanced in the mirror hanging behind the desk and fixed her lipstick before taking another bite of sandwich.
Charmaine set a stack of flyers advertising their wedding arrangements on the table in the centre of the room and studied her a moment. She was curious to ask Betsy how she was doing, but didn’t want to intrude or step over the line. In recent weeks her son had yelled at her, then she’d gotten into a disagreement with Penny’s mother at the engagement party. Yet she always appeared completely unruffled. It was difficult for Charmaine to figure out whether it was appropriate to ask her boss personal questions. But Betsy had been so good to her in the weeks since she started working there, she honestly cared.
“Betsy, do you mind if I interrupt to ask you a question?”
Betsy paused, put down her pen and looked at Charmaine with curiosity in her tired eyes. “Not at all, honey. Shoot.”
“There’s a cat called Watson who showed up at my back door. I let him into the flat, and he seems to have made himself at home there. I thought I should talk to you about it and make sure you don’t mind.”
Betsy waved a hand. “Not at all. Watson’s more like a neighbourhood cat than anything. I’m glad he’s comfortable around you. He never seems to want to spend any time with me, even though I’ve often left him a saucer of milk by the back door. I guess he’s particular about who he befriends.” She chuckled.
Charmaine smiled. “Thank you — I’m sure he won’t leave a mess or anything. And I’ll clean up after him if he does.” It seemed everyone in town knew Watson. They all had the same story — he was a community cat, but didn’t take to people easily. She was grateful he’d chosen her. He was already a big part of her life. She only hoped he’d stick around.
“It’s fine, honey. I trust you to take care of things.”
Charmaine linked her hands together behind her back. “Betsy, I was just wondering… You can tell me if I’m being too nosy, but… If it’s not too much of an imposition, are you okay?”
Betsy swallowed a bite of sandwich and peered at her over half-moon glasses perched on her thin nose. “I’m fine, honey. Why do you ask?”
“The other day, I saw you in here throwing papers around. It seemed as though you were a bit frazzled. And another time, your son was shouting… Anyway, it’s really none of my business. But if there’s anything I can do to help…”
Betsy smiled. “Well, aren’t you a darling. Thank you, honey. I really appreciate it. And yes, I suppose I’m having a bit of a rough time lately. I don’t mind you asking one little bit. It’s nice to have friends who care.”
She hadn’t thought of herself as Betsy’s friend before, but the idea was an appealing one since she didn’t have many friends. She’d left her last friend behind when she fled her home after her mother’s death. And since then, she’d barely stayed in one place long enough to build any kind of meaningful relationship.
“You’re welcome,” she said, unsure how else to respond. She twisted the hem of her shirt around, looking for more words to say but finding her mind blank.
Betsy shuffled over to where Charmaine stood. “The truth is, my brother is in prison.”
Charmaine’s mouth fell open. “In prison? For what?” she said without thinking.
Betsy sighed. “Some people think he killed a woman a long time ago. But he didn’t—he’s innocent. They proved him innocent back then, so I don’t know why we have to go through this all over again. It seems entirely unfair to me.”
“Wow,” Charmaine said, regretting her thoughtless question. Mum had always admonished her about her impulsive words.
Think about other people’s feelings. Soften your sentences, she’d say.
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Charmaine replied, her words gentler. “That must be very hard for you.”
“The worst of it is, he’d finally pulled his life back together and was living quietly, alone. He didn’t hurt anyone—didn’t do anything to deserve this. It seems so wrong. But it is what it is, I suppose.” She blinked. “Anyway, I was looking for some coins. I had a collection, you see. A long time ago. I put them together, in case of hard times. And now I can’t for the life of me remember where I stowed them. Somewhere safe, of course. I was going to use them to pay for his lawyer—they call them solicitors over here. I went through everything in this entire room and didn’t see a sign of them. You haven’t seen any old coins lying around, have you? They’re quite valuable.”
Charmaine shook her head. “No, but if I do, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
It was prescience, or destiny, or something like that — it had to be. Both of them had been through so much with their families. Both had wayward brothers. Of course, the difference was that Charmaine’s brother was missing and she had no idea where to find him. Whether he was innocent of the things she suspected him of doing was another thing. Maybe he’d end up in prison himself one day. She hoped she was wrong about that — she loved him still, regardless of the way he’d treated her after their mother’s death. And perhaps he had a good reason for disappearing and leaving her to cope with it all alone. She didn’t know because he hadn’t contacted her. Not once.
Thinking about it now, it seemed even stranger than it had before. Perhaps he was hurt, or in trouble. She hadn’t considered that before, although why not, she couldn’t say. She thought of him as indestructible — her big, strong, older brother. Nothing could touch him. He was charismatic, fearless, loveable and endlessly frustrating all at once. If only he would let her know that he was okay and where he was staying, it would give her peace of mind. But he either hadn’t thought it necessary to do that, or he was unable to. Maybe she should contact the police and report him missing. But what if he was on the run?
If Betsy’s brother was wrongfully imprisoned, she felt bad for him and for Betsy. It would be difficult to live your entire life under the shadow of guilt for a crime you didn’t commit. No wonder Betsy seemed on edge sometimes.
