Page 42 of Grace

After I had picked a suit, Cyrus took me out for lunch. It was a nice spring day, warm enough to sit outside the restaurant. The wind had a little bite to it, but the sun was a pleasantly warm balm on my skin.

I needed this bubble in which only he and I existed. After five years of “solitude,” I found it difficult to be with people.

Both of us ordered cheese cream soup served in a bread bowl. The food was amazing, and the neighborhood was quiet and peaceful. Pigeons were cooing around us. However, when I looked at a flower and gift shop named Hortensia, the cheese turned sour in my mouth.

“Would you like to visit your parents’ grave?”

“I don’t even have money for flowers.” My voice was hoarse, full of anger and disappointment. My hand clenched into a fist on the table. I wanted to shout, “No!” I didn’t want to get them flowers. I wanted them to be alive. But that was too much to ask.

“We cops don’t get paid a lot, but I’ll make it work.” Cyrus stood up, ran his fingers through his windblown dark hair, and offered his hand.

I hesitated, my gaze flickering between him and the flower shop, before I gave in. I had to face the fact that my parents were dead.

“I don’t know where their grave is. I don’t know anything.”

“We’ll ask the groundskeeper when we get there.”

He took my hand and led me across the street. I didn’t know what he’d been more afraid of—me turning back or jumping in front of a car…

When we opened the door, a golden bell jingled above it. The place was full of gorgeous, colorful flowers. Their heavy, sweet scent evoked temptation—it was too much and too little at the same time.

“I don’t know how to thank you for your kindness,” I whispered. “Is it in your job description, or…?”

Cyrus furrowed his brow and looked at me as if I were an alien.

“I am human, Grace. I have feelings,” he mumbled.

It was unbelievable—the huge, hard-faced cop had a heart of gold. Still, part of me wasn’t surprised.

“Tulips were my mom’s favorite.”

“Then tulips it is.” Cyrus stepped up to the counter and rang the other golden bell built in it. Once, twice, three times.

“Shopkeepers don’t like impatient customers,” I noted.

“Abigail is almost deaf,” he replied, smiling.

“Do you come here often?” I stroked the silky petals of one of the lilies with my fingertip.

“No.”

“Then how do you know her?”

“The old hag once flipped the bird on me. We had a green light, but her car didn’t move an inch. I honked for a long time, then got out of my car and slapped her hood. Still no reaction. Then I yelled at her and waved my hands in frustration. In the middle of the street. When I walked back to my car, I glanced back and saw her stick her arm out the window and give me the middle finger.”

“She sounds cool.” I smiled at the story.

“More like crazy. The old woman has hearing aids but doesn’t wear them out of pride.” Cyrus shook his head and raked his fingers through his hair.

“Pick a few, I’ll find her in the meantime.” He walked to the storeroom with heavy steps.

After a short time, a woman shuffled into the shop, clicking her tongue. She wasn’t that old—I’d thought she’d be ninety, but she barely looked older than sixty.

A sharp, beeping sound pierced the balmy air. Abigail set the hearing aids in her ears to the correct frequency while staring daggers at Cyrus, who smiled and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“Can you hear me now?” he whispered, teasing.

“I wish I couldn’t,” she grumbled, then looked at me. “Your girlfriend?”