Fetch Me If You Can - SoGS #8

You know that feeling when in reality, only seconds are passing, yet hours’ worth of thoughts fly through your head? It’s like when you trip, and somehow have time to decide whether to fall on your right or left side, if you should put your hands out or step forward to just make a really awkward almost-fall.

That’s exactly what’s happening as I stare at Anika Clemmons in shock. What could Will’s mom possibly be doing at Delamore Funerals? I don’t recognize any of the adults in the group behind her, but maybe they’re family members or friends. Did a member of the Clemmons family die?

And did Will ever have a chance to tell his mom I don’t work at Morning’s Glory?

Mrs. Clemmons nods in answer to my surprised exclamation of, “You’re Will’s mom?” and blinks as understanding crosses her face. “Oh, are you Ella Bentley?”

“Yes, I am. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. My aunt Rita passed away, so we’re setting up her funeral.” A little smile spreads across her face, despite her sadness, and I remember Will mentioning his great-aunt being in the hospital. “Will told me you work here.”

Oh, thank goodness. Thankfully she hasn’t mentioned the florist… maybe we can just pretend that misunderstanding didn’t happen. I glance down at my desk awkwardly, but summon my courage and return her smile with one of my own – a small one, of course. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Clemmons. I’ll let Mr. Delamore know you’re here.”

Her group takes a seat on one of the sofas in the lobby as I notify Mr. Delamore, the funeral director. When the group’s meeting is over and they’ve left the home, I find Susan and ask her about the day of Rita’s funeral. I’m not scheduled that day, so I make a quick stop at the florist after work so I can get Mrs. Clemmons some flowers.

Pulling up in front of Morning’s Glory brings a wash of the hopes and dreams I’d had at the beginning of the summer. The windows are framed with sheer pink curtains, flowerboxes resting beneath each one. A brick pathway leads up to the open door, and inside, bouquets are wrapped in pastel floral paper and rest in glass vases.

A florist in a muted blue apron greets me when I enter. I compliment the store’s décor, which has been updated since I last came in, and ask for a small bouquet to give to a grieving friend. She shows me several options, and I purchase one with daisies, yarrow, and chrysanthemums. Not the typical Peace Lilies that would be expected, but a sentimental choice that symbolizes hope after a hard time.

Will isn’t home (not that I expected him to be or anything) but Mrs. Clemmons greets me with a long hug, her eyes tearing up when I hand her the flowers. She immediately sits me down in her living room with a glass of lemonade. Like Will had implied, Mrs. Clemmons tells me she wasn’t very close with her aunt. But all the same, I understand how no one likes to lose a family member – even one you didn’t know very well.

“So,” she eyes the wrapping on the little bouquet, “The other day Will told me you don’t actually work at the florist.” Her gaze is curious but not condescending.

“No,” I admit. “Just the funeral home.”

A smile brushes across her face. “I admire that. Not many teenagers would look there for a place to work.”

“Well, originally I didn’t look there, but… I actually enjoy it. A lot more than I thought I would.”

She nods. “It’s wonderful that you realize that so young. I wish I’d been taught that lesson when I was still in school.” We talk for a few more minutes before I get a text from my mom asking me to pick up some groceries for her.

And as I drive down the road with the sun’s warmth seeping through the windows and the flowers’ scent still lingering in my car, I can’t help but smile.

--

“So you’re trying to tell me that you’re ‘just friends’ with Will?”

I cringe at the laughter in Ryleigh’s voice. It sounds bad, but what else am I supposed to say? Instead of arguing, I try to reason with her. “Ryleigh. What would someone who really is ‘just friends’ say?” I tap my pencil on my calendar, waiting for her to answer on the other end of the phone. It’s getting close enough to when school starts that I’ve started planning out my schedule for the beginning of the school year. Mom told me the other day that I should work through my junior year to keep earning money, but I never heard anything from Morning’s Glory, so now I’m just debating whether to send my two weeks’ into Delamore Funerals. Susan’s probably already expecting this since she did hire me for a summer job.

Finally, Ryleigh sighs. “I guess they would have to say that they’re ‘just friends,’ but I wouldn’t believe them.”

“Right.” My mind snaps back to the problem at hand. “So what am I supposed to say to you to make you believe me?”

“Hmm…” I can practically hear the wheels turning in Ryleigh’s head. “Say you’ll volunteer at the animal shelter with me tomorrow?”

“What?” My pencil clatters on the ground. “Ryleigh…”

“It’s the next thing on our bucket list!” She rushes to explain. “We’ll volunteer for the day, probably get some more tanning in, and play with cute puppies! Doesn’t that sound fun?”

“It’s your bucket list.” I lean back in my chair, blowing a long breath out. “But I guess it could be fun. Maybe. And if I do this, you’ll stop trying to set me up with Will?”

Another sigh. A long one. “Fiiiiine. I’ll stop.”

I smile, satisfied. “You’re the best. See you tomorrow.”

--

Actually, I see Ryleigh that afternoon when I make an impulsive stop at Ultimate Boba on the way to Karl’s to look (again) for a car. Thankfully, when I tell her where I’m headed she doesn’t make a peep about Will. She just nods and hands me my order of coconut milk tea with brown sugar boba.

“I looove this car.” I touch the hood of a grey Subaru. The price marking reads less than ten grand, and it looks to be in almost perfect condition.

Will nods. “That’s a good one. We’ve had it for a while, but do you want to see how it runs?”

“Sure.” I pull out my phone, starting a video recording to show my dad later. We didn’t have much luck when he came with me last week, but I’m not giving up.

I film the video while Will puts the key into the ignition and rotates it. A tiny sputtering comes from the car, and the dashboard lights up. Will tries again, but the engine still won’t start.

“Hmm.” He frowns, sliding out of the car. “Maybe the starter’s dead. I’ll see if Karl wants me to take a look.” He glances at the other cars. “There is another one in fairly good condition for five grand.”

My eyes widen. “Really? What kind?”

“2004 Ford Mustang.” I follow Will around to the front of the lot. With a brisk nod, he smacks his hand down on an ugly yellow car. In fact, it’s the car I noticed when I first came to Karl’s Cars a few weeks ago. “This is the one. Not much to look at, but she runs really well.” Will catches my doubtful look and jogs inside to grab the keys.

He was right about how the Mustang runs, but the color is really terrible. Plus, the seats are fabric, and I really wanted leather. Not to be high-maintenance or anything. I just know what I’m looking for.

“Do you have anything else?” I ask when Will steps out of the car.

Will leads me through the rows of cars to the back of the lot. “Here’s one for less than ten grand,” he says, gesturing to a small, light blue car. “It’s a Honda Civic LX.”

I walk around the exterior of the car. It looks to be in pristine condition, and I take a few pictures to show my dad. The seats are leather and I don’t see one tear on them. Plus, it still has that new-car smell I adore – and the engine starts up smoothly when Will tests it. After half an hour of looking at other cars, my heart is set on the Honda.

“I’ll definitely ask my dad about it. He’ll want to come see it and give it a test-drive, but it looks really nice.” I smile at Will. “Thanks for showing it to me.”

“Of course. Take your time to think about it, and it’s perfectly fine if you decide not to get one.”

I nod and we head back to the exit of the lot. “So, what’s your favorite kind of car?”

He pauses, tilting his head. “Right now I drive a Toyota, but my favorite is a Hongqi Golden Sunflower.”

“Golden Sunflower?” The name piques my interest, and Will seems happy to elaborate.

“It’s a Chinese company and their most expensive car at over one million dollars. It’s really amazing, though.”

“Wow.” By the end of the summer, with what’s already in my bank account plus what I’m earning from work I’ll barely have enough to afford the nine-grand car Will showed me. I can’t even imagine buying a car that expensive. “So, it’s really good then?”

He nods, eyes growing big for emphasis. “It has a V8 twin-turbocharged engine with a mild-hybrid system, and it can go 0-60 in five seconds. Plus, it’s four-wheel drive and has an 8-speed automatic transmission and dihedral synchro-helix doors. And each one is hand-built!” At my blank expression, he shakes his head, laughing. “Sorry. I get kind of passionate about it.”

I cough out a laugh. “Wow. I mean, that’s great. But I have no idea what dehydrate ginkgo… those things are.”

“Dihedral synchro-helix doors. Basically, the car is really awesome.” He laughs, looking a little sheepish at his enthusiasm. “Anyway, let me know what your dad thinks of those cars. I hope you find one you like.”

“Thanks.” I turn to leave, giving him a little wave. “See you around.”

Working the Friday before my beach trip with Ryleigh last week was way harder than working the day before I volunteer at the local shelter. Don’t get me wrong, I love certain animals – emphasis on certain. I adore Ryleigh’s parakeet Gerry, and my neighbor’s dogs are sooo cute. But usually when I first meet a pet, it hates me. And I have to say, feisty pitbulls who try to bite me if I so much as reach out to pet them do not make me inclined to dote all over them like Ryleigh does. Neither do cats who enjoy treating me like a scratching post.

Not that I’m speaking from personal experience or anything.

So, naturally, my Wednesday afternoon at work passes like a blur. So does Wednesday night. And before I know it, it’s Thursday and I pull up in my mom’s car at Pause & Pet with a sigh, parking next to Ryleigh’s Prius.

I’ve never actually been inside Pause & Pet but it looks kinda sketchy from the outside. A lopsided overhang striped with faded pink and green covers a rickety little porch. A screen door is labeled with a crooked OPEN sign. I think the shelter used to be an ice cream parlor or something, with a patio out front meant for tables and chairs. Instead, there’s a little animal playground which I have to admit is pretty cute. A worker leads two dogs through tubes, smiling and waving at me as I get out of the car.

Ryleigh’s waiting for me inside, and I immediately smell the pets as I enter. At least it’s fairly clean. A guy with poofy hair at the front desk signs us in, introducing himself as Eli. “The first thing you can help with is walking dogs,” he explains, handing each of us a leash. We follow Eli through the shelter and emerge out the back, where ten or so dogs are playing with workers on the back lawn.

“Alani! Cobbler!” At Eli’s call, two dogs come running up to us, tails wagging. I follow Ryleigh’s lead, letting Alani sniff me before clipping the leash on the larger-than-normal dachshund’s collar. Interesting that they would name the dog after an energy drink, but… whatever works, I guess.

After ten minutes of walking Alani, I know where she gets her name. Ryleigh has no trouble with Cobbler, the little Bichon following at her heels, his tiny tongue panting. Alani, however, decides that chasing squirrels is more fun than listening to me, and having to drag her along makes me suddenly grateful for that weight lifting class I despised my freshman year. Seriously, what have they been feeding this dog?

I’m able to reign her in pretty well while Ryleigh and Cobbler just barely keep up with our fast pace, when Alani starts wrapping her leash around my legs, nosing at my phone in my back pocket.

“Hey!” I spin, unwinding her leash, but she keeps nudging my phone and won’t let up. I try pulling her back around, but her leash slips from my fingers.

In a flash Alani is after me. I run screaming down the street, Ryleigh hollering Alani’s name while Cobbler sits nicely at her side. My left sandal flies off and I suddenly feel like Cinderella, running for her life before it’s too late. Alani doesn’t seem like the type of dog to bite, but she’s big enough to tackle me if she tries. Okay, maybe not actually tackle me, but if I don’t see her coming she could knock me down. And with this rough gravel road, that would hurt.

I duck into a neighborhood to my left, and thankfully Alani seems to be slowing down. Panting as much as the crazy dog, I continue my sprint – well, more like a fast jog now – down the neighborhood street. Finally, Alani seems tired enough that I stop running as she waddles up to me, still panting hard. I pull my phone out of my back pocket, holding it where she can’t reach as I inspect the large smudge of bacon grease on the case. I groan. That must have come from my mom’s new maple and cinnamon bacon recipe she had me taste-test this morning.

Once my phone is cleaned of any grease smears, I grab a firm hold of Alani’s leash, noticing that my other shoe is gone now, too. I don’t see it anywhere, so once I’m sure Alani has surrendered to me, we make our slow retreat back to the main road.

Ryleigh stands outside the neighborhood, hands on her hips. Cobbler stands next to her, his fluffy face looking just as perturbed.

“Ella!” Ryleigh looks me up and down in disbelief, then holds out one of my shoes. “What were you thinking?”

I take the sandal gingerly, keeping a firm hold on Alani’s leash with my other hand. The dachshund seems to feel some amount of remorse, because now she’s practically glued to my side. “What was I supposed to do?”

Ryleigh sighs, giving Cobbler a look I can’t interpret. “Don’t run away, for one. She needs to submit to you, not the other way around.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, but she was chasing me!”

Ryleigh lifts an eyebrow. “And is running from her worth losing your shoes – and your dignity?”

I sigh, ignoring her and instead scanning the street for my other shoe. Somehow it ended up in Mr. Daniels’ rose bushes on the other side of the road. Ryleigh starts lecturing me again, but I just sigh and tune her out, handing her Alani’s leash. I stalk, as best I can with bare feet on a gravel road, to the bush and fish my shoe out from the thorns with painful care. I really hope Mr. Daniels doesn’t spy on his security cameras.

Somehow, we eventually get both dogs safely back at Pause & Pet, and after three happily uneventful hours of feeding cats and walking dogs (Ryleigh takes the energetic ones this time), I return home to a long nap – by far the best part of my day.

--

Susan is all smiles when I arrive at Delamore Funerals the next morning, gushing about how much the family loved my flowers at the funeral yesterday. I can’t help but feel disappointed that I’d been at the shelter instead of working. It feels so personal to me when I make bouquets for other people, and I would have liked to meet the family in person.

I voice this thought to Susan, who immediately brightens – even more. “You can meet them. They’re coming in today to pick up some paperwork. I’ll introduce you.”

The family comes within an hour, tearing up as they enter the funeral home. From what Susan told me, I know the middle-aged couple lost their son, twin to the younger guy with them, in a car accident. I greet them with sympathy, introducing myself.

The mother gives me a gentle smile. “I’m so glad I could meet you. Your flowers touched my heart.” She dabs at her eyes with a tissue. “Peter – that’s my son – gave me snapdragons the last Mother’s Day he was with us, and seeing them at his funeral… they looked so beautiful in the arrangement. Thank you so much.” She gives me a hug, and I embrace her tightly. By now I’m used to having strangers need a hug. I understand the feeling of having something sentimental during a hard time, and I’m touched by how grateful she is over some simple flowers.

She pulls away, mumbling an apology for being so forward, but I shake my head. “I’m so glad they helped you,” I respond, glancing over her shoulder as Susan enters from the back. “Thank you for telling me.”

Susan doesn’t wear her usual smile as a courtesy to the grieving family, but she gives me a warm look before greeting the family. After a few last words, I return to my desk and she leads them into a meeting room.

I close my eyes in the peace of the moment. A feeling of fulfillment washes over me, the same thing I feel whenever I arrange flowers for a funeral or comfort someone who’s grieving.

My phone buzzes, and I flip it over to see a number I don’t recognize. I glance at the task list to make sure there’s nothing I need to be doing before answering with a tentative, “hello?”

A woman’s voice sounds from the other end. “Hello, this is Morning’s Glory calling for Ella Bentley.”