Flowers on Main

“What happened?” Abby asked eventually.

“It wasn’t working for me anymore,” Bree said simply. “Not the work, not Chicago, not my relationship with Marty. I think when I came home for the opening at the inn, I already knew I wouldn’t be going back. It just took me a few weeks to sort through everything and figure out what was going to come next. I knew the only way to keep all of you from worrying would be to have a concrete plan.”

Abby stared at her, her expression stricken. “But Bree, writing plays is all you’ve ever wanted to do,” she protested. “You can’t give that up just because you’ve hit a rough patch or because your relationship with Marty isn’t working. Take some time, get your feet back under you if that’s what you need, but don’t give up your career just like that. You have money in the bank, thanks to the trust fund Dad set up for each of us. You can take all the time you need to write your next play. You don’t have to do that in Chicago or go back to Marty. Do it here, if you want.”

“I can’t. I don’t have any confidence in myself right now. Maybe I will in a few weeks or a few months. If so, then I’ll certainly start writing again. But in the meantime, I need to focus on something completely new. I need a challenge that will be fun at the same time.”

“Such as?” Abby asked, her skepticism plain that such an option existed or that Bree would be happy doing anything other than writing.

“Did Jess mention that I was at the inn earlier?” Bree asked.

Abby shook her head, looking confused by the apparent change in topic. “I got to dinner just before you did. I’d barely sat down when you showed up.”

“Well, I was there. She called me because the florist had sent flowers for a wedding, but no one to arrange them. She was in a real bind.”

Abby looked even more confused. “And she called you? Why?”

Bree frowned at the suggestion that working with flowers was somehow beyond her. “Who do you think worked side by side with Gram all these years to make the arrangements for our house? She taught me everything she knows. She used to say I was a natural.”

“All I remember is you yanking flowers and weeds indiscriminately out of her garden and getting yelled at a lot,” Abby said lightly.

“Which was why she decided to teach me the difference and to appreciate everything in her garden,” Bree explained patiently. “Anyway, apparently I saved the day for the bride and groom’s big ceremony and reception,” she said, then faced her sister. “And you know what? I loved every minute of it. Despite the stress and having almost no time to pull it off, it was the most fun I’d had in ages.”

“Okay,” Abby said, her tone still cautious. “So, now what?”

“I’ve rented a space downtown, and I’m opening up a flower shop, Flowers on Main,” Bree announced, then laughed. “Can you imagine? I’m going to have my own business, and I get to work with flowers all the time.”

“No, I can’t imagine,” Abby said, in a way that told Bree she disapproved. “Why would you make a decision like this without talking it over with any of us? Good grief, Bree, you can’t have thought about it for more than an hour or two.”

Bree scowled at her. “I thought about it long enough,” she said flatly. “And it was my decision to make. You said yourself, not five minutes ago, that I have the start-up money.”

“Bree, sweetie,” Abby began with exaggerated patience. “I know you love flowers, and you’re obviously looking to make a big change in your life, but this is retail. You can’t hide out in the backroom all day. You’re going to have to put yourself out there, be friendly to everyone who comes in, no matter how idiotic their request might be. Are you sure you can do that?”

It spoke volumes that Abby thought her social skills were wanting—in fact, it was downright insulting—but Bree could hardly deny it. “It will be good for me to learn to be more outgoing,” she insisted.

“And what about business? Do you know anything at all about running a business of any kind, much less a flower shop?”

Bree was getting annoyed with all the doubting questions. “I know as much as Jess did when she bought the inn,” she said heatedly. “And what I don’t know, I can learn. I’ll read books, visit other shops and ask questions. I’m not a complete moron.”

“Of course you’re not,” Abby said, backing off at once. “I’m just saying this will be a huge change for you. You’ve always valued your privacy.”

“After what happened tonight, can you blame me?” Bree snapped. “Put you, Gram, Mick and Jess in a room and it’s like a force of nature. I don’t stand a chance. I’m almost glad I didn’t tell everyone. If they’re all going to react like you, I don’t want to hear it. I won’t let any of you tear me down. I’ve had enough of that to last ten lifetimes.”

With that, she took off running along the edge of the bay. This time, though, Abby didn’t follow.

Mick looked up from his pie when Abby walked back into the kitchen alone. “Where’s your sister?”

“On the beach,” Abby said. “She’s mad at me, at all of us, for that matter.”

“Oh dear, this is my fault,” Gram said, looking stricken. “It’s exactly what I’d hoped to avoid. I should never have asked you all over here tonight. I should have been more persistent myself, gotten to the bottom of things.”

“You were only trying to be supportive,” Jess said, reaching for her grandmother’s frail hand.

“That’s right, Ma,” Mick told her. “Don’t blame yourself for caring.” He turned back to Abby. “Do you have any idea what’s going on with Bree?”

“I do, but I’m thinking it might be best if you convince her to tell you. If I blab, it’ll just be one more thing she can hold against me.”

Mick didn’t have the kind of patience it might take to wheedle the information out of Bree, but he knew Abby was right. She wouldn’t appreciate her big sister filling them all in. He pushed aside his plate, stood up, then leaned down to kiss Nell on the forehead. “Stop worrying, Ma. I’ll get to the bottom of this. I promise.” He glanced at his daughters. “Finish your dinner. I’ll sit outside until Bree gets back.”

On the porch, he settled back to wait, lighting the pipe that he only rarely smoked these days. The scent of the tobacco still carried him back to the days when his father would take him along to a pub on one of their trips to Ireland to visit distant relatives. In those noisy, crowded neighborhood pubs, before Ireland’s laws changed, thick smoke filled the air, which usually made him cough, but he could always pick out the slightly sweet scent of his father’s pipe. Tonight he found the aroma oddly comforting.

“Dad, you know perfectly well you shouldn’t be smoking, not even a pipe,” Bree said as she climbed the steps and settled into the rocking chair next to his. “You only do it when you’re upset or trying to recapture old memories. Which is it tonight?”

He gave her a wry look. “Do you really need to ask?”

“If you’re waiting for me to apologize for running off, I won’t,” she said.

“I’m not expecting you to. I would like it, though, if you’d tell me what’s going on. I’m your father. I’d like to fix things, if I can.”

She laughed at that. “When have you ever been around to fix things?” she asked, then regarded him apologetically. “Sorry, that’s not fair. You were here when we were little, but this isn’t a scraped knee that needs a bandage and a kiss.”

Mick felt a sharp stab of guilt at the accuracy of her assessment. He felt awkward and out of his element, but he’d resolved not long ago to try to fix things not just with Megan but with his entire family. He’d made strides with Abby and Jess, though there was still a long way to go. Now was as good a time as any to start with Bree.

He puffed on his pipe, then met her gaze. “Fair enough,” he told her. “But I’d like to make up for all the times I wasn’t around, put the two of us on a new footing. At the very least I can listen. I’ll offer advice, if you want to hear it. You can always ignore it if you don’t like it. That would fit the family pattern. O’Briens seem to be genetically predisposed to carving out their own path in the world, regardless of the wisdom of those who’ve gone before. I respect that.”

He waited for a response. She seemed to be weighing his offer, perhaps trying to decide if she could trust his promise to respect her decision.

Maybe because he’d never been a patient man or maybe because he needed her to see that he had some insight that she might not be crediting him with, he finally cut into the silence.

“You’ve left Demming, haven’t you?”

Her eyes widened. “How did you know that? Did Abby tell you?”

“Abby refused to say a word after she came back from the beach. And it wasn’t so much that I knew anything. I suppose I was just hoping that was the case.”

She frowned at his statement. “You didn’t like him?”

“Hated him, as a matter of fact.”

She looked startled. “But you never said a word.”

“You’re a grown woman. Some mistakes are yours to make.”

“And you thought Marty was a mistake,” she said, still sounding just a little stunned. “Why?”

“He was condescending to you,” he said simply. “No man has a right to talk to anyone the way he spoke to you. The only thing I found more offensive was that you took it as long as you did.”

She sucked in a breath at the gentle scolding. “I admired him,” she admitted in a small, humiliated voice that made Mick want to draw her into his arms and tell her she was worth a thousand Martin Demmings. “And he wasn’t always like that. He taught me so much, Dad. He really did. And when he wanted to be charming, no one could possibly resist, least of all me. I suppose I craved the kind of attention he lavished on me at the beginning.”