Rebecca ran to open the door for the delivery man.
"Miss Johnson?" he asked.
"Yes?"
"Sign here, please." He held out the clipboard and pen, but Rebecca didn't take them.
"I didn't order anything."
"Well, these flowers are addressed to you."
Rebecca peered behind the man and gasped at the pots of flowers that covered her sidewalk. Roses, gardenias, and lilies of all colors.
"Sir, I definitely didn't order all of these flowers. Is there a return address perhaps?"
"Uh," the man glanced down at the clipboard, "It's from a Nancy Roberts. Do you know her?"
"Yes, I do, actually," Rebecca replied, confused. "All right then, I'll sign the paper."
Five minutes later, Rebecca finished bringing all ten pots of flowers into her home.
"Why would David's mother send me these?"
The lightbulb in her brain finally turned on.
"Of course! David must've sent me these!"
Rebecca went to the living room and took a picture down from the shelf above the fireplace. She and David were laughing as they squirted each other without mercy with their water guns. She wished she were a child again. Her friendship with David then was so much easier. Now whenever they saw each other, he made subtle hints that he wanted more than friendship. Rebecca looked at the flowers. Apparently, he was tired of subtlety.
Deep down, Rebecca knew the truth. The feelings were mutual.
And she needed to tell him.
Rebecca got into her car and drove twenty minutes to David's house. She knew he was getting ready to move out of his parents' home and into his own apartment. She pulled into the driveway and rang the doorbell once.
The door opened slowly, and there was Nancy, a tissue in hand, nose red.
"Hello, Nancy," Rebecca said hesitantly. "What's the matter?"
The fifty-year-old woman scrunched her eyebrows in confusion.
"Is David home? I wanted to speak to him," Rebecca said when Nancy didn't speak.
"No . . . he's not home. You already know that, Rebecca," Nancy said sorrowfully with a hint of reprimand.
"What? Where is he?"
"Didn't James tell you?"
"I haven't spoken to your husband for a few days."
"The poor man. I can't blame him for forgetting. David's not here, Rebecca, and he's not coming back. He passed away two days ago in a car accident."
Rebecca's hand flew to her mouth, tears burned her eyes.
"But he sent me flowers," she whispered.
"What flowers?" Nancy demanded.
"Roses, lilies, and gardenias. They're all at my house. I thought that . . . wait, they're not from him weren't they?"
"No, they were for him. For his funeral."
