The Marriage Flower

Chapter 3: The Original

Cal arrived at the shop at nine with two coffees and the original contract.

He set them on the counter, kissed my cheek, and said, "I brought the signed copy."

I didn't return the kiss. "Where did you get it?"

"From my office."

"Why was it there?"

"Because the hotel's attorney has it on file."

I opened the folder. The paper was heavier than the copy I'd found upstairs. My signature looked exactly the same: the rounded N, the long tail on the final a. Beside it, the date was three weeks earlier.

"I didn't sign this," I said.

Cal looked tired. "Nora, we were in the back office. You were on the phone with the greenhouse supplier. I put the contract in front of you, and you signed it."

"I don't remember."

"You were distracted."

"I would remember agreeing to two years."

"We talked about it. You said the extra business made the discount worth it."

"I said one year."

"You're under pressure. The gala, the wedding, the greenhouse orders. Maybe you're mixing it up."

He made it sound so reasonable that I almost believed him. That was one of Cal's gifts. He could describe an event in a way that left you embarrassed to question your own memory.

I closed the folder. "I want to have the signature checked."

His face changed. "You think I forged it?"

"I said I want it checked."

"Those are the same thing."

"I don't know what I think."

"Then don't accuse me because your sister made you doubt everything."

I looked at him. "Iris had nothing to do with this contract."

"Of course she did. She's made you second-guess us. Everyone saw it last night."

"I'm asking you about a document."

"And I'm telling you what happened."

He took the coffee from the counter and set it back down as if he'd forgotten why he was holding it. "I know you're upset. Let's give the hotel what they need and move on."

"What do they need?"

"Your confirmation."

"My confirmation that I signed?"

"Yes."

"I can't give it."

Cal exhaled through his nose. "If this contract falls apart, the hotel will have to find another florist. That could cost the shop the best event business in town."

"Then they can use the one-year agreement we discussed."

"There is no one-year agreement."

"Then show me one."

He opened his mouth, then stopped. His phone buzzed. He checked it and stepped away to answer. I watched him cross the shop, passing the arrangement of white roses we'd made for the hotel.

He spoke quietly. I caught only fragments: "No, she's just confused. I'll handle it." When he hung up, he pocketed his phone.

"Who was that?" I asked.

"The hotel manager."

"What did he need?"

"Nothing. They've got a board meeting next week, and he wants to make sure the contract is settled."

I put the folder on the counter. "I'll call the hotel's attorney."

Cal's mouth tightened. "There's no need to make this bigger."

"If the contract is valid, the attorney can confirm it."

"He'll confirm what's on the page."

"Then that should be easy."

Cal left without drinking his coffee.

I spent the rest of the morning sorting invoices. Iris moved between the cooler and the workbench, staying out of my way. At noon, she set a sandwich beside my ledger.

"I'm not hungry."

"You need to eat."

"I need you to stop managing me."

"I'm not managing you. I'm putting food on a table."

I shoved the sandwich away. "You don't get to be right about everything."

"I'm not."

"You've been right about every couple you ever named."

"That doesn't make me right about you."

I stared at her.

She rested her palms on the workbench. "I don't want you to marry someone because I said so. I don't want you to leave him because I said so, either."

"What if what you see is true?"

"Then you'll still have to decide what to do with it."

"Do you see me being unhappy?"

"I see you working hard to make the answer come out the way you want."

"That's not an answer."

"No," she said. "It isn't."

I called the hotel's attorney after lunch. He confirmed the contract was on file but refused to discuss it without Cal's permission, since the hotel had hired him. I asked for the hotel manager's number and called him instead.

The manager, Peter Lang, sounded uneasy. "I thought you and Cal had settled the terms."

"We haven't."

"The agreement was sent back signed."

"By me?"

"I can only tell you what's in our file."

I asked him to send a copy of every version of the contract. He agreed, then added, "I'm sorry. This is awkward."

It was. But the word awkward didn't cover the pressure building under my ribs.

That evening, I opened my old appointment calendar and checked the day Cal said I had signed. I'd been in the shop until four, then at a dental appointment in Larkspur, forty minutes away. My calendar showed it. A charge for the appointment appeared in my bank account.

I'd had dental work, taken pain medication, and gone straight home.

I called Cal.

"I wasn't at the shop when you say I signed."

A silence followed.

"You were there in the morning," he said.

"No. I was at the dentist."

"Then I'm remembering the wrong day."

"The date is on the contract."

"I'll check."

"You said you watched me sign it."

"I said I thought I did."

"You just told me we discussed the two-year term."

"I'm not trying to deceive you, Nora."

"Then tell me what happened."

"I will. I have to get to a meeting. We'll talk tomorrow."

He hung up.

I looked at the calendar, then at the contract. My name sat on the paper in a familiar hand that had not been mine.

For the first time since Iris had refused to bless us, I wondered if her silence had been about more than love.