The Marriage Flower

Chapter 4: A Different Version

The hotel sent me a PDF of the contract the next morning. It included an earlier draft and a scanned email thread.

In the first draft, the agreement lasted one year. In the revised version, the term changed to two years and the discount dropped by three percent. The final page carried my signature.

The email thread showed Cal sending the revised contract to the hotel's attorney. He had written, "Nora approved the updated term. We've discussed it at length."

He had copied me on the email, but I hadn't received it. The address listed was an old one I'd stopped using after my mother died.

I brought the printout to Iris. She read it once, then laid it on the counter.

"Did you ask him about the email?"

"I called him. He says he changed it by mistake."

"Did you believe him?"

"I don't know."

"You don't have to decide today."

"Everyone keeps saying that. The wedding is in six weeks."

"Then let it be in six weeks without a decision about the wedding."

"The hotel needs an answer by Friday."

Iris looked at me. "Then answer the hotel."

I called Cal from the back office. He picked up on the second ring.

"I saw the email," I said.

"Good. That should clear it up."

"You sent it to an address I don't use."

"I copied the address I had."

"You have my current address."

"I know."

"Why did you tell them I approved the change?"

"I thought you had."

"You told me you watched me sign."

"I said I thought I had. I've already told you I was wrong."

"You didn't say that yesterday."

He was quiet for a beat. "I made a mistake. I'm sorry."

"Did you sign my name?"

"No."

"Did you?"

"I did not."

"Then how did the signature get there?"

"I don't know. You must have signed it at the shop and forgotten."

"I was at the dentist."

"I'm not going to keep arguing about this. I didn't forge your signature."

I heard the click of a keyboard and the low murmur of voices behind him. He was at the hotel, in his office.

"Will you give me the original file?"

"It's in the hotel's records."

"Will you ask them to preserve it?"

"Why?"

"Because I'm asking."

Another pause. "You're treating me like a criminal."

"I'm asking for a document."

"Fine. I'll ask."

He sounded hurt, but not angry. That made me feel guilty. I had spent four years loving Cal's steadiness, the way he remembered details and showed up when I needed him. He'd helped me keep the shop open after the furnace failed, carrying buckets of water and sleeping on the greenhouse floor when a pipe burst.

It was hard to place those memories beside a forged signature. I didn't know if they belonged together.

After the call, I went to the hotel to speak with Peter Lang. Cal wasn't there. Peter met me in a side office, and I noticed that he had printed the contract on letter-size paper and laid it beside a yellow legal pad.

"I wish I could help more," he said. "Cal has been the point person for the restoration. He's done a lot for us."

"I'm not asking you to take sides."

"I understand."

"Did Cal submit the contract before the gala?"

Peter glanced down at his notes. "Yes. I approved the terms."

"Why didn't you ask me?"

"I thought he was speaking for the shop."

I felt my stomach tighten. "He isn't."

"I know that now."

Peter had assumed Cal and I shared a business. We didn't. We had discussed building an event room behind the shop, but we had never merged the business. My name was on the lease, the licenses, and the accounts. Cal had no official stake.

"How many events have you booked under this agreement?" I asked.

"Seven."

The room seemed to tilt. "Are they deposits?"

"Some. We've paid a few vendors already."

"Can you send me the list?"

"I can, but it may create trouble for the project."

"It already has."

Peter studied my face. "I'm sorry."

He forwarded the list while I was still there. Seven weddings, three receptions, and two charity dinners. The hotel had advertised Vale & Vine as its exclusive floral partner. If I broke the contract, the couples might need new arrangements. If I honored it, the shop would be locked into terms I hadn't approved.

I printed the list at the shop. Iris read through the names.

"We can cover the events," she said. "Not at the discount he offered."

"We'd lose money."

"Some."

"Enough to hurt."

"Yes."

"Then what do I do?"

"I can't choose for you."

"You know what you think."

"I do."

I folded the list. "I'm not asking you to choose. I'm asking what you would do."

"I would not keep pretending a signature is yours because someone insists it is."

I got angry again, though I knew she was right. "You've been waiting for this."

"I haven't."

"You saw something wrong and didn't tell me."

"I told you I didn't see a match."

"You didn't tell me he'd cheat me."

"I don't see every fact. I don't hear every conversation. I'm not a witness."

Her voice stayed level. That made the anger feel childish. I turned away and began sorting ribbon by color.

At closing, I found the first message from the hotel's event coordinator in my inbox. She wanted to confirm the flowers for a wedding in May. The couple had chosen the smallest package, and their note asked for a particular kind of blue thistle because the groom's late father had grown it.

I wrote back that we would honor their order.

Then I told the hotel I couldn't confirm the rest of the contract until I had reviewed the signature. I copied Peter and Cal.

Cal answered immediately.

Cal: This is unnecessary and damaging to everyone. We can discuss in person.

I put my phone away.

I wasn't ready to call him a liar. But I was done pretending the problem was my memory.