Page 3 of Must Love Flowers
“They have,” Joan agreed, without adding anything else. In some ways, their short conversations were obligatory, as if he felt he should let her know he remembered her birthday but was otherwise too busy for more than a few minutes.
“What’s Nick up to these days?” Emmie asked next.
“Nick always has three or four irons in the fire,” Joan said. “He’s working on a huge construction project, an apartment complex in Seattle.” Even as a youngster, Nick was happiest when he had a hammer, nails, and a piece of wood in his hands. He was a born carpenter.
Jared had never seemed to mind that neither of his sons had chosen to follow him into the medical field. Steve had graduated college with a degree in supply chain management, and Nick had become an apprentice carpenter directly out of high school. Her husband had been good like that, not putting pressure on their boys, allowing them to follow their own paths. Joan was the one who had hoped either Steve or Nick would one day take over Jared’s practice, but that was not to be.
Her phone buzzed, indicating she had an incoming text.
“I think that’s Nick now,” she said, her heart leaping with appreciation that he would soon stop by for dinner. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Don’t forget to send a photo after Charlene finishes with your hair.”
“Will do. Gotta scoot.”
Joan quickly ended the call with Emmie and checked the incoming text.
It was Nick, who preferred to text over making a phone call. He apologized that he wouldn’t be able to join her for dinner after all.
No reason. No excuse.
Once again, as she had the last four years, she spent her birthday alone.
Chapter 2
Joan stared at the computer screen as she pondered which letters to choose for Wordle. This was how she routinely started each morning. The word game helped keep her mind fresh, along with the thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle of the Eiffel Tower that she was currently working on. Impossibly small pieces were spread across the top of the kitchen table. At one time this oak table was where she served her family meals. These days it was used for multiple purposes, none of which included family or eating.
It used to be…
That was what her life had become: a series of all the things that once were but were no longer.
Joan scooted her chair away from the computer and wandered into the kitchen to pour herself another cup of coffee when she heard the front door open. For just an instant, a sparkof fear shot down her spine, until she remembered the deadbolt was in place. Only someone with a key could gain entry.
“Mom?” Nick shouted, as though he expected her to be standing by the front door, awaiting his arrival.
“In here.” She came out of the kitchen, holding the coffee mug as she met him in the foyer. He stood in front of the staircase that led to the two large upstairs bedrooms. It was those bedrooms that had sold Jared on the house in this community. The master bedroom was on the main floor, away from the boys, who tended, especially in their teen years, to stay up until all hours of the night.
Her son stared at her for a minute before his dark brown eyes, so like his father’s, narrowed into a frown.
Immediately concerned, she asked, “Everything okay?”
A multitude of problems tumbled through her mind like a rockslide racing down the side of a hill. Had her son lost his job? Did he get into a car accident? Had Nick received a concerning medical diagnosis?
“Yeah, everything’s fine,” he returned, sounding distracted.
“That’s good,” she said, sighing with relief. She had enough troubles of her own and felt unable to cope with anything more. “The thing is, you usually don’t show up first thing in the morning. What’s up?” She let him follow her into the kitchen, where she automatically got him a cup of coffee. Like his father, Nick was addicted to caffeine.
“We’re getting a later start this morning, waiting on an inspection,” Nick said. He sat down at the table and stared at the puzzle, which was about three-fourths completed. He picked up a piece, examined it, and then set it in place.
It was all Joan could do not to stop him. This was her puzzle,and she preferred to work it herself. The satisfaction she gained, the sense of accomplishment, was why she diligently spent hours poring over it. She didn’t need help and, furthermore, didn’t want it.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here for your birthday,” Nick stated matter-of-factly.
“You sent me a text.” But he hadn’t given her a reason why he’d been unable to come. She suspected he opted to spend the day with his friends and watch the Seahawks game. The pan of chicken enchiladas remained untouched in the refrigerator. Before he left, she’d make sure he took it with him, otherwise she’d end up tossing them in the garbage.
Nick shifted his gaze away from her. “Sorry, I was working.”
“On a Sunday?”
