16

The two dozen white lilies seemed funeral-ish to Gloria, but that’s exactly what Mrs. Nickelbee ordered for her fancy annual sorority reunion tea and pastry party centerpiece. Claire Garrison had done a lovely job making the arrangement pretty and fun with twists of greenery and baby’s breath. But as a whole, it still said RIP to Gloria’s thinking.

The customer in question bustled through the front door, chatting animatedly on her phone, her synthetic auburn wig clinging lifelessly to her shoulders. Cursed with low thyroid numbers, she had a different snazzy wig for every day of the week. Some were better than others.

“Of course I’m making mojitos,” she said in a huff.

A lifetime ago, Mrs. Nickelbee had taught Gloria’s Sunday school class. But it was likely she had no recollection of Gloria as she’d faded from existence, a shadow of her former self.

“Oh!” The woman’s eyes widened when she spotted Gloria behind the register. “I have to call you back, Flo.” Unceremoniously, she disconnected and dumped the phone in her purse. “Hello there, Gloria!”

Okay, maybe Mrs. Nickelbee did remember her. Perhaps it had been her stirring performance as donkey number two one Christmas Eve?

Mrs. Nickelbee cocked her head. “How are you, dear?” she asked, her tone dripping with sympathy.

Or perhaps it was that everyone in all of Benevolence knew that Gloria had spent the last decade getting knocked around.

Gloria forced a cheery smile. “I’m just fine, Mrs. Nickelbee. Aren’t your flowers lovely?” She slid the vase closer and stuffed her hands in the pockets of her bright green apron.

“Of course they are,” Mrs. Nickelbee crooned. She whipped out her husband’s credit card with long-practiced skill. Mrs. Nickelbee had never had a job in her life either. She claimed running a childless, petless household with a part-time housekeeper was work enough. Mr. Nickelbee either enjoyed having his wife home or was too terrified to voice his opinion. Either way, he spent his free time “yes, dearing” her.

“I hope you know we’re all rooting for you.” Mrs. Nickelbee beamed at her. “It’s never too late to turn things around.”

“Thank you,” Gloria said, feeling both humbled and humiliated. She swiped the card forcefully.

“Have you heard from that unfortunate Glenn since his arrest?” Mrs. Nickelbee prodded.

Gossip was a second language in Benevolence, and everyone spoke it fluently. With shaking hands, Gloria tucked a shallow cardboard box under the vase for Mrs. Nickelbee’s short drive home and wondered if she could sink behind the counter and lay on the floor until the woman left.

“Mrs. Nickelbee! I hope you like your lilies!” Claire, angel disguised as a part-time floral designer, appeared at Gloria’s elbow. “Are you using your ivory tablecloth?”

Gloria took the opportunity to duck into the back room, her cheeks warm with shame.