Aldo, looking thinner, almost gaunt, was glaring at her. His hair, longer and curlier than she’d ever seen it, was rumpled like he’d just gotten up. He had a scruffy beard that looked as though he’d paid it no attention. He was wearing gym shorts, and his left leg was bandaged where it ended just below the knee.

“Fuck,” he swore softly and half-closed the door, blocking her view of his leg.

“Who is it?” Mrs. Moretta screamed, like a wounded wildebeest trapped in quicksand.

“Come see for yourself,” Aldo yelled back.

“Um, hi,” Gloria said. “I brought you soup. And flowers.” She’d spent an hour and a half pulling together the perfect bouquet under Claire’s watchful eye. Black-eyed Susans for encouragement, chamomile for energy, jasmine for cheer, and ranunculus just because they were so pretty.

Aldo made no move to invite her in…or say anything at all. He simply continued to stare at her with what looked like a war of emotions behind those shadowed eyes.

Pain. She read it on him as if he’d tattooed the word on his forehead. And her heart hurt for him. She knew pain. Knew the fear that came with it.

“How are you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Fine,” he snapped. His mother bustled up behind him.

Aldo stepped back, letting Mrs. Moretta at the door. “You can answer your own fucking door from now on,” he said in a low voice. But Gloria still heard him loud and clear. Both women watched him as he hurried away from the door as fast as his crutches would carry him.

“I didn’t raise any assholes,” Mrs. Moretta called after him.

“Apparently you did,” Aldo answered bitterly before slamming a door in the back of the house.

Gloria didn’t know what to do. She’d expected…well, she hadn’t known what to expect. It certainly wasn’t this rejection, though.

“Sorry about him. He’s been a dick and a half since getting blown to kingdom come,” Ina said. “What’s in the bowl?”

* * *

Gloria felt like she was doing the walk of shame when she walked back in the door at Blooms. She’d used her lunch break to make her delivery, and Claire was perched on a stool behind the register reading a paperback when she returned.

“Well? How did it go? How does he look? Did he like the flowers?” Claire peppered her with questions, excitement bright in her eyes.

“It was, uh, fine. He’s fine, so he says. He looks…” Gloria was humiliated to find tears welling up in her eyes.

“Oh, no. Oh, sweetie. What’s wrong? Is it his leg?”