Send Me No Flowers (2 page)

“I always thought he was wrong for you anyway,” Pam mused, leaning against the pink pedestal sink. “I man, I know he’s a hunk, and I know entomology is probably a respectable field. But what kind of man works with bugs all day? And didn’t he have a cockroach collection?”

“With cockroaches from around the world,” Rachel said. “He wanted to display it in our living room after we were married. I voted for the garage.”

Pam shivered. “That’s so creepy. Can you imagine living with Russell and his dead cockroaches?”

“Not to mention his live gadfly collection. Which is another reason I’m so glad to still be single.” It was true. She had a great career. A nice apartment. A homicidal best friend.

“Speaking of cockroaches,” Rachel said, “did I tell you Gina’s husband left her for another woman?”

“Good thing she’s got a therapist for a best friend. But let’s talk about what’s really important here.”

“My escape plan?”

Pam folded her arms across her chest. Even standing three inches shorter than her big sister, she still looked formidable. Her stint in the air force had taught her not to back down from anything or anyone. Now a computer programmer, her military training still showed in her ramrod straight back and the unflinching gaze of her hazel eyes. “You’re doing it again, Rachel. You’re changing the subject.”

“Most sisters would take that as a hint.”

“This sister is worried about you. I don’t think you are over him. It’s like you’re stuck in Russell limbo.”

“You’ve been out of the dating loop for a while, Pam. It’s not as easy to meet men when you get older.”

“Oh, please.” Pam rolled her eyes. “You’re only thirty. If I had your gorgeous blond hair and big brown eyes and knockout body, I’d have a date every night.”

“Somehow I don’t think your husband would approve.”

“Just give Gordon one more chance. He’s probably done flossing by now. We can order dessert and see what happens.”

“I already know what will happen. We’ll be dodging chunks of panettone.” Rachel glanced at her watch. “Besides, I’ve got to get to work. My Transitions support group is meeting in twenty minutes.”

“You can’t be serious. You’re on a date!”

“My
date
has called his mother three times in the last hour. She can have him,” Rachel said with a smile. “I think I’ll have more fun dealing with despair and depression at my meeting.”

Pam sighed. “If you showed half as much devotion to finding a man as you do for that group, you’d have a date for Valentine’s Day. It’s coming up in a few weeks, you know.”

“I know.” Rachel rolled her eyes. “
Black Sunday.
I’ve got it marked on my calendar. That’s one of the reason’s my group is meeting tonight. They go into a tailspin whenever a holiday rolls around—especially Valentine’s Day. I just wish I could convince them that you don’t have to be in love to be happy.”

Pam didn’t look convinced herself. “Well, you shouldn’t have to sacrifice your personal life to prove it.”

“Believe me, with men like Gordon around, it’s no sacrifice.” Rachel gave her sister a quick hug. “I gotta go. Gina’s coming to the meeting tonight, and I want to get there early enough to introduce her to everybody.”

Pam threw her hands up in the air. “But what about Gordon? I think he likes you, Rachel. And I’m sure he’s planning to ask you out again. What should I tell him?”

“Tell him I jumped out the window.”

TO RACHEL’S SURPRISE, Gina didn’t have any trouble fitting into the Transitions support group. In less than fifteen minutes she knew Irma still talked to her dead husband, Frank just wanted to find a woman who liked bass fishing, and Lacie, a topless dancer, still pined for her boyfriend, who had recently moved out.

Gina sat cross-legged on the tweed sofa, dressed in gray sweatpants and an oversize Michigan State sweatshirt. Her dark, curly hair was pulled back into a ponytail. “So then he dumped me,” she explained, her fingers picking apart the empty foam cup in her hands. “For some woman that I
swear
I saw on one of those tabloid shows entitled, I Used To Be A Man.”

“Oh, dear,” Irma murmured. “One of those Transylvanians.”

“No, those are vampires, Irm,” Lacie said. Just twenty-two years old, Lacie had joined the group a month ago. Dressed in a skintight lime green leotard and high-topped pink sneakers, she supported her study of classical ballet by working the runway at a bar just outside of town.

“Now that would make an interesting show,” Frank said. “‘Cross-dressing Vampires.”’

Rachel smiled, already finding her Transitions group much more entertaining than her date with Gordon. “Cross-dressers are called transvestites. I think the word we’re looking for is transsexual.”

“That’s right,” Gina said. “I think she’s a transsexual. I mean, her name is Paula. Get it? Paul...Paula.”

“Oooh,” Irma squealed. “Like in that movie
Victor /Victoria.
”

Rachel shook her head. She’d seen
Victor/Victoria
enough times to know every line. The cockroach scene alone had made it one of Russell’s favorite movies. “That was a woman pretending to be a man pretending to be a woman.”

Frank wrinkled his brow in confusion. “So which one is the vampire?”

“I think we’re getting a little off track,” Rachel said. “We’re here to talk about Gina’s problems with her husband.”

“He is the problem.” Gina sighed. “I just have to finally accept that my marriage is over. Make a fresh start.”

“That’s the spirit,” Irma said. A former beautician, she looked younger than her seventy years. She’d joined the group after the death of her husband, sharing openly with them and giving the women makeup tips. “How about a makeover? A good concealer and a water-based foundation can do wonders for all those little worry lines. And I know just the shade of lipstick you should wear to keep you from looking sallow. You’ll feel like a new woman.”

Gina groaned, dropping her head back against the sofa. “I’m too old to start over. I don’t even want to think about dating again.”

“I think you look great,” Lacie said. “And you seem to be handling your husband dumping you really well.”

Gina shrugged. “Not really. If Rachel hadn’t talked me out of lacing his coffee with rat poison, I’d be sitting in a jail cell right now. But she knew just how I felt, after what she’d been through with Russell.”

Three pairs of eyes turned in Rachel’s direction.

“Who’s Russell?” Lacie asked.

“Were you married, Dr. Grant?” Irma asked.

Frank just stared at her, his mouth hanging open. At last he said, “I thought you were a lesbian.”

Rachel made a mental note to lace
Gina’s
coffee with rat poison. “No, I’m not, Frank. But we’re not here to talk about me.”

“Russell was her fiancé,” Gina explained. “He left her on Valentine’s Day. Isn’t that despicable?”

“It’s no big deal,” Rachel insisted.

“I think that’s awful,” Lacie exclaimed. “Dumped on the most romantic day of the year.”

“What’s so romantic about it?” Irma said. “Valentine’s Day is just an annual reminder that I’m old and alone in Love, Michigan.”

“Valentine’s Day is coming up in a few weeks,” Rachel said, veering the conversation away from her ex-fiancé. “How does everyone feel about that?”

“Lonely,” Frank said, “and wishing I was out on a lake somewhere instead of stuck in Love.” A former electrician, he spent the majority of his retirement in a fishing boat. When his wife filed for divorce six months ago, she’d listed “alienation of affection to a wide-mouth bass” as one of her reasons.

Lacie cupped her chin in her palm. “It makes me feel like a loser.”

Irma sniffed. “It’s the most miserable day of the year.”

Rachel looked around at the long faces in her group. She’d been dreading Valentine’s Day, too, since all the romance in the air would propel her sisters into high matchmaking gear. But she’d never seen her group so forlorn and dejected. “I think the problem is that it lasts more than one day around here. We’re bombarded with Valentine’s Day for weeks on end. There’s the Cupid Parade...the Sweetheart Dance...the Most Romantic Couple contest.”

“And let’s not forget the incredibly sexist Miss Valentine beauty pageant,” Gina reminded them. “Judged by a group of Love’s most eligible bachelors. I mean, come on! Who ever heard of a swimsuit competition in February?”

Rachel’s mother had been crowned Miss Valentine over thirty years ago. Now retired and living in the Florida Keys, her dusty tiara sat in storage somewhere. As little girls, Rachel and her sisters had played Miss Valentine, stuffing their training bras with tissues and teetering about wearing their mother’s high heels.

As teenagers, they’d decorated the dance hall with streamers and balloons, fervently hoping some boy would ask them to the Sweetheart Dance. They’d practice dancing with each other to music on the local radio station, which still played only love songs for an entire month.

“I think the tourists are the worst,” Irma said with a disdainful sniff. “Two by two they come to kiss and cuddle and paw each other in every restaurant, movie theater and parking lot in Love. It’s impossible to walk down the street without seeing some affectionate display. It just isn’t decent.”

Gina nodded. “We’re immersed in romance because we live in the city of Love. We have to eat, drink and breathe Valentine’s Day for a solid month before the big event. You almost feel like a traitor if you don’t buy tickets for the Lover’s Lottery or volunteer for the VFW kissing booth.”

Rachel had felt obligated to volunteer for the booth last year and kissed more toads than she cared to remember. She’d also been asked to bake cupcakes for the cake walk at the Cupid carnival, sell twenty
Valentine Vittles
cookbooks and donate a free mental health evaluation as one of the prizes for the Lovers’ Lottery. The winner had wanted her to psychoanalyze his parrot.

“And just once,” Irma added, “I’d like to go shopping without having to see that big, ugly Cupid fountain in the middle of the town square. That statue is practically naked!”

Frank chuckled. “At least the town makes some money on all the coins folks throw in to the fountain, wishing for love.”

Lacie snorted. “Believe me,
that
doesn’t work. I wasted a whole week’s worth of tips wishing my boyfriend would come back to me.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Gina warned, “because you just might get it. I wished for my husband to become more interested in sex. He did all right, only not with me. I think our resident Cupid has a bad aim.”

Irma sighed. “Sounds like none of us will qualify for the Most Romantic Couple contest this year.”

Frank leaned back in his chair, folding his hairy arms across his chest. “For a holiday that celebrates love, it certainly seems to cause a lot of misery.”

“That’s because we’re alone,” Lacie muttered. “Losers. If we were in love on Valentine’s Day, we’d probably enjoy it.”

“Look,” Rachel interjected, hoping to lift their spirits. “I think we need to remember something here. A person doesn’t have to be in love to be happy. On Valentine’s Day or any other day.”

“I know that’s what you keep telling us, Dr. Grant,” Lacie sighed. “But it’s hard to remember when everybody around you gets flowers or candy or sexy lingerie on the big day.”

“Hey, not everybody,” Gina said. “The only thing my husband ever gave me was strep throat.” She looked up at Rachel. “Russell might be a worm, but at least you know he still cared about you. He sent you a beautiful bouquet of red roses last Valentine’s Day.”

Seeing how everyone in the group had been so honest and open, Rachel knew she couldn’t lie anymore. “Russell didn’t send me flowers last Valentine’s Day.”

Gina’s mouth dropped open as she stared at her friend. “But I saw the card. It read,
Yours Always,
and it was signed,
Russell.”

“It was a forgery,” Rachel admitted.

“What kind of sick person would forge something like that?” Frank asked.

Rachel’s cheeks grew warm. “Me.”

Nobody said a word. Gina’s eyes grew wider. “You sent flowers to yourself?”

“Pathetic, isn’t it.” Rachel’s fingers curled around her pencil, remembering how shocked she’d been by Russell’s sudden departure from her life. And still so emotional about it she’d pretended he’d gotten her flowers so she could delay all the awkward questions. “In a weak moment, I gave in to all the Valentine’s Day hype.”

Irma smiled. “Well, dear, it’s understandable. We may
pretend
we don’t have to be in love to be happy, but Valentine’s Day seems to prove otherwise. And as my husband always says, if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.”

As the rest of the group nodded in agreement, Rachel realized the awful truth. She’d let them down. But sending flowers to herself in that one weak, impulsive moment didn’t change her opinion. She truly believed each person was responsible for their own happiness. Falling in love might add to that happiness, but it wasn’t a necessary ingredient. Now she just needed to convince her group.

Rachel smiled as an idea formed in her mind. “Why do we have to join them?”

Lacie’s brow crinkled. “What do you mean, Dr. Grant?”

“Well, we can’t be the only ones who feel this way,” Rachel said. “Especially when we live in Love, Michigan. The whole town is forced to celebrate what is potentially the most depressing day of the year. Now it’s up to us to set them free.”