Peonies from the Florist

At precisely 7:25 am, the elevator opened to Floor 5.

Timothy Jones, who had just left his hotel room and pressed the Down button, glanced at the young girl and father walking towards the elevator lobby. Timothy stalled, engrossing himself in a replica wall painting while the man and his daughter boarded the elevator. The doors shut, leaving Timothy standing alone. He kept vacuously staring at the Girl with a Pearl Earring, though his mind was thinking of someone else entirely.

After a minute, Timothy pressed the Down button for the second time. An unoccupied elevator greeted him. Stepping in, he checked his watch. 7:27. He had promised to get home last night.

He removed his pocket handkerchief and wiped his face, leaving behind lipstick and makeup stains. Floor 1, he requested with a push of a button. The doors closed obligingly.

The elevator’s journey was short-lived. Coming to Floor 4, the doors opened. Two chatting business men, dressed in well-pressed suits, entered without missing a beat in their conversation.

“I don’t think I’ve seen a month like this in quite some time.”

“I know what you mean, it’s aggravating. I can hardly get out of the house for a drink without my wife harping on me for being away so much.”

“It’s really quite wonderful,” the first man went on, not paying his companion much attention. “I’m making progress every day and getting very close to securing the position I’ve been hoping for–with a fat raise! Just in time for the holidays too.”

“Yes, I know what you mean, it’s a good time to be working. Bringing home a bonus would certainly settle my wife down, that’s for sure.”

“It's still November, plenty of time to get presents for the kids. I had planned to buy some today, but I doubt I’ll have the time. Something about this month. Tomorrow after church, maybe.”

“Quite hard indeed to find time for anything nowadays, I know what you mean.”

Trying his best to ignore the conversation, Timothy remembered that the handkerchief in his hands did not belong to him. Wiping his face again, he hurriedly placed it in his right back pocket. 7:29.

The elevator, having just resumed its descent, came to a halt once more. Timothy winced.

From Floor 3 entered a woman with gaudy clothes and round features. She was speaking on the phone while carrying multiple luggage bags that took up the remaining elevator space.

“Isn’t it just infuriating! This is the third time too!”

The woman’s bright red lipstick bobbed up and down as she spat out her words. Her thick, brown hair looked unbrushed. Timothy glanced down and removed a long blonde hair from his own jacket, dropping it discreetly to the ground. He began checking his pockets.

“I’ve told him before, you know I have. I’ve been clear haven’t I? — It’s just not right for a man to act like that while his poor wife slaves away at home, not harboring an ounce of infidelity. Why, as soon as I get back in town, I plan on confronting him right then and there. One thing’s for sure: he won’t get his dinner served or laundry done till he spills his secrets, I swear it!”

Extracting a crumpled piece of paper from his inside coat pocket, Timothy read over the scribbled name and phone number. After a moment’s thought, it too was stuffed in his right back pocket. 7:30. Feeling hot, he stared at the elevator display, willing it to reach Floor 1.

“I knew something was fishy the day he said he was working overtime. I had asked him to pick up a bouquet from the florist on his way home. Do you know what the liar said? ‘I didn’t have time, it was out of my way.’ But his workplace is a block away from the florist! ‘Where have you been then?’ I asked, and his expression told me everything.”

The elevator, defying Timothy’s unspoken prayers, came to a stop at Floor 2. An older couple gazed in apprehensively, dubiously wondering if there was enough room for them to fit. The aggravated woman, oblivious to the situation, was speaking with such intensity that tears started to stream down her face.

“It just breaks my heart, it really does! We’ve been married for seven years, SEVEN! Never once have I done anything to deserve it!”Having assessed the situation, the older couple took a step backwards to indicate that they would wait for another elevator.

At that moment, Timothy decided he must immediately get off the elevator and suddenly shoved his way to its exit.

“Pardon me, ma’am. Very sorry, my stop.”

Grabbing his bag, he stumbled out of the elevator with such vigor that he almost fell. The doors closed, enveloping the woman’s sobbing face and the businessmen's shocked expressions.

Looking over at the old couple next to him, Timothy felt an unpleasant lump arise in his throat. He turned and made his way to the staircase, scurrying down to the first floor. 

After checking himself out at the front desk, he paused only to throw the contents of his right back pocket in the trash before stepping into the cool, refreshing air. 7:36. He decided it would be best to make an extra stop on his drive home. He could still arrive no later than quarter past 8.

*****

At precisely 8:14 am, while cleaning up after breakfast, Mrs. Jones heard the front door open.

“I’m home!”

Her two young children shouted with glee, racing to see their father. She could hear giggles and shushing and playful joking from across the house. When she entered the foyer, her husband was holding his jacket and removing his hat. He playfully tossed it to his children and turned to her, rubbing his red eyes.

“Really sorry hon, late night with work, I was too exhausted to make the drive before bed. Good to be home again.”

Mrs. Jones, though a little cross, was nevertheless pleased to see him back from the business trip. She leaned in and embraced him.

As her face brushed against his crumpled white dress shirt, she breathed in a new scent: a sweet, rosy fragrance. For a brief moment, as her husband planted a kiss on her cheek, Mrs. Jones’ eyes did not match the rest of her smiling face.

“How is work going? Anything you…need to tell me,” she asked cautiously, her head resting on his shoulder.

Stepping back, Mr. Jones met her eyes with a surprised look. His mouth opened momentarily and, not finding the right words, he smiled.

“Well I, I mean it’s been pretty busy, a really busy month. But a raise might be on its way–just in time for the holidays,” he added with another kiss.

The kids started laughing and shouting. 

“Daddy, she caught on!”

“Aren’t you going to tell her?!”

For a brief moment Mr. Jones seemed taken aback, his eyes darting from his giggling kids to his wife with confusion. But suddenly his expression changed and he started laughing with them. He gave a playful sigh of pretend-frustration.

“Hey, I told you kids to keep it a secret! It was going to be a surprise…”

Pulling away his jacket, he revealed a bouquet of peonies in his hand. Of course. She thanked him profusely as the kids oohed and ahhed at the reds and pinks. She couldn’t believe herself; just three days with her husband elsewhere and she was on edge. 

Mrs. Jones took the flowers and went to the kitchen. Setting aside the persistent feeling in her stomach, she turned on the faucet, filled the vase with water, and placed the bouquet inside. What a nice surprise, she thought, a very nice surprise. She stuck her nose in the petals and inhaled deeply.

They smelled of citrus.