Roses
Five
thirty and the windowless office started to empty as the call centre workers
headed home. Jeff shut down his
computer, picked up his jacket and started his ten minute walk to the car
park. The day had dragged; he couldn’t
stop thinking about the stupid argument.
His head ached; he’d called Marie several times but each time no
answer. He’d left three voicemails
apologizing, but she’d not returned his calls.
Out on
the street the heat was oppressive; carbon monoxide fumes invaded the
atmosphere. Cars headed home to happy
families at the end of the working day.
Jeff walked slowly, replaying the morning’s argument. The sidewalk was full of workers and shoppers
picking up last minute essentials. He
didn’t cast a glance at the shop windows, lost in his own world of pain. At the corner of the parking lot where he had
to cross the road, a flower stall had been set up. In all the time he’d been parking there he’d
never seen the stall. As he crossed the
road the fragrant smell of roses hit his nostrils.
‘That’s
it!’ he thought.
He stood
in front of the stall; flowers of all colours but he was he was drawn to the
yellow roses. The old lady looking after
the stall wore a green skirt with a heavy woolen coat that seemed too warm. He bought a dozen of her finest yellow roses.
His
mood lightened as he drove home, Marie loved flowers. He should buy them more often. He turned into the drive; there was no sign
of Marie’s car. His stomach churned, the
headache tightened across his forehead.
Opening the door he called her name, there was only silence. His heart sank when he saw he white envelope
on the table.
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