We were the Three Musketeers, Ginger, her younger sister, Bernie, and me. We’d met at work and remained best friends for years. Then Ginger and Bernie moved an hour away, and we lost touch. I never stopped thinking of them, though. Which made it all the more painful when I learned that Bernie was diagnosed with breast cancer. Ginger was there for every hospital visit, through every round of chemo. She was at her bedside when Bernie died, after a three and a half year battle.
Eight months passed. Ginger’s birthday was approaching, and her grief hadn’t subsided. “I thought time would make things easier,” she confided, “but it hasn’t. I keep praying for a sign that somehow, somewhere, she’s still with us.”
I prayed for that too. More than anything, I wanted to do something for Ginger’s birthday to help ease her pain, to lighten her load. I decided to send a bouquet of flowers. An arrangement of Gerbera daisies and Asiatic lilies, her favorites, accented with baby’s breath. Guaranteed, I thought, to make her smile.
I surfed the Internet and found an online florist. “Because of our partnerships with local florists and flower growers, we are able to ensure that bouquets are delivered fresh and on time. Our flower arrangements are artfully created by a professional florist,” the description read. That sounded good to me; some local florist would deliver my order. I searched for the bouquet I wanted, selected it, and clicked on the Checkout icon. I just hoped my gift would be enough to brighten Ginger’s day.
On the morning of Ginger’s birthday my phone rang and I saw she was calling. “Happy Birthday!” I said when I picked up. “Did you get the flowers?”
“I did,” Ginger said. “They’re just beautiful. I don’t know how to thank you. They’re the best present I could have received right now. My heart leapt when I saw the name of the place they’d come from.” “The website?” I asked, confused.
“No,” Ginger answered. “The name of the shop filled the order… Bernie’s Flower Shop.”
