The white trucks, in line awaiting drivers, gleamed from their overnight scrub. The familiar red logo glistened in the early morning sunlight as workers made their way to their rides, joking with each other, and placing bets on delivery times.
“Yo, Phil, enjoy the overtime run. At least we’re spreading joy. Flowers on Mother’s Day should bring plenty of smiles,” said Ian.
“Good luck, buddy. Roses are definitely better than the usual Rush Red-Paks I deliver. Always seem to be from lawyers. See ya later,” said Phil.
The fellows revved their trucks and rolled out of the parking lot, each vehicle headed to corners of the cities. Phil studied his route and posted east. He had sections of Colleyville and Bedford to cover. Sunday morning traffic was light, and he discovered that several of his stops were all in one neighborhood. He figured one husband heard about the Red-Flash celebration plan, and all of the soccer dads jumped on the flower cart. “Hey, whatever works,” he said aloud. “Makes my job easier.” One happy man stepped out when the bell rang and gave Phil a high-five.
Continuing onward, he pulled into a gated community. His name wasn’t listed, but after explaining his mission, he persuaded the guard to not call and alert the household. “I’m guessing this is a surprise, sir,” said Phil.
Reluctantly, the man allowed the red gate to swing open for the truck. He made a point of looking at his watch and called out, “I’m timing you. In and out, or there’ll be a follow-up.”
Phil saluted and puttered to his destination, obeying the speed limit. He whistled as he circled the block. The mansions grew in size, until he drove up a shaded curved drive and halted in front of a massive fountain. One last exotic flower arrangement filled the back of his truck. Phil carefully hauled it to the front door and rang the bell. He waited in front of the intricately carved doors. No barks, no footsteps. Silence. Setting down his armload and tweaking the arrangement a bit, he gave the button three hearty pushes, and headed to the truck.
“Who’s ringing my bell at this hour on a Sunday?” demanded the middle-aged woman who opened the door.
“Flowers, ma’am,” said Phil who pointed to the colorful gift. “Happy Mother’s Day.”
“Yeah, says who?” With that the woman picked up her flowers, raised the heavy large crystal globe high above her head, and then heaved it, smashing onto the driveway. Phil blinked and stood mouth agape. “My good-for-nothing son’s in jail. Credit card fraud … even used mine. Is that how he paid for this?”
“Um, Mrs. Wright …” Phil stuttered.
“Wright? She’s one house down,” said the blousy blonde. With that, they both looked at the strewn blooms and shattered vase.
Phil scurried to pick up pieces, and said, “I’ve got duct tape in my truck. Know anything about flower arranging?”