Part Twenty-Three

A rainy Monday morning, but Peggy hardly noticed as she practically skipped to the 5:20 a.m. ferry. The gray clouds overhead looked like large, soft pillows; and the city across the water lay sleeping in arms of fog and mist.

"Good morning," she said to Raoul as she approached their favorite booth and found him waiting there.

"Morning," he said with a smile. In fact, they were both grinning.

Kelly Flinn and Ferdinand were sitting opposite, looking at a photograph that Raoul was showing to them.

"Very cool," said Ferdinand.

"I'm showing them the picture of the cereus," said Raoul.

**

It had been a big event in a weekend of big events. On Thursday, Raoul had phoned her at work to say that he thought his night-blooming cereus was ready to open.

"Your what?" she had said.

"It's known as Queen of the Night, a kind of cactus. I keep it in my cactus hut."

She had been impressed by his "cactus hut," as he called it, when she visited his garden. It was a warm, dry greenhouse in which he grew several varieties of "cacti and succulents." But she didn't remember hearing anything about queens and night-bloomers.

"Each flower blooms for one night around June or July and then closes for a year. They have an amazing fragrance," he said.

"I would love to see it," Peggy said.

She went over at seven. They had a simple dinner consisting of chunks of baked halibut tossed with spinach leaves and roasted zucchini. He served an elegant French white wine.

"Let's bring out the cereus," he said after dinner.

They went to the cactus hut and he carried out a rather small-looking potted plant and placed it on a table. "I think these June nights are perfect. Cool, dry, at least most of the time. I'm guessing it's going to be one of these evenings."

"How did you find out about these flowers?" Peggy asked.

"When I lived in Pacific Grove, California, I had a neighbor who went to New Mexico every year to paint watercolors of desert flowers. The night-blooming cereus was one of his favorites. He would do the painting in the middle of the night."

They went back in and had mint tea and listened to music. Peggy felt very relaxed. She propped her feet on a coffee table and enjoyed a luxurious view looking east over Puget Sound from Raoul's living room. At one o'clock in the morning they went out to check the cereus. It had bloomed beneath a moonlit sky. The fragrant was intoxicating, almost pungent. It smelled like vanilla. Raoul took pictures with his digital camera.

On Friday morning she went home and found several messages on her answering machine. Her son and daughter had both called in the evening and again in the morning. Peggy returned her daughter's call first.

"Where were you?" said Marjorie.

"How's your morning sickness, dear?" said Peggy. Marjorie, who lived in Arlington, Virginia, was coping with her first pregnancy.

"I'm getting over that, but are you okay?"

"Of course I'm okay."

"Did you spend the night somewhere?"

"I'm over twenty-one, you know," said Peggy.

"I see. This must be Raoul."

"Yes. He has flowers that only bloom at night."

"How convenient. So, does this mean that you and he, uh…"

"Nevermind," said Peggy. In fact, they did.

Then she called Taylor, Jr. "What happened to you?" he asked from his apartment in Brooklyn, New York.

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"Are you still hanging out with that arch-conservative apologist guy?"

"Taylor, I need a boyfriend. He's a very nice man and he has a special flower called Queen of the Night."

"Man, I've got to get some tips from that dude."

"Since when have my children become so grown up and cynical?"

"I thought you and he didn't agree on anything?" said Taylor.

"We disagree on many things. But the things we agree on are so wonderful that they make up for the other things."

"Sounds like you're rationalizing," he said.

"Since when are you such an expert?"

On the ferry, Peggy sipped her tea while she daydreamed about the weekend. The conversation had moved onto other things. Kelly Flinn was giving one of his speeches about current events.

"…I'm worried about my property," he was saying. "I have an old house on two acres. Under this latest Supreme Court ruling, the State could take it away and give the land to someone who might do something with it that generates more tax revenue."

Ferdinand said, "None of us are safe. I live in a trailer park right in Winslow, walking distance to the ferry. They could boot us out and give the land to a developer to build a condo, and it would be for the public good, right?"

"It's a shocking application of eminent domain," said Raoul.

Peggy looked at him. "You mean you're agreeing with him?"

"I'm afraid I side with Kelly on this one. The court is saying it's okay to take private property from one owner and give it to another private owner. That's completely contrary to the way we've always viewed private ownership in this country."

"My, this has been a time for rare events," she said. "Like flowers that bloom once a year."

"I thought that was symbolic of other rare events," he said.

She turned red and said, "Just drink your tea."


(** The night-blooming cereus was photographed by Aline Branley in her garden in Kenner, Louisiana)