It's astonishing, in the bad way, how long it takes me to write a chapter nowadays. I'm working 60 hour weeks yes, but they never used to tire me out this much. (I also have something going on with my arm that I can barely move it but it doesn't bother me when I type so I can't make that excuse.)
When Florence awoke, her heavy eyelids and achy body gave her the impression that she hadn't been asleep for long. And yet, when she grabbed her phone – and deleted all 27 notifications with one swipe because the last thing she wanted to do was be social – she saw it was already nearly noon.
She wanted to just roll over and go back to sleep. But that wasn't like her. She needed to be busy. If she slept, she would be even more behind when she woke up.
She wasn't sure what exactly she would be behind on. But she still felt like she would be behind.
"Sylvester?" She asked as she walked into the hall. There was no response, but she could hear him shuffling around in the kitchen area. "Sly, you let me sleep for too…" she trailed off upon reaching the kitchen and surveying the scene ahead of her. "What…is this?"
He chuckled. "Flowers. What does it look like?"
"It looks like the Mojave Desert threw up all over our kitchen."
He chuckled. "Yeah…they came from three different florists. Six of these are from the same one."
"Who are they all from?"
"Some people whom Scorpion has helped…" Sylvester parted some leaves to find the next tag "Sommers, Elia…looks like some of our competitors, too, Thomas Beek, Dr. Ewart…oh, Aimee! That was sweet of her."
Florence turned, leaving the kitchen and sinking down on the couch in the living room, pulling her knees up to her chest.
"Something wrong?" He asked. "I mean, other than…" he added when she raised her eyebrows.
"Everyone's sending flowers like it's a funeral."
Sylvester grew quiet. Then, "I don't think that's why they're sending them, Lori."
"No one sends flowers for a happy occasion."
"Yes they do. Birthday, Mother's Day, Wedding, Anniversary, Easter, Secretary's Day…"
"Okay. Fine. But they don't send them to us on those days."
"Florence," he said softly, "they mean well."
"Yeah, it's just the whole concept of…what?" She snapped. "The door," she clarified when he looked at her in alarm.
Sylvester headed for the door with a curious look on his face. Florence wondered if it would be another mess of floral decorations, but the person on the other side wasn't a delivery person; she was someone very familiar to them. "Oh, hey, Allie," he said.
"Hi, sweetheart," Allie said with a smile. She was carrying several large bags. They did not appear to contain flowers, and Florence breathed a sigh of relief. "Hi, Florence. How's Tilly?"
Florence bit the inside of her cheek and didn't answer. Allie didn't seem to notice, heading for the kitchen.
Sylvester followed closely behind. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but…what are you doing here?" Allie never showed up without Cabe.
"I'm here to cook," Allie said. "I would be here to clean as well, but I know you prefer to get that done your way. So I've bought a bunch of groceries and I'm going to transform them into meals, because I know both of you often forget to eat, and you've got to keep your strength up."
From her spot on the couch, Florence smiled. "That's very kind of you, Allie."
Allie set the bags down and crossed the room to sit beside her. "How is everything?"
"I'm okay." She shot Sylvester a look. A don't tell her I'm not sleeping, don't tell her I'm anxious about everything look. A none of that stuff is anyone's business look.
Sylvester busied himself looking in the paper bags.
"Good," Allie said. "I'm glad. And how is the little one?"
"She's fine," Florence said. "I mean, breathing is about all we can look for right now, so…as well as to be expected."
She sounded clinical. Too clinical. Detatched. Is Allie going to think I don't care about the baby? My baby, she corrected her thought immediately. A wave of guilt surged within her.
"She's got another week under her belt now," Allie said. "That's such a good sign. Every day is a good sign. Walter says he's been keeping an eye on her when you guys are here recuperating."
Florence felt like she hadn't known that. But she had to have. She had been horrible at remembering things the past few days. "Yeah. He's nice. Helpful, I mean. He's helpful."
"Well, I'm going to get to cooking," Allie said. She patted Florence's knee. "Sly, come over here and sit with her."
Florence was glad when Sylvester joined her on the couch. Allie's brief touch reminded her how isolated and alone she felt. She leaned against her husband, tucking her head into his arm. What on Earth would I be without you?
Thankfully, Allie was too busy working on unloading and sorting the ingredients in her bags to notice when she started to cry again, turning her face into her husband's sleeve to hide her tears.
"Here, Amber," Paige said. "I have some paints for you. Do you want to finger paint?"
"Painting!" Amber jumped up and down.
"Don't stomp. Come here and sit on the chair. Walt, you want to paint with us?"
"Finger painting is messy."
"Easy there, Sylvester." Paige winked.
He rolled his eyes. Crossing the room, he opened the cupboard and took out a plate.
"No, Walter, use the paper plates."
"Single use cutlery is bad for the environment."
"So is the plane that's still stuck out in the mountains."
"We didn't do that on purpose."
"I don't want to wash the plate. Get the newspaper, then."
Walter gathered a few newspapers from the recycling bag and brought them over, dumping the blue, yellow, and red paint into three distinct splotches.
"More colors," Amber said. "More colors?"
"We don't need more colors," Paige said. "We can make the colors."
"See, Ambie, these are the primary colors," Walter said. "You can make other colors from them. Like orange. And purple. And green."
"Walter, she's too young to understand that."
"I'm sorry, can I parent?" He snapped. They stared at each other in silence. He sighed. "Sorry."
Paige sighed too, sliding into the seat next to Amber.
"Here," he said, ignoring her. "Look. See this? Red. Yellow." He took some red on his pointer finger and yellow on his thumb, then rubbed them together. "See? Orange!"
Amber put her whole hand in the red.
"No, Amber," Walter said. "Actually, no, okay, now take your other hand and put it in the blue."
Amber stared at him. Paige tapped in front of the blue paint. "Put the clean hand in this one." When Amber did, Paige smiled. "Now do this!" She vigorously rubbed her palms together. Amber mimicked her. Paige gasped, putting her hands to her cheeks. "Wow, purple!"
"Puple!" Amber said with a grin, putting her hands against her face like her mother had done.
"Oh," Paige gasped when she realized what she'd done. "Amber, your face is all a mess."
Amber put her hands down on the paper in front of her.
"Now lift them up!" Walter said, raising his own hands in demonstration.
Amber did, and squealed with delight at her two purple hand prints on the paper, with hints of blue on the edge of one hand and red on the edge of the other.
