’ Alicia was laughing in agreement when a man walked into the shop, which she took as her cue to leave. She smiled and waved. ‘Time to check my email,’ Tracy said in an undertone. As she turned back to her screen, she was pleased to see an email from one of her favorite clients, Mrs. Hillson, requesting a centerpiece for a dinner party. Mrs. Hillson was Tracy’s favorite type of client: wealthy, appreciates quality, knows what she wants but also allows Tracy artistic freedom. Attached to the email was a photo of Mrs. Hillson’s dining room and table, a ten foot rectangle which was almost as big as some Manhattan apartments. She also had a list of flowers she preferred as well as a few she could not tolerate. The body of the email said, ‘Theodore is cooking Asian fusion, but remember — no orchids! Otherwise I trust you to do your magic, dear.’ Although Tracy was aware of the customer’s presence in her shop, she usually let people just browse until they asked for help. In this case the. "I would, but I've already got one baby to take care of, I don't need another one right now," she teased me right back."Baby?" I asked."Yeah. I married a marine. He was a Captain. He didn't make it back from Nam. He never even got to meet his son," she replied with resignation and sadness.For some reason, I could sense she needed to talk about it."Tell me about him," I said gently.For whatever reason, she began telling me her story as she fed me my dinner."I grew up here in Maryville. When I graduated from high school, I went to nursing school at St. Mary's in Knoxville. While I was there, I met Kenny, who was home on leave, having just finished OCS. We really hit it off. He had this old motorcycle, and for the rest of his leave, we went everywhere on it. He used to take me riding up in the Smokies. That's the big National Park nearby. You can see them out your window," she told me. "Well, you can when you can get up and around."Anyway, we would ride his motorcycle everywhere, usually.
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