Send Me No Flowers Read online

  “And let’s not forget the incredibly sexist Miss Valentine beauty pageant,” Gina reminded them. “Judged by a group of Love’s most eligible bachelors. I mean, come on! Who ever heard of a swimsuit competition in February?”

  Rachel’s mother had been crowned Miss Valentine over thirty years ago. Now retired and living in the Florida Keys, her dusty tiara sat in storage somewhere. As little girls, Rachel and her sisters had played Miss Valentine, stuffing their training bras with tissues and teetering about wearing their mother’s high heels.

  As teenagers, they’d decorated the dance hall with streamers and balloons, fervently hoping some boy would ask them to the Sweetheart Dance. They’d practice dancing with each other to music on the local radio station, which still played only love songs for an entire month.

  “I think the tourists are the worst,” Irma said with a disdainful sniff. “Two by two they come to kiss and cuddle and paw each other in every restaurant, movie theater and parking lot in Love. It’s impossible to walk down the street without seeing some affectionate display. It just isn’t decent.”

  Gina nodded. “We’re immersed in romance because we live in the city of Love. We have to eat, drink and breathe Valentine’s Day for a solid month before the big event. You almost feel like a traitor if you don’t buy tickets for the Lover’s Lottery or volunteer for the VFW kissing booth.”

  Rachel had felt obligated to volunteer for the booth last year and kissed more toads than she cared to remember. She’d also been asked to bake cupcakes for the cake walk at the Cupid carnival, sell twenty Valentine Vittles cookbooks and donate a free mental health evaluation as one of the prizes for the Lovers’ Lottery. The winner had wanted her to psychoanalyze his parrot.

  “And just once,” Irma added, “I’d like to go shopping without having to see that big, ugly Cupid fountain in the middle of the town square. That statue is practically naked!”

  Frank chuckled. “At least the town makes some money on all the coins folks throw in to the fountain, wishing for love.”

  Lacie snorted. “Believe me, that doesn’t work. I wasted a whole week’s worth of tips wishing my boyfriend would come back to me.”

  “Be careful what you wish for,” Gina warned, “because you just might get it. I wished for my husband to become more interested in sex. He did all right, only not with me. I think our resident Cupid has a bad aim.”

  Irma sighed. “Sounds like none of us will qualify for the Most Romantic Couple contest this year.”

  Frank leaned back in his chair, folding his hairy arms across his chest. “For a holiday that celebrates love, it certainly seems to cause a lot of misery.”

  “That’s because we’re alone,” Lacie muttered. “Losers. If we were in love on Valentine’s Day, we’d probably enjoy it.”

  “Look,” Rachel interjected, hoping to lift their spirits. “I think we need to remember something here. A person doesn’t have to be in love to be happy. On Valentine’s Day or any other day.”

  “I know that’s what you keep telling us, Dr. Grant,” Lacie sighed. “But it’s hard to remember when everybody around you gets flowers or candy or sexy lingerie on the big day.”

  “Hey, not everybody,” Gina said. “The only thing my husband ever gave me was strep throat.” She looked up at Rachel. “Russell might be a worm, but at least you know he still cared about you. He sent you a beautiful bouquet of red roses last Valentine’s Day.”

  Seeing how everyone in the group had been so honest and open, Rachel knew she couldn’t lie anymore. “Russell didn’t send me flowers last Valentine’s Day.”

  Gina’s mouth dropped open as she stared at her friend. “But I saw the card. It read, Yours Always, and it was signed, Russell.”

  “It was a forgery,” Rachel admitted.

  “What kind of sick person would forge something like that?” Frank asked.

  Rachel’s cheeks grew warm. “Me.”

  Nobody said a word. Gina’s eyes grew wider. “You sent flowers to yourself?”

  “Pathetic, isn’t it.” Rachel’s fingers curled around her pencil, remembering how shocked she’d been by Russell’s sudden departure from her life. And still so emotional about it she’d pretended he’d gotten her flowers so she could delay all the awkward questions. “In a weak moment, I gave in to all the Valentine’s Day hype.”

  Irma smiled. “Well, dear, it’s understandable. We may pretend we don’t have to be in love to be happy, but Valentine’s Day seems to prove otherwise. And as my husband always says, if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.”

  As the rest of the group nodded in agreement, Rachel realized the awful truth. She’d let them down. But sending flowers to herself in that one weak, impulsive moment didn’t change her opinion. She truly believed each person was responsible for their own happiness. Falling in love might add to that happiness, but it wasn’t a necessary ingredient. Now she just needed to convince her group.

  Rachel smiled as an idea formed in her mind. “Why do we have to join them?”

  Lacie’s brow crinkled. “What do you mean, Dr. Grant?”

  “Well, we can’t be the only ones who feel this way,” Rachel said. “Especially when we live in Love, Michigan. The whole town is forced to celebrate what is potentially the most depressing day of the year. Now it’s up to us to set them free.”

  “Uh-oh.” Gina sat up straighter on the sofa. “I recognize that look in your eyes. It was the same one you had when you released all the frogs in our high school biology class.”

  Irma pushed up her bifocals. “What are you going to do, Dr. Grant?”

  She took a deep breath. “I’m going to boycott Valentine’s Day.”

  They all just looked at her. But the more Rachel thought about the idea, the more she liked it. No more sending flowers to herself. No more overpriced greeting cards. No more of those candy hearts with the cutesy messages.

  “I don’t think you can do that,” Irma said at last.

  “Why not?”

  “Well, it’s tradition,” Frank said.

  Gina nodded. “It’s an annual event.”

  “So is the flu,” Rachel countered, “but I still try to avoid it.”

  Lacie looked at her. “Are you really considering a boycott, Dr. Grant?”

  “I’m not considering it, I’m going to do it!” Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner? Action was always the best remedy for a case of the doldrums. She could already see the group’s despondency replaced by an air of expectation. “I said it once, and I’ll say it again, You don’t have to be in love to be happy. Why celebrate a day that disputes that?”

  Her enthusiasm seemed to be contagious. Everybody started talking at once, their conversation peppered with laughter.

  “So who’s with me?” Rachel asked, her mind already racing with ideas. “Who wants to boycott Valentine’s Day?”

  “Count me in,” Gina said with a grin. “Murder might be a felony, but picketing isn’t even a misdemeanor.”

  “I’m in, too,” Lacie declared. “And the first thing I’m going to do is refuse to wear those stupid heart-shaped tassels at work.”

  Frank’s weathered face lit up. “This means I won’t have to play Cupid on the Bass Club’s float in the parade. I’ve always hated wearing those sissy red tights. I’m no Transylvanian.”

  Irma rose, raising one manicured fist in the air. “Let the boycott begin!”

  2

  Send me no flowers,

  now get a clue.

  I don’t like Valentine’s Day,

  and I can’t stand you.

  “SO WHO IS THIS NUT?” Drew Lavery asked as he knotted his tie in the YMCA locker room. He’d rather talk racquetball than screwballs, especially with an opponent as talented as city budget manager Charlie Dennison. They played every Wednesday over the noon hour, with the stipulation that the loser buy lunch at the local deli.

  “Her name is Rachel Grant,” Charlie said, pulling on his dress socks. “She’s a therapist over at the Rose
mont Clinic. And she’s not only a nut, she’s a dangerous nut. Three days ago she declared a boycott of Valentine’s Day. Can you believe it?” Charlie shook his head in disbelief. His mother and father had both been police officers, raising their son to believe in law and order and civil obedience. He even refused to jaywalk. He obviously thought that a Valentine’s Day boycott in Love was tantamount to treason.

  “Are you sure she’s not a patient instead of a therapist?” Drew asked, not quite ready to believe such an outlandish story. He and Charlie enjoyed playing practical jokes on each other, so naturally he was skeptical.

  “Positive. I found out about it when Frank Anders called me and told me he wasn’t entering a float in the Cupid Parade this year. Since then I’ve been getting a flood of calls from members of the Bass Club saying that if Frank’s not entering, neither are they.” Charlie threw up his hands. “How can I be the Cupid Parade chairman if there is no Cupid Parade?”

  Now Drew knew his friend wasn’t joking. Charlie took his job as parade chairman very seriously.

  “So this Grant woman has something against parades?”

  “No. According to Frank, she’s got something against Valentine’s Day. She’s declared a boycott and is recruiting citizens to join it.”

  Drew scowled as he shrugged into his jacket. The woman sounded like a menace to society. “She can’t do that. It’s not only ridiculous, it’s stupid. Doesn’t she know the economic boon Valentine’s Day gives this city?”

  “I guess someone needs to set her straight.”

  “So give her a call. Maybe this has all been blown out of proportion.”

  “I thought the mayor might have more influence with her.” Charlie grinned. “So what do you say, Mayor?”

  Drew shook his head. “I’m still not used to people calling me that.”

  “It’s been three months since the city council appointed you to the position. And you’re definitely an improvement over Mayor Babcock. I hear he’s adjusting well to prison life.”

  “Well, he certainly left the city finances in chaos.” Drew was an attorney, not an accountant, but he didn’t need a calculator to figure out how close Love was to operating in the red. He’d been chosen as mayor for his negotiating skills and natural leadership abilities. But it was his competitive streak that had made him eagerly accept the challenge.

  “Believe me, I know. Our finances certainly won’t be helped any if this boycott succeeds.”

  “You mentioned that when we started playing racquetball. I think you were trying to throw me off my game.”

  “And as usual it didn’t work,” Charlie complained. “I still owe you a pastrami on rye. Good thing I always bring extra cash on Wednesdays.”

  “Hey, don’t forget the barbecue potato chips this time.”

  “Got it.” Charlie ran a comb through his damp hair. “Now we just need to convince this Grant woman to forget about the boycott. So are you ready to turn on that legendary Lavery charm?”

  Drew grimaced. “Is that really part of my job description?” .

  “Just consider it one of the fringe benefits. Maybe Dr. Grant isn’t as horrible as she sounds.” He shrugged. “Although it’s hard to tell what kind of woman would instigate a boycott against Valentine’s Day. One thing, for sure, she’s not a romantic. Probably doesn’t even like men.”

  “Then I doubt I’ll have much luck with her.”

  “Just give her that lady-killer smile and she’ll be putty in your hands. She’s probably not used to a lot of male attention.”

  “Well, I’ll give it a try,” Drew said as he closed his locker door and inserted the padlock. “I can picture her now. Middle-aged. Bitter. One of those stiff, academic types.”

  “Think of it as a challenge.”

  “I’d rather beat you at racquetball again.”

  “Don’t worry, Lavery. Whether it’s women or racquetball,” Charlie said with a wide grin, “you always come out on top.”

  “ONLY THREE MORE MINUTES, Mr. Kasper,” Rachel called toward the closed closet door in her office.

  “I can’t breathe,” yelled a panicky voice from inside the closet. “I gotta get out of here!”

  “Take slow, deep breaths,” she replied in calm, soothing tones. “Close your eyes and envision a safe place. Imagine you’re in a cocoon.”

  “All right,” came his shaky voice from the closet. “I’ll...t...t...try.”

  “I know you can do this, Mr. Kasper.” Rachel kept her fingers crossed. Jonathan Kasper had been a regular patient for the last three years. A short, balding man on the brink of retirement, he and his wife had big plans to travel around the world. The only problem was he suffered severe attacks of claustrophobia every time he got on an airplane. He’d been making wonderful progress conquering his problem, but the acclimation phase was the hardest part.

  She glanced at her watch. This session was almost over. Her new impotency case would be next, then she’d be free for the rest of the afternoon, and the delicious rush of a Twinkie melting in her mouth. So far, she’d successfully avoided the vending machine in the clinic’s employee lounge all day, but she could feel herself weakening.

  The door to her office cracked open, accompanied by a light knock. “Excuse me,” intoned a deep, masculine voice. “There wasn’t anyone at the receptionist’s desk. I’m looking for a Dr. Grant.”

  “You found her,” she said, as the door opened wider.

  The man walked in, his dark brow furrowed. “You’re Dr. Grant?”

  Her impotency case. She smiled at the note of stunned surprise in his voice. He obviously wasn’t expecting a woman. The clinic staffed four board-certified mental health therapists, two men and two women. She’d never had an impotency case before, and she wasn’t about to let this one get away. She put everything else out of her mind except making him comfortable.

  “Yes, I am,” she said, extending her hand toward him with an encouraging smile. “But you may call me Rachel.”

  She knew he must be well over six feet tall, because she had to look up at him and she was five-nine. Tall enough to scare a lot of men away. But this man just looked surprised, and a little intrigued. He also looked vaguely familiar.

  “I’m Drew,” he replied, clasping her hand in his big, warm callused one. A tingle shot through her arm as he gently squeezed her fingers.

  His cocky, self-assured smile surprised her. She hadn’t expected a man with such an easy, confident air. But maybe it was all an act. On the surface she saw a trim, athletic body in a tailored Armani suit. A handsome, square-jawed face. Heart-stopping blue eyes. But underneath that delectable exterior probably lay a shy, insecure, sexually frustrated male.

  She could hardly wait to get her hands on him. Figuratively speaking.

  He smiled again, niggling that faint sense of recognition. The name on her appointment calendar read Smith. Drew Smith? No that didn’t sound right. Then it clicked. Drew Lavery. The new mayor. She’d seen his picture several times in the newspaper. Although she’d never imagined he’d look this much better in person.

  Poor man. He’d obviously used an alias when he’d phoned in for his appointment. Which meant he either wanted to avoid publicity or he wasn’t as confident as he appeared.

  His smile grew shy. “This is a little awkward. I’m not sure where to begin...”

  “Why don’t we just take some time getting acquainted fast.” She steered him toward the sofa. “That will make both of us more comfortable.”

  He looked somewhat reluctant as he sat down, but that was only natural.

  “You’re not exactly what I expected,” he began, raking his long fingers through his sable brown hair.

  “Please, just relax. I know why you’re here and I admire your courage in talking about something like this with a total stranger.” She hadn’t expected a man so young, so attractive, so outwardly virile. The paradox intrigued her. His case might make an interesting article for the Journal of American Therapists. Of course, she’d make
certain his identity remained anonymous.

  “Would you like a cup of coffee?” she asked, still sensing an air of uneasiness about him.

  “Sure,” he said, settling into the sofa.

  Neither of them said a word as she poured the hot coffee into a white ceramic mug, although she could feel his steady blue gaze fixed on her. She blamed the fiery blush in her cheeks on the steam rising out of the coffeepot.