The old timer's grin widens, showing he's missing quite the number of teeth. "Not long not long! It's just a quick jaunt over the hillside and we're practically there. If you'd like I could throw a little Beri your way for the trouble. Not a lot but..."
I wave him off. "No no, keep your money sir. It's no trouble. Just a quick trip right?"
"Absolutely absolutely." He nods vigorously. "Just let me get a few more pots from the back and we'll be right off!"
Let this serve as a warning about agreeing to help strangers.
Yes, it's polite.
Yes, it's considered a normal thing to help out the elderly when they ask.
However,
As it turns out... A "few more pots" as the old man called them... actually meant somewhere in the realm of two hundred. Every time I thought he was exiting with the last armful he'd say "oh just a few more" or "almost done" and before I know it I'm densely packing whole piles of garlands, festoons, and obviously flower pots into the back of this man's cart and feeling like I'm 15 years old at my first summer job.
Just as I'm about to voice a complaint about this having already taken half an hour and we haven't even left the front porch yet, the owner thankfully comes out and locks the door behind him.
"Sorry sorry. Just had to get one last piece." He speaks with a wreath of pink hibiscuses tucked protectively under his arm. "This one's special. No point in making the trip if I don't bring this one."
I make my way to the front of the cart and grab a firm hold of the handle. "You ready to go?" "Yes yes. Best be on our way now." The man babbles as he slides up next to me. "Don't want to be out when the sun starts setting."
He told me that this would be quick.
"Just a jaunt over the hillside" he said.
It's officially been two hours. Two hours and 10 minutes actually.
Nothing about this is quick. Can't go too fast or the cart might spill things out the back. Can't make sharp turns because the wheels are old and rickety.
Oh and let's not forget that the hillside he mentioned is actually miles outside of town.
'Laugh it up [Game].' I silently stew, trudging the cart up a grassy knoll. 'You won. You got me to waste my last evening of vacation just by dangling 100 Exp like a carrot on some string.'
"Say now," The old man speaks up. "I never actually got your name young man." "It's Jack." I say, making only a token effort to hide how fed up with the situation I am.
He's either ignoring my sour attitude or mystifyingly hasn't picked up on it. "Well it's nice to make your acquaintance Jack. As for myself, well, you can just call me Mr. B! As in 'Mr. B's Flowers and Home Decor'!" He says in far too chipper a manner. "Not my real name you understand but, heh heh no one's used that old thing in about...oh two decades now I suppose. I'm just Mr. B these days. Whether it's bouquets, baskets, or birthday balloons! Mr. B wants your business! Catchy don't you think?"
"Mmhmm." I hum back, only halfway paying attention. I take a quick peek over my shoulder, just to make sure nothing's fallen out of the cart, and feel my eyes drawn to the 'special item' the florist had put in last.
"So gramps. Who's the wreath for?" Mr. B looks up fondly, his eyes full of teary remembrance. "Ohhh she was the most wonderful lady. Wit as quick as a spit and a fiery attitude to match."
"An old flame of yours maybe?" I tease with a light elbow to his side.
Mr. B nearly busts a gut laughing. "Oh no no no. Even 20 years ago I was far too old to have had a shot with a lass as young as she. I was always the eldest of my group of pals. Besides, she and a friend of mine were a much better match. Never before had I seen two people connect so perfectly and so quickly..." His smile fades and his chin falls downward. "It was truly tragic that it couldn't last."
I turn my head back to the road. 'Wow, talk about a mood killer.' "Well...she really sounds like something special." The old shopkeep smiles with a tear in the corner of his eye. "She was a remarkable lady. One of the finest I've ever met."
The cemetery finally pulls into view just as the sky begins shifting to orange from the setting sun. Mr. B wastes no time -for once- and hops to work in unloading the cart and distributing fresh flora across the various gravestones and markers.
Meanwhile I'm mentally tapping my foot at the quest that hasn't cleared yet. 'Come on come on. Laika gets off at 8 and I want to eat beforehand.' I bring up the text to review it again. '...deliver his flowers to where they...' I did that! Are you saying I need to actually help him set them up too?
'Damn it [Game]. You're wasting my time here.' Another hour passes by as Mr. B was very particular about what went where. 'You can't put daisies on Mrs. Costa's grave, she hated the color yellow', that sort of thing. Still, progress was progress and as the last blip of the sun was visible we finally finished.
"Is that all of them?"
"Almost..." Mr. B whispers as he raises up the wreath of hibiscuses. "Just one left."
He carries it slowly, affectionately, across to the opposite end of the cemetery where a single much more ornate gravestone faces the sea. Kept separate from all the others.
"Here you go ma'am." He whispers softly, resting the wreath of pink hibiscuses over the top of the shrine. "I tried a new fertilizer mix with these ones, though I still can't get them as vibrant as you did. Still, I hope you like them."
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