When you work at a floral shop you hear it all. Husbands that are sorry they cheated, "Please forgive me honey, I love you more then life." Boys with crushes on women, "roses are red violets are blue, I really want to be with you." And children thankful to their parents for once being alive, "Your memory and love will live on." In my small town, I am the heart of the news.

When I picked up the phone and heard Gerald Williams' voice I already knew most of the story. It helps that I grew up with him and used to go the Methodist church with Molly, until the minister became perverted. I asked if he wanted to send roses or what. "No not roses," he said. "I kind of like the smell of funeral flowers, whatever they are, carnations maybe. You know what I'm talking about, the ones the Lukes sent to the O'Henry funeral?" I remembered all right. The Lukes were about the only people that could actually stand old Mrs. O'Henry enough to send flowers. "Yes, Yes," I said. "who are they for?" I knew they had to be for Molly, but I didn't want to assume anything. And what should the card say? "Well, they're for Molly Sweeny, and I really don't know what to say. Maybe something like, 'I love everything about you and I'll always love your eccentricities and you're really beautiful, and well thanks for everything', oh yeah, and 'I hope you'll love me too'." I told Gerald that was a little too long for the card and asked if I could put "I love you and I hope we can be together, Love Gerald." I sent the flowers.

* * * *

Before Gerald could send the flowers to Molly, before they could meet, before he could give her a kiss, Gerald had to be born. So he was, he was born in Bloomfield, lived in Bloomfield, and worked there. There is always a story behind monotony.

When Gerald was young his parents ran the funeral home that he does now. The family lived upstairs. Their business was one of the busiest in town, if you call death a business. Every old or ill person from the surrounding area would move to Bloomfield because every minute seemed forever and every day eternity. What is boring to the living is solace to the eminently deceased.

Gerald's parents are now dead. They had their two days of resting downstairs and then they were put in the Ever After Lawns. Gerald still lives upstairs, but business is a lot slower than what it was. The town is smaller, and the people seem less willing to die. The downstairs is covered with red velvet carpeting, (to warm the guest) and glossy wood (to keep the customers friends and family in a sullen countenance). The upstairs, despite many invitations, has only been seen by Gerald's family. Gerald doesn't always sleep upstairs. He sometimes comforts those that don't care; they won't come upstairs either.

When he was younger, Gerald wore dress clothes, even to school. Black slacks, a white button down shirt, and a tie with a little bit of color. Let the deceased's family know you sympathize, but give them some hope for the future. The local kids didn't appreciate Gerald's mannerisms. "Gerald sleeps with dead people, Gerald sleeps with dead people." Gerald would say "We sleep upstairs. Our house is really nice, you should come over and see it. You all seem so peaceful." Everyone would laugh at his answer, because they were scared of death, and because his sincerity was so removed of emotion.

It was impossible for anyone that grew up with Gerald to see him as anything but the little awkward boy who brought embalming tools to show-and-tell. But he grew up to be quite a nice man. The people of the town did respect the way he took care of the dead. "Gerald sure did a good job with Betty, she looks so peaceful." The children still chanted "Mr. Williams sleeps with dead People, Mr. Williams sleeps with dead people." Gerald would answer "I sleep upstairs, and it is a wonderful place to live." The children's parents, understanding Gerald's worth to the community, would yell at their kids and make them apologize. They could remember the days when they uttered the same things.

Gerald reasoned that he would always live alone, except for the cold, but gracious dead. No matter how earnest he looked, his devotion to his work would not allow him to toil with the living. His eternity in Bloomfield was passed pleasing the unpleasable.

Molly Sweeney wasn't born in Bloomfield, but in Greenfield, a town an hour away, and named after a field that apparently was still there, just like in Bloomfield. Nothing really changes. She moved to Bloomfield to report and edit for the paper, and has been here for five years. A mundane life, but there is always drama disguised as dullness.

Not being from Bloomfield, Molly didn't have a childhood. She would tell people where she was from, and they would sympathize with that. "Greenfield? Yes I think I have a cousin that lives there." No one really cared where she was from because they couldn't trace their roots with her's. She wasn't foreign, just different and strange. At least she was polite, the people would say. The bi-weekly courier hired her because of her alien perspective. The paper figured she would be more impartial when she gave reports on the Bloomfield Raiders Ice-cream socials, or the sesquicentennial celebration, or whatever other event that was front page material. She spent her endless hours in Bloomfield at the paper.

Molly's parents might be dead, but no knows for sure. On major holidays she leaves town, so she probably has someone somewhere, but she isn't married, that is for sure. Her parents probably spend their lives in those "green fields," being sorry for the loss of their daughter. When she first moved into the house that shares a back yard with the funeral home, many of the single men from town came to visit her. Actually there were only three or four, but that is about it for men her age, except for Gerald, and he was resigned to pass time with the dead. The bachelors came, with flowers and cards about her "ocean blue eyes." They stopped coming when they realized they couldn't talk about anything since Molly didn't know what it meant to be from Bloomfield. Her dog barked a lot too. Jimmy Henderson said he might have kept pursuing her if it wasn't for the dog. He asked her to choose, and she chose the dog. She said it kept her warm at night and when she would fall asleep it would bark to wake her up. That was another problem with her, she fell asleep and couldn't control it. She said it was medical and called it narcolepsy, she even wrote an article about it. The people just passed it off for laziness. Maybe in Greenfield everyone was like that. They read the articles though, because it passed three or four lifetimes.

Molly must have decided that she was going to spend forever in Bloomfield, because she planted several rose bushes and other annuals in her yard, and there is no use planting something like that if you are going to leave. Greenfield wouldn't want her back anyway because she would be too eccentric after living in Bloomfield so long. So Molly planted flowers, walked her dog, wrote articles for the paper, and joined the Methodist church right on the corner. In church everyone was nice and talked. They invited her to their houses for coffee. They would talk about the weather, flowers, God, and narcolepsy. Molly would write articles about these socials. The people that had her over would read her columns and think that it all sounded so familiar. Molly would always say "I had such a good time. You should come over to my place for some cake." Her hostesses would always turn her down politely "We couldn't intrude, and we still kind of see it as the crazy old O'Henry house."

The Methodist church was the only church in town beside St. Pats. A lot of people in town converted to Catholicism after the minister lost it. Molly stayed loyal, because her connections in town were through the church. She didn't mind that the minister spoke of sickos sleeping with dead people, and spreading their darkness. Most of the congregation were rather offended and decided to trade in conformity for guilt. But Molly didn't care that evil was in town. At least that would be news. Eternity goes a lot faster when things happen. Molly didn't write about necrophiliac because she believed she should keep religion out of the paper, except when there was a chili supper, or a pageant.

Molly moved into the house when Mrs. O'Henry's husband died and Mrs. O'Henry was put into the retirement home outside of town, with the view overlooking the tranquil Ever After Lawns. When she died it would have been easier to move her straight from that rest home to the cemetery, but instead they brought her clear back to her old neighborhood for the funeral. Gerald kept Mrs. O'Henry company though, he was so good with the dead.

Molly decided she should go to the funeral. It was an event that might be news worthy and she felt they had a bond because Mrs. O'Henry was the only person from town that had seen the inside of her house. Molly couldn't bring her dog, she thought it wouldn't be proper, but she brought some flowers. The card only said R.I.P. She didn't think she knew the woman well enough for actual words, since she had only shared a bedroom with her indirectly. Molly was the first one at the funeral. She sat in the third row of folding chairs. She figured she would save room for the non-existent friends and family. The Methodist Minister was there because Mrs. O'Henry hadn't bothered to convert before she died. The Flowers the Lukes sent sat in front of the casket. The Minster went over and started small talk with Molly. Molly said "I hope I put the right time in the paper." The minister assured her she did. "Have you met Gerald Williams yet? He is the one who makes the dead look so alive and comfortable. He is truly a blessing, and not the sinner everyone whispers about." Molly said she hadn't met him, but would love to. "Gerald come over here. Come meet your neighbor." Gerald walked over to the lively women. "You must be Molly, You live in Mrs. O'Henry's house. It seems very peaceful over there."

"Yes, Yes, she probably sleeps in her room, don't you Molly? but she can handle it", said the minister, "she can sit through my endless sermons." The Minister noticed the two looking at each other. The minister always wanted to get more business, and when there aren't funerals there are weddings. His work declined since everyone had become Catholic, so he made an early exit. "Sorry," the minister said, "but I think I will leave, I already did the eulogy in my head, so God heard, and so did Mrs. O'Henry, so I'll just leave."

"Where are you from Molly," asked Gerald, "can I call you Molly?"

"No, I really would like to know."

"Greenfield," Molly said.

Gerald could see Molly unlike any other of the suitors had. He could see that she came from some other place, and that didn't make her strange, but maybe wonderful. She is not from Bloomfield. She reports what she sees, when her eyes are open. She can't judge because she doesn't know the eternities of the town's history.

"It is really nice what you did for Mrs. O'Henry. I mean, you probably knew no one would show up, but yet you made her look so good, said Molly."

"Thanks, she rests in a better place. Now she is with God." Molly's eyelids began to close. It wasn't because she was tired of talking to Gerald. In fact she was happy that she had actually spoken to someone. Her sleep, might have actually been brought about because of her excitement. Whatever caused it, she fell asleep.

Outside of the funeral home Molly's dog started to bark, the bark that scared away Jimmy Henderson, and woke Molly from her uncontrollable sleep so many times before. But not this time, because the walls of the sanctuary were made to make everything so peaceful. Gerald held her body. It was warm, but limp. The pliability was a fresh new comfort to Gerald. He wished he could show her the upstairs. The rooms that no one had seen before. He wished he could be with her in a place that was beyond corruption, but if he carried her she might wake. The stairs might make a barking sound. The moment might not last an eternity.