Short story

White chrysanthemums

- Say, grandpa, when will you die?
That was the question Mr Owen heard from his little grandson today.

- Why are you saying this, child?

- But mom told us that when you die I can finally have my own room.

Mr Owen was not shocked, he even understood.

He was an old retiree living with his daughter and son-in-law, and their children. Of course, he caused troubles for the young family. They barely made ends meet, which was the reason of Emma's (his daughter) constant frustration. She was a nurse in a local hospital, and she had to spend day and night working in two shifts, because her husband Harry certainly could not help. He was a freelance writer working on his first book since their wedding, which was another reason for endless quarrels in that house. And Mr Owen's scanty pension didn't make any improvement. And neither did he.

So he wasn't even surprised when he heard his daughter complaining:  "I can't take it anymore. It's too much to keep him here. Why he is ...why he couldn't just..."

Though Mr Owen didn't heard the rest, it wasn't hard to guess. All of  them huddled together in that small appartment, which, of course, was not enough for everyone.

"When will you die?"

How he, an old wreck, could blame anybody for his own uselessness?  Poor Emma... He still remembered her as a little girl. He even remember her favourite flowers - white chrysanthemums. Whenever she was sad, he bought her a few to make her smile again.

He realised something then. He came up to the door. Emma noticed him.

- Where are you going?

- Just to buy something.

-Again?! Don't you know we have debts everywhere? You don't do anything! You can only waste our money!

- I'm so sorry, dear.

He left the house and walked across the street, where a flower shop was.

- Execuse me, I want to buy chrysanthemums.

- Chrysanthemums? - asked the flower girl.

- Yes, the white ones, please. They are for my daughter. You see, when she was a little girl she said that white chrysanthemums made her happy, so I gave it to her every time she was upset. And now it's the same time.

The flower girl didn't understand why he should tell that to her (probably, one of the old people's odds). She didn't even like white chrysanthemums herself. They seemed lifeless and grievous to her. Purple asters were much better! But of course it wasn't her business.

- Here you go, sir, - she gave him a bouquet of five flowers.

- Thank you very much.

And then he left.

***

Emma suspiciously looked at the young woman who stood in front of her in the doorway. She noticed a white rumpled bouquet in her hands.

- Can I help you?

- Excuse me, do you know Mr Owen?

- My father? Is something happened to him?

- There was a car accident near my shop. They said he died instantly...

Emma was standing there petrified.

-Wha...what are you saying?!

- He bought these... for you... he said they would make you happy.

Emma took the bouquet. Now she saw that it was white chrysanthemums. She was staring at them unable to raise her head. The flower girl realised that she didn't look at her.

- Listen... I'm very sorry, but I have to go back to work.

And what else could she say? She didn't know that woman. She returned to the shop, but the thoughts of today's tragedy didn't leave her. White chrysanthemums... she was right - there were nothing good in those flowers!