Free Family Blessings by Lavyrle Spencer

two men patted each other's shoulders.
    "Well, I've been better," Lloyd answered. "I imagine you put in a bad night yourself."
    "Yessir, the worst."
    Lee said, "You should've stayed at the house with the kids and me."
    "Maybe," he replied. "Maybe. But all I'd have done was put off facing this place. There'd still be tonight, and tomorrow and the next day."
    He had, Lee knew as she studied him, the most difficult task of any of them, since he'd been closest to Greg. Even she mother though she was--had not lived with Greg for over two years. This place was where his absence would be felt most.
    "Did you eat my lasagna?" she asked.
    "Yes, this morning." He put a hand on his flat stomach and managed a smile. "It was good."
    She glanced around the kitchen, reluctant to move farther into the apartment, coming up with one more item of business to delay it a few minutes.
    "May I use your phone, Christopher? I'd like to call the shop."
    ', "Sure."
    He and Lloyd moved into the living room while she dialed Absolutely Floral.
    Sylvia answered.
    "Sylvia, you're there?" They employed four designers who came in at staggered hours.
    "I thought I'd better come down and see how things were going."
    "Everything okay?"
    "Just fine. The girls are handling everything. Don't worry about a thing. Did you sleep at all?"
    "Not much. Lloyd and I have already seen the funeral director and we've set the funeral for Monday at two P.M. We decided not to have a reviewal."
    "Honey, I would have come with you."
    "I know, so would Mom and Dad. Lloyd came. We did just fine . . .
    really. But there is something you can do for me at the shop, Sylvia."
    "Anything. Just name it."
    "I'd like you to call Koehler & Dramm and order three dozen calla lilies, some freesias, gardenias and sword ferns. Everything white and green. Make sure we've got sprengeri and tall myrtle, too . .." She paused and added, "For Monday."
    "Lee, you're not going to arrange it yourself."
    "Yes, I am."
    "But, Lee . .."
    "He was my son. I want to do it, Sylvia."
    "Lee, this is silly. Why not let one of the girls do it? Or me?
    I'll be happy to."
    "It's something I must do, Sylvia, please understand. Lloyd is going to give the eulogy, I'm going to arrange the casket flowers."
    It took a while before Sylvia agreed. "Very well. Full or half?"
    "Full. We've decided to leave it closed."
    Sylvia sighed. "All right, Lee, I'll do it right away."
    "Thanks, Sylvia."
    "Oh, Lee? I thought you'd want to know. The orders are flooding in for Greg. I think I'll stay here and help the girls, but if you need me, just call and I'll come over, okay?"
    "I'll be just fine. I'm here at Greg's apartment with Lloyd and Christopher, and the kids are at home."
    "Okay, but call if you need me . . . promise?"
    "I will. Thanks, Sylvia."
    When Lee hung up and went into the living room she knew the two men had overheard, though they'd been talking softly all the time. She was grateful that neither one said a word to try to dissuade her. Instead they each put an arm around her and stood looking up at the collection of caps on the wall.
    Christopher said, "He was wearing his red Twins cap, but his favorite one is still here. It's the one you gave him last year, Lloyd."
    Lloyd nodded, and they all realized it was time to pull themselves out of the maudlin mood. Lee moved away from their arms toward the fig tree. "The ficus looks good." She poked a finger in the soil. "So does the pothos . . . and the grape ivy."
    They made her want to cry, these dumb plants, simply because he'd never water them again. No, it was more than that: They'd been a symbol of his independence, gifts she'd given him when he went out on his own to start his adult life in his first apartment.
    Only two years he'd had them . . . only two.
    "Oh, this is stupid!" she said, angry with herself for starting to cry again. "They're just plants! Just dumb plants!"
    "It's not stupid," Christopher said. "I feel the same way every time I look at them . . . and at his