Chrysanthemum Characters Novels & Stories

Alexandra nodded her head and with each passing second, her smile faded. “It’s in my car; I’ll have Michael bring it in. I hope you’d like it Grandmother.” She brought out her phone and called the assistant. Seconds later he was rushing in with a bouquet of white Chrysanthemum. “Oh, how beautiful.” Eleanor swooned after the bouquet had been handed to her. “Indeed they are. I was trouble over what to give to you and at the last moment thought of this. I searched the meaning up and found the Japanese meaning quite befitting. They are approximately sixty Two there. I hope you like them Grandmother.”

Knew it from her description – simple granite, his name, the dates, a line about sunlight that her mother chose. Fresh flowers. Already there. Not sunflowers. Chrysanthemums. I stood there. Holding sunflowers that were two hours late. Looking at chrysanthemums that were right on time. My hands bleeding and shaking and empty and I knew. Knew who brought them. Because there was only one other person who knew this cemetery. This grave. This date. I put the sunflowers down next to the chrysanthemums. My blood on the brown paper. His flowers and mine side by side on a dead man's grave like a scoreboard.