I put a three-dollar bill and a quarter on the counter next to the register tape.

“My aunt always bought carnations because they’ll last two whole weeks in a jar of well water,” Sheila said, pushing my change across the metal tray.

I held the plastic bundle by the bottoms of the green stems, but my fingers felt loose and cold against the wrapping.

For fifty-five years I had walked into this store every August and bought exactly the same flowers without ever looking at the price.

I walked out through the automatic doors into the bright sun of the parking lot.