Melody said, jumping out of the truck.
They stepped into the workroom, which was one of Melody’s favorite places. The walls were lined with shelves that held vases of every shape and size, rolls of ribbon, and dozens of flowerpots and baskets. An old wooden worktable stretched along the length of the wall, and shears, floral tape, pins, and other supplies were arranged neatly on its surface. There was always music on the radio. This afternoon it was jazz. She recognized the saxophone sound because Daddy used to play one.
Melody dropped her book bag beside the door. There was a long cardboard box at one end of the table.
“Go on, look,” Poppa said. Melody took a deep breath and carefully lifted the top off with both hands.
“Ohhh!” she gasped, smiling up at him. Inside the box wasn’t candy, or toys, or anything else that would delight most nine-year-olds. The box was filled with flowers and feathery green ferns. “Red roses!” she said, taking a long sniff of their sweetness. Roses were Big Momma’s favorite. “And yellow lilies, and pink freesia.”
“Somebody knows her flowers,” her grandfather said, taking a delicate china vase from the shelf.
Melody looked up at him proudly. “Can I really make this one all by myself?”
He tilted his head to one side, and the sun from the windows made his silver beard shine. “Yes you can, Little One,” Poppa said. “When you’re done, we’ll leave it here in the cooler so it stays fresh. I’ll bring it to the house early Sunday morning, and I’ll hide it so your grandmother doesn’t see it until after church. Watch out for the thorns.”
“I will!” Melody said. She opened a drawer and took out the girl-size gardening gloves that she kept at the store. She pulled on the gloves, climbed up on a stool, and carefully picked up one of the roses. She was so busy imagining just how she would mix the colors and flowers in the vase that she didn’t notice Poppa leaving the workroom.
Melody hummed along with the music as she clipped the ends of the stems carefully, the way Poppa had shown her, so the flowers could “drink” more water when she put them into the vase.
She ignored the tinkling of the bell on the front door as customers came and went. But when the telephone rang, she heard a voice that wasn’t Poppa’s say, “Hello. Frank’s Flowers.” It was Yvonne!
Melody put down her shears and peeked out front.
Poppa was talking to a customer in front of the huge cooler full of dozens of different types of flowers and greenery. Yvonne was standing behind the counter near the cash register. She was wearing her best pleated skirt and stockings, and her straightened hair was pulled back by a headband.
“What are you doing here?” Melody asked after Yvonne hung up the phone.
Yvonne didn’t look happy. “I’m taking a break from my summer job hunt.”
“Why?” Melody was trying to pay attention, but she noticed a pretty yellow flower in the cooler that she’d never seen before. It would be a perfect addition to her Mother’s Day arrangement, she thought.
“I just applied for a job at the bank. The newspaper said they were hiring students for the summer, but no luck for me.”
“Maybe the jobs are all full, and they don’t need anybody else,” Melody suggested.
“That’s what the manager told me, but it wasn’t true. He didn’t even look at my application. A white girl about my age went into his office after me, and I heard him say they still had several summer positions open.”
Melody jerked her head away from the cooler. “Is that the same bank where Mommy took me to open my savings account?”
Yvonne flushed angrily in answer. She looked as if she might cry.
Melody was outraged. “If they won’t give my sister a job because she’s black, then I’m going to take my money to a different bank.”
Yvonne tried to smile. “Thanks, Dee-Dee.”
“I’m serious,” Melody said. The hurt on her sister’s face made Melody think about something from a long time ago.
Once when Melody was only four and everyone else was already going to school, her grandparents had taken her south to see their cousins. It was very hot, and the lemonade in Big Momma’s thermos was gone. Melody was still thirsty, so when Poppa stopped at a gas station in Alabama, Melody begged for a drink. There was a Coca-Cola machine, red and white and shiny. Poppa had given her a nickel so that she could buy an ice-cold soda pop. But when they got closer, Big Momma said, “Stop, baby.”
“I want a drink!” Little Melody had stomped her foot.
“I know,” Big Momma said, “but we can’t today. The machine is broken. Put your money in your pocket now.”
Big Momma had taken Melody’s hand to guide her away, and as Melody cried and followed, a little blonde girl about her size went to the machine. She stood on tiptoe and dropped a coin in. Then she reached in and pulled a frosty bottle out of the machine.
“It’s not broken!” Melody had shouted. “It’s not! I want a soda pop, too!” she’d cried, pulling against Big Momma’s arm. Melody remembered crying for a long time, and none of Big Momma’s other treats could make her feel better.
It wasn’t until she was older and she could read that she understood. A few years later they were again driving south and stopped at a station, this time in Tennessee. Melody got out to stretch her legs, and she saw the same kind of soda machine. There was a sign above the machine that said “Whites Only.” That’s when Melody realized that the machine in Alabama must have had the same kind of sign.
When they got back to Detroit, Melody had asked Big Momma why she hadn’t told her about the sign the first time.
“Because it hurt me too much,” Big Momma said. “I didn’t want it to hurt you, too.”
Melody’s memory faded as the bell on the door of the flower shop tinkled, but her determination to go to the bank the first chance she had did not.
Two teenage boys had wandered into the store, and the girls turned their attention to them. They seemed lost. Poppa was still busy, so Yvonne greeted them.
“You sell corsages?” one of them asked sheepishly.
Melody smiled. She knew that a corsage was the tiny flower arrangement that girls wore to dances and proms.
Yvonne looked very businesslike. “Yes,” she said. “Are you looking for a corsage to pin on her dress, or for her to wear on her wrist?”
“I dunno,” the boy said.
“How much do they cost?” the other boy asked.
“How much do you have?” Yvonne asked.
“One dollar!” they both said at the same time.
Yvonne rolled her eyes, and Melody tried not to laugh. One dollar wasn’t enough money to buy a very fancy corsage. But she could tell that Yvonne had a plan. Poppa, finished with his customer, was watching.
“Well,” Yvonne said, “we can give you a special prom deal. Two single carnations with two ribbons for one dollar! We’ll even match the color of the ribbons to the young lady’s dress.”
Melody saw Poppa’s eyebrows rise.
“For real?” The first boy was shocked.
“Tell your friends,” Yvonne said. “I know there are three dances at different high schools next week. This special runs only till Wednesday.”
“Cool! We’ll spread the word! Do we pay now?” the second boy asked.
“Yes.” Yvonne picked up a receipt book from the counter. Melody went over to her grandfather.
“Poppa, I think you should give