Sometimes, flowers are all

When he was over for drinks a few weeks ago, Father Don sang the praises of Gary, the guy who provides St. Peter's with flowers every Sunday.

He's not quite the official sexton -- I guess Carl is in that job, and he came by the house the other night to check out what we'd done to our place -- but Gary does open and close the church every day, as well as do the floralizing. We smile hellos every morning.

So yesterday, when I heard the front gate bells ching -- the bells from my grandfather's harness shop -- and opened the front door and found three packages of orchids. . . .

Well. And well beyond beautiful.

Then tonight, when Gary went to close the church, he found a man in a pew who had just shot himself in the head. Horrible to discover.

I ran up to the church, and there was gentle Gary, shivering.