“I’m not ashamed of turning a profit. It puts food on all our tables,” he said. Following her inside, he flipped a light switch next to the door. “The power went out Tuesday night or early Wednesday, cutting off the heat and the watering system. To make matters worse, the alarm system failed to send a text message because of the congestion on the phone networks. Then, when power was finally restored late last night, the heating system defaulted back to its highest setting. The poor poinsettias were practically frozen to death and then immediately roasted alive. The soil in the pots feels like sand.”
He held out both arms to the rows of plants, all wilted, draping over the edges of the pallets on which their foil-wrapped pots stood. The ten-thousand-square-foot greenhouse looked like a study in surrealism, a sea of limp lettuce and melted tongues.
He looked expectantly at Liz. “Is there anything you can do to save them?”
She surveyed the rows of dying plants, then looked at Reuben, exasperated. “Are you kidding me? Do you know how much it would take to bring all these plants back to health?”
“I didn’t know what else to do,” Reuben whined. He paused for dramatic effect and raised a hand, as if taking an oath. “Okay, okay, it’s too much. I should not have asked. We’ll just have to take the loss and figure out what to do.”
“Don’t play me, Rube.”
“I’m serious. If you are uncomfortable doing this, I’ll figure something else out.” He placed a hand on his hip and gazed at the dying plants.
Liz frowned. “It’s not about being uncomfortable. It’s just that I have a turkey to get on the table, and I wasn’t hired to be your personal plant doctor. You’re supposed to be the one with the green thumb, remember?”
“I’ll never ask again. I promise.”
“Yeah, right.”
“So? What can I do to help?” he said, rubbing his hands.
Liz looked up to some aluminum ducts suspended from the ceiling between the light fixtures. “Can you turn down the heat and crank up the fans so that the air circulates in here? I need the air to move around. It doesn’t need to be windy, but something on the order of a draft would be ideal.”
Reuben nodded, ran to the other side of the door and fiddled with some knobs on a panel mounted on the wall. Soon a whoosh shook through the ducts with a rattle, and Liz felt a few strands of gray hair tickle her forehead. She brushed it back and said, “That’s good, like that.” She tossed a thumb over her shoulder and added, “Now get lost.”
“You understand that I would not allow any other employee to talk to me that way,” he said, mock sternness in his voice.
“That’s because you don’t have any other employee who can do what I can do,” Liz said. “Now leave me be for about a half hour.”
“Would it be possible for me to stay and watch? If I can learn your techniques, perhaps I would not need your help in the future.”
“You already promised you would never ask me to do this again.”
“Why would I need to, if you show me how to do it myself?”
Liz shook her head. “Not gonna happen. This isn’t something I can teach, so vacate the premises, or get on the phone and start making apologies to your poinsettia clients.”
“Fine, I’ll go. I need to run over to the Christmas tree farm anyway. I’ll be back in a little while to check on you.” He spun on a heel and walked out.
There was no lock on the door, so Liz looked around for a way to secure it, just in case someone happened by or if Reuben decided to return before it was suitable. She spotted a spool of nylon twine used to secure plants and picked up a small knife nearby. After cutting a length, she tied it into a loop and returned to the door, where she placed one end of the encircled twine over the handle. She pulled a small spade off a wall peg embedded to the left of the door and hung the other end of the loop over the peg. Someone would not be able to enter without a lot of effort.
Feeling more secure, she turned toward the interior of the greenhouse, sighing as she looked at the rows of wilted poinsettias. She walked several feet into the center row and bent down to a shriveled red bract—the specialized