his van and disappeared down the street.
I remained in the doorway, barely able to see over the enormous bouquet in my arms.
Yellow roses.
Dozens of them.
Their fragrance filled the chilly morning air as I carried them into the kitchen and placed them carefully on the table.
Something about the bouquet bothered me.
So I counted them.
Then I counted them again.
Fifty-six.
My hand froze on the last stem.
Fifty-six yellow roses.
Today would have been my fifty-sixth wedding anniversary.
For several moments, I simply stared at
