Fibonacci's Flowers

Laszlo Richards is the best accountant I've ever met, but he can't account for time worth a nickel. I can't believe he's late again.

I am standing alone at the east entrance to Fibonacci's Flowers. Amy loves the little archway on this side. Fibonacci's Flowers is the only garden of its kind, and easily the most attractive feature of Domino City. Tourists swarm this location each spring. It's lucky for me that most of them prefer the garden's west end, where they drop coins and make wishes at the spiral fountain. 

For most local folks, Sunday is a day off. Not so for myself, or for Richards. I can't understand why he's late again. This is tax season and we've worked every day this week. I would think that he'd figure out how to be on time. I look in through the archway, just in case Richards passed by, then I look back to the parking lot behind me. There he is, finally.

"You're here early," Richards says.

"You're here late, again." I remind him, "Daylight Saving Time starts today." I wonder if Amy remembered to change the clock on her stove.

Richards feigns shock. "Oh. What a surprise. Sorry I'm late." Richards, quick as ever, moves on. "Have you seen the roses yet?"

"Well, Richards, I've spent the last forty minutes here, waiting for you. I've watched the roses grow three inches." I exaggerate somewhat, but it's hard to be truly exasperated, since Richards has given me the best excuse to spend more time here. He has the only key to the office, and I can't help it that he's late. My sister is going to be right ticked.

We're already late. Richards stops to smell the roses anyway. I guess there's no use rushing a compulsive dawdler.

Eight minutes later, we're at the north exit off the main spiral. Fibonacci's Flowers lie at the intersection of First and Centre. Richards parked in the lot at Centre, and the walk over should have taken no more than four minutes. However, we had to stop at the petunia patch. That particular spot is always overcrowded, except this morning. We walked by there and the patch was empty of tourists. First Ave must have been busy; the tourists' bus must have been held up. Amy always complains about the traffic here. Having stopped at the petunias, given that rare chance, we arrived somehow later than even Richards usually would. My sister, Martha Johnson, was waiting on the step.

Laszlo Richards is the best accountant I've ever met, but my sister Martha is all-around the best person I know. Martha was the first of our family to graduate college. She opened this office with Richards five years ago, during her last term, in the midst of exam season. I remember that spring. The garden, Fibonacci's Flowers, had just officially opened. Martha had been more concerned with the opening of this office, Richards and Johnson Accounting. While I had been the first in line to see the garden, Martha was here at the office first thing every morning. She spent that entire month at a desk. Martha was always studying or working. March and April are spring for me. For Martha, this season is significant only because it is the busiest. Martha is the most courageous go-getter, fearless business leader, and a skilled accountant. Perhaps her one fault is that she forgets to stop and smell the roses.

"Where have you two been? Got your noses in the flowers again? Did you remember my coffee?" Martha fired off a volley of questions at me and Richards as we meandered across the alley. "What took so long? Did you know that the Friesen account is in? Their whole clan needs T4s filed right away, for this year and last. Where's my coffee?"

Shoot. I forgot to pick up Martha's coffee.

"Sorry sis," I say, "I totally forgot your coffee." Richards has the key in hand, and steps forward to open the door.

"It's fine," Martha says as we file into the office. "Please start on the Friesen account. That will be all I need from you today. I have a meeting to go to. Text me if there are any walk-ins."

"Sure thing, Ms. Johnson, " Richards says. "Did we hear back from Bowler?"

"No, not yet, Richards. I hope they call before the sunflowers bloom, " Martha answered.

"Please try to be on time tomorrow. I understand that the garden is in bloom early this year, but I need you to see to the pile of paperwork blossoming on your desk. We're in the busiest season. I'll see you both later." Then she was off. That's Martha, of course, busy as a bee.

Amy reminds me of bees too, more for her interest in flowers.

Richards takes his desk in the corner and picks up the phone right away. Even as he does, his other hand takes flight on the keyboard. Richards will process the bulk of work on several major accounts today. He is a veteran of tax season. Myself, I just have to input data from the Friesen forms; their paperwork is little more than basic T4s, albeit for more than a dozen individual persons. Even so, a minimal responsibility.

Responsibility. Amy spoke of that a lot, the last time we spoke. Spring time is full of responsibility in the accounting business. Flowers are simpler.

I rush through my work. I barely wave to Richards before I'm out the door, beyond the alley, and back among Fibonacci's Flowers. This garden is amazing, with the variety and expanse and astounding sequence of flowers in every conceivable formation, along spiral arms of pristine pathways. This is my favourite place. Amy is my favourite person. I wish she were here. I'd better call her.

I pull my phone from my shirt pocket, unlock the device, and dial Amy's number. As the phone rings, I look up to see the east entrance to the garden. I look at the archway, and the phone stops ringing.

"Hello?"