True Blue

Illustration by Janet Aulisio

Grandma Ruth stood at the far end of ship’s rec room three, her hands fluttering about her, busy at some unseen activity, when Max entered the tiny room. Perhaps she was playing a musical instrument, Max thought. Or sculpting. It was odd watching someone act out their recreational simulation without actually viewing the sim.

“Who’s there?” Grandma Ruth asked, looking blindly in Max’s direction.

Grandma was a frail, gray-haired woman, seventy-nine years old according to her medical charts; the oldest crew member on board the John Chapman, and one of the last of the Earth-borns. Max saw the wire harness trailing behind Grandma Ruth’s head, snaking down to the floor and back up to the control panel on the wall. Until he jacked into the console himself, he was not part of her simulation and invisible to her.

“It’s me. Dr. Max,” he said. Max wasn’t really a doctor, having spent his entire life shipboard, light-years from the nearest medical school. The training sims had taught him most of the technical things he needed to know, but he was still picking up the “people” skills, a proper bedside manner, and the time was coming when he would soon take over as the ship’s medical officer. Grandma Ruth was old-fashioned and preferred the title “doctor” over “medical officer.” Max didn’t argue the point.

“Dr. Max,” Grandma Ruth repeated. “How nice. Why don’t you plug in so I can see you?”

Max thought it would be better if Grandma Ruth unplugged, but it was hard to disagree with the old lady. Like a lot of the crew, Max revered Grandma Ruth. When he was a boy, she used to tell Max and all the kids his age the stories about old Earth. It all seemed so different from life on the ship, the only life his generation ever knew, but somehow Grandma had a knack for making the home planet come alive in the minds of the children where the educational and entertainment sims could not. Max fondly remembered the good times he and his friends had spent at Grandma Ruth’s knee listening to the tales of places like New York and Paris and Disney World. Grandma Ruth never had any children of her own, but to Max and couple of dozen others she had been like a second mother.

As all those children grew up into responsible positions, Grandma Ruth had rightfully assumed the position of grande dame of the John Chapman. Too bad, Max thought, but somehow along the way, the second generation of ship-borns didn’t seem to care about the old Earth stories, and Grandma Ruth’s audience dwindled. But Max remembered those days fondly, and if Grandma Ruth wanted him in her sim, there was no way he could resist. He picked up a free harness from the console and guided it into the connector on his mastoid bone.

It was a warm and bright one, this simulation, Max thought. He had to squint for a few seconds as his eyes adjusted from the dim rec room lighting to the new perceived level. After he got over the initial disorientation, he surveyed the tableau: some sort of flimsy-looking construction, with walls of glass offering dramatic views of blue sky and white puffy clouds. In the structure itself were rows and rows of green plants. Max had never seen one, but had read about such places. It was a greenhouse.

Grandma Ruth had been a cargo specialist in her active years, and on a seed ship like the John Chapman, the cargo was mainly botanical, so it almost made sense. But the plants growing in the sim greenhouse weren’t exactly the kind of things the crew would be growing when they made planetfall.

Scattered among the green foliage was a riot of colorful flowers, vivid in the bright sunshine. Yellows from the fairest flax to a striking saffron, reds from pale pink to strong scarlet, purples from light lilac to murky maroon. And whites of all varieties, linen and alabaster and milk and snow.

Most rec room simulations weren’t this detailed. Max breathed in the heady floral fragrance, so much more clean and natural-smelling than the artificial aromas used in the entertainment sims. It was very impressive.

“They’re roses,” Grandma Ruth said. “Do you like them?”

It was obvious she had put a lot of hard work into this sim. It wasn’t at all patronizing when Max replied, “This is incredible; they’re all so beautiful, Grandma. Did you used to grow them back on Earth?”

Grandma Ruth smiled and replied, “Yes, but it was a bit trickier growing them in the dirt than it is in the computer. But then I don’t imagine you’re here to admire my roses, are you?”

“No, Grandma Ruth. Officer… Doctor Lillian said I might find you here. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I like showing off my roses.”

“Well, Dr. Lillian wanted me to start making some of her regular rounds from now on. She’s going to be retiring from active duty soon.”

“She’s all right, isn’t she?” Grandma Ruth asked.

“Oh sure, but she’s getting on in years and it’s time to step down now.”

“I suppose,” Grandma Ruth said, her smile fading as a somber expression came over her face. Against her wishes, she had been forced to give up active duty six years ago. Max had been in training back then, and recalled how Grandma Ruth had fought that decision tooth and nail, but in the end it was Lillian’s medical reports that had tipped the scales against her.

“Well, anyway,” Max said, “I just wanted to touch base and see how you were doing. See if you needed anything.”

“You’re just checking to see if I’m still alive,” Grandma said through pursed lips. “You don’t have to mince words with me. Lillian never does.”

“That’s not… we just want to make sure our Grandma Ruth is all right.”

“Who’s we?” Grandma said with a silly grin.

“Everyone. Jeez, Grandma, even the little kids are always asking ‘How is Grandma Ruth doing?’ ”

“Ahh, so the death watch has started then, has it?”

“No, that’s not what I meant.”

Grandma Ruth put a hand lightly on Max’s forearm and said, “It’s OK. I’m just being a crotchety old fool. I guess I should be happy that they still send someone out to look after me. And I’m just fine today—thanks for asking.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Max said. He gave the greenhouse another appreciative look and added, “Nice place you have here. Is it OK if I come again?”

“It’d be a pleasure, Dr. Max. I’m here every day, same time, rain or shine.”

Max made a face. “I know what rain is, Grandma. Was that supposed to be a joke?”

“Actually, no. My sim randomly changes the weather from day to day and season to season. It’s supposed to mirror Bloomington, Minnesota.” Max gave her a puzzled look, so she added, “On Earth. It’s where I grew up. Anyway, I’m always here for the full hour if you want to see me. There’s not much else to do on the ship after you retire, you know.”

Max didn’t know, but he nodded yes as if he understood perfectly well. It was a skill Lillian had taught him, to nod knowingly when a patient described her problems, even if you didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. Dr. Lillian had trained Max well and he knew that sometimes a patient needed more than routine medical care. Sometimes a patient just needed somebody talk to.

“Grandma Ruth, what exactly do you do with all these flowers?” Max asked.

“Oh, just a little breeding. Crosspollination, trying to come up with something new.”

“Why don’t you just program the simulation for whatever you want, then? It looks like you really know how to program this thing.”

Grandma Ruth frowned and made a little tsk sound. “Oh, that’d be no fun at all. The sim is set to vary my results randomly, with the same odds I’d have in real life. You don’t cheat at solitaire, do you?”

“Um, sometimes a little. What are you trying to breed?”

“The impossible—a blue rose. They never come in blue, you know. There’s a few lavender ones that are pretty close, but never a true blue.”

Max thought he saw a hole in her logic. “Then how will your computer let you make a blue one if it’s really impossible? If your sim is really playing fair, I mean.”

“Well, people have been trying unsuccessfully for ages to do it, but if there’s even the slimmest of chances, I think it’s worth the attempt. Even if it’s only a sim.”

Max thought about that. It seemed like a good, healthy thing to have some lofty goal to shoot for, something to keep you going, even if it was only a sim. Perhaps that was why Grandma Ruth had lasted so long.

“Grandma, could I touch one of your roses?” Max asked. “I’ve only seen flowers in pictures.”

Grandma Ruth beamed. “Why of course, Dr. Max. Here, I’ll give you one.”

Grandma Ruth picked up a pair of pruning shears from the work table and took a few shaky steps back into the greenhouse. The rec room really didn’t go back that far, but the sim was good enough that it looked like she was moving normally instead of just walking in place. She nipped off a large red specimen, cutting the stem about ten inches below the bloom, and hobbled back over to Max.

“Watch out for the thorns now,” she said, handing it to him.

Max was careful to grab the stem on a smooth spot. The thorns looked sharp, and if the tactile sense was as well developed in this sim as the other senses, it could be painful. Tentatively, he stroked the petals and was rewarded with a velvety softness. Raising the bloom to his face he drank in its floral scent. Her sim was vastly more detailed than anything he had ever worked on.

“How long have you been tweaking this sim?” he asked.

“Oh, about twenty years.”

Twenty years! Max had never stuck with the same sim for more than a few months. No wonder it was so well developed.

“Are you getting any closer to that blue rose?” he asked.

“Sometimes I think… well, not really. It’s quite frustrating how chaotic rose breeding can be. You can cross two reds and come up with a yellow. Maybe two seeds in the same pod come out completely different. Even self-pollination produces lots of unexpected varieties. I’m just about to test a new one, if you’d like to watch.”

“Oh no, Grandma. I don’t have that much time.”

“Yes you do. It only takes a few seconds. You don’t think I sit and watch the things grow in real time, do you?”

“Um, I can’t say I’d given it much thought.”

Grandma Ruth worked as she talked, taking a seed tray out of a small refrigerator under the workbench.

“No, I do all the regular work, the bagging and pollination and germination, but once that’s done, I just fast forward the sim and get to the results right away”

“Hmmm. Now who’s cheating at solitaire?” Max wondered aloud.

“Oh, nonsense,” Grandma Ruth insisted. “The computer plays the odds fairly. I just skip all the waiting around. Here, let’s see how this one turns out.”

With a trowel, Grandma Ruth scooped out a handful of tiny seedlings from the brown germinating material in the refrigerated tray and carefully transplanted each into its own clay pot of dirt on the workbench. Then she put the pots in a sunny spot on the shelf above the bench with some other similar pots and watered the whole lot of them quickly. Max looked up at the transparent roof of the greenhouse and admired the scattered clouds and blue sky of the sim. The wide open view was a lot more impressive that any vista offered in the cramped confines of the seed ship.

“Now, a quick macro,” Grandma Ruth said as she reached for the simulator console, which was the only non-sim thing in her imaginary greenhouse. It floated near the back of the workbench. She punched a few keys, and Max noticed a change in the greenhouse illumination. The sun had shifted position and the low puffy clouds had been replaced by high, thin ones when Grandma executed her macro.

Looking back down at the workbench, Max saw that most of the pots had sprouted a spindly six or seven-inch plant, and all but one of those sported a tiny bud or two.

“I know they’re not very impressive when they’re this small,” Grandma Ruth said, “but they’re usually good enough to judge how the color is going to turn out if I let them grow to full height.”

The buds were several shades of pink and lavender. Nothing close to a pure blue.

“Some days are better than others,” Grandma Ruth said, emptying each of the pots, one by one, into the large garbage can at the far end of the workbench.

“I still think they’re beautiful,” Max said.

A smile broadened on Grandma Ruth’s face. “You’re a good boy, Dr. Max. Come again, won’t you?”

“I will,” he said, reaching behind his head to unplug the data harness.

As the connection was broken, the red rose in his hand vanished and the room was restored to the cramped cubicle it had always been. Grandma Ruth continued to labor at her invisible workbench, pantomiming her cutting and arranging.

“Bye, Grandma,” Max said.

“Bye-bye,” she replied, staring blind-eyed in his direction as he slipped out the door.

The next day Max found her hard at work among the roses again. He had gone over her medical records, and didn’t like what he had seen: hardening of the arteries, dangerous depletion of bone mass, partial loss of vision. Maybe the early onset of Alzheimer’s. No wonder she had been forced to step down from active duty. On paper, she was falling apart.

“I’ve come to give you a shot today,” Max said as he plugged into the sim console.

“You’ve been talking to Lillian, then. Is it the calcium shot or the blood-thinning one?”

“The blood-thinning one. Jeez, Grandma, your charts don’t look very good. Are you feeling OK?”

“For this one hour a day, at least, I feel just fine. Sometimes, when I’m not busy with my roses I don’t feel so good. I’m not complaining, mind you. It’s supposed to be like this when you get older, I think.”

“Well, not if I can help it,” he said, administering the injection. “What are you working on today?”

“The same as always. The blue rose.”

“Don’t you get tired of the same thing? Why don’t you just relax a bit and enjoy all the other beautiful roses that you can grow?”

Grandma’s smile broadened. Classical conditioned response, Max thought. Compliment Grandma on her roses and she can’t help but smile.

“Oh, nonsense,” Grandma Ruth said. “If I stop and think about this too much, even that one hour a day when I feel good will become just like the rest of the day.”

“How’s it going then? I mean with the blue rose,” Max asked.

“Same as usual. I’ve got a new batch ready to go,” she said, pointing to the row of pots on the shelf above the workbench. “Want to see?”

“Sure. Maybe one of these will be the lucky one.”

“Oh, now who’s the optimist all of a sudden? Well, here goes.”

Grandma reached over to the console and punched in her macro. When Max looked back the other way, the pots were suddenly full of young budding plants.

“Let’s see,” she said, tossing the resulting plants one by one into the trash as she inspected them. “Too much red… white… lilac. Say, do you see a hint of blue in this one? My eyesight’s not very good anymore, I’m afraid.”

The one in question was purplish, but Max thought it was closer to blue that any of the others and he agreed.

“Yes,” she said. “This one may be worthwhile. I’ll just graft it onto a heartier root system and see how it does in full bloom.”

“How long will that take? I can’t stay very long.”

“A couple of minutes. I have lots of macros.”

Max didn’t doubt that for a second. Grandma Ruth obviously knew her way around a sim console.

“How many different cross-breedings do you do in a week?” he asked.

“A whole week? Oh my, probably about forty or fifty.”

Max did some mental arithmetic. My God, he thought, if she’d been at this for twenty years, she had probably done in the neighborhood of 50,000 crosses without giving up hope.

“Grandma, if you ever succeeded, ever came up with a pure blue one, what would you do? You can’t take it out of the simulation.”

“Oh, I think I’d just look at it awhile. Then I suppose I could die a happy woman.”

Max looked concerned. “That was a joke, I hope?”

“We’ll see when I get a blue rose,” she said in a voice that gave away nothing.

“In that case, I hope you never succeed.”

“Don’t want me to be happy, huh?”

“Don’t want you to be dead.”

“That’s sweet, Dr. Max. Here, have another rose.”

Max took the proffered flower, and it smelled delightful, but it was gone a few seconds later when Max unplugged.

The following day he had to give her a calcium shot. The shelf above the workbench was filled with pots, many more than he had seen in his previous two visits.

“Trying something new?” he asked.

“That one you saw yesterday that showed some promise,” she replied. “The blue tendency persisted in the adult blooms too, so I’m just doing a lot of self-pollinations, hoping for some variation.”

“What, a mutation?”

“Not really. Mutations happen once in a long while, but all pollinations are a toss of the dice with roses. That’s why when you finally get one you like, you have to use cuttings, not seeds, to propagate it. The stubborn things hardly ever breed true. It’s a curse, but it’s also why there’s so much variety.”

“Are those ready to go?” Max asked, pointing to all the pots lined up on the shelf.

“My fourth batch today,” she said. “Let’s see what happens.”

When the macro was run, a wide variety of plants emerged in the pots. Many were bluish purple like their progenitor, but some were different. A few reds and violets here and there. Some bore no flowers at all, and a few had green “flowers” composed entirely of leaves instead of normal petals. But it was one even stranger that caught their attention at the same time.

It only had one bloom on it, and it was misshapen. The petals were too thin instead of broad, giving the bloom a very un-roselike appearance. But it was the color that had attracted their attention. It was still basically a bluish purple, but there were blotches. Blotches of very pale blue.

“Is that good?” Max asked, not sure if spots counted.

“It’s certainly different,” Grandma responded, squinting at the bloom. “The shape’s all wrong, but those patches are encouraging. If I could get a whole rose that color, I suppose you could call it blue.”

Grandma Ruth had a faraway look about her. Max wasn’t sure if she was about to topple and grabbed her wrist. She seemed incredibly frail in his grasp.

“I’m OK,” she insisted. “I was just daydreaming.”

“Do you think you could do it?” he asked. “Make a blue rose out of this?”

She shrugged. “Who knows? I’d have to do something about those sorry-looking petals in any case. Maybe this one’s not worth fixing. Stop by tomorrow and we’ll see if I can’t make something out of it.”

“Well, good luck.”

Max stood quietly admiring Grandma Ruth for a few seconds. What if she succeeds? he wondered.

“So,” she said, “what are you waiting for? I have a lot of work to do here before my hour’s up.” Grandma had developed a frown and some deep worry lines had crept across her brow.

“Aren’t you going to give me a rose today?” Max asked before exiting the sim.

“Oh, oh, oh. Why sure, Dr. Max,” she said, her face brightening as she reached for the pruning shears. “I know how you love them so.”

She shuffled unsteadily back to some of the mature bushes deeper in the greenhouse and quickly cut a couple of pink ones.

“These are very beautiful flowers,” he said, accepting them from her. A broad smile blossomed into full flower on her face, just what he was looking for.

“Maybe tomorrow I’ll have a blue one for you,” she said. “You like blue?”

“It’s my favorite color,” he answered.

When he made his rounds the next day, the whole bench and a large section of the floor was covered with pots, all ready for the macro that would make them grow.

“Dr. Max! I’ve been waiting for you.” Grandma Ruth said.

“Grandma. You, waiting for me? But why?”

“It’s my eyesight. I think… well, I just want to make sure I don’t miss anything.”

“Ahh, then you’re getting somewhere?”

“I’ve run four more crosses since yesterday,” Grandma Ruth said. “I mixed the ones with the blotchy spots and a variety that has very broad petals. The earlier batches didn’t always bloom, and some of the blooms that did come were pretty weak and slow, but I think I’m finally getting somewhere. The flower shape is almost there, and I’ve gotten the size of the blotches up too. I think this batch could be the one, Dr. Max.”

Max worried that she might be right. Grandma Ruth needed something to work for, something to occupy her time and keep her vital spark alive. If she got her true blue rose, would her enthusiasm for life be diminished?

“Well,” Max said, looking nervously around the greenhouse, “you certainly have enough pots here. I’m sure whatever happens will be for the best. Give it a shot.”

“Here goes,” she said, reaching for the console controls.

Instantly, the pots erupted into a miniature forest of green stalks. Among the stems were occasional dots here and there of spotted blossoms, some showing traces of blue coloring, some not. Many of the buds had not opened fully yet. Looking closer, Max noticed something entirely new among the flowers. There were shiny bronze-colored somethings, like little beads scattered among the roses. Max thought the bronze beads were some new mutation, but he heard Grandma gasp.

“What are they?” he asked.

“Beetles,” Grandma said in a moaning voice. “Japanese beetles. The simulation throws them in once in a while to keep me honest. This is bad timing.”

Max looked closer and saw she was right. The bronze beads were moving, lazily moving up and down the spindly stems. They were happily eating the plants, and had already inflicted a lot of damage. While watching the beetles at work, Max’s attention was drawn to a bud that was only just beginning to open at the back of the shelf near the console. It was nearly covered with the beetles, and several spots had been chewed into the side of the bud already. But it wasn’t the beetles that had caught Max’s attention, it was the fringe of petals just beginning to poke through the top of the bud.

It was blue. True blue. Only a tiny bit of each petal showed above the green leaves of the bud, and the rest of the petal might not be as consistent as the tip, but there wasn’t even a trace of the purple color showing. It was, however, quickly being devoured by the beetles and they might never know what the rest of the flower looked like if something wasn’t done quickly.

“Look,” he said, pointing it out to Grandma.

Max heard Grandma Ruth’s breath audibly falter as she spotted it. He thought she was going to faint dead away and he moved over to catch her if necessary, but instead she sprang forward, moving quickly over to the blue bud.

“Oh no you don’t,” she said, her voice rising as she swung a balled fist in the direction of the bud.

Max thought she was going to smash the bud, but her blow landed on the console instead, mashing a pair of hungry beetles into paste. Max was surprised at the force of the blow, not believing gentle Grandma Ruth capable of mustering such anger and energy. Her face registered an expression of horror and desperation.

Grandma fanned at the blue bud with her open hand, frantically shooing the bugs off the damaged flower. Grandma rained blows on the scrambling insects, covering the console and the workbench with virtual bug goo.

Suddenly, the whole universe jittered once, then twice, like an earthquake seen but not felt. Max instinctively put out his arms to steady himself, but the floor wasn’t moving. The force of Grandma’s blows was taking its toll on more than just the bugs; she was damaging the console.

Grandma Ruth smacked another beetle on the console and suddenly the lighting changed, subtly but surely. It was dimmer, as if a cloud had passed in front of the sun. Max looked up and saw the sun was still unobstructed, but the sky was somehow different. Darker. More angry.

More blue.

And it wasn’t just the sky. The clouds were tinged with the lightest azure as well. Looking back around the greenhouse, Max realized everything had shifted ever so slightly toward the shorter wavelengths. Even Grandma Ruth’s skin looked pale, drained of its natural healthy pink tone.

She continued pounding the scrambling beetles on the console, until Max took her thin wrists in his hands and made her stop. She was likely to break some bones if she continued.

“I can save it,” she said, struggling against his grip. “Let me go. I’ll graft it quickly onto a better root system. You’ll see.”

Max wasn’t sure he wanted to see, but she strained to free herself from his grasp and he had to let her go, afraid she ’s hurt herself with the exertion. Max fished about in his medical pouch for a sedative while Grandma Ruth quickly sheared off the six-inch stalk. In seconds, she had cut and taped the stem onto the branch of a mature bush. Max restrained her when she tried to return to the console, and administered the calming injection.

“No more macros today, OK?” he said. “I think we’ve had enough excitement for now.”

“But I have to know!”

“There’s tomorrow.”

“It’ll only take a second.”

“The console’s a mess,” Max said, looking at all the smashed bugs and a couple of cracked keytops. Even if it was only virtual bug juice, it was disgusting. “Tomorrow,” he repeated, plucking the wire from the back of her head.

Max insisted on going into the sim with Grandma Ruth at the start of her regular recreation hour the next day. He noticed on entering the sim that the clouds still were tinged faintly with azure. A few seconds later, Grandma Ruth was at the console and ran the macro.

The grafted bush was instantly aged many weeks, and now sported nearly a dozen of the roses. And they were indeed blue. Much darker at the petal tips, but still a pale azure on the rest of the flower. The same azure that painted the clouds, Max noted.

Grandma Ruth squinted, examining the roses, then looked back inquiringly at Max. “Dr. Max, is it… I can’t tell… my eyes…”

Grandma Ruth needed something to keep going. Something like the blue rose, to work on and take her mind off of the problems of aging. She had worked twenty years for this moment, even if it was just a malfunction within a sham simulation. For what? In what should have been her moment of triumph, it wasn’t the flower she was looking at with delight. It was Max. What she needed most now wasn’t a true blue rose, Max realized, but him. His approval. His compliments. His attention. Grandma Ruth craved an audience, even if only an audience of one.

“It’s blue, Grandma,” Max said. “True blue.”

Grandma sighed contentedly.

“It’s very beautiful,” Max added. “Ahh, and that fragrance…”

Grandma’s expression of wonder changed, her mouth stretching to a wide smile. All the while she continued looking at him, not the rose.

“Excuse me,” a disembodied voice boomed, startling them both. “I’m here about the problem.”

Grandma and Max both looked in the direction of the voice. A few seconds later a form appeared, jacking into the console. It was Jerry, a mechanical engineer and troubleshooter. “Problem?” asked Grandma.

“Yeah,” said Jerry. “Some reports about the chroma balance being off in rec room three.”

Max cringed and began talking very fast. “Jerry, you know Grandma. You’re just in time to see Grandma’s masterpiece. She’s been working for twenty years in this sim trying to breed a true blue rose. And here it is.”

“Yeah, but I can see everything’s just a little…”

“Isn’t it beautiful, Jerry?” Max insisted, his eyes commanding the right answer.

“Well, sure. I guess so. How’re you feeling these days, Grandma Ruth?”

“I’m doing well, Jerry. Long time no see. Do you really like the flower?”

“Yeah. It’s great. Do you want me to come back later?”

Grandma cut one of the blue roses and put it in Jerry ’s breast pocket.

“Mmmm. Smells real nice,” Jerry said.

Grandma’s smile broadened even more with Jerry’s remark.

“It’s a nice color, isn’t it?” Max asked.

“Um, yeah, it really is. Well then, if there’s no problem, I’ll just be going now. Seeya.”

“Bye-bye, Jerry,” Grandma said. “You come and visit whenever you want.”

Jerry reached behind his neck and disappeared. Max heard the door dose with a thump a few seconds later.

“So, Grandma, what are you going to do now?” Max asked. “Sit back and enjoy the roses?”

“Oh, I don’t know. This sim is finished for me now, I suppose. Dr. Max, you really like flowers, don’t you?”

“More than anything. They make me nostalgic for some place I’ve never been but have only heard about from a master storyteller.”

Grandma Ruth looked lovingly into Max’s eyes. Just like a proud mother, he thought.

“I was just thinking,” Grandma said, her big smile holding firm. “Did you know, there’s some tulips that are supposed to be black, but they’re really just a dark purple? I’ll bet a true black tulip would be something special. What do you think?”

“That sounds like a fine idea to me,” Max replied. Grandma Ruth needed something to keep her going all right, Max thought, but it wasn’t the flowers. It was an audience.

“And tulips don’t have what you could call a fragrance,” she said, lost in her thoughts.

Max laughed. “If you could make them black, or smell sweet, would you let me have one?”

Impossibly, Grandma’s smile got even bigger.