Broke

When Richard found out his father died the first thought he had was not about flowers.  He doesn't remember what it was, in fact.  A year before, when his Aunt Cathy died, all he could think about was flowers.  His mother, still in shock—"I thought cancer worked slower than that?  A month?"—had delegated tasks to everyone in the family.  Richard was assigned floral decorations.  His father saw to the coffin while mother picked the church and called the relatives.  
Richard was glad he only got flower duty.  Coming home from college for the week, he remembers the pace of mother's phone calls.  From her bedroom, it would be silent for a minute or two, then tears, occasional nose blowing, then silence again.  Mother got better after she made it through her side of the family.  When Richard finally decided on a wreath of chrysanthemums (truth, honesty) with highlights of irises (faithfulness, hope), he had learned more about flower meanings than he cared to.  He almost went with a cross, but his mother, exiting her bedroom "to catch my breath" reminded Richard that Aunt Cathy hadn't been to church since she was 19.
Richard wanted to reply that Aunt Cathy's last time shouldn't be a factor now, but chose not to when mother sighed heavily and fanned the tears on her face, muttered a quick "I'm ok, I'm ok" and walked back to the bedroom for more calls.
When his father died there was no delegation.  Perhaps that is why Richard cannot remember what he thought of when Uncle Alan informed him of the heart attack in late April.  Richard simply skipped his lectures, drove to the top of Cherry parking garage, climbed onto the roof of his '89 Volvo station-wagon and stared out over Tucson until the sun made the black roof unbearable to sit on.   Next class, his teachers didn't ask him where he was and Richard was thankful for that.

After graduation, Richard took out a map.
"They do this in the movies," he told Uncle Alan, who had been keeping Richard's mother company in the two weeks since his father's passing.
Richard closed his eyes and spun his finger around as comically as he could muster and dropped it suddenly.
"Carpet," Uncle Alan said. "Try again, Rich."
Without flourish, Richard stuck his finger down again and heard paper crinkle.  He opened his eyes.
"Vilnius, Lithuania," he said.
"Vilnius, Lithuania," Uncle Alan echoed, then added after a pause "what are you going to do with that?"
"I'm gonna go there."
"Now?" Uncle Alan turned to check that mother's bedroom door was still closed. "Rich, I don't think that's a good idea.  Your mother—"
"I can't stay here, Uncle Alan.  The house feels like a waiting room. And I don't know when we can stop waiting for whatever it is we're waiting for."
Uncle Alan leaned back into the chair and rubbed thumb and forefinger along jawline.  His eyes grew distant and Richard fiddled with a string of carpet that was longer than the others.
"Alright.  But I'll tell your mother."

It didn't take long for the graduation money to run out.  A few weeks of recommended restaurants and so-called nearby "must see" attractions had not exhausted Richard's spirit, but his bank account was another story.  
"I'm sorry, I guess I'll just pay with cash," Richard found himself saying in the Vilnius McDonald's one afternoon.  
Sitting by a monument off Gendimino prospektas, Richard ate his fries and tried to calculate his average daily spending since arrival.  Uncle Alan had warned Richard about exchange rates but Richard stopped converting things after day three.  "Too much work, I'll be alright," he had told himself then.  Today, on the bench, it was still too much work but his eyes darted rapidly and his brow furrowed as he focused more and more, conscious of the 13 litas in his wallet and dinner in a couple of hours and breakfast tomorrow and then lunch, too and—
A leathery, sun-burned palm silently appeared—Richard forgot how much he spent at that Italian place yesterday and looked up.
A woman, probably in her fifties, wrapped head to toe in dusty clothes, was repeating a few words in Lithuanian and extending her palm closer and closer to Richard's face.
"Um, sorry.  No money."
The woman's face showed no change in expression.  
"Prašau, prašau," the woman was repeating.
"No.  Sorry.  I'm broke, too."
The woman took a step closer until a voice to Richard's right interjected her droning pleas.
"Jis neturi pinigų"  
The woman crept to the couple across the way and Richard listened for a moment to the same melancholy refrain before turning to face a man in his late-forties, dressed in a blue blazer suit and a stripped button up shirt.  His tie was loose around his neck and one arm hung off the bench's backrest while the other lay the length of his leg to his knee, cellphone in hand and thumb at work doing what Richard could only assume was something important due to the ferocity at which it was moving.
"Ach…uh, ačiū," Richard choked out the one word he had picked up in Lithuanian.
"Don't mention it," the man responded.  "Where you from, kid?"
"Arizona. And—"
"Me, New York.  Moved here in '03.  Insurance.  Been here long?"
"A couple of weeks, I arrived late the 15th.  I'm Rich, by the way."
"From what I heard, you're not."
"No, I mean, my name's Richard.  Everyone calls me Rich, though."
"Ah.  Irony.  I'm Dave."
Richard continued to stare at Dave's thumb marching away on the screen of his phone.  After a minute of silence, Richard returned to his calculations, gave up, squeegeed his face with both hands and let out a soft moan.
"You okay, kid?" Richard opened his eyes and found Dave's face looking directly at him for the first time, thumb delicately hovering a few centimeters above the phone.
"I'm broke."
"Where you staying?"
Richard pointed to the hotel across the street.
"Uh-huh.  And, judging by the McDonald's bag at your feet, I'm guessing you ate in the last 30 minutes?"
"Well, ya, but I've only got 13 litas left and—"
"That woman there, do you know how much money she has?"  Richard shrugged. "She has whatever that couple just put in her palm.  She might not have eaten in the last 48 hours.  Tonight, she'll go down some side-street and force her body into a hole in the wall that's probably too small for her but will keep her warm and dry and that'll be enough.  You know what she was saying to you when she begged you for money?"
"No, I don't speak Lithuanian."
"She was saying 'Please, help. Food.  Hungry.  Please.  Please.' That's what broke sounds like.  One word sentences because you don't have energy or reason to say more.  You see the jacket she's wearing?  That's what broke looks like.  Probably got it from a dumpster 5 years ago." Dave closed one leg over the other and his thumb resumed its flurry.  
"I wasn't saying I'm that bad, I was just saying—"
"You're broke.  But you're not."
Richard glanced side to side but the couple from across the way had left and the other benches were empty now.  Two young girls were chasing pigeons while their mothers chatted in hasty Lithuanian on the other side of the park.
"It's just," Richard began, "I lost my father.  I needed to get away, I've never been to Europe before and this whole exchange thing and then the hotel cost and the churches and the museums.  I thought it'd be good for me, but" Richard's voice trailed off.
Dave took a bite out of a sandwich and put his foot down again, leaned his forearms on his quads and stared at his phone.  
Richard stood up and started toward the hotel.
"Kid." Dave put his phone in his pocket, returned his arm to its former position and looked up to meet Richard eyes. "I'm sorry for your loss."
They held that gaze for a moment.  Richard considered walking over to Dave, but didn't.

In the hotel lobby, Richard was using the reception phone instead of the one in his room.  "For an emergency call," he had told them.
"Richard? Are you okay?  Are you hurt?"
"Yeah, mom, I'm alright.  I'm coming home."

Outside, a beggar woman sells flowers for 2 litas a piece.  She stares into nothingness until Richard approaches.  He finds a red carnation (passion, strength) and buys it—"Į sveikatą, telaimina tave Dievas"—for his father's grave.  He gives the woman 13 litas and walks away.