Wallpaper with Roses

by Jenny Andersen

  “She didn’t believe me.” Beth’s voice was trance-like.

  “About what?”

  “My stepfather.” Paper crackled as she crumpled the letter.

  Oh, shit. Sarah’s gaze met Rob’s over Beth’s head. Well, in for a penny... “What did he do?”

  “He used to come to my room at night.” Beth’s voice was flat and emotionless. “The first time he raped me, I was fourteen. I didn’t know until I was sixteen that I didn’t have to put up with that. I told my mother, and she said I was lying. So I left.”

  Sixteen. Alone and on the streets. Not a good combination. “Oh, Beth. Oh, baby.”

  “I made it. I got through school, all on my own, and came to Crowley Falls, and made a life.”

  Beth went up a notch in Sarah’s estimation. That hadn’t been easy, and probably explained the party-girl life style. It would have been either that or a complete retreat from men.

  “You should be proud of yourself,” Rob said.

  “I guess I am,” Beth said, and picked up the second sheet of paper. It contained only a few short paragraphs. When she had finished reading them, she turned a pasty greenish color and began to hyperventilate.

  Rob clapped his hand over her mouth and pinched one nostril shut. “Take it easy, Beth. Slow down.” His voice was a hypnotic murmur, and in a few minutes her breathing had steadied.

  “She’s dead,” Beth said, her voice flat. “I’ll never know if I would have forgiven her.” She stared at the letters with blank unfocused eyes. “I’ll never know.” Two huge, crystal-clear tears trickled down her cheeks. She covered her face with her hands and began crying in earnest.

  Sarah gathered her close and mouthed, “Get Kleenex,” to Rob.

  He nodded and bolted from the room, returning with a full box of tissues.

  Smart man. Sarah took the tissues, and mopped and patted and soothed until Beth’s gulping sobs lessened.

  Finally Beth sat up, hiccupping but calm. “Thanks.”

  Rob handed her the forgotten brandy.

  She drank it in little sips this time. “Sorry to be so emotional.”

  Sarah took her hand and squeezed it. “No need to be, honey. Crying when your mother dies isn’t wrong. This is rough, and rough is when you need your friends.”

  “You’ve needed me all year, and I haven’t been there for you.”

  “No guilt trips. Go wash your face. I’ll fix some hot milk, and find you a nightgown. I think you’d better stay here for a while. We can get your things tomorrow.”

  Beth looked like she might start to cry all over again.

  “Sarah,” a male voice called from upstairs.

  “Mama!” Sarah dropped Beth’s hand and ran out of the office. She took the stairs two at a time. “What is it, Dan? Is she—”

  “No, no,” the hospice nurse assured her. “She’s a bit restless. I don’t think she’ll wake, but you wanted me to call you if there was any change.

  Chapter 17

  “Sarah, you don’t have to get up every twenty minutes,” Christine said when she caught Sarah tiptoeing down the hall toward her mother’s room. “Matilda gave Beth a sleeping pill, and the hospice nurse is here so you can get some sleep. He’ll call you if anything changes.” Christine gave Sarah a miserable look.

  “I know,” Sarah said. “But I can’t sleep. I have to—I just— She might need more morphine, or—” She swallowed. “I have to.” She slipped into the room. A few words with the nurse, a chance to place her hand on her mother’s one last time.

  Hilda lay quietly in the bed, the covers unnaturally smooth. “Mama,” Sarah murmured, but there was no response. Her mother’s breathing was light, shallow, interspersed with terrifying, stertorous gasps. After a few moments of listening, Sarah went back to her own room.

  “Try to sleep,” Dan said the next time Sarah came. “That’s why I’m here.”

  “No, you’re here to be sure Mama’s as comfortable as possible. But yes, I’ll try.”

  She couldn’t. Casey crawled up on her bed, something she almost never did, and stuck a cold, wet nose against her neck. Sarah hugged the dog and lay in the darkened room, straining so hard to hear sounds from down the hall that her ears rang.

  Every time she started to doze, she’d jerk awake. By three in the morning, she’d made half a dozen trips to the bedside.

  How long could she keep this up? She hadn’t had any sleep for nearly two days.

  “Still no change, Sarah,” Dan said at four when she padded into the room. She put a hand on her mother’s bony chest to be sure she was breathing, and smoothed back the thin gray hair. “Mama.” That seemed to be the only word she could say.

  Her hand rose as her mother took a deep, deep breath, and then...nothing. Sarah bent closer, and Dan shot to his feet.

  Dizziness swirled through Sarah, along with a strange, jumpy panic. “That’s it?” she said, and her voice sounded oddly high and thin in her ears. “That’s it?”

  No movement or sound from her mother. Sarah took a step back. The small part of her mind that hadn’t gone numb noticed that her eyes felt stretched wide and her breaths were fast and shallow.

  Dan gripped her arm. “Don’t get hysterical on me, Sarah.”

  “That’s it?” she repeated.

  “Yes. It’s over.” He busied himself pulling a sheet up to cover the still face.

  “It’s over,” she repeated mechanically. The sheet-covered form filled her vision.

  She walked into the bathroom and looked at the bottle of morphine. Over. Without a word she went to her bedroom and looked at the bed.

  No. She might never sleep again.

  She walked downstairs. Through the rooms that her mother had lived in for over eighty years, had cherished, down the hall and into the kitchen. Habit took over and she made coffee, her hands shaking.

  Sitting at the table gripping an empty mug, she watched the coffee drip. A selfish need to be held, to be comforted, gripped her.

  “There’s no one,” she said, her words dropping like stones into the stillness of the room. “There’s no one left.” No one who wanted to hug her, to touch her. No one in the world to whom she was the most important person.

  She trudged slowly back up the stairs to her room and sat on the bed.

  No one.

  Chapter 18

  There were things to do. People to call. Details to arrange. Over the next couple of weeks, Sarah moved through them all in a state of numb shock.

  If she stopped moving, feelings caught up with her, overwhelmed her, and if she let them loose, if she started crying, she’d never stop. All she knew was that the center of her life was gone.

  Violet and Miranda and Christine and Beth surrounded her with loving kindness even though she couldn’t seem to thank them. And Rob was there every time she turned around, lacing through the empty, busy days and evenings with his calm good sense and dependability. Casey was at her side twenty-four seven, and Fred jumped in her lap every time she sat, offering furry feline comfort.

  None of it helped.

  Christine pushed her into a chair at the kitchen table. “You haven’t eaten anything all day,” she said, and put a bowl of soup in front of her.

  It was Hilda’s favorite vegetable soup, and Sarah’s tears mixed with the steam. Obediently, she picked up the spoon and ate. “Thank you, Christine.”

  Christine.

  The thought was like swimming up from an abyss. Sarah raised her head and looked at the girl. Still big as a house. “Wasn’t that baby due by now?”

  “Last week. But the doctor says first babies are always late. Usually.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yep. Healthy as a horse. And it’s going to be soon. I’m sure.” Christine waddled out of the room, moving as fast as she could.

  Sarah heard her thump down the hall, heard her say, “She noticed that I hadn’t had the baby! She’s gonna be all right.”

  “Of course she is.” That was Violet.


  “Thank goodness.” That was Beth. “She’s so strong. I hate to see her like this.”

  Silly Beth. Sarah didn’t feel strong at all.

  And then Miranda’s voice. “She’s never been anything but all right.”

  Miranda said that about her? Miranda used to hate her.

  “Now hush,” Miranda added. “She’ll hear us.”

  Had she been that out of it? Apparently so. She looked around the kitchen. She’d never see her mother in the familiar room again. The thought sent a spear of pain lancing through her.

  This was why she’d stayed in that fog of numbness. The others might be happy that she was back, but she didn’t want to be.

  For the rest of the afternoon and evening, she wandered through the house, through her feelings, like one just returning from a long vacation. All the familiar old things looked strange. Everything she saw, everything she touched, reminded her that her mother was gone.

  Late that night, she slipped out to the front porch. The faint creak of the swing warned her that she wasn’t alone.

  “Can’t sleep, huh?” Rob said from the shadows.

  “Restless,” she admitted.

  “Come sit here.” He reached out a hand and pulled her down onto the swing. “This’ll help.” He offered her his glass.

  She took it and sipped. “Oof. Wow.” The aged bourbon went down like a slug of brimstone and made her feel like she exhaled flames. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Watching the night. Thinking. Wanted to be sure you were sleeping before I left.”

  “You all have been so good to me. I don’t think I’d have gotten through the last couple of weeks without you.”

  “It’s a rough time.”

  She captured his glass for another mouthful of relaxation.

  “The funeral was hard.”

  “You survived it.”

  “With help. Your mother and Miranda were wonderful. And I know that they had to be hurting as much as I was. As I do.”

  “It’s not a contest, Sarah. Mum always used to tell me that life was funny because shared joy doubled, but shared sorrow got lighter.”

  “I guess.” The evening was too nice for arguments, but was her sorrow really all that much lighter? Maybe so. She pushed her foot against to worn floorboards and set the swing to moving.

  “That was beautiful, when you put the roses on the casket at the funeral,” Rob said.

  “They were her favorites, the Damasks. The wallpaper in her room has them too. She loved them best of all the ones in her garden.” An isolated memory of the funeral rose in her mind. “Poor Homer. Did you see the roses he sent? Modern tea roses for my mother. She couldn’t stand them.”

  “Yeah, but he cared about her, and he showed it. He did his best.”

  “She was the best. The best mother and the best friend. I wanted to do more for her.”

  “She was a wonderful mother, and you did everything you could for her, Sarah.”

  She took another sip from his glass, but it turned into a gulp.

  “Whoa. You’re getting a little carried away there.” Rob retrieved the glass and set it out of her reach.

  Heat burned down her throat clear to her toes, and somehow loosened the lump of guilt she’d been carrying for so long. “I was so mean to her.” It came out as a wail.

  “You were the best daughter in the world,” Rob assured her. “No one else could ever do, ever has done, as much for a parent.”

  “I yelled at her. I told her she needed to concentrate. I was mad at her for getting old.” The tears that she’d been swallowing for weeks burst out of control.

  “Sarah, Sarah.” Rob pulled her against his chest.

  She cried until there were no more tears, but the sorrow wasn’t assuaged. “And then in the end, I ki—ki—killed her,” she wailed.

  Rob handed her his handkerchief. “Oh, Sarah, baby. You didn’t kill her. You made her last days as good as they could be. Don’t remember the pain. Remember how happy she was when you brought her home?”

  She sat back and blew her nose. “She would have lived longer if she’d stayed in the hospital.”

  “She was miserable and suffering. And she wasn’t getting better. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Dr. Burgess thinks it’s wrong.”

  “None of the nurses or other doctors agreed. Sarah.” He gripped her shoulders and held her away from him and looked her straight in the eyes. “You didn’t kill her. You didn’t shoot her or stab her or give her an overdose. You let the inevitable happen without making her suffer. That’s not wrong.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Sarah hiccupped. “She smiled when Fred curled up beside her. She rubbed Christine’s tummy and said she wanted to see the baby.” The thought brought a fresh round of tears. “She didn’t get to. She never got to know if it’s a boy or girl.”

  “She’ll know.”

  The simple faith in Rob’s voice warmed her more than the bourbon had done.

  ****

  Rob eased into a chair in the conservatory and set his glass of whiskey on the table beside him. The thick tumbler clinked against the glass table top and he made an involuntary movement to silence it.

  He didn’t want to leave until he was sure Sarah had gone to bed, if not to sleep. Leaving her to deal with her grief was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do.

  This late-night vigil had become a habit in the two weeks since Hilda had died, and it didn’t seem like nearly enough. Christmas had come and gone without getting any attention. He wondered if Sarah would ever enjoy the holiday again.

  The snowy yard lay cold and unearthly in the bluish moonlight, pretty much matching his feelings. Sarah liked him and she depended on him, but she’d rejected any closer relationship. He took a sip of the whiskey, letting it burn all the way down, but it didn’t ease the hurt. So he was a guy and guys weren’t supposed to do relationships, but he wasn’t a young stud anymore and coming home to Sarah sounded pretty damn good.

  A soft scuffle of footsteps in the hall brought him to his feet. Sarah?

  “What are you doing down here in the dark?”

  He held up the glass. “Just a nightcap, Mum. What are you doing up?”

  “I didn’t hear your car leave.”

  “Ah. Come join me?”

  “I’ll just sit for a minute.” She came in and perched on a chair. “What a lovely evening. But moonlight always seems so lonely.”

  Rob sat back down. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  His mother was silent for a few minutes before she said, “You’re in love with Sarah, aren’t you?”

  The mouthful of whiskey he’d just taken sputtered away with his explosive exhale. “What makes you say that?”

  “The way you look at her, and that’s not an answer.”

  Amused in spite of himself, Rob said, “You haven’t used that stern voice on me since I was in high school.”

  “I haven’t needed to.” She peered through the dim light at him and cut to the chase. “So what are you going to do about Sarah?”

  He gave up. “Dunno. I can’t exactly press the issue right now.”

  “Hmph. Well, I suppose not. But I’ve been watching you dance around her ever since I moved in here, and I’d have to say that she thinks pretty highly of you.”

  “As a friend.”

  “And more.”

  “Mum. Enough. Some things aren’t—”

  “Any of my business. I know.” She giggled, that ditzy giggle that his father had loved so much. “But Sarah’s so much nicer than that girl from Dockside that you were running around with.”

  “I didn’t know you knew about her.”

  “Oh, yes, dear. That was why I was so interested in renting that room over the tavern. I wanted to meet her. Well, after all, you’re getting on and if you’re interested in a woman, it’s only right that I should have a chance to get to know her and...”

  She chat
tered on, leaving Rob torn between irritation and embarrassment. That Dockside woman wasn’t exactly someone you brought home to meet your mother. Fun though, he thought with a certain nostalgia. But once Sarah came on the scene, he hadn’t had any interest in anyone but a certain accountant who didn’t seem to recognize that he was ready and willing. More than ready and willing.

  “Well, never mind, dear. I’m sure things will work out for you and Sarah. Since you both have households, there won’t be any need for a shower, but I’m sure Miranda and I can help her plan a lovely summer wedding and—”

  That was too much. “For God’s sake, Mother, will you stop?” Rob said, trying to keep his voice down. “Sarah hasn’t shown any interest in me. Don’t you think planning a wedding is maybe a tiny bit premature?”

  “Oh, not at all. Poor Rob.” She patted his hand. “You’re a good boy. Just be patient. Sarah’s been a little distracted, but soon she’ll realize just how wonderful you are. Now I’m off to bed.” She stood, wobbling a little, and he jumped up to steady her. “Oh, thank you, dear. Good night now.”

  Rob stood in the door and watched her totter off toward the stairs. She moved stiffly, like an old woman. She was an old woman, he realized with a faint sense of shock. He’d gotten so used to thinking of her as a permanent part of his life that he hadn’t been thinking. Now it struck him.

  Hilda had been the same age as his mother.

  ****

  “Sarah! Sarah!” Violet rushed into the office. “Oh, Sarah, come quick!”

  Sarah dropped the papers she was working on and bolted up from the desk. “What is it?”

  “Christine! Christine! She’s having the baby. Do something!” Violet stood in the middle of the floor wringing her hands and looking pleadingly at Sarah.

  “Relax, Violet. First babies always take a long time.” She hoped. “Where is she?”

  “Kitchen. She’s in the kitchen.”

  Sarah trotted out of the room just as Miranda emerged from the elevator.

  “What is all the shouting about? I was trying to nap.”

  Sarah left her to Violet’s confused explanations and went in search of Christine, who was indeed in the kitchen, on her hands and knees, mopping up a puddle.