I hope Miranda has some serious light to shed on this whole Rose-on-the-loose situation. With her heart being so unpredictable lately, I hate asking her anything. Yet she never couches the truth in self-serving terms, like the Good Doctor.
53
~*~
The ghosts encourage me to spend all day in the woods. I ramble around, pointlessly wishing for green signs of life. Brown and gray: the colors of December and my soul.
Hopelessness preys on me. I gave Rosemary her name because it means “Remembrance.” Claire was supposed to tell Rosemary that her birth mother would always remember her. Ungrateful hag probably did nothing of the sort. I imagine she took Rosemary to church, giving her the same stilted, proper Sunday school upbringing I had. What good had that done me?
Still, Cliff’s calm, golden demeanor convicts me. He was settled, peaceful. He wasn’t afraid to die. I feel young, but I don’t know how long I have left. I’m terrified the ghosts will rip me to shreds—they constantly threaten to do it.
There’s one last chance. I could talk with Tess Spencer. She would know where Rosemary is. And if she read my journal, she’ll be on my side. Maybe it’s time to come out in the open.
~*~
Charlotte opens the suite door on the first knock, looking effortlessly ravishing in her orange hoodie and crinkly long skirt. I don’t think she’s wearing a speck of makeup, but she still has smoky eyes. I think Thomas notices.
She hugs him. “Little Thomas, you grew up! Sorry we didn’t really talk at the hospital. Glad to hear Petey’s doing better.”
Thomas, now in his T-shirt and dress pants, smiles like a goofball. He only gets tongue-tied around pretty women.
“Well, come right on in,” Charlotte says. “Mom’s in her room. She can’t wait to see you.”
Miranda sits in her chair, wearing a silky, embroidered red robe. Her hair looks like it’s been recently set. She extends her thin arms to Thomas.
“Aw, how I’ve missed you, delightful boy!”
Thomas returns her hug, giving her a peck on the cheek. “How’s my favorite Sunday school teacher?”
“I have to admit, I’ve seen better days. I assume Tess has filled you in on Rose Campbell’s reappearance?”
He nods. Miranda turns to me. “You look lovely, Tess—what a perfect color for you!” She sighs. “I’ve been walking down memory lane, trying to understand everything. I guess Bartholomew helped Rose fake her death?”
“He did.”
Miranda pushes her glasses up. “But he had no idea she was pregnant?”
“None.”
“And Claire Hogan adopted Rose’s daughter?”
I lean on her bed, all my weariness catching up with me. “She did.”
Thomas excuses himself to get a drink of water, but I know he’s leaving us alone so the Grande Dame can be more candid.
Miranda spreads her hands on her lap, examining her light pink nails. “You must think I’m touched in the head, marrying Paul after reading that journal.”
“Miranda, I’d never think you were crazy.”
“Paul and I haven’t talked about this, but something was wrong with Rose. I don’t mean temporarily, either. From what I’ve heard, everyone made a big fuss over her from the time she was little. She expected to be worshiped. Then she hit reality smack-on when she got married. Now, I don’t believe Paul hit her, not once. But I’ll bet he disagreed with her. I don’t know why she became a recluse, but I don’t think it had anything to do with her marriage.”
“So you think the journal was a lie?”
She twists her wedding band. “I guess I do. Maybe I’m a bigger fool than I want to admit. Maybe I have no business marrying Paul. I don’t want to replace Russell—it’s impossible. But Paul keeps me company. I know he’s quiet around you girls, but he makes me laugh something fierce.”
The baby kicks. I walk over and take Miranda’s small hand, pressing it to the movement. A smile replaces all the darkness in her eyes. She’s restored to the carefree Miranda I’ve known and loved since the day I met her. “You’re carrying a little high. Know what it is yet?”
I shake my head.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you were wearing pink at your shower.” She winks.
A shower. Good gracious. I hadn’t even thought of having one. Miranda reads my look. “Usually your church gives you one. Better get your foot in the door soon.”
I love it when she jokes around. “I’m planning on going to the Spencers’ church again, don’t you fret.”
Charlotte comes in, carrying a mug of coffee for me and a cup of tea for Miranda. “Decaf for the both of you. Have I missed anything?”
“Nothing I haven’t told you already,” Miranda says. “You girls make a good team. Have you talked to Bartholomew—told him about his daughter?”
I shake my head. “No, not yet.”
She purses and blows steam off her tea. “You need to do that. It’s for the best. A father should know his daughter.”
I stiffen at her dismissive tone. “But he wanted Rose to abort her! Why would he care?”
“People change,” Miranda says.
“Sometimes they don’t.” I feel like I’m the devil’s advocate tonight. My dad never changed, nor did my mom.
She shoots me a knowing look. “You’re right. But if you can help them change and you don’t, it’s on you.”
Charlotte puts a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll talk to the Doctor, Mom.”
I nod, noticing the dark, starry sky out the window. It’s getting late.
“Love you, Miranda. You’re an angel to me, and worth your weight in gold.”
She smiles. “I’m afraid that’s not too much—they keep telling me to eat more or I’ll wither away.”
I motion Thomas back into the room for one last hug. Miranda pats his hand. “You keep that gal in line, you hear? She needs lots of attention to keep out of trouble.”
He laughs. “You know I’ll try.”
“You’re a good boy,” Miranda says. “You remind me of my Russell.”
Charlotte walks us to the door. “Thanks for stopping by. She’s just wiped out with this whole Rose thing. So…what’s our next step?”
“I guess it’s Christmas! I’ll think about it tomorrow. Your Mom’s right—we should tell the Doctor. Maybe he’d want to meet Rosemary.”
“I think he would. Okay, we’ll take a break, relax, and try to forget about Rose for now.”
Thomas takes my arm, walking me down the hall. As we pass the Rec room, a group of late-night television viewers turn to stare. I’m sure we’re quite the sight—Thomas in his T-shirt and me in my fancy dress.
The temperature outside has dropped. Thomas wraps his arm around me tightly. “Another memorable date night, I’d say.”
I grin. “Let’s just go home, lock the door, and eat some cupcakes.”
54
~*~
Christmas again. How many Christmases have I missed, in my sterile room at Cactus Ridge? Unlike the other residents, I never had pictures of my husband, baby, or even a pet to display.
How many years have been lost? It’s been forty years since I died to Paul, but I can’t remember when I last felt like Rose Campbell, the girl whose daddy was a big-shot riverboat captain. Maybe I should start acting my age and stop climbing in trees, hiking through the woods, and trusting all the wrong men with my heart.
I sit on my mattress, dressed in layers and wrapped in a blanket. It finally did get chilly, just in time for Christmas. It wouldn’t surprise me if we got a skiff of snow. I’m determined not to go out, though. I can’t risk being seen too early, and I want to get rested up for when I talk with Tess.
I’ve done my research. Tess’ husband is a lawyer in Buckneck. Tess obviously doesn’t garden, given the sparse look of her front yard. I suppose she spends all her time butting into other people’s lives, like mine.
All I need is to get her alone. I’m sure that like any other woman, she’ll have c
ompassion on me, a mother who had to give her child up at birth. She’ll tell me what I need to know about Rosemary.
She’s been to Bartholomew’s, but I don’t think he’s told her everything. There’s only one reason a handsome, rich man like him didn’t get married in all these forty years. He feels guilty. And so he should.
A smile creeps onto my face. It won’t be hard to crush him. It was easy enough to get into his house that night. I could’ve shot him in the head then, but there was no reason to. It was the journal I wanted.
Still, he can never know he’s a father. I won’t let him steal Rosemary away from me.
~*~
Nikki Jo’s front porch urns are stuffed with cinnamon brooms and fresh greenery. Roger answers the doorbell, and we follow the smells of bacon, eggs, and waffles to the dining room table.
Helga, Andrew, and Petey have all taken their seats. Helga sits across from Andrew, wearing an icy look. Trouble is afoot.
Thomas and I hug Nikki Jo before taking our seats. Breakfast is somewhat stilted, as Helga’s monosyllabic answers to our polite questions only distance her more.
Finally, we gather around the white monkey tree. I notice some new monkeys have been added, Curious George among them. Not to mention banana ornaments.
Individually, we walk over and hunt for our gifts under the tree. I feel bad for Helga, who only gets a small gift from Petey and one from me. My gift for her is a bath gel—not particularly young and hip, but I buy them on sale in January and save them for unexpected Christmas presents. In a total Southern snub, Nikki Jo doesn't give Helga anything.
On the count of three, we all rip into everything at once. It makes for a beautiful chaos, so different from the silent Christmases Mom and I shared.
When I open Nikki Jo and Roger’s gift, I gasp. It’s a green maternity gown and matching baby sleeper.
Nikki Jo smiles, her red lipstick a perfect match to her turtleneck. “It’s a nursing gown. I didn’t know if you’re planning on nursing, but I couldn’t pass it up.”
I hug it to my face. “My first baby gift! I love it so much!”
Thomas pats my back, sensing my joy. “My wife, the little momma-to-be.”
Helga opens her gift from Petey, and it’s a small handmade wooden box. He must have taken quite a few hours to sand that wood, not to mention carving the swirly designs into it.
She smiles at him. “Many thanks, Petey.” He reddens, his blush muting his freckles.
Andrew sits perched in the chair next to Dad, oblivious to the fact that his brother outstripped him in the gift department—which tells me Helga’s no longer his girlfriend.
After all the gifts are opened, Dad brings in a couple of trash bags. Thomas abruptly walks out of the sitting room.
“What’s up with him?” Andrew says.
I shrug, fighting the urge to say, “What’s up with you?”
Thomas comes back, holding a newspaper-wrapped box tied with twine. He kisses my head. “It’s not fancy wrapping, but sometimes the best gifts come in plain packages.”
I tug at the lid, wondering why he saved this one till the end. There’s a scratching inside the box, and it shifts in my hands. I nearly drop it.
“Open it—it’s okay.” Thomas grins.
I pull the lid off slowly. A little white, fluffy kitten with huge jasper eyes looks up at me, trying to climb out.
“Oh, Thomas, a kitten!”
Petey scoots over and we ooh and ah over the tiny fluff-ball.
“Is it a girl or boy?”
“I honestly don’t know,” Thomas says. “Got it from Gina at work—she breeds them—and had to hide it over here.”
Helga joins us on the floor, picking up the kitten and examining it. “Female.”
Even Andrew smiles. “Trust Helga: she grew up on a farm. A girl it is.”
As I cuddle the kitten, the family debates names for the next five minutes. Petey’s fond of Athena, but we have enough god stuff going on with the illustrious Thor. Speaking of which, I hope kitty will get along with him. Or maybe not.
Thomas suggests Snowflake, and I snicker. “Like the traditional names, do we?”
He scratches behind the kitty’s pink ears. “You have something better?”
I think of floaty, light words: diaphanous, ephemeral, translucent, opulent, cerulean. All adjectives, not nouns.
Nikki Jo reaches for the kitten, her red nails a stark contrast to the white fur. “She’s soft as velvet.”
“That’s it!” I shout. “Her name is Velvet!”
“Calm down there, Tess,” Andrew says.
Thomas laughs. “How about Red Velvet?”
Nikki Jo heads back to the kitchen to cut cheesecake and brew fresh coffee. Petey talks with Helga about how he made the box. Dad and Thomas head to the den for some man-cave time at the TV.
I sit contentedly batting around with my playful kitten. Andrew abandons his chair and sits next to me.
He whispers. “Guess I picked wrong, huh?”
“Are you talking about Helga? What’s going on?”
“We can barely communicate. I can’t share my life with someone I can’t talk to.”
Funny. Helga looks like a model—every girl’s ideal—and yet she’s missing something. Still, it’s good to hear Andrew say share my life as if he has some longer-term goals in dating.
“What about Kelsey? I thought she fit in with us.”
“Kelsey…she’s just more intense than I am.”
“You need that, Andrew. Contrary to popular college belief, life isn’t one big party.”
He gets serious, focusing on me with his almost-turquoise eyes. “So, what’s the secret to keeping things together? Mom and Dad have it, but they’ve never been as…sparky…as you and Thomas.”
The red velvet cupcake fiasco jumps to mind. I smile. “I think it takes a good sense of humor. And it doesn’t hurt to be different from each other. But some people like more similarities. I don’t know, Andrew—you just have to find the right one.”
He rolls his eyes. “The right one?” You really believe that? Well, how would I know I’ve found her?”
“If she gets along with your family, you’re ahead of the game,” I say. “You need to talk with Thomas about this stuff.”
“Thomas is always busy. And he’s just so much…older than I am. You know what I mean.”
I nod. Thomas does tend to take a stern line with his carefree brother. “Even if you don’t believe in the right one, you have to admit there are some wrong ones out there.”
He smiles, pointing toward Helga as he picks up Velvet. The fuzzball snuggles into his chest.
“Well, don’t feel too low, Andrew. At least Velvet thinks you’re not totally repulsive.”
Petey jumps up and runs to the window. “Look everybody! Snow!”
We watch the heavy white flakes splat against the glass. I wonder if Rose missed the snow or these mountains when she lived in Arizona.
I won’t let Rose hijack my Christmas. I take the kitten back, snuggling my face into her soft fur as Nikki Jo calls us to the kitchen. I don’t know where Rose Campbell is spending her Christmas day, but I’m spending it with my family.
55
~*~
In the morning, Paul makes a big ruckus in the kitchen. Pots bang and silverware clashes so loudly, I can hear it in the attic. Maybe he’s practicing his cooking for Miranda. I wish I could go see her before the wedding, but I have other things to do first.
“Not long,” my mother says. She always comes around when I need her.
I’ve checked to see if Paul has all the ingredients I need—all but one. I hid that one in an airtight jar, before I left this house forty years ago.
I walk to the window and Paul stops his racket. Did the floor creak? I freeze in place.
Quiet—then steps, coming up the main staircase. I yank the blankets off the mattress, throwing them into a pile out of sight. Tiptoeing behind a dresser, I squat near a rafter. I hate hiding,
but I don’t want Paul to see me until it’s too late. This New Year’s Eve, it’s his turn to die.
The attic door creaks open. “Hello—someone up there?” He flips the light switch. Thank goodness I remembered to unscrew the bulb here in the back.
He walks all the way up, his steps ungainly as ever. He’s always repulsed me, even before we married. I inwardly curse my mother for forcing me into it.
I drop all the way to the floor, watching around the side of the dresser. He wears ratty old leather house-slippers. I think he’s had them all these years.
When he gets to the small window on the far wall, I entertain myself with visions of sneaking up and pushing him through it.
As he turns back, I catch a glimpse of his face. Haggard. Tired. Anxious. But not really scared. Perhaps there’s a ray of hope in those sad eyes. My emotions flip. I was the cause for his sadness, but Miranda’s the reason for that hope.
Too late now. I’m baking today—a special batch of gingerbread men.
~*~
Our home phone rings first thing in the morning. Thomas rolls over, slapping at the night-table.
“It’s not the alarm. I’ll get it…you just sleep.” I tiptoe down the cold stairs. Velvet tries to follow, but I scoop her up to avoid squashing her.
I grab the receiver just after the call goes to the answering machine. “Yes?”
Charlotte stops mid-sentence. “Tess, is this the real you?”
“As far as I know, I wasn’t body-snatched last night.”
“Ha, very funny. Mom’s doing lots better today. Getting a second wind after that heart scare, the nurse said.”
“Good! Thanks for letting me know.”
The phone goes silent for a moment. “Charlotte? You there?”
“Yes. Listen, I stayed up late last night, thinking. I’m going over to the Doctor’s house today. It’s a closer trip for me, and I know you have family stuff going on, so I’m going alone. Plus, I think Rose doesn’t recognize my car. I’m going to dangle the Rosemary carrot in front of his nose…but I won’t tell him the truth until he agrees to tell us the truth. Sound good?”
Fatal 5 Page 49
