Sleeping Roses

by RaShelle Workman

"What is it?" she asked curiously, wondering what it was.

  "Open it and find out." He chuckled, all seriousness gone.

  Gladly she accepted his offering and opened the box. Inside was what could only be described as a roll of leather. She looked at him, confused.

  "You have to pick it up and unroll it," he said.

  Cautiously, she did.

  Inside were treasures beyond what she could have ever imagined. A trove of paint brushes in all shapes and sizes were wrapped carefully inside the leather pouch. She caressed each brush, unable to hide her excitement at such an amazing gift. Willing herself not to cry, she looked at him and whispered, "Thank you, Phillip. These are perfect. No one, since my parents, has given me such a thoughtful gift. I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but why?"

  "Easy. You're in the Art Department but I never see you paint for yourself. I hoped this would encourage you to start again."

  Smiling, she brushed away her tears.

  He continued, "The other day I was in Dr. Jensen's office, admiring one of the new paintings he'd hung on his wall. When I asked who the artist was, you can imagine my surprise when he said it was you."

  She wanted to say something to help him understand how amazing she thought his gift was. But, before she began, he said, "Don't get me wrong. I wasn't surprised by how incredible the painting was. I know you've got talent. I've seen you help your students. What I mean,” he paused and ran his fingers through his hair, embarrassed. “I realized I hadn't seen you paint once for yourself since you've been here and that surprised me."

  "Oh," she replied, laughing at his long explanation and loving it. "Well, thank you for the explanation. You're right, I haven't painted in a long while and I love it. This is a sweet gift. Thanks again." Carefully, she rolled the brushes back up, tying the pouch closed.

  #

  The drive back to the hotel was somber. The lightness and fun at dinner was gone.

  She figured he thought about her ‘just being friends’ comment, and was sad. Sophie was unsure of what to do. The gift was amazing, she knew she liked him, and she knew she shouldn't get involved right now.

  At the hotel entrance, he stopped the car. She quickly got out and started walking toward the entrance. Thinking better of her abrupt exit, she walked back to him, knowing she didn't want the evening to end this way.

  When Phillip saw her coming back, he rolled down the window. She stuck her head in.

  "I don't know what I was thinking. Thank you for taking me to dinner and for your gift. That you thought of me means a lot.”

  "You’re welcome Sophie. It was my pleasure. I enjoy talking to you, spending time with you, and the gift, well, it seemed natural." He stuck out his hand.

  She shook it, feeling weird. Then she set the leather pouch full of the incredible paintbrushes on his passenger seat.

  "It's too much, though. I can't accept these, but thanks again for dinner." Unable to wait for an answer, she hurriedly walked away.

  In the elevator, tears of sorrow and anger fell rapidly onto her face. She tried to wipe them away, but to no avail. "They just keep coming," she mourned aloud.

  Unlocking the door to her room, she wondered why she was so emotional. Realization dawned on her almost as soon as she thought it. Placing a hand on her belly, she closed the door.

  "It's you, isn't it, little one?" She knew there wouldn't be a reply, and taking off her shoes, she fell exhausted onto the bed.

  #

  After spending all weekend fretting about her decision to give him back his gift, she'd decided this morning, Monday morning, she would apologize again and hope he'd understand.

  When she got into her classroom, however, the leather pouch of paintbrushes was on her desk with a note attached, reading simply:

  Keep them.

  There was no signature attached; and one wasn’t necessary.

  She tried several times during the day and throughout the next several weeks to talk to him. At first she'd thought he was just unusually busy, but it didn't take long to realize, except for a brief hello once in a while, when it couldn't be helped, he avoided her.

  Disappointed by the situation, she wanted to say something that would change things back to the way they were, but he wasn't giving her the chance. So, she did her best to keep herself busy with everything else going on.

  #

  A big part of her life right now was the purchase of her new home. The offer she'd put in had been accepted and she closed within a week. Since the previous owners had moved out of the house, she moved in immediately, well, not exactly moved in.

  She had nothing to move in. She needed furniture, a lot of furniture, she thought as she walked into her empty house for the first time.

  The furniture store was monstrous, making her first experience inside overwhelming, to say the least. After spending hours deciding what she liked and wanted, she picked out a cottage-style bedroom set with a distressed, antique white finish. At least, that's what the salesman called it. To her, it looked worn but comfortable, new and beautiful.

  When she let the men from the furniture store in to drop off her bedroom set, she'd felt more like an adult than ever before. It was frightening, and exciting. It also became evident she needed professional help to decorate the many different rooms in her enormous house.

  The realtor advised her to fix up a few things that seemed dated before she moved in to make the process easier. Sophie took Ms. Simms advice and had the entire house repainted, the birch floors sanded and re-stained and all of the countertops replaced in the kitchen, bathrooms and laundry room. Once the renovating was complete, she had the house cleaned and the windows washed.

  Her next bit of drama also had to do with her house.

  She knew she wanted the furnishings in her house to be warm and comfortable but still feel airy and open, not stuffy like an old library, but something else. She wasn't sure what exactly and after mulling it over for two days, realized she was way out of her league. She made appointments with three different interior design companies.

  Her first appointment was with a young woman named Ariel who looked like she was barely out of high school. Sophie was sure she was competent, but knew immediately she wouldn't be able to work with her. She thanked her for coming and waited for her next appointment.

  They arrived in style, pulling up in a white stretch limousine. She wasn't sure whether to be flattered or terrified.

  Why would they, she wondered? Soon enough, however, Lloyd and Beverly Beasley explained they’d come from an event.

  Relaxing at the explanation, they got down to business. While touring her home, they gave her plenty of compliments. Beverly made rough drawings and Lloyd took

  notes and measurements. She realized she liked the way they took charge and their overall attitude. They'd said they would get back with her in a couple of days with their ideas.

  Her last appointment went about the same as the second, although it was two men, Frank Jackson and Ron Pierce, and they didn't come in a limousine. She liked the energy they exuded. She was excited to see what they’d have to show her.

  #

  It was six-thirty in the evening and she was exhausted. Three appointments in one day probably wasn't a good idea, she thought and made herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Locking up her house for the night, she went to her room to eat since it was the only place in the house with any furniture.

  She'd finished eating and was about to go to bed when her phone rang.

  "Hello?"

  "Hello, is this Mrs. Berkeley?"

  “Yes, it is. May I ask who this is?” she questioned, trying not to sound bad-mannered.

  "Yes, this is Detective Oborn. I wanted to let you know how we're coming along with your case."

  “Great.” She breathed, relaxing a little, since she knew who it was. She'd called and left a message for Detective Oborn several days ago with her new phone number.

  “Well, the news isn't great, I'm afraid.”


  “Great! What's wrong?”

  "We can't find Mr. Berkeley. It seems after you were attacked, he cleared out most of his accounts and left without a word to his contracting partner or anyone at his restaurant."

  “You're kidding. You don't know where he is?” Terrified panic washed over her.

  “I hate to admit this, Mrs. Berkeley, but no. We were hoping you could give us an idea where he might’ve gone because we're out of leads.” She paused, took a breath then continued, “We'll have to consider the case closed unless we can come up with anything else.” She paused again, as if waiting for Sophie to say something. “Any ideas?”

  Sophie’s mind spun. “No; none,” she finally blurted.

  “Okay, well then, until we receive additional information, we're going to have to stop our investigation. I hope you understand; we've nowhere else to look.”

  Sophie heard the sorrow in her voice. She imagined Detective Oborn didn't like to close any case unless it was solved and more importantly, she knew Detective Oborn guessed it wouldn't be the last time she heard from her. The little voice inside her head whispered something was terribly wrong.

  “Mrs. Berkeley? Sophie, are you still there?”

  “Yes, I am, detective. I appreciate your call,” she intoned, trying to sound calm.

  “If I think of anything, I'll call you.”

  “Excellent. Any questions?”

  “No,” she answered immediately. “On second thought, yes, I do. Would it be possible to get into the house I shared with David? There’s one item in the basement I need.”

  “It shouldn't be a problem. I'll have an officer in charge over there call you and set up a time.”

  “Thank you.”

  "You’re welcome. I wish I had better news. I'll talk to you soon.”

  “Thanks for calling.” She hung up, feeling numb fear overwhelm her. For the first time since she'd moved into her house, she was afraid. She checked the alarm one last time. Climbing into bed, she hoped the inevitable confrontation with David would never happen.

  #

  She dreamt she was raped over and over, but she was strapped to a hospital bed. There was nothing she could do to stop it. She didn’t see who her attacker was either because he was the grayish-black mist with yellow eyes.

  Chapter 13

  “Are you ready to see your baby?” The technician asked, rolling down the top of Sophie’s pants.

  "I am," she returned quietly, wishing she’d asked Rina to be there.

  Why didn't I, she wondered, upset with herself, knowing Rina would be upset, too, but hoping she'd forgive her.

  "Here we go," the technician began, squirting a cold jelly-like substance onto her slightly raised abdomen.

  She sucked in her breath, unprepared for the cold, but forgot all about it once the technician stuck the ultrasound transducer, this was what the technician called it, on her belly and began to move it around.

  "There's the head," she started, almost immediately, pointing to the screen.

  Sophie strained to see it, squinting, trying to make it out.

  The technician continued to point out features, and she continued to struggle to see them. It dawned on her she'd seen one of these once before, in a high school health class. It had been done to discourage pregnancies and make having a baby seem more real. To her, though, it hadn't helped because she couldn't tell what she had been looking at.

  Now the technician pointed to something resembling feet. “There are the feet.”

  Relieved she finally made out a shape on her baby, she laughed. “Oh yes. I can tell.”

  The technician looked over at her, smiling sincerely. “Sometimes it takes a while to be able to know what you're looking at, but now I bet you'll be able to see other parts as well.” She kindly went back through and pointed out the head, spine, belly, bottom and all the other parts of her baby.

  Once she’d finished, she explained she needed to take some of the baby’s measurements. When she finished, she asked, “Would you like to hear the heartbeat?”

  She saw the heart beating rapidly on the screen. “Yes, I would.”

  The technician turned a knob and Sophie heard her baby's heartbeat. Tears of happiness sprang into her eyes as she looked at her baby and listened to its heart.

  "What a miracle," she whispered.

  "Isn't it?" the technician agreed. She did a few other things before saying, “Do you have any questions?”

  She tried to get her emotions under control.

  The technician handed her a tissue.

  Sophie accepted it gratefully. She tried to think of one of the thousands of questions she’d had before she came into the room, but her mind was blank.

  "Before I finish, would you like to know the gender of your baby?"

  Sophie gawked at her for a moment, realizing she’d asked one of her questions. Delighted, she answered, “Yes, I would.”

  "Okay," she said, turning back to the machine. She moved the wand over her belly to where she wanted it. “Look right here. What do you see?"

  Sophie looked at it. At first she had no idea, but then it dawned on her. "Is it my baby’s bottom?"

  "It is. Can you tell what the sex is?"

  She tried squinting, but to no avail. "Sort of. No, not really," she answered, a little embarrassed.

  The technician smiled sweetly, and pointed at the screen.

  “See this and this. It's the . . ."

  Sophie interrupted, sitting up on her elbows. “It's a girl. Now I can totally tell.”

  “Right,” the technician returned genially. “And she looks healthy. Would you like a picture of her?”

  "I would, thank you." Sighing, happily, she tried to wrap her brain around the notion she would have a daughter.

  My sweet Rose, she thought, wiping away fresh tears.

  Grabbing a towel from somewhere, the technician wiped off some of the jelly.

  “Here, I’m sure you can do a better job finding the goo on your stomach.”

  "Thank you," she muttered, the tears becoming worse at the technicians thoughtfulness.

  "You’re welcome."

  #

  Sophie sat on the edge of an examination table in a hospital gown waiting for Dr. Bowden to talk to her about the ultrasound results. She was excited, as thoughts of her sweet baby kept entering her mind. Finally, Dr. Bowden knocked and came in.

  "Hello, Sophie. Everything looks good," she said, getting right to the point.

  "Good." She smiled, realizing she hadn't had time to think about the possibilities of something being wrong.

  "One thing, though. Some of your hormone levels seem a bit more elevated than they should be. Have you been experiencing a lot of stress lately?"

  She opened her mouth to speak. Then closed it, realizing she was unsure where to begin. Frankly, she said, "I have."

  "Is it physical or emotional?"

  "Mostly emotional," she responded, wondering if she wanted details.

  Dr. Bowden looked at her chart, then back at her before she said, "This concerns me a little. Right now is a critical time during your pregnancy and your body is already going through a lot of changes. With your body trying to cope with this new being growing inside, having a lot of stress can negatively affect your baby."

  "I understand," Sophie nodded.

  "Since this is emotional stress, you should think about talking to a professional therapist. Would you be willing to talk to someone?"

  "Absolutely, if you think it’ll help."

  "It couldn't hurt. Do you know someone?"

  Sophie shook her head no.

  Dr. Bowden took a card from her pocket, handing it to her. “Helen Hawthorne is a good therapist, and she's my sister. Is it okay we're related?"

  Sophie nodded, unable to speak for fear she'd start crying again. It frightened her to think everything going on in her life might hurt her baby. She would do just about anything to make sure her baby stayed healthy.

  Dr. Bowden continued,
"I think she'd be perfect because she's done some research on the effects a pregnancy and birth of a child can have on the parents." She glanced back down at Sophie's chart. "May I ask, is there a Mr. Berkeley around?"

  "N-no," she stammered. "Why?"

  "Well, I hoped he would help alleviate some of your stress. Partners can sometimes be helpful."

  "He's not around, nor will he be. We're getting a divorce and he doesn't know about the pregnancy."

  Dr. Bowden nodded, as if she’d explained everything as she wrote something on her chart. "I see. Well, then, I definitely think you should give Helen a call. The sooner, the better." She looked up. Noticing the panic on Sophie's face, she walked to her, patting her on the back. "Look, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I want you to be careful but overall you look great, and your baby does too."

  Then, switching gears, she went on brightly. "I saw in the notes the technician told you you're having a girl. Have you thought of any names or are you still working

  on it?"

  "I'm going to name her Rose." Thinking she should explain herself, Sophie continued, "My middle name is Rose, and roses were my mothers favorite."

  "Rose is a beautiful name." Dr. Bowden went to the door. Opening it, she continued, "Just take it easy. Call my sister and you'll be fine. Rose will be here, happy and healthy, before you know it."

  "Alright. Thanks. I'll call her today."

  "Great. Now, did you have any questions for me?"

  She shook her head.

  "Perfect. Go ahead and get dressed. I'll take your chart to the receptionists' desk. Just be sure to stop there and schedule an appointment for next month before you leave."

  #

  On her way home, her fear turned into despair. She knew she shouldn't be feeling sorry for herself. Pondering over her situation, she thought she deserved it.

  Why should I have to go through this alone? Why did I choose David to be my husband? Why did my mom and dad have to die? She knew these were questions she couldn't answer, but all the same, she wished someone could. I'm tired of all of this, she reflected angrily.

  All at once, though, she had what felt like a bolt of lightning shoot through her body, and the despair vanished. In its place came happiness. She smiled as she touched her growing abdomen and whispered, "Thank you, Rose. I'm going to be strong for you. We'll get through this, I promise."