The Rosewood Diary

by Teri Blake

  He bent to touch his lips to hers in the briefest kiss she’d had since a high school dance. Though its length didn’t seem to matter to her heart. She held tight to his shirt to keep from sinking to the floor as all of her body became aware of Paxton.

  He combed his fingers through her hair and brushed it behind her shoulder. “I have to go. I’ll be back tomorrow when John is here to pick up the mirror and painting.”

  She nodded, unable to speak for a moment until she found her voice again. “I’ll see you then.”

  Once Paxton had gone, she turned to see Duggy in the hall, staring at her, and she let her weak knees bend until she sat on the floor. He hopped toward her and sat right in front of her, finally allowing her to pet his ears.

  “So, I’m okay today? You’ve finally realized I’m it and she’s not coming back?”

  He put his front paws up on her leg and sniffed as he stretched close to her. He’d occasionally let her pet him or snuggled in when she held him, but he hadn’t really chosen to go near her. He nuzzled her leg, then nipped softly at her skirt, tugging on it slightly, then letting it go.

  A little reassurance from Duggy was like Ryla smiling on her from above. “Maybe I am on the right path after all. And maybe I can find room for you in my apartment.” She slowly pet his ears and he lowered his head to get closer. Maybe even if she couldn’t change to be all Ryla had wanted, she could at least do this one thing Ryla had specifically asked her to.

  Chapter Seventeen

  After reading so many entries where Quin was the star, the middle of Ryla’s teen years showed a subtle shift, starting with the trip to Wyoming to the dude ranch. Quin wanted to stop, wanted to hold onto her sister’s adoration, but knew she couldn’t. If she was going to figure out what Ryla had wanted her to see, the only way was to keep going.

  Dear Later Self,

  Why does Quin always get everything she wants?

  Quin touched the words penned by a teen who just wanted to be seen. Why couldn’t she have noticed Ryla’s struggle?

  I told Mom and Dad that I love it here. That I want to come back to this ranch every year if possible. The owner even said I would be old enough next year to come all on my own. But they won’t let me. Quin hates the ranch, and we have to spend our summers as a family. So, we aren’t coming back.

  I’ve been told so often that Quin is sensitive, that I shouldn’t say anything that will hurt her or take away her creativity, but it’s really hard to hold this in. When do I get to be the daughter who’s important? When does what I want get to matter? For the first time, I feel like I belonged somewhere. I was out every day with the horses and the wranglers. I found I could even talk without stumbling over every word. Probably because my parents wouldn’t care what I said out there as long as it wouldn’t hurt their precious Quin.

  Quin reminded herself that the words were old, there was nothing she could do to change that summer now. She couldn’t apologize and she couldn’t go back. But that didn’t stop the flood of memories. She’d pestered Mom and Dad daily about how much she hated it there. The horses smelled bad, the men were rowdy, the dust made her cough, and the wind burned her lungs. She hadn’t even noticed Ryla was having a good time. She’d been too wrapped up in herself.

  She closed her eyes and curled her knees in closer. Why did reading something painful make you cold? But one instance couldn’t change Ryla’s outlook. The whole previous book and the beginning of this one had been full of all the fun things they’d done together. Though Quin had changed during puberty. All girls went through a stage where they were more selfish than before. She was no different.

  I’ve come to realize over the last month that I will never be like Quin. I’m starting to understand that and deal with it. I don’t have to like it, but it is what it is. I can cry or I can make the best of my life that I can. I was put here for a reason, being the focus of my parents’ attention just isn’t that thing.

  I wish I had Quin’s artistic eye. Sometimes, I look out at the ocean and I just see the colors. I see them distinctly and the shapes it would take to make them. Maybe that’s a little of what Quin feels? I asked her last week to tell me what it was like to be an artist, but she thought I was asking to be rude. I still don’t know the answer, but I thought I’d try my hand at drawing. I’m going to keep a sketchbook from now on, but I’ll keep it hidden. If Quin found it, she might accuse me of trying to compete with her or make fun that I’m not as good as her.

  I never will be.

  A sketchbook? Quin couldn’t remember Ryla ever having one. She would’ve remembered. Where would she have hidden something like that? Quin tried to recall Ryla’s favorite places when they were older teens, but she’d blocked out so much from those years. She had tried to make friends at school, including the occasional boyfriend, to get away from home.

  Most of the third floor was an attic, but there was one finished room that was not connected. There was a narrow staircase, and it led to a tiny room with an ocean overlook. The only furnishing was a built-in bench in front of the window. Ryla hid up there to read as a child. But did she hide up there to draw, too? And if she did, was the sketchbook still there?

  Quin left the diary on the nightstand in Ryla’s room and jogged up to the second floor, then up the narrow stairs. The room hadn’t been vacuumed in years and dust clung to the air as the sun poured through the tall window. The cushion on the bench seat had faded from red to pink and the window was cloudy with dust and age.

  No one had stepped foot in that room in a long time, but was that because Ryla had given up her spot of solitude as a child for another spot on the other side of the wall? Quin lifted the cushion, revealing the original color of the fabric and a very old diary covered in black canvas. Inside, the paper was thick and crisp. The pencil drawings hadn’t faded since they’d been protected from sun and damp air.

  Every drawing in the book was of horses. The earliest ones were rudimentary, but as Ryla had figured out how to make the shapes and lighten her lines, her confidence built enough that there were fewer eraser marks and more realistic drawings. By the last, she’d drawn a recreation of the picture that had been in the living room. Only in this one, Quin’s face was happy and Ryla was looking up at her, smiling.

  “It’s like a puzzle you left for me. All these clues and books.” She closed the sketchbook and tucked it under her arm. From the bench, she could easily see Paxton’s house. He wasn’t home from work yet. Karla was mowing her front yard. They had normal lives. What was so different about her that she couldn’t do that? Couldn’t she just work a job and mow her yard? Was she so special that she wouldn’t enjoy that life?

  After the last few weeks, she didn’t feel particularly special and she hadn’t picked up a sketch pencil nor paints since she’d left Manhattan. Worse, she didn’t miss it.

  Paxton and his friend had picked up the mirror and painting the night before. He’d insisted on paying for the frame. His friend had only laughed at them arguing over it. Finally, he’d insisted that he should pay because if Quin didn’t stay, he wanted it. That had made her relent. Paxton hadn’t asked for anything of Ryla’s and he’d probably known her the best. He should have something of hers to remember Ryla.

  Quin sat in the window and watched the ocean as the waves slowly broke over the shore. Her phone rang and she hesitated before picking it up. Ben’s number and picture glowed on the screen. She hadn’t talked to him in almost two weeks and even that felt like so much longer than it was.

  “Hello.” She tried to sound like she welcomed the phone call.

  “Hey. Wanted to let you know that the art show went well. Since your sister knocked off, they didn’t even hold it against you that you weren’t there, though they did question why you couldn’t make it and your parents could.” His usual joking and honest-to-the-point-of-harsh nature felt so off from her seat watching the calming water.

  “Knocked off? Seriously? That’s cold.” Even for him.

  “Well,
it’s not like you talked about her. I didn’t even know you had a sister until you told me you were going to visit her. Not like you could’ve been all that close to her. I’ve known you for years. If she was so important, I’d have known about her.”

  The suggestion that he was close enough to her to know everything of importance in her life shook her. “It’s not like we were great friends, Ben. You were my marketing department.” It wasn’t like they had a relationship. He had tried to kiss her once. That had ended in embarrassment, at least on her part, and some anger from him. He’d tried to act close to her since then, but her feelings hadn’t changed. He’d remained the jokingly unofficial boyfriend.

  “Just your marketing? Really? You think I would’ve stayed around that long for the tiny pay you sent my way? I was in it because I cared about you. I was really hoping at some point you would see that.”

  Cared? Was she destined to always be around people who wanted to control her every move? “No. I didn’t see that, and I still don’t. Thank you for calling me to let me know about the museum. I’m glad to know they won’t hold this against me in the future. You should be getting your last check from me shortly and you can mail my apartment key back to me at that address.” She didn’t wait for him to agree or disagree before ending the call. He shouldn’t have a key to her place anymore. Once she returned home, she’d ask her apartment manager to install a new lock just in case.

  Quin leaned against the wall and curled up in the small window seat, warming herself in the sun. Ryla would’ve disliked Ben, everything about him. From his snide comments that made him seem insincere to his metro style. They would’ve been oil and water. Why hadn’t Quin seen how different he was from her?

  Because she’d had no one else and she’d wanted someone different from everyone she’d known. Funny how the person she’d thought was so different from her parents ended up trying to control her just the same as they had.

  She opened the sketchbook to the very back page, and it was blank. An old pencil hung from the binding, carefully slid down inside. She pushed it from the bottom out and then let her mind release all the things clogging it. She stopped thinking about Ben, Ryla, and even Paxton. The house faded away until she could hear the sounds of the water in her mind. She could feel the spray on her face as if she were in a boat. The scent filled her nose until she could taste the salty air.

  The drawing started as random lines on the page, then flowed outward until a rudimentary seascape took shape. It was the first thing she’d drawn in a month.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The name Alex Fredrickson brought back memories. Quin had forgotten his name, but not his role in her past. She pressed the diary flat on the bed and stared at the page. If only she’d taken more care back then. Ryla had had a crush on him. She’d known it, but since he hadn’t paid any attention to her sister, she’d ignored it.

  Ryla had dressed up for him, waited on the beach for him, even tried to talk to him. Since she never tried to befriend anyone, he must have had quite the hold over her. Yet, just like everything else, Quin had come on the scene and taken over without ever intentionally trying to hurt her sister, but managing to all the same with her lack of empathy.

  Dear Later Self,

  Quin has finally done it. I can’t wait until she goes off to college and leaves me alone. All these years I’ve been here for her. I’ve been her constant friend. I’ve supported her. And how does she repay me? She steals the one guy I’ve ever been interested in. Alex was supposed to be mine.

  She told me it was nothing when they danced together at the school dance. She has no idea how much that hurt. He’s never asked me to dance. But then, when I was sitting up in my place by the window, I saw them holding hands and walking on the beach. He kissed her. I’m never speaking to her again.

  Quin hung her head and let her hair fall like a protective curtain around her. She couldn’t recall Alex ever mentioning Ryla, but it was so many years ago. Not that it made the knife any easier for Ryla at the time. He’d just been a boy. No one special to her. So why did she put him first? Her sister was right, she’d been there for Quin through parties on the beach, late-night stories, keeping her pain a secret to protect her, and even helping her pass classes. Whether that support was by their parents’ design or her own choosing, it didn’t matter. She was loyal. Quin had not been.

  She could choose to take her sister’s recollection as the spastic heart of a teen who didn’t get her way, or she could take it as the hurt of someone she’d unintentionally stepped on. And how many other people had felt her footprint? She couldn’t think of any, but until she’d read the diary, she wouldn’t have thought Ryla had either.

  I’m never going to find anyone else. Alex is the one for me. There might be other nice guys, but none like him. I just don’t know what I’m going to do or how I’m going to deal with my sister until she leaves. Why does she always see me as expendable?

  Even at the end. Hadn’t she complained that Ryla couldn’t pick her up at the airport? Quin hadn’t known her sister was about to die or even that she was sick, but she certainly hadn’t considered it might be inconvenient. She’d only been thinking about how the whole trip was an inconvenience. From getting stuck in the airport to missing her show, she’d blamed Ryla. Because Ryla always accepted it.

  Even at the airport, she’d yelled at that guy for running into her when she’d been the one engrossed in her phone…

  Paxton’s sweetness for Ryla came immediately to mind and the brief kiss they’d shared. Was she again stealing the man Ryla had loved? If there was even one romantic mention of him in the final diary, she couldn’t go forward. Even if Paxton hadn’t felt anything, it didn’t matter. Alex hadn’t either and she should’ve known better. The sting of her past was too great. She didn’t deserve to meet another great guy at the expense of her sister.

  It didn’t matter that he was one of her only two friends. That was her own fault. She’d spent so much of her life pushing people away that it had taken a death to show her what she’d been missing. Her sister’s words on the beach came back: “I forgave you a long time ago. It was just a blanket. The problem is that it illustrates what my whole life was like in comparison to yours. It’s exactly why I don’t want Mom and Dad here. I’ve always been the average kid whereas you were the super-talented, amazing kid. I never measured up.”

  The artwork, the friendships, the house, all of it said Ryla had been measuring up a lot more than Quin ever had. Yet she’d never known. She’d been using a yardstick that would never fit—Mom and Dad. Quin couldn’t ever go back and make them look at Ryla differently. She couldn’t make them change how they saw her now, either.

  Duggy ran into the bedroom, raced a circle around the end of the bed, kicked up his back feet in a blur of fur, then raced out of the room. He was little more than a streak as he bolted through the house. With an unbelievable stop, he thumped, then she could hear his nails scratching against the vinyl floor in the kitchen where he couldn’t grip.

  The front door opened, and her heart plunged. “Stop! Duggy’s running!” She hopped off the bed and rushed for the living room. The door shut quickly and Paxton’s deep laugh slowed her steps. If he was laughing, Duggy hadn’t escaped.

  “The kitchen slowed him down enough that I got in before he could get to me.” Paxton’s eyes were bright with laughter.

  “Good. Not sure I would know how to hunt for a missing bunny.”

  “I haven’t had to chase him. I only found him on my back porch. I don’t want to have to figure it out either.”

  She pictured Duggy running outside like he’d just run through the house and shivered. She’d never catch him.

  “Did I catch you at a bad time? I just came home to get some lunch and thought I would check-in. You never get out of here anymore. Want to walk on the beach tonight?” He leaned against the door frame as Duggy hopped away.

  She wanted to. Her whole person ached to get out of the house for a few minu
tes and spend time near the waves with Paxton. But she couldn’t lead him on if he was another Alex. “I was just reading more of Ryla’s diaries. She had a lot to say.”

  “Like what?” He led her into the living room and sat next to her on the sofa. When he draped his arm casually over her shoulder, she wanted to cry. He was drawing nearer to her and she wanted him to, but not if Ryla was going to look down and shake her head once again.

  “I know I asked you this before, but I need you to be completely honest with me. Were you and Ryla ever close? Did she ever…?” She couldn’t finish. She knew the answer. Just like Ryla had come out of her shell and tried to talk to Alex, Ryla had relaxed and talked to Paxton. She only did that with special people. People she loved.

  “No. I promise you we were never more than friends. She didn’t even let me in for quite some time. I had to work at her. But she really needed people. It wasn’t until the end when she wished she’d spent more time trying to get to know her neighbors more.”

  “What about Karla?” Was she simply taking over where her sister had left off? That would be a new twist.

  “She and Karla knew of each other. They talked a few times but weren’t close friends. I think you know more about her than Ryla did.” He pulled her closer and tucked her under his chin. “What’s all this about? Worried about my loyalties?”

  Though he sounded like he was joking, she caught the hint of real worry laced in his words. “Sort of. I dated one of Ryla’s crushes many years ago.”

  “And you don’t want to do it again. Even after she’s gone?” He brushed his fingertips up and down her arm.

  “Exactly. I know it won’t matter to her now, but it matters to me. I don’t want to keep doing the same stupid stuff. Hurting people.”

  “It’s okay for you to have feelings too. Being sensitive to others is wonderful, but you also need balance, or you become a doormat. I think you’re just as important as she was.”