A White Rose

by Bekah Ferguson

  Despite the fact that she was only twenty-nine.

  A sudden thought tumbled through her mind. Mom lives in a trailer and I live in a palace by comparison—But we're both alone. She blinked twice and turned up the radio, singing along to Rihanna until the thought had dissolved.

  As she pulled out of the trailer park and merged onto the highway, she pulled a cell phone from her purse and flipped it open. She dialed Tiffany's number and turned down the music as she waited. No answer, just a machine. She snapped the phone shut and dropped it back into her purse. No matter. She'd simply have to hit the clubs on her own tonight. Chances were she'd probably bump into Tiffany anyway. Before heading out to her favorite night club, she returned home to freshen up and find a more flattering outfit.

  On her way down the stairs toward the front door, keys in hand, she glanced into her living room and thought of Jason; pictured him standing there painting in the morning sunlight. Her pulse quickened and a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. He was such a gorgeous man.

  She stepped outside and locked the door, checking on the four pots of mums and wondering what Jason was up to this night as she filled a watering can from an outdoor tap. She watered the thirsty plants and mused over the sort of things Jason might do for entertainment. What kinds of friends did he have? Her mind drew a blank. She returned the watering can and grabbed her purse, unable to picture him doing anything other than painting.

  Kind of boring, really.

  ***

  The club was overcrowded and stuffy despite the air-conditioning. It was too warm of a night. Eventually, Dakota found herself outdoors on the busy city sidewalk taking a breather, though the stagnant night air wasn't helping.

  A scent of garbage and grease hovered and she frowned. Tiffany and her other girlfriends didn't seem to be around and, so far, no interesting male prospects had caught her eye. One could only nurse a drink by themselves for so long before things got dull. She'd tried dancing too but had grown restless. There was just no one of interest to dance with.

  Some nights weren't nearly as thrilling as others.

  She checked the silver chain watch on her wrist and glanced down the lamp-lit street. Young people roamed to and fro on the sidewalks, some laughing, chatting, others spitting on the pavement or lighting cigarettes. A drunk man fumbled across the street like a blind man without a cane. It was eleven-thirty. At this rate, she was definitely going home alone.

  Across the street from the club, she leaned against the cinder block wall of a convenience store and nibbled on the granola bar she'd purchased to appease her empty stomach. The chewy hot dog she'd eaten earlier wasn't digesting well.

  As she absently watched the bright, neon entrance to the club across the street, a young man approached the doors; his stride confident and the set of his shoulders cocky and full of self-assurance. She was instantly raptured. Tossing the last bites of her granola bar into a garbage can, she waited for a taxi to pass and hurried across the street, following the young man inside.

  She found him at the bar accepting a dark icy drink from the bartender. The four stools to the right of him were vacant and he appeared to be alone.

  Perfect.

  Dakota slid onto the fourth stool down, deliberately catching his eye as she did and giving him a “yes, I'm checking you out” smile. He lifted one eyebrow and grinned as he took a sip from his tumbler.

  His sandy blond hair and brown eyes reminded her of Jason. Her pulse quickened. When he looked away from her, she took a couple of seconds to check out his physique. He had a similar body-type to Jason as well.

  She was hooked.

  This guy was a hottie and unless he turned out to be gay or creepy somehow, she had every intention of taking him home.

  After several invigorating, calculated seconds, he glanced her way again and she was ready and waiting to catch his eye with another kittenish wink and easy smile.

  “Hey there,” he said slowly, voice smooth and husky. “Can I get you another?” He nodded at the shot glass in front of her.

  She grinned, turning her face toward him only slightly and resting her chin in her palm. “That depends,” she said. “You gonna move a little closer?”

  Sliding his glass down the counter toward her, he scooted off his stool and slid onto the one next to her. “So, what's your name?” he asked, gazing into her eyes intimately. He smiled and a slight dimple appeared in his left cheek, just like Jason. His eyes were farther set though, eyebrows more arched… jaw a little wider. But close enough. And mmm, did he ever smell good.

  She straightened her back and signaled the barkeep for another shot. This guy looked enough like Jason to be rather startling. Is that why she felt so attracted at first sight? Every nerve in her body was reaching out to him—wanting to possess him. And by the looks of things, he had every intention of indulging her.

  The rest of the evening whirled by in a trance and the moment he pulled her onto the dance floor they began making out. Sloppy kisses, messy hair, roaming hands…

  “Let's get out of here,” he mumbled in her ear, kissing the lobe and running his hands down her back.

  It was all the self-control she had to pull away long enough to call a cab and lead him outside.

  Chapter 13

  Three times that night she almost called him Jason. Even now, only minutes after he'd left, she was already forgetting his name. Blake was it? No, Brent. At least she'd caught herself each time before calling him by the wrong name.

  It was 4:00 a.m.

  Dakota was exhausted but she refused to sleep until she'd had her ritual bath. She sat on the toilet seat, wearing only her jade housecoat, and stared at the claw foot tub as it filled with steaming, foamy water. Two scented pillar candles were lit on the counter top, bathing the room in a soft flickering light and a gentle rosebud aroma.

  Normally, this ritual calmed her; brought her back to her senses and helped her to feel cleansed. Not that she felt dirty, but it was refreshing to soak in warm water for a few minutes before attempting to sleep. Kind of like drinking a glass of hot milk. Perhaps the warm, foamy water was a way of dulling her uncomfortable feelings by refreshing her body, but either way, it usually worked. And she hoped it would work this time as well—because for some reason, her conscience was bothering her.

  She felt like she had violated Jason.

  Dakota ran a hand through her mussed hair and pinched the bridge of her nose. It was true. She'd slept with that man because he looked like Jason. And she'd allowed herself to fantasize that it was Jason.

  Well—so? Why feel bad about it? Jason was none the wiser. People did this kind of thing all the time.

  She let out a sigh and stood to her feet to twist the water tap off. The tiny foam bubbles popped like a faint crackle. After testing the water temperature with the underside of her wrist, she hung her robe on a wall hook, pulled her hair up in a knot, and slid down into the foamy depths of the tub.

  The guilty feeling remained.

  She slid further down into the water until the soap bubbles reached her chin, and resting her head against the back of the tub, she closed her eyes. The sex had been disappointing. Brent was greedy and inconsiderate. Kind of clumsy too—though he'd acted like he was God's gift to women. She was actually relieved when he finally let go of her and dressed to leave. She wanted him out of her bedroom—out of her house.

  When she locked the front door behind him, she'd averted her eyes from the blackened living room area because it was then that the unexpected feeling of guilt had first formed a sharp, nauseous clot in her throat. The passion receded, she could see things more clearly now: That guy wasn't Jason and she shouldn't have pretended that he was.

  Now, as she soaked in the tub, she tried to placate her conscience with a slew of justifications. She'd thought that sleeping with a man who looked like Jason would cure her of her obsession; make it so she no longer needed to conquer him. But instead, she felt like she'd done something wrong.

  ***r />
  Morning came all too soon after a fitful two hours of sleep devoid of greatly needed REM. Normally, Dakota could sleep through until ten or eleven on a Sunday morning, but today she awoke reluctantly with the first rays of sunlight beating through the slits in her closed window blinds, and was unable to sink back into never-never land.

  She realized with dismay that her guilt hadn't abated in the slightest. It was like a large knot in her back and heartburn in her chest.

  Knowing she couldn't possibly fall back to sleep, she moved her covers aside and sat up, hugging her knees to her chest. Look, Jason, I'm sorry. It was innocent, okay? Take it as a compliment. Somehow she doubted he would take such a thing as a compliment. Well, no matter. He was never going to know anyway. So, why this blasted guilt? Maybe it had something to do with her mother's encroaching words from the night before. Thanks a lot, Mom. What right do you have to spout such damnable predictions about me?

  She released her knees and rubbed her eyes. Just because Mona's life had gone downhill didn't mean she would end up in the same place. How dare her mother even suggest such a thing.

  Dakota padded across the carpeting to her en suite bathroom, wearing only a lacy camisole and undies. Typically, she took a moment to admire her reflection in the full-sized mirror above the sink while she brushed her teeth and washed her face, but today she found herself avoiding the mirror—the sight of her figure increasing her anxiety and making her dizzy. What was this uncomfortable emotion? She blinked and forced herself to make eye contact with her reflection.

  “There is no reason to feel ashamed,” she said. “Fantasy is a perfectly acceptable form of adult entertainment.”

  She dabbed on her makeup and yanked a section of hair back with a clip. She stormed into the bedroom and jerked on a pair of jean shorts and a yellow spaghetti strap. She had to get out of this stuffy house before she went crazy.

  Clarice wouldn't be home from church until twelve thirty. And because Dakota hadn't slept in as usual, she still had five hours to kill before she could head to Shanty Bay. She grabbed her purse and chakra necklace, went outside and started up her vehicle. After taking a moment to calm herself, she put on a pair of gigantic, tinted sunglasses, and pulled out of the driveway.

  A few minutes later she reached Bayfield Street, realizing a coffee was in desperate order. She pulled into a Tim Horton's drive-thru and ordered a coffee and carrot muffin; idling her SUV in the parking lot while deciding where to go next. The malls didn't open for another two hours.

  Merging back onto Bayfield Street, she decided to drive down to the city's waterfront. Not very exciting, but it would have to suffice.

  Less than fifteen minutes later, she'd found a parking spot at Heritage Park overlooking Kempenfelt Bay. Leaving the vehicle, breakfast in hand, Dakota wandered over to a bench situated at the base of the green-grassed hill. At the top of the hill was a looming iron Spirit Catcher with wide-spread wings. Sunlight shimmered on the deeply blue waters of the bay, a mallard and her brood of ducklings making their way over the waters skirting the shore. A yellow-beaked drake waddled on the walkway in front of her and off in the distance, a flock of Canada Geese maundered together in the shade of willow trees. Beyond the trees was the marina.

  As she sat staring at the water ahead and distant shorelines across the bay, an early-riser jogged by, followed by woman power-walking her dog. Two sailboats floated far in the east; white triangles on the horizon. Several motorboats moseyed across the bay, revving their engines. On a warm, sunny day like this, it wouldn't be long before the walkways, beaches and jungle-gyms would teem with children, young couples, and the elderly. The scent of hot dogs would fill the air and line-ups would form at the ice cream huts.

  Dakota opened her coffee and sipped it slowly. She tried to eat her muffin but it was making her nauseous, so she stood on a boulder at the water's edge and broke off pieces, tossing them to the ducks. When the muffin was gone, she crossed her arms over her chest, squared her shoulders, and drew in a long breath. The cool morning air was tinged with the scent of fish and vegetation. A mosquito bit her bare shoulder and she smacked it.

  With a ragged exhale, she realized that at some point in the past couple of weeks, she'd developed a level of respect for Jason: perhaps for the very things about him that had initially repelled her. Like his Christian values. But ironically, it was that very thing which lifted him above all the the other men she'd ever known. He had honor; something her circle of friends loved to mock and belittle.

  It hit her then. This was the reason for her guilt.

  Jason was a good man—one who had turned down her advances. And without any right to do so, she had breached his privacy and integrity without his knowledge or consent.

  ***

  When noon finally rolled around, Dakota left the park and drove to Shanty Bay.

  Despite her dilly-dallying, she reached Clarice's home early and had to wait another ten minutes in her car until a sedan pulled up beside her and Clarice stepped out of the passenger seat. Dakota climbed out of her own vehicle then and politely smiled at the driver as Clarice said good-bye to her friend and turned to face Dakota.

  “Rose, hello!” she said. “You're early today.” A happy smile softened her face, a touch of pink flushing her cheeks.

  Dakota tucked Clarice's arm into her own and helped her up the shallow porch steps. “Well, it's such a beautiful day, I just couldn't sleep in.” She pinched out what she hoped was a bright smile.

  The elderly woman clicked her tongue and gave Dakota a scrutinizing look. “Ah. The sunshine. Of course.”

  “And what's that supposed to mean?”

  She chuckled as they went indoors. “How about I assume you were so eager for my strawberry rhubarb pie, you just couldn't sleep another wink.”

  “Bust-ed.”

  They went into the kitchen and Clarice pulled a glass bowl from the fridge filled with a rich, red pie filling. “I prepared it last night,” she said, “so, if you'll get the kettle going, I'll finish making the pie. Made the crust this morning before church.”

  Dakota filled the kettle and opened up the fridge. “Anything in mind for lunch today?”

  Clarice had already washed up and was rolling out the chilled dough on a cutting board. She glanced over her shoulder at Dakota and draped the dough in the pie plate, fitting it around the edges. “There's ham and cheese and I've got some tomato soup in the cupboard.” Another glance. “How's that sound?”

  “Sounds great,” Dakota said, smiling; relaxing.

  She went to work preparing lunch, thankful for the distraction from her troublesome thoughts. She'd spend time chatting with Clarice, work on the garden for a while, and hopefully the rest of the day would pass by quickly. Come tomorrow morning, she'd be able to busy herself with the greenhouses and flower shop, and soon enough, this dreadful feeling clogging her throat would surely subside and fade away.

  ***

  After returning home from church, Jason changed out of his dress clothes into a pair of comfortable shorts and a cotton tee. He let Bear outside for a run and put on a pot of coffee. While it was brewing, he made a peanut butter and jam sandwich and set the plate on the kitchen table.

  In the center of the table sat an old shoe box. He'd pulled it out of his closet that morning. It was full of love letters from Lyndsay, photos of them together as a couple, and random, sentimental paraphernalia. Without registering the taste of his sandwich, he opened the box and began sorting through. It was something he'd been putting off for two years now but needed to be done.

  He did not reread the love letters. They seemed hollow now; empty promises from a woman who had not loved him enough to stick by him while he endured a devastating family tragedy. He flipped through the photos, reminiscing a little, and decided he shouldn't keep any of them. What would be the point? If he ever did get married, the photos would likely make his wife uncomfortable. And keeping them would not help him move on with is life either.

  The k
nick-knacks no longer sentimental in a good way, he placed them in the kitchen trash bin, and gathered the letters and photos into a single pile. Tucking the stack under his arm, he headed outdoors and walked to the fire pit out back where he and Jaelynn had roasted hot dogs during the week. There he started up a fire and spread out the letters and photos atop it. He sat back in a weathered Adirondack chair and watched the photos curl inward, melting; letters browning and blackening into pieces of ash.

  It felt good.

  Despite all that had passed, he did not regret his relationship or engagement with Lyndsay. His conscience was clear, for even while they were engaged he had not slept with her or defiled her in any way. There were no regrets—he had both respected and loved her, and was thankful to God that she had left him when she did; rather than later on. He would not have wished an unhappy marriage upon her any more than on himself.

  With a genuine prayer that Lyndsay would be happy with her new love, Jason stretched out his bare legs and sandaled feet and enjoyed the warmth of the sun beating down on his body.

  Free and unencumbered, he was peaceful and content with his life.

  ***

  Later that evening, Jaelynn phoned and asked if he could take her to Dakota's gardening class Thursday night. Bonnie attended a woman's group at her church Thursday evenings and wouldn't be able to take Jaelynn to any of the sessions. Though a one-hour gardening course did not appeal to him, he wanted to help Jaelynn out whenever possible. And so he agreed to take her, praying that Dakota wouldn't get the wrong idea.