A White Rose

by Bekah Ferguson

  Jason tossed her the box and went to the parlor stove to prod the fire. The room was cozy; the sitting area warm and yellow where end table lamps cast muted beams across the sofas. Jaelynn had come for the weekend—needing to get away from her mother's loving yet suffocating care. She'd then insisted on hiking all afternoon and had even barbecued the steaks for dinner. She was spending a lot more time on her feet these days—without the crutch, that is.

  He was pleased.

  “So… ” She cocked an eyebrow, pulling him from his reverie. “Where's Dakota this weekend?”

  He smirked at that and sat down on an adjacent sofa. “What? Are we joined at the hip now?”

  “You tell me.”

  He shook his head. “She can only be a friend, you know that.” He took a sip of coffee, leaned back.

  “I discovered something last week.” A mischievous glint in her eyes.

  “Oh?”

  He smoothed the fabric of one knee.

  She laughed. “Don't act so uninterested.”

  “Well then?” he asked, sighing.

  She leaned forward, clearly eager to spill the beans. “All right, so a woman called the shop on Thursday, an elderly woman, and said her name was Clarice. Dakota wasn't around, so we just got to talking—a chatty sort. Sounded very sweet. So, anyway, she was telling me about her grandson—” She scowled at him. “I know that look, Jay—that 'I'll pretend I'm interested look.' ”

  “What?” He laughed. “I'm just wondering where this is going.”

  Jaelynn folded her arms across her chest. “I don't think you deserve this little nugget.”

  “Fine, I've give you another cookie.”

  She shook her head. “Doesn't work—I've got the box right here in my lap.” A look of feigned shock. “What? Did you actually think I was going to give them back?” She waggled a finger. “If you hand me a box of cookies, they become my property. I'm open to other bribes though.”

  “Chocolate?”

  “No. Tomorrow—Take me horseback riding.”

  “Oh, for crying out lou—”

  “Fine then.” She shrugged. “Guess you'll never know what good ol' granny had to say. Or is it evil ol' granny?” She wiggled her eyebrows.

  Jason jumped up and snatched the cookie box from her lap. “Ha-hah!”

  She tried to swat his leg as he stepped away but missed. “Okay, okay!” she said. “I surrender.” She grinned at him, stroking Bear's glossy fur.

  He tossed the box of cookies onto the end table beside her and plunked back down on the sofa.

  “So, here's what I found out,” she said as he resumed eye contact. “Dakota's real name is Rose.”

  He straightened up. “Rose?”

  “Yes. That lady—Clarice—She said 'Rose' while she was talking and I got confused and then she said, 'Oh, I'm so sorry, I meant Dakota—I've never gotten used to saying Dakota.' Well, that's all she said about it, but I put two-and-two together. Dakota must've changed her name.”

  ***

  Dakota unlocked her front door and stepped inside.

  The house was cool and dark but morning sun rays lit the kitchen. It was Sunday. She ditched her purse and heels, padded up the stairs and switched on the bathroom shower. She didn't usually stay overnight at other men's homes and so hadn't had the opportunity for her ritual bath soak. Alexandre had offered his, but she'd been eager to get home.

  She undressed and stepped into the claw foot tub, pulling the wrap-around curtain closed. The hot water beat down on her back like a soothing balm.

  What would Jason think if he knew she'd spent the night with Alexandre? Would he be angry? Disgusted?

  Oh, what did it matter what he thought. She wasn't going to tell him. And besides, they weren't even dating—Jason had made that clear enough.

  She opened her eyes, shampooing her hair briskly. Jason just didn't understand her needs. He was too blinded by his Christianity to accept the real world. Spending the night with Alexandre was nothing to feel bad about; it was harmless. Just a bit of adult fun—a way to relax and enjoy something exciting. Why should she stand here feeling guilty?

  His stupid religion. There was so much fun they could have together if it weren't for that. Well, no matter. She would just live and let live. If he wanted to call her and hang out again, fine, but she wasn't going to go out of her way to maintain a friendship. And since they weren't dating, there was no reason for her to abstain from other men.

  ***

  Dakota had just finished pulling on jeans and a chartreuse sweater when the doorbell rang. She hurried down the stairs to answer it.

  It was Jason.

  He was wearing dress clothes; a bit of sandy hair dipping over his forehead and winging out behind his ears in the most charming way.

  He smiled. “Hey.”

  “H—ey.” She stared at him. “What's… up?” Why was he dressed so nice?

  He rubbed the back of his neck and dropped his hand to his side. “I'm on my way to church,” he said, “and thought, hey, I'll see if Dakota wants to tag along.”

  Oh, of course.

  Church.

  Sunday morning.

  Duh.

  “Jason, honey,” she said, leaning up against the door frame, “why on earth would I want to go to church with you? I'm an atheist, remember?”

  He smiled, hazel eyes twinkling. “Oh, that's right—I'd forgotten.” He pivoted to leave.

  “Wait—”

  He turned back to her with an expectant look and a teasing smile.

  “Maybe I will come,” she said, considering. “Might be interesting from a spectator's point of view.”

  With a hat's off gesture, he went to his vehicle to wait and she hurried back upstairs. Great, now he knew she had freckles. She let out a huff and whisked on concealer and makeup, fluffing her wet hair with mousse. Satisfied, she donned a suede jacket and went outside, squinting in the bright morning sun. Crisp fall air nipped at her hair, making it stiff where it hung down her back.

  She climbed into Jason's idling sedan and grinned at him. “Now this is an adventure!” She folded her arms across her chest with exaggerated happiness and laughed. “I can hardly wait to be lectured and condemned to hell for all my evil, wicked ways.”

  Jason let out a snort and backed the car out of the drive. “You are so going down,” he said. “And that stuff about devils with pointy black beards and hooves poking you in the behind with pitchforks? It's all true.”

  She shot him a glance. “Really?”

  A withering look. “No.”

  She laughed, resisting the urge to swat his shoulder. “But seriously, though,” she said, “why do you believe all this religious stuff?”

  “You mean, Christian stuff?” He steered his way out of the quiet neighborhood and turned onto a busy street.

  “Yeah. You were raised in the Christian church, right?”

  He nodded, giving her a sidelong glance.

  “You could just as easily have been raised in a Mormon church, or no church at all,” she went on, shrugging. “I suppose it's all you've ever known, so you accept it as truth.”

  He kept his view on the road ahead. “You think I'm only a Christian because I was raised that way?”

  “Yes, I'm thinking so. It makes sense.”

  She laughed.

  “What?”

  “I just can't imagine any other reason why a man as sensible as you could be so easily duped.”

  “Were your parents religious in any way?” he asked.

  “No, not at all.”

  A grin twitched at his lips and he met her eyes briefly. “I suppose it's all you've ever known then, so you accept it as truth.”

  Dakota sat back in her seat, speechless. She didn't usually set herself up like that. “All right, all right,” she surrendered. “So, you've outwitted me. Still—there are so many religions out there. How could you possibly be so certain that yours is the right one?”

  Another sidelong glance. “Do you think
it's possible that one of them might be true?”

  “Sure… I suppose it's possible.”

  Jason paused to make a right turn at a crowded intersection. “If you honestly think one of those religions might be true, wouldn't you want to take the time to find out?”

  “What? Like, go visit the Buddhists and the Muslims, and see if a blazing light bulb suddenly flashes over my head? Even if one of them is true—and I'm rooting for New Age—how would I ever know? Does anyone really know? And what does it matter. If there's a loving God out there, he'll understand. And if we're our own gods, well, I'll understand—and give myself a break.” She laughed.

  They were approaching a Tim Horton's coffee shop.

  “Would you like a coffee or anything?” he asked.

  “No, thanks. I'm good.”

  She thought of the coffee she'd gulped down at Alexandre's earlier that morning and swallowed back a lump. Her cheeks warmed with the secret. No, she wasn't dating Jason, but it still seemed like a betrayal to have slept with another man. She cursed inwardly.

  Jason steered into the parking lot of a large gray-brick church and sought an empty parking spot.

  “You mentioned that you're 'rooting for' New Age,” he said suddenly. “Does that mean you admire it, or do you practice it?” He parked the sedan and cut the engine.

  She smiled at him when he turned toward her, enjoying his close proximity and the spicy musk of his cologne. “It's more like, I believe in mankind and in our ability to be strong and to do great things all on our own. But you know, there's also meditation, self-empowerment… . I've tried a little fortune-telling, sat in on some channeling once… ”

  “You must believe we have souls then.”

  She nodded. Maybe she always had believed in an afterlife, but only with romantic notions; such as reincarnation or wandering spirits or… or what? She'd never taken the time to figure it out. An actual afterlife seemed as far-fetched as true love.

  “To be honest, Jason, there are certain ideas that appeal to me,” she said, “but I've never really studied any of them in depth. I'd say I do believe in ghosts, so yes, I believe in 'souls,' as you call them—but when it comes to an all-powerful being—I just don't buy that. And with almost every religion having a god or several gods, I doubt it's even possible to know the real God.” She shrugged.

  He was listening with evident interest, watching her closely, but he said nothing.

  “People don't like to think there's no meaning to life,” she went on, “but I'm telling you, if there is any, it's simply live for today.” She searched his eyes. “Seriously—when it comes to God or Allah or Brahma or Whomever—I really believe we're quite alone in the universe.”

  “Except for ghosts, of course,” he said with a grin.

  She smirked. “Funny.”

  He glanced at his watch and moved to open his door. “We should head in.” Jason climbed out of the wagon and Dakota paused to check her reflection in a compact mirror from her purse. She finished and reached for the door handle, but Jason was already opening it for her. Cold air twirled its fingers through her damp hair as she stepped out of the vehicle. She shivered.

  “So, how does evolution explain ghosts?” Jason asked as they walked toward the church's front entrance. “How does a 'soul' survive without a physical body to sustain it? Can science explain that?”

  Dakota blew out a breath. “No, it really can't… ” She caught his gaze and smiled. “I guess the belief in ghosts or spirits is wishful thinking on my part. No one likes to think this is all there is. But, there you have it—I contradict myself.” She let out a sharp laugh and opened the church door herself, motioning him inside. “I'd better stick to atheism. It's easier.”

  Chapter 25

  The following Friday evening, after an uneventful day with the distinct scent of winter in the air, Dakota drove out to her mother's trailer park to do something she'd been putting off for many weeks: She needed to empty Mona's trailer and put it up for sale.

  After parking the Explorer, she stepped down onto the gravel and hugged her chest in a self-protective manner. She hadn't been back here since the night she'd found her mother's body.

  She glanced about. A nearby grove of young pines were a blackened-green against a pewter sky. It would be a starless night, no doubt. Nearby trailers sat quietly and appeared deserted save for the lighted windows in a few of them. Once the snow came, all of the trailers would have to be closed-up until spring. Mona had rented a motel room over the winter months for the past several years.

  A cold wind whipped over Dakota ears and around her bare neck. She shivered.

  Despite the neighbors, she might as well be alone in the park. So this is what it's like to live in a trailer by one's self. It wasn't a stretch to imagine either; she certainly knew what it was like to live alone.

  She headed for the trailer's front door, stepping over the plastic fence as she went, and pulled keys from her coat pocket. Stagnant air toppled out as the door opened. She held her breath as she climbed up inside. With the flip of a switch, light flooded the narrow living space. She'd been paying the hydro bill since Mona's death and was eager to clear out the place so that she could cut the utilities and be done with it all.

  Dakota glanced at the bathroom door. It wasn't criss-crossed in caution tape, but she pictured it that way in her mind's eye. Though she'd hired a company straight away to come in and clean the bathroom of all its grotesque stains, it was hard to believe it had actually been done. She couldn't help thinking that she'd open that door and see her dead mother all over again.

  Where to start?

  Dakota glanced back and forth but stayed rooted at the entrance. Her legs were stiff and reluctant to move forward. She supposed it was best to start with the living room and finish with the bedroom—though she dreaded passing through the bathroom.

  With a ragged exhale, she went to her trunk and pulled out a bundle of flattened boxes and a shopping bag containing packing tape, garbage bags and a black marker. She carried them into the living room and set to work. Most of Mona's things were going straight to the thrift shop. Anything of value would be sold, but Dakota doubted she'd find anything worth selling besides the TV and DVD player. At any rate, the sale would reimburse her for the utilities she'd been paying. She hoped to get a good price for the trailer itself, too; Mona had died without insurance and the funeral had cost Dakota a small fortune.

  An hour later, the living room was empty of all bric-à-brac. Mona didn't have a lot of possessions; mostly Cosmopolitan magazines, Harlequin paperbacks and a giant stack of DVDs. A few tacky wall-hanging pictures went into the Goodwill box, along with a lamp, glazed ceramics and a crystal ashtray that first had to be cleaned of a week's worth of ash and cigarette butts. Next Dakota moved into the kitchen where she packed several boxes with dishes, pots and pans, and dried goods; cereal, canned beans and soup. She threw out a loaf of rotten bread and dumped curdled milk down the drain. The rest of the fridge supplies also went into the trash. Beneath the sink, she found an unopened bottle of champagne and a case of beer, which she took out to her car to keep for herself.

  When the kitchen was done, she found herself standing in front of the bathroom door simply staring at it. Should she finish emptying the trailer and then clean it, or should she clean the living room and kitchen, and then do the bedroom? She sighed. Either way, she had to pass through that bathroom at some point or other. Nevertheless, she decided to clean first, putting off the inevitable for a little while longer.

  The cleaning completed, she pulled off her gloves and wiped the back of her hand over her forehead. Several strands of hair had slipped from her claw-clip and were sticking out every which way. Good thing no one was here to see. She washed her hands in the kitchen sink; and taking a deep breath, opened the bathroom door. She switched on the light.

  The room was polished, clean… and completely empty. The cleaning company had removed all personal possessions as well as the toiletries. She breat
hed an enormous sigh of relief and hurried through, pushing open the bedroom door and switching on the light. A box sat next to the door which contained some of the bathroom supplies. She rooted through it quickly and decided to throw it all out. She had no desire to use any of her mother's endless creams and beauty supplies.

  The narrow bedroom had a double bed with no more than a two-foot of girth on either side. A book shelf filled the wall space above the headboard, beneath a window with rigid brown curtains. Dusty knick-knacks sat on the shelf; a meager attempt at decorating. A protruding closet filled one corner of the room and was stuffed with clothes. Dakota dumped them all into a Goodwill box. A built-in dresser was also filled with clothes, one drawer packed entirely with lingerie. She shuddered, deciding to put her gloves back on.

  In the minuscule night stand on the left side of the bed, she found condoms, K-Y Jelly, lighters, some cigarette packs, and rolling papers. Seeing no tobacco, she figured there'd been weed, which the cops probably took; unless Mona simply hadn't had a chance to refill her stash. She tossed the contents into a garbage bag. She stripped the bed sheets quickly, barely looking. It took all her might to avoid imagining the things her mother had done in this room. But despite her willpower, bearded man came to mind nonetheless. Her stomach turned. The trailer was freezing and she couldn't wait to leave. All that remained was to empty the storage compartments beneath the bed.

  On one side, she found winter clothes and a basket of papers—mostly utility bills. She flipped through them and stuffed them in the garbage. Under the stack of bills and miscellaneous papers were several brochures on the HIV/AIDS virus, and papers outlining Mona's positive test results. The date was from eight months prior.

  Dakota sat down on the bare, stained mattress for a moment and read through one of the brochures. Her mother had taken her own life to avoid contracting full-blown AIDS. It was just like her too—this need to maintain total control to the bitter end. Back in early August her mother had gone heavy on her about using protection. This must be why.