Beyond The Roses

by Monica James

  “That sounds great. I can’t wait.”

  “Wonderful.” She claps her hands together, her Tiffany bracelets twinkling under the bright lights. “All the information is in the folder. The official welcoming happens tonight. But June doesn’t like to make a fuss, and instead, we just carry on like normal. That’s why we head straight into activities on the first day.” I like June even more.

  Before coming here, I did an online introduction on what to expect. It was about three hours’ worth of study, and even though June may seem casual in her approach, she runs this place with the utmost precision.

  “Great. Thank you for this.” I hold up the folder.

  She nods and opens her mouth, ready to say something, but then abruptly stops and gazes off into the distance over my shoulder. I wait for her to return eye contact, but she doesn’t. In fact, her pupils dilate, and she appears flustered.

  Curious, I turn to look at what has captured her attention. I need not look far. Standing a few feet away, Dr. Archibald talks to a young girl. He listens, nodding every so often. He’s a pillar of support and care.

  When he looks our way, a breathy sigh leaves Tamara’s parted lips. My first instinct is to look away, but for some unknown reason, I don’t. I admire the way Dr. Archibald holds himself with complete confidence and control. He has rolled up the sleeves of his crisp shirt, revealing taut, muscular forearms. He doesn’t look like your typical doctor because he’s young, around thirty, and he also looks like he belongs on the cover of Vogue.

  I wonder what brought him here.

  When he matches my stare and appears to be as transfixed by me as I am by him, the air sizzles around me. I shyly push my glasses up my nose, feeling an unfamiliar warmth pool within. I’m embarrassed, as I’m certain he can read my strange response to him.

  “I’ll see you this afternoon.” Tamara’s voice severs my trance-like state. Zoe was right; I am infected by the Dr. Roman Archibald love bug.

  “Yes.” I clear my hoarse voice. “Yes, I’ll see you then.”

  She scampers past me, headed Dr. Archibald’s way. His eyes stay focused on me. However, the look is so intense I feel light-headed. When he finally breaks our eye lock, I can breathe again.

  I’m looking forward to Tamara’s class.

  The timetable seems well mapped out with enough activities to keep everyone busy. When I enter the pastel green room, I admire the inspirational pictures that litter the walls and relish in the soft sprinkle of lavender in the air.

  About ten children are seated at desks with bright paints and large sheets of paper spread out in front of them. They all seem excited to get started.

  “Hi, I’m Lola.” I give a small wave while the kids turn in their seats to give me their undivided attention. “I’ll be helping today. So if you have any questions, let me know.”

  I can’t kick my sense of happiness. These children look as excited as I am to be here, confirming that I’m doing the right thing.

  Tamara enters, her stylish jacket over her forearm. She appears at ease and comfortable in her natural habitat. “Hello, everyone. Once we’re all settled, we will start.” She floats over to the docking station and connects her pink iPod.

  She then kicks off her heels and places them in the corner of the room. “Today, we’re going to do an exercise which requires nothing but a pen and paper.” She reaches into her large tote bag. After a moment of riffling around, she produces a stack of journals. “These are yours to keep, and I encourage you to write or draw in them whenever you feel the need.” She walks around the room, handing out the books. Her movements are so graceful and agile; a sense of calm surrounds her. She smiles gently when offering me my book.

  When everyone has their supplies, she continues. “These journals are for when you don’t know what to say.” She gazes around the room, connecting with each of us. “There is no judgment here. No rules. No wrong or right. I want you to express everything you feel, no matter what it is. Take your time, and remember, this is a safe place. Begin when you’re ready.”

  There is no doubt Tamara loves what she does.

  Just as I’m about to offer my assistance, Tamara gently reaches for my arm. “How about you take a moment to write down why you’re here? I do this with all the volunteers. It helps.” There is no need for her to explain. Being here takes a toll on everyone.

  But I’ve never been one to write down my feelings even though my doctors encouraged it. I just didn’t see the point. Writing down how shitty my life is wouldn’t change my circumstances.

  I don’t see my opinion changing anytime soon, but I open the book, pressing down on the spine in thought. I’ve always been a reader, as the thought of being a writer is beyond frightening. All those words detailing your feelings, I couldn’t think of anything worse. I rub over my chest, my heart squeezing as I know why I’m so afraid. I know who I would write about. She was the only person who listened, really listened, not because she was waiting for her turn to speak, but because she cared about what I had to say.

  With that thought in mind, I take the pen and I…let go.

  I miss you, G…so much. Every day, I think it’s going to get easier, but it doesn’t. It gets harder. The thought of doing this alone is scarier than living. I wish I’d gone with you because I have nothing left to live for.

  Each night, I wonder if this is the night I won’t wake up, if it is finally my time. I hate that a small part of me is disappointed when I bear witness to a new sunrise. I know you’d give anything to have just one more day, and here I am, wishing it was my last. I feel ungrateful. I am.

  If I could give you my life to save yours, I would…in a heartbeat.

  You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that more often. I love you, Georgia. Pleasse…com bak.

  The last three words appear fuzzy, and my head begins to spin. Something isn’t right.

  “Lola?” Tamara’s sluggish voice sounds as though she’s a million miles away.

  A splitting pain stabs at my temple, leaving me winded as I clutch my stomach.

  No, not again.

  Shooting upright, I quickly excuse myself to find the nearest bathroom. Prior to my losing grip on reality, every color of the rainbow flashes before my eyes, and then…everything is replaced with black.

  “She’s getting her color back.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  “Shall I check her blood pressure again?”

  “No, it’s fine. I’ve got it from here.”

  Hushed voices that aren’t really hushed at all float in and out like a radio station trying to tune into its frequency. I have no idea where I am. What’s the last thing I remember? I try to recall, but it hurts—it always does.

  Running a clammy hand down my face, I scrub over my eyes.

  “Ms. Van Allen, can you hear me?”

  The deep voice is as smooth as summer cherries. Regardless, I groan, eyes still sealed shut. “It’s Lola. Ms. Van Allen is my mother, and I’d rather there was only one of her.”

  “Oh, c’mon, she can’t be that bad.”

  “She makes Satan look like Mother Theresa.”

  I’m not trying to be funny, so when I hear a husky chuckle, I crack open an eye. The world is beyond blurry. “My glasses?” I blindly reach out for them and am thankful when they’re placed in my palm.

  Slipping them onto my face, I slowly take in my unfamiliar surroundings. The only thing I recognize is the man sitting by my bedside. “Dr. Archibald?” It’s a statement, intersected with a question.

  Shooting upright, I ignore the pain in my head as I gather my bearings. The sterile white walls, beeping machines, and antiseptic smell all point to one place.

  “How are you feeling?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts.

  My snarled hair feels like straw as I try to tame it. I give up, as it’ll take a miracle to tame that beast. “I feel like I’ve got the world’s worst hangover…without the booze.”

  Aga
in, I’m not attempting to be entertaining, so I’m surprised when I see Dr. Archibald’s perfect lips lift at the corner. His delicious exotic fragrance of fresh citrus and woodsy notes of sandalwood overpowers the sterility and has me wanting to take a bigger whiff. But I don’t.

  “You passed out,” he explains, leaning forward in the plastic chair.

  “It won’t happen again.” This is exactly what I was fearful of.

  These blackouts are caused by my condition, and although I have them under control on most days, they sneak up on me at times. Like today. I realize I forgot to take my pills this morning. Rookie move on my part.

  There is silence for a pregnant moment, those blue eyes hidden beneath clear lenses speaking a language I don’t understand. He reaches for the stethoscope around his neck and stands. “I’m just going to check your vitals.”

  Nodding, I sit taller and lean forward.

  He clears his throat before placing the metal disc against my back. “Take a deep breath in,” he instructs. I do as he asks. “Good. And out.” I exhale, his closeness sending a shiver throughout my entire body.

  He moves over to the other side and asks me to do the same thing. This time, he leans in closer, our bodies a hairsbreadth away from touching. “Good.” His eyes meet mine when he pulls away. His nearness is almost suffocating.

  The neckline of my top is low, allowing Dr. Archibald easy access. He visibly swallows before placing the metal against my skin. I jump as it’s cold. “Sorry,” he apologizes, peering down at me.

  I nod, too afraid to speak.

  His huge body shadows mine, his closeness a surprising comfort. He listens to my heart, which is nigh on exploding from my chest. He moves the drum around while listening, his face pensive. My breathing becomes staggered; my heart determined to win an imaginary race. I’m beyond embarrassed as this is the worst time for my body to betray my nerves.

  When his fingers brush lightly over my skin, I chew the inside of my cheek to stop my unexpected response to him. I attempt to envision anything other than Dr. Archibald’s intoxicating smell. When he lifts the drum and removes the ear tips, I let out the trapped breath I didn’t even know I was holding.

  “Your heart is fine,” he declares, looping the stethoscope around his neck. His comment shatters my blissful bubble.

  “It’s not my heart that’s the problem,” I reply honestly.

  He frowns, appearing repentant. “Regardless of our ailments, I think the heart is always affected.”

  I wasn’t expecting such a response, but he’s right. The vital organ is our epicenter.

  “Tamara said you ran out of class. One of the volunteers found you in the bathroom, passed out.” He pauses, and I know why. “I had to report it to June, of course, and she told me of your condition.”

  I’m about ready to lecture him about the invasion of privacy, but I can understand why.

  “I’ve read over your file.”

  I explained my condition on the application. Dr. Carter gave me the green light to do this as I didn’t want management going in blind when they gave me the job.

  Lowering my eyes, I tug at a loose thread on the cotton blanket. “Lucky you.”

  He ignores my wisecrack. “Are you on any medication?”

  “Whatever time I have left, I don’t wish to live as a comatose zombie, Dr. Archibald. I want to remember who I was and face death, not hide under a medicated blanket.”

  I can see I’ve caught him off guard with my bluntness and am about to apologize but pause when a gravelly rumble sounds loudly within his chest. “Good for you, Ms.—Lola,” he hastily corrects. “You’re a brave young woman.”

  “I’m far from brave, but thank you.”

  His silence is heavy, speaking volumes. But I never expected him to express what he does next. “Never underestimate your impact on the world. You just may be someone’s reason for living.”

  I wonder just whom Dr. Archibald’s reason is. I have no doubt he has a long line of admirers and may even be married or have a girlfriend.

  “Everything is okay, so you’re good to leave whenever you’re ready,” he says, disturbing my thoughts.

  His comment surprises me. “I can stay?”

  “Of course. Why would you think otherwise?”

  Scratching the back of my neck, I reveal, “I just thought that with passing out on my first day here, I’m not exactly ideal volunteer material.”

  “June is happy to have you. She thinks you being here will be good for the kids. And so do I.”

  “You do?” I can’t hide my surprise.

  “Yes, I do. All anybody ever wants is to be treated normally. You will be able to connect with these kids in a way no one else will. They will confide in you, trust you, and that’s something truly priceless.”

  I meet his eyes, an unreadable look swarming deep within. I don’t know what it is about him, but he makes me feel…special. I have had little experience with men, thanks to falling sick in my early twenties, so I blow it off as my hormones reacting to a good-looking, smart man. But a small voice inside me is screaming there’s more.

  Afraid of that voice, I pull back the blanket and swing my legs. He swoops forward and attempts to help me, but I wave him off. “Thank you.”

  He appears amused by my stubbornness. “No problem. Take care, Lola.”

  I nod, holding my breath until he turns and leaves the room. As I exhale, a feeling surfaces that things are about to change. Though I can’t help but wonder if they already have.

  The rest of the afternoon, I stick to the timetable and join Zoe down at the water, helping the kids canoeing. I decide not to tell her about what happened today because I don’t want her to worry.

  I had more fun than I’ve had in forever, and I can’t wait to see what tomorrow holds. But now, I’m getting ready for the official meet and greet. I take my pills and make a quick trip to the bathroom to freshen up.

  When I walk outside, the humid summer night warms my skin. Countless stars twinkle on the horizon. It’s so clear out here, untouched. Manhattan is a concrete jungle; you almost forget another world exists outside.

  A large group of people mingles along the dock and around the lake’s edge. Some sit with their toes dipped into the still water while others relax under the blossoming trees, chatting with newfound friends. A few kids splash happily in the lake, but everyone is happy to just chill.

  Witnessing the kids enjoying themselves comforts me. I know as days turn into weeks, and weeks into months, things will get harder for them. Time isn’t on their side, and once the three months is up, I wonder where we will all be.

  A young girl who looks no older than thirteen sitting under a large oak tree catches my eye. She’s all alone but seems content. When she leans against the trunk and buries her nose farther into the book she’s reading, I feel a kinship to her. She’s reading a tattered copy of Treasure Island.

  Taking a deep breath, I walk over to where she sits, hoping not to disturb her. My sneakers crunch over the soft grass, catching her attention. She peers up, her short red hair styled into a pixie cut. Freckles are scattered across her rounded cheeks and small button nose. She nervously tugs at a silver locket around her neck, waiting for me to speak.

  “Hi.” I wave.

  “Hi,” she replies in a voice softer than a mouse.

  “I love that book. It’s my favorite.” I point at the tattered copy in her lap.

  Her face lights up. There is nothing like finding a fellow book nerd. “Mine too.”

  “Can I sit?”

  “Sure.” She shuffles over.

  Taking a seat near her, I extend my hand. “I’m Lola.”

  “I’m Sadie.”

  “Nice to meet you.” We shake, her frail hand feeling skeletal in mine. “How do you like it so far?”

  She raises her shoulders. “It seems okay.”

  Wanting to change the pace, I ask, “Do you have any siblings?”

  A sadness overcomes her. I know the lo
ok all too well. “No. Just me. You?”

  “Same here.” A heavy weight submerges me. “I had a sister once,” I reveal, not holding back. “We may not have been related by blood, but she was my sister nonetheless.”

  “What happened to her?” she innocently questions.

  Not wanting to lie, I reveal, “She, ah…she passed.”

  Her hands fly up as she covers her mouth. Her sympathetic eyes fill with tears. “I’m so sorry, Lola.”

  “It’s okay. It’s nice to let someone know she existed. It’s the only way I can keep her memory alive.”

  “What was her name?”

  Swallowing down my fears, I reply, “Georgia Faye.”

  “I think I’d like to hear more about Georgia. She sounds like a nice person.”

  “She was,” I reply with conviction. “The best.”

  “Well, whenever you want to talk, come find me, and we can discuss her.” Sadie may be young, but she is far wiser than her years.

  “Thank you. I will. And the same applies to me. I’m here any time you need to chat.”

  Her braces catch the full moon. “Sounds good to me.”

  “I found a stowaway,” Zoe playfully says about Cassandra, who is wearing a pink glitter cowboy hat as they approach us.

  Sadie nervously shifts beside me. The instinct to protect her overcomes me.

  “Guys, this is Sadie. Sadie, that’s Cassandra and Zoe.” I point at each person. She nods, waving.

  “Hi, Sadie,” they say in unison. “Shall we go?”

  I nod, looking at Sadie with a smile. “Want to walk with us?”

  Her happiness is palpable. “Yes.”

  We make our way toward the pavilion.

  Dusk has taken over the atmosphere, and it won’t be long until the stars are twinkling above. The wide, open space has a large white dome branching upward, touching the heavens. A lot of people are already here, most sitting and chatting loudly among themselves. We take our seats and wait for June to speak.

  I notice Sadie tugging at her heart-shaped locket again. It must be her security blanket, just how Georgia’s bandana is for me.