The House of Roses

by Holden Robinson

  She cut across a grassy patch to the pathway along the canal. Only then did she pause, and eventually, she made her way to a bench. She gazed once again into the sleeping faces of her tiny children, and although a smile played along the corners of her mouth, she felt a hint of heartbreak.

  Caitlin sat for several minutes watching the river and the water pass by in its infinite journey. It was beautiful, serene, and her heart felt peaceful. She thought of her life as she rarely did and she was still thinking as she stood and pushed the stroller along the path worn by time and travel.

  Eventually she found herself in the beautiful cemetery where those who made their home in New Hope were laid to rest. She was tiring, but still she walked. There was one more place she needed to go. Her father was buried inside, and she found her way to his grave, evidently from memory, because she couldn't remember the last time she had been there. It was not how she had wanted to introduce her children to her beloved daddy, but like it often does, life had other other plans, and her father had been taken from her before his time, and long before Caitlin was ready to let go.

  “Hey, Daddy,” she whispered, kneeling on the ground in front of the massive stone. “I brought someone to meet you. I brought your grandchildren, Daddy. This is Rogan, and this is Hannah,” Caitlin said, motioning to the babies who slept in their stroller.

  Caitlin took two flowers from the beautiful plants in front of the stone, and laid them on the cover of the stroller. She recognized the work of her mother, or more likely, Ella, in the beautifully tended annuals.

  Caitlin smiled as she thought of Ella, and the call they had gotten earlier from Liz eased the tension everyone felt. Ella was recovering. Ella, who had been nearly unrecognizable just forty-eight hours before, was going to survive. Caitlin turned the stroller away from her father's grave, after wiping one tear from her cheek.

  “Bye, Daddy,” she whispered, as she set out in search of the final resting place of Nathan's wife. Her chest tightened again, partly from the pain of loss, and the unfairness of death, but partly from guilt. She had missed Patti Parker's funeral. She had been out of state, on assignment, and unable to return. Caitlin was reminded of how much her career had once meant to her, but those days suddenly seemed to have happened a hundred years before, and she was beginning to realize family trumped career, not only when someone died, or was born, but always.

  “I'm sorry, Nathan,” she whispered into the cemetery. “I should have been here for you. I'm sorry I wasn't.” It was one of the greatest regrets of Caitlin's life, one she couldn't take back.

  The cemetery was old, and small in size, and Caitlin found the grave with little difficulty, although it was nearly at the opposite end of the cemetery from her father's. Patricia Ann Taylor Parker lay peacefully beneath a massive oak, whose age was impossible to determine. Caitlin stared into its massive branches, and whispered a prayer for the woman who had been taken far too young, and for peace for the family who'd lost her.

  “Taylor,” Caitlin said out loud. Tayler was Caitlin's middle name, although her parents had chosen an odd spelling. She carefully laid her hand on top of the soft pink, granite stone. But, while her hands brushed the smooth gravestone, her eyes were drawn elsewhere, to a grouping of flowers nearby, flowers that looked like the handiwork of her mother, or Ella. The stone they adorned was tiny, embedded into the ground, and if it were not for the freshly cut grass, it would have been easy to miss.

  Caitlin crouched carefully, and was again reminded of her healing body. She read the inscription on the tiny stone. Charles Samuel Tayler. She stared at her middle name, engraved onto the marker. Could it be coincidence? Charles Samuel Tayler had been young when he died, and Caitlin wondered what had happened to him.

  He had been only 24 years old when he died in November of 1963. Suddenly Caitlin had a thought. Was this Ella's Charles? Was this the man that Ella, her mother's best friend, had pined for her entire life? The timing was right. He would have been just a few years older than Ella, and his death at 24 would have been considered tragic, no matter the cause. And there were the beautiful flowers planted in front of the stone, beautiful flowers that looked a lot like those that lay on the stroller in front of her.

  Caitlin wondered if this young man was the love of Ella's life. Caitlin also wondered if she was related to this man. It was possible. They shared the same name, and in a town as small as New Hope, it was unlikely it was coincidence. She'd ask Rita later if they had a quiet moment. As if on cue, Rogan awoke, opened his eyes, and let out a fierce cry.

  “You hungry, punkin?” Caitlin asked, leaning down to touch the tiny cheek of her infant son. His sister chose that moment to open her eyes, and she too began to cry.

  “Okay, guys. Let's head back to Grandma's. I'm hungry, too. We could call her to come back and get us, or we could walk.” Caitlin tried to determine the distance from the cemetery to the house, and while it was farther than she'd have liked to walk, she knew the exercise would do her good. She could rest later, when hopefully the babies would sleep, and hopefully, simultaneously.

  “Okay, we'll walk,” Caitlin said, tucking the blankets tighter around her babies. They eventually stopped crying, and Caitlin could hear their baby noises. She wondered if they were communicating with each other, if her twins had a language only they understood.

  Despite her heavy heart, and the questions plaguing her tired mind, Caitlin smiled as she carefully walked, slower than she'd have liked, step by step, to the tune of the wheels of the stroller, and the soft sounds coming from the babies tucked inside it.

  Twenty-five

  Colin slowly made his way back to his aunt's house following a pathway surrounded by memories from his childhood. Nostalgia pulled at his heart, as Tiger squirmed under his arm.

  “You wanna walk now?” Colin asked the dog, who eyed him with interest.

  Colin sat the dog at his feet, and immediately Tiger began to whine.

  “Okay, I'll take that to mean no.” Colin picked up the dog again, and tucked him back under his arm. He walked a block and a half, as the dog snored against his chest.

  As he strolled up the sidewalk to the house where his aunt still lived, he decided there was something else he needed to do.

  He let himself into the house with the key he had in his pocket. His aunt's car was in the driveway, but the house was quiet. A note lay on the kitchen table. Colin read it to himself.

  I walked to the store. Maybe I'll pass you on the way. If I don't, and there is anything you need to do, my car keys are on the counter. Put Tiger in his crate by the back door, and enjoy yourself. I'm really glad you're here. I love you.

  Colin smiled at the note, and laid it back where he'd found it. He put the dog in the crate as instructed. Tiffany looked at him with a goofy grin from the crate pushed up against Tiger's.

  “Hiya, Tiffany,” Colin said. He walked back to the kitchen, grabbed the keys from the counter, and headed out the front door. He'd left the pungent WalMart bag on the bottom step, and he deposited it into the trash can before letting himself into his aunt's compact car.

  His tall frame wasn't suited for the tiny car, and he struggled to get into it. No wonder his aunt had a small dog. A larger dog wouldn't have fit into the tiny box of a vehicle. Although Colin hadn't been on the east side of Spokane in years, he was surprised when he had no trouble finding the neighborhood where he'd spent his boyhood. He found East Mission Avenue without issue, and tucked the car against the curb in front of a vacant lot.

  Sad, he thought, looking at the overgrown plot. There was nothing he wanted to do here, no goodbyes to be said. He had done that. He just needed to see it one more time before he made a final decision. He maneuvered back through the streets, and managed to get down town with little duress. It was still early afternoon, and he felt confident he could accomplish the desired task. He parked along Main Street, exited the car, thanked God he could still move his legs, stretched, and looked at the scenery around him. He was surprised to see
it was pretty much the same. The old pharmacy where he'd once bought penny candy was still there, although he imagined the aging proprietor was retired. He was wrong. A bell rang as he walked in. Herbie Powell stood behind the counter. He laughed when he saw Colin, who responded in kind. Herbie didn't look as though he'd aged at all, and his overall appearance put him somewhere between 70 and 200.

  “Colin Thomas,” Herbie said. His massive belly shook when he laughed. Colin put out his hand, but Herbie pulled him into a bear hug, bringing him chest to belly with the older man.

  “Hey, Herbie. Nice to see you. You ever gonna retire?”

  “And do what? Knit?” Herbie asked, and again the belly jiggled in response to his delight at what Colin assumed was a canned response to a question he heard often.

  “Yeah, good point,” Colin replied, looking around the store and feeling nostalgic.

  “So, what can I do for ya, son?” Herbie asked.

  “You still have penny candy?” Colin asked, and he was surprised when Herbie nodded.

  “Sure do. It's in aisle three, right where it always was. You gonna pay for it this time?” Herbie asked, and his eyes twinkled at his own humor.

  “It was just that one time, and Dad brought me right back. What was I, four?” Colin asked, and Herbie scratched his balding head.

  “Couldn't have been much more than that. You were a tiny thing.”

  “You guys have a Realtor around here?” Colin asked, as he picked Tootsie Rolls out of a large plastic bin.

  “Yep, right next door. She's pretty, too,” Herbie said, laughing again.

  “Great, thanks!” Colin said, strolling toward the counter, the candy in his fist. “What do I owe ya?”

  “Twenty-two cents,” Herbie said.

  “Keep the change,” Colin said, laying a quarter on the counter.

  “Thanks.”

  “Good to see you, Herbie,” Colin said.

  “Good to see you too, Doc. Come back again sometime, son.”

  “I will. I'll be back in June,” Colin said, having decided he would be.

  Colin let himself out the front door, and the bell rang again above his head. It was funny how a sound could send you back in time, and Colin smiled as he thought of the hundreds of times he must have heard that bell. He looked to his left, and then to his right, and a sign that simply said “Real Estate”, hung over the storefront next door.

  He walked the necessary six feet, and looked in the window. Hidden Valley Real Estate was displayed in huge black letters on the picture window, and Colin shrugged his shoulders slightly. It sounded more like salad dressing than Real Estate, but he wasn't terribly picky. Without another thought, he opened the door and stepped inside, knowing it was time.

  ***

  A tall, blond, attractive woman rose from behind an impressive cherry desk. Colin Thomas smiled at her.

  “May I help you?” she asked.

  “I'd like to speak with a Realtor please,” Colin said.

  “I'm Marianne Mitchell, I'm the broker/owner. I'd be happy to help you,” the woman said, crossing from behind the desk with her hand outstretched.

  “Dr. Colin Thomas,” he said, shaking the hand she offered.

  “Have a seat, Doctor,” she said politely. Colin sat. “What can I do for you?” she asked.

  “I have a property to sell,” Colin said, feeling something tighten in his chest.

  “I can help you with that,” Marianne replied with a huge smile.

  “Good. This is a little bit hard for me,” he said, surprised by his admission.

  “I'm sorry.”

  “I inherited the property. My parents used to live there.”

  “You don't want to keep the house?” she asked, looking as though she were choosing her words carefully.

  “There's no house. It burned down six years ago. Both of my parents were killed in the fire,” Colin said, not quite meeting Marianne's suddenly sympathetic eyes.

  “I'm sorry,” she said, in little more than a whisper.

  “Thank you.”

  “So, I can list it as a vacant lot. Where is the property located?” Marianne asked.

  “On East Mission.”

  “Nice area.”

  “I grew up there,” Colin said, sounding nostalgic.

  “I grew up on the west side.”

  “Nice area, too,” he replied, making conversation. “I'd like to list the property with you, Marianne,” Colin added bravely. “Can you do that for me?” he asked.

  “I'd be happy to help you with that,” she replied, reaching into the drawer, and pulling out a small group of papers held together by a paper clip.

  “There needs to be a house there, a family there. It needs to be a happy place, not the sad place it's been for six years. I'm sure it's a constant reminder to the neighbors, and I'm sure they miss my parents enough without seeing that overgrown lot as a reminder,” Colin said, swallowing past a sudden lump in his throat. “They were nice people. They'd want this.”

  “Then let's do this for them,” Marianne said with a weak smile.

  “Yes, let's do this,” Colin said softly. “It's time.”

  Twenty-six

  As Caitlin moved along the stone sidewalks, she felt as though she were holding jumbled pieces of a puzzle. Something was picking at her, something she couldn't quite put her finger on, and she felt as though the pieces of the puzzle were nearly assembled. Hadn't she thought there was something her mother wasn't telling her? Hadn't she always wondered?

  She made her way up the walk to the old farmhouse she temporarily shared with her mother. The house was quiet, suggesting that Rita was still busy in the flower shop, likely putting together arrangements for the funeral of her old friend. Caitlin warmed two bottles, as the babies slept in the stroller she had rolled over to the window. The fading sun warmed them, and its rays danced across their faces. She pulled a chair closer to the stroller, and for several minutes she just looked at them. They were so precious, so innocent, so new, and their entire lives lay before them. They would make mistakes, as she had, and she knew that no matter where their lives took them, one day their hearts might be broken, as hers was. She wanted to protect them from that, but she knew no such protection existed. For them to find their way in life, they would have to take risks, take chances, and she prayed that life would be kind to them, her two new additions to a volatile world. She kissed them both and settled back in the chair to watch them dream.

  When the bottles were warmed she fed Hannah, who had begun to fuss. The baby took the bottle eagerly, and when she was done, Caitlin brought her gently to her shoulder. She had tapped her only two or three times, when Hannah released an enormous burp, and a warm stream Caitlin felt running down her back.

  “Thanks, honey,” Caitlin whispered into her daughter's fuzzy, blond hair. She wiped up the baby, and then took Rogan from the stroller. Caitlin tested the formula, found it to be the correct temperature, put her son in the crook of her arm, and popped the bottle into his mouth.

  While she fed her son, Caitlin wondered what their future would hold. It was frightening to think of raising her children alone, but she knew mothers did it, she just didn't know how. She still held on to the idea that she would raise her children with Colin, but each time she entertained the thought, it was quickly replaced by the memory of him at the hospital, with the child, and the pretty woman. They had looked like the perfect family, and Caitlin felt an enormous sadness that brought tears along with it. She looked at her son, and watched as the tears spilled onto his soft, blue blanket. She looked at the stroller. Hannah looked around the room with unfocused eyes, her beautiful face covered with something that resembled cottage cheese.

  “Oh, good lord,” Caitlin said. She managed to hold Rogan in the crook of her arm, and held the bottle with her left hand. With her right, she grabbed a cloth from the diaper bag she was never without, and crossed back to the stroller to wipe her daughter's chin.

  “This is going to take some prac
tice,” Caitlin said, dropping back into the chair with a sigh. “How do mothers do this, Rogan?” she asked her son, who responded with a quiver that felt warm against her arm. She lifted him from her lap, where he'd left a puddle on the maternity pants she still wore. “Sexy,” Caitlin said, dropping the puke-covered cloth into her lap to soak up the unexpected baby pee.

  “Looks like I'm not the only one who needs a break,” Rita said, from the kitchen doorway.

  “No, you're not,” Caitlin replied, sounding exasperated.

  “There's something on your back, Cate,” Rita said, and Caitlin imagined she was smiling.

  “Vomit,” Caitlin said, sounding suddenly exhausted. “And there's pee all over my pants,” she added.

  Before Rita could respond, Caitlin began to cry, softly at first, then in great sobs. Rita stood frozen in the doorway, unable to find words to comfort her daughter. Moments later, the sobbing turned to laughter, evolving as her tears had, softly at first, then erupting in great gasps. Hannah let out a screech, Rogan began to cry, and Rita joined in the laughter, but not before unburdening her daughter of the crying baby.

  “Okay, let's get this situation under control,” Rita said, “and then we'll have coffee. I'll change him and finish his bottle, while you go clean yourself up.”

  Caitlin disappeared up the stairs. Already she could feel her body healing, and the stairs gave her less trouble than they had the previous night. She changed quickly, and threw the pee-covered pants onto the hamper in the bathroom.