The House of Roses

by Holden Robinson

  She would write. Her first book had been mere words, strung together, without substance. She would search her heart, her soul, and it was there she would find the stories. She knew this was her purpose in life. She would become a messenger, a story teller, and her first story would be Ella's. Caitlin hoped her words would one day fall upon the ears of someone who had devalued love, or walked away from it, as she had. She would write from the heart, with purpose, and meaning, and it would be her gift, not only to the world, but to herself.

  Fifty-one

  In the dream, someone was shouting. It sounded like a child, and Colin suddenly realized it was coming from outside the dream.

  “Papa!” Mia shouted, and Colin was immediately awake. He rose from the mattress on the floor, and before he could reach Mia, he heard footsteps on the stairs.

  “It's okay, sweetheart,” he said, his voice still thick with sleep. “It's all right, Papa's here.”

  “Mama made a noise. I'm scared,” Mia said. The little girl was shaking, and Colin pulled her into his arms, and held her tight. A small lamp on the bedside table cast a soft glow, illuminating Rosario's face enough for Colin to see her clearly. He didn't need to check her pulse. Rosario Mariposa was gone. Her body had given out, and while they had slept, her spirit had drifted away.

  “Colin?” Caren said from the doorway of the den. He looked at her. She was dressed in a nightgown and robe, and her blond hair that was always pinned up perfectly, lay loose around her shoulders.

  Colin nodded, and watched as Caren's tears spilled over and slid down her face.

  “What can I do?” she asked.

  “Can you take Mia?” he asked.

  “No, Papa! I want to stay with you. I want to stay with Mama!” Mia shouted, as her body shook in his arms. He fought back tears and closed his eyes for a moment to try to calm himself.

  “Caren will bring you right back. I need to help Mama, just for a minute.”

  “Okay,” Mia whispered reluctantly, and Colin felt her tears on his neck. “Is Mama okay?”

  “Yes, Mia.”

  “Is Mama sleeping?” Colin shuddered involuntarily. His mind raced. He was Mia's father now, her only parent. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't lie.

  “No,” he said, never imagining what it would take to say that one word.

  “No?” Mia whimpered into his shoulder.

  “No, Mia. Mama isn't sleeping, but Mama isn't hurting anymore. We don't want Mama to hurt, do we?”

  “No,” the child whimpered again.

  “Can you go with Caren, just for a minute?”

  “Okay,” Mia whispered.

  “Do you want Marvin?”

  “No. He's watching over Mama.”

  “Okay, sweetheart. Go with Caren. I'll come get you in just a couple of minutes.”

  Colin watched as Caren left the room, with Mia holding tightly to her hand. He looked at his watch. It was four-fourteen in the early morning. He had checked Rosario at three-thirty. At three-thirty, she had been alive. He noted the time of death on the pad he'd left on the table near the lamp. He was the attending physician. It was something he had to do, although normally he wasn't crying when he did it. He gently closed Rosario's eyes, removed her oxygen tube, and turned the machine off by her side. He took a wipe from the small box in the drawer of her bedside table, and tenderly, he wiped her face. He tucked the blanket under her chin, wiped his eyes on his t-shirt, and leaned down and kissed Rosario's cheek.

  “Goodbye, my friend,” he whispered, and then slowly walked away.

  Through blurry eyes, he found the jeans he'd left on the foot of the mattress. He slipped them on over his running shorts, and took the cell phone from his pocket. He dialed the number for hospice, and they answered immediately.

  “This is Doctor Colin Thomas,” he said, stopping between Doctor and Colin, to clear his throat. “I'm the attending physician for Rosario Mariposa. She just passed away.”

  He listened carefully, and then closed the phone.

  “Papa?” Mia said from the doorway, and Colin looked at her.

  “She wants you,” Caren said, and he nodded.

  “It's okay, Mia. You can come in now.”

  “Mama's dead?”

  “Yes, Mia.”

  “But she's okay?”

  “Yes, sweetheart. She's okay now.”

  “Are you okay, Papa?” Mia asked, and Colin shook his head. He tried to speak, but couldn't find the words. He shook his head again, as the tears slid down his face. He knelt on the plush carpet, and opened his arms.

  Mia flew across the room into his embrace. He held the little girl as they both cried.

  Caren Wells stood watching, knowing she'd never seen anything more heartbreaking.

  ***

  Nearly three hours later, Colin sat at his dining room table looking out the window. Hospice had arrived at just before five o'clock, and Rosario's body had been transported to a funeral home ten blocks away. Hospice had agreed to return later that day to retrieve the hospital bed where Mia slept with Marvin held tightly to her.

  “How's Mia?” Caren asked from the kitchen doorway. He looked at her. She had dressed, although her hair still hung loose about her shoulders. Her eyes were red and puffy, and he imagined he looked the same.

  “She's okay. She fell asleep about fifteen minutes ago.”

  “How are you?”

  “I don't know.”

  “What can I do, Colin?”

  “You don't always have to do something, Caren.”

  “I do, Colin. If I don't, I'll go mad, and then you'll have to call someone to come get me, and then what will you do?”

  “Good point,” he said with a weak smile. “How are you at listening?”

  “Pretty good.”

  “Does it come with coffee?”

  “It can,” she said, seemingly grateful for the task. Colin watched as she made coffee, left the pot to its orchestrations, and returned to the table.

  “I'm listening,” Caren said.

  Colin offered another weak smile, and turned to look out the window. He didn't speak, and Caren sat quietly, waiting.

  “I don't think I got it before, Caren,” he finally said.

  “Got what?”

  “The dying part,” Colin said softly. “That's done,” he said, glancing over her shoulder at the coffee pot.

  “You want a cup?”

  “Desperately. I feel like I've been hit by a bus.”

  “I'll get it.”

  “You don't have to, Caren.”

  “Yes, I do. I'll get two. I feel like I was standing next to you when you got hit,” she said. Colin thought they looked like they'd been hit by a bus, but he didn't say so. When Caren returned with the coffee, he thanked her.

  “Thanks,” he said, speaking in a hushed tone. Mia slept a few feet away in the small den, and he didn't want to wake her.

  “You were saying?”

  “I never got it before this. I mean, that sounds strange, doesn't it? This is what I do. I'm surrounded by death. My patients don't get better, Caren. I mean, some live a long time, but eventually, most of them die.”

  “This was different, Colin. This was personal,” Caren said, and he nodded.

  “This changed me, Caren. I'm a different person now.”

  “I can't imagine it wouldn't.”

  “I need to do something with this. I want to do it for Mia, and Rosario, and for other families who are experiencing this.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I don't know yet, but I will. I mean, this was awful, right?”

  “It was pretty bad,” Caren admitted.

  “It was. It is, but it's still better than dying in the hospital.”

  “I agree.”

  “What if there was a place where families could be together, outside of the hospital. A place where they could do this the way we did.”

  “I think that would be a wonderful thing.”

  “So do I.”


  “So, what are you thinking of doing?” she asked.

  “I don't really have a fucking clue yet,” he said, not realizing he'd used a forbidden word. He stared at his hands.

  “Colin!”

  “What?” he asked, looking confused.

  “We don't talk like that here.”

  “Did I say something bad?” he asked.

  “You said, and I quote, 'I don't really have a fucking clue yet.”

  “Oops.” he said.

  “Yeah, oops,” she replied.

  “She's sleeping,” he said, glancing toward the den.

  “So?”

  “So, even when she's sleeping?” he asked, sounding like an indignant child.

  “Yes, Colin. No swearing, even when she's sleeping.”

  “I'll work on that.”

  ***

  Caitlin Goodrich sat on the front porch with her laptop open in front of her. She had been writing since dawn, the words coming easily. She had read another journal, and as she did, the story formed in her mind. She knew it was something she had to write, something worthwhile, something from the heart. She knew if one person was moved by her story, if one person saw their own life with less regret because they read her words, then her book would be a success.

  The morning was still, interrupted only by the gentle tap of her fingers on the keypad. She watched as the words formed in front of her, so engrossed she never heard her mother approach.

  “I saw Maria in town. She was buying a dress,” Rita said, as Caitlin continued to type. “Cate? Did you hear a word I said?”

  “What?” Caitlin said, keeping her eyes on the laptop.

  Rita rolled her eyes, and repeated herself, and Caitlin smiled.

  “Sorry, Mom.”

  “What are you writing, Cate?” Rita asked.

  “I started a new story. Ella's story.”

  “Oh?” Rita said. “Do you want me to leave you alone?”

  “No. Would you like to see what I have so far?”

  “Is that all right?” Rita asked.

  “Yes,” Caitlin said, setting the laptop on the table beside her.

  Rita sat by her side, and Caitlin watched as her mother read the words she had spent hours writing.

  “Oh, Caitlin. That's so beautiful,” Rita said when she had finished.

  “Thank you,” Caitlin whispered.

  “You're so much like her, Cate. You really are. She was so proud of you.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you, Caitlin?”

  “Yes, Mom. I read more of her journals. It's amazing to see yourself through someone else's eyes. She saw me in a way I never saw myself. I know how much she loved me. I read it in her words. She was never sorry. I hope you know that, Mom. She knew in her heart she had made the right decision, and I want you to know how much I respect you for never shutting her out of my life.”

  “Thank you,” Rita said, as her eyes grew moist. “I still wish I had told you a long time ago.”

  “I wish you had, too. But, I've learned so much from all of this that I can't help but wonder if it's come at the right time,” Caitlin said, and Rita smiled weakly.

  “You're only saying that to make me feel better.”

  “No, Mom. I'm telling you the truth.”

  “Thank you, Cate. No more lies.”

  “No more lies.”

  “I love it here when it's quiet like this. This will be a good place for you to write,” Rita said, sitting on the railing and looking out at the clear day.

  Caitlin gently closed the laptop, and set it beside the journals near her feet. “So, you were saying something about Maria,” Caitlin said, standing and stretching.

  “Yes, she's worried about you.”

  “I'm doing better, Mom.”

  “I know that, and so does she. She wanted me to give you a message......., well, more like a warning.”

  “A warning?”

  “Yes. She told me the next time you take off those ratty maternity pants, she's going to burn them.”

  “They're comfortable.”

  “They're horrid, Caitlin, and coming from me, that's not good.”

  “Wow. You definitely have a point,” Caitlin said, glancing at Rita who was dressed in an old sweater that was several sizes too large, and corduroy pants frayed at the hem.

  “Are you wearing them to the funeral, Caitlin?”

  “Oh my God!”

  “Do you have anything else?”

  “No. I didn't even think about it. I don't think anything else would fit me yet.”

  “I'll watch the twins. Go meet Maria in the village. You can take my car.”

  “Where is she? Should I call her?”

  “No. She's at the diner with Nathan. There's a shopping mall fifteen minutes from here. I plugged the address into the PGS. It will take you right there, but you need to listen to it.”

  “I'll listen, and it's a GPS, Mom.”

  “Oh. No wonder Maria looked at me like I had two heads.”

  ***

  By 2:00, Colin had made arrangements for Rosario's funeral. There would be no calling hours, just a brief viewing at the funeral parlor Friday morning, and a small service at a cemetery a few miles away. She already had her burial plot, next to her husband's, and there was a small stone, that in its present state, suggested Rosario Mariposa was still alive. When he was certain Mia was settled, he'd left, made the arrangements as quickly as possible, and returned home. He found Mia and Caren in the living room watching the movie, “Finding Nemo.” Mia looked at him and smiled.

  “These fish talk, Papa,” she said, and Colin was amazed at how well she was doing.

  “I see that.”

  “Caren likes this movie. She said Ellen Generous is her favorite lady on television. Caren says she's super cool.”

  “She seems pretty cool, Mia.”

  Colin crossed the room to sit beside Mia. Immediately she was in his lap. “Are you okay, Papa?” she asked, and Colin smiled at Caren.

  “Yes, Mia. I'm doing pretty good. I'm pretty worried about you, though. Are you okay?”

  “I'm sad, but Mama told me not to be sad. She told me she would be with my real Papa, and they'd see me again someday. I was most sad that she was so sick. She's not sick anymore, is she?”

  “No, Mia. She's okay now.”

  “And I'm going to live here with you and Caren and Faith?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mama's in heaven, right?”

  “Yup, pumpkin. She's in heaven.”

  “Is heaven nice?”

  “I think it's probably pretty nice there.”

  “Do you think fish talk there?” Mia asked, genuinely interested.

  “I think in heaven, just about anything is possible,” Colin said.

  Fifty-two

  By 3:30, Caitlin and Maria had returned. Rita met them at the door.

  “Did you find something?” Rita asked, as Maria came in the door laden with bags.

  “We did very well. She's outfitted for tonight, tomorrow, and has several choices for that important date with Colin,” Maria said, looking smug. “Now you on the other hand, Rita........”

  “Don't start, Maria,” Rita said playfully.

  “I didn't call him,” Caitlin said with a groan.

  “What?” Maria said.

  “I didn't call him,” Caitlin repeated.

  “So call him,” Maria urged.

  “Mom, can I have some wine? Just a little? I'm scared to call him.”

  “Yes, just relax. I'll pour you some.”

  “Thanks. I'm gonna take this stuff upstairs, kiss my babies, and then I'll call him. What time do we need to go?” Caitlin asked in a soft voice that conveyed her sudden sadness.

  “The funeral director is giving the family thirty minutes alone with Ella,” Rita said, and Caitlin watched as her expression changed. Rita's eyes filled with tears, but she brushed them away. “We should leave at 5:15.”

  “God, this sucks,” Caitlin whispere
d.

  “It does. We'll just get through it, honey,” Rita said, and Caitlin nodded.

  Caitlin went upstairs with her bags in tow. The babies slept in their Sleep-Away beds, and Caitlin leaned down to kiss them one at a time.

  “I love you, precious angels,” she whispered, still amazed at how much she did. “We have to go someplace sad in a little while,” Caitlin said, feeling the familiar pain of heartbreak. “I know you don't understand, but some day you will. Some day you'll read Mommy's book, and you'll understand your grandma, and you'll know how much she loved your mommy, and how much she would have loved you.”

  Caitlin was amazed to feel tears sliding down her cheeks. For nearly a day, she had separated herself from the pain, and had thought of life, and pushed ideas of death aside. The next day would be difficult, and it would be impossible not to think of death, while gathered together to say goodbye to the woman they had all loved.

  “Mommy is gonna go call Daddy now. I'll be back and we'll get ready to go,” Caitlin whispered. She touched Hannah's tiny cheek, then Rogan's, and neither baby stirred.

  Rita and Maria were chatting at the kitchen table when Caitlin returned a moment later.

  “Your wine is on the counter. Make sure you brush your teeth before we go, Cate. I don't want us going in there smelling like drunks,” Rita said, and Caitlin noticed they each had a glass of wine.

  “We're going to end up in a church basement telling our life stories to perfect strangers if we're not careful,” Caitlin said, as she brought the wine glass to her lips.

  “It's just for now,” Rita said.

  “Wine, beer, margaritas, what's next? Liquor bottles hidden in little paper bags?” Caitlin asked.

  “I like churches. The architecture is always so lovely,” Maria said.

  “You're not helping,” Caitlin said.

  “And you're procrastinating. Go call him,” Maria demanded, and Caitlin sighed.