Winner

by Belle Brooks

  Who is she talking to?

  Slowly, she rises. Her palms are cupped and she moves carefully toward a tree just off the path.

  “Rose.”

  “Fin. Good. Can you help me? There’s a nest in that tree and this bird has fallen out, I think.”

  I walk to her side. A small bird is nestled in her hands. “I’m not sure I can reach.”

  “Okay.” I savour the moment.

  Rose stands on tiptoe and falls short by a few centimetres. “Dammit. You’re going to have to do it.” Her tone is laced with disappointment.

  “No. You can. Hold tight.” Placing my hands to her sides, I stand behind Rose and lift her the remaining distance.

  “Home sweet home,” she says. “Okay, mission complete. The bird is in the nest. You can put me down now.” When her feet are back on the ground she turns to face me. The corners of her lips curl upwards and she says, “Another rescue done for me.”

  The waterfall is fast-flowing—it’s also higher than I thought it would be. The water is crystal clear and enticing. I’m hot enough for a swim, so I remove my sneakers and begin unbuttoning my jeans.

  “What are you doing?” Rose seems surprised, both in tone and expression.

  “Swim.” I offer no more than this, and after I drop my jeans revealing my grey boxer shorts, I slip off my T-shirt and take the small incline to the water’s edge.

  “Finlay.”

  “Fin,” I correct her.

  “Fin. You can’t just leave me up here on my own.”

  “Well, swim with me.”

  The water is a tad chilly around my ankles, but I don’t stop my entrance. In fact, after such a long walk, it’s welcoming and refreshing.

  “I don’t have bathers.”

  “You’re wearing underwear, I’m sure, Rose.” I call back to her.

  “I’m not swimming in my underwear.”

  “A farm girl would.” I laugh, keeping my back as her view.

  She doesn’t take the bait immediately. So I swim out into the large creek and float on my back, squinting due to the strong sunrays.

  I don’t know when Rose enters the creek—all I know is she does because I’m pulled down from my outstretched position to an upright one where I’m suddenly treading water for the both of us.

  “Oh, you decided to join me after all.”

  “I had no choice, did I?”

  “Of course you did. We all have a choice in everything we do and see.”

  Beams of light dance around Rose’s head, and she glows as if wearing a halo. I’m even more drawn to her.

  “Is it just me, or is it really cold in here?” Her teeth chatter together.

  “Give it a little longer and you’ll adapt.”

  “Okay.” A ring of blue appears around her lips.

  “Do you think you might start treading water for yourself? I’m not a motorboat, you know.”

  I’m not prepared for her hand to move from my shoulder to behind my neck. Her other arm outstretches and finds the same place to rest.

  “I guess not,” I say as her eyes claim mine.

  “Fin ...”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m really cold.”

  I throw my head back and laugh. “Fancy a race, then?”

  “Not really.” She tuts.

  “Yeah, see ya.” Tucking my arms under her legs, I hold her like a baby before flinging her body toward the shore to give her a head start. She squeals loudly until my head enters the water, muffling the sound.

  Swimming towards the shoreline, I don’t look back when I pass her at first, but when I do, I can see Rose making chase with some pace. She’s competitive. There’s hope for her yet.

  I’m first to climb out, and the chill of the air against my wet body causes me to shiver. I run to the swag and retrieve both towels I packed before we left. I’d hoped we’d end up in our underwear when reaching the falls. I guess my plan worked. Wrapping one towel around my shoulders, I head back to the water’s edge where Rose is wading. I grin as I swing the towel for her from my fingertip. “Here.”

  “Turn around.”

  “No.”

  “Fin.”

  “How about I hold out the towel so you can walk into it. I won’t look, I promise.”

  “O … kkk ... aay.”

  Damn, she is freezing.

  “You have to say ‘please, Fin’, first.”

  “Noo … ooo ….”

  “Well, freeze.” I love teasing her.

  “Pleee … ase, Fff … in.”

  I laugh, stretching the towel wide.

  “Doo … n’t drrr … ooop … it.”

  “I won’t. Do you trust me?”

  She nods. Her chattering teeth move more rapidly as she steps onto the shore.

  I don’t look or drop the towel. The first step is to get Rose to trust that I’m not a horrible person. I wrap the towel around her and pull her against my chest, holding her tight. “Here, I’ll warm you up.”

  She lays her head against my chest and as she shivers I almost feel bad for making her stay in there longer than needed. Almost.

  Once her muscles relax and her body stops shaking, I let go of Rose. With our backs turned to each other, we redress before I spread out the blanket and we sit down, with the rays of the sun beating down on us, facing each other.

  The late afternoon air is crisp, yet Rose doesn’t shelter her arms in the usual pose one would when kissed by a chill. Instead, she leans back on her elbows and points her toes outwards at the exact moment her eyelids seal. The glow of the impending sunset highlights freckles scattered over the bridge of her nose—freckles I had no idea existed until today. I wonder why Rose bothers to paint her face with so much makeup. She doesn’t need a single brush stroke—her natural look is more beautiful. The swim did more than refresh us—it unveiled Rose’s true identity… well, her real identity without her makeup running from tears or soot covering her face.

  Swigging a heavy gulp from the long-neck of a brew I had in the cooler, I continue my study of Rose. The peaceful expression she currently wears, the subtle tip of her head sideways. With a sudden flick of her lashes, I’m met once more by the colour of brilliant green staring me down. Forever-changing eye colour.

  “Why do you look at me like that?”

  I part the bottle from my lips. “Like what?” I rest the beer against my leg.

  “Like you do.” The moment she rolls her eyes, I slip my finger into the opening of the stubbie held loosely in my hand. I’m surprised by Rose’s sudden arching of her back that presses her breasts forward.

  “Well?” she breathes.

  “Well what?” I respond, even though I know what answer she seeks.

  “Why do you look at me like you do?”

  Clearing my throat, I answer, “Because I like looking at beautiful things.” Watching her try to rein in a smile has me chuckling.

  “Are you laughing at me now, Fin?”

  “Nope.” Slipping my finger out of the bottle, I press it to my lips and swallow a hard gulp of beer.

  Rose’s eyes narrow, and I wonder if she even realises that when she’s confused her eyebrows curl in a way that appears as if two caterpillars are making their way toward each other.

  “Fin.”

  “You’re beautiful, Rose. Full stop.”

  “Hardly,” she scoffs. “I’m not even made up anymore.”

  I chuckle once more.

  “You’re laughing at me.”

  “No. I’m laughing at the fact you believe makeup represents beauty. I think you should lay off those women’s magazines—they’ll kill your brain cells.”

  Shaking her head, Rose finds her way to her bare feet. “I didn’t know you were so up to date with women’s beauty products.”

  “I’ve been known to dabble with a little product every now and then. I’ll have you know I’m pretty damn beautiful.”

  And with that, Rose’s laughter explodes through her unstained lips.

  C
hapter Twenty-One

  Rose

  Her name is Lesley, and she was perched on the front stoop of Finlay’s home when we arrived a bit before 6:00 p.m. Who is she? And why was Finlay excited to see her in the way he was? I saw the way his eyes lit up and his toothy smile beamed for all to see. Maybe an ex-girlfriend returned.

  As my mother fastens the clasp of the forty-thousand-dollar diamond necklace she’s loaned me around my neck, I can’t seem to shake thoughts of who this Lesley might be. Maybe I should have stayed a bit longer to find out.

  Turned by my mother’s hand, I take comfort in the brush of her long, manicured nails down my cheek. “You look stunning, Roselette.”

  “Thank you, Mumma.”

  “Sweetheart, you need to concentrate tonight, okay?”

  “I will.”

  “I know things are a little off-balance between you and Slade, but Daddy is really hoping you’ll be kindly to the Banters this evening. You don’t need me to tell you how important they are in this community and how important they are for us in our current predicament.”

  “I know,” I whisper.

  Her lips skim my forehead. “Good girl.”

  “Mumma?”

  “Yes.”

  I pause. I know what I want to ask, but I’m not sure my mother will want to discuss it, so I don’t. “Nothing.”

  “Turn around and let me have a good look at you.”

  I do.

  “There is nobody more beautiful than you, Roselette.”

  “Mumma—”

  “There’s not. You’re special. I knew it long before we came to be here.”

  I’m disappointed by my mother’s declaration, mainly because I’m not an only child like Slade, and my mother has two other daughters. Parents shouldn’t play favourites, even though mine quite clearly do.

  “Is Slade collecting you or are you meeting him at the venue?”

  “He’s collecting me.”

  “Well, it’s almost time. You better come downstairs.”

  “In a moment, Mumma.”

  Staring out the wide window in my bedroom, I search the pointed tips of the high fence separating our property from Finlay’s, and I can’t help being drawn into thoughts of the afternoon we shared together. It was enjoyable, soothing, and liberating. I wish every day was like it.

  Removing a diamond pin from my dresser, I slide its metal prongs into the side of the up-do Franklin, our hairstylist, set into place upon my arrival home. He was crossed by the fact my hair was damp and knotted. I told him I’d been doing laps in the pool, even though it was untruthful.

  Shifting a few steps, I lift the lid of the mahogany blanket box placed at the end of the bed where I hid the inappropriate clothing and shoes from today. My family do not need to find these items—what would they think? This isn’t clothing me or my sisters wear. It’s always dresses and skirts. Well, unless we are doing yoga or things of that nature. It dawns on me the clothing I wore over to Finlay’s is still where I discarded it, in his games room. Crap.

  Slipping my phone out from inside the emerald-encrusted clutch on my comforter, I expose the Messenger screen and send a text to Finlay.

  Me – Finlay, it’s Roselette. I’ve left my clothes at your house. Please don’t bring them over. I’ll collect them from you.

  He replies immediately.

  Finlay – Rose, I know this is your number. You don’t have to tell me who you are when messaging. I won’t bring them over. I wasn’t even aware they were here. Come around anytime.

  Me – Thank you.

  Finlay – If you like, you could come over now.

  Me – I can’t, I have an event to attend. I’ll get them when I can.

  Finlay – Come over after you get back. We’ll be drinking for a while.

  Me – Drinking?

  Finlay – It’s not a party.

  Me – Okay. I’ll try and come over when I get home.

  Finlay – Or we could go for another hike tomorrow and I’ll give them to you then.

  Sitting on the edge of my bed with extra caution so as not to crease the satin of the dress Slade insisted I wear, I take a moment to think about what Finlay is proposing. I can’t, can I?

  Me – I would enjoy another trip to the waterfall. Would 3 p.m. suit?

  I reply without even realising I was doing such a thing.

  Finlay – What about a morning walk, say around 8 a.m.?

  Me – Okay.

  Finlay – Good. I’ll see you then.

  Me – Thank you. Have a good night.

  Finlay – I am.

  Lesley.

  “Roselette, Mumma wants you to come down, please.” Maranda stands in my doorway with an emery board to her fingernails.

  “Thank you. I’m coming now.”

  “You look good.” She smiles.

  “Thank you, Maranda.”

  Slade stands in the living area when I make the top of the staircase. He’s in his usual fitted black suit—the only difference to his everyday attire is the emerald green tie he’s wearing. Slade always co-ordinates our outfits for important events.

  “You are a beauty, Roselette,” he whispers in my ear when he wraps his arms around my waist.

  The aroma of heavy cologne and expensive bath wash wafts from Slade’s skin. This is how he always smells, and the combination once made me swoon. Not now.

  “Son, take care of my bubula, and have a lovely evening. I need to stay in tonight. I have other business to take care of. Please give my apologises for me, will you?”

  Slade nods.

  Dad is smiling like the cat who robbed the cream from another. I hate him for this. I hate him for making me feel responsible for our family’s future.

  My father kisses me on the cheek, and then I’m led through the door by Slade’s hand gripping mine.

  It’s going to be a long evening.

  The banquet room at the country club is almost filled to full capacity when we enter. I look at the many faces I’ve grown up with or have known throughout my childhood, yet I feel as if I’m compacted in a room with a bunch of complete strangers.

  “Roselette. You are exquisite.” George brushes his hand the length of my arm, and it takes every amount of strength I can conjure not to cringe in response. “Son.”

  Slade promptly accepts his father’s free hand in a handshake. “Where’s Mother?” He looks for her, and so do I.

  “Still in New York,” he frowns, taking a step back from me.

  “Still in New York. I see.” Slade’s tone is sharp and harsh.

  “Yes, Son. The ladies are working on some fundraising event. I shouldn’t indulge her extracurricular activities. Her place is in the home, but I felt she deserved this opportunity.”

  “Roselette, you will never part from me to organise these events.” Slade’s almost domineering in his deliverance.

  I smile. What else is there to do?

  “Hopefully you’ll have better luck keeping your wife under your thumb, where she belongs.” George laughs.

  I offer a forced giggle.

  My arm is hooked by Slade’s as he leads me through the ballroom like a prized show pony, masterfully decorated in ribbons. My jaw aches from the constant smile I keep stretched across my face, and as I slyly let my pose slip momentarily to bring a second of relief, I realise I’ve spoken barely more than three words over the last couple of hours. My duty is to listen, not to indulge in speech. My duty is to be admired and tight-lipped—very rarely should I be heard. My duty is to support all ventures of my future husband. My life is dedicated to him. When did I let this become my life? And why did Slade change so much after I accepted his proposal to be his wife? He wasn’t always like this. When did things change?

  “Can I please be excused? I need to use the ladies’ room.”

  “Of course.” Slade skims his lips to my cheek before I slip away, ensuring I disappear with as little fuss as possible.

  Standing with my hand perched over the faucet in the was
hrooms, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I don’t look like me.

  The attendant’s reflection now joins mine.

  “Leave me be.” I’m breathless.

  “Are you okay?” She’s so youthful—much too young to be manning these facilities.

  “Please. Just leave me be.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Closing my eyes, I will myself to return to the banquet room and to the side of my fiancé … I just can’t.

  There are gasps as I rush through the kitchen before slipping out the exit. I couldn’t risk being seen. It seemed the only way for my escape, and I hope nobody says a word that they saw me.

  Walking the long, lush grounds of the country club has me standing barefoot on one of the many well-manicured golf courses. It’s dark, apart from the small lights fixed into the turf. I want to go home—I need to get away from here.

  I’m crying when I put my phone to my ear. It rings for what seems like an eternity before the line connects.

  “Rose.”

  There’s so much background noise, it’s difficult to hear. I cry harder.

  “Shut up. I can’t hear.” There’s desperation in Finlay’s tone. “Hey. Why are you crying?”

  “Can I ask a favour of you?” I’m trying to calm myself for fear he won’t understand what I’m saying.

  “Yes.”

  “Would you be able to come collect me?”

  “Where are you?”

  “The country club,” I sob.

  “Okay. I’ll find a way.”

  “Fin, I’m on one of the golfing greens, but I’m not sure which one.”

  “Are you in danger?” His tone is filled with concern.

  “No.”

  “Stay where you are. I’ll find you.”

  “Okay, I will.”

  “What are you doing out here, Roselette?” Slade barks, causing me to jump.

  “I can’t talk,” I quickly rush, lowering the phone from my ear before cupping it in my palm and sliding it behind my back as I turn. “Getting some fresh air.” The way Slade glares when I walk in his direction has my heart bucking in my chest. His gaze is malevolent, piercing my soul like a slither of sharp ice. It scares me. “I was overheated—that’s all.”