A White Rose

by Bekah Ferguson

  HIV.

  Had Mona known she was sleeping with someone who was infected? Or had the positive test results been a complete shock?

  How many times had she taken for granted her own negative test results?

  Dakota folded the test results into a square and stuffed it into her pocket. She needed to finish this task now so she could put this whole nightmare behind her.

  On the other side of the bed were more blankets and a rectangular cardboard box with “Rose Reilly” scrawled across the top. Pulse picking up a notch, she plunked it down atop the mattress and opened it up. She yanked off her gloves and pulled a pair of knitted pink booties from the box.

  Beneath that lay several infant articles—pajamas, a dress, a bonnet. She set these down with a twinge of nostalgia. Had she really worn these clothes at one time? Had she really been that small and fragile? Next was a photo album which she flipped through. It was mostly baby pictures, the first couple years, Christmases and the like. She paused at a photo of her parents sitting together on a seventies sofa decked with torn wrapping paper; a Christmas tree off to one side. They looked happy enough but Dakota knew otherwise—that was the Christmas before her parents split up. This was the only album in the box. Mona hadn't kept any photos beyond Dakota's tenth birthday. Perhaps they were in the possession of her father. Or maybe there'd never been any.

  A dried red rose lay in the bottom of the box.

  Dakota stared at the flower for which she was named for what seemed like a very long time. To think her parents had once been a couple… Why had her mother been so discontent that she couldn't stay faithful? She let out a sharp laugh. What a joke—Had she ever been content with any one man? Here she'd gone and fallen for Jason—a most wonderful man—but was unwilling to commit to him in case something better or more exciting came along. Like Alexandre… All the more reason to avoid Jason. She didn't want to end up like her own parents.

  And unlike her mother, she didn't need to marry a man as a means of financial support.

  Dakota stuffed the items back into the box, being careful not to squash the brittle rose, and carried the box out to her vehicle where she placed it in the trunk. It had grown much colder than when she'd first arrived several hours prior. She rubbed her bare hands together for warmth, shivering. Her breath came out like puffs of smoke and she stuffed her hands in her pockets, realized with a wave of frustration that there was no way she'd be able to carry a twenty-seven-inch television on her own.

  Dakota glanced about the blackened trailer park and wondered what to do; she needed this done and over with tonight.

  An idea came to mind. Jason lived in Shanty Bay and was less than a ten minute drive from the trailer park. A smile lifted her lips then—how pleasing to have an excuse to call Jason!

  She pulled her cell phone from her coat pocket and dialed his number, hoping he was home. He was. She spoke to him briefly, explaining her dilemma, and he agreed to drive out and help her with the TV.

  Dakota went back inside the trailer, retrieved the garbage bags and filled the backseat of her SUV. She then carried out the boxes she'd filled for the thrift shop and returned to the bedroom to do the final cleaning touches. She washed her hands in the kitchen sink and hurried to the bathroom mirror to straighten up her hair. Her amber roots were showing beneath the harsh track lighting over the mirror. How had she missed that? She made a mental note to dye her hair over the weekend and went to the living room to wait for Jason.

  He pulled in behind her Explorer a few minutes later. It was snowing now and a thin layer of white covered her vehicle and the lawn.

  “Hey,” he said, smiling, stepping out of his sedan. The trailer's outside light thrust the shadows from his figure as he walked toward her. His casual clothes, like hers, suggested he hadn't been expecting to see anyone that night. Noting the odd paint splatter on his jeans, she gathered he'd been painting.

  She smiled up at him, eying the slight curl of hair about the ears and over his forehead. How she longed to run her hands through that hair, kiss his cheek, his chin… She was aware of everything about him. His mild cologne and broad shoulders, his friendly smile.

  An unbidden memory washed over her—a moment of passion—hands tangled in someone else's hair…

  Alexandre's.

  Guilt yanked away her smile and she swallowed sharply, turning her face from Jason.

  “The TV's in the living room,” she explained, carefully controlling her voice. “It's just in here—” She climbed up into the trailer and Jason followed.

  “I'm surprised this thing fit through the door in the first place,” he said with a chuckle, gathering the TV into his strong arms. He set the TV down on the floor at the entrance, climbed out of the trailer and reached for it again. Dakota climbed down after him and followed him to the open trunk of the SUV.

  He set the heavy TV inside and put his hands on his hips, splaying his fingers. “Is that everything?” he asked with a smile, breath coming out in a faint cloud. “Is there anything else I can help with?”

  She summoned a cheery smile. She hadn't felt guilty about Alexandre yesterday when she'd gone to church with Jason, but perhaps their night together hadn't yet sunk in. Perhaps the guilt she felt now was merely the lack of sunlight allowing shadowy demons to creep in on her. She'd feel better again in the morning.

  “That's all!” she said. “Thanks a ton. Literally.”

  Jason grinned and she lost herself in his eyes.

  Blinking twice, she rubbed her arm in a self-conscious manner, something she never did. Since when did she feel nervous around men? “I appreciate your help,” she said, resting a hand on her vehicle and drawing it back when she remembered the snow. “Hope I didn't ruin your evening. Were you painting?”

  He nodded, a distant look in his eyes. He was staring at the trailer. No doubt thinking about Mona committing suicide there.

  What should she do now?

  There was no way Jason would invite her to his house at this time of night. She glanced at her watch. Ten o'clock. The only nearby coffee shop was down the highway. Should she ask if wanted to meet her there?

  “Well—” he dropped his hands from his hips, retrieving his car keys from a coat pocket. “I'd better get back to it.” He met her gaze then and she was struck by a look of tenderness. Did he feel sorry for her?

  He knit his brow. “Are you doing all right?” He flicked a glance at the trailer and she knew what he meant.

  “Of course,” she said brightly, smiling.

  He moved to his car and opened the driver's seat door, turning back to her. “I'm sorry about your mom.”

  Her eyes watered and she blinked back the tears. Not knowing what to say, she nodded and slipped her cold hands into her coat pockets. So much for asking him to go for a coffee.

  Jason took three slow strides toward her and pulled her into his arms, tucking her head into the warm crook of his shoulder.

  He drew away a moment later, smiling down at her gently; wet snowflakes melting in his hair and on his shoulders. “When you feel all alone,” he said, “cry out to God, and he'll draw near to you.”

  She blinked at him. She was blinking a lot tonight.

  “Jay—” She stopped herself. He knew she was an atheist; she didn't need to remind him every single time. “Sure,” she said. “Thanks.” A forced smile.

  He climbed into his car and started the engine, windshield wipers swishing away the collecting snowflakes. With a wave good-bye, he closed the door and backed out of the driveway.

  Chapter 26

  Saturday afternoon, Alexandre phoned. He was one of very few men who had ever achieved the privilege of knowing her number.

  “Hi, Alex… ” she said, fingering the talisman necklace resting between her collarbones and staring out the kitchen window at her bleak backyard.

  He was saying something but she missed it. “I'm sorry—” she interrupted, shaking her head, “I didn't catch that last part.”

  “I was asking
how you are,” he said.

  “Oh!” she said with a laugh, hoping it sounded light and happy. “I'm doing just wonderful, thank you.” Sudden interest brewed within, making her more alert. “Thanks again for a lovely evening last week, Alex,” she said casually; as though merely thanking him for a friendly dinner. Friendly indeed. She lowered her voice a notch, lips twitching in a smile. “I'm glad to have… made your acquaintance.”

  “And I as well, mademoiselle.”

  His voice was warm and sweet like honey; she relished the rev of his tongue when he slipped in a French word here and there. Oh, he knew he was charming; no doubt about that.

  If he was calling to propose another “lovely evening” together, she had every intention of taking him up on it.

  “And now—the reason I have called,” he said, pausing. “Have you made any plans for this evening, my darling?”

  Dakota turned away from the window and leaned up against the counter, still fingering the talisman. A smile tugged at her lips. So, it wasn't going to be a lonely night after all.

  “I may have,” she said with a deliberately amorous tone, “but plans can be broken. What did you have in mind?”

  “I would very much like to prepare for you a tasty meal”—he paused—“at my place.”

  She glanced down the hallway leading to her living room. Snow had fallen all night and into the morning. The room was alight from the reflecting snow outside the window, though the sky was overcast. The garden mural couldn't be seen from the kitchen; nevertheless, she thought of Jason.

  Intense longing surged within her and she swallowed back a gasp.

  If only it was Jason on the line, not Alex.

  Even if I wanted more than friendship, I couldn't have it, his words tripped through her mind. You wouldn't let me.

  “Dakota?”

  She clasped the stone-studded amulet in her hand and gripped it, feeling the tug of the chain against the back of her neck. “I would love to have dinner with you, Alex,” she said. “What time?”

  “Six o'clock?” A pause. “I look forward to seeing you again, Dakota.”

  “And you.” She thought of the unopened bottles of alcohol she'd brought home from Mona's trailer. “Can I bring some champagne?” Drinks took the edge off. Any awkwardness or irritating guilt sensations would be comfortably squelched.

  Again, Jason's words came to mind—There's a reason why many people have to drink themselves numb before hooking up with someone…

  “The cupboard is stocked, my dear,” Alexandre was saying. “And the empty glasses are waiting patiently.” There was a smile in his voice. “Everything is perfect already. The only thing missing is the beautiful Dakota Reilly.”

  The prickly warmth of pleasure and rebellion swirled within her and she pushed all thoughts of Jason away, cursing him under her breath.

  She said good-bye and disconnected, dialing Clarice's number.

  After arranging to visit the elderly woman the following afternoon, she did some housework, went shopping for groceries and returned home to get ready for an evening with Alexandre.

  He would wine and dine her and then… well, she knew the rest.

  She'd once heard that an addiction was defined as anything one consistently turns to as a means of escape. The saying had always stuck with her though she hated the implications. But the truth was hard to deny.

  She'd been using sex as a means of escape for over a decade.

  ***

  A thick layer of snow covered Clarice's driveway and rooftop when Dakota pulled in just after one o'clock, Sunday afternoon. The weekend-long snowfall had been a heavy dumping and the branches of the lawn's towering elm tree drooped low beneath the weight of fresh snow. Several icicles had formed along the white fretwork of the front porch and blue sky made a stark backdrop against the house.

  Deciding to pull out again and park her vehicle on the roadside, Dakota retrieved a shovel from her trunk and set to work at clearing Clarice's driveway. Clarice came out on the porch, wearing a flour-dusted apron. “Rose!” she called out in a wavering, grandmother tone. “There's no need for you to trouble yourself. I can call the neighbor's boy anytime!”

  Dakota stopped and leaned over the handle of the shovel, resting her chin on her gloved hands. “I'm happy to do it,” she said. “The exercise and fresh air are invigorating.” She let out a cloudy exhale and straightened, grinning. “I'll save ya the ten bucks!”

  Clarice shook her head and sighed with exaggeration. “Mighty Rose Reilly and her iron will. Who can tame her?” She turned back toward the open front door with careful steps. “Be sure to hurry inside when you're done”—she called out over her shoulder—“soup is ready and I've got biscuits in the oven.”

  She laughed and resumed her shoveling. Who can tame her? Silly old Clarice; so oblivious to modern womanhood. She'd likely always relied on men to shovel the snowy driveways of her life—to open doors for her, pull out chairs, carry her bags… Yet for an oppressed woman, she supposed Clarice was one of the lucky ones; she'd managed to marry a seemingly good man who'd left her with sufficient money to retire on. But at what cost? If Dakota was using men for sex then other women were using them for money.

  The sound of her shovel scraping against the pavement had a hypnotizing effect, drawing her deeper into thought. Did Clarice regret spending half her life with only one man; giving up the chance of freedom and independence for the mundane, subservient duties of housekeeping and child rearing?

  Do I really have one up on Clarice? She tossed a shovelful of snow onto the bank and drew in a deep breath of cold air. I make good money, love my career… date men casually without pressure to marry . . .

  She glanced up at the stark blue sky and sighed. Am I not the epitome of the modern woman, the envy of many?

  ***

  After an hour of sitting in the kitchen eating minestrone soup and buttered biscuits, Dakota carried a tray of tea things into the living room and set it down on the hardwood coffee table.

  Clarice entered the room behind her, placing her cane against a floral-print sofa and sitting down gingerly. She leaned forward and poured orange pekoe into a china cup, knobby hands showing a touch of tremor. After adding milk from a sterling silver creamer, she straightened her back and took a sip. Today she was wearing a crepe jacket and matching paisley skirt which hung down to her swollen knees. On her pantyhosed feet were a new pair of beige orthopedic shoes.

  Love swelled in Dakota's heart like an ache and she blinked, realizing she was staring. Oh, how she loved Clarice; the only true family she'd ever known. With an affectionate smile, Dakota looked away and set to preparing a cup of tea for herself.

  In the corner of the room was an upright piano of aging wood. It was a good fifty years old and well-worn. The keys however, were a gleaming ivory; diligently maintained. On impulse, she put down her cup of tea and went to the piano. She bent and pulled a music book from the shelving unit next to it and sat down. December was only a couple weeks away, so she decided to play some Christmas carols. Though her piano skills were minimal, she played enough each year to maintain them. Just like her initial gardening knowledge, Clarice had also taught Dakota piano theory during those endless latchkey days.

  With a smile at Clarice, she focused on the piano and played through three carols in a sort of daydream—the words so familiar she didn't need to read them to know what they were. Silent Night, Away in a Manger, What Child Is This—the Christian lyrics holding no more meaning for her than Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer or Here Comes Santa Claus. Clarice hummed along as she played.

  A little while later, she'd finished playing through the carol book and had tired of it. She pivoted on the piano bench and retrieved her cup of tea, now lukewarm. Clarice was busy pouring herself another cup. She glanced up and met Dakota's eye. “Speak your mind,” she said with a knowing smile. “You've been in never-never land all afternoon.”

  “I've been wondering about something,” she said, smoothing her palm
s over her knees.

  Clarice watched her with intelligent milky-blue eyes and an interested expression.

  “Were you—” Dakota hesitated. “Are you happy?”

  “Happy? Of all things. Why of course I'm happy!”

  Dakota pulled her teeth over her bottom lip and broke eye contact. The intended meaning of her question had sounded obscure. How could she ask politely what she really wanted to know?

  She crossed one leg over the other and decided to be frank. “What I mean is, do you ever regret being married all your life and just being a housewife?”

  Clarice let out a soft laugh and straightened her wedding and engagement ring, peering at them with what looked like both nostalgia and amusement. “So, the truth comes out.”

  “… What do you mean?”

  Another chuckle followed by a clear, honest gaze. “Oh, Rose, let's not pretend I'm naïve. I know I stand for everything you're against.” She crooked a smile and raised a hand to her heart. “The thought of me being, heaven forbid—happy—must drive you mad.”

  On the end table next to the sofa stood a sepia wedding photo of Clarice and her late husband, Marvin Beaumont. Dakota stared at it; as she had many times before as well. “But do you at least wish you could've tried something different? Like a career, or perhaps traveling and that sort of thing?”

  Clarice looked thoughtful. “Well, I certainly don't regret raising children. Such fun, they were! And my grandchildren are my pride and joy… All these people who are so precious to me wouldn't even exist without Marvin. My family was my career.” She smiled tenderly, a far-away look in her eyes. “As for Marvin, I've never had a closer friend. He was my companion and lover for most of my life and I would choose him any day over a Caribbean Island.”

  She pursed her lips and brushed away a tear from the corner of her eye. “Now all that's left of him are the inherited traits I see in my children from time to time,” she said. “The way my grandson's dark hair hangs over his forehead… my daughter's ambitious spirit and sky-blue eyes… ” Another smile. “But Marv's not lost forever, he's simply gone ahead. I will see him again soon.” She looked peaceful and serene now.