A White Rose

by Bekah Ferguson

  Like the queue of people she'd so recently served lunch to, her past lovers stretched out behind her like an equally long line—following her everywhere she went. Oh, what would Jason think of her now? Of course he knew her lifestyle but… but knowing versus seeing were two very different things. She pressed her fingertips into her closed eyes and leaned forward, willing herself to be calm. Heat continued to inflame her cheeks, prickling the tips of her ears. She sucked in her breath. And what about the marriage she'd once worked to break up? Or more recently, Michel the college boy, Brent the Jason-lookalike and Alexandre the Chef de Cuisine. . . . She didn't want Jason to know about any of these men! If only she could make them all vanish.

  But of course she couldn't. They remained in her past, her memories… impossible to erase. They were… part of her.

  Dakota opened her eyes wide to face a wall of shelves filled with Campbell's soup and the like; blinking to refocus her vision.

  It was rare for her to come across a past lover, but when she did it was easy enough to be nonchalant and look the other way. There was no need to be friendly or amiable; they didn't expect it of her and she didn't expect it of them.

  But now this…

  The pantry door creaked as it opened behind her. She whipped around to face Jason—heat flushing anew in her cheeks at the sight of him.

  “He's gone now,” he said softly. Fine lines creased the corners of his eyes and his expression was subdued.

  She searched his eyes but couldn't read them, clasping her sweaty hands together and making a steeple at her lips. “Jason, I—”

  “There's no need to explain,” he said in an undertone. “Really.” There was a note of dismissal in his voice, betraying his geniality, as he turned to leave the room.

  She had disappointed him yet again.

  “I knew him years ago—” she pleaded, following after him with a desperate need to white-wash the situation. “He has a drug problem and I—”

  Jason paused his step and she nearly bumped into him. He turned around and met her gaze with a subdued carriage. His shoulders were slumped. “Like I said, Dakota, no need to explain.”

  He walked away.

  She retrieved her coat and purse and left the Centre without saying good-bye to Jaelynn or anyone else. She couldn't bear the thought of looking Jason's mother in the eyes. Maybe no one but Jason understood why that young man had known her name and called her his “girlfriend,” but from what she'd gathered, Bonnie Sinclair was a savvy woman; she could easily enough put two-and-two together and probably already had.

  Once outside, Dakota climbed up into her SUV, started the engine and switched on the radio. “Run Run Rudolph” belted from the speakers, ramming into her turbulent thoughts. She switched off the music and exhaled loudly as she leaned back against the headrest of her seat and shut her eyes.

  A rap sounded on the glass window beside her and she jerked open her eyes.

  Chapter 35

  “Jay!” Dakota rolled down the automatic window and he bent down, resting his forearms on the open ledge.

  “Running away?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

  “N-no—” she stammered. “I mean… Yes.”

  She looked away.

  “Wanna let me in?” He walked around the front of the vehicle to the passenger side.

  She grabbed her mitts and purse, tucking them between the seats, and pressed the door lock. He opened the door and climbed in, meeting her eyes.

  “Embarrassed?”

  She groaned. “You could say that.”

  “Dakota—”

  “Please call me Rose,” she said with sudden decision.

  “Rose.” He smiled. “You're still my friend.” A look of sadness flickered in his eyes. “But we… we can't be anything more than that… . ” He sighed. “We'd just end up hurting each other.”

  She looked away and ran her fingertip along the curve of the steering wheel. “Ever?”

  A handful of seconds passed and she held her breath.

  “I can't give you false hope.”

  Heart deflating, she forced herself to meet his gaze—adoring his gold-brown eyes and wishing there was more in them than just unveiled compassion. What would it be like to have those handsome eyes look down on her with tender love and affection? She was never going to know.

  “Jason, I'm sorry I kissed you. I… regret it.”

  He smiled warmly, eyes crinkling. “No worries, Rose. We're golden. I mean it.”

  “For what it's worth—” She searched his face, longing to place her palm against his cheek; to show him how dear he was to her. “—last Saturday,” she went on, “after I left your place—I broke things off. With him.” She cleared her throat. Jason didn't even know about “him.” Alex. Who was she kidding anyway? In the time she'd known Jason, there'd also been Michel and Brent. Three men in six months. An all time high for her.

  He nodded, seeming to understand what she meant. After all, he'd asked if she was leaving his place to spend the night with someone else. He must've suspected.

  “Why?” He held her gaze steady.

  She furrowed her brow and blinked, pulse quickening. Wasn't it obvious?

  “Because—” Her mouth went dry and she swallowed painfully. Could she say it? Should she say it? Her heart was pounding now, fingers going cold and numb in her lap.

  She took a deep breath.

  It was now or never. “Because I love you… ” her voice trailed off in a whisper. She dared not look away but he broke eye contact.

  Jason rubbed the back of his neck, cleared his throat and reached for the door handle. “I've, uh, really gotta run—they're waiting for me inside—” Color crept up the back of his neck and into his cheeks. Seemingly flustered, he opened the door and stepped down to the ground.

  “Thanks for, uh, coming today,” he said, clearing his throat a second time. “I hope it wasn't all bad.” He smiled haphazardly, barely meeting her eyes. “If I… don't see you beforehand, have a Merry Christmas!” A gust of wind whipped through his sandy blond hair, filling the vehicle with an icy chill.

  With a look of angst—or was it embarrassment?—he crossed the street with long, quick strides toward the Salvation Army, and disappeared inside.

  She started the engine and pulled out of her parking space, heart pounding like a jackhammer. Had she really said that out loud?

  Never, not even to Ryan Hill, had she uttered the words, “I love you” to any man. She wasn't the sort to use that phrase to bed someone either; hating the insincerity of it and the demeaning of the word. As far as she was concerned, “I love you” had no business in the casual sex dating sphere.

  She meant what she said to Jason.

  With all her being.

  But if she hadn't scared him away before, she certainly had now.

  ***

  Over the following week, Dakota busied herself with filling wedding and Christmas party orders at the flower shop. With so much to be accomplished, there wasn't much time for conversation with Jaelynn, nothing beyond lighthearted chit-chat anyway. Which was just as well, as she didn't want the subject of Jason to come up in any shape or form.

  Wednesday evening, she met with Josie Clark, as she did biweekly now. It had become immensely comforting and helpful to be to working through her feelings surrounding her mother's suicide with a neutral party. Little by little, the jagged shards were smoothing themselves out. The pain was still there, of course, the shock and the anger; but she was learning how to deal with it now—how to work through it and understand it.

  ***

  It was a week before Christmas.

  The telephone rang as she sat in her living room staring at the book safe she'd just opened up on the coffee table, and thinking it might be Tiffany—who'd called several times that month—she hesitated to answer. But—after the third ring, she stood up and wandered to the kitchen. There was always the hope that it might be Jason.

  She snatched up the phone right before the answering mach
ine kicked in and gripped it to her ear as though timid. “Hello?”

  “Rose! How have you been?” came the grandmotherly voice over the phone line. “I've missed you this month.”

  “Oh, Clarice, hi, it's so nice to hear from you!” Dakota leaned against the kitchen counter, smiling. She hadn't visited Clarice in three full weeks; she had family staying with her for the holidays and Dakota preferred to stay away during that time. After all, they weren't her real family. “Is anything new?” she asked. “How are the great-grandkids?”

  “Oh, everyone is wonderful. They've asked about you, too. Which is one of the reasons I'm calling.” A pause. “Have you decided whether or not you'd like to come to Christmas Eve service with us?”

  Dakota ran her teeth over her bottom lip, considering. She'd forgotten all about that.

  “Su-re,” she said, with some hesitation. “I suppose I can. Might be interesting. What time is it again?”

  “Seven o'clock. Oh, Rose, I'm so glad!” She could almost hear Clarice's delighted smile over the phone line and knew she was beaming. “Now that that's settled,” the elderly woman went on, “you must join us for dinner as well. We're having an early meal at five.”

  “Oh, no-no—that's all right. I don't need to intrude.”

  “Intrude! Of all things. You know you're always welcome.”

  A sudden tear slipped from her eye and trailed down her cheek; it seemed she had no control over her emotions these days.

  “Rose?”

  “I'm here,” she whispered.

  “I think I've wronged you.”

  “That's just silly—of course you haven't.”

  “No, it's true. I took it for granted that you knew!… Rose, I've never outright told you that I love you, but I should have, long ago.” Her tone was level and frank, almost commanding in tone. “You're just as much a granddaughter to me as Leanne.”

  Now the tears burst forth like a broken dam. She couldn't stop them.

  “Why, Rose—are you crying?”

  She nodded and let out a blubbery laugh; realizing Clarice couldn't see the nod. “Thank you for telling me that,” she spoke softly. “It means the world to me. And I—love you, too, Clarice. Always have.”

  “I know you do… ” A slight cough. “It's settled then. We'll see you at five o'clock, Christmas Eve!”

  Dakota hung up the phone, smiling through her tears. And with newfound determination, she went to the living room and placed the book safe back on the shelf.

  No grass tonight.

  With lifted spirits, she prepared an herbal tea and a plate of sugar cookies and switched on the television. After flipping through the cable channels, she settled on National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation; needing a good laugh.

  ***

  Christmas Eve was cool and sunny; the sky a dusty blue until mid-afternoon when it faded to gray. A light snowfall began shortly after dusk.

  Dakota wore a silver silk wrap dress; and instead of her chakra talisman, a string of delicate faux pearls. With a curling iron, she filled her hair with celebrity curls; hoping the dim lighting of the church would mute her hair tones enough that no one would notice the amber roots. She still hadn't bothered to dye them. After applying makeup, she gathered her things at the front door, slipped on knee-high boots and her bell-sleeved black jacket, and went out to her vehicle.

  She shivered in the cold evening air, slender gloves barely keeping her fingertips warm as she placed a box of gifts in the back seat of the Explorer. She started the engine and flipped through the radio channels to the classical station. The gentle strains of a violin duet playing Silent Night filled the vehicle as she headed toward Shanty Bay—windshield wipers swishing away blotting snowflakes at regular intervals.

  Dakota was glad she wouldn't be spending Christmas Eve alone this year; she was a social creature, after all. There'd always been a party to attend or host, heavy drinking, merry-making, and festivities. She was used to sleeping away a hangover Christmas morning and then enduring an obligatory evening with her mother. Tomorrow still stretched long and empty ahead; but at least tonight she wasn't going to be alone.

  ***

  After a boisterous, laughter-filled turkey dinner with Clarice's family, Dakota bundled up with the lot of them and they walked the short street to the ancient community church on the corner; footsteps crunching in cadence on the icy roadway.

  The front doors of the church were open wide when they reached it. Lantern light streamed down the salted, stone steps as families trailed in, hugging their scarves up to their chins and chatting happily with one another. On the front lawn was a spotlit stable, built of rugged logs and filled with ceramic statues of Mary, Joseph and the wise men, as well as a shepherd and two lambs; each of them grouped around an infant in a hay-filled manger.

  The sight of the Christ-child reminded her of the legend of the Christmas Rose Jaelynn had mentioned several weeks ago. Turning her eyes from the oddly mesmerizing scene, she moved into the warm narthex behind Clarice's daughter, Anne, who held her mother's arm in the crook of her own. Her husband, Donny, was behind Dakota, holding his daughter and youngest son's hands. The older boy trudged next to Dakota with his mitted hands stuffed deep in his pockets.

  Dakota was plunk in the middle but for the first time in years, didn't feel like she was imposing. Clarice's family had never said or done anything to make her feel like an outsider; on the contrary, they'd been friendly and engaging, year after year. Nevertheless, she'd feared she would “cramp their style” by wearing out her welcome; like an uncool acquaintance trying to wedge into a clique.

  These fears had kept her reserved in their presence, often opting to avoid their gatherings altogether. But, if Clarice truly viewed her as family, and she believed she did, then she might as well make an effort to participate from now on. Truth be told, she was thrilled to belong to the Beaumont family. It was something she'd always secretly longed for.

  A surrogate family.

  Organ strains of well-known Christmas carols filled the small church as they milled in and squished together on a wooden pew. Most of the pews were already stuffed with people by this time; a pleasant din rising and falling with the music. The lights were low and rows of tapered candles on brass stands, backdropped by numerous poinsettias, decorated the front area of the church. The organ was off to the right and the pulpit to the left. A choir wearing red robes with white collars sat in two rows center stage.

  Dakota was not used to children, and having a twelve-year-old and a four-year-old sitting on either side was admittedly unnerving. She tucked in her elbows, uneasy with their fidgeting; those swinging legs and excited chatter. Such barely contained enthusiasm was contagious though, and after only a few minutes, she relaxed and began to feel excited for the children in their anticipation of Christmas morning. Her shoulders loosened and she leaned back against the wooden pew, allowing herself to enjoy the Christmas carols.

  The minister began the service with a brief prayer and the choir sang through several well-known songs. O' Little Town of Bethlehem, Away in a Manger, The Holly and the Ivy. After this, the choir sat down and a teenage girl sang a ballad in a quavery, timid voice, which was pretty nonetheless. The minister then shared the Christmas story, reading from the book of Luke: the birth of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, who was to be the Savior of the world. Dakota listened carefully, though she knew the story well enough.

  She glanced around the room without being conspicuous. How many of these people actually believed that Jesus was God in the flesh? Of course Clarice believed it, and her family. Jaelynn and Jason believed it too; they were likely sitting through a similar service at their own church tonight… The minister finished reading the Scripture passage then and welcomed the teenage girl to come forward again. The gangly girl gripped the microphone in both hands, her body rigid with nervousness though a smile curved sweetly at her lips as she sang.

  Occasional lines from the song broke through Dakota's wandering thoughts, catching
her attention here and there.

  “Mary did you know, that your baby boy, would give sight to a blind man? Mary did you know, that your baby boy, would calm a storm with his hand—” Candlelight flickered on the girl's face, angelic and mysterious. The microphone squealed, causing the girl to shift her weight from one foot to the other. “—Did you know, that your baby boy, has walked where angels trod?… And when you kiss your little baby, you've kissed the face of God… ”

  A shiver shot up her back, vision tunneling.

  You've kissed the face of God.

  She pictured Jesus as a baby, a toddler… a teenager… a man. She thought of the crucifixion and the resurrection—the resurrection which had never adequately been disproved… By anyone.

  Was he—does he live to this day?

  Is he really… God?

  “—The blind will see! the deaf will hear! the dead will live again!… Oh, Mary did you know, that your baby boy, is Lord of all creation?—”

  Hadn't science disproved the existence of a Creator God?

  “—This sleeping child you're holding, is the great—I—AM——.”

  Dakota shivered and clasped her hands together, lifting her chin. Goosebumps rose on her arms beneath the silk fabric of her dress.

  She blinked.

  The choir closed the service then with a triumphant Joy to the World, and the Beaumont's bundled up in their coats again, making the trek back to Clarice's home where a spread of homemade pumpkin, apple and cherry pies were awaiting.

  After a most pleasant dessert, the family engaged in a round of carol singing while Dakota played the piano. Come ten o'clock, the children hung their stockings and went to bed.