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~*~
THE YOUNG MAN LEANING on the counter at the Bistro Americain eyes me closely. “You related to Rosemary?” he asks. His manager comes out, shooing him back to the kitchen. “Could I help you, Ma’am?”
“Yes. I’m looking for Rosemary Hogan. She does work here, right? There’s a family issue—”
The manager interrupts. “I’m afraid I can’t share that information, Ma’am.”
I smile, making so much eye contact I get uncomfortable. “Would you be able to give me her phone number, then?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
I try a different approach. “I’m her mother.”
“No, ma’am. I’ve met her mother—she looks a lot different than you, and she has an Irish accent.”
“I’m her birth-mother. I don’t have long to live, and I need to discuss my will with her.” I lean heavily on the counter.
His gaze softens. “Ma’am, I promised her I wouldn’t tell anyone. Rosemary’s my best waitress; everyone loves her.”
I smile. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from my daughter. But I just have to see her before my time comes.”
I’m laying it on pretty thick, but hopefully he’ll fall for it. He hesitates.
“Why don’t you give me your number, Ma’am, and I’ll have her call you.”
I don’t even have a cell phone. To keep up my façade, I reel off numbers I memorized long ago and he writes them down.
I walk out, knowing all hope is lost. It’s anyone’s guess when Rosemary will come back to work. She could be anywhere in the country, for all I know.
Another Christmas Eve alone. But this New Year’s Eve will be more than a celebration—it’ll be a victory.
~*~
CHRISTMAS EVE, AND not a speck of snow on the ground. Seems unnatural. Still, it gives me an excuse to walk in the woods and calm myself down before the soirée at the law office tonight. Red velvet cupcakes need to be whipped up soon, but I’m stalling.
Last party, I casually mentioned Thomas’ UVA law degree several times, because I felt the paralegal was disrespecting him. I also rambled on and on about his GPA and his position as editor for the law journal. Thomas took me aside and kindly told me to stop making him look like the King of the Office.
Thomas bought a new dress for me, which is helpful because I haven’t had time to dry-clean the red dress Rosemary wrecked with her mud splats. I love the navy satin sheath—its tight layers fit me well, without clinging. It hugs my newly-budding tummy perfectly. Thomas has good taste. Every time I tell him, he says, “Well, I married you, didn’t I?”
My bomber jacket’s a little heavy for the weather, but the Glock’s ready to roll, snug in its familiar pocket. I walk in a wide circle around the oak tree, noting the twisted net and the size of the rocks lying beneath it. Not huge, but not pebbles. I visualize Petey, the rock falling on his red head...Petey, the little brother I’ve always wanted.
My steps are sure and quiet as I blend into the woods. I hope I don’t run into Rose or Rosemary out here. I’m sick of trespassers who don’t care who they hurt. I understand that Rosemary was trying to find out more about her mother. Likewise, Rose was trying to find out more about her daughter—maybe. Or maybe she’s always been jealous of Miranda, and she’s come back to put an end to her happiness. She’s certainly succeeded in putting an end to mine.
I want to delve into baby books. I want to pick out a name and decorate a nursery. I want to be one of those crunchy moms, who blend their own baby food and use cloth diapers and sew organic cotton baby clothes. Learning to sew is a minor obstacle, one easily rectified with a few lessons from Nikki Jo.
Red-tailed hawk families dip and soar above me as I sit on my rock pew. God seems so real and close here. Has He been watching over me this whole time? I can almost hear Axel saying, “Do not fear. All will be well,” smiling with my gun aimed at his chest. Had God sent him to tell me those words I so desperately needed to hear?
Why doesn’t God send Thomas to comfort me more often? He’s on the outskirts of my life. We’re always butting heads about important things. Maybe we’re still growing into our marriage. But we have a baby on the way—a baby girl, if Claire Hogan’s right.
Did Paul hit Rose? I still need to know if that’s true. If he did, I could better understand Rose’s retreat into her home, her tendency to throw herself at men who comforted her, and her suicide hoax to protect her baby from her husband. Maybe it doesn’t justify those things, but it explains them.
It still comes back to those three who knew Rose best: the Doctor, Paul, and Miranda. One or all of them knows why she’s back in West Virginia.
I push my hands onto the damp, cool stone. Both Bartholomew and Miranda pointed out my similarities to Rose. We both have no siblings. She was pregnant and I’m pregnant now, and supposedly I’m beautiful like she was. What good does that do us? The only thing that matters in the end is the love of family, our husbands, and our children. Rose was denied all three. Her parents died. Her husband might have beaten her. She never saw her child grow up.
I picture her—slim pants, Mona-Lisa smile, protective hand over her stomach. She wanted a child—a family. But when she became pregnant, she knew she’d have to give up the one thing she wanted most. I lay a hand on my stomach, and the baby moves in response. Tears flood my eyes and I cry alone: for Rose, for every child that doesn’t know its mother, for children whose mothers don’t know how to be mothers.
I dig in my pockets and find a used tissue. Wow, I guess there is such a thing as pregnancy hormones, because mine feel out of control.
Brushing off my cold jeans, I stand and whisper goodbye to the hawks—or maybe to God, I’m not sure which. Time to pull this old gal together and get all duded up for the party.
Two trays of red velvet cupcakes later, Thomas comes to pick me up. He has a platter of Christmas cookies from the grocery store to complete our admission requirements.
I meet him at the door, turning in a slow circle for him. He whistles. “Maybe I shouldn’t have bought that dress. You’ll undoubtedly get plenty of unwanted attention.”
“Thanks, hon. And this year, I’ll attempt to malign you, instead of singing your praises.”
He laughs, giving me a full kiss and escorting me to his car. Andrew shouts from Nikki Jo’s back yard, where he sits under the twinkling lights with Helga. “You’d better open that door for your date, bro! Otherwise she might just go home with someone else!”
“Shut it, Andrew!” To me, Thomas mutters, “If he could keep a girl longer than two weeks, he’d know better than to spout that nonsense.”
“Shh! He’ll hear you!” I swat his rear before sliding into my seat. “And close my door, Date!”
We travel in companionable silence down the twisting roads. I keep the air vents turned on, though my arms are freezing. I get carsick if I’m not driving, and the last thing I need is to ruin yet another dress.
Thomas asks, a little too casually, “By the way, my cop friend was asking if you’ve seen that blue car again?”
Oh mercy. “The time has come, and the time is now,” as Dr. Seuss says.
I try to keep my voice calm. “Turns out, I found out who was driving that car.”
“Mm-hm? And who was it?”
“Well, it’s a crazy thing—you’ll never believe it. You remember Rose Campbell?”
“The young beauty who committed suicide? Her husband’s marrying Miranda at New Year’s? Yes.”
I grip my cupcakes. “Turns out, she’s alive. It’s her car.”
He turns, light brown lashes framing his snapping brown eyes. “When were you going to tell me? And what else are you keeping from me?”
I decide to come clean. “She has a gun. She pulled it on the woman who adopted her daughter.”
“A gun! And her daughter? I thought she killed herself because she couldn’t have kids? But wait—she didn’t kill herself anyway...I’m lost on this.”
“Me, too.”
“Did she have something to do with Petey getting hit in the head?”
If I say yes, Thomas might tell Andrew and they’ll do something stupid, landing themselves in prison at Christmas. Probably right next to my mom.
I try to be honest. “I don’t know for sure.”
My phone rings in my purse. Charlotte starts talking before I say hello.
“It’s me. I told Mom why I’ve got to stay with her awhile. She’s in shock that Rose is alive. They just gave her some medicine for her heart palpitations. Is there any way you could stop in?”
“I have Thomas with me, but there’s nothing I’d like better than to hightail it out of the office party early.”
“Just bring Thomas along, if he knows what’s going on. Mom would love to see him...and she really wants to talk with you.”
“No problem. I’ll be there.”
And that’s the bottom line—I’ll always be there for Miranda, because she was there for me.