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~*~
THE GHOSTS ENCOURAGE me to spend all day in the woods. I ramble around, pointlessly wishing for green signs of life. Brown and gray: the colors of December and my soul.
Hopelessness preys on me. I gave Rosemary her name because it means “Remembrance.” Claire was supposed to tell Rosemary that her birth mother would always remember her. Ungrateful hag probably did nothing of the sort. I imagine she took Rosemary to church, giving her the same stilted, proper Sunday school upbringing I had. What good had that done me?
Still, Cliff’s calm, golden demeanor convicts me. He was settled, peaceful. He wasn’t afraid to die. I feel young, but I don’t know how long I have left. I’m terrified the ghosts will rip me to shreds—they constantly threaten to do it.
There’s one last chance. I could talk with Tess Spencer. She would know where Rosemary is. And if she read my journal, she’ll be on my side. Maybe it’s time to come out in the open.
~*~
CHARLOTTE OPENS THE suite door on the first knock, looking effortlessly ravishing in her orange hoodie and crinkly long skirt. I don’t think she’s wearing a speck of makeup, but she still has smoky eyes. I think Thomas notices.
She hugs him. “Little Thomas, you grew up! Sorry we didn’t really talk at the hospital. Glad to hear Petey’s doing better.”
Thomas, now in his T-shirt and dress pants, smiles like a goofball. He only gets tongue-tied around pretty women.
“Well, come right on in,” Charlotte says. “Mom’s in her room. She can’t wait to see you.”
Miranda sits in her chair, wearing a silky, embroidered red robe. Her hair looks like it’s been recently set. She extends her thin arms to Thomas.
“Aw, how I’ve missed you, delightful boy!”
Thomas returns her hug, giving her a peck on the cheek. “How’s my favorite Sunday school teacher?”
“I have to admit, I’ve seen better days. I assume Tess has filled you in on Rose Campbell’s reappearance?”
He nods. Miranda turns to me. “You look lovely, Tess—what a perfect color for you!” She sighs. “I’ve been walking down memory lane, trying to understand everything. I guess Bartholomew helped Rose fake her death?”
“He did.”
Miranda pushes her glasses up. “But he had no idea she was pregnant?”
“None.”
“And Claire Hogan adopted Rose’s daughter?”
I lean on her bed, all my weariness catching up with me. “She did.”
Thomas excuses himself to get a drink of water, but I know he’s leaving us alone so the Grande Dame can be more candid.
Miranda spreads her hands on her lap, examining her light pink nails. “You must think I’m touched in the head, marrying Paul after reading that journal.”
“Miranda, I’d never think you were crazy.”
“Paul and I haven’t talked about this, but something was wrong with Rose. I don’t mean temporarily, either. From what I’ve heard, everyone made a big fuss over her from the time she was little. She expected to be worshiped. Then she hit reality smack-on when she got married. Now, I don’t believe Paul hit her, not once. But I’ll bet he disagreed with her. I don’t know why she became a recluse, but I don’t think it had anything to do with her marriage.”
“So you think the journal was a lie?”
She twists her wedding band. “I guess I do. Maybe I’m a bigger fool than I want to admit. Maybe I have no business marrying Paul. I don’t want to replace Russell—it’s impossible. But Paul keeps me company. I know he’s quiet around you girls, but he makes me laugh something fierce.”
The baby kicks. I walk over and take Miranda’s small hand, pressing it to the movement. A smile replaces all the darkness in her eyes. She’s restored to the carefree Miranda I’ve known and loved since the day I met her. “You’re carrying a little high. Know what it is yet?”
I shake my head.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you were wearing pink at your shower.” She winks.
A shower. Good gracious. I hadn’t even thought of having one. Miranda reads my look. “Usually your church gives you one. Better get your foot in the door soon.”
I love it when she jokes around. “I’m planning on going to the Spencers’ church again, don’t you fret.”
Charlotte comes in, carrying a mug of coffee for me and a cup of tea for Miranda. “Decaf for the both of you. Have I missed anything?”
“Nothing I haven’t told you already,” Miranda says. “You girls make a good team. Have you talked to Bartholomew—told him about his daughter?”
I shake my head. “No, not yet.”
She purses and blows steam off her tea. “You need to do that. It’s for the best. A father should know his daughter.”
I stiffen at her dismissive tone. “But he wanted Rose to abort her! Why would he care?”
“People change,” Miranda says.
“Sometimes they don’t.” I feel like I’m the devil’s advocate tonight. My dad never changed, nor did my mom.
She shoots me a knowing look. “You’re right. But if you can help them change and you don’t, it’s on you.”
Charlotte puts a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll talk to the Doctor, Mom.”
I nod, noticing the dark, starry sky out the window. It’s getting late.
“Love you, Miranda. You’re an angel to me, and worth your weight in gold.”
She smiles. “I’m afraid that’s not too much—they keep telling me to eat more or I’ll wither away.”
I motion Thomas back into the room for one last hug. Miranda pats his hand. “You keep that gal in line, you hear? She needs lots of attention to keep out of trouble.”
He laughs. “You know I’ll try.”
“You’re a good boy,” Miranda says. “You remind me of my Russell.”
Charlotte walks us to the door. “Thanks for stopping by. She’s just wiped out with this whole Rose thing. So...what’s our next step?”
“I guess it’s Christmas! I’ll think about it tomorrow. Your Mom’s right—we should tell the Doctor. Maybe he’d want to meet Rosemary.”
“I think he would. Okay, we’ll take a break, relax, and try to forget about Rose for now.”
Thomas takes my arm, walking me down the hall. As we pass the Rec room, a group of late-night television viewers turn to stare. I’m sure we’re quite the sight—Thomas in his T-shirt and me in my fancy dress.
The temperature outside has dropped. Thomas wraps his arm around me tightly. “Another memorable date night, I’d say.”
I grin. “Let’s just go home, lock the door, and eat some cupcakes.”