The Double Rose (4 page)

* * *

Sophie turned to her grandson. “How does it feel to be the only man surrounded by giggling women?” Her tone invoked affection despite projecting a spotlight. All eyes turned toward Jared as the females teasingly giggled. He replied with an awkward smirk.

Her maternal instincts assured Sophie that this trial would be the right irritant to give Marie the strength to overcome her obstacles.
It is time
. Sophie placed her arm over Marie’s dainty shoulders and said, “Darling, perhaps we should get to it.”

* * *

“Okay, but first things first.” Turning to Jared, Marie asked, “Will you be a dear and play for us?”

Jared smiled and appeared happy to escape the table of women. He briskly walked over to Marie’s Steinway comfortably nestled in the corner behind her concert grand harp. He stood beside the piano and faced his highly prejudiced audience.

“This evening I will perform my original composition, ‘How Beautiful.’” The ladies beamed as the young composer delighted them with his little masterpiece. His polite bow was followed by roaring applause.

The next three hours were spent laboriously choosing the paintings that were the most profound expressions of Marie’s experiences.

Sophie studied an oil painting of a large lemon-yellow flower, vaguely resembling a sunflower. “It is difficult to choose between the variety of richly colored futuristic cities, paradise-like gardens, sublime flowers, and meticulous portraits of Zoe.”

“Maman,” called Juliette. Sophie emerged from behind a gallery wall. At sixty-four, her elegance still glowed with youthful radiance, particularly in her peach-colored chiffon dress.

“The twins got their report cards today.” Everyone’s attention perked up. Emma and Ella were four years old.

The news of the twins’ report cards redirected the focus of the night. By eleven o’clock, only thirty pieces had unanimously been agreed on. Jared stood by his mother, fighting sleep in an attempt to appear grown-up while Emily slept under a princess blanket that Aunt Marie kept around for such occasions.

“It is time to call it quits,” declared Marie. “I appreciate your help, but my head is spinning. I think I need to sleep on a decision over the last ten pieces.”

Sophie nodded her head in agreement. “A wise decision, chérie.”

Geneviéve woke Emily and helped her walk to the car with some assistance from Juliette.

Marie and Sophie stood on the front porch and waved goodbye to their family. “You know, Maman, I think I may pay a visit to the Kansas City Events Center tomorrow and check it out. Maybe it will help me finalize this collection.”

“That is an excellent idea.” Sophie hugged Marie and then kissed her cheeks. “Listen to me, it is all going to be beautiful in the end.”

“How do you know that?”

“I have faith in God and you.”

Cha
pter 2

Chatter in the Night

Independence, Missouri

Friday, 15 June

Marie awoke at exactly 4:32 a.m. to the chattering of her roommates, Eliza and Anne, coming up the staircase.

Eliza was a die-hard romantic. She had read every book and watched every movie ending in a happily-ever-after wedding. After two years of dating and her repertoire of wonderful, sappy love stories from “Pride and Prejudice” to “From Prada to Nada,” Eliza hoped her boyfriend, Mike Weston, was getting the hint.

If anyone deserved a happily-ever-after, it would be Eliza. She and Anne never knew their father. After their mother had been sent to prison, they were placed in foster care. Eliza assumed the role of protector for her eighteen-month-old baby sister. Their last set of foster parents moved to California the summer Eliza turned twelve. The Fitzroys were delighted when they accepted the invitation to become part of their family.

Eliza and Anne had chosen a flight that landed at Kansas City International Airport at 3:17 a.m. As expected, her door flew open, and the serenity of her night was invaded by the two wide-awake travelers. The blissful darkness disappeared as the light switch was flipped.

“You’re not asleep, are you?” Anne artfully created the perfect blend of chuckle and taunting. Her arms crossed over her midsection as she leaned against a tall bureau. Long blonde waves of yesterday’s curls cascaded over her bare shoulders.

Marie was annoyed, but not too drowsy for a playful tit-for-tat. With a smirk, she glanced at her cell phone. “Why on earth would I be asleep at 4:36 a.m. like a normal person?”

“When did you become normal? You’re not still upset about missing the trip, are you?” Eliza placed her iPad on the nightstand. With a full-scale attack, she crawled under the duvét cover, sweat jacket and all. Marie was relieved when she felt cold toes instead of heels.

“No, of course not.” And in case sarcastic denial was not enough to rival Anne’s taunting tone, she added, “So, Eliza, you finally caught the bouquet. I'm guessing Mike reminded you—several dozen times—that it is a silly old, superstitious tradition.”

“Very funny.”

“I try,” retorted Marie as she sat up in bed. “Okay, I’m up.” As Marie’s eyes adjusted to the light, her vision focused on Anne, and she got a familiar feeling. “Hey, I was looking for that shirt.”

“Sorry. I had to grab something last minute, and you weren’t around. Looks fabulous on me though, don’t you think?” Anne spun in a circle and then walked over to the bed as if she were a Cover Girl model on a runway.

Looks like the little klepto visited the Fashion District while in the big city.

“Whatever. So, how was New York?”

Eliza and Anne had an odd way of talking over each other. Marie had acclimated to this peculiar sibling trait while they were in elementary school, which enabled her to extract a few coherent sentences from the over-flowing fountain of information that poured out of the sisters.

Anne kicked her flats under the bed and then began the avalanche of “Kristin’s Wedding Facts” as she climbed into the foot of the bed and wiggled between her sisters. “Bloomingdale’s was absolutely fabulous—as always!”

“The wedding was amazing!” Eliza removed the cover from her iPad and slid the screen to
Kristin’s Wedding Album
. Full-color photographs of the enchanted wedding paraded before Marie’s eyes.

“Kristin was radiant! Her gown had stunning red accents!” Yes, the photo verified that Kristin’s gown lived up to the hype rumored about it—as did the groom standing next to her. Marie’s last date–seventeen months earlier–popped into her thoughts. Second dates were not her thing. They might lead to a bona fide boyfriend, something Marie never risked.

Anne mimed falling raindrops with her fingers. “It rained the entire time we were there.”

Without pause, Eliza continued the cascade of wedding facts. “The Chicken Cordon Bleu was delicious, and the wedding cake had the most unbelievable raspberry
crème filling
ever
.”

“Did you miss us?” Anne hugged Marie.

“Sean’s best man would not stop hitting on Anne.” Eliza laughed. A fuzzy image of a man wearing an old-school fedora and neatly trimmed beard slid into view.

“Who took these pics?” Her critique of the quality of the photos was evident by her tone.

“Not me!” Anne quickly cleared her reputation. “You can see the good stuff tomorrow.”

“I think I gained five pounds!” Eliza said.

“We brought something back for you from Bloomie’s!” Anne went to the hall for the gift bag perched atop their luggage, then climbed on top of the duvét before formally presenting the gift to Marie. “We did miss you. Everyone missed you at Kristin and Sean’s wedding, but they understood this was a monumental week for you. Did you get all your pieces ready for shipping?”

Eliza’s anxious expression echoed Anne’s question. She sat up and slid closer to the other sisters, squishing them together and forming what their mother called “a puppy pile.”

I am not revisiting that drama in the middle of the night
. Marie simply said, “No,” trying to sound innocent. The two sisters exchanged a wide-eyed look of unbelief, obviously unsure of what to say next.

In an effort to break the silence, Marie proceeded to open her gift. From inside a glitter foil bag, she removed a box of her favorite chocolates and a beautiful, blingy fuchsia scarf. “Sweet. I love it. Thank you.”

The sisters responded in unison, “You're welcome.”

“Okay, now ’fess up,” demanded Eliza. “What happened to your exhibit? I don't believe you missed Kristin’s wedding to take care of this project and then did not get it done. I know your type “A” personality too well. You would never permit yourself not to finish anything as planned if you could help it.”

“Ha, ha, now who is being funny? But you are right. It was out of my control. One of the convention halls, the one where thirty pieces of my collection were to be displayed, will not be finished on time. I have to reduce my collection.”

“I’m sorry,” Eliza said.

Anne responded with a blank stare.

“Maman and the girls tried to help me last night, but we didn’t finish. I only have three days to resolve this mess. Since I haven’t actually been to the Events Center
because
of the construction, I am planning a visit in the morning. Do you guys want to tag along?”

Eliza and Anne glanced at each other before spontaneously bursting into laughter.

“You mean, you
haven’t
been to the Events Center
because
you knew Josh Ryan would be there, whom you avoid like toxic waste,” Anne confessed for her. “Oh yeah, we are coming. Just try to keep us away!”

Marie took a firm grip on her satin pillowcase and proceeded to whack them both with an oversized pillow. “I’m glad someone is enjoying my pain.

“Goodnight, ladies! It’s time for you two to wander down the hall to your own rooms.”

She shooed them out of her room from under her comfy covers. “You interrupted a fascinating dream, and I want to go back to sleep. Set your alarms and be ready to go by 9:30. We will leave as soon as Laura gets in.”

Marie fell backward. Her head nestled into her plush pillow, where smooth satin pampered her cheek as her eyelids closed.

Chapter 3

A Journey With Zoe

Independence, Missouri

Friday, 15 June

White light displaced the pitch dark, eliminating shadows and waking Marie. In the center of her bedroom, a portal opened over a throw rug.

It was her reddish-brown hair Marie first recognized as Zoe emerged. It passed over the small of her back, ending a few inches above the hem of her knee-length white dress. “Come, Marie.” The gentle tone in her voice had a soothing quality. “We have much to see.”

Marie’s experiences with Zoe had proven to be tranquil. They carried an immense sense of life which became a reservoir of wisdom from which she drew during her waking hours. She stepped with confidence into the brilliant entrance.

The pair traveled through the timeless tunnel with only the light emanating from Zoe guiding their way. Neither spoke. The ground resembled minuscule crystals in appearance but felt like warm sand along a midsummer’s beach against the bottom of Marie’s bare feet. Enchanting, orchestrated music serenaded them along their journey until they reached their destination.

Zoe led the way, stepping out of the tunnel and onto an oriental runner that ran down an extraordinarily long corridor belonging to an old house. Crown molding bordered the walls that were covered with Victorian wallpaper—thin green stripes alternating with beds of red rosebuds emitted a scent as real as a thriving garden.

Framed photographs of events from Marie’s life hung on the walls. She strolled down the hall examining each photograph of herself with intense curiosity—as an infant cradled in her father’s arms; as a toddler splashing in a kiddie pool; as a young girl snug in her mother’s arms under the shade of an oak tree. There were also photographs of her playing with her sisters and other children. They were happy memories, but seemingly unimportant, everyday events.
Perhaps collectively they signify something
. When Marie reached the end of the corridor, she turned to ask Zoe what the photographs meant. To her astonishment, Zoe and the portal were gone.

There was no other exit except the turn in the corridor that lay before her. Cautiously, she stepped around the corner. The second corridor was exactly as the first, except shorter.

Marie’s eyes widened when it dawned on her,
this is my double rose dream, but instead of a maze of hedges, I am in a maze of hallways
.

As she hastened her steps, her attention diverted from reminiscing through photographs of her past to the expectation of learning the identity of the man in her future; the man with the double rose tattoo at the center of the maze.

She ran through the corridors, each shorter than the last, desperate for a glimpse of his face. Her silk nightgown clung to her torso as she continued to quicken her pace. Finally, she entered the shortest hallway. Empty. The walls were bare—no photographs, no wallpaper, nothing except modern drywall.

Marie saw the backside of the miniature house straight ahead. Her anticipation accelerated with each step. The hard knock of a hammer echoing from the other side reinforced her hope that her speculation as to whom this mysterious man was would end.

The yellow siding drew her hand toward it as if it were magnetized, but a split second before her fingers could make contact with the paint, the house disappeared and Marie discovered herself restored to her bed.