The House of Roses (45 page)

“
Yes,” Rita said proudly.

“
How long have you been able to do that?”

“
Always.”

“
Did Daddy know?”

“
No.”

“
How come?”

“
It was my secret. Okay, this and a thousand others,” Rita said, looking momentarily guilty.

Caitlin stared in amazement at the painting. It reminded her of the young woman in the old photograph, the woman with the long blond hair, the woman who looked like her. It was Ella. An old photo lay on the counter, and Caitlin picked it up and held it under the light.

“
It looks like the picture, doesn't it?” Rita asked, as she shuffled to her daughter's side.

“
No.”

“
No?” Rita said sadly.

“
No, Mom. The picture is a picture. Okay, wait. That didn't come out right. The picture is an image frozen in time, a wonderful memory, but this is something different. This painting looks alive, Mom. It's amazing. I've never seen anything like it. How did no one know you could do this?”

“
I don't know. I'm my worst critic. I wasn't sure it was all that good.”

“
Are you crazy, Mom?  Okay, bad question. We already know you are.”

“
Thanks, Cate. There's another one I'd like you to see.”

“
There are more?”

“
Hundreds. They're upstairs in the attic. This is the only other one down here.”

Rita took a thin white drape from a canvas in the corner of the shop. Caitlin gasped and dropped the monitor, which sent its batteries rolling across the floor.

“
Holy shit!  Sorry, Mom.”

“
That's okay. You're in the swearing zone.”

“
Right. Where's the other battery?” Caitlin asked, as she crawled around the floor on her hands and knees.

“
It's by the cooler.”

“
I see it.”

Caitlin replaced the batteries, sat the monitor on the counter, and crossed the room to stand in front of the canvas. It was a painting of the farmhouse. A little girl stood on the sidewalk, and Caitlin recognized a much younger version of herself. While she was amazed at the likeness, it was the other child in the background that grabbed her attention and caused her to gasp.

“
That's Margaret, isn't it?” Caitlin asked.

“
It is,” Rita said softly.

The second child looked almost identical to the first. Margaret stood by the old shed, the same shed where the box containing precious memories of her sat untouched for years.

“
It's the only picture of the two of you.”

“
But there can't be a picture.”

“
There is, Cate,” Rita said, reaching into the pocket of her apron. “Look.”

Caitlin stared wide-eyed at the picture. She saw herself, standing on the sidewalk. She couldn't have been more than maybe five years old. There was something by the old shed, but Caitlin couldn't tell what it was.

“
Look at it in the light.”

Caitlin did. The anomaly by the shed looked like the outline of a little girl, and Caitlin looked at Rita in amazement.

“
Daddy took it,” Rita said.

“
Oh my God,” Caitlin whispered.

“
I know.”

“
What did you think when you saw this?”

“
I thought that life is amazing, but sometimes we have to look closely.”

“
It is, and we do.”

“
I've always felt her here, Caitlin, like a part of her came with us,” Rita said wistfully. “I was wrong not to tell you about her. I could have told you, even if I left out the rest.”

“
It's okay, Mom.”

“
I know,” Rita said.

It was okay. They couldn't change the past. Suddenly it was the present Rita thought of, and she looked at Caitlin, and spoke softly.

“
I finished the flowers for Ella's coffin. Would you like to see them?” Rita asked, and Caitlin nodded.

Rita walked to the cooler, and Caitlin stood quietly as her eyes filled with tears. Rita laid the flowers on the counter, and removed the tissue that protected them.

“
Oh, Mom,” Caitlin said, as tears slid down her cheeks. “They're beautiful.”

“
Thank you.”

The arrangement was stunning, a beautiful, living symphony of roses. Ella's roses.

“
I just need to add the ribbon,” Rita whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

“
Where are they?” Cate asked.

“
In the drawer  under the can of paintbrushes.”

Caitlin opened the drawer as Rita watched.

“
Pink?”  Rita nodded. Pink had been Ella's favorite color. Nothing else would do. Caitlin pulled a long pink ribbon from the drawer. “Is this okay?”

“
Yes.”

“
You're sure?” Caitlin asked through a slight sob.

“
I'm sure.”

“
Okay.”

Caitlin laid the ribbon on the counter. It was a soft pink color with one word written in white letters.
Mother.

Forty-nine

Colin Thomas stood looking out the back window of his new home. Mia was in the backyard playing with the dog. Caren, victorious after locating the boxes marked “kitchen” in Colin's bedroom, was cooking dinner. The discovery had left Colin's admiration of the moving company in ruin, but he was slowly recovering. Rosario was not.

She had been given pain medication, and the hospice nurse assured them she was resting comfortably. Colin reminded the nurse that he was a doctor, not to parade his accomplishments, but to assure her that Rosario would be in good hands in the nurse's absence. A few minutes before, he'd seen the nurse to the door. In a hushed tone, she'd told him she didn't think she'd be returning. He didn't need to ask what she meant.

Colin was amazed when evening came and Rosario was still alive. It spoke volumes of the human spirit and the will to live. Mia had been quiet for most of the day, sticking close to his side, her fear and confusion evident. Along with the fear and confusion, he sensed an acceptance, and he was reminded of the resiliency of children.

Caren had done an amazing job organizing the house, and he was shocked when he looked around and realized they had lived in the home just twenty-four hours. He watched Caren as she worked in the kitchen, and sensing his eyes upon her, she turned.

“
You all right?” she asked.

“
Doing as well as I can.”

“
How's Mia?”

“
She's playing.”

Caren looked out the window at the little girl. “My heart breaks for her,” she said softly.

“
Mine, too.”

“
This is a good thing you've done, Colin. I'd hate to think of that poor woman in a hospital, and it would have been even harder for Mia.”

“
I know. Caren, I need to get my mind off things just for a minute. Can you keep an eye on Mia?”

“
I can see her from here.”

“
Thanks.”

Colin padded quietly into the living room where he had left his laptop. He sat on the couch, opened the laptop, and it blinked to life. He clicked on the icon he needed, and his browser filled the screen. He typed his request into the search engine and waited. His eyes scanned the website of the
New Hope Gazette
, and he scrolled down and clicked on the link marked, “obituaries.” 

Ella Catherine Simons was the fourth entry, and he moved the cursor to the entry, and touched his finger to the left side of his wireless mouse. He wanted to send flowers, and he needed the name of the funeral home. The obituary filled the left side of the screen, and his lips moved as he read. Suddenly he stopped.

“
What?” he said, and the one word seemed to echo in the sparsely furnished room.

“
Did you say something, Colin?  Are you all right?” Caren asked from the kitchen.

“
No. I'm fine.” 
I'm not fine. What the hell did that say? 

Colin read the words again.

Ella Catherine Simons, of New Hope, passed away unexpectedly Saturday evening. She was predeceased by her parents, Anna Patricia and Frederick William Simons, and her fiancé, Charles Samuel Tayler. She is survived by her daughter, Caitlin Tayler Hollings Goodrich, and grandchildren, Hannah Margaret, and Rogan William Goodrich.

“
What the hell?” he whispered.

Ella was Caitlin's mother?  Why didn't she ever tell me that?  Ella is survived by Caitlin and her children?  Caitlin doesn't have children, does she? 

“
Oh my God,” Colin said out loud. He couldn't make sense of it. He read the words one more time, and then did the math in his head. Caitlin had children – his children.

“
Why didn't she tell me?” he whispered, and although he was shocked, he understood.
Would I have told me? 
“Holy shit,” he said softly. A month before he had been childless. Suddenly he had three children.

“
Caren, I'm stepping out front for a minute. I'll be right back,” Colin yelled.

“
Everything all right?”

“
Yes,” he lied.

He crossed the living room into the foyer. The ceramic tile felt cool beneath his bare feet. He opened the front door and stepped onto the porch. The air was still warm, and he took several deep breaths to try to calm himself.

“
I have three children,” he whispered. “Three. Oh, Caitlin.”

Two weathered Adirondack chairs occupied the right hand section of the small porch. He brushed away the leaves that had settled on the closest one, sat down, and lowered his head into his hands.

He sat for several minutes, deep in thought, his mind returning to the last night he and Caitlin had spent together. It had to have been that night. They had argued at Christmas, and for a week they had barely spoken, and once they had, they hadn't been intimate. Not until that last night.

As difficult as it was to grasp, it explained everything. Her absence at
The Times
, her return to New Hope, the look burning in her eyes that clearly said,
there is more I need to say.

She had faced something so frightening, and she had done it alone. For a moment he hated himself, but in his defense, he hadn't known. He wished he had. He would have been there for her, but he wondered, as he sat in the dark, if he would have been there for the wrong reasons, and if he had, would he have been there for Rosario, and most importantly, for Mia? 

“
Jesus,” he whispered, dropping his head back into his hands.

“
Are you all right, Colin?” Caren asked. He hadn't heard her approach, and he jumped at the sound of her voice.
Am I all right? 
How could he answer that?

“
No,” he said honestly. “I am not all right.”

“
Is there anything I can do?” she asked.

“
No.”

“
Dinner's ready.”

“
Okay. Where's Mia?”

“
She's at the table.”

“
Okay. I'm not sure I can eat.”

“
Can you try, for Mia's sake?  You heard the nurse. We need to try to keep things as normal as possible.”

Normal? 
“I can do that,” Colin said.

He stood and followed Caren into the house. Mia was waiting at the table, and he nearly wept as he looked at her. She was so precious, so innocent, and she needed him so much. He could try, for Mia's sake.

“
Hi, Papa,” she said softly, and he smiled.

“
Hi, pumpkin,” he said, planting a kiss into her soft hair. “You hungry?”

She nodded. “Is Mama coming?” she asked.

“
No, Mama's sleeping right now,” he said.

“
Just sleep?” Mia asked, and he watched as fear registered on her beautiful face.
Dear God. She's waiting. We're all just waiting.

“
Yes, sweetheart. Just sleep.”

“
What did you make, Caren?” Mia asked, as Caren carried a large bowl to the table.