The Knight Of The Rose (33 page)

David? No. Jason was sweet—so, so sweet, like, you have no idea, but when David says he and

Jason are different—he’s not kidding.” Her l ips turned down slightly. “We were going to be

together forever, Jason and I . We talked about marriage and what we’d do wh en we g rew old.

Which is why I was so hurt and confused when I went to meet him one day and...he never showed.”

Emily looked out the window at the pouring rain . “I waited for hi m until the sun went down, and

when the morning came the next day—I went back, waited again. Seven days passed until, one day,

when I turned around to look over my shoulder, I saw him, in the distance—but it wasn’t him. It

was David.” She lifted her hand from the fold of her arms and wiped another tear. “He held me in

his arms while I cried—told me that Jason would never come back, and that I had to try to move on.

So—” she looked at my shocked expression and smiled, “you can see why David’s so important to

me.” I nodded. “I never knew. David never told me.”

“He wouldn’t. It wasn’t his story to tell.”

“I’m so sorry, Em. I wish it had been David you fell for.”

“David isn’t like Jason.” Emily’s tone rose upward. “He might be now, but he didn’t have

half the heart Jason had—not back then. He changed when he met you, Ara. He was cold and mean,

before.” I frowned, disbelieving. “Cold and mean? I know he was a little different, but not that much,

right?” Emily scoffed. “You just never saw nasty David. He could play the nice guy really well, but

it was fake. Even sometimes with me.” She closed her eyes for a second. “I’ve seen parts of nice

David, so I knew he was in there, but, he just flat-out didn’t care—for anyone.”

“But, I thought he was a model student—well-liked?”

“Yeah, like I said—” she folded her arms tighter, “—he played that role well, but anyone

closer to him—” her shoulders lifted a little, “—knew how mean he could be.”

“Wow. Really?”

“Mm-hm. But,” she looked right into my ey es, her sadness softening to a smile, “he could

also be really sweet, sometimes. Before he met yo u, if he didn’t like so meone or they irritated

him…” She shook her head and seemed to shiver a little. “It was only once he found you that he

became anything near as lovely as Jason.”

“But David told me Jason’s a little creepy,” I added with a hint of confusion in my voice.

“He is,” Emily stated with a nostalgic giggle. “He was sweet to me, but everyone else would

avoid him like the plague. He had a certain kind of presence about him—like he had a deep,

brooding evil inside him. But, I just f elt like he was misunderstood. He never hurt me or talked

harshly to me—but he didn’t think very highly of David.”

“They don’t get along?” I asked.

“They fought. A lot. I saw them fight once. Jason ordered me to leave—he didn’t want me to

get hurt. So, I left. In fact, that was the last time I ever saw Jason.”

“What were they fighting about?”

“Something to do with winter—about a family tradition. Davi d wanted Jason to be a part of

it, and Jason wanted to change ‘the rules’, as he said it.”

Set rules. Migration. Fairy-tale time-lines. “Do you think he still thinks about you?”

Emily stood quietly with her arms folded and her eyes on the dreary day. “I hope so. I think

about him from time to time. You never genuinely get over your first true love, Ara. This—” She

lifted my hand—the one with the engagement ring on it. “This will be a long journey for you.”

“I know—” I nodded. “Trust me, I know.”

“Just…” she took a breath, “if he steals yo u away—takes you back to Oz—will we still be

friends?”

“Of course,” I said, dragging the word out. “I think we’ll always be friends.”

“I hope so.” She hugged me. “I’ve never met anyone like you—you’re so real, you know,

you just, you’re honest with who you are.”

“You think?” I half groaned.

“Yeah. I mean, you have this weird bad joke thing; you dress how you wanna dress, and you

tell it to me straight—you aren’t even
pretending
not to be in love wi th David, even though you’re

marrying another man. I think that’s really cool.”

“Well, thanks, Em.”
But there are many things I haven’t and won’t tell you straight.

Honesty? I don’t have a shred of honesty in my bones.

“So, what does Mike think—about David? Does he know how you feel?”

I nodded. “He’s okay with it.”

Emily sighed and looked out the window again. “I really don’t like him.”

“You don’t have to like him, Em. I do.”

“I know, but...I think that—” sh e hesitated, “if he weren’t here, you would’ve stayed with

David.”

“Nup.” I shook my head with certainty. “I wouldn’t have.”

She supressed a conceited smile and shrugged one shoulder. “I think you would.”

As I waved goodbye to Emily, Mike stood behind me with one hand in the small of my back

and the other waving. “She hates me,” he said as her car disappeared down the street.

“No. She just doesn’t understand.” I sighed and closed the door. “S he thought David and I

were a sure thing. And so, all of this—” I held up my ring hand, “—i s a little sudden for her. It’s

barely been two weeks since he’s been out of the picture.”

“I get it.” Mike nodded. “No offence taken. So?” He stood ta ller and grinned. “Terminator

or The Mummy?”

“You choose. I’ll get popcorn.” I grinned.

Mike walked up the stairs and when the door to his room closed, I head ed into the kitchen.

Dad, sitting at the dining table, smiled at me from behind the newspaper.

“Any good news?” I asked, opening the pantry.

“No news is the only good news,” he scoffed.

I shook my head. “You know, Mum still said th at all the time.” The corners of my lips

pulled into a smile at her memory—a happy memory. Dad looked up at the wall, saying nothing.

Poor Dad.

With a soft sigh, I walked over to sit with him. “How long, Dad? Before you stopped

missing her when she left?”

He sniffed once and fold ed his paper over, looking intently at it as he laid it on the table.

“Never.” He looked into my eyes then. “I
never
stopped missing your mother. Sure, after about ten

years or so it got easier to bear.”

“Oh.” I looked out the front window.

“I did wrong by her, Ara, and I should never have done that. But when you love someone,

like I loved her, you will always miss them. I try not to think of her if I can.”

“But, you love Vicki, right? Doesn’t that make it easier?”

He smiled and nodded th oughtfully. “That’s the only reason I didn’t go back and beg your

mum to forgive me. I did love Vicki, I do love Vi cki, I mean,” he said with a laugh. “But, I loved

your mum, too.”

It hurt to hear him speak of her in the past tense like that.

“I don’t think you ever truly get over losing someone you love. But, it gets easier, after time

passes, and you can get through the days wi thout missing them so much,” he added, probably i n

response to my hor rified expression. He couldn’t know how much I was relating his story to my

own experiences with boys. He’s the only person I could think of that suff ered a loss as great as

mine. I needed to know if there was a life after love—after true love.

“Is this about David?” Dad asked.

Why do dads have to be so clued in? “A little.” I smiled

“Ara, Mike loves you. He’s been trying to ask you to marry him for the last two years.” Dad

laughed once. “He was so worried you were going to turn him down that he almost asked me to ask

you
for
him.”

“Really?”

“Yes, honey. Look, I know you love David, but you loved Mike first—and if you thought

you could move on fr om love on ce, then ther e’s a good chance y ou can do it again, right ?” He

patted my hand.

Disbelief, or maybe amazement moved my head from side to side. “That’s why you’re a

teacher, Dad. The all-knowing.” I waved my hands around in the air, then stood up and kissed him

on the cheek. “Love you, Dad.”

“Ara?”

I turned back around to his insistent tone. “Yeah?”

“I uh...I need to talk to you.”

“Okay...” I sat back down.

“I received a call today—from Ray Bougerstern.”

“Dad!” I slammed my palms on the table and stood up.

“Ara. Sit back down. We need to discuss this.”

“Why now?” I felt the blanket of fury, shame and claustrophobia wrap my shoulders.

“Mike’s waiting for me to watch a mo—”

“And he’ll wait. You can’t keep avoiding this. The insurance policy has cleared the account.

I need to know what you want me to do with the money.”

My lip quivered as I looked down at my feet. Blood money. The money a company paid out

because my mother no longer existed. A consolation. Condolences in the form of green notes.

“Keep it. Give it to Sam.”

“Ara. Your mother took that policy out so that if she were no longe r around you could take

care of yourself.”

“I can do that without money, Dad!”

“No, you can’t,” his voice grumbled as it peaked above anger. “She’s gone, Ara-Rose. She’s

not coming back, no matt er who you try to push away, no matter what tortures you can inflict on

yourself. No amount of your own suffering will change what happened.” He reached for my hand; I

kept it tight in the fold of my arms, biting my quivering lip. “Honey, just take the money. Use it to

start your life, use it to—”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” I didn’t bother to look at him.

“I’m sorry. I haven’t wanted to bring it up again. I know it’s hard for you, but—”

“Just put it in a trust fund,” I sai d finally. “Put it in a high interest account unt il I turn

eighteen or something.” I spun around and, with fists of frustration clasped to my sides, stormed out

of the room.

Dad merely groaned as I disappeared into the front entrance.

Something about the lazy tone of the day made me edgy. Dad and Mike played chess in the

formal dining room, Vicki hung washing on the line, and Sam stood talking to Mr. Warner over the

fence, who was trying to mow the lawn, but humouring an eager neighbour. My old companion, the

swing, rocked gently under me while I let my mind wander throughout the past weeks.

How can your life change so quickly? From being a normal teenager, going to school and

practicing for your big bal let recital, to losing your family, then your first true love, all while

discovering the existence of monsters.

Perhaps that’s it. Perhaps it isn’t the calm-qui et that has my gut churning. Perhaps it’s that

tonight, on the last stroke of midnight, the part of me that won’t believe David’s gone will turn, look

up at the clock tower on the chamber building, and hope that he’ll tap me on the shoulder and as k

me to dance. In his arms, warm and safe, my heart would contr ol my mind, and I’d say, “Take me

away—make me like you.”

And he’d say yes; and then I’d tell him I need just a little more time to come to terms with it.

But secretly, I’d never let him change me—just to keep him a little longer.

Vicki looked over , shaking her head; she thi nks I should be insi de, layering on enough

makeup to coat a Lego board and make it smooth. But I’ll be wearing a mask—who needs makeup

under a mask? It’s just silly.

Trying to think of a song t o play on my guitar, I tapped my ring finger on the wood of the

neck and listened to the rhythm of the clacking gold.

When Sherlock Holmes paced ar ound my head again, I started playing random chords;

should—shouldn’t, could—would. I
should
be following my true love th rough eternity, but instead,

I’m marrying Mike. So the lesson, the journey, everything that happened up unt il now seems

pointless, like, why, what’s the story line? What was the reason for it?

Mike’s turning me down that night, and me choosing to run away from him brought about

the positioning for the untimely deat h of my family—which landed me here, to meet my first true

love—only to lose him and end up back with the guy I was trying to get in the first place.

I can’t make any sense of it.

I shook my head and dropped my fingers from their position on the chord—letting the song

die without a name. The whole world is senseless.

But I can’t let my mind wander that pat h; the trying-to-find-meanings-or-reasons-for-life

path. Perhaps it’s to love, or to experience many trials—or maybe even to
feel
. I don’t know. I’ve

been through all of these conclusion s and none of them fit. Pain is the only one that even touches

the reality of living. So, maybe the meaning of life is to cram as much pain and heartache as we can

into the puny time-line of our miserable existence.

Satisfied with that dismal conclusion, I st arted playing agai n, and watched t hrough the

window as Dad and Mike played chess. It was like looking across the waters of reflection, reading

the story of my life. Two elements of my past—from different times—come together in battle. They

moved in slow motion; Mike rolling his head back and laughing at Dad’s witty move; Dad coughing

into his hand at Mike’s reaction.

And it occurred to me then, as I watched their hands meet in the offer of peace, that this is it.

That’s my Dad and my fiancé. There will be no more boys for me. Mike will be my first—and my