The House of Roses (20 page)

Twenty-three

Liz Parker stood in the foyer of her sister's home. It was eerily quiet, and for a moment Liz felt like an intruder. The home had fallen silent, and seemed to be mourning the woman who had left it behind.

“
She'll be back,” Liz whispered.

She couldn't imagine losing her sister, and she prayed that Ella's recovery would be brief, and that one day, she would be well enough to come home.

Liz climbed the stairs, feeling the smooth banister beneath her left hand. She stood in the hallway outside her sister's bedroom, the room they had once shared as children. Timidly Liz stepped inside, and her eyes were drawn to the pictures on Ella's dresser. They were lined up with precision and Liz crossed the room and stood before the impressive display. It was obvious Ella loved her family, and Liz smiled as she looked at the photos, the treasured memories of her sister's life. There was an aged photo of two young girls, whose arms were linked, and Liz drew a sharp breath as she recognized a much younger version of herself. It was she and Ella on a warm summer day more than fifty years ago. They had looked like twins, born just a year apart, Liz the older of the two. Liz remembered the day, the moment the picture was taken, a precious memory captured in black and white. She wondered if Ella knew how much she loved her, if anyone knew. Liz Parker knew she had a hard exterior, and she raised her eyes to glance at it in the mirror over the dresser. Ella had been the gentler one, and Liz had become the stronger. Inside she was soft, nearly as soft as Ella, but it had always felt like a weakness, and so, Liz had hidden it from the world.

She returned her gaze to the photos, and one of her own wedding day stood out among the group. Her husband had been barely twenty-five, and Liz, only twenty. Their faces emulated youth, and the love they felt radiated from their eyes. Her husband was the love of her life, but when was the last time Liz had told him she loved him?  She couldn't remember.

Howie Parker was a long distance trucker. Most of his life was spent on the road, but those days were becoming numbered. He planned to retire in the coming year, and Liz looked forward to the days they would spend together. Later when he called, as he did each night, she would tell him she loved him. He knew she did, but tonight, Liz Parker would say the words. First she needed to finish packing her sister's treasures, and take them to the ICU, where Ella was recovering. Although it had always been hard for Liz to find the right words, she would also remind Ella of how much she loved her.

Liz Parker's heart ached as she thought of the last time she'd stood in a hospital ICU. Her daughter-in-law had laid unresponsive for nearly a week. As shameful as it felt at the time, Liz had felt guilt-laced relief when the doctor had finally told her heartbroken son and granddaughter there was nothing more they could do. Nathan Parker had demurely accepted the news, cried quietly in the corner by the window, and then asked for the appropriate paperwork to sign. An hour later the nurse had disconnected the machines keeping Patricia Parker alive. Nathan held his wife's hand as her spirit left her body. It had been a moment that had nearly killed them all. Patti had been beautiful, energetic and gracious, and her hope had been contagious. She would have never wanted to live in a vegetative state. If she couldn't participate in life, she would have wanted them to let her go. And so, they had.

The day before, as Liz had waited in the same waiting room, she'd wondered if she would be asked to make the same decision about her sister. But as the doctor had approached her, she knew this time was different. There was an energy in his step, and a success that seemed to settle itself around his shoulders. Before he spoke, Liz knew her sister had survived.  

Ella Simons had regained consciousness the evening before, just after sunset. Liz had been at her side.

“
I'm going to be okay,” Ella had whispered, and Liz had responded with nothing more than a soft sob. “It's okay,” Ella said, momentarily taking her sister's role as the strong one. Ella was in ICU, her body broken, but her spirit intact, and despite her injuries, she was the one doing the comforting. She was Ella.

She had asked Liz to get a pen and paper, and then asked if she would bring her things from her home, things that would allow her to stay connected with her life. Liz, of course, accepted without complaint.

She had stayed the night with her sister, dozing only occasionally in the chair in the corner of the waiting room. Hours before, Liz had left the hospital for the first time in two days, and standing in Ella's bedroom, she felt the impact of the last forty-eight hours. She sat on her sister's bed beside the suitcase she'd found in the hallway closet. It contained all but two items Ella had requested. Liz raked her right hand through her dirty blond hair. In her left hand she held the remaining two items. They were both photographs, yellowed with age, worn by time, and Ella's loving touch. Liz knew her sister had held the photos often, had gazed at them with a wistfulness she rarely gave voice to. The photographs were of a young man with blond hair and brilliant blue eyes. The second one was of a tiny baby, new to the world, her eyes unfocused, yet as brilliant as the man's.

Liz felt her eyes fill with tears as she looked at the old pictures. She had never entirely agreed with her sister's decision, but it had been Ella's to make, and Liz had to respect her even if she disagreed.

She slipped the photos into the suitcase, and zipped it closed. The noise echoed in the otherwise empty house. Liz picked up the suitcase with her left hand, and turned off the light with her right. Slowly she descended the staircase in the home that had once belonged to her parents. She left a tiny lamp burning inside the front door, and feeling her age for the first time in a long time, she stepped out into the cool afternoon with a deep sigh.

Twenty-four

Caitlin was becoming reacquainted with New Hope, the beautiful place where she had lived as a child. She was delighted by the quaintness of it, this little village nestled away along the Delaware canal, and it seemed to have changed little over the years. Some businesses had changed hands, and the restaurants and pubs catered to modern-day tourists of discerning taste. Caitlin wasn't a tourist. She was part of this place; she had left part of her heart here.

The landmarks were the same, and the beautiful historic buildings still stood proud, the secrets of hundreds of years encased in their walls. She passed the bookstore, and groaned. She couldn't imagine her first book proudly displayed in the window. She couldn't imagine her first book proudly displayed anywhere, and she began thinking of it more as kindling, and less as any literary masterpiece. 

She pushed the double baby carriage Rita had purchased the month before and smiled as she stopped to stare at her twins. It was a beautiful afternoon, if not a bit cool, but her new babies were snuggled in nicely, and bundled against the fall chill. Caitlin moved more slowly than she would have liked, but it was wonderful to be outside, and despite her aches and pains, she moved along the sidewalk at a steady pace. She had ridden the short distance into the village with Rita, but she had begged off to take a short walk. Her body was still sore, and she was reminded that only a few days before she had delivered the human equivalent of two English Bulldogs from parts unknown. Still, she felt her body healing and her energy beginning to return, and it was glorious to be outside on the clear, fall day.

She cut across a grassy patch to the pathway along the canal. Only then did she pause, and eventually, she made her way to a bench. She gazed once again into the sleeping faces of her tiny children, and although a smile played along the corners of her mouth, she felt a hint of heartbreak.

Caitlin sat for several minutes watching the river and the water pass by in its infinite journey. It was beautiful, serene, and her heart felt peaceful. She thought of her life as she rarely did and she was still thinking as she stood and pushed the stroller along the path worn by time and travel.

Eventually she found herself in the beautiful cemetery where those who made their home in New Hope were laid to rest. She was tiring, but still she walked. There was one more place she needed to go. Her father was buried inside, and she found her way to his grave, evidently from memory, because she couldn't remember the last time she had been there. It was not how she had wanted to introduce her children to her beloved daddy, but like it often does, life had other other plans, and her father had been taken from her before his time, and long before Caitlin was ready to let go.

“
Hey, Daddy,” she whispered, kneeling on the ground in front of the massive stone. “I brought someone to meet you. I brought your grandchildren, Daddy. This is Rogan, and this is Hannah,” Caitlin said, motioning to the babies who slept in their stroller.

Caitlin took two flowers from the beautiful plants in front of the stone, and laid them on the cover of the stroller. She recognized the work of her mother, or more likely, Ella, in the beautifully tended annuals.

Caitlin smiled as she thought of Ella, and the call they had gotten earlier from Liz eased the tension everyone felt. Ella was recovering. Ella, who had been nearly unrecognizable just forty-eight hours before, was going to survive. Caitlin turned the stroller away from her father's grave, after wiping one tear from her cheek.

“
Bye, Daddy,” she whispered, as she set out in search of the final resting place of Nathan's wife. Her chest tightened again, partly from the pain of loss, and the unfairness of death, but partly from guilt. She had missed Patti Parker's funeral. She had been out of state, on assignment, and unable to return. Caitlin was reminded of how much her career had once meant to her, but those days suddenly seemed to have happened a hundred years before, and she was beginning to realize family trumped career, not only when someone died, or was born, but always.

“
I'm sorry, Nathan,” she whispered into the cemetery. “I should have been here for you. I'm sorry I wasn't.”  It was one of the greatest regrets of Caitlin's life, one she couldn't take back.

The cemetery was old, and small in size, and Caitlin found the grave with little difficulty, although it was nearly at the opposite end of the cemetery from her father's. Patricia Ann Taylor Parker lay peacefully beneath a massive oak, whose age was impossible to determine. Caitlin stared into its massive branches, and whispered a prayer for the woman who had been taken far too young, and for peace for the family who'd lost her.

“
Taylor,” Caitlin said out loud. Tayler was Caitlin's middle name, although her parents had chosen an odd spelling. She carefully laid her hand on top of the soft pink, granite stone. But, while her hands brushed the smooth gravestone, her eyes were drawn elsewhere, to a grouping of flowers nearby, flowers that looked like the handiwork of her mother, or Ella. The stone they adorned was tiny, embedded into the ground, and if it were not for the freshly cut grass, it would have been easy to miss.

Caitlin crouched carefully, and was again reminded of her healing body. She read the inscription on the tiny stone. 
Charles Samuel Tayler.
She stared at her middle name, engraved onto the marker.
Could it be coincidence? 
Charles Samuel Tayler had been young when he died, and Caitlin wondered what had happened to him.

He had been only 24 years old when he died in November of 1963. Suddenly Caitlin had a thought.
Was this Ella's Charles?  Was this the man that Ella, her mother's best friend, had pined for her entire life? 
The timing was right. He would have been just a few years older than Ella, and his death at 24 would have been considered tragic, no matter the cause. And there were the beautiful flowers planted in front of the stone, beautiful flowers that looked a lot like those that lay on the stroller in front of her.

Caitlin wondered if this young man was the love of Ella's life. Caitlin also wondered if she was related to this man. It was possible. They shared the same name, and in a town as small as New Hope, it was unlikely it was coincidence. She'd ask Rita later if they had a quiet moment. As if on cue, Rogan awoke, opened his eyes, and let out a fierce cry.

“
You hungry, punkin?” Caitlin asked, leaning down to touch the tiny cheek of her infant son. His sister chose that moment to open her eyes, and she too began to cry.

“
Okay, guys. Let's head back to Grandma's. I'm hungry, too. We could call her to come back and get us, or we could walk.”  Caitlin tried to determine the distance from the cemetery to the house, and while it was farther than she'd have liked to walk, she knew the exercise would do her good. She could rest later, when hopefully the babies would sleep, and hopefully, simultaneously.

“
Okay, we'll walk,” Caitlin said, tucking the blankets tighter around her babies. They eventually stopped crying, and Caitlin could hear their baby noises. She wondered if they were communicating with each other, if her twins had a language only they understood.

Despite her heavy heart, and the questions plaguing her tired mind, Caitlin smiled as she carefully walked, slower than she'd have liked, step by step, to the tune of the wheels of the stroller, and the soft sounds coming from the babies tucked inside it.