The Rose's Tears: Chapter 3 Part 1

October 13, 2002, Boston Pizza, 12:13 pm

            Jeff checked his watch, which showed the time to be 13 minutes past the hour: Gerald was late. Jeff sipped his Iced tea as he patiently waited, knowing that the church traffic might be horrible, when he saw Gerald walking to the table. Jeff smiled and stood up, opening his arms. Gerald stood in front of Jeff, smirking.

            “You look good, Gerald.” Jeff complimented. The two hugged and shared a laugh.

            “It has been too long,” Gerald said, as they sat down.

            “Jesus, look at you,” Jeff said, “I know not much has changed, but you look really good.”

            “Thanks; so do you,” Gerald said. Jeff unlocked his briefcase and pulled out a few documents.

            “It breaks my heart that we always meet up for unhappy business.” Jeff said. Gerald shrugged.

            “This isn’t that bad of news,” Gerald said. Jeff looked at him, puzzled. “I know, I should be sad, but I’m not.”

            “I understand, don’t worry. I’m just a bit shocked.” Jeff explained.

            “You have my mom’s will?” Gerald asked. Jeff nodded and handed it over to Gerald. Gerald skimmed down it and sighed with disappointment.

            “She left you nothing, I’m sorry.” Jeff said. Gerald slid the letter back to Jeff.

            “It was expected.” Gerald muttered.

            “If it’s any consolation, you now get all of your father’s possessions.” Jeff said.

            “That’s all I care about,” Gerald said, “where are they kept?”

            “Storage depot, I’ll take you there when we’re finished lunch.” Jeff said. Gerald nodded and smirked.

            “So they weren’t actually lost like she said?” Gerald asked. Jeff didn’t answer; feeling that if he did it would be insensitive. “At least she won’t tell anymore lies.”

            “Are you happy that your mom has passed away?” Jeff asked.

            “At this point, I don’t know,” Gerald said, “I’m happy because of how she treated me, and not happy because I wish I could have had a relationship with her; but the fact is she never allowed us to be close.”

            “Do you think there’s a reason for that?” Jeff asked.

            “Well, you already know,” Gerald said, “She always favoured Janette over me and I was too much like my dad.” Jeff nodded.

            “Right,” he said; then the two became rather quiet.

            “Did you tell Liz you were back in town?” Gerald asked. Jeff shook his head, surprising Gerald. “Why not?”

            “I felt it might be insensitive if I were to see Liz.” Jeff explained. Gerald chuckled.

            “Jeff, it’s ok. You guys are friends from high school.” He said.

            “Still, it wouldn’t bother you?” Jeff asked. Gerald shook his head.

            “Of course not,” he assured, “You guys should have a drink together.” Jeff looked at Gerald.

            “Are you being sarcastic?” Jeff asked.

            “Jeff, come on,” Gerald said, “what are you going to do? You have a wife and son.” Jeff laughed.

            “Alright, you have a point.” He said, “Maybe I’ll call Liz tonight.”

            “You should, she wouldn’t mind catching up with you.”

            “Ok, fine. I’ll phone her after we’re done here,” Jeff promised.

            “That’s more like it,” Gerald said, “ now let me look at the menu, I’m starving.”

 Willow Park 1:47 pm

            Elizabeth felt tears streaming out of her stinging eyes as she finished dicing the last onion.

            Damn these things, she cursed in her head. Clare was drying the dishes and setting them on the large dining table.

            “How many people are coming tomorrow, mom?” Clare asked.

            “Well, if your father comes, then that’s 7.” Elizabeth said. Clare counted the plates and came up with eleven. She nervously looked back to see if her mother had noticed her mistake, then discretely began picking the extra plates up.

            “Is grandma Helena coming?” Clare asked. Elizabeth felt a chill go down her back.

            “No,” Elizabeth said, her voice shaking, “she’s busy.”

            “Too busy for thanksgiving?” Clare asked.

            “Yes,” Elizabeth replied, “it’s…complicated.” Clare hung her head and proceeded to set the cutlery around the table. “But Aunt Clara and John are coming, so is your father, grandpa and auntie Lynn.” Clare nodded. The phone rang and Elizabeth dropped the cranberry sauce. “Shit,” she cursed under her breath, “Clare, can you grab the phone?

            “I got it,” Clare said, running to the phone. “Hello?”

            “Well, that sounds too young to be Elizabeth,” teased the person on the other line, “Is this Clare?” Clare gasped and a large smile grew on her face.

            “Jeff!” She squealed. Elizabeth’s head shot up, cranberry sauce smeared on her face and shirt.

            Jeff Smith? She asked herself.

            “That’s right!” Jeff laughed, “How are you, young one?”

            “I’m good! Oh my goodness!” she said. Elizabeth quickly wiped the sauce off the floor and washed her hands, listening to what Clare was saying.

            “I’m home,” Jeff said, “I just got back on Friday.”

            “How was Africa?” Clare asked, excited.

            “It was a lot of fun,” Jeff said, “I got you something from Egypt.”

            “Really?!?” Clare asked, jumping up and down. Elizabeth giggled as she approached.

            “Yep, I might stop by and drop it off sometime.” Jeff promised, “Is your mom home?”

            “She’s right here. Did you want to talk to her?” Clare asked.

            “Yes, please,” Jeff said, “but I’ll make her put you back on.” Clare made a giddy face.

            “Yay!” she said, extending her arm to the sky, then handed the phone to Elizabeth.

            “Is this really you, Jeff?” She asked. Jeff laughed.

            “That’s quite the way to greet an old friend,” he joked. Elizabeth suddenly found herself feeling giddy.

            “Jesus, how are you?” she asked.

            “I’m good, you?” Jeff asked.

            “I’m pretty good,” Elizabeth said. “Wow, it has been too long.”

            “I know, five years in Africa.” Jeff sighed, “I doubt I’ll be leaving any time soon.”

            “Did you call just to say hi?” Elizabeth teased.

            “I did. I just got home from a meeting.” Jeff explained.

            “Oh,” Clare said, “with Gerald?”

            “Yeah,” Jeff said, quietly, “went through the will and collected his father’s things.”

            “How’s Gerald doing?” Elizabeth asked.

            “He feels a bit betrayed,” Jeff explained, “but he’s ok. I helped get the stuff home. So it was nice to go through the will, get the stuff and get a nice lunch.” Elizabeth giggled, but Jeff stayed quiet. “That was morbid”

            “It was kind of funny though,” Elizabeth said.

            “Oh, I wanted to ask something,” Jeff said. “Did you want to get dinner with me tonight?” Elizabeth laughed.

            “Are you asking me out?” she joked.

            “Umm,” Jeff stuttered, “My wife is coming with us.” Elizabeth blushed, embarrassed that Jeff didn’t get the joke.

            “Right,” she said, “I was kidding by the way.”

            “I know,” Jeff snickered, “I just wanted to make you blush.” Elizabeth bit her lip and smirked.

            “You son of a bitch,” she joked.

            “Mom!” Clare yelled.

            “You’re in trouble now,” Jeff laughed.

            “I’m sorry, Jeff, but Clare and I have a lot of work to do,” Elizabeth declined, her heart sinking a bit.

            “Oh, that’s right,” Jeff said, “Thanksgiving.”

            “Aren’t you doing anything tomorrow?” Elizabeth asked.

            “No, we already had it.” Jeff said. Elizabeth felt the light bulb over her head. Elizabeth thought for a moment.

            “Why don’t you and your family join us for dinner tomorrow?” she asked. Jeff felt surprised.

            “Really?” he asked, “are you sure?”

            “Very sure,” Elizabeth insisted. “It’ll be nice to see you and hear about your travels.”

            “Alright, then we’d love to join you guys.” Jeff said.

            “I’m glad. People will start to arrive at 4:30,” Elizabeth said.

            “We’ll be there then,” Jeff said, “I promised I’d talk to Clare again today, is that ok?”

            “Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow, Jeff.” Elizabeth said.

            “Bye, Liz.” Jeff replied. Elizabeth handed Clare back the phone and went back to work.

The Rose's Tears: Chapter 2 Part 4

October 7, 2002, Maple Ridge Elementary, 3:47 pm

            Nathan couldn’t help but glance at Clare’s painting: it was really good. Nathan had given up on completing his drawing and instead took the whole time to admire Clare’s and work up the courage to compliment her work. Clare didn’t seem to notice and just continued working while she waited for John to finish recycling duty. Her painting was of a group of clouds with the sun peeking out between them, shining on a small village. Nathan took in a deep breath and shuffled over to her.

            “I really like your painting.” He said, nervously. Clare smiled, blushing.

            “Thank you,” she quietly said.

            “I love how…um…how you…” Nathan stuttered. Clare stopped and looked at Nathan, eager to hear what he wanted to say. They made eye contact and paused, then giggled and looked away from one another. “I think you’re really good at that.” Nathan finally said.

            “Thank you,” Clare repeated, “My dad taught me how to draw and paint.”

            “I wish I could draw as good as you,” Nathan said, sighing. Clare looked at him surprised.

            “I could teach you,” she suggested. Nathan’s eyes widened.

            “Really?” he asked.

            “Yes, it’s easy. Lemmie show you!” Clare said, grabbing another brush and some paper. “Here, hold the brush like this.” She said, grabbing Nathan’s hand and placing the brush in it. Nathan blushed and had butterflies fly around his stomach ad Clare’s hands held his. He felt a strange, unfamiliar feeling whenever he was around her and it scared him, but at the same time he enjoyed it. Clare moved his hand along the paper and helped him paint the body of a tree. She let go and admired Nathan’s tree, but Nathan continued to look at her eyes.

            “There, now all we need are leaves.” Clare said. Nathan snapped into reality and looked at the page, amazed with the clarity of what he drew.

            “Wow,” he said, “it worked. It’s like magic.” Clare looked at her hands and shrugged.

            “My dad just says it’s talent,” she said, “He draws murals and paintings for a people.”

            “That’s cool,” Nathan said, kicking his feet, “my dad is an accountant.”

            “What’s that?” Clare asked. Nathan shrugged.

            “I don’t know,” he giggled. Clare looked back down at her painting.

            “I’m making this one for my dad,” she explained.

            “It’s really nice,” Nathan said again; Clare blushed and turned her face away from Nathan. “I really wish I could have it.”

            “Well-” Clare began, “I could paint you one if you’d like.” Nathan’s eyes shot open and his heart raced. He nodded furiously.

            “Yes, please, that would be very wonderful!” He yelled. Clare jumped back and held her hands out, startled. Nathan took a couple steps back. “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to, uh…”

            “I don’t mean to interrupt,” bellowed the deep voice of Mr. Ferguson; the kids turned slowly to face him. “But it’s almost 4 o’clock and I have to go soon, so you guys should make your way home now.” Nathan frowned and nodded. “I’ll see you kids tomorrow.” Mr. Ferguson led them out of the room and into the hall, locking the door behind them. He waved as he walked down the hall and around the corner. Nathan looked back at Clare and the butterflies returned; what was this feeling? I’ve never felt this way before.

            “Clare!” John shouted as he came running down the hallway, “I’m all done.”

            “Yay! Should we go now?” Clare asked; John nodded. Nathan felt his heart sink; he didn’t want her to leave. Clare looked back at Nathan and he immediately stood up straight and smiled nervously.

            “I’ll paint the picture for you soon,” Clare promised. Nathan nodded.

            “Thank you,” he said. There was a long awkward pause as Clare and Nathan looked at one another; John looked back and forth between them, feeling impatient.

            “Ahem,” he finally said. Clare shook her head and her and John ran down the hallway.

            “Bye bye.” She called. Nathan weakly waved, then sunk to the floor; he felt exhausted.

            “What is this?” he said, “Why do I feel so…good.”

Sometime later, Nathan’s house

            Nathan sat in front of his TV, playing video games. His father sat on the couch behind him, reading the newspaper. Nathan suddenly paused the game, his mind elsewhere. His father folded the paper down and looked at Nathan.

            “You look troubled, kiddo.” Nathan’s dad said, shuffling onto the floor. “Something wrong?” Nathan shook his head, but his father kept nagging him, “You can tell me, come on.”

            “I had a really weird feeling today,” he explained. His father felt suddenly worried.

            “Go on,” he said.

            “Well, there’s this girl in my art class-” Nathan said. His dad quickly placed his palms in his face, then rested his head on his fist.

            “A girl in your art class, ok,” he stuttered, trying to keep a tone of cluelessness, while his mind was filled with pleas oh lord, take me now.

            “I get these weird feelings around her,” Nathan continued. His father nodded. “And I don’t know what these feelings are.”

            “What do they feel like?” His father asked.

            “Like weirdness in my stomach,” Nathan explained.

            “You mean butterflies, boy?” His father said. Nathan nodded.

            “What are these feelings?” Nathan asked. His father felt somewhat relieved.

            “So, you just have feelings?” His father asked. Nathan nodded. “Nothing more than that?” Nathan looked at his father, puzzled.

            “Why do you asked?” he asked. His father paused, unsure of how to respond.

            “I’ll answer that when you’re 14.” Nathan’s jaw dropped.

            “Why?”

            “Maybe 15, anyways, this girl you speak of,” his father said, “What’s she like?”

            “I haven’t spoken to her much,” Nathan said, “but she’s good at art stuff. She was drawing a pretty picture.”

            “Sounds cute,” his father said.

            “Why do I feel like this?” Nathan asked.

            “Well,” his father started, “have you ever heard of a crush?” Nathan nodded, then felt scared.

            “You mean…I like like her?” he whispered. His father nodded. Nathan shook his head.

            “No, it can’t be,” he said, “I like like a girl?”

            “And to think that only a year ago you thought they had coodies.” His father teased.

            “What do I do about this?” Nathan asked.

            “Well, the best you can do is befriend her: talk to her, hang out with her, get to know her.” His dad suggested. Nathan blushed.

            “Um, dad, will I-” he hesitated finishing the question, “have to marry her?” His dad looked around and leaned in close.

            “You bet,” he whispered, “and we will all be very happy to see you two walk down the aisle next year.”

            “NOOOOOOOOO!!!!” Nathan yelled.

            “Frank!” Shouted Nathan’s mother, startling his father, “Just what are you putting in that boys head this time?”

The Rose's Tears: Chapter 2 Part 3

Downtown Calgary, July 7, 1997, 8:24 am

            Gerald paced the room as his lawyer/friend, Jeff, sat in a chair next to the door. Gerald was very restless, not wanting to go through with what needed to be done.

            “We just have to go in there, listen to the Liz’s lawyer read through the agreements, hopefully no arguments will arise, sign the papers and that's that.” Jeff explained. Gerald nodded, his heart sinking.

            “That's that,” he whispered. Jeff sighed.

            “Maybe try sitting down,” Jeff invited. Gerald shook his head, twiddling his thumbs. Jeff tapped the seat next to it.

            “I'm not sitting down, Jeff,” Gerald snapped.

            “It might help you relax,” Jeff suggested.

            “I'm getting a divorce,” Gerald said, “I don't think I can relax in this situation.” Jeff looked away, shaking his head. Gerald walked to the window. “I'm sorry, I don't know why I snapped.”

            “Hey, man, don't worry,” Jeff said, “It's a tense situation.”

            “Elizabeth is my sweetheart,” Gerald said, “she was my first friend in Calgary, my High School sweetheart, we lost our virginity to one another,” Jeff held up his hands, gesturing too-much-information. “Sorry.”

            “I'm just kidding,” Jeff chuckled; Gerald smirked. “Finally, a smile.”

            “Anyway, you can see how I feel.” Gerald said.

            “Trust me, Gerald,” Jeff said, “I've known you since I was five; I can tell how you feel.”

            “I suppose you’re right,” Gerald sighed. “It’s still hard though; worse than any break up I’ve gone through.”

            “You’re taking it rather calmly right now, though,” Jeff pointed out. Gerald laughed sarcastically.

            “I’m too tired to be angry or cry now,” he explained, “You should have been there when Elizabeth said we should separate.”

            “I can probably imagine,” Jeff said. Gerald sat in the chair next to Jeff and stared at the ceiling.

            “Remember how I told you a year ago that this was just a temporary thing?” he asked; Jeff nodded. “I guess, in a sense, I was right, but this isn’t at all what I hoped for.” Jeff placed his hand on Gerald’s shoulder.

            “I know, buddy,” he assured, “Neither did I. I’m sure Liz didn’t want this.”

            “Then why is she asking for this?” Gerald asked. Jeff thought for a moment, wanting to avoid saying something stupid.

            “There are some things that can’t be reconciled,” he finally said, “no matter how hard people try.” Gerald placed his palm on his face, rubbing his eyes.

            “Will I still get to see Clare?” Gerald asked.

            “Liz has agreed to grant you visitation rights,” Jeff explained, “Liz’s lawyer and I will go over this when they get here.”

            “I’m not really her father, through,” Gerald said, “Isn’t that in a legal gray area?” Jeff shook his head and took out a document: Clare’s birth certificate.

            “Read who it says the father is,” Jeff requested. Gerald looked up, deciding to humour Jeff.

            “Gerald Wolfe,” he read.

            “Gerald Ingrid Wolfe,” Jeff echoed, “That means that you are the father of her; not the step father, but blood father of this child in legal standards.” Gerald nodded. “Besides, you’re the only father she has and needs.”

            “I try my best to be a good dad,” Gerald said.

            “You do a good job, bud,” Jeff said, “And you will continue to do so?” Gerald nodded. “I need you to say it out loud. I’m asking as your friend, will you continue to be a good father?” Gerald looked at Jeff and smirked.

            “Of course,” he said. There was a knock on the door and in walked Elizabeth’s lawyer.

            “Sorry we’re late,” he said, “We can start now if you two are ready.” Gerald and Jeff stood up, both adjusting their ties. Gerald looked at himself self-consciously, and then tapped Jeff’s shoulder.

            “How do I-” Gerald started.

            “You look fine, Gerald,” Jeff chuckled. “Are you ready?” Gerald took in a deep breath, nodding his head. Jeff led Gerald into the next room. Upon seeing Elizabeth sitting on the opposite side of the table, Gerald felt his heart skip several beats; this had been the first time in since Elizabeth asked for the divorce that Gerald had seen her. Elizabeth looked slightly pale and sad, as if she was feeling the same as Gerald. Elizabeth wore a black shirt covered by a cyan sweater and long black skirt; Gerald wondered if complimenting her would be a good move, but decided to stay quiet for now. Jeff shook hands with Elizabeth’s lawyer, then with Elizabeth. Gerald reached out his hand and did the same. While shaking Elizabeth’s hand, Gerald could feel her sadness flowing through her like a river, making Gerald feel bad.

            “You look beautiful,” he said. Elizabeth looked at him, shocked at first, but then her cheeks slightly flush, like a small light had lit up, and a small smile formed.

            “Thank you,” she whispered, “You look good too.” The meeting went on for quite some time, Gerald tuning in and out depending on how important the topic was. Throughout the meeting, all Gerald thought of his wedding and when Clare was born, the happiest moments in his life.

            “Gerald!” Jeff said; Gerald jumped. “It’s time to sign now,” Gerald nodded and took the pen in his hand. As he placed the pen on the signature line, he hesitated.

            Is this really what’s for the best? He asked himself. Jeff saw tears dripping onto the table and placed his hand on the pen.

            “Do you need some time?” He asked. Gerald shook his head.

            “Just give me a second.” Gerald requested, and then leaned back and took a deep breath, wiping the tears out of his eyes. Then, he placed the pen back on the paper and wrote his signature, sliding the pen and documents away from him after. Elizabeth took the pen and wrote her first name down, but found she was also hesitant to finish. Her lawyer took notice and looked at his watch.

            “Is something wrong?” He asked. Elizabeth looked at Gerald. Elizabeth felt angry about what her lawyer said.

            What do you think? She wanted to say, but held her tongue and finished the signature. I’m really sorry, Gerald; for everything

The Rose's Tears, Chapter 2: Part 2

October 6, Willow Park, 12:13 am

            Elizabeth felt very restless, staring at a spot on her ceiling; her head had been aching for a while now. She rolled over and hid her face, wincing in pain.

            Mind over matter, don’t think about it and it will go away, she thought, but she knew it was useless. She stood up, walked to her bathroom and took two Motrin pills. She hung over her sink and took deep, slow breaths in and out. The doorbell suddenly rang, breaking her relaxation. She slowly moved down the stairs with a bat in her hand, not wanting to take any chances. She moved towards the door as she readied the bat.

            “Who is it?” she called.

            “It’s Gerald,” the person answered. Elizabeth sighed with some relief and set the bat down, unlocked the door and let Gerald in.

            “Come in,” she welcomed. Gerald hesitantly entered as Elizabeth locked the door behind them.

            “Sorry, did I wake you?” Gerald asked, “Wait, of course I did.”

            “You didn’t,” Elizabeth said. Gerald turned and gave Elizabeth a puzzled look.

            “I didn’t? But it’s almost 12:30.” He said.

            “You’re not drunk, are you?” Elizabeth asked. Gerald shook his head. “Want a glass of wine?”

            “If that’s ok with you,” Gerald said, following Elizabeth into the kitchen. “I’m sorry to disturb you at this time; I needed someone to talk to”

            “Did it not go very well with your mother?” Elizabeth asked, taking the wine bottle out of the fridge and removing the cork. Gerald sighed and sat at the island counter.

            “No,” he said, “but I’m guessing you’re not surprised.”

            “Not particularly,” Elizabeth said. She poured two glasses of red wine and slid a glass to Gerald; he picked it up and sniffed it.

            “She went so far as to say I’m being too selfish and spending my money on worthless things,” he recollected.

            “I’m guess that would be me?” Elizabeth asked sarcastically.

            “Yeah, but what she doesn’t understand is that it’s child support,” Gerald said, thinking, “Although I believe that’s what she meant.”

            “What did she say about me this time?” Elizabeth asked. Gerald shook his head.

            “You don’t want to know,” he warned.

            “No, I can take it,” Elizabeth assured, sitting down. Gerald took a sip of wine and rubbed his forehead.

            “Just the usual: that you’re a whore,” he said, then his eyes sank, “but she added that Clare is a whore just by being your offspring,” Elizabeth looked disgusted.

            “What a bitch! How dare she-“Elizabeth stopped herself mid-sentence, feeling insensitive. Gerald snickered.

            “You can go on, Liz,” he said, “I’ve been calling my mom a bitch and worse since I was 15.”

            “She really had to bring Clare into all this?” Elizabeth asked. Gerald nodded.

            “She's my mother,” he said, “I'm sorry that she keeps this up. Speaking of Clare, I hope I didn’t wake her,” Elizabeth shook her head.

            “She’s having a sleepover with John,” she explained. Gerald finished his glass of wine and pushed the glass away from him; Elizabeth was about to pour him some more, but Gerald stopped her. Instead, she poured herself another glass. “So, how come you came here to talk instead of…somewhere else?”

            “Mostly because this whole thing had to do with you,” Gerald explained, “Mom’s still really bitter about…July ’92.” Elizabeth felt sick remembering that night; she thought about it a lot as it lingered in the front of her mind.

            “Can’t say I blame her,” she muttered.

            “Well, I can,” Gerald sighed, angrily, “what happened, happened and there’s nothing that can be done about that, and I have no hard feelings over it. Why should she?”

            “Because you’re her son,” Elizabeth said. Gerald snickered bitterly.

            “She never treated me like one,” he said, “this may be horrible to say, but I cannot wait for her to pass away,” Elizabeth agreed with Gerald, but was reluctant to say anything; she knew Ellen had been abusive to Gerald and never wanted him, so it was no surprise that Gerald felt completely distant from Ellen.

            “Why do you still help her with things though?” she asked. Gerald scratched his head, his cheeks turning red.

            “Mostly so I could show her that I’ve done more for her than she’s done for me.” He explained, “But that’s all done now. I’m not even going to her funeral.” Elizabeth felt surprised; this wasn’t like Gerald to say things like that.

            “It’s your mother, Gerald. Even if she was a bitch, she is still your mother,” Elizabeth said.

            “No, Liz,” Gerald said, “it took me until moving her into the hospice that she really isn’t.” Elizabeth frowned, unsure of what to say.

            “Won’t you’re family be frustrated seeing as you went to my parents funerals and not your own mothers?”

            “You see, the thing is,” Gerald began, “your parents treated me more like a son. I felt that they saw me as a good thing in your life.”

            “I’m sorry that I didn’t end up returning the favour,” Elizabeth said. She winced again as sharp pains stabbed at the front of her head.

“You ok, Liz?” Gerald asked. Elizabeth nodded.

            “I just have a headache, it's the reason I've been unable to sleep,” she explained. Gerald reached out his hand and gestured to Elizabeth.

            “Her, give me your hand,” he said.

            “It's alright, Gerald,” Elizabeth assured.

            “Trust me, Liz,” Gerald insisted. Elizabeth reached out her hand and Gerald pinched a spot between Elizabeth’s thumb and index finger. Almost immediately, her headache began to subside.

            “It's actually working,” she said, amazed.

            “There's a pressure point that relieves pressure from your head,” Gerald explained, “how's that?”

            “It's getting better,” Elizabeth said, “thank you, Gerald.”

            “Consider it my thanks for hearing me out tonight,” Gerald said, “and a thanks for the wine.” Gerald stood up and brushed himself off. “I should get going, it's really late,” Elizabeth nodded, leading Gerald to the door. “I'll, uh, pick up Clare next Friday.”

            “You guys have anything planned?” Elizabeth asked.

            “Thinking of seeing a movie,” Gerald said, “but we’ll make up a plan as we go,”

            “Just get out of the house next weekend,” Elizabeth pleaded, “and make sure she gets her homework done.” Gerald laughed.

            “Don’t worry, Liz,” he assured, I always do. Thank you for the wine and conversation.”

            “No problem,” Elizabeth said, “good luck with your mother.” Gerald waved and exited the house. Elizabeth locked the front door and thought for a moment, looking at her hand.

            He was right; she thought to herself smiling, it does feel better. She smiled and then walked back upstairs to bed.

The Rose's Tears, Chapter 2: Part 1

October 5, McKenzie Lake, Calgary, Alberta, 8:15 pm

            Clara flowed down the stairs, a bowl overflowing with popcorn in her hand. She walked into the living room, where Clare and John lay on the floor in their sleeping bags, eyes glued to the TV. Clara placed the bow between the two as she glanced at what the kids were watching.

            “Isn’t this a little scary for you guys?” she joked. The kids shrugged, their eyes not moving away from the screen.

            “Vampires aren’t that scary, Aunt Clara,” Clare said.

            “Yeah, mom,” John agreed, “werewolves are a lot cooler and scarier.” Clara glanced back and forth between Clare and John, wondering if it was one of those so called “height of the times” Elizabeth had mentioned.

            “You kids are strange,” she teased, walking away, “bedtime is at nine.”

            “But mom, it’s Saturday,” John complained.

            “Alright, ten then,” she laughed, disappearing up the stairs. John and Clare looked back to make sure she was gone, then John reached into his sleeping bag and pulled out a stack of paper and pencils.

            “OK, so we should brainstorm what your mom and dad are up to, if anything,” John said. Clare looked at him blankly.

            “Why the paper and pencils then?” she asked.

            “Remember in English class?” John recollected, “We learnt that when we need to come up with something to write about we make a web-plot?”

            “Oh, yeah, that makes sense.” Clare said. John drew a big circle in the center of the first sheet of paper and wrote Clare’s Mom and Dad: What are they up to? Clare shook her head.

            “No, we need a better name than that!” she protested.

            “But only we are going to see this,” John explained, “why would we need a better name if no one else is going to see it?”

            “Ohhhhh,” Clare said. John made another bubble, titled Scenario 1, then stopped and bit the end of the pencil.

            “Ummm,” he pondered, “what are things that your parents don’t usually want you to know?”

            “A sin number,” Clare blurted out. John just stared at her.

            “What’s a sin number?” John asked.

            “I don’t know, but I’ve heard my dad talks on the phone about how no one else knows it.”

            “Could it be something serious enough to have your parents on edge?” John asked. Clare thought for a moment and then shrugged.

            “I guess not,” she said, going into a deep thought. John tapped his pencil up and down on the paper, thinking hard. “Oh, I got one!”

            “What is it?” John said, excited and startled.

            “You can’t laugh,” Clare said.

            “I won’t laugh,” John promised.

            “Birthday presents,” Clare suggested. The room fell quiet and John looked blankly at the paper.

            “That’s a good one!” He yelled, and then wrote it down on the paper.

One and a half hours later

            “Well,” John said, “if my mom saw this, I think she’ll say that we got carried away.” Clare and John stood surrounded by 20 pieces of paper full of brainstorming ideas.

            “I think we can get rid of this one,” Clare said. John looked down to where she was pointing and nodded.

            “Yeah, I doubt your parents are aliens, too,” He said, “besides, that’s kind of childish, don’t you think?”

            “Yeah, let’s see. I’ll take this one…and this…” Clare said, rearranging each paper into two different piles. Eventually, she had a group of 6 papers on one side and the rest in a stack behind her. “I think these are the most believable.” John carefully looked at each individual piece and nodded.

            “Let’s see; still insecure about the divorce, something to do with Grandma Ellen being sick….you put birthday presents in here?” John asked. Clare looked surprised.

            “I think it’s possible,” she defended.

            “OK,” John continued, “they still love one another, they’re fighting over you and there’s a secret about you they haven’t talked about.”

            “Maybe we can get rid of that one, too. It’s too general, isn’t it?” Clare said.

            “No, we can keep it, because we can add to it,” John suggested.

            “You’re lucky,” Clare said, “your mom seems to tell you everything.”

            “Not always, but she promises me that I will be told when I’m older, so I just have to be patient.” John said, the suddenly came to a realization, “Maybe your mom and dad are thinking the same thing and will tell you what’s wrong when you’re older.” Clare shook her head.

            “I’m not patient enough,” she protested, “and this is so much more fun than waiting. John looked back down and examined the papers again.

            “If my dad were still alive,” he started, “he could help us. He was a detective.” Clare’s jaw dropped.

            “Really? I didn’t know that,” she squealed excitedly. The room fell quiet for a few moments; Clare twiddled her thumbs as an uncomfortable feeling clouded over her.

            “Do you miss your dad?” she asked. John shook his head.

            “I wasn’t born at the time he died,” he explained, “my mom misses him; sometimes she’s in her room crying, so I come in to cheer her up. She says I look and act a lot like him and that I make him proud every day.”

            “”But isn’t he dead? How can he be proud?” Clare asked.

            “I asked my mom the same thing, and she said he’s always watching over me, seeing all the things I do.” John continued, “He still loves me and one day, I’ll get to see meet him; that’s why I never get sad that I didn’t meet him, because I know he’s always here with me and will keep me safe, just like my mom says." Suddenly, the kids heard footsteps coming down the stairs. They rapidly gathered the individual piles and threw them under the sleeping bags, then stood side-by-side facing the stairs. Clara entered and stopped, staring back at the two kids.

            “Why are you guys just standing there?” she asked. Clare and John said nothing. “You’re freaking me out a little, guy.”

            “I, uh, um…” John stuttered.

            “You were right, that show was too scary for us,” Clare said, “And we got scared by the creaking of the stairs.” John and Clare looked at each other and nodded. Clara laughed and gestured for them to follow her.

            “Come up stairs, I made cookies.” She said. John’s face brightened and he dashed past his mom, closely followed by Clare. “Hey, wait…save some for me you rascals,” Clara joked as she chased them up the stairs.