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.

The Rose's Tears, Chapter 1: Final Part

October 4, 2002, McKenzie Lake, Calgary, Alberta, 11:30 am

            Elizabeth and Clara walked along the hillside overlooking the golf course while John and Clare threw leaves at each other.

            “Don’t be too rough, John,” Clara called.

            “Ok, mom.” John said.

            “He’s getting to be really big now,” Elizabeth commented.

            “He really is,” Clara agreed, “although, when he gets growth spurts, it’s kind of painful for him.”

            “Poor kid,” Elizabeth said. “Oh, did you hear about that boy in the kids class whose mom took him and his brother to tour with Cirque du Soleil?” Clara’s jaw dropped.

            “I had no idea that was actually true! I thought John was making things up!” Clara said.

            “No, it’s completely true. We’ll sit at the bench and I’ll explain.” Elizabeth said, sitting down. John looked back and shook his head.

            “My mom didn’t believe me.” He said, “Remind me to thank yours for bringing it up. How come you didn’t go to your dad’s this weekend?”

            “He went to visit grandma,” she said, gathering a pile of leaves.

            “Why didn’t you go see her with him?” John asked. Clare shrugged.

            “She’s sick right now, so maybe that’s why.”

            “Did he not want you to catch it as well?” John asked.

            “Maybe,” she said, “but I can’t help feeling that mom and dad are keeping secrets” John sat next to Clare on his pile of leaves.

            “What would they be hiding?” John asked.

            “I don’t know, but something big,” Clare answered. John stood up, grabbed his pile and dumped it on Clare’s head. Clare shrieked and grabbed John’s legs, causing him to fall backwards into the bush.

            “Hey you guys, be careful!” Elizabeth called. Clara leaned back into the bench and smiled at the children.

            “He started it!” Clare yelled back.

            “No I didn't, she's a liar!” John joked, trying to get back to his feet.

            “Is Gerald doing ok?” she asked.

            “No, his mother is really sick.” Elizabeth said.

            “Has it gotten worse?” Clara asked. Elizabeth nodded.

            “It was worse than they thought, they’re going to stop chem-o.” Clara’s jaw dropped.

            “Oh my god! That’s terrible.” She said. Elizabeth nodded.

            “Yeah, I feel bad for him. He’s been through a lot,” Elizabeth sighed and looked back at the kids, who were pushing each other into leaves. “I put him through a lot.”

            “Does Clare know about her grandmother?” Clara asked. Elizabeth shook her head.

            “I’m afraid to tell her,” Elizabeth said. Clara sighed and shook her head.

            “There’s way too much you haven’t told her,” she said, “It isn’t really fair that you two are keeping so many secrets.” Elizabeth leaned forward and buried her face in her hands.

            “I know we do,” she moaned, “but I want to tell her when she is older.”

            “She’s very mature, Liz,” Clara said, “I’m sure she’ll be able to come to terms with it.” Elizabeth looked forward at Clare and John, who were now lying down, looking up at the clouds.

            “I'm just not ready to talk to her about it, yet,” Elizabeth said, “neither is Gerald, and I promised him that he could be there when I told her.” Clara nodded

            “Do you think he's still in love with you?” she asked.

            “I have no doubt in my mind that he does,” Elizabeth said, “but I dunno how I feel toward him.”

            “Don't worry about it,” Clara said, “you'll figure it out in time. It’s almost noon, why don’t you say we all get lunch?” Elizabeth agreed and stood up with Clara.

            “Come on, kids. She said, “Let’s go eat.” John and Clare jumped up started walking back to the pathway.

            “Maybe tonight, you and I can talk about it some more and we can think of what their hiding,” John whispered. Clare nodded and zipped her lips, to which John agreed to.

Kelowna, British Columbia, October 5, 2002, same time.

            Gerald helped his mother, Ellen, out of his car and into the wheelchair waiting in front of them, and then proceeded to wheel her through the hospice doors. After many discussions with the doctors and paperwork filled out, Gerald helped Ellen into her bed; her room overlooked Lake Okanagan. Ellen looked out of the window, taking in deep sighs.

            “Did you want me to open the window, mom?” Gerald asked.

            “No thank you,” Ellen said, “it's too chilly.”

            “Might be good to get some air in here though,” Gerald said, walking over to the window. Ellen grabbed Gerald’s wrist, stopping him.

            “I said no, Gerald.” She said. Gerald hesitated before sitting back in the chair; he suddenly felt uncomfortable, as if Ellen didn’t want him to be there.

            “Well, what do you think of the place, mom?” Gerald asked, trying to brighten the mood glooming over the room. Ellen rolled her eyes.

            “It’s plain, it’s cold and I’m going to die here,” she joked bitterly, turning to face her son, “what do you think I think of the place?” Gerald stood, as if to leave, but Ellen snapped her fingers, stopping him.

            “Don’t you dare leave while I’m talking,” she snapped, “sit back down!” Gerald sighed and sunk back into the chair, crossing his arms. Ellen sneered at Gerald, feeling angry and annoyed. “What kind of stupid question is that?” Gerald shrugged. “I want an answer Gerald!”
            “I don’t know, mom. I don’t know you that well, remember?” Gerald snapped.

            “Don’t you dare talk to me like that, ever! You understand me?” Ellen barked. Gerald stood and began marching to the door. “And now you’re leaving me here. How does that make you feel, abandoning your mother like this?” Gerald stopped at the door and shrugged.

            “What do you want me to say, mom?” Gerald countered.

            “What I want is for you to stop thinking about yourself and be less greedy!” Ellen screamed, “I’m in here because you chose to spend your money on that Elizabeth whore and her whore child!” Gerald almost lunged at Ellen, but stopped himself after two steps.

            “She’s nine years old, mom, for Christ’s sake!” Gerald said.

            “She’ll be a whore if she grows up with that whore-woman,” Ellen bellowed. By now, a group of guests, patients and nurses began to gather outside the door, concerned about what was going on. Gerald shook his head, a disgusted look on his face.

            “Let me make this clear, mother,” he said, pointing at her, “Clare is my daughter no matter who conceived her. I am her only father and Elizabeth and I agreed to this and will keep it this way.” Ellen snickered before coughing a fit and bringing her breathing mask to her face. She looked back at her son, the shame in her eyes so visible it might as well have been lightened up with fluorescents. Gerald finally turned and left, Ellen’s laughter echoing through the hallway. Gerald entered his car and drove onto the highway, headed back east, not wanting to stay in town another minute.