The Crying Rose: The Trilogy of the Rose (Volume 1) Page 12

  “Okay,” he said. Speaking no louder than a soft whisper, he began.

  “January 12, 1994

  I just love being pregnant. Four short weeks to go. I can hardly wait. J.W. has had more morning sickness that I have had. In fact, he is still suffering from it. I told him that if he keeps it up, I could report him to the Guinness people.

  Oh, Thumper just kicked me. He has a good sense of humor. Good sign. I want my boy to laugh.

  Mom called, said she was excited about heading to the mountains and getting out of town this weekend. I think I ruined her happiness when I told her about her travel partner. Linda had to back out of her puppy sitting. She has a cold and doesn’t feel that she would be able to handle a new puppy, feeling so poorly.

  J.W. wasn’t too thrilled about the prospect of having the puppy with us in the car for that long, but he knows we have no other choice. I refuse to put her in a kennel. Besides, I want to see how she handles the snow. It’s kind of hard to believe that she only arrived a few short weeks ago. I knew, even from the first time I saw her with that big, red bow around her neck that she and I were meant to be together . She had been a Christmas and anniversary gift from J.W. It still makes me smile when I remember our argument over her name. He had gone to great length to make a sign to hand around her neck. I can still see it. ‘Merry Xmas, Mommy, my name is Molly.’

  I told him that she didn’t look like a Molly. She had style, grace and beauty.

  Molly is such a plain name. I won that debate. I told him not to make a pregnant woman upset. That put him back on his heels.

  As I sit here writing, Princess, is playing with her favorite new chew toy, my furry slippers.

  Got to run, coffee is finished and work won’t wait.”

  Mark turned the page, then the next, but there were no more entries. He thumbed through more pages, but they were all blank.

  “I haven’t written since then,” Sami said before he could ask. She fought back tears, needing him to understand. Taking the journal out of his hands, she explained. “I haven’t even opened these journals since I buried them in this chest shortly after the funerals of my family almost six years ago. This is the first time I have felt that I needed them. I made it a ritual every month to write a few words regarding the previous month. I thought that, one day, my children might find them fun to read.” Tears starting pouring down her face, and she moved around to face the chest again. Mark kept silent for he felt her pain.

  Mark wanted to gain her trust, to allow him into her pain. “Sami, would you share your memories of your family with me? Tell me about them.”

  Sami placed the journal on the stack to her right, and then, picked up her wedding portrait. Mark watched her cautiously. “J.W. was a great guy,” she began. Using the index finger on her right hand, she traced the face of the man in the portrait. Mark believed that she was touching his face in her mind as she moved her finger along the glass.

  “From the first moment I laid eyes on him, I was impressed. His presence touched my heart, and I felt complete.” A smile formed on her lips, as she continued both the tracing and talking. “He might not be much to look at, but as he always laughingly reminded me, true love is blind.” Mark was mesmerized by her words for she radiated with a love that he could see with his own eyes. “You see,” she continued, “he was rough around the edges.”

  Sami lifted the photograph for Mark to view. He could tell from the image that the smiling man had been large, tall, and fairly hefty. This was the type of guy with whom Mark would not want to mince words--a rather formidable presence that one hoped was on your side in a conflict.

  “He had the soul of a teddy bear, a man that could make your knees weak with his voice,” Sami stated as she pulled the photograph back to her line of sight. A small laugh escaped her as she spoke again. “I must admit that when I first set eyes on him, I may have been a bit afraid, yet, with just a few exchanges of words, I was hooked. We were inseparable from that moment on.” As she paused, a dreamy expression crossed her face. “He was a pro at romance.” Mark shifted his position, feeling a bit uncomfortable at this information, but refrained from speaking.

  “The true charmer.” Sami’s voice spoke softly as she recalled her memories. “He would sneak into my office, and leave gifts on my desk for me to find in the morning. There was nothing really big, just small items. Things like a rose, a note or candy. I remember the girls I worked with were jealous. He did know how to treat a woman.” Mark found that he was a little bit green with envy himself, and he didn’t understand why he was reacting this way.

  “There was a down side at first to our relationship – my parents.” Sami paused. “They just couldn’t understand what I saw in him.” She frowned at this memory. “J.W. lived hard and fast prior to our meeting. All my parents saw was the rough exterior. My father’s words still ring in my ears. ‘He is not good enough for you. He rides a motorcycle, carries a gun and has tattoos.’ You know I stood up to my father for the first time in my life and defended J.W. It was a very difficult thing to do at the time as my father’s health was failing rapidly. Yet, I believed in J.W. and his love. I also believed that my love for J.W. ruled my heart.” Sami stopped and looked at Mark.

  Mark saw the pain in her eyes. He could see that she had loved these two men in her life. It must have caused turmoil for her to have conflict between them. Sami’s eyes softened as she continued. “I am just thankful that before the end of my father’s life, he was able to accept J.W. On his deathbed, my father spoke to J.W. regarding me. He made J.W. promise to protect me, and to take good care of his baby.” She choked back the onslaught of tears that had formed.

  “My father was a strong man even at the end. You must realize that I was the apple of his eye. I know today that he was only looking out for my best interest. I believe that it was easier for my father to accept J.W. when he saw how happy I was with this man I had chosen. I do know that my father trusted me, and my love. I hope that he went in peace knowing that J.W. would be there for me.” As she opened up to Mark, the tears began to fall.

  Sami struggled to regain control. “As for my mother,” her voice brightened as she placed the portrait aside and rose to her feet letting the afghan fall to the floor, “she is my best friend.” Mark noted the present tense she used in her words. Sami reached out for his hand as she got to her feet. Puzzled, he took the extended hand and got up. She led them to the door as she spoke. “She was always on Dad’s side in most things. I believe that when two people grow old together they form a bond that is hard to break. Don’t get me wrong.” She stopped at the door and stared at Mark to stress her meaning. “Mother would weigh both sides of an issue, but nine times out of ten, she would side with my father.” Sami nodded once to emphasize her words. “That’s one of the reasons I feared for her after my father’s passing. I wondered if she would have the will to keep going without my father’s presence and strength,” Sami said, in deep thought. “I really guess I didn’t give her much credit in that area. She did carry on with my support and those of others who cared for her.”

  Shaking her head, she continued. “I must admit that it was difficult for J.W. He not only married me, but also acquired my mother in the bargain. It wasn’t easy for him at first, but by the time…” Sami paused, as her eyes wandered from Mark’s face. He squeezed her hand to remind her that he was there and listening. She refocused on him and continued speaking, skipping a few words in the process as if her mind had said them, but the words had not come out. “…. they became close.”

  With this having been said, Sami walked out the door still holding Mark’s hand. “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “I want to show you a photograph of my parents.” Sami explained, glancing over her shoulder at him. Mark smiled feeling that he was finally developing a level of trust with her. She returned his smile.

  ***

  NINETEEN

  As they reached the craft room, Sami felt for the switch, and turned on the li
ght. Mark was right behind her and ran into her when she stopped abruptly. Her grip on his hand tightened to the point of pain for Mark. He gazed at her knowing that something was wrong. “What is it?” he asked trying to flex his now cramping fingers.

  “Where did THAT come from?” Sami hissed, releasing his hand and pointing toward the painting of the rose.

  Mark studied the painting and then glanced back to Sami. He shook his hand trying to ease the pain and tried to think fast, for it was not a question that she had asked, but a cry of injustice. I’m at a loss, he thought. Not knowing how to approach this situation, he opted to not respond to the cry, noticing the pure anger that she was displaying. He quickly positioned his body in front of her, using his large frame to block the painting from her view. “Sami, talk to me,” he began, keeping his voice even.

  Sami appeared not to hear him, as she tried with all of her might to see around him. Mark kept the painting out of her sight by countering each of her moves with his body. After a few minutes of frustrated attempts, she resigned and glared at his face. Words were not necessary, he knew that she was livid.

  “Sami, tell me what is happening right this minute?” Mark directed, keeping his voice in control.

  “What is that THING?” Sami barked. Mark noticed that her voice was laced with acid.

  Mark held his ground. Sami had spat out the word “thing” like it had horns and fire coming out of its mouth. He fought to remain calm. He replied to her question in the same tone as if someone had asked him for the time. “It’s a painting,” he answered and quickly added, “a rather good painting, in fact.” He smiled wanting her to react in kind, but she didn’t back down.

  “What is it doing there on my easel?” she asked harshly, but a bit calmer than before.

  “Sami,” he began, “it is there because it was created by you.”

  “No.”

  Mark heard a bit of confusion mixed with the anger in her voice. He watched her eyes as the heat of her anger slowly cooled. A lost expression appeared on her features.

  “No,” she repeated.

  Mark recognized that this was the moment; Sami was now ready to face the painting. He saw her shoulders relax and knew that her ‘claws’ had retracted. Without a word, he stepped out of the way.

  Sami moved forward to view the painting closely. “It’s lovely,” she stated, seeing it through the eyes of a true artist.

  “My thoughts exactly,” he said gazing at her and not the painting.

  Without taking her eyes off the painting, she asked. “Where did it come from?”

  This time the question required an answer. “I found it buried behind the rest,” he answered, indicating the stack of paintings leaning against the wall.

  Sami acknowledged his response with a slight tilt of her head. She reached out and lightly traced a petal of the rose. Mark watched her finger as it followed a teardrop, reminding him of a kid in a candy store who touches the glass on the outside of a display case that holds a favorite treat. He saw her locate and trace the signature crest at the bottom. Her index finger moved slowly as if the tracing would bring back the memory of painting the piece.

  “I don’t remember painting this picture,” Sami remarked. “I hate bright colors. I prefer dark ones.”

  “I noticed,” Mark commented.

  Sami’s eyes returned to the rose itself. “J.W. would always buy me this type of rose. They are my favorites.” Her voice was filled with emotion. Her shoulders shook as the deep anguish racked her body.

  Mark walked up behind her and subconsciously wrapped his arms around her. Sami leaned back into his chest and cried the sobbing tears that she had been unable to do before now. He saw the opportunity that was opening here. He needed her to tell him about the accident. She needed to talk about it in order for her to get the incident behind her.

  As Mark turned her around to exit the craft room, he saw the two open cedar chests at the same moment as Sami. Halting their movement, she used her hands to break out of his embrace. On unsteady legs, she approached the cedar chest that held the baby things. He heard her soft cry as she knelt down in front of the chest.

  “Adam!” she cried as she lifted the framed photograph of the ultrasound picture.

  She held the imaging to her chest as Mark knelt down next to her. With her free hand, Sami reached into the chest and withdrew a bright blue quilt from the chest. As Mark watched, she brought the quilt up to her face and buried it into the fabric. He heard her mumble something into the quilt, but was unable to make out the words. Wanting to do something to express his concern for her, he reached out and began to gently stroke the back of her head.

  After several minutes passed, Sami removed the quilt from her face and carefully replaced it in the chest. “My mother made this for Adam,” she said, as she caressed the quilt. “She wanted him to have something made by her that he could have for years to come.” She became aware of Mark’s hand on her head, and turned in his direction. “You know, they never even allowed me to hold him,” she said hoarsely, biting her lower lip, displaying the turmoil that she was experiencing. “I carried him for eight months, but my arms were never granted the right to hold him. My lips never got the chance to kiss him.” Sami lifted the photo to eye level and gazed at the image.

  Mark removed his hand from her head, and interlaced his fingers together on his lap. He found himself biting his own lower lip to keep from saying anything. For nothing he could say would erase the pain he was witnessing. He kept his eyes on her, ready to jump in and offer his support if needed. Sami kissed the photo and slowly replaced it back on top of the quilt. Raising up, to reach the lid of the chest, she lowered it down into its closed position. Mark saw her pat the chest a couple of times to signify that she was pleased to have the contents hidden from her view.

  Still on her knees, Sami made her way to the other open cedar chest. Mark noticed on top of this chest was displayed a very large, black purse. Picking it up, she inspected it from all angles. “I almost asked them to bury this with my mother,” she stated flatly. Alert to clues into her mental state, he noted that Sami displayed no emotions. She continued, “She was forever carrying this thing with her. J. W. and I used to tease her, saying that she would be lost without it.” As Sami talked, she dumped the contents of the purse out on the floor between Mark and her.

  Mark watched in amazement as the items came tumbling out. All the normal stuff: wallet, loose change, checkbook, comb, brush, pens, keys, a ton of tissues and several items that immediately caught his attention – jagged pieces of glass. He knew then, that Sami had not emptied this purse after the accident. This obviously was the first time she had gone through it. He looked from the items to Sami’s face. She did not seem to see the glass pieces. She eyed each item as she placed them back into the purse, everything except for the glass. These pieces remained on the floor between them. Mark made a note of this fact.

  As Sami replaced the purse back into the chest, her hand touched a framed photograph. She removed it, and Mark caught a glimpse of a nicely dressed, older couple. She appeared to study the photo as tears started building in her eyes. Mark’s heart broke as her next words reached him. “Daddy, Mommy, I miss you,” Sami cried loudly. Rivers of tears were now running down her cheeks. Mark removed the picture from her hands, and placed it back in the chest, closing the lid. He reached for her, careful to avoid the glass, and helped her to her feet.

  ***

  TWENTY

  Mark guided Sami back to the library, wanting her back with her journals and the afghan that she had left behind. She automatically sat when he released her in front of the opened cedar chest. She grabbed the afghan and covered her shoulders. Mark reached out and picked up the journal that he had read from earlier. He sat in the position as before and studied Sami who was still lost in her memories. He knew that he had to get her back on track. Reaching out, he touched her shoulder. She looked at him through her tears. He showed her the journal in his hand and asked, “Sa
mi, what happened after this day?”

  Sami glanced at the journal, and using the sleeve of her sweatshirt, wiped her tears. “That entry was written 5 days before ‘M.O.L.E.T.”

  Mark was lost. What was ‘molet’, he thought. Sami remained silent. Curiosity was consuming him. “Okay, Sami, I’ll ask. What is ‘molet’?”

  Sami gave him a ‘you poor child, don’t you know anything?’ expression. Clueless, Mark shrugged his shoulders. In a very patronizing voice, she stated flatly. “It means My Own Life Ended Today.”

  Stunned, Mark understood that feeling perfectly, but had not been able to put the feeling into words. Momentarily lost in his own memories, he refocused his attention to the present; now wasn’t the time to mourn his own loss. “Sami, will you tell me what happened?” he asked, not wanting to be morbid but knowing that she had to deal with the trauma.