The Double Rose (3 page)

“I don’t know why I try,” Marie confessed while at the same time vacillating on whether or not to toss a pink silk dress
. It is plain but definitely my color
. The garment got a reprieve, and she rehung it with a shrug of her shoulders. Her wardrobe was too extensive to take inventory in the midst of professional chaos. She decided to drown her sorrows in the last few cinnamon slurps of her latte and headed toward the stairs.

“Try what?”

“To avoid your wisdom. Somehow or another it always comes.” Marie took a deep breath and allowed some anxiety to flush out of her system. “Geneviéve deserves to be appreciated more often. Heaven knows she certainly doesn’t get any validation from her husband. Okay, I’ll call her.”

“Thank you, darling. Oh, and don’t forget the General’s Chicken. Love you. Bye.”

“Love you too. Bye.”

How am I going to reduce this collection?

A small cluster of her vibrantly painted canvases hung above a loveseat in the upstairs foyer. The pillows beckoned to be fluffed, which she tended to a little more vigorously than usual. “What possible justification can that man give for his firm failing to get the entire Events Center completed on time?” she said out loud knowing perfectly well no one was available to hear. “It is so typical of him not to consider how his actions affect other people. He got the contract of the decade for a construction firm and blew it.”

As she descended the staircase, an annoying memory captured her thoughts, and she paused on the landing while she considered it.
Darling, whenever you start talking to yourself, I know you have lost control of your day
. Sophie’s lectures were ever present.

From Marie’s perspective, there was a therapeutic upside to talking to herself. Until she came to her senses, she could rattle on about anything she wanted and always be correct because there was no one there to disagree. The downside was that people who talk to themselves tend to babble irrationally and would appear ridiculous if, in fact, anyone were there to see the spectacle.

Marie realized she needed to regain complete control of her emotions. Perhaps it was time for a prayer. She paused on the steps. “Our Father, please help me to forgive Josh. Please take away this overwhelming desire I have to slap him in the face . . . Lord, you know I would never really slap Josh in the face, but I do
really
want to. Help me understand why that man makes me crazy. Thank you, Lord. Amen.” She continued down the steps as she dialed Geneviéve.

* * *

With her arms full of vegetables, Geneviéve struggled to brush her frizzy hair back to click the Bluetooth. “Hey, sis, what’s up?”

“Hi, Geneviéve, I got bad news today.”

Geneviéve gasped, “What has happened?!” She dropped the vegetables on the high-top kitchen table. A couple of radishes promptly rolled on to the floor.

* * *

From the corner of her eye, a small illustration caught Marie’s attention. She instinctively removed it from the wall. The representation in rich lilac-blue pastels of an exotic flower with long pear-shaped petals created vivid memories of its perfumed scent and the sensation of the paradise it belonged to–a paradise that was not of this world. In thousands of her visions, Marie had walked through cities, mountains, gardens, and shores that defy earthly comparison.

“It’s a long story, but it looks as if I am going to have to trim down my exhibit.” She restored the illustration to its place on the wall and then tugged another curl.

“You can't be serious. I'm so sorry!”

Marie removed another illustration from its hanger. She created this piece during her junior year at the university. The art professor ridiculed it in front of his class, claiming that, although she had some talent, her fantasies would prevent her from ever being respected as a serious artist. Marie refused to be treated like a twenty-first century freak. With confidence and dignity, she responded, “Professor Higgins, this city is a glimpse into the future.” Because passing Higgins’ class was a requirement for an illustration major, most of the students looked shocked that anyone would dare defy the ornery old man.

“The movers will be here Tuesday to pack and ship my collection.” Marie restored the illustration to its home on the wall. “That gives me only four days to prepare. Maman, Juliette, and Nicole are coming over tonight to help me sort out this mess. Is there any chance you can break free and join us?”

“Let me call Derrick and see what I can work out. What time is everyone meeting at your studio?”

“The girls will be here at seven o’clock, but Maman will be here at six for Chinese. You are welcome to eat with us.” Marie picked up her empty latte cup from the end table and savored its cinnamon scent, then stacked the cup on her lunch plate, and walked over to the refrigerator. At least she could salvage her chicken salad.

* * *

Geneviéve’s hands were full of spices and a large wooden spoon. She was exhausted after a long day and spending the last half-hour working at the kitchen table in a drone-like manner. The suggestion of joining them for take-out renewed life in her weary body. “Give me five minutes and I will call you back. Bye.” She clicked off the Bluetooth. Rubbing her chin with her spice-scented fingers, she contemplated on how to approach Derrick with the request to come home.

Geneviéve hid the truth about Derrick’s indiscretions from her family. The fact he had not spent an evening under his own roof in over three months shamed her.

Guilt, too, weighed heavily on her mind. She knew her youthful rebellion created her present drama.
Perhaps
, she wished more than hoped,
he would consider coming home to spend some time with the kids if he knew I wouldn’t be her
e.

* * *

Marie hung up the phone determined to give her mind a little rest from the drama of the situation. She pulled a menu for A Taste of China out from the top desk drawer, then swiveled the office chair one hundred and eighty degrees.

So much for resolve
.

On the opposite wall prominently above the sofa hung her largest rendition of
The Double Rose
. The canvas measured six-feet high by four-feet wide. The vibrant colors begged the spectator to pluck it off the canvas. Every deep-red petal and piercing thorn had been portrayed with minute details.
No. This is not the time to ponder the mystery of the double rose
.

The phone rang, diverting her attention.

* * *

“Hi.” Geneviéve restored all the vegetables to the fridge at record speed. “Derrick is on his way to a meeting. I was lucky that I caught him. Anyway, he says he has a deadline in the morning for a high-profile embezzlement case. There is no way he can watch the kids tonight.” She plopped a few potatoes into a wicker basket in the pantry. Then she motioned for her children, Jared and Emily, to get cleaned up.

“Surprise, surprise! Geneviéve, I don’t know how you put up with that man. He is always on his way to a meeting. He always has a deadline. Meanwhile, life is passing by. When was the last time he did anything with you and the kids as a family, or spent time with his kids at all, or paid attention to you?”

Relief did not outweigh Marie’s offensive remarks. She placed the wooden spoon back into the oak drawer and slammed it shut. “Marie, I know Derrick has his faults, but he is still my husband. People are not inanimate objects of art on display for you to critique! Besides, what do you know about marriage? What makes you qualified to judge him or my marriage? The man is a prosecuting attorney. He has responsibilities, long hours, and deadlines. Cut him some slack!”

Geneviéve packed crayons, construction paper, a book, and granola bars into Emily’s backpack.

“Why are you always making up excuses for him?” An awkward moment of silence had passed between them before Marie continued, “You know what, it doesn’t matter. You are right. I’m sorry. He is your husband. I guess this means you can’t come tonight?”

No dirty dishes, General’s Chicken—yeah, I am coming
, she wanted to scream. Her tone softened. “Well, I am sincerely touched to be invited to your project. Do you mind if I bring the kids? It honestly does mean a lot to me that you want my help.” Geneviéve opened the white purse stored in the corner of the kitchen desk and pulled out a small makeup bag.

* * *

Marie adored children. They were welcome in her studio, although their presence made her wince, especially after discovering a capless tube of acrylic paint. Like a treasure chest, her studio created mystery and intrigue in the imaginations of young children. “And it means a lot to me that you are always there for me too. Yeah, of course, bring the kids.”

“Great! We will be there at six. Don’t forget the General’s Chicken. Thanks, sis.”

“What is it with our family and General’s Chicken?” she replied with a light laugh. “You are welcome. I will see you guys at six. Oh, and please ask Jared to bring his music. If he doesn’t mind playing for us, it may soothe the savage beast I have been fighting with all afternoon.”

“You know that boy would do anything for his Aunt Marie. Later.”

Marie glanced at an unfinished painting of the mythical King Arthur—Jared’s twelfth birthday present—on a traditional wooden easel situated next to a steel drafting table. Every time she worked on the piece, it brought memories back of her own twelfth birthday—the night she had her special dream for the first time.

She recalled every detail of the recurring dream, the sense of being more alive, ageless, and outside of time. Her recollection renewed the sensation she felt while wearing an exquisite white gown and the white light that appeared to illuminate the path for her journey.

Proceeding barefoot through a mysterious house, she eventually reached a large ornate set of gold double doors that led to an extensive, yet peculiar garden. As she explored the garden, she discovered two curious paths. She instinctively knew she had to choose between them. After making a choice, she proceeded.

Once she entered the pathway, she realized she was a player in an elaborate maze. The sides of the maze were made of a tall, bright-green hedge. The grounds around the hedge were covered with a multicolored array of beautiful flowers.

A gentle melody serenaded her along her journey until she reached the center of the maze, only to discover a tall, muscular man building a miniature twelve-foot-high house. He wore ordinary, dark-blue jeans and a plain, run-of-the-mill, white tank top. A tattoo of two blooming red roses sharing one lush, green stem garnished his right arm below the shoulder. He never noticed Marie. The dream is exactly the same every time with the exception of exploring the never-ending garden.

* * *

Though technically early, Sophie arrived precisely on time at five o’clock—on time for mother-daughter one-on-one bonding.

Sophie entered the studio holding a large bouquet of pink daisies, for no rational person could feel discouraged in the presence of pink daisies. She discerned the brink of Marie’s destiny and knew the beautiful, fresh-cut flowers would inspire creative insight.

Sure enough, the sight of the daisies restored Marie’s smile. It beamed over her face like a rainbow after a summer storm.

Standing at five-feet five-inches tall with a textbook curvaceous, hourglass figure, and hazel-green eyes framed by thick lashes as black as onyx, Marie’s perky smile drew men to her. A generous crown of auburn hair sat atop her head and flowed delicately down her back with regal elegance. Even in paint-stained sweats and an ordinary tank, “extraordinary” defined her.

“Thank you, Maman!” Marie greeted her mother affectionately with their customary family salutation—a kiss on each cheek.

Sophie studied Marie’s countenance as only a mother could have. She was able to read her like a book: her expressions, clothing, and mannerisms were all telling a story, and that story told how Marie was searching for something—or more accurately, someone.

* * *

The ladies released a crystal vase from its hiding place below the kitchen sink, summoned A Taste of China for six o’clock with an order for three quarts of General’s Chicken, and together the women embarked on the art of arranging the vase with the happy flowers.

The hour flew by as the women fussed over the daisies while reminiscing about summer trips to the magnificent countryside of France, Italy, England, and Ireland.

Once Geneviéve and the kids arrived, Marie served up Chinese food on bright green stoneware plates. Seven-year-old Emily delighted in opening up all the fortune cookies and matching up the appropriate fortunes with the diners.

Marie loved Geneviéve but did not possess the patience and perception of her mother. Her head would have burst if she had to listen to one more minute of Geneviéve’s saga. From deep within, Marie knew the truth. Listening to Geneviéve talk about her relationship with Derrick made her uncomfortable–extremely uncomfortable. What she did not understand was why it unsettled her so.

Thank goodness, she thought when Juliette and Nicole arrived together a quarter of an hour early.

Another hour passed by as they laughed over life, and love, and particularly their men while they devoured a homemade strawberry cheesecake Nicole had left over from a dinner party. Juliette had packed along the latest issue of
Harp Column
, which, of course, had to be devoured along with the cheesecake.