The House of Roses (2 page)

On a cold January morning, in their final moments together, they'd stood in the pouring rain on the front steps of her brownstone. She'd struggled to memorize his face, his voice, the feel of him beside her. And then, as he'd walked away for the last time, she'd struggled to survive an unthinkable tragedy. The death of love.

The weeks that followed were a living hell. She became the ultimate born again spinster, wallowing in self-pity in ugly sweat clothes, an aging and mostly deaf cat, her only companion. She cried tears, buckets of them, and even now they came without warning.

“
Colin,” she wailed, as the fiercest of the contractions gripped her.

It was never as bad as she thought, but it had taken many sleepless nights to realize that. She'd loved him, she'd been in love with him, and still loved him. She'd loved the man he was, the man he would become. But, it was too late. She'd heard from a friend of a friend that he'd met someone and was happy. Things had worked out for him. He'd moved on, keeping the promise they'd made one another in the final moments they had shared. He hadn't kissed her but squeezed her hand, and she'd only met his stare for a moment – long enough to see the unshed tears lingering in his eyes. She should have stopped him. Maybe he would have stayed. Maybe the angry words they'd exchanged the night before hadn't been a means to an end. Maybe they should have fallen into bed and had the best make-up sex ever, and eventually they had. In the early morning hours, after the accusations had quieted, the tears had dried, and the painful decision to part had been made, he'd taken her hand, and led her quietly from the sofa to her bed. Their last hours had been the most incredible of her life, but they had left her heart ravaged. It had been like a symphony, a joining of souls, as if all the uncertainly was gone, and they were free to be what they always could be, just to each other. But as dawn arrived, the music had taken on a funereal tone, as if death was imminent. And, it was. As the sun rose that Sunday morning nine months before, her dreams had died.

Suddenly Caitlin was reminded of birth, not death, as another contraction grabbed her, nearly taking her to her knees. As she struggled to maintain her balance, she heard a key in the front door.

“
Time for the shoes,” were the only words her frazzled mind conjured up.

Rita Hollings flew through the door in a flurry of mismatched clothes, old trench coat and unruly blond hair. At sixty-nine, Rita looked more like something from the sixties, as opposed to someone in her sixties. Caitlin padded back to the living room as fast as her massive self would allow, and thrust her swollen feet into the furry slippers Rita had brought the  previous week. They were not attractive, surely not an accessory to any fine set of lingerie. Instead, their size alone nearly proved the existence of Big Foot.

“
Baby, the taxi's waiting,” Rita said, sounding panicked, her lack of composure doing little to calm her daughter's nerves.

“
Mom, I don't think I can wear shoes,” Caitlin complained.

“
Get in the taxi, shoes or not,” Rita said, reaching for her daughter's hand.

“
There are dirty dishes in the sink,” Caitlin whined and Rita rolled her eyes.

“
I'll do them when we get back.”

“
You never get them clean, Mom. You never did,” Caitlin criticized.

“
Forget the damn dishes. When we get back you can show me how to clean them properly,” Rita said, sounding hurt.

Caitlin opened her mouth to argue, but her words disappeared into a scream brought about by excruciating pain.

“
Okay,” she squeaked, when she'd regained the ability to speak. She obediently followed her mother to the door, and Rita Hollings bent quickly to pick up the small bag that had been packed for days.

“
Are there shoes in here?” her mother asked, and Caitlin shrugged. “Doesn't matter, let's go,” she added, flipping off the main light in the living area. The room sat bathed in the glow cast by one small lamp in the far corner of the room. Georgie's eyes peered from the back of the sofa. Caitlin looked around thoughtfully, knowing when she returned everything would be different.

“
I love you,” she whispered as Rita disappeared down the stairs to the waiting taxi.

The cat blinked in response. She did love that cat, he'd been her one true friend, but the words were not only for him. They were for another as well, and for the life she was leaving behind her.

There was no turning back. Without so much as another glance, Caitlin closed the door, and followed her mother down the stairs toward whatever lay ahead.

***

Colin Thomas sat behind the wheel of his late model Volvo, staring through the windshield at her apartment window. He had to tell her. He hated how the words sounded in his head, so cliché, “it's not you, it's me,” but in this case, it was the truth. Well, almost. What he really wanted to say is “you just aren't her,” but he could envision the pained look on her face, and so he sat, trying to find the right words to say to the woman he feared was falling in love with him, the woman he could never love.

She'd often accused him of being somewhere else – not only when he was late, but while he was in the room with her. “A woman knows,” she'd said, the feelings she had for him written all over her face.

He wanted to fall in love with her, and when he'd met her two months before, he thought he was ready to try.

She was beautiful, petite, with long black hair, and beautiful brown eyes. She was kind and loving, but she wasn't Caitlin, and no matter how much she tried, she never would be. He was somewhere else. He'd admitted it to himself, and it was finally time to tell her. His heart wasn't in it, and he was certain she knew. His heart had never left the front stoop of Caitlin's apartment building. It still stood, beating rapidly, in the pouring rain, wondering what the hell had gone wrong.

“
What the hell happened?” he asked himself, his words sounding hollow in the empty car.

How had he let her go?  How had he given up so easily?
Convinced that Caitlin deserved more, he'd walked away and left her to find it. He still saw friends they'd shared, but they were tight-lipped and revealed nothing about what her life was like now that he was no longer in it.
Why hadn't he fought for her?
  He'd wanted to, but part of him had been so typically male, and he admitted to himself, he wondered if there was someone else for him, too. The prospect of meeting someone new had excited him, at least in the early days, until he realized he wasn't looking for someone new, he was looking for Caitlin.

Colin flipped on the overhead light in the car and checked his watch. Lorry would be home any moment. He glanced at the seat beside him, and the flowers that lay there, and chastised himself for being such an incredible asshole. He was bringing flowers to a woman he intended to break up with.

She knocked on the window before he could collect his thoughts, and he smiled at her.

“
Shit,” he whispered, as he turned to reach for the flowers.

“
Hi,” Lorry Andrews said, as he climbed out of the car, his parting gift held tightly in his right hand.

“
Hi,” Colin replied, already feeling like the world's biggest jerk.

“
For me?” she asked, noticing the flowers.

“
Yes,” he said softly.

“
What's the occasion?” she asked with a smile that didn't meet her eyes.

“
I'm hoping you'll forgive me for being such a jerk,” he said, reaching for words.

“
Were you a jerk?” she asked, this time without the smile.

“
Not yet,” he replied, and he heard her sigh.

“
Parting gift?” she asked, and again he was amazed by her intuition.

“
Yeah.”

“
It's okay, I guess I saw it coming,” she said, her voice calm but flat.

“
It's not you.”

“
I know that,” she replied, and this time they both smiled. “You wanna talk about it?” she asked, and he was amazed by her kindness. At that moment he felt awful for wishing she were someone else. She was terrific just as she was.

“
You don't have to,” he said.

“
I don't have anything else planned,” she offered. “There's a great pub about a block from here. They specialize in comfort food.”

“
Am I overdressed?” Colin asked. He looked at the pinstriped shirt and dark slacks he wore. He'd come directly from the hospital with no intent on visiting a pub. He'd planned the night in his head. He'd tell her, she'd be hurt, he'd walk away. The pub never entered his mind.

“
You look terrific,” Lorry said, smiling at him. “The young, handsome doctor who's in love with someone else,” she said.

“
I'm sorry,” Colin said.

“
Me, too,” Lorry replied, sadly. “Seriously, you look good, but if you're going to play with your tie all night, take it off.”

“
Was I doing that?” he asked, as he loosened his tie and threw it on the front seat.

“
Yeah.”

“
Better?” he asked, and she nodded.

He couldn't even remember dressing himself that morning, as the plan to tell Lorry the truth was hatching in his mind. He'd looked at his face as he shaved, and he'd checked to make sure he didn't have anything dangling from places it shouldn't, like obscure matter hanging from a nostril. He'd checked his appearance in the hallway mirror before walking out the door of his condo.
Was he handsome, as Lorry said?
  He wasn't sure. He'd miraculously stopped growing at six and a half feet tall in his nineteenth year, his body suited for basketball, but his coordination more suited to a bench on the sideline. His dark hair was tastefully cut, his dark green eyes troubled, and his body fit from jogging. His skin was still tan, but it was fading, as was the sun, as the world around him prepared for the dismal winter ahead.

“
You coming, Doc?” Lorry said. She had walked a few steps ahead of him as he'd been lost in thought.

“
Coming,” he said. She smiled, and he forced one for her. She'd forgiven him already, this wonderful woman with whose heart he'd gambled. One day he hoped to forgive himself, not just for what he'd done to her, but for what he'd done to Caitlin, the woman Lorry Andrews couldn't be.

***

Caitlin gripped the door handle in the back of the taxi to keep from screaming. The taxi driver looked more panicked than she did, and she could only imagine the horrors he had endured at the hands of her mother. Surely her screams would do nothing to calm his obviously frazzled nerves.

Rita fidgeted beside her, alternately watching the road, the scenery, and her daughter.

“
You hanging in there, sweetie?” Rita asked, and Caitlin tried to force a smile that didn't come. She really wanted to punch her, and only when she thought of the impact of her fist against her mother's face did her smile finally come.

“
Excited?” Rita asked.

“
Just thinking,” Caitlin said through clenched teeth as another contraction grabbed her.

“
Are we nearly there?” Rita asked for the hundredth time.

“
Mom, stop, you're driving the poor man nuts,” Caitlin said, and she saw the driver smile at her in the rear view mirror with a look of genuine gratitude.

“
I do not want my grandchildren born in a taxi,” Rita growled.

“
Mom, please,” Caitlin groaned.

“
Almost there,” the driver said suddenly, and in his voice Caitlin was sure she heard relief.

New York-Presbyterian Hospital finally came into view and Caitlin felt an overwhelming mixture of panic and relief.
What the hell was she doing?  She was forty-four years old and about to become a single mother. A single mother with only this clusterfuck who sat beside her to guide her. What the hell was she doing?

“
Did you call your doctor?” Rita asked, and Caitlin snapped back to reality with a groan.

“
No,” she said, sounding like a disobedient child.

“
Cate!”

“
Rita, look, I was concentrating on not having your grandchildren in the taxi.”

“
We've only been in the taxi a few minutes,” Rita quipped, and once again Caitlin caught the driver's glance in the rear view mirror. His expression suggested he felt like they'd been in the taxi a lifetime.

“
I had other things on my mind, Mom,” Caitlin replied tersely, and Rita looked hard at her.

“
Well, it's too late now, I guess we'll get who we get depending on how long you're in labor,” Rita said, and Caitlin fought the urge to cry. She knew her mother meant well, but  Rita was driving her nuts. She wanted to confide in her. She wanted to tell her mother how terrified she was. Before she could, the taxi stopped suddenly.