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Summer 2015
For Rose’s 7th birthday I bought her a pure white Maltese puppy named Beaux. I’d brought him to keep her company when she spent the weekend in the country. Since Rose was homeschooled and we were constantly traveling between London and the country, it was hard to find other kids for her to play with.
Rose had a certain way about her. She was very small for her age and her delicate complexion became more severe with age and her dark curled hair had grown thicker and wilder. She never grew into her large pale eyes, so you always knew when she was watching you.
She was different.
I mean, everyone thought she was pretty, like a sweet little doll but Rose was far from that. I'd made playdates with co-workers and their children but Rose always found a way to scare them
away. I never knew what she did or said but they'd always end up crying and hiding from her.
Rose doesn't mean it . . . sometimes things happened but Rose knows if she stays calm and smiles. Everything should be alright.
Anyway, Rose didn’t take very well to Beaux
He was a very active puppy. He jumped up to greet anyone who walked near him and he never stood still. He climbed and jumped on everything and chewed up all my designer furniture. He thought everything was a game and always wanted to play, Rose wouldn’t have any of it.
When Beaux was in the country he loved to run around. He sometimes grabbed Rose’s
things and ran away with them to get her to chase and play with him, but it never
worked. Rose would just sit under a shaded tree or at the dining room table
and ignore him. Mrs. Hexell told me Beaux
spent most of the time running around by himself, happy as can be. He never wanted to go inside. Being indoors made him anxious and anxious dogs made messes everywhere.
Mr.
Fierro said nothing when I bought her the dog. Mrs. Hexell told me Mr. Fierro
would take Beaux on long walks around the property and trained him to sit
still with a snap of the fingers.
Beaux was important. We just didn’t know it at the time.
Rose spent every other weekend in the country and I usually picked her up Sunday afternoon. On one particular Sunday I'd been on a date with a man I'd met at mass. It was going very poorly, so I feigned illness and went to pick Rose up early. When I got to Mr.Fierro's house I let Ms. Hexell go home and made a cup of coffee while Rose got her things together.
While I was waiting for Rose, Beaux jumped into my lap. He was being good until he snatched the notebook I was writing music in and scurried down the hall. I bolted up from the couch and chased him down the hall, I’d been messing around with an Einaudi variation and the last thing I wanted was him slobbering all over it.
I found Beaux underneath a table in the hall the notebook already shredded. When I finally caught up to him, he let the remaining pieces of notebook go and jumped around in circles, congratulating me on finding him.
I sighed
It had
been nice seeing someone in this house have fun and he was so cute.
I pretend to turn my back again so Beaux could take my now slobber covered notebook again, then I chased him down the hall, half way to the front door I almost ran into Rose who popped out of nowhere. She had already fastened her new Burberry cashmere coat over the matching dress.
"I'm ready to go. I just need to get my things", she said smoothing out her coat.
“Rose”, I said, “Loosen up. Don't you want to go play with your puppy ?”
“No”
“Rose--”
“No”
"Why not ?"
"He does not like me", she said evenly. Too evenly for a seven year old. Actually it was kind of dismissive.
"Rose"
"No."
Before I could say anything Rose turned to the stairs and stared up at them for several minutes. Then she slowly tilted her head. I heard
Beaux bark again and I go after him. I hear him head to the front door, and
scramble to catch him. At this point I was laughing and slipped on the hardwood
floors. I caught myself in a controlled fall while Beaux triumphantly
licked my face. I cooed and praised him in French.
I felt the front door open behind me and moved to allow it to open. I was still holding the dog and trying to stop laughing while Beaux licked my face.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Fierro I--”
I
stood up instantly realizing he wasn’t alone. A woman was behind him carrying a
metal bucket full of rose petals, probably from the glasshouse. Is that were they'd been ?
“Hello”, I said,
“Ms. DeLune”, Mr. Fiero said, “This is Mrs. Lancaster. Mrs. Lancaster this is Rosalie’s mother.”
I smiled embarrassed while helping myself off the floor. I hated the term "mother' it made me sound old.The woman looked me up and down in my black yoga pants, sneakers and “bridge over trebled water” t-shirt and smiled. God, I probably looked like the babysitter.
Well
if I reminded Mr. FIero of being Lucie’s Little Girl, I certainly did now
standing next to this woman. She was a little over middle aged. Her short blond hair was perfectly layered, she had
a warm natural tan and the greenest eyes I’d ever seen. I shrugged it off.
His neighbor, If she could be called that had a house (named Hadleigh Cottage because every house in England had name) that was ½ mile away. She was a retired Historian and Emile had told me that she and her husband had bought the cottage 10 years ago but he died shortly after.
At first I think Beaux is barking at the loose petals falling from Mrs. Lancaster's metal bin, but I realize he wants her to pet him. He is greeting her. He knows her. Emile and I would have to talk more about this.
“Mrs. Lancaster came in for tea, Ms. DeLune I didn't know you would--“, Mr. Fierro started
“Oh, Rose and I will be gone in a minute—“
“No, Ms. DeLune it’s not—“
“No, it’s fine. I should go, I have work in the morning and I. . .”
Beaux started barking again and snapping his teeth. I pulled him a little by his collar to get him to behave but he wouldn't relent. Beaux snapped at me and I batted him on the nose. Then he bit me.
"Shit", I said wiping the blood on my shirt, "I'm sorry I don't know what's with him"
Mr. Fierro picked him up the snapping dog and took him outside. I followed Mrs. Lancaster into the kitchen, she was very comfortable with the surroundings and helped herself to getting the tea started while I cleaned my hand.
“You must be where Rose gets her hair from”, she said
“Oh, um yes.”, I said pushing back my equally pitch black hair and grabbing a Band-Aid from my bag.
“It’s nice to finally meet you. Rose sometimes draws pictures of you and her. At what looks like a church ?"
I wanted to laugh. Rose never drew pictures of me. She saw me to much as it was. Mrs. Lancaster poured some hot water over the tea and let it steep.
"A church ? . . . I mean we go to St. Francis. "
"That's great", She shifted nervoulsy, " You know Rose is such a nice girl."
“Oh. .
. thank you.", I can't remember when anyone has ever said that about Rose, "Have you been friends with Mr. Fierro long ? Are you new in town ?"
She
seems a little confused at first and I realize it’s the honorific. She passes me a cup of unsweetened hot tea.
“Oh.
Mr. Fierro calls me Ms. DeLune I call him Mr. Fierro.. . it’s an inside joke we
have . . ."
“Well. . .I've
been here about ten years. When I head someone was buying this place I had to find
out who. It has such a troubled history and is quite an investment. I asked Fierro for
a tour and. . . he’s an old soul and found we had a lot in common, both being
widows and having penchants for history and I don't mind watching Rose since there is no one else."
“Thanks for that. I know she's . . . difficult”
“She can be”, she said, “I told Rose she has a very intelligent Father. Sometimes the way he talks about history it’s almost as if he were there.”
I choked on my tea, waving my hand as if it was too hot.
"So . . . the rose petals. Are they from the glasshouse."
"Yeah, I make sugar scrub from them. Sell it at the famer's market in South Kent."
"Quaint", I said.
I heard barking and Beaux squeezes in through the doggie door. He growls and jumps at me again trying to bite my hand again.
"Beaux, calm down. You are being such a little monster today."
He bolted away from me and returned a few seconds later and places something bloody at my feet. I take a closer look and realize it is one one of Rosalie’s
hair bows.
I dropped my tea and ran out to the main hallway and saw Rosalie lying face down
on the hardwood floor. Blood was seeping across the floor. I turn her over and she is barley conscious. I realized I've never seen her injured.before. It made me feel all twisted up inside and I wasn't
sure what to do. She had a gash on her forehead, I took off her coat and cardigan. Her arms were covered in ugly bruises.
“Rose ?”, I said, “Rose are you okay. Rose say something. Did you fall down the stairs."
I picked her up and still had no idea what to do. Mrs. Lancaster ran in followed by Mr. Fierro. He got down on his knees next to me looking at Rose's head wound.
“I have a private doctor I can call”, he says, “Take her upstairs.”
“No, I’m taking her to a hospital. . . look”
I'd never seen these bruises before. I felt this heat from behind my eyes. Rose was too good and hiding bruises from me, like she wanted me to feel guilty when I found them.“Clara", Mr. Fierro's hand is on my shoulder, "She just fell down the stairs. No one is hurting her."
I
shake my head, I knew that.
“I know, these look . . . different. I should take her to the hospital.”
I don't even wait for a response, I just grab my car keys and gently place Rose in the backseat. Her eyes are open but they are very unfocused.
She reaches up to touch my eyes.
“She says I can't leave”, Rose says.
“Rose. Everything is going to be fine.”
“. . . I can't. . . No. . . I can't leave. I can't leave. No. No." she screamed but was in to much shock to fight back. I noticed Mr. Fierro was no longer trying to stop me, he'd gone completely still.
"Stop it Rose, I don't have time for your cruel games."
"Mommy. . . ", she was losing consciousness, "I'm going to get my own bell . . my very own bell"
.
-2-
It
wasn’t Beaux’s fault that Rose fell down the stairs. . . but he had to go anyway. He was the
first thing of a lot of things to go. Rosalie said she had been chasing Beaux after he
stole her book and that was how she slipped and fell down the stairs. I doubt that was true.
Anyway, Rose was admitted to the pediatric ward at St. Theresa's in Kent County,
then transferred to The Hospital of London shortly after. Mr. Fierro hadn't left Rose's side
since she was admitted. The nurses said she had no critical head injuries but the
doctor at Hospital of London, Dr. Lockwood, called us into his office anyway.
Dr. Lockwood was young for a pediatrician and while he wasn't traditionally handsome, he had a nice smile. When we sat down in his tiny office his eyes never left me.
Maybe because he was a doctor he could see the thin lines that hinted at my cosmetic surgery. His shirt was missing two buttons and there was a tie on the chair. Was that intentional ? Was this why he’d called me into his office. I mean us.The smile he had flashed before escorting us into his office felt genuine. I’d gotten more than used to British accents, but his was . . . lilting.
Seriously, what was with those two missing buttons.
I blinked away the thought before I could speculate anything else inappropriate.
I felt Mr. Fierro’s hand on mine. On mine. I wanted to turn my palm and entwine my fingers with his but that felt downright salacious to do in the daytime. I laughed inwardly now because thinking of Mr. Fierro with the same two buttons missing as the doctor seemed scandalous.
I stole a glance in the mirror behind the doctors desk. Oh, yes I was blushing over two buttons. Get yourself together Clara.
“. . . cancer”, the doctor finished.
I sat upright in my chair.
"What ?”
Mr. Fierro’s hand was firm over mine. I looked down to where our hands were joined. When had he ever held my hand like that?
“Cancer”, The doctor repeated, “Your daughter has acute myeloid leukemia. . . we'll want to check her eyes for a retinoblastoma as well..”
I
wrenched my hand away from Mr. Fierro’s. This isn’t how this is
supposed to go. The doctor put an X-ray down in front of me, but I had no idea what the hell I was looking at, but I pretended too.
“Fix it”, I said quietly, “Do whatever you need to. Fix her.”
Money
is no object, I implied but never said out loud. Okay, maybe I said it once.
“I can't just fix it, but we can treat her. We will know more in a few days. In the meantime we can start a general treatment as soon as possible. I can refer you to specialist here and there are a lot of pediatric cancer centers. I can find some in America if you’d like. She's in the advance stage and that with her congenital disorder might open her up to some trials."
Advanced stage ? Why did he keep saying that . . . C-word.
"Slow down. Look, I'm taking her home. This is ridiculous I would have noticed if she had. .. ."
I can't even say the word so I don't. The Doctor continues.
"Ms. Delune we need to act on this fast. Have you noticed if she's been less active, tired, or nauseous." the doctor asked.
"I. . . I mean she . . Rose can be very closed off and I. . .when can I take her home ?"
"We need to keep and evaluate her. She can't go home today."
He
smiled at me again. His perfect lips and dark eyes and missing buttons became
stupid stupid things.
+++
“She needs to be home”, I whispered, " In New York."
“This
is her home, now”, Mr. Fierro said, "That place was never her home."
“We
need the best. She can’t . . . die. Not after what we've done. What we've sacrificed for her”, I whispered.
“You’ll find the best here.”
“I didn’t give up my soul so I could loose the only child I"ll ever have. You could have been more helpful in there."
"Helpful with what exactly ? You want him to undiagnose her ? We are both at fault for not paying closer attention to her well being."
"How can you not ? You spend hours with her everyday. How could you not notice."
He closes his eye for a moment and fort the first time I notice the dark circles underneath them. He opens them again a moment later.
"We can discuss that later", he says and we never do.
I
turned my head as a few nurses passed us in the hall. We were still in The Hospital of London just minutes after leaving Dr. Lockwood's office. On the other side of the
glass doors Rose was is in a private room, laying down with her eyes
closed.
I
turned back to meet Mr. Fierro’s consummate expression. He was calm, he would
always be calm, put together, rational, but there was always something simmering beneath it all.
I
wanted results, I wanted this to go away. Dr. Lockwood had agreed to submit Rose’s case to every
pediatric hospital he could find with drug trials. I knew
if I could get her back to New York I could use my family’s connections
to get her whatever she needed. Despite the scandal my family still had power
in Rochester.
"I have to take her back to Rochester-"
“Ms—“
“Stop trying to stop me, why are you trying to stop me ?”
“Because the choices you make now will affect everything else you do in your life. If you go back to Rochester there will be to many questions.”
“I want what’s best for her—“
“And I
don’t ?”, he said quietly.
I stopped. Knowing what that question meant. He’d always been so careful about things like this. How we shared Rose how Rose was schooled, what was allowed and wasn’t. It was always up to me, no argument. I was usually the final world on all things considering Rosalie.
“I’m calling every doctor in New York tomorrow”
“You’re being irrational. England is her home now.”
“They want to start treating her tomorrow, she was just fine yesterday. An hour ago. I just want a second opinion.”
“Ms. DeLune, we can hire someone who can be discreet. We can give her everything she needs at Ashford”
“Why ? Turn her your home in to a hospital ? You want to let stranger’s into your house?”
“You need to be rational—“
“This isn’t about rationality at all. This is my choice to make”
“It’s not, Ms. DeLune. I think I’ve earned the right to decide what’s best for her.“
“Honestly I—“
Suddenly everything happens in slow motion. First I hear bells. . . then I feel Mr. Fierro pull me down with him and there is a chorus of chimes as the glass doors to Rose’s room shatter and tiny glass shards rain down on us. For a few seconds it’s so quiet, like there is nothing in the world anymore except me screaming. I kept face covered. When sound finally comes back nurses are running toward us.
“Ms.
Delune”, Mr. Fierro hands are still on my shoulders, "are you alright ?"
“My
eyes, My eyes. I think there is broken glass in my eyes. My face. . .I”, I started screaming because I could feel the shards on my eyes.
“Hold still”, he says and I feel his fingers puling glass from my eyelashes, “You’re fine”
I open
my eyes and I see he is fine too, what were the odds ? I turned to see the empty square in the door where the glass
panels used to be. Rosalie was still
curled over in the hospital bed. Nurses have gathered around us, but I can’t pay
them any attention. I step into Roses' room and fold my arms, watching her sleep. Rose was shaking slightly
“What happened ?”, I hear a nurse say
“A high frequency machine ?" another suggest
I get
closer to Rose and her eyelid twitches . I know she'd heard us fighting.
I just
know she’s not asleep.
"This is going to be a long road, isn't it Rose ?"
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03 DECEMBER 2017
from : Lorriane Hearth <HearthLE@LeBerne.edu.ch>
to : Clara Cinderella DeLune <MissDeLuneNY@gmail.com>
cc : <AMFierro@LeMarcheFleur.uk>
subject : Please Review
Attachment Essay2.docx
Ms. DeLune
Hello.
I'm Rosalie's Writing teacher. I’d like to set up a meeting regarding the following. Are you available via Skype ?
Please see attached.
Thank you.
---
Rosalie Fierro
DECEMBER 1ST 2017
Year 5– Mrs. Lorraine—Le Berne
Prompt
Write about an object you remember from the past. Remember to write an intro, body and conclusion
The Camera
When I was seven Mother bought a camera. I think she bought it because I was sick. The camera was new and shiny and one day it started going everywhere with us. She would use it at the park, on the way to the store and on walks, It was so large when she held it up to her face, it blocked everything out so all I could see was a large lens always pointed at me. It was an old fashion camera and she made the pictures in the dark closet.
Mother said everything was light sensitive and it was important that the door not be open while she was making the photos. I liked that. For an hour I could sit and do and talk to whoever I wanted without being bothered. Without a flash going off or her staring at me.
It wasn’t just the camera I hated. I also hated the pictures. They showed everything, Even when they were hanging on the string drying, Mother would look at them and never notice what was wrong. Mother thinks she lost the camera when we went to Houston. I knew where it was and she is never ever going to find it.
from: Clara C DeLune <CCDeLune@nationalphilharmoniker.com>
to : Lorriane Hearth <HearthLE@LeBern.edu.ch>
re : subject : Please Review
I’m sorry, she’s just writing things like this for attention. I’ll call as soon as possible.
Thank you
Clara DeLune, D.M.A |Jr. Associate Composer |AUSTRIAN Nationale
Philharmoniker
-----
to: Niklas Clemens <NEClemens@nationalphilharmoniker.com>
from: Clara C DeLune <CCDeLune@nationalphilharmoniker.com>
I told you. Be afraid. Be very afraid, lol xoxo CD
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Yep, we get a little glimpse into the future. The e-mails are from two years in the future. . had to go trolling OHG to figure out how to make the e-mails look good. The reason I did this is because I had a hard time working in Rose's POV. So I made her POV a writing assignment. This reveals two things
1. Rose doesn't die and she is no longer homeschooled
2. Clara Gets a new job
Muse: But whose Niklas ?
Lils : What are you doing ? You know. . . we wrote this.
Muse : Why do they go to Houston ?
Lils : Are we really playing this game.