+1+
Two hours later I arrived in Southern England having stopped once to charge my car. While it was charging I’d hunkered down at the station and typed out a quick chapter on my phone for my French Murder Book.
Canterbury was the exit just before London and at dawn the streets were busy. I found a parking spot just before the rain started and dashed into Canterbury station. When I spoke to the station agent I was immediately taken through a pair of camouflaged double doors to some deep Orwellian underground office.
Rose was sitting at a table in a small office. An uneaten sandwich and sealed juice box were next to her. She had her sketchbook out and white Air Pods snuggled in her ears. She looked up when I entered and even though I was in quite the predicament I felt a rush of relief knowing she was okay. Now I was going to kill her—metaphorically speaking of course.
“Rosalie Fierro”, I said in my best angry parent voice because I was hoping high emotions would get me out of this quickly.
“Can I help you?” a man said and I recognized the voice as belonging to Officer Crestwick from the phone.
“We spoke on the phone?”
“Oh, yes. . . .You are her father?” he said looking back and forth between Rose and me.
“One of her fathers”, I decided my voice slightly trailing.
“Do you have I.D?” he asked.
“Can we go home now, Daddy”, Rose interrupted in a rounded American accent, “I’m tired and hungry. They left me in this tiny room all because I was a little turned around. I didn’t do anything wrong, Daddy and they were very rude to me. He grabbed my arm.”
She pointed to the guard who looked like he’d had the displeasure of hearing Rose complain all night. The guard looked at me like he felt sorry for me
“That’s enough, Rose”, I say and turn back to the officer, “I’m sorry about this. She was supposed to call me before coming home. This one is a little to independent. She’s spoiled to tell the truth and--”
“Just…go ahead”, Officer Crestwick says rubbing his temples, “Next time little girl please don’t go anywhere without letting your dads know or without charging your cell phone, okay ?”
Instead of acknowledging the man Rose turns her back on him, picks up her suitcase and heads towards the door.
“Rosalie”, I say not moving to join her.
She imperceptibly huffs and turns on her heels to face the officer.
“Yes, sir”, she says to the officer and looks at me for confirmation.
“Thanks again”, I say in good-bye to Crestwick.
The ride back was silent. At some point Rose’s fierce defiant expression broke into a softer one, and she focused on the window deep in some other world. On the way back I called her art camp to tell them what happened. The program head was both flustered and embarrassed to realize a student had snuck out and no one had noticed.
“It was dull”, Rose finally explains “Truly it was…and no one would help me with the computers. Some of them made fun of me for not knowing how it worked… and the teachers thought I just wanted attention but…it’s an art camp not a computer camp. I tried to learn. I did Emile. I did…”
Rose had a terrible track record with technology, there was something about her? In her? That didn’t do so well around technology. Plus when she became too emotional it caused things to … explode around her.
“Mother wouldn’t even pick up the phone”, she whispers quietly. “She said she didn’t want to hear me whine.”
“Rose, your mother paid a lot of money for that camp, she just want you to have a good shot at a good art school. This was just her way of being supportive.”
“I don’t want Papa to be mad at me”, she says fidgeting.
“I’ll talk to him. But you should find something to do this summer, we can see if there are any classes at the learning annex in the village.”
“Okay”, Rose agrees. I smile to myself glad to have found a happy medium.
Rose watches as I take the exit for South Chelsea towards London. She peers out the window and unfolds her arms when I park in Downtown London a few blocks from Tasse Bleu Café where Clara’s old condo was.
It was nearly 9am in the morning and the streets were packed with commuters. Tasse Bleu Café had been one of Rose and I’s favorite places to visit whenever Rose stayed with me in England. The tables were large enough for her sketch books and my laptop plus the floor to ceiling windows made for an excellent view, especially from the second floor.
I trusted Rose to find a table while I got into the bustling line of customers yelling orders to the line of barista’s’ and cafe staff. I settle on a bounty of orange marmalade croissants, apple berry pastries, streusel muffins, the signatures farmer’s market fruit salad, sparkling water, a hot chocolate with extra milk and a raspberry mocha with an extra pull of espresso.
While waiting I consider texting Fierro, then think better of it and call the private land line in his bedroom.
He picks up on the fifth ring.
“Hello”, I recognize the thickness in his voice as sleep. There was something intimate about the idea, although he wore more to sleep than he did awake.
“Fierro, just letting you know I went out for breakfast. Would you like anything?”
“Emile?”
“Yes”, I respond realizing how silly I sounded. I never call to tell him where I am.
“Is everything alright?” he asks.
“Yes, just felt like doing something nice.”
“Emile, I’m fine. Truly”
“No.”, I say, “You’re not. I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep. You need as much sleep as possible, Fierro.”
“Good-bye, Emile”, he says before hanging up.
I shook off the awkwardness and swiped through the news. He didn’t need to know about Rose just yet.
“Not much changes”, a voice called.
I felt the warm nervous glow that I associated with things like writing Morgan Quinn seeing the widow’s smile for the first time. The things you see and hear that will turn your whole day upside down. Things like when you turn around to face the man who broke you heart. So I said the only things you can say when you run into your ex-fiancé in the middle of the morning rush.
“Rodger, fancy seeing you here.”
+2+
I plaster on my best fake smile, the people crowded around us mind their own business because this was Europe and people where wonderful like that.
Rodger and I hug. It was brief but the whole time I tried not to have flashbacks of our five years together, of the man who felt like my reward for a life mostly lived alone. His blonde hair was a little thinner than I remembered, his eyes just a little more lined than they used to be.
What had it been? Three years?
“I didn’t know you went here”, I say casually “You always told me this place was too overpriced.”
“Well, you always used to come here and … they do a really good Americano.” Rodger smiles and I feel myself being pulled into his orbit.
“I’ll have to try it...”
Rodger’s soft expression changes when the café server pushed my giant platter of pasties and beverages towards me. Rodger eyes the two drinks.
“You’re not alone?” He asks.
“I’m working on a book and I—“
Roger takes a quick glance around the room, his eyes very briefly landing on Rose on the second floor. It’s terrible but I wished in that moment anyone else was at that table. Rose was the last person he needed to see.
“Shouldn’t she be in school”, he says waiving to Rose, but Rose gave him a passing glance and turns away from him.
“It’s summer break.” I answer, realizing I was falling back into the habit of explaining myself to him.
“….so…Cora told me you were on sabbatical working on a few books.” Rodger says referring to the dean of my former department
“I am… it’s coming along. Two books…actually”
He nods and turns to look at Rose again.
To Rodger Fullerton, Rosalie Fierro wasn’t just a little girl. To Rodger she represented the reason strangers were now living in our townhouse, the reasons our wedding never took place and why we stood here in a cool awkward silence.
To say Rodger was the reason I picked up my life and moved to London eight years ago sounds too grand but it was the truth. He’d hosted me during my visiting lecture series at Thames College, his intellect and roguish British accent intrigued me. He was open-minded and a bit brash, I wouldn’t say the attraction was instant but the sex was good and I think we saw in each other an instant comfort; we were both academics in our late late thirties, no attachments and with dark senses of humor. It was the kind of relationship you could grow in, one you could settle into.
That first year Rodger didn’t really know me, because he didn’t know Clara and Fierro--who had been off doing everything except getting married after Clara’s mother went to prison. When Clara and Rose moved to England I tried to make Clara a fixture in our ragtag group of academics but Rodger picked up on how peculiar our friendship was.
“How did you meet her again”, he asked looking around in the kitchen for the wine he’d been talking to Clara about, “Was she a student of yours?”
“We used to be neighbors”, I had said because the truth was always easier. I reached over his head and found the wine in the top cabinet. Where I told him he’d put it. I’d known where to find the wine because it was our kitchen in our townhouse. A starter home we’d gone in on together after a year of dating.
“I thought she was from New York”, he said, “You lived in New York?”
“She is…we met through a neighbor I should say.”
Along with Clara came Rose whose role as my goddaughter I took very seriously for reasons that never added up to Rodger. I’d told myself from the minute Clara showed up at my door pregnant and crying that I’d be there for her, but it wasn’t until I met baby Rose that loving and taking care of her became a crusade
As Rose got a little older and more of a handful, I’d have to field calls and take Rose for weekends whenever she’d stressed her mother out. Rodger was a good sport about it. I teased him about how it would be practice for when we had a family.
When Rose was diagnosed with cancer my foundation crumbled. For the first few weeks I tried to keep my distance. After all Rose had two parents now--she didn’t need me fussing over her.
“Emile”, Rodger had said during intermission at some awful play he’d insisted we see now that Rose didn’t visit as much, “This is good”
“What do you mean?” I asked surly he hadn’t meant the performances.
“Having us time”, He said, “Don’t you think? Just us.”
“I think…” I began. I knew what I’d thought. I thought; I’m getting old, I’m tired and this is comfortable. I thought-- if I can just make him like my friends I could make this work. Luckily the curtain rose and I never had to finish that sentence.
While Rose was sick my role was reminding Clara to eat, helping her with chores and making sure Rose never heard Clara cry for her own mother. I went to doctor’s appointments when I could and planned a trip to Disneyland Paris for Rose, Rodger and I just weeks before her treatment was to start.
Unfortunately Rose had been declared too sick to travel to Disney just days before the trip. Lost all my deposits for the three night stay. It was supposed to be a dual celebration as after months of talking it over Rodger and I decided we were officially engaged.
“Can’t you explain she’s sick”, Rodger asked while I waited on hold with Disney Parks. Wish Upon A Star was playing on a loop, “See if you can get a voucher or something.”
“It’s too late, they said they’d refund the resort fee…so there’s that. I doubt a manager can do anything. I’m hanging up.”
“Don’t hang up. You lost nearly seven hundred dollars on this fucking trip”, he said tugging on the very endearing wisps of hair he had left.
“Cest la vie”, I said hanging up., “I don’t care about the money. I…I just need Rose to get better.”
“God, Emile”, he said, “I’m not a bastard I swear but…we have a house and bills… plus the wedding. Can’t you talk to Clara?”
“About the wedding?”
“About refunding you, Emile.”
“I’m not asking her for money”, I said, “Her daughter is in the hospital.”
“Emile, that girl has eight Birkin bags.”
“First of all she inherited them and second of all her daughter has cancer.”
“Emile, if one of my friends stole seven hundred dollars from us you’d never let it stand.”
“Rodger.” I’d snapped.
“Look, I can’t make the 1% pay their fair share but what a novelty it would be if the wealthy actually paid their debts.”
This of course lead to one of our bigger fights because I realized his biggest issue with Clara was her wealth. He was a socialist at heart.
By the time Rose went into remission our relationship was on life support. We were engaged but we never discussed the wedding. If I complained about the price of anything he bought up the money I lost on the trip. Then I had the great idea of having Clara and Rose spend the summer with us before she started her new job in Austria.
When Rodger wasn’t standing around glaring at us, it felt a little like it had on Litany Lane. Light, airy and vast. Clara and I taught Rose how to play scrabble. Clara tried and failed to get her to ride a bike. Rose was almost nine and I could see parts of her parents in her and I loved that. I thought this girl was the single most improbable thing the universe ever let happen, even though Clara in her dishest drunkest mood still acted like Rose was product of immaculate conception.
---
Things should have been better after that summer but Roger started to pry. He’d pieced together that Clara and I couldn’t have crossed paths because we’d never lived in the same state. Rodger had a right to be curious, he had a right to the truth but who the fuck would believe us?
“She’s not your daughter”, he’d finally said one evening while watching me pack a suitcase for Disneyland Paris take two.
“I know, now come on we leave in the morning”, I’d whispered because Rose had been visiting from Austria and sleeping in the guest room. With Rose was on spring break and with Clara’s busy work schedule in Austria and Fierro moving yet again== I’d offered to finally take her to Disney. I was by far the most excited person.
“Come on now”, I said, “The magic awaits!”
“I’m not going just to play mommy and daddy with you.” Rodger said.
I rolled my eyes. I hated when he down talked being parents. I was always afraid maybe he wasn’t all in for making out own little modern family.
“Come on Rodger”, I’d said trying to avoid a fight. I’d been looked forward to going to Disney with Rose ever since she was in remission, “She’s my goddaughter. She’s in remission and I’m not playing. You know I want children. It’s good practice for us.”
“You couldn’t”, he said, “If we had children…they’d come second to her. . .Like I am.”
“You don’t understand”, I said, “Rose and her parents are…they...we”
“Tell me”, he said, “Tell me what could possible make you so…attached?”
“I …can’t. It’s nothing bad. I just can’t.”
“She didn’t even notice”, Rodger had said, “Can you imagine being that filthy rich and not notice?”
“Clara knows she’s rich”, I said, “She’s a former barista and teacher…she’s not spoiled.”
“No. I mean she didn’t notice $700 leaving her checking account”, he’d said, “Must have been nothing to her.”
I’d zipped up my bag and felt a coldness in my chest. Fuck
“What did you do, Rodger?” I’d said my voice shaking.
“Over the summer. When she was staying in our house”, He’d said, “I just…wanted her to pay you back for the fucking deposit you lost. You deserve that Emile. So I wrote a check.”
I couldn’t look at him and I felt the sting of warmth behind my eyes. I’d never been so angry and confused.
“You stole a check? You went through her purse? For fucksake Rodger you could have asked.”
“Why do she can make some snide remark about it being nothing?” Roger said standing by the bedroom door, “I’m tired of watching that family treat you like the help—“
“Watch your fucking mouth”, I said still aware Rose was sleeping in the next room. I started folding and re-folding the matching Disney graphic tees I’d bought us all for the trip.
“You know”, Rodger said, “I’m not feeling well. I think I’m staying home.”
I said nothing and went to sleep on the couch.
I was glad he didn’t go on the trip, he wasn’t in any of the pictures
When Rose and I got back from Disney I felt there was something different about the house before even stepping in. I opened the door to a nearly empty living room. The TV was there along with my Laz-boy with my books were neatly piled next to it
“I’m sorry”, Rose had said sliding on the mouse ears she’d refused to wear all weekend.
“It’s alright darling.” I said but my voice cracked. I’d turned away from Rose. I was not going to cry in front of her. I held it in. God help me I did.
“It’s my fault”, Rose said in a knowing way for a 10 year-old, “I make people go away.”
I knew she was thinking of her grandparents who may very well still been around had she not be born. I’d hoped she wasn’t thinking of her parents who has contently shuffled her between them for years.
“No you don’t”, I said, “You hold people together.”
I think Roger took some delight in watching me spiral. We’d had it out over the phone multiple times. He’d been a coward not breaking up with me in person. I thought he’d done me favor by leaving me the house while he had to make due on the assistant dean’s couch. Brexit was a fucking mess and made it impossible to sell the house.
Clara and Rose flew in one weekend to help me prepare for a few showings. The entire time I had to listen to Clara go on about her crush on her Austrian co-worker Niklas, the first of many men who were not good enough for her.
“I…knew about it”, Clara had said while we arranged the rental furniture, “I just…didn’t want to start a fight between you two. I’m sorry”.”
Rose looked up from where she was sketching in the corner with one of her father’s blank journals. I realized there was no point in keeping secrets from her.
“The money?” I said spreading trendy magazines out on the table.
Clara nodded.
“We can still call the cops”, I said.
“It’s okay, it was nothing”, Clara said. Just like Rodger had predicted.
-3-
By the end of it I was still stuck with the house and ravenously consuming British foreclosure law. Fierro had moved to some godforsaken remote village in Ireland to get away from God-knows-what and was entirely out of touch.
Celestial Hollow, Quinn, Luther and the Widow were my only escape. I spent hours in my Laz-Z-Boy writing until the sun went down. They were people who did exactly what I wanted. They always had a happy ending
The only strand of real hopefulness I felt came from the most pathetic of events.
After Christmas (A rather delightful one I spent with Rose and Clara in Vienna) Fierro had made a sojourn from his isolated hovel (Not a hovel, if I recall, a very nice very tiny house) in Ireland to see me. He’d sent a letter ahead of his arrival which would have driven Rodger mad.
“The hell sends letter? Something is off about that man. I think he’s using you Emile.”
When I heard the reserved stately knock on my door, I shuffled to the front door in my pajamas (an oversized Thames College T-shirt and basketball shorts) to let Fierro in and then shuffled back to the kitchen to chew on my burnt toast and over steeped tea. I’d fallen deep into something for those few months and couldn’t even muster a ‘hello’. Fierro sat accommodatingly at the small kitchen table, so close I could smell his rich amber and rose cologne. With very few words passed between us we traded books and made comments on the weather.
“How was Christmas with Clara and Rose?” He asked thumbing through the copies The Things They Carried and Hidden Figures I’d traded him.
“Good”, I said.
Silence.
“I saw Clara perform in Vienna”, he said out of nowhere.
“Did you?” I asked my interested piqued
“Yes. It reminded me of when I first met her. I’ve yet to meet a pianist who plays like her, even her living room piano manages to sound—
I squinted.
“You were at her apartment?”
He looked at his tea unconcerned and surveyed the chipped black mug with a jaunty Mickey Mouse on it.
“Jetlag. I slept off my flight there”, he said matter-of- factly, “I flew to Vienna from Ecuador”
“Why you in were—forget it. But you didn’t”, I’d said perking up just a tad, “You didn’t--”
“Emile. “, he said as a warning
“It’s just Clara has a tiny white couch, Rose can hardly fit in her bed so ...…you…slept in Clara’s bed ?”
“It was just a place to sleep Emile.” he said running his finger along the chip in the mug.
“Rose is at boarding school, yes?”
“For now”, he said and I realized I’d hit a nerve.
“I—seriously Fierro….did you just sleep?” I asked
“Emile, don’t forget I am here to see you. Perhaps we can hire a cleaner. Stage the home again…then you can rent out the place. I can loan you the funds.”
I wasn’t going to let him change the subject so quickly.
“You shouldn’t--”, I started and then reconsidered, “You should talk to Clara, tell her what we’ve talked about she’ll--”
He pushed his mug away decisively and stood up.
“How about we go out”, he uncharacteristically suggested, “Truthfully I could use something stronger than tea.”
I tried to slide into the role of mentor and remind myself what it was like to feel like you needed push down a part of yourself to function.
“If you just talk to her, she’ll understand…Clara’s not like Lucie.” I said.
“We are going out Emile”, He said and that was final, “Get dressed.”
“Fierro, I want you to know there is nothing wrong with you.”
He’d turned and picked up his phone, “I’m calling a car Emile”
I shook my head but he had been so stubborn. A bit less so now. Just a bit.
I thought I was in for a dull night, but we were chauffeured to an American inspired speakeasy in one of London’s most expensive hotels. The dimly lit space was gilded with chandeliers and ambient lighting. I could smell cigar smoke and perfume in the air. We sat at the bar--Fierro had precisely one drink and I had as many as he would pay for. The jazz playing was lively and the crowd was pretty good.
“How did you find out about this place?” I’d asked.
“Lucie.”, He said
“Right”, I said, “She’s a regular ghostly Trip Advisor. Come on Fierro, I have to let go but you talk to the Spectre of your dead wife.”
“She’s fading…” he said, “I just want to do right by her. I take my vows very seriously.”
“Lucie has made her peace. It’s time to let her go. She never did right by you.”
“I know”, he said still nursing that drink, “I will. Maybe at this very moment you should consider letting go.”
I held up a finger. Took out my phone, scrolled down to Rodger’s number and deleted it. I realize he had no idea what I’d done so I said
“That’s me letting go.” I said.
In comradery Fierro slid off the thin gold wedding band he’d work everyday since I’d known him and solemnly left it on the bar. On the way out, as he was writing a check for the bill, I picked up the ring and pocketed it.
Fierro almost married Clara. Almost. He didn’t marry her because of course he didn’t, but they had been committed to building a life together. A life I was now temporarily apart of in a way. I knew Rodger would see this as a bad thing, but I was finally where I wanted to be. Apart of the family.
Rodger’s smile is still on me and I can feel my raspberry mocha cooling down I’ve been standing there for so long. There is so much I want to tell Rodger as all those feelings come flooding back to me.
“I should get back”, I said to Rodger. There was hope in his eyes. If I stayed longer I knew I’d feel a spark of longing.
“Emile”, Rodger said, “You should send me some pass pages of your book. We can talk.”
“I can’t”, I said holding the tray, and “I already have a peer reviewer from my writers group. He’s just a former Norwegian body builder turned Senior Editor at Doubleday, oh… and we’re fucking. So. Nice you see you Roger.”
I smiled, pivoted and turned my back on him.
Author’s Note
So, Yeah this is basically what Emile was doing during Pretty Little Things (Ugh, guys part one of PLT was originally just two paragraphs. I really let that get away from me). I realize what this does is highlight the kind of friends Clara and Fierro are to Emile and like….I wish I had written more about their friendship triangle.
One of the reasons I call this “fanfiction” is because literally no one but me cares about how I put the pieces together or that this whole storyline was unfolding behind the scenes. Also I wrote Fierro taking off his wedding ring but IDK if that tracks…he might have it PLT: Monet Drive.
Muse : Um Lils…I feel like Emile’s fiancée was named Roger not Rodger.
Lils : I HAD to retcon it okay ? First of all Clara’s Grandfather (the man who killed Fierro) name was Roger not to mention Roger was the name of Adam’s brother in Spirits & Angels…okay. I just…IDK what I was thinking
I also know realize some of you will look down on Clara and Fierro for not going to Disney with Rose but they know she has more fun with Emile. There is less baggage there. I will say they aren't always parents of the year.