August 11, 1962
"Rose? Are you still awake?" Jack knocked quietly on Rose’s bedroom door. "Rose?"
He opened the door quietly, not surprised to see that the room was empty. After the DeWitt-Bukaters had returned home an hour and a half earlier—just past midnight—Rose had stood in the entryway alone, looking almost bewildered, as though she wasn’t sure what had happened or how she had wound up there.
At the hospital, Rose had clung to Jack until they left, defying Cal’s attempts to get her to come to him. She had cried the whole time, soaking the shoulder of his tuxedo and smearing what little makeup she was still wearing on his shirt. Cal’s demands that she leave Jack alone and come with him had only caused her to cling to him more tightly.
She had finally let go of him when they went to the car, calming on the drive home and even seeming to doze a little, exhausted by her emotions, but when they had reached the house and she had followed the others inside silently, she had seemed lost, unsure of what was going on around her or if it was even real.
Cal, who had accompanied them back to the house, had finally escorted her into the living room, casting a warning look at Jack as he did so, his message clear—stay away from her.
It had been another half hour before Ruth had managed to convince Cal that he did not need to stay, that they would be fine without him and he could return the next day to see Rose. Cal had protested, casting unhappy looks at Jack, but Ruth had been adamant. It was late, they were all exhausted, and they needed a chance to rest and take in what had happened. He could come back the next day to see Rose.
After looking warningly at Jack again, Cal had given Rose a quick kiss on the cheek—which she had barely responded to—and left, promising to be back in the morning. Ruth had coaxed Rose to go upstairs and get ready for bed, encouraging her to take a hot bath and try to sleep.
Rose had finally gone upstairs, Jack and the twins following, but he knew she hadn’t settled down. His room was right next to hers, so he had heard her crying softly and pacing back and forth. At last, the noise had ceased. The only sounds he had heard after that were the twins talking to each other and crying and their mother trying to calm them.
When the twins and Ruth had at last gone to their rooms, Jack poked his head out the door of his room and crept over to Rose’s door. When his knocks and soft calls went unanswered, he slowly opened the door, finding the room empty and the window open.
Glancing back to make sure no one caught him in Rose’s bedroom, he tiptoed over to the window and looked out, noticing that some of the vines near the top of the trellis were loose and that there was a torn bit of pink silk on the windowsill.
Guessing that she had gone to sit in the oak tree, Jack hurried down the stairs and out the back door. When he reached the tree at the very back of the property, he heard the sound of Rose crying and whispering her father’s name.
"Rose?" Jack looked up at the branches, guessing at where she was from sound of her voice. The tree was covered with leaves at this time of year, making it almost impossible to see someone sitting in it. "Rose, are you okay?" The question sounded dumb even as he asked it.
Rose was silent for a moment, just sniffing and wiping her eyes. Finally, she answered, "No."
"Can I come up?"
"If you want."
Jack climbed up into the tree quickly, finding Rose sitting on the same branch he had taken refuge on less than a year earlier. Sliding over carefully, he put an arm around her, allowing her to lean against him. She was still wearing the now-tattered evening gown, the fine silk catching on the rough bark of the tree. She had been using the skirt as a handkerchief.
After a moment, she spoke. "I guess I know what it’s like now."
"What?"
"To lose a parent. Last year, I felt bad for you, but I didn’t really understand what it was like. I still had my whole family. Now, Dad’s gone…and it’s the worst feeling in the world. I didn’t know anything could feel this bad."
Jack was silent for a moment, not sure what to say. He did understand what it felt like to lose someone he loved—nothing had ever hurt more than losing his family the year before.
"At least you’ve still got your mom, and your sisters and your brother. You’ve got Cal." He wasn’t fond of Rose’s boyfriend, but he hoped that thinking about him would make her feel better.
"I’m sorry, Jack. I didn’t mean to make it sound like I lost as much as you did."
"You lost someone who mattered a lot to you. That’s what’s important. Not how many people you lost." He reached into his pocket, pulling out a package of cigarettes and a lighter. "Do you mind if I smoke?"
"Can I have a cigarette?"
Jack was a bit surprised at her request, but took one out and lit it for her. They smoked in silence for a moment before he spoke again.
"I liked your dad, Rose. He was a good man. I didn’t trust him at first after he brought me here, but…he treated me like I was part of the family. My dad talked about him sometimes when he was talking about the war—he never wanted to say much about combat or any of that, but he did say that he owed his life to your dad. I guess that was why he trusted him enough to give him custody of his kids if anything ever happened to him and Mom."
"He was a good man," Rose agreed. "He cared about all of us and made sure he was there for us, even if it meant he didn’t get as much business as he might have otherwise. He encouraged me to think for myself and do the things I enjoyed. He treated Julie and Lucy like different people, instead of assuming they were the same because they looked alike. He even convinced Mom to accept Tom’s decision to join the Navy instead of going to Harvard like he did. He was disappointed that Tom decided not to go to college, but he accepted it anyway. He was one of the best people I’ve ever known—and now he’s gone, and it’s my fault."
"What?!" Jack turned to stare at her, her face faintly illuminated by the glow of her cigarette. "What makes you think it was your fault?"
"He was dancing with me when he collapsed. If he hadn’t escorted me to the ball—if he hadn’t tried to dance with me—he wouldn’t have pushed himself too hard and had a heart attack."
"Rose, you told me yourself that he was complaining a lot about ‘heartburn’ lately—I noticed that he seemed to be having trouble, too. It might have happened anyway…"
Rose shook her head vehemently. "No, Jack. I don’t believe that. I knew he wasn’t feeling well, but I let him escort me to the ball anyway. I even offered to skip my debut, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He wanted me to have a debut I would remember." She took a long drag on her cigarette, trying to control her emotions. "I’ll remember it, all right."
"But he was having chest pains for a long time before that. I remember seeing him rubbing his chest like it was hurting at my family’s funeral."
"I knew something was wrong. I should never have agreed to this stupid debut in the first place. I don’t want to be part of society and get married and have babies and never do anything. When I got the invitation to the ball, Mom was the one who wanted me to go. I didn’t really care. She finally got me to agree, though—not because I wanted to be part of society, but because I wanted to wear a fancy dress and have Dad escort me. If I hadn’t accepted that invitation, Dad would still be here."
"You don’t know that for sure. He might have had a heart attack anyway. And you couldn’t have known that he’d collapse at your debut. You can’t tell the future."
"I shouldn’t have let him take me to the ball. I should have…thrown a tantrum or something and refused to go."
"He looked so proud when he saw you coming down the stairs all dressed up—I think he would have been really disappointed if you’d refused to go to your debut because of him."
"Better disappointed than dead."
"But nobody knew what was going to happen—"
"—and it might have happened anyway. So you say. I don’t believe it."
Jack sighed, knowing that nothing he said was going to convince Rose that her father’s death wasn’t her fault. Dropping his cigarette butt onto the damp grass below the tree, he put his arm around Rose again, wishing that he could make her feel better, but knowing from experience that only time and Rose herself could heal the pain she now felt.