Rose walked slowly along the streets of Chippewa Falls, hands thrust into her pockets as she looked at the town where Jack had grown up. It wasn’t so different from many small towns she had seen, but what made this one different, and somehow special, was its connection to Jack.
This was the town that he had grown up in, the town that his parents had died in. As far as she knew, he had never been back to Chippewa Falls after being sent to the first of several foster homes in other towns.
She paused, taking off her jacket and tying it around her waist. The May sunlight was warmer than she had expected so far north, making the jacket unnecessary. Rose lifted her face toward the sun, breathing deeply in the spring air.
Resuming her walk, she strolled through the downtown area, wondering which of these places Jack had been to, and which had been built after he had left almost eight years ago. A lot of the buildings looked old, as thought they had been there for a long time. After stopping at a charming-looking ice cream shop, Rose continued her way through town, occasionally stopping to window shop or to admire an old brick building—something she hadn’t seen much of in California, especially after the earthquake. It took a seismically sound area to support such structures.
As she walked, Rose looked with interest at advertisements for different attractions in the town—the Leinenkugel Brewing Company, the Area History Center, and especially the Heyde Center for the Arts, the advertisement for which promised live theater, musical performances, art shows, and dance programs. She paused, looking more closely at the flyer, wondering if any of Jack’s work had ever been displayed there.
She didn’t know how long they would be in Chippewa Falls—it would depend upon the crowd’s reaction to their performance that night. If they could get more gigs here, they might stay for a while, giving her a chance to see some of the attractions advertised. If nothing else, she promised herself, she would take one of the self-guided historical tours she had seen advertised with other tourist attractions. She enjoyed walking around the town, but she didn’t know the history of any of it, and for some reason it was important to her to know it.
Turning a corner, Rose found herself walking toward Duncan Creek. She stopped to admire the extravagant flower gardens and took note of the trail signs, reminding herself to bring Daffodil here if they stayed long enough. It was definitely a place she would appreciate.
Making her way toward the water, Rose stopped, looking down at the flowing creek. Some of the area looked familiar—Jack had made some drawings of his hometown, and had shown them to her. She suppressed a sudden feeling of sadness, wishing that he had lived long enough to draw more, to accompany her to this town. What fun it would have been, she thought, to have him for a tour guide.
Untying her jacket and spreading it out on the ground, she sat down, gazing at the water. It was different from California, that was for sure. She wondered what Jack had thought after he left Wisconsin and eventually made his way to California. Had he compared the places he had been, finding one more favorable than the other? Or had he looked at the world as she did—a place full of fascinating possibilities, each new place offering new opportunities for…something.
Sighing to herself, Rose leaned forward, gazing at the sparkling water rushing by. She had made him a promise that awful night, a promise that she would go on and never give up on life. She thought she was doing an admirable job of keeping that promise—usually—but sometimes she wondered just where she was heading, and where she would end up.
It didn’t do much good to speculate—whatever happened, happened, as she had learned in a time that seemed long past, and yet was only a little over a year ago. But it sometimes seemed to her that, no matter where she went or how many people surrounded her, she was making her way alone.
Life wasn’t something to be waited for, some grand event occurring sometime in the future. Life was what a person lived, every minute of every day, and she was trying to make the most of hers. And whether her life was filled with other people, or was, as she had sung on that morning long ago, a journey of one, it was her life to live, every moment of every day. It was Jack’s gift to her, this knowledge, and she wouldn’t waste it. In spite of the mistakes she had made, she didn’t regret a moment of this new life.
Glancing at her watch, Rose realized that she needed to start back. It was so peaceful beside the creek that she almost didn’t want to go back to the contentious, bickering members of her band, but she needed to. She could come back here another time.
As she moved to get up, Rose became aware of the feeling that someone was watching her. Turning her head cautiously, she caught sight of a young blonde girl with bright green fingernails working industriously over a sketchbook, eyeing her the whole time.