May 15, 2004
Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin
Rose just stood there for a moment, staring back at the teenager. What did she want? Why was she watching her? Was she some sort of an artist?
The girl frowned, putting some finishing touches on her drawing, then stood up, lifting her chin as Rose continued to stare at her.
Rose finally found her voice. "Excuse me, but…what are you doing? Were you drawing me or something?"
"Yeah. You looked so…pensive, and besides, you look familiar for some reason. You were the perfect subject."
Rose felt a stab of pain inside, remembering the last time someone had drawn her portrait, but gave no indication of what she was feeling. Instead, she raised her chin, asking, "And was I a perfect subject?"
The girl had the good grace to look embarrassed. "Yes, you were, actually. You sat still the whole time, even though you didn’t know you were being sketched." She shrugged. "Sorry. I hope you’re not offended. You can have the drawing if you want," she added.
Rose took the sketchbook, looking at the picture, her eyes widening. The girl had captured her to the life. She could almost see what she had been feeling as she sat there, lost in thought.
She had only met one other person who could draw like that, although this artist wasn’t quite as skilled. She looked at the girl again, taking in her blonde hair and blue eyes, judging her age to be somewhere in her early to mid-teens.
An idea began to form in her mind. This had been Jack’s hometown, the place where he had grown up. It was entirely possible that he had relatives here—and the girl did resemble him, although she was a bit younger. Jack would have been almost twenty-three if he had lived. Perhaps she was a cousin, and even if she wasn’t, she might have known Jack through their mutual interest in art.
"It…it’s great," Rose told her, careful not to smudge the lines of the drawing. Taking a deep breath, she asked, "What’s your name?"
"Emmaline."
"Emmaline what?"
"Dawson."
She was a Dawson, but that didn’t prove anything. There were many Dawsons in the world, including herself since she had changed her last name.
Casually, trying not to betray just how interested she was, Rose asked, "Did you know a young man named Jack?"
Emmaline’s eyes lit up. "He’s my cousin! Where do you know him from?"
Rose hesitated. "California."
"Yeah, that’s where he was living when I last heard from him. That was more than a year ago, though." Her eyes widened. "That’s why you look so familiar! He e-mailed a picture from his friend Fabrizio’s wedding. He was the best man and you were one of the bridesmaids! Is he with you?"
Rose shook her head, feeling her heart clench, both from her own grief and from the realization that no one had informed Emmaline of Jack’s death. "No, Emmaline. He…he isn’t."
"Oh." She looked disappointed. "What’s your name?"
"Rose." She hesitated. "Rose Dawson."
"Dawson? Did you marry Jack?"
Rose shook her head, struggling to maintain her composure. "No. I…I took his name just a short while ago…to honor him. He…he’s dead, Emmaline."
The girl’s face, which had been so animated a moment before, whitened with shock. "No…no, he isn’t. He can’t be. He’s too young!"
"He is, Emmaline. I’m sorry." Rose turned away, trying to hide the tears that had suddenly filled her eyes.
Emmaline grabbed her shoulder, whirling her back around. "When? What happened? You’d better tell me!"
"He died on May 5, 2003." Even now, saying the words was almost more than Rose could bear.
"How? Was it the earthquake?"
"No…not quite."
"Not quite? How did the earthquake not quite kill him? How do I know you’re telling the truth?"
"I wouldn’t lie about something like this, Emmaline. I loved him."
"Then what happened?"
Rose wrapped her arms around her shoulders, her eyes distant as she told the full story of Jack’s death for the first time. She had told parts of it to others—to Cal, when he had come looking for her, and to Daffodil—but never the whole story. But she felt that Emmaline had a right to know.
"He was murdered, Emmaline." At the girl’s shocked gasp, she went on, trying not to cry. "I…I was engaged to another man when I met Jack—a man who was very jealous and controlling. At first, nothing happened…between Jack and I. We were friends…but nothing more. My fiancé didn’t believe that, though, and as time went on…he got more and more jealous, more and more violent. Finally, I decided to break things off with him. I went to Jack, and we…spent a wonderful afternoon and evening together. Later, when we were out having dinner, my fiancé found us and confronted me. I gave him back his engagement ring, which only infuriated him more. As Jack and I were leaving, C—my fiancé slipped the ring into Jack’s pocket, then proceeded to insult me. Jack hit him, and before I knew it, they were in an all-out fight, right there in the parking lot. I tried to stop them, but they wouldn’t stop.
"Of course, the police were called, and after they broke up the fight, my fiancé told them that the ring had been stolen, and they searched Jack’s pockets. Of course, they found it, and Jack was taken away to jail. I believed that Jack had stolen it at first…I knew about his criminal record…but after the earthquake, my fiancé said some things that made me realize that he had framed Jack. I went downtown to find Jack—the jail was just a few blocks away—and we escaped from the jail just as the smoke and flames of the burning town reached it.
"We headed back downtown, away from the fire—and met up with my fiancé again. He was furious that I had run off, that I had helped to free Jack from jail, although he would have died there if I hadn’t. We argued, and when I walked away…he pulled a gun. Jack saw it, and pushed me in front of him to shield me from the bullets. We got across the street and took shelter between two ruined buildings—and then I realized that Jack had been shot. I tried to staunch the bleeding, but it was too heavy. When we tried to leave the shelter of the buildings, there was an aftershock and the buildings collapsed, trapping us inside their remains. We were both pinned under a fallen light pole, Jack worse than me. I tried to pull my trapped foot free…but the rubble would shift every time. I was afraid that if I moved, it would kill us both. Jack tried to reassure me that everything would be all right…but it wasn’t. When morning came, and the sounds of rescuers penetrated the pile of rubble, I tried to wake Jack…but it was too late. He was already gone." She shivered, remembering the pallor of Jack’s face in the morning light, the pool of congealed blood that had surrounded him, and the feeling of his hand in hers, cold and already stiffened in death.
"What was the name of your fiancé?"
"I…I can’t tell you, Emmaline. There’s reasons…reasons why…but I can’t say what they are."
"Jack was my favorite cousin!"
"Emmaline…I’m so sorry. I loved him, too, more than you could ever know."
She put a hand on the crying girl’s shoulder, trying to comfort her, then stumbled back in shock as Emmaline violently flung her hand away, giving her a shove.
"You may not have pulled the trigger…but you killed Jack just as surely as your fiancé did. If you hadn’t taken up with him, your fiancé wouldn’t have gotten jealous and killed him. You belong in jail just as much as he does!"
"Emmaline, I…" Rose didn’t know what to say. Emmaline’s words sank in, shocking her with the truth that she had always known but never acknowledged. If she hadn’t fallen in love with Jack, none of this would have happened. He would still be alive and well…and she would be married to Cal and miserable. It was no more than she deserved. She was as bad as her mother, never thinking of anyone but herself…if only she’d realized just how much of a threat Cal was, Jack would still be alive.
Blinded by tears, Rose pushed past Emmaline and ran, heading back toward town.