PRESENT TENSE
Chapter Fifty-One

Friday, October 3, 2003

Rose hurried up the front walk to the door, flinging it open and rushing inside. The wedding was less than twenty-four hours away, and she had no idea how much work was left to be done.

She hurried down the hall to drop off her purse in her bedroom, then stopped, amazed, at the sight that met her eyes. The bed that she and Jack had ordered a few weeks earlier had been delivered, right on time, and someone else had set it up for them. She had worried that it would be delivered late, like their rings had been, and she had assumed that she and Jack would have to set it up themselves.

Helga poked her head in the door. “They dropped it off at eight o’clock this morning. Since your grandparents were already over here, helping with the final preparations for your wedding, we just set it up for you.”

“Thanks, Helga.” Rose went to the closet where she had stored the bedding she had bought and took it down. Sheets, a blanket, a bedspread...she put her old bedding away on the closet shelf, except for her afghan, which she draped across the end of the bed when she was done making it.

As she was finishing her task, Rose heard the front door open and close again. Jack’s voice echoed through the house.

“Rose? Where are you?”

“I’m down here!” Rose called, tossing her pillow on the bed.

He hurried down to meet her, stopping in his room to drop off his work bag and the tuxes he had picked up for the wedding tomorrow.

“How was your day?” He noticed the freshly made bed in the center of the room. “Good. They delivered it on time. I was worried they wouldn’t send it on time, and then what would we have done?”

“Shared my twin bed?” Rose suggested.

He considered this idea. “That might have been kind of a tight squeeze, wouldn’t you say?”

Rose smiled, arching an eyebrow at him. “Oh, I’m sure we could have managed.” She flopped down on her side of the bed. “This is nice.”

Jack flopped down beside her. “Hey, yeah.” He put his hands behind his head and pretended to fall asleep.

“Jack!” Rose shook him.

“What?”

“Excuse me.” Helga looked in the door again. Looking them over, she remarked, “Need I remind you that you aren’t getting married until tomorrow?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Jack got up, pulling Rose with him.

“I wanted to tell you that everything is ready for your wedding,” Helga told them. “Your grandparents finished the preparations this afternoon. We just need to carry stuff up tomorrow and get things set up, and you’ll be ready to get married.”

“We’re already ready to get married,” Rose told her, wrapping her arms around Jack.

Helga shook her head. “You two are hopeless. You really are.”

*****

As had become their custom over the past couple of months, Jack and Rose went out together that evening. Ever since Jack had been released from the hospital following his surgery, they had gone out somewhere together every Friday night, going to dinner, movies, local theater productions, nightclubs in Southland, even football games at Rose’s old high school, since she still knew some kids there. Sometimes, they would just go walking around the hills, having a picnic on their favorite hilltop, the one where Jack had drawn Rose “flying” so many months before, or, if both Helga and Tommy were going to be out, they would rent a DVD, order take-out, and spend the evening at home together. It was a special time they had arranged, just for the two of them, apart from their everyday lives.

Tonight, with everything they had to do the next day, they decided to just go out for pizza. As they were getting ready to leave, one of the kids across the street called to Jack.

“Hey, Jack!”

He walked over to their fence, Rose following. “Hey, Pedro. What are you up to?”

“We’re playing basketball.” He gestured to the hoop attached to the garage door. One of the girls, the youngest one at about four years old, was trying to get the ball through the hoop, without resounding success.

“I told Violante that you could shoot a basket from all the way across the street, but she doesn’t believe me. Why don’t you show her?” He gestured to his twelve-year-old sister, who was pretending to ignore him.

“Well, I can try.”

Pedro took the ball away from his youngest sister, who immediately threw a dirt clod at him. He ignored her, tossing the ball over the fence to Jack.

Jack walked back across the street, bouncing the ball. Rose watched as he looked at the hoop, bounced the ball a couple more times, and threw it neatly through the hoop.

The kids cheered. Violante came up to the gate and looked at Jack admiringly. “You’re good at basketball,” she told him, trying to look and sound as grown-up as possible. She had had a crush on Jack ever since he had moved in across the street from her family more than a year ago, and she had been jealous of Rose ever since she had moved in the previous June, especially after Rose and Jack had announced their engagement.

“Thanks, Violante,” Jack told her. He was aware of her crush, but he wasn’t going to encourage her. When she had followed him around the first summer he had lived in the neighborhood, he had told her she was very pretty, and that there should be plenty of nice guys her age that she could hang around with. He was almost ten years older than her, and was definitely not interested, regarding her with a brotherly affection.

Jack and Rose waved good-bye to the kids and headed for Jack’s car.

“You are good at basketball,” Rose told him when they were in the car. “Where did you learn to play so well?”

“I always liked playing basketball, from the time I was in elementary school. There was a basketball team at my junior high school, and I played on that, and then played on junior varsity in high school my freshman year. After that, I was in foster homes, and never stayed at any one school long enough to join a team. I still played, though, whenever I had a chance, and I played basketball in juvenile hall.”

“You don’t play much now, though.”

“Not as much,” he admitted, “though I still sometimes shoot hoops with some of the guys from work at lunch hour. There’s a park not far from where we work.”

“Often enough that you can throw the ball from across the street and still get it through the hoop. Now I know why you never miss a basketball game on television, and why you have all those basketball drawings in your portfolio,” she teased him.

“You guessed it,” he teased her back, laughing.

Rose laughed with him for a moment before quieting. “You’re good with kids, too,” she told him. “You’ll make a good father someday. Kids like you.”

They had already agreed not to start their family for a year or two, so that they would have time to at least partially complete college before they had children to care for. Still, they did want children in the future, and Rose, whose experience with children was largely limited to baby-sitting in junior high and high school, was glad that Jack was so good with them.

As they drove into the newly rebuilt section of town, Rose tapped Jack on the arm. “Would you stop at the cemetery first? There’s something I need to do.”

Jack nodded, pulling into the cemetery and following Rose’s instructions as he drove along the narrow roads. Finally, they reached the spot Rose indicated.

Rose got out of the car and headed up a slight rise to an area filled with broken headstones. A deep crack still rent the earth just twenty feet away, with broken pieces of headstones, trees, and shrubs protruding from it. The bodies that had been buried in the spot opened by the earthquake had been reburied elsewhere, but the crack had yet to be filled in.

Rose stopped in front of one of the broken headstones, split cleanly in half with one half lying on the ground and the other half still standing. She tried to lift the heavy concrete and metal of the broken half to put it back upright. Jack saw what she was trying to do and hurried to help her.

“Who is buried here?” he asked after they had set the broken headstone set upright.

“My father,” Rose told him, walking around to look at the grave.

“Your father?”

“Yes. He died when I was sixteen, and was buried here in the cemetery. This is the first time since the earthquake that I’ve visited his grave. I’d kind of hoped that Mom would visit, but if she did she never did anything about the broken headstone.” She stared down at the overgrown grave, the grass disturbed where they had replaced the broken chunk of concrete.

“What happened to him? I knew that he’d died, but you never said much more than that.”

“Mom was very ashamed of the way he died. She never wanted anyone to talk about it.”

“Why?”

Rose took a deep breath, looking up from the tangle of weeds that marked Michael Bukater’s final resting place. “He died of AIDS, Jack. Mom didn’t want people to know that. She wouldn’t even allow it to be printed in his obituary in the newspaper.”

She sank down on top of another chunk of concrete. Jack sat beside her, putting an arm around her as she went on.

“Dad had lots of affairs, and I suppose he wasn’t always careful who he had affairs with. Or maybe he was. Sometimes it’s hard to tell. He was sick for a long time before any of us knew what was wrong. For a long time, he appeared perfectly healthy—but he wasn’t. Mom had already taken a separate bedroom from him—she did that about the time I was nine years old—so she didn’t catch it. I don’t know who he caught it from, or whether she’s alive or dead now, but Mom was terribly ashamed that any member of our family would catch such a disease. She was more ashamed of the HIV than of his affairs. For a while, she tried to keep me away from him, but I knew how it was spread—we went over it in science class in seventh grade—and I knew that I couldn’t catch it from talking to him or hugging him. He wasn’t some pervert who would pass it along to his own daughter.”

“You miss him, don’t you?”

Rose nodded. “Yes. Mom would never talk much about him after he died, and in the last days of his life, it was so quiet and tense at home that I spent most of my time at Trudy’s house. It was almost a relief when it was over. In the end, he was suffering so much, even Mom seemed to take pity on him.” She looked up at Jack. “He wasn’t a bad person, Jack. He made some mistakes, but no one is perfect. He wasn’t around much, but when he was, he was the best father a kid could ask for. He and Mom didn’t get along, but they stuck together for my sake.”

She leaned her head against Jack’s shoulder. He held her close, stroking her hair.

“He doesn’t sound like a bad person, Rose. He was your father, who tried to do the best he could for you. You were better off than a lot of kids, even if you did lose him when you were a teenager. At least you’ve got good memories of him. Some kids never even had that.”

“I know. I just wish that he could be here now, to see me get married. I think he would have liked you.”

Rose stood up, walking back over to the grave and looking down at it. She stood for a moment, her fingers toying with the necklace she wore. Finally, she spoke.

“Hey, Dad. I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m getting married tomorrow. I know that you would have been there if you could. I think you’d like Jack—he’s a good man, much better than Cal. Mom won’t be at the wedding—she thinks I’m making a big mistake—but I know I’ve made the right choice this time.” She sighed, wiping the tears from her eyes as Jack came up behind her and put his arms around her. “I miss you, Dad, and I hope that wherever you are, you’ve found happiness.”

She looked up in surprise as Jack put a handful of autumn wildflowers into her hand, flowers that had been growing in the ruins of the cemetery. Bending down, she put them against the headstone, a small handful of bright yellow sunflowers and white, trumpet-like jimsonweed.

“I’m leaving now, Dad. The wedding is tomorrow afternoon, in a beautiful place up in the hills. You always liked to look at those hills in spring, when everything was green and new. I know you’ll be there in spirit.” She paused, wiping tears from her cheeks. “I love you, Dad.”

Rose turned to Jack, burying her head in his shoulder for a moment. Slowly, he led her away from the grave and back to the car, their hands clasped together.

*****

Rose had cheered up a bit by the time the reached the pizza place. As they placed their order and found seats, she mentioned how nice it was spending Friday evenings together.

“I like going out on Friday evenings,” she told Jack as they sat down. “I’ve enjoyed doing this the past couple of months.”

“It has been nice,” Jack agreed. “Just the two of us, going wherever we choose...”

“Do you think we can continue to do this after we’re married?”

“I don’t see why not. There’s no reason why we should stop having fun just because we’re getting married.”

At that moment, their number was called and Jack went to pick up their food. As he set it down, Rose asked him, “What do you think of my grandparents?”

“They’re nice, though your grandfather tells some awful jokes.”

“He does,” Rose agreed. “I don’t know where he gets them. Maybe it’s something that comes with working with addicts.” She shook her head, smiling.

“Your grandmother just shakes her head when he tells them, just like you do.”

“She looks a lot like Mom, but she sure doesn’t act much like her.”

“I’ve only met your mother once, I think. I was in a hurry to get to work and didn’t really pay attention to what she looked like.”

“Take my grandmother and subtract ten years.”

Jack gave her a confused look, wondering how it was that Rose’s grandmother was only ten years older than her mother. “How old is your grandmother, anyway? She looks like she’s about fifty or so.”

“I’ll tell her you said that. She always wants to look younger than she is. She’s actually sixty-five.”

“She doesn’t look it. Your mother is fifty-five?”

“No, Mom is forty-three. Nana just looks much younger than her years. People have mistaken her and Mom for sisters.”

Jack nodded, understanding now. “I’m sure that makes her happy.”

“Oh, it does.” Rose took a bite of pizza. “It’s lucky that class was canceled last night so we could meet them at home. Otherwise, we would have had to drop by their hotel after class and taken them out for a late dinner somewhere.”

“It was nice to meet them—and display Tommy’s cooking skills.”

Rose grimaced. “Better his skills than mine.”

“Oh, come on. Your cooking isn’t that bad.”

“Whatever you say. Remember how two weeks ago I tried to bake an apple pie and made the mistake of broiling it?”

Jack laughed. “That was bad. But the inside of the pie was good. Just remember—broiling is for meat, not fruit.”

“I’ll remember that—next time.” She paused, taking a sip of Coke. “Nana is going to give me away tomorrow, since Mom refuses to be there.”

“That’s nice of her. If you were my granddaughter, I would drag your mother kicking and screaming to escort you up the aisle—or trail, in this case.”

“She wanted to talk to Mom about it, but I asked her not to. I don’t want Mom to show up angry and ruin things for us. I’d hope that she wouldn’t, but I wouldn’t put it past her. She really thinks I’m making a mistake.”

“What do you think?” Jack put down his pizza and looked straight at Rose. “Do you think you’re making a mistake?”

Rose shook her head. “No. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. In spite of all the trouble we’ve had, I love you, and I want to spend my life with you.”

“I want to be with you, too.” Jack reached across the table and took her hand, looking at the silver engagement ring on her finger. “I love you, Rose.”

Rose smiled at him, wondering, not for the first time, how she had been so lucky as to find Jack. She could have been trapped in a hellish marriage to Cal by now, but instead, she was looking forward to her wedding tomorrow afternoon to the man she loved.

“Rose...I’ve been thinking about something,” Jack told her, letting go of her hand.

“What is it?”

“Well, ever since summer, I’ve been studying psychology, and I really find it fascinating. I was talking to your grandmother last night, about the work she does, and it’s cemented something in my mind that I’ve been thinking about.”

“Which is?”

“I’m going to study art therapy, go into that as a career. I think that I could help people, make a difference in their lives.”

Rose nodded. “I think you could. You understand what it’s like to...have something going wrong in your mind, and you’re talented in art. Nana doesn’t really do much art therapy, but she knows about it. My psychology professor last year thought it was a great way of getting people to express themselves.”

Jack nodded. “I want to try it, at least. I did some of it on myself, with the archetypes and everything, and I think it helped.”

“So how are you going to go about this?”

“I think for the time being I’ll major in art and psychology—after this semester, of course—and try to get Associate’s degrees in both, and then go on to a university.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” Rose smiled a bit sheepishly. “I’m actually farther along in college than you are, but I have no idea what kind of career I want. Clerical work is okay, but I don’t want to do it forever. Not when there’s a whole world of possibilities.”

“Why don’t you try studying music? You sing so well.”

Rose looked at him as though he had grown two heads. “I have a terrible voice.”

“No, you don’t. You sing great.” Jack thought for a minute. “The college is putting on a musical in the spring, Jesus Christ Superstar. They’re holding auditions in November. You should try out.”

“Like I said, I can’t sing.”

“Since when? You sound better than some professionals.”

“Yeah. Like Woody Guthrie.”

“Who?”

“He was this folk singer and song writer back in the 1930’s and 1940’s. He didn’t sing very well, but he wrote some wonderful songs.”

“You can sing.”

“That’s not what you thought back in July.”

“July?” Jack thought for a moment, trying to figure out what she was talking about. Then he remembered. “Is that why you stopped singing? Because of me?”

“I’m not going to sing when it upsets people so much.”

“It only upset me, and only because I had an awful headache.”

“Which my singing made worse.”

“Only because you were upset, and your voice gets high-pitched when you’re upset.”

“Nevertheless, it was enough to let me know not to embarrass myself by singing. I would rather not make life miserable for everyone else by making such terrible noise.”

“Your voice isn’t terrible. Remember the day that you came up to see me on the hill, before the earthquake? We were singing Come Josephine in my Flying Machine. I thought you had one of the most beautiful voices I’d ever heard.”

“But it isn’t so nice now. Maybe the smoke from the fire that night damaged it.”

“Your voice is as good as it ever was.” He pushed his empty plate away. “Come on. Just try it. The worst they can say is no. I think you’d sound good on stage.”

“Maybe.” Rose toyed with her napkin, thinking. “All right. I’ll do it. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“You don’t need to warn me. One of these days people will come to hear you sing. I’m sure of it. Your name will be up there. Rose...uh...what is your middle name, anyway?”

“Marie, after my great-grandmother.”

“Rose Marie Dawson. That’s a name that people will look for.”

“Maybe.” Rose looked at him skeptically. “What’s your middle name?”

“Um...” Jack tried to avoid the question.

“Come on. It can’t be that bad. Tell me. I need to know my husband’s full name.”

“Millard,” Jack mumbled.

“What?”

“Millard,” he told her, louder this time.

“Millard? Who came up with the name Millard?” Rose started laughing.

“It’s not that funny!”

Rose just kept laughing.

“My mother gave me that middle name. She was all whacked out on pain medication after I was born, and she gave me the first middle name she thought of. She’d been writing a paper on President Millard Fillmore a few hours before she gave birth to me, and that was what was in her mind.”

“You’re lucky she didn’t give you that for a first name!”

“Dad gave me my first name. Mom got to choose my middle name.”

Rose was still laughing. Jack gave her an annoyed look and cleared their places. Rose was still laughing when they got to the car.

“You sound like a hyena,” Jack told her, sending her into more peals of laughter.

Finally, she calmed down. “I’m sorry, Jack. It’s just...Millard! What a name!” She settled into her seat, stretching. “I’m tired. I think I’m a little punchy.”

“I’ll say.”

“Hey!” Rose looked at him in mock offense. “Just do me a favor, okay?”

“What?”

“Don’t give any of our children that name.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t want their mother laughing every time she sees them. Besides, I’ve had enough teasing over that middle name. That’s why I don’t tell it to people.”

“Well, I guess it isn’t that bad. After all, you’re named after a president.”

“Who no one remembers.”

“Except for his name.” Rose’s eyes were still shining with mirth as they headed toward home.

*****

It was earlier than usual when they reached home, only nine o’clock, but they had a long day ahead of them. Jack had forgiven Rose for laughing at his name by the time they got there, and Rose was very apologetic, though she still got a twinkle in her eye when she thought about Jack’s middle name.

Helga was dozing in front of the television when they came into the house, but she woke up and turned it off when the door opened. Tommy was out, as he usually was on Friday nights.

“Hey,” Helga greeted them drowsily. “How was your date?”

“Not bad,” Rose told her. “We visited my father’s grave in the cemetery and went out for pizza.”

“Sounds like fun.” Helga got awkwardly to her feet, her swelling middle beginning to make getting up difficult. “I’m going to bed, now. Behave yourselves.”

“We will,” Rose told her, sighing and giving her a look that said she was tired of hearing that.

As soon as Helga’s bedroom door had closed, Jack took Rose in his arms. They kissed for a moment, then stepped apart.

“Well...good night, Rose,” Jack told her, heading in the direction of the hall.

“Good night. I guess we’re not supposed to see each other until the wedding tomorrow.”

“Nope. The bride and the groom aren’t supposed to see each other before the wedding.”

“I wonder where that custom came from?”

Jack shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe we should break it and see what happens.” He gave her a mischievous look.

Rose laughed. “I’ll see you in the morning, then, tradition be da—darned.” She grinned at him. “I’ll walk you to your room.”

Jack laughed as she accompanied him down the hall, her arm linked with his. They kissed good night outside of Jack’s room, separating when Helga stepped out of the bathroom and looked at them with a raised eyebrow.

“Good night,” they chorused to her as she shook a finger in mock warning and disappeared into her room.

“Good night. I love you,” Rose finally whispered to Jack, kissing him one more time and disappearing into her own room.

As she prepared for bed, Rose thought about the day to come. She was getting married to the man that she loved enough to sacrifice her own well-being for. She wondered if her mother had ever felt that way about her father, or if there had been something wrong from the beginning.

Rose slipped into bed, trying to get comfortable in the new, strange bed. She rolled over, pulling the covers up to her chin and gazing at the faint light filtering in through the blinds. It was, she thought, much too big a bed for one person, especially in the cool October weather. Curling up and pulling her afghan over her, she pushed the thought from her mind. It was only for one night, after all. After tonight, she would be sharing it with Jack.

Chapter Fifty-Two
Stories