BACK WITH YOU
Chapter Nine

Jessamyn stood suddenly alone in the middle of the little room. She didn’t know what to do next. Well, she knew she had to get out of her wet clothes...but after that she was clueless. At least the worst part was over; she had met Rose.

Slowly, she moved over to the desk, and couldn't resist a little look around. It was cluttered with what looked like business papers, a couple of books, pencils, a flower vase with fresh roses--from where, Jessamyn couldn't imagine--and then a framed photograph. She picked the picture up and looked at it. To her surprise, it was her in Rose's arms as a tiny baby. It was weird, knowing that someone who you hadn't really met in your entire life had pictures of you in their house. Jessamyn quickly put the picture back where it had been and turned from the desk.

The closest door now loomed in front of her, and Jessamyn wondered what she would find in there. She walked over and threw open the door, behind which was a little room the size of a small bathroom, stacked with boxes and clothes hanging to one side. Since she was beginning to get really cold, she decided that she had better change her clothes before she did anything else. Quickly, she went through the hangers, finally finding a pair of casual pants and a simple blouse that looked like they would fit her. Everything else either wouldn't fit or were dodgy dresses and skirts...the shirt and pants were going to have to work.

Closing the closet door behind her again, Jessamyn changed quickly, and then was left standing in the middle of the room again holding a pile of wet things. She didn't know what to do with them, so she opened up the bedroom door and, after looking back and forth, crossed the hallway into the bathroom. She set her wet shoes on the floor of the bathtub, hung her socks over the edge, and then, after wringing them out in the sink, hung the rest of her clothes over the towel rack.

A quick look in the mirror told her that she looked horrible, and she hurriedly rung out her now-frizzy-from-the-water hair, and managed to put it into some order. All of her makeup and other toiletries were at her apartment, so she had to make do by pinching her cheeks and biting her lips for a little color.

After all this was finished, Jessamyn realized she now had nothing else to do but go out into the living room. The nervousness set in again, and she took a couple of deep breaths to calm herself down.

Slowly, she opened the door back up and walked on into the hallway. Later, she would only remember the sound of her bare feet on the wood floor as she walked toward the living room. She was sure they were making the loudest sound in the world, even though she knew that they weren't.

The smell of the coffee hit her nose before she entered the kitchen, and that was where she found Rose, standing in a clean skirt and button-down blouse, her hair in an upsweep. Her mother smiled as she came in, and motioned for her to sit down.

"This is almost ready," she said cheerfully to Jessamyn as she took her seat.

"Oh, okay," was all Jessamyn managed to get out. She cleared her throat a few times and fiddled with a salt shaker on the table. "Um…I left my clothes in the bathroom...is that all right?"

Rose was pouring the coffee now, and after a second, brought it over. "It's not a problem," she assured her as she set a blue mug in front of Jessamyn. "You look a little better," she commented, sitting down with her own drink.

Jessamyn blushed. "I didn't realize I looked like death warmed over when you showed up," she said, laughing a little bit afterward.

Rose didn't say much, just smiled a little bit. She didn't want to tell Jessamyn about how she hated that comment, that the phrase death warmed over wasn't even funny, considering she'd seen people who would rather look like death warmed over than dead. How she herself had felt like death warmed over when she had arrived on the Carpathia. Instead, she changed the subject.

"So, Jessamyn," the name felt natural to her, even after so many years, "tell me about your life. I want to know everything."

Jessamyn laughed again, beginning to feel more comfortable. Rose was being so nice and welcoming. "Well, I grew up in Maine with a couple of brothers and sisters." This was going to be hard...what did Rose want from her? "I thought I had a pretty normal life, but I guess not."

"When did they tell you?" Rose asked, before taking a sip of coffee.

"My eighteenth birthday." Jessamyn nodded slowly for a moment. "Yep, it seemed like an odd time. I still don't know why they waited that long."

From Rose came an unexpected sound, and Jessamyn looked over to see her frowning. "It’s my fault," she explained. "I told them not to tell you until you were eighteen."

Jessamyn blinked a few times. "What? Why?" she finally asked. If she had known all along, maybe she could have made contact with Rose a long time ago, and then it would have saved a lot of this confusion and pain.

"I knew that…" Rose sighed. "…that if I knew you knew about me, about us, then I couldn't keep myself from coming to get you." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, her hands wrapping around the coffee mug. "I almost jumped on a train so many times, Jessamyn. I would be at the train station, my bags packed, and a ticket to Maine in my hands. I just wanted to see you. But, every time I tried, I would think to myself about how much my being there would screw your whole life up. I couldn’t go. I knew I wouldn't be able to leave without taking you with me. And that would not have been the right thing for you." Her eyes opened up again, and there were tears in them.

Jessamyn was touched. And instantly sorry for being a little bit mad at Rose for not coming to tell her or get her when she had the money and could have provided a life for both of them. She was right; it would have been traumatic for a little kid. She admired her mother for having so much strength. God, if she had been in that situation, she probably would have run mad.

"I figured when you were eighteen you were old enough to make your own decisions, that if you wanted to, you could come and find me. You obviously did." Rose smiled gently at her daughter. "I missed you every day. What killed me the most was that I didn't even get to see you grow up. I wanted to so badly."

Slowly, Jessamyn reached over and placed on her hands over Rose's. Like so many other things that were happening right now, it felt natural. Her mother's hand was freezing, but soft and delicate. She squeezed it softly. "You did the right thing, you know," she told her. "You gave me a new life. I would have slowed you down so much. You wouldn’t have been here now...you did the right thing."

Rose was crying softly now. "I regretted it so much," she mumbled out, in between sobs. "You were my baby, Jess...and I let strangers take you away. You were crying, I was crying, and they just took you. Just took you away..." She trailed off, too overcome to say much more. She couldn't believe that she was telling Jessamyn these things. They were so personal. But it felt good to get it all off of her chest, to finally explain to her daughter why they had needed to be separated.

"They gave me a life, though. They provided for me. I had brothers and sisters, a big, extended family. I was happy," Jessamyn said softly, trying to make Rose see that her choice had been a noble one. "I'm glad all of this happened, though. Because there has always been this part of me that felt like I didn't belong there. It's like I missed you without even knowing about you." She reached over and brushed a few tears away from her mother's cheeks. Seeing her like this made her want to cry. "Cheer up. You're making me depressed. I thought this was supposed to be a happy occasion."

Rose laughed a little bit at that, and it brought a small smile to her face. "You're right. I'm sorry," she said, trying to control her tears and stop her nose from making noise every time she breathed in. "Okay, doing better," she said out loud to herself, making Jessamyn smile this time. "Tell me some more," she begged, holding onto her hand a little tighter.

Jessamyn took a sip of the coffee, and then swallowed before continuing. "Well, I graduated from high school a year early. Um…I was planning on college in Boston...but that’s over now. I'm thinking about moving down here and going to school in California."

Rose was relieved to her that. She had been a bit worried that Jessamyn was planning on leaving. But she didn’t say anything to that effect. "Well, when did you walk, what was your first word...all those sorts of things? I missed it all."

"Ah..." Jessamyn laughed. "Let's see. I walked when I was about ten months old. I think that is what they said. And my first word was Howie, which was the name of our cat at the time." She paused for a moment. She didn't want to spend the whole time talking about herself. Her curiosity to learn about her mother was more exciting. "Tell me about you, though. Please. I want to know," she begged gently.

And so they talked for the next few hours, of everything and anything, trading stories back and forth. Neither was ashamed to talk of anything. Jessamyn even told of some of the less than amiable things that she had done in Maine, and was shocked to find Rose laughing. Apparently, her mother had not been quite the little angel either when she was at boarding school. That was one of the more interesting things to Jessamyn, learning of her mother's childhood. It was hard to believe that Rose had actually gone to school in Paris, that she had lived out that fairytale childhood that Jessamyn had always wanted. The nasty stories of her grandmother, Ruth, were also amusing. She had asked Rose if she could meet her, but Rose had shied away, saying that one, her grandmother was dead, and two, before she had died she hadn't spoken to her since 1912. And that was where Jessamyn got confused. Her mother’s stories seemed to stop in the spring of 1912, and then pick up when she moved out to California. There was about a year and a half missing there where Jessamyn had no idea what had happened. And she desperately wanted to know of her father, too. But Rose hadn't said a word. Jessamyn decided it could probably wait, and that if her mother hadn't brought it up, it was for a valid reason.

After a late dinner, around nine, they moved into the living room and continued their conversation. Jessamyn began to reveal a lot of personal things, and the strange thing was that Rose understood. She felt like she was talking to one of her good friends back home, which was nice because she had needed some good conversation. Except for Charlie, her closest interaction with people had been somewhat limited the past few months. She felt like she could tell Rose anything. And the strange thing was that she trusted her completely. She even told her about Charlie, about how she liked him and wished that he would ask her to the movies or something. A shadow of pain had crossed Rose's face when she did so, but it soon passed and Rose began to giggle like a schoolgirl.

"I bet if you asked him, he'd say yes," Rose said, offering some advice.

Jessamyn shrugged. "It’s not even that. Yeah, I could ask him out. But he's a nice little southern boy. At least, I think he is." A brief thought crossed her mind and she grinned devilishly for a moment before continuing. "In any case, it wouldn’t be proper for me to ask. That’s his job."

Rose laughed and shook her head. "Sweetheart, take it from me. Sometimes you have to throw propriety out the window." She sighed heavily, thinking how true that was. She so badly wanted to tell Jessamyn about Jack, but it wasn't the right time. Things were going so well. Jessamyn had known enough emotional stress for one day. Finding her mother and then learning of the Titanic, Cal, and Jack would just be too much for her. They both needed a good night’s sleep and then maybe a few days more. She was going to tell her, though; she had a right to know. And in fact, Rose was kind of surprised that Jessamyn didn't know already. If she had looked up DeWitt Bukater in any way, she was sure her name would have come up and the words Killed in Titanic Disaster would follow. Rose couldn't be sure that she hadn't, but she was pretty sure that if she had she would have brought it up by now. She looked over at Jessamyn, who had picked up a photo album lying on the table and had begun to look through it.

Rose just watched her for a little bit, until Jessamyn finally noticed her mother staring at her, and she blushed. "Is that really you?" she asked, pushed the album over and pointing to a picture of Rose, who was standing in front of a sign that read Santa Monica Pier, grinning what looked like a sad smile, and holding a glass of what Jessamyn assumed was beer.

Chuckling, Rose nodded. "Yes, that’s me. Wow. I must have been twenty or so then." She shook her head in disbelief. It seemed like so long ago.

Jessamyn took the album back and brought it closer to her face so that she might study it better. "Were you feeling okay? You look like you're happy and might throw up at the same time."

Rose didn't say anything. That’s exactly how she'd felt that day, kind of like today. It had been a bittersweet time, finally making it to the pier. It had taken her so long. It was painful, even now, to go down there. But she made herself do it a few times each year. It was part of what she owed Jack.

Jessamyn didn’t seem to notice that her mother didn't say anything back, and just kept flipping through the pages. Rose didn't know what was really so interesting. It was just a bunch of silly pictures friends had taken of her over the years, mixed in with some remembrances like dried sea shells and movie ticket stubs, things like that. Of course, she had to remind herself, she would love to see some photo albums of Jessamyn’s.

Just then, she remembered something. She jumped up from the couch and walked over to one of the bookshelves. After searching for a moment, she pulled out another album. Jessamyn curiously watched as her mother carried it over and then set it in front of her. She gingerly picked it up as Rose sat down and ran her fingers of the name on the blue cover. Jessamyn was written in Rose's soft handwriting.

"What is this?" she asked.

"Just open it," Rose urged, as she sat down next to her daughter.

Jessamyn did as she was told, and was shocked to find out what it was filled with. On the very front page was a copy of her birth certificate, visible proof of her existence as Rose's daughter. Her eyes filled with unexpected tears as she turned the page and found pictures of her as a baby, and then a card with Jessamyn Dawson--Girl--Rose Dawson--January Fifteenth written on it. Jessamyn recognized it as one of the identification cards from the hospital that was stuck to the little bassinettes. On the next page was a little pink ribbon with Jessamyn Dawson written on it.

"That went around your wrist," Rose explained, when her daughter looked at her with a confused look.

Jessamyn nodded and went back to the book, not knowing what else to say. The ribbon was followed by more photos, what Rose said was the ticket stub from the play she had gone to and felt Jessamyn kick at, some dried flowers, and then most depressing of all, an address, which Jessamyn recognized as her own from Maine.

She ran her fingers over the names of her adoptive parents, tracing the words. An overwhelming sense of longing and betrayal came over her. She felt guilty for not knowing all these years and felt a strange urge not to know. It was almost like she wanted to go back to Maine and make it all go away, have things go back to normal. It was finally setting in, and it hurt.

Rose noticed Jessamyn's sudden change in demeanor and knew that the reality of it was beginning to hit. She reached over and pulled her into a tight hug, not saying anything. Jessamyn cried openly. It was all so different now, and would be for the rest of her life. She could never go back to Maine without feeling a longing for Rose, and she couldn't just let her adoptive parents drift away.

After some time, Rose pulled away and looked at her daughter. "You're going to be all right," she assured her, knowing that she better well be, or else she was never going to get through the story of Jack.

Jessamyn wiped some tears away and nodded, sniffling a little bit. She needed to sleep so badly, just forget about everything for a while. Sighing, she stood up, Rose following her.

"I’m going to go to bed," she said softly, her voice hoarse.

"Okay," Rose whispered, nodding. She watched as Jessamyn tried to smile a little bit and then walked off. Just before she disappeared into the spare room, Rose couldn't resist something.

"I love you," she called softly.

Jessamyn began to cry again and shut the door without saying anything. Rose wiped some of her own tears away and managed to make her way around the house, turning out the lights and then retreating back to her own room. Things would be better in the morning...she hoped.

Jessamyn fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, and she stayed in this slumber until an odd dream woke her up suddenly. She felt better than she had when she had first gone to bed, more rested and a little less emotional. But the dream was disturbing. She had been lying there, and then suddenly it had felt like she was suffocating, like someone was pushing her under water and keeping her down there. Just before she could pass out, her head would reemerge, and she would hear this evil, crackling laughter before her body would once again be submerged.

The first thing she noticed when she woke up, after the fact that it was no longer storming outside, was that it was freezing. Rose's home had been cold ever since she had gotten there, but now it was really bad. She had kicked all the covers off the bed in her dream struggle, and even after pulling them back up and around her, her body still felt like ice. Her eyes drifted to the closet. Maybe there were some extra blankets in there, she thought, as she threw the covers back off and climbed out of bed. Quietly, she walked over there and opened the door. It was dark, so she reached up and pulled the chain for the light. It didn't help much. The bulb was quite weak, but even so she managed to spot some extra blankets up on a shelf. She looked around, finding a stepstool to stand on, and then raised herself up. Pulling down the blankets, she threw them on the floor and prepared to get down. But as she turned, her eyes spotted a box in the corner, pushed back against the wall. The words Jack's Things were printed on it in her mother's distinct handwriting.

Jessamyn's eyes lit up, and she was suddenly awake as all thoughts of being cold and sleeping left her. Her dad! The journalist in her kicked in as she reached out and pulled the box closer to the point where she could lift it down. It was quite heavy, but even so she jumped off the stool and then excited sat down on the closet floor, placing the box in front of her. Excitedly, she undid the little flaps that acted as a lid and peered inside.

What she saw was amazing. A sketchbook lay on top, which immediately interested Jessamyn. She pulled it out and opened it up. Numerous drawings lay there, and as she looked through them, she saw that they were dated from 1902 to 1907. Many of the drawings were amateur-looking, as if done by a child, although they were still quite good and reminded Jessamyn of other drawings she had seen, but she couldn't remember where. In addition, she found some letters addressed to people in Idaho and Montana, all of them from Jack, all of them in the same childish handwriting. Everything was dated pre-1907, which was strange. There were also some other things like pencils, a few books, and a shoe, which was really odd. But to her disappointment, no pictures or anything related to her mother. At the bottom of the box were a couple of shirts, a pair of pants, and, perhaps the most exciting, a notebook with the words School Stuff on the front. She opened it up to find more drawings and a few what looked like the starting of lecture notes. But like everything else, everything stopped after 1907.

Jessamyn sat there for a long time pondering her find. Her dad was really a mystery now, one that she desperately wanted to solve. She had almost asked about him today, but had decided not to, worried it might upset her mother. But this was really amazing. The first tangible evidence of him, her father, Jack Dawson. She had memorized his name and repeated it over and over before.

The sun was coming up over the ocean when fatigue overtook her and she finally went back to bed. She would have plenty of questions in the morning. But right now, she just wanted to sleep.

Chapter Ten
Stories