THE NEPHEW
Chapter Two
April 11
Rose came awake with a gasp. She'd been
gripped in the throes of a nightmare so awful she'd been forced to wake up to
escape--and yet she was already forgetting what it was all about. Something to
do with being submerged in water. Rose shuddered and rubbed her bare arms,
which were sprouting goosebumps. The bandaged cut on her hand stung.
She dressed and went downstairs to the
kitchen, where she lit the stove and put on a kettle of water for tea, pausing
to take in the view of the Red Cedar River from the window. Something tickled
her leg; she looked down into the face of Josephine, the wire terrier who'd
been her primary companion for nearly seven years. She'd brought Josie with her
from Hollywood the year before. So far she was the only real friend Rose had in
this town.
She opened the back door to let the dog out
and Josephine hesitated--emitting a low growl. At first Rose thought her
reluctance was due to the almost unnatural cold. Southern California this was
not. Then she saw the true reason for the growl.
"H-how do, Miss," the blond youth
said, tipping his cap. "Sorry to disturb you so early...are you all
right?"
Rose paled, then stumbled backward. For a
crazy second, the world tilted and she grabbed the kitchen counter for support.
Josephine was yipping away behind her and somewhere, someone began blowing a
whistle.
The boats, she thought wildly. The boats...
The boy rushed forth and caught her as she
passed out.
She came to minutes later, stretched on the
couch in the parlor. The first thing she noticed was Josephine, who began to
wag her tail happily. The next thing she saw was him, crouched beside her.
Rose sat up and shoved, throwing him off
balance and onto his rear on the floor. "Who the hell are you?" she
demanded. "How did you find me? What do you want?"
He gaped at her, eyes wide, then, to her
astonishment, laughed. "First of all, I turned off the stove; the tea
kettle was about to boil over. Secondly, can you ask me those questions again,
please, but one at a time?"
It wasn't him. The voice was wrong, the Midwestern
twang a bit stronger. And he wasn't quite as thin.
But those eyes. Those eyes were the same
shade of blue.
"Who are you?" she repeated, but
her tone had lost its edge.
"Beg your pardon, ma'am," he said
politely, sticking out a hand. She at first only looked at it, but when he
didn't withdraw it, she took it.
It was cold. Rose pulled away.
"I'm sorry," he apologized yet
again. "Name's John Calvert. I just came from over to Loman's Crafts. The
owner told me you had opened a gallery and I thought I'd swing by on my way
home. I live up the road a ways."
He paused, expecting some sort of response,
but all he got was an open-mouthed stare. Why Artie, Rose mused. You were
trying to play matchmaker!
But why? This boy couldn't be more than--
Jack's age.
"I thought you'd be open," John was
saying, "but I guess I should have known better, you being from the big
city 'n all." He paused, blushing. "And a movie star at that. You
probably sleep till noon every day."
"Well, if that's what you think, perhaps
you shouldn't have swung by on the spur of the moment," Rose snapped.
"And the entrance to the gallery faces the street. Why were you lurking in
the back yard?"
"You didn't answer when I rang the
bell," John responded, taken aback. "Again, I'm sorry. I'll come back
another time." He started out of the room.
"No!" Rose was behind him,
restraining herself from grabbing his arm at the last second. He turned, and
she caught a hint of mischief in his eyes.
Why did he look so much like Jack?
"Stay and have a cup of tea. Please,"
she offered.
After finally letting Josephine out--the dog
would have left a puddle on the floor if she hadn't--Rose poured two cups of
tea and they sat facing each other at the dining room table. Neither said a
word at first, though neither took their eyes off the other.
Then:
"I can't believe I'm sitting down to tea
with Rose Dawson--"
"You look so familiar to me--"
They both stopped mid-sentence and burst into
giggles. Deep down Rose still felt somewhat queasy, but she hid those feelings
under her most glamorous--or so she hoped--smile.
"You've seen my films?" she asked,
immensely and inexplicably flattered by this mysterious stranger's attention.
"All thirty-two of them," John
said. He flushed again. Rose found it endearing, and a relief as well. One
thing she could say about this fellow, he was a bit shy. Jack wasn't, not by
any stretch of the imagination.
"I couldn't believe my luck," John
continued. "I mean, I just came home yesterday, just happened to go out to
the grocer for a few things--"
"Home?"
"Yes, ma'am, I'm a Cedar Rapids boy,
born 'n bred. I just came home early from the University of Iowa--I'm studying
art there--to look after my mother. She's...dying of cancer."
"I'm so sorry to hear that."
Without thinking, Rose placed her left hand sympathetically over his right.
And suddenly, she was on a grand ship,
sitting in a deck chair alongside Jack Dawson.
"You have a gift, Jack, you do. You
see people."
"I see you."
The words sounded distant and murky, as if
they were dialogue from one of the new talkies, though it felt as though it
happened yesterday.
"Rose?"
She blinked and released his hand. "I'm
sorry. You must think me quite daft."
"No." John smiled kindly. "I
caught you at a bad time, is all. Maybe I should come back later."
"Oh no, I'm wide awake now. Let me show
you the gallery, as long as you're here."
She had opened the Rosebud Art Studio,
showcasing some of her original works as well as paintings from a few other
area artists, earlier that year to a lukewarm reception. It was more than
likely because of the current state of the economy, but Rose sensed that there
was more to it than that. Cedar Rapids was a big city for this part of the
country, but it was no New York or Los Angeles. And the townspeople didn't
quite know what to make of her.
"So what brought you here, Rose?"
John asked after the tour.
She sighed. "It's a long story. Perhaps
you'd like to stay for lunch?"
He checked his watch. "Much as I'd love
to, I have to be getting home. My mother's probably wondering if I went back to
school."
Rose tried to conceal her disappointment as
she walked her guest to the door. "Do come back again, Jack. I've enjoyed
your company."
He stopped in his tracks and looked at her,
wearing an odd expression on his handsome face. "What did you call
me?"
"I called you John."
"No, you called me Jack."
Rose's heart rate doubled. What was wrong
with her?
But John wasn't bothered by her slip of the
tongue. Not in the least. "How'd you know my mama's pet name for me?"
"Your mother calls you--"
"Jack, right. Well, I'd better get a
move on. See you, Rose!"
That evening, while preparing to take a bath,
she unwrapped her bandaged hand and saw that the cut had healed, leaving only a
tiny scar.