THE NEPHEW
Chapter Three
April 12
He called.
She was at her easel, working on a pencil
sketch. The vision had appeared to her the night before in her sleep, and she
needed to get it on paper before she lost sight of it.
The clanging of the telephone startled and
annoyed her. Though just yesterday she would have been thrilled to hear from
someone, anyone, right now she was engrossed in her work and tempted to let it
ring.
But if she didn't pick up, she might well
lose a customer.
"Rosebud Art Studio, Rose
speaking."
"Good morning, Rose. It's John."
Rose brightened. In the intervening hours
since he'd left, she had begun to think she'd dreamed the whole encounter.
"I got your number from the
directory," he said by way of explanation. "Listen, would you like to
have lunch with me today? I have some ideas on how you can promote your
gallery."
Normally Rose would have scoffed at the
notion of a college student telling her how to run her business, but of course
this was no ordinary college student. She found herself agreeing to meet him at
a cafe on First Avenue. It wasn't until after she hung up that she remembered
the gallery wasn't yet listed in the telephone directory.
Rose returned to the easel, and gasped.
It was a portrait of two faces. She'd split
the page in half, with half of each face on either side. One half was supposed
to be John, the other half Jack. Only now she couldn't tell which was which.
*****
"You were going to tell me yesterday why
you moved to Cedar Rapids."
Ignoring the rude stares they were getting
from other patrons in the restaurant, John had spent some time presenting her
with various ideas for making the studio more accessible to the folks, as he
called the locals. She had to admit he surprised her with his business acumen.
It had taken her years of preparation to open Rosebud. But then again, she
never went to college.
She picked at her roast beef and mashed
potatoes, wondering if she wanted to open up this can of worms. There could be
no purpose in sharing her past with this boy she'd only known a day; in fact,
considering her state of mind, it could be dangerous.
But she told him anyway.
After fifteen or so years of acting on stage
in New York and on screen in Hollywood, Rose found that fewer and fewer roles
were coming her way; the well all but dried up after the stock market crash of
'29. Fortunately, years of struggle before fame came along taught her to manage
her finances well, but she didn't intend to retire that early. She joined a
touring company whose production of Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility
turned out to be a surprise hit. They passed through several Midwestern states,
one stop being Cedar Rapids.
"I felt drawn to this town and I didn't
know why," Rose said.
How could she explain that she'd felt Jack's
presence here?
"I have a confession to make," John
said sheepishly. "I saw the play three times."
"Oh." She didn't quite know what
else to say.
"May I ask you a personal question,
Rose?" He didn't wait for her permission. "Why didn't you ever get
married? I mean, you're beautiful, intelligent and kindhearted. I don't understand
why someone didn't snatch you up years ago."
Rose stared at her plate. "I was engaged
once, a long time ago."
"What happened?"
"It was...an arrangement between my
mother and his father. I was miserable, and we parted company. Please, I don't
like to talk about it."
"What about since then? Have you been in
love?"
Rose had taken a sip of water to avoid
looking at him; at the word love she sputtered, sending drool down her chin.
Teach me to spit like a man.
She was suddenly beset by a fit of laughter.
Several people in the cafe began openly glaring and whispering. This had been
one of Rose's favorite eateries; now she supposed she'd have to dine elsewhere.
John was bemused. He leaned over and wiped
her chin with a napkin, then signaled for their waitress.
They exited to a bitterly cold but sunny
afternoon. Before climbing into his Oldsmobile at the curb, John suddenly swung
Rose around and pulled her into his arms. "Let's give them something to
really gossip about," he whispered.
The kiss lasted only an instant, but its
intensity propelled Rose outside of herself and far away, to another time and
place...
To the bow of a ship, and the arms of another
golden-haired youth.
And then John released her.
He didn't apologize for that.
Rose stood on the sidewalk, oblivious to the
clucking tongues of passerby: "She should be ashamed of herself."
"He must be half her age!"
If this continued, she would lose her mind.
"I asked if you've ever been in
love," John
Jack
said softly, "because--and I know
this'll sound crazy, Rose, but I fell in love with you on that stage. Something
told me to stop by Loman's Crafts on the way home the other day, and I'm so
glad I did, Rose. I think we were destined to meet one another."
Her head was spinning. "Look,
Jack--"
"You keep calling me Jack." He
didn't sound disappointed, only curious. "Who is he?"
"Was," Rose blurted. "John,
please listen to me. We can't take this any further. It's more than the age
difference. There's so much you don't know about me."
"You've had a lot of lovers." John
nodded as if to reassure himself. "I understand things are, ah, different
out in Hollywood."
That was certainly true, but it was the
furthest thing from Rose's mind.
Sudden realization dawned on John's face.
"You're concerned we might be related."
"What--"
"Why else would you settle here? You
were searching for your kin!"
Rose was baffled.
"Why didn't I see the connection before?
My mother's maiden name was Dawson!"