Author's Note: I made some changes with the story, and deleted one part. Sorry it took a while to update. For now, this chapter is going to be a little short but it's a good make-up.

Chapter 13

April 15, 1913.

"I think I'm finally starting to understand Cal more."

"What do you mean?" asked Christine taking a bite out of a biscuit. It was a beautiful April afternoon, and Christine was spending the day with her long-time friend, Rose. They were having tea together silently outside in the Hockley lawn. Suddenly, Rose broke the silence.

"I mean, I feel I'll finally be able to relate to him. I know he remembers what today is."

"Oh," said Christine, completely aware of what her friend meant. Today was April 15, 1913–the first year anniversary of the Titanic going under. Of course, anyone involved knew the significance of the day. For people like Rose and Cal, it changes lives dramatically.

"He pretends though. He pretends that everything's normal again. Or at least he tries to. He has this facade and it goes through...stages. Sometimes it's perfect and believable. Sometimes, it's shaky. And on some occasions, it breaks completely. Like this week for instance. This entire week, he was so withdrawn. I think I've only heard him say maybe...four words in this entire week. That's his new phase, he never talks. But today was different though. Today, all he did was just snap at everyone before he left the house in a huff. And I think I heard him all last night, in the living room, pacing the floor. He's gone completely mad, I think."

"Goodness," Christine said. She never knew how intense things were in the Hockley household. She never knew Caledon Hockley had such a temper. He always seemed to have everything under control. But now, as she learned that Cal couldn't even control his own mental state, she wondered how much control he really had. She asked Rose, "Do you two ever talk about what happened?"

"No, " Rose answered. She explained, "It was my fault at first really. I wasn't in the best mental state myself after what I went through that night. I was so...wrapped up in my thoughts that I didn't think of him. But now, I'm a little better. Colleen keeps me busy, I guess, but now I have to talk to Cal. I have something to tell him, but he doesn't..." Rose paused before she continued. "He doesn't even like me or care about me to stay around at home and listen."

"That's not true, Rose,"said Christine.

"Yes it is. You don't even know the whole story between him and I."

Christine looked up. "What is it?"

Rose looked away from her friend. " I wish I could tell you, but...I can't. All I can tell you is that it's my fault that Cal doesn't want to speak to me. It's my fault that he never wants to be home. He never comes home, you know. He's always out, and he never comes home until late in the night. He doesn't even want to look at Colleen, but I can understand."

"Why not?" Christine asked. Christine always sensed that something was wrong with Rose. She knew Rose wasn't "better" as she claimed herself to be. She wished, Rose didn't tell herself she was okay. Or that something was "her fault".

"It's because of me. I was the one that caused everything."

"Caused what?" Christine sighed.

"I'll...I can't tell you...well not right now. But...if I ever do tell you, I have to trust you. You can't–"

"Rose," came a voice. Marta appeared behind the two women, with four month old Colleen whimpering in her arms. "Your daughter just woke up.

"Thank you Marta,"said Rose, as she took her daughter in her arms. She turned to Christine with the brightest of smiles on her face. "Do you want to hold her? She's growing so beautiful, don't you think? "

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Christine had mixed feelings about her friend, when she left that day.

She knew Rose and Cal went through a traumatic experience, but she didn't think life behind the closed doors of the Hockley household was so tense. She never suspected Cal to be the way Rose described him. Everyone knew Cal as the suave, even-tempered son of Nathaniel Hockley. But that was the public Caledon Hockley. What was he like to his wife and child? And why didn't he care for his daughter? She didn't quite understand that.

Rose was one of her best friends. They knew each other for a very long time. She knew Rose perfectly. Rose was never open to anyone, except Christine. She kept secrets and feelings from everyone, but when it came to Christine, she became a glass of water that was suddenly tipped over. The secret would easily spill from Rose's mouth once she found Christine. She never held anything back from Christine, and the reason why had to do with Christine's gift of listening and understanding. So...why was she keeping secrets now? The thought that her friend was suddenly keeping something from her insulted her. Didn't Rose know already that she was trustworthy? Didn't she tell Rose her secret? And didn't Rose keep it?

As she thought about that, she opened the door to her house after stepping out of the car. Night was creeping in as the beautiful April sunset began to fade away. She was thinking about spending the evening with her family, and having a nice dinner– thoughts that were completely trivial which contradicted with the events of her life.

The second she walked inside of the cool house, the maid, Lilian walked towards Christine, holding her son in her arms.

"Julius," cooed Christine, reaching for her son. It seemed as if nowadays, her son was the only thing that mattered to her. The only one that actually loved her. She wondered if that was what Rose was feeling.

She was enjoying her time with her son, suddenly realizing how big he was growing, until her time with her son was interrupted.

"Christine," came a voice from the top of the stairs. It was her husband, Spencer, a long time friend of Caledon Hockley. She wondered if Cal acted just like her husband.

"Hello, Spencer," she said in a cold voice.

"Where have you been?" he said, ignoring her greeting.

"I told you before I left. I spent a day with Rose...Mrs. Hockley."

"And where did you go after that?" he asked.

"That was it."

He walked down the stairs and then stared at his wife with his cold blue eyes, looking for a lie behind them. His wife only stared back with a defiant stare, determined not to give him the satisfaction of intimidating her. Finally he gave up trying to look.

"Hopefully, that's the truth," was all he said nastily, before he walked past her, leaving her with the same stone of guilt that had been weighing her down for the past year.