Chapter Two

September 29th, 1912
New York City, New York

The rain pattered on the windowsills just outside of Rose's apartment. The sound was calming to her. She had the day off from work and the weather put her in the mood to simply read and write. She had found a nice oak antique desk a few weeks ago and a cheap typewriter from an estate sale right before she left for Wisconsin. It now was against the wall nearest to her bookshelves. She hadn't even used the typewriter yet, but her fingers tingled excitedly thinking about those keys.

She finished pinning her hair back into a messy bun on her head, opting to wear a loose white button up and olive green pants. Rose grabbed her mug of tea off the vanity table and went to the living room. She pulled the curtains back so she could get a full view of the steady downpour outside. She held her mug against her as she simply watched the sullen day. It reminded her of the journey on the Carpathia. It had been dreary, like herself, the entire rest of the way to New York City.

Rose turned from the window and seated herself in the chair closest. She set her mug down on the only free spot on the coffee table and began running her thumbs along the spines of books, wondering what would interest her today. She furrowed her brow together as she tried to recall the latest book she had picked up from the store. Rose muttered to herself as she grabbed a stack of books, turning the spines towards her. She nearly knocked another tower over. She lunged for it, holding it upright. Rose let out a relieved sigh as she transferred books to other stacks to even it out. She paused, however, right before she set a book down on the folder from Wisconsin.

She chewed on her lip and stared at it. It had been over a week since Rose had returned home with what she had been wanting. She figured she'd already had read it by now, but something still held her back. Something about the sight of 'DAWSON' made her stomach twist. Rose sighed, flaring her nostrils. She never would forget Jack, she tried to argue with herself. Why should she keep things about him a mystery to her? She slowly grabbed the folder and set the book down, her eyes never leaving the tab where his last name was. Her own last name, as she had fully adopted it.

"I'll just look at the first thing on top..." Rose told herself, her eyes sliding shut, "Just one page at a time... there isn't a rush..."

With trembling hands, she slowly pushed open the folder. The first thing on top was his birth certificate. Rose's breathing hitched in her throat as her eyes hovered over the official seal for the State of Wisconsin. Rose slid back in her seat, pressing herself flat to the cushion and cradled the documents in her lap. She brought the birth certificate into her hands, raising it, her body quaking.

John Cole Dawson. Her eyes became wet as she grinned at his proper name. She laughed at herself, shaking her head and glancing towards the wet window as tears brimmed her vision. Why had she never considered what his full name was? She hadn't even thought about Jack being his nickname. It suited him much better than John, in her opinion. She blinked for a moment before continuing, hoping to have the tears subside, but they remained.

Born in Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin. Rose nodded, sniffling slightly as her eyes took in every detail. Date of birth was listed as November 8th, 1892, at ten-thirty at night. Rose lowered her eyes, "He would have been twenty-one this year..." She whispered, feeling an awful dread begin to sink into her. She took a deep breath to steady herself. She wanted to go on.

His mother's name Elena Wilson Dawson; nineteen at the time of Jack's birth. His father's name was James Franklin Dawson; twenty-seven. Rose sat back and gazed across the apartment complex, bobbing her knee absent-mindedly. She wondered what his parents looked like. How they had raised him. They didn't get to discuss much. All she knew was that they had passed on.

Rose closed the folder and put it back on the coffee table. She felt simply overwhelmed. Looking at the information evoked a feeling Rose had not carefully calculated for. A feeling of regret ached in her bones as she realized they had not been given enough time together. They hadn't gotten to talk and divulge as much as it seemed they were destined to. A lonely feeling blossomed in her stomach as she put her elbows into her knees and cradled her head in her palms. There was so much, she felt, that didn't get to happen. She felt she still had things to say to him and worried with unrelenting fear there were words left unsaid by him. Rose would give anything to hear his voice one more time. His laughter. To see his signature lop-sided grin and feel his carefree nature. She missed the intoxicating aroma of him that reminded her of the pine trees in Wisconsin. But most of all, she missed touching him. She missed the way his hands felt on her skin, the way their bodies molded together so perfectly. She missed his contagious free spirit. She missed the energy he gave her.

Rose allowed herself to cry. She curled up into her chair, covering her hands over her eyes. She hunched her shoulders as she thought about what she had lost. The opportunity she had allowed to slip through her fingers. It would haunt her endlessly, she was convinced. The survivors guilt would never cease to plague her. She would continually ask herself until her last breath, why had she survived? What had made her life so much more important than Jack's? What did the world, the universe, God, want from her that they couldn't get from him? It was a bitter and tragic waste of life. It was the extinguisher of the light in her life. She was worried she'd never find a way to rejuvenate it. Rose finally forced herself to stop sobbing. The tears continued down her flushed face as she tilted her head back to rest against the cusion, her eyes watching the raindrops descend like her tears.

...

October 4th, 1912
New York City, New York

It was a beautiful morning. The sun was bright and alive. There wasn't a cloud in the cerulean blue sky. The air was crisp as fall waxed on. Orange, yellow, and red leaves danced in the wind, tumbling down the sidewalks. Rose looked out the windows towards the street as she refilled coffee cups at a patrons table. Many people bustled by in peacoats, scarves, and hats. The wind seemed to be becoming gustier as the morning waned into the early afternoon. Rose flashed a polite grin to the customers before she moved on, collecting dishes from an abandoned table, and continuing down the aisle.

"More coffee?" Rose asked, stopping at Tim's table with the dishes balanced against her hip. She held the coffee pot in her other hand up towards Tim, who was reading the newspaper as usual. He lifted his eyes to her and grinned.

"Please," He nodded.

"Late start today?" Rose threw a glance towards the clock above the door.

"Even better," Tim adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, "no clients or meetings today. It was a complete stroke of luck, so I'm taking advtange of it by doing as I please," He reached for his hot coffee, lifting it to Rose, "And you're really making it the best, let me tell you, Rose."

She smiled at him, her cheeks growing hot, "Let me know if you need anything else, Tim."

"I might just stay for lunch, too," He warned her as he picked his newspaper back up.

"I'll let you know when the kitchen is hot!" Rose called over her shoulder as she disappeared around the corner towards the kitchen. She hauled the dishes into the sink where the washer, Phillip, was hustling to stay ahead, "A five top came in a few moments ago," Rose turned to the kitchen staff that were dancing around each other hurriedly, "Just wanted to give you a heads up."

"Thanks, Rose," Quincy replied without even glancing up from the pan of sizzling potatoes.

Rose went back to the bar and glanced underneath, pleased to see two racks of clean mugs. She looked over the diner to see many of the tables occupied. Waitresses dashed by with orders in hands and trays balanced over their heads. Rose went down the line of workers sitting at the bar, filling their coffee mugs, her mind already thinking about what she had to do next. Quickly, she went and cleared more tables of dishes before the next wave of customers could come in. She hurried them back to the kitchen, returning to the diner with hot dishes for waiting guests.

She let out a huff and paused in the middle of the aisle, her hands on her hips as she contemplated what to do next. But suddenly, someone's eyes caught her attention. Tim's hazel eyes were peering at her from above the paper. She could tell he was smiling by the way the skin crinkled in the corner of his eyes. She found herself grinning back at him, flushing like a nervous school girl. Rose turned away from Tim, smoothing her apron out absent-mindedly, her mind traveling far away from her in that moment.

...

October 13th, 1912
New York City, New York

A knock on Rose's apartment door drew her from her typewriter. She glanced around the room momentarily, not realizing how much time had escaped. Dusk had descended on New York, only the faintest glow of sunlight appearing on the horizon out her window. Her apartment was dark as she had failed to turn any lights on besides the one on her desk. The knock came again, puzzling her. She certainly wasn't expecting anyone. She never was.

Rose flicked on the lamp closest to the door and undid the locks, slowly peaking her head out. Edgar, her landlord, was standing there with a friendly grin, as usual, "Oh, Edgar," Rose tried to conceal her surprise, opening the door fully now, "Hi, how are you?" She asked, tucking a curl behind her ear.

"Sorry to bother you so late, Miss Dawson," Edgar laughed, sheepishly rubbing the nape of his neck, "I wanted to hand deliver this to you. It's an invitation for Liliana's birthday party this weekend. She insisted I give it to you directly."

"Oh, she's sweetheart," Rose grinned and took the invitation into her hand. Edgar had been so generous towards her she felt the least she could do was be tolerant of his all very different daughters. They had lost their mother within the past two years, she imagined it was rough on them. She could relate, in a way, to losing family, whether it was by nature or her own course of actions.

"It'll just be here across the hall," Edgar told her, adjusting the suspenders around his beer belly, "You can bring a plus one, if you'd like."

Rose lifted her eyes from looking at her name written on the card in a handwriting lacking finnesse, most likely done by Liliana, who was too distracted by her looks and acting like a girl, to focus on her studies, "Do you have any suggestions on what to buy her?"

"She likes cosmetics, hair decorations, perfumes," Edgar said, "She's the girliest of the three."

Rose smiled at the thought, "I think I have just the idea."

"Don't worry about spending too much," Edgar shook his head, "The girl is spoiled as it is. As the baby, she has always been doted on. You coming is a gift, I'd say."

"Well, she deserves a little something for her birthday," Rose shrugged.

"You're a good woman, Miss Dawson," Edgar smiled warmly, "I try to do as much as I can for the girl's on their birthday. The cake just doesn't taste the same when their mother doesn't bake it."

Rose returned the smile, tilting her head to rest against the door frame, "I'll be there."