Chapter Thirty-Eight
January 13th, 1914
New York City, New York
Frenchie and Jack decided to take a break from painting and they went for a walk in the neighborhood bordering on the edge of the industrial sector, in search of an apartment for lease. Jack wanted at least three bedrooms and a study of some sort. He knew if he shopped smart, he could get a good bang for his buck. It had to have big open windows, because that's what Rose preferred. He hoped he could find some place with a large garden surrounding it, so she could look out the windows and see blooming plants. There were many things Jack wanted to give her and he didn't care what it took to acheive those things for her.
"This is a good neighborhood," Frenchie said, pointing to a street breaking off right from the main road. Three more blocks would have the men at Frenchie's house, "This is where my aunt lived when she moved to be closer to us at the end of her life," Frenchie told Jack as they began down a winding curve of sidewalk, "Very quiet little suburb."
Distantly windchimes rung out as Jack and Frenchie walked past the porches of many townhomes fit tightly beside each other. They had extravagant molding and plaster gravings along the door frames and windows. Jack watched as a child on a bike wheeled by, whacking a stick against their spokes. Up on one of the porches, an older woman had several quilts hung out over the railing, which she was whacking. She gave the men a wave as they walked past.
"Well, I like the neighborhood," Jack said, digging his hands into his pockets, "Only thing is; can I afford it?"
"Look, that one is for rent," Frenchie pointed down the street, "Number 311 right there. The white one with the hunter green trim," Jack and Frenchie slowly approached the empty porch and stepped up towards the door, that had a for rent sign tacked to it.
"Four bedroom, a study, a sun room, two and a half bathrooms," Jack whistled, "This place sounds huge, Frenchie."
"Perfect for a growing family," Frenchie nodded, "It says the deposit is twenty dollars and the monthly rent is one-hundred and twenty-five," Frenchie stared at the sign for a moment before tearing his eyes away and looking to Jack, "You can afford that. I'll be sure you can."
Jack snorted, "We'll have to paint like the wind," Jack reached into his pocket and withdrew a wad of bills, "I have enough for the deposit and two months rent, right here. That will be secure enough for now. Let's walk back to the corner market and use the phone to call the number. I want to see the inside."
...
The afternoon crowd was no where near as busy as that morning. Rose found plenty of moments to pause between her work and make sure she nibbled on something or drank something. Once it finally reached four o'clock, Rose peeled her apron off and shrugged her coat on, saying goodbye to Winston who was operating the register.
Rose took in a deep breath upon stepping out into the fresh winter day. She wanted nothing more than to go home, take her shoes off, and get off her feet. They ached horribly and felt rather tight in her shoes. She tied the sash to her peacoat and began on her a way, a brisk wind running against the side of her.
She glanced to the sky which was patchy with clouds. She hoped the snow would stop soon. Rose craved to feel the warm summer sun on her skin. She ached to feel heat in her body. She had found it difficult recently to fight the chill off. Rose rubbed her hands together, as she had forgotten her gloves on the kitchen counter that morning. Her mind was beginning to wander towards her pantry when a hand gripped her arm, turning her around suddenly.
She came face to face with Tim. He gripped her tenderly, leading her towards an alleyway right off the foot path. Rose sighed, pressing her back to the grimey wall. As she looked at them, she suffered a slight moment of déjá vu. She blinked rapidly, holding her gaze with Tim.
"Rose, I..." He fell at a loss of words and shook his head. He then took a step closer to her, "I'm having a really hard time accepting that we're just not going to be together anymore. I don't like this. I don't like this at all," He brought his leather gloved hand up, tenderly stroking her cheek, "I don't care what happened in your past, Rose. I don't care about those fears that drove you to do what you did. I love you for who you are."
"Tim," Rose's voice cracked and she swallowed roughly, "I'm sorry."
Tim pressed his palms flat to the wall on either side of Rose, gazing down on her, "I still love you. I still don't want to go anywhere. I still want to be with you."
"We can't be," Rose whispered, "I don't love you, Tim."
Tim stared at her for a moment before his lips barely moved, "Did you ever love me?"
Rose gazed deep into his eyes and slowly shook her head, "I don't know," She whispered.
"I knew from the moment I saw you, that I loved you," Tim told her and she briefly got a whiff of whiskey on his breath. Her eyes darted between his, seeing how dreadfully sad he was. Rose remained pinned between his arms beneath his gaze. Even when drunk he was not rash or rough. He was still his normal, calculated, and polite-self, "I've never felt the same about anyone before," Tim continued, his face coming closer, "Rose, I just don't know how to spell it out to you."
"You've made it perfectly clear," Rose replied softly, "I simply don't reciprocate."
"I can't just forget about you," Tim told her, reaching towards her flushed cheek again, "I can't do it. You can't ask me to, either. You have made such an impact on me, Rose."
"Please, don't make this any harder than it has to be," Rose told him with wet eyes, "I've already done you wrong, Tim. I don't want to do it again. I care about you."
"What's bound you to Jack?" Tim asked, his breath puffing out before him.
Rose stared deep in his eyes, shuddering profusely within her jacket, "I love him, Tim."
Tim leaned forward, pressing his lips to Rose's. He brought his hand up, gently grazing her neck. Rose jolted back, however, ending the kiss far too soon. She looked straight into his hazel eyes, her face as hard as stone.
"No more of this, Tim," Rose said, tilting her head back against the brick wall, "We're only to interact at the diner, as friends. What we had..." She lowered her eyes, "Can't be had anymore."
Tim kept his eyes trained downwards for a few moments before he finally croaked, "I don't know how long I can stay away from you for. Last time, I barely made it to a month. Sooner or later, I'm going to stop by your apartment, at least just to say hello. I can't lose you, Rose."
"Please, don't tell me that," Rose sighed, squeezing her eyes shut.
Tim fished the velvet box from his pocket and held it out towards Rose, opening it up. The large diamond atop gleamed from the overhead afternoon light. She stared at it intently, squinting against the glowing silver band. She lifted her eyes to look at Tim.
"You never would want to be a Calvert?" He whispered.
Stiffly, Rose shook her head, "I've been a Dawson for the past two years. It's all I'll ever be, Tim."
Tim snapped the box shut and brought it to his chin for a moment, heaving a deep sigh, "Goodbye's have never been easy for me, Rose."
"I don't think they're easy for anybody," She told him with a strained throat, "But it's what has to be done. Things could have been different, but they weren't. I wish nothing but the best for you, Tim."
"Promise me one thing," Tim whispered, stepping closer to Rose, "Please, be happy. If at any moment you find yourself not happy... you know where to find me."
Rose looked at him for a moment before she finally nodded, agreeing to his terms. Tim nodded back and gazed around the alley for a moment before he turned, stepping onto the street and disappearing. The moment he did, Rose released a breath she didn't realize she was holding. She remained pressed up against the brick wall, willing herself to catch her breath. She turned in the next moment, however, and threw up all over the snow sludged up against a dumpster.
...
"... My favorite part about this house is the french doors and floor to ceiling windows in the living space," The relator told Jack and Frenchie. He brushed the men through the foyer, taking them towards the living room that was directly ahead of the entrance beneath an archway, "The living room is sunken, too. The perfect break-up for comfy furniture and decor along the edge of the room," The relator continued. He walked to the right of the living space, pressing his hand to a gleaming bannister, "The living room is equipped with a marble fireplace. A matching one can be found in the master bedroom directly above us."
Jack took his time striding across the plush cream carpet. His hands were dug into his pockets as he approached the french doors and gazed out on the back patio and decently sized yard, that had one tall pine tree in it. He then gazed through an archway on the other side of the marble fireplace to see a spacious matching kitchen with a large island. Jack turned around in the room a few times and glanced to the confident relator.
"One twenty-five a month?" Jack asked, arching his eyebrows.
"Yes, sir," The relator nodded, "Quite a steal, I might add."
Jack nodded, running his tongue along the front of his teeth. He turned back to the large windows overlooking the private backward. He watched the cedar tree rustle in the wind, knocking some snow down its burly branches bursting with bristles. He tried, in that moment, to imagine summer time in the home. Having the french doors open, his art easel set up on the porch. They could build a sandbox or a jungle gym set for the baby. Garden plots for Rose to tend to. There was plenty of space.
Jack looked over his shoulder to the patiently awaiting relator, "I'll take it."
...
When Rose went through the door of her apartment, she let out a long winded sigh, relishing in the silence. She shut the door and removed her coat. She then immediately kicked her heels off and scrunched her toes up in the carpet. She went directly to the couch, laying out across and clutching a throw pillow to her chest.
She sighed deeply and closed her eyes, her hand resting over her stomach. Her stomach wasn't much different. Part of her was still mystified that there could actually be a child in there, blossoming inside of her. She still felt like it hadn't sunk in. She hadn't completely absorbed the fact that come the end of summer, she would have an itty-bitty version of Jack in her arms.
You have no idea what it took to create you, little one... Rose thought to herself, her eyelids fluttering at the sound of a distant car horn, You've not a clue the roads your father and I had to travel to give you life, Gently, her fingers ran back and forth over her stomach, I promise, little one, to love you every day. To cherish every moment together. Boy or girl, I promise to give you the same equal chance. I will nurture you, dote on you, spoil you as much as I can. I'll do everything my mother did differently. I promise you can trust me, lean on me; I will always be your mother, She squeezed her eyes tightly, feeling the tears burn beneath her eye lids, And your father will love you, too. He will always be your father. We'll take care of you. We'll love you. I promise.
Rose took her moment of rest to reflect on her childhood. The very thought soured her mood. She remembered her childhood as bleak, lonesome, and plagued in dejection. Rose had constantly been put down, shushed, and seated while everyone else stood. She had been weak and complied to their demands. Rose wished she had had a backbone. She wished the first sixteen years of her life hadn't been driven by dread and fear. But in that moment, she was determined to turn that all around. She decided she couldn't be sorry anymore, as she had been sorry her entire life.
I will not expose you to a dreary existence such as that, Rose continued in her mind, pressing her palm flat to her belly, I won't let you see the destruction the world has to offer. I only want you to feel loved and accepted. You can be anything you want in this world, little one. The sky is the limit. I will do nothing but lift you up. It's all I can do, as your mother, I owe you that at the very least.
Rose opened her eyes and stared directly at the ceiling. She listened to the ticking of the grandfather clock as she lay there, simply contemplating. Her curls dangled off the edge of the pillow as she readjusted her grip on the one on top of her. She scrunched and stretched her feet as they still throbbed from the long day of standing on them.
I'll be ready for you, little one, Rose thought, adjusting her head on her pillow, Whenever you're ready to come into this world, your father and I will be waiting with open arms.
...
Jack and Frenchie returned to the art studio in the mid-afternoon. Iris was at the community table, but a blank sheet had been left in front of her. She had obviously been there awhile and seemed rather bored, tapping her pencil against the table. Jack and Frenchie came in, grinning and talking amongst each other. Iris looked to Jack, who had a bundle of papers in his arms. When the men entered and saw Iris, their chattering quieted down and they came to the table silently.
"How is Momma?" Frenchie asked, setting his palms to the dirty surface.
"She was laying down to take a nap earlier," Iris replied, training her eyes downward, "So I figured I'd leave her to a quiet house. Where have you two been?" She asked, looking between them.
Frenchie looked to Jack for a moment before licking his lips and meeting his sister's eyes, "Jack purchased his own apartment today. He will be officially moving at the beginning of February."
Iris sat up straight now, gazing towards Jack, "You're... moving out?"
"Yeah, it's just a few blocks from your place," Jack told her, shuffling the application papers in his hands, "I'm still going to be working here as normal. The good news is we get that attic space back so we can put all the useless and worthless junk back up there. Would really help give the back room some space."
"Yeah..." Iris nodded, her eyes lowering again. In the next moment, tears sprung to her eyes and she scraped off her stool and bounded up the stairs leading to the attic. Jack sighed, bowing his head and lightly touching his temples. Frenchie crossed his arms over his chest.
"I knew she wasn't going to respond well to that," Jack muttered. He shuffled his feet for a moment and sighed again, "I'll go talk to her. I better just tell her everything now."
As Jack brushed past Frenchie, his boss grasped his arm, making Jack look to him, "Please, be gentle, Jack. Tell her carefully. Slowly. Be weary of her heart."
"I can't control how she is going to feel," Jack told Frenchie, "She can feel and react anyway she wants. I have a feeling any way I say it will tear her heart to shreds."
Frenchie released Jack's arm and turned to gaze towards the stairwell as Jack crossed and began up. When he made it to the door of the attic room, he saw the hatch to the roof was open and a drawer on his wardrobe had been rifled through. Jack sighed and put his hands in his pockets, slowly meandering towards the short rickety ladder leading to the top of the building. When he popped his head up, he saw Iris straight ahead. She was sitting on the ledge of the roof, hugging her knees. A cigarette was in her hands. Jack emerged fully onto the roof, approaching her slowly.
"So," Jack gazed towards the sky, squinting against the sunlight, "you're smoking now?"
Iris looked to him for a moment, tapping the ash off the end of her cigarette and taking another drag, "Only when I feel like it."
Jack kicked a rock and watched it bound across the cement top of the building, "Can I bum one off of you?"
"They're yours, anyway," Iris held the crumpled pack out to him, tossing him a lighter along with it, "It seems you've forgotten all about them in your old room."
"Yeah," Jack replied passively, protecting the flame of his lighter as the end of the cigarette grew to be cherried, "I have quite a few relics in that room. I enjoyed my time living there."
"Then why do you have to move out?" Iris asked, the wind whipping her hair over her shoulder.
Jack held his cigarette loosely between his lips and sagged his shoulders for a moment. He seated himself on the edge beside Iris, dangling his feet over the street below. Slowly, he removed his cigarette, exhaling all the smoke from his lungs, "The world is bigger than an attic, Iris," He said, gazing out towards the distant jagged skyline of New York City, "My life has outgrown that attic room," He took a drag of his cigarette, looking to her, "That year I spent in the attic... that's the longest I've ever stayed in one place in the last ten years."
"The studio isn't the same when you're not here," Iris said, lowering her cigarette, "There's an energy missing. You make everything better, Jack."
"But I'm not going anywhere," Jack replied, "I'm going to be in the same neighborhood as you, walkin' to the same studio as you every morning. Nothing is going to change."
"It won't be like before," Iris shook her head, sticking her cigarette between her ruby red lips, "It was always so wonderful coming into the studio early on a busy morning only to find you groggy, never the morning person, sitting bedraggled and drinking coffee at the table," Iris lowered her eyes, holding the cigarette unsteadily between her fingers, "I can't come to the studio at night when I need someone... because nobody will be here. Our late night talks are over. It's just... it's all ending much too fast, Jack. Does it really have to be this way?"
"Nothing good can last forever," Jack told her, watching a horse drawn cart wheel past below them, "When life throws a curve ball, you adapt. You take what you can get. It has to be this way, Iris."
"But why?" Iris asked, leaning forward, "All this for a girl you knew for three days, thought was dead, and then reconnected with barely twelve weeks ago? Don't you think you're being rash? Have you really thought everything out, Jack?"
"I've thought out everything I can," Jack replied, "And now, I have to do what's best for me. I have to do what's right for Rose."
"Why do you act so obligated to her?" Iris flicked her cigarette off the edge of the building.
Jack stared off into the distance for a moment and inspected his cigarette before also throwing it out into the wind. He gripped the edge of the concrete ledge, his knuckles turning white. He heaved a sigh, not even daring to meet her eyes, "Iris... I'm going to be a father."
Iris was silent for an extended period before taking a curt breath, "You got her pregnant?"
Jack nodded, his lips pursed, "We'll have a baby by August at the latest."
"I... I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything," Jack looked to her.
A silence waned on for quite some time. It didn't bother Jack, though. He continued to watch over the tops of buildings, occasionally spotting birds flying by. He soaked in the sounds surrounding him. Tires crunching through snow and gravel, the sound of the distant river. Iris, however, was ruminating within her mind, stewing over every word exchanged.
"Do you want a boy or a girl?" Iris asked suddenly. He glanced to her, watching the wind carry her wavy blonde hair. He squinted in the brilliant afternoon light, looking nearly every direction.
"I don't care," He finally said, looking to his folded hands, "As long as it's healthy."
Iris looked down to her boots dangling over the edge of the building before turning her bright blue eyes on Jack, "I know you're going to be a good father, Jack," She paused for a moment and hesitated, "And I know you love Rose very much."
Jack nodded and gazed back towards New York City, choosing to say nothing. Only the whistle of the winter breeze could be heard between them as they sat in a comfortable silence.