If talking to Rose alone had been difficult and awkward then talking to her with Jack in the room was next to impossible. Cal sat in the middle of the couch, trying his best to find a place to put his hands. Jack sat on the arm of Rose's chair, his hand on her shoulder. She was still knitting, though she had slowed considerably since Jack came in. She seemed more intent on participating in the conversation than on making progress on what Cal guessed was a scarf. It's for him, he realized. The blue of the wool yarn matched Jack's eyes perfectly. For reasons he didn't want to explore, the thought of Rose knitting something for Jack made him feel slightly sick.
Jack's face was expressionless. He had been smiling when he walked through the door, but the instant he saw Cal it vanished. "What are you doing here?" he asked, not bothering to disguise his displeasure. He stepped around him and crossed over to Rose, who reached up and took his hand. She squeezed it. He laced his fingers through hers.
"I came to talk to you," Cal said. "I need to ask you..." Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Jack had been grateful to him just the day before, so grateful in fact it had made Cal uncomfortable, but now that was gone. His blue eyes were hard, and as Cal explained what he had come there to ask, they grew even harder. He won't help me, Cal thought. And she won't if he won't. But if Rose was willing, Jack could be persuaded. He was sure of that. She'd do anything if she was the one doing the asking.
But Rose quickly dashed his hopes. "You want us to pretend not to know you?" she asked incredulously. "So your wife won't find out what you did?" Her nose wrinkled. "I was wrong. You aren't exactly the same. The old you would have at least made a mild attempt at coercing or manipulating us."
"Mild?" Jack scoffed. His non-expression became one of disgust. "It wouldn't have even been phrased as a question."
"I deserve that," Cal said. "I do, but-"
"But nothing," Rose said. "We don't owe you anything." Sensing he was about to retort, she added, "Helping me does not make up for the things you did. It was what a decent human being would do."
"You're implying I'm a decent human being then," Cal said.
"You have the potential. But everyone does," she said.
Jack's mouth curved into a small smile. He didn't know what had come over him, but in that moment he wanted Cal to suffer. He wanted him to feel the fear they had felt when he was chasing them into a sinking ship with bullets flying over their heads. He wanted him to feel the desperation he had felt while handcuffed to a pipe and left to drown. But mostly he wanted him to feel powerless, as powerless as he had tried to make Rose feel. Without realizing it he squeezed her shoulder. She laid her hand over his. Tension rolled off him in waves. It's okay, Jack, she thought.
In the hours following Rose's near drowning Jack hadn't cared that Cal was the one who helped her, and if he was honest with himself he still didn't care that it had been Cal. Rose was safe, and there wasn't much more he could ask for. After all, it wasn't like he had been able to protect her. It isn't like I took care of her, he thought, glancing at her. She pressed her hand against his again and smiled up at him. I failed her. He set his jaw and turned to face Cal. "We won't just hide this for you," he said. "You don't get out of owning up to what you did that easily. Besides," he added, "I don't think we could keep Lily quiet if we tried."
...
Cal was still lingering near the house when Jack went back outside to collect his painting supplies. "The answer's still no," he said, not bothering to look at him.
Cal was at his side in an instant. "Why not?" he asked, keeping his voice low to reduce the chance of Rose hearing him. "Would it really be that difficult?"
"No, it really wouldn't be," Jack said icily. "But would it really have been that difficult to let her go calmly?"
"You're being awfully petty," Cal mocked. "I wouldn't have expected that from you."
"Nobody's perfect," Jack shot back.
"Least of all you."
Jack's eyes narrowed. "I'm willing to tolerate your presence, and I'm willing to be civil to you because I don't want to make our children's lives miserable if I can help it. But the way I feel about you hasn't changed. You are different, but you're still the same bastard at your core." He took a menacing step toward Cal. "And don't you ever look at her like that again." His voice was a growl. "She's blind. She isn't stupid. And there is nothing you can say that will win her over."
A protest was on the tip of Cal's tongue, but he swallowed it. What would be the use? Jack was right. Partially right. And he's scared. The thought filled him with a quiet glee. Had he known Jack better, or even at all, he would have realized there wasn't a trace of fear anywhere in Jack's voice or expression. There was nothing but pure anger. Cal understood anger; he was sometimes overcome by his own rage, but he always found a way to use it to his advantage somehow. But for Cal anger was like a bomb. It exploded and left a trail of debris. Jack smoldered; he buried his rage and let it quietly grow stronger until he reached a breaking point.
"Are you sure you believe that?" Cal said smoothly. "You treat her like a cracked doll. Not that I'm blaming you. I'm sure she isn't as much fun now that he .abilities are so limited. Of course," he added with a leer, "I wouldn't deny her if she wanted in my bed, sight or no sight."
Jack's hands were fists. "You son of a-" He stopped. "Don't you even think about getting close to her. Don't you even think about speaking to her."
"Or what? What could you do to me that hasn't already been done?" Cal knew he had said too much as soon as the words left his mouth.
"Try me," Jack said. He turned on his heel and marched back into the house.
...
"You won't tell me what happened, will you?" Rose asked. She laid her hands on Jack's shoulders. His muscles were tense. Slowly she began kneading his shoulders through his shirt, starting with the tightest spots. With a sigh he leaned his head back. His eyes were closed. "Thank you," he said.
She kissed the top of his head. "It's the best I can do. For now." Jack took her hands and pulled her around so they were facing each other. His arm snaked around her hip. She giggled as she fell into his lap.
"We have to go," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. She ran her fingers through his hair. It was soft and cool. She tried to ignore his hands sliding up her back. "I know we do," he said.
She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips. "It won't be so bad," she said.
"Are you sure?"
"No," she admitted. "But what's the worst that could happen?"
...
They were the first to arrive, but no sooner had they settled into their chairs then Jack spotted
Cal's dark head from across the room. He was standing in the entryway, a perplexed expression on his face. A small woman was on his arm. Grey eyes sparkled in a pale, delicate face. Her lips could have been the tiny, sculpted lips of a porcelain doll. A flash of recognition went across her face as her eyes fell on Jack. She whispered something to Cal, and they began moving toward them.
"Here they come," Jack said.
"What are they like?" Rose asked, taking his hand.
"She's pretty," he said, doing his best to keep his mouth from moving. "They're both overdressed."
"Any sign of the children?"
"Not yet."
Rose took a deep breath, but it did nothing to slow her racing heart. What are you so nervous about? They can't do anything to you!
Jack pressed her hand. "You nervous?" he murmured.
She had to stifle a laugh. "No."
The greetings and introductions went by quickly, and all too soon they found themselves sitting in silence, Cal and Deidre on one side and Jack and Rose on the other. The tension in the air was so thick Rose wouldn't have been surprised to hear someone choke on it. For the first time she began having doubts. Maybe there was a better way to do this, she thought. The reassuring pressure of Jack's hand on hers silenced the nagging voice in the back of her head.
Deidre couldn't take her eyes off them. He can't be forty, she thought. He looks so young. Jack's golden tan stood in stark contrast to Cal's pale complexion. She had never thought of him as pale before, and it was disconcerting. There was a vitality in Jack she wasn't sure she had ever seen in Cal. He had always been so self-contained, everything bubbling quietly under the surface; his self-control was incredible. Now he just seemed dull, lifeless. And Rose. She's beautiful, Deidre thought with a pang of envy. And she's older than me. She resisted the urge to look down at her dress. Suddenly it felt far too tight, too flashy, too everything.
"I like your dress," Jack said, breaking the silence. He smiled. "Is that taupe?"
"Why, yes. Yes, it is," Deidre said, surprised. "How did you know?"
"I know a little about colors. I don't think I've ever seen that one used for a dress before."
"This dress was originally supposed to be coral, but..." Deidre shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. "I changed it."
"It looks very nice."
"Thank you."
Rose felt a rush of love for Jack. There wasn't any situation he couldn't make better somehow. "Don't listen to him," she said. "He doesn't know a little about colors. He knows everything about them."
"I do not. I...I just..." Rose felt his grin. "Maybe," he said finally. "Maybe I know more than a little."
"I can accept that." Rose turned to Deidre. "I hope he knows more than a little, otherwise I've been relying on the wrong person to describe the world to me all these years."
Deidre kept her shock from showing on her face. She had known Rose was blind. Even if Cal hadn't told her she would have been able to tell by looking at her eyes, but she had never expected her to just talk about it so openly. Why doesn't she try to hide it when she goes out? And why is he the one taking care of her? "Have-have you always been visually impaired?" she said haltingly.
Rose smiled warmly. A person of limited means, she heard herself say. "No, not always. It actually hasn't been that long, just about seven years."
"Is that why you settled in Santa Monica?" Deidre's cheeks reddened. "Dylan told us about some of your travels," she said quickly. "And he mentioned you came here after an illness."
"We did," Jack said. His gaze was like a caress on Rose's cheek. Deidre found herself wondering what it would feel like to be looked at that way. It was clear this was not the first time Jack had looked at Rose that way nor would it be the last. It must feel...incredibly intimate, she decided finally.
"I became very ill about eight years ago," Rose said softly. "I—I wasn't supposed to recover." Jack's hand tightened around hers. "But I did," she said, more to him than anyone else. "My eyes were incredibly weak after my fever finally broke. I wasn't as well as I thought I was, and when I fell ill again..."
"There they are!" Lily's voice rang out across the crowded dining room. "I win," she said triumphantly. Jack had never been so happy to see his daughter.
Eva had a cigarette in one hand and Dylan's hand in the other. I don't want to do this. I have to do this. I have to do this...I can't do this. She took a long drag on her cigarette. It didn't help. Before she knew it they were at the table. Her mother's mouth was moving but no sound was coming out. Dylan led her to a chair and handed her another cigarette. I can do this.
"Eva?" Deirdre leaned toward her. "Eva, are you alright?"
"Huh? Oh, yes, mother," Eva said. She plucked a lighter from her pocket and quickly lit her cigarette. "I'm fine." She forced herself to smile. "How are you? How was the trip out here?" Cal caught her eye over her mother's head. His expression was unreadable, but she knew there was something lurking underneath the mask. Anger, most likely, or disgust at having to be in such close proximity to people he considered less than the dirt under his shoes. As though we have anything to feel so superior about, Eva thought. If the last few years had taught her anything it was the fragility of wealth.
"It was fine," Deirdre said. "Are you smoking more?" Lily immediately lit a cigarette of her own. Jack held in a grin. It was exactly the sort of thing Rose would have done at her age. Dylan glanced over at him. "We aren't too late, are we?"
Jack shook his head. "Not at all." You couldn't have gotten here at a better time.
"We would've made it sooner, but someone," Dylan shot Lily a look, "had to stop and give a lecture about the silencing of the working class."
Lily took a drag of her cigarette. "I didn't see you doing it," she said, blowing a smoke ring at Dylan. Cal was transfixed by her. He couldn't believe how much like Rose she was.
"That man did ask," Eva said. "Unlike the first two."
The conversation flowed smoothly, but there was an undercurrent of tension no-one wanted to touch. Deirdre avoided looking at Rose even when speaking to her. Eva chain smoked. Lily had to literally bite her tongue to keep from launching into a political diatribe after Cal made a comment about the "filthy streets" of Los Angeles. Dylan kept finding reasons for Jack and Rose to tell stories. Deirdre found them fascinating, and they kept everyone else quiet, even Cal, who was channeling the majority of his energy into staring at Rose without being noticed.
"And that's how we ended up in Venice," Jack said.
"And so you just went?" Deirdre said. "You didn't plan it at all?" There was a note of awe in her voice.
"Well, you could say we planned to end up there eventually," Rose said. "We have a list of places to end up eventually." She smiled at the memory of Jack in a gondola. It was one of the last memories she had that included images.
He took her hand. "That was a nice few months, wasn't it?" He lightly rubbed her fingers. "I wish we could go back," he said.
"I do too," Rose said. "But it isn't so bad here." It was clear to everyone that neither of them were discussing geography anymore.
"My, you certainly do a lot of traveling," Deirdre said. "I don't think I've ever known anyone who spent that much time away from home."
"Wherever we are is our home," Rose explained. "We didn't have a permanent place of our own until a few years ago." Jack's grip on her hand tightened. She laid her other hand over his. "But tell us about yourself," she said. "We know Eva quite well already, and she's heard these stories."
"Yes," Jack said, his eyes on Cal, "What have you been doing since the last time we saw you?" He hadn't planned to say it. As much as he couldn't stand Cal he didn't want to ruin the whole evening for everyone else. He liked Deirdre. She was reserved but sweet; nothing at all like the kind of woman he had expected her to be. And he had already started to think of Eva as a third child. But Cal's incessant staring at Rose was infuriating.
Cal's reaction showed on his face for only a moment before it was replaced by a calm mask. So that's what he wants. His dark eyes were hard. Fine.
What is he talking about? Deirdre wondered, puzzled. How would they have known each other? In their heyday she and Cal had associated with a very elite circle; it was the sort of circle people had been known to hatch intricate plots and alliances to become a part of. Money alone wasn't enough to gain entrance. The nouveau riche were strictly prohibited. Jack, despite his obvious security in the middle of an economic crisis, didn't come anywhere near the poorest family in their former circle; nor did he have the necessary familial and cultural capital. She snuck a quick glance at Rose. Could it be her? But wouldn't she have known her too? It was feasible that a man could have escaped her notice, but a woman?
"You knew each other?" Deirdre asked, hoping her voice didn't betray her confusion.
"You could say that," Cal said. He sounded as though he were biting the ends off his words. "Though I really only knew one of them."
...
Eva threw her head back and gulped in the cool night air. Her head ached. Her stomach shifted from nauseous to gnawing with hunger every few seconds. Dylan's hand was like a feather on her waist. She grabbed it and pulled him closer.
"I'm sorry," he said into her hair. "That shouldn't have happened."
She sighed. "I knew something would go wrong. I could tell from the way he talked last night that something would go wrong." She slumped against him, exhausted. "He won't try to stop us from getting married, but he won't let it be easy either."
"My dad shouldn'tve said that. He knew what would happen."
"He had his reasons, and I'm betting they were pretty good. Anyone else would have just gone with it, but not my father. Not the great Caledon Hockley." Disgust thickened her voice. "He has to win everything, and it doesn't matter if it's hopeless, if there's nothing to be done, if there's nothing left to grab. He's determined to keep going even if all he manages to do is hasten the destruction of what he wants so badly."
"You're shaking," Dylan said, hugging her tighter. "C'mon, let's get you something to eat." He kissed her cheek. "Or at least some water."
She smiled wanly. "Could you have chosen a more difficult girl to fall in love with?"
"You're not what's difficult. It's everyone else that's making things difficult acting like children over something that ended a long time ago."
"It ended technically, but not actually."
"What do you mean?"
"The situation they were all involved in is technically over, but in some ways it never actually ended. Being apart probably made them think it was, but all it took was five minutes in the same room for it all to come back. Mostly for your father and mine, I'm guessing. It doesn't surprise me that he's held onto a grudge this long."
"He married someone else though."
"Yeah, but imagine I left you for someone else and then you saw me again years later. How would you feel?"
"Point taken."
"And let's say you had an ego the size of Russia and the man I left you for was, by society's standards, in every way inferior to you."
"I-"
"But," she continued, "In the end his life turned out better. Wouldn't that be a bit hard to accept? Though that isn't an excuse for acting the way he does sometimes."
"You know, you remind me a little of my dad sometimes," Dylan said.
"I hope that isn't why you're marrying me," she said with a quick chuckle.
Dylan gasped. "How did you know?"
"Didn't you just tell me?" She turned around and took his hand. "C'mon. I believe you said something about food."
They found a small all-night diner with thick black coffee and cigarette burned tables. The stress of the past few days melted away, and for a few minutes it was just like they were back at their usual place in Wellesley. Dylan did quick sketches of the people around them. Eva wrote a few pages in one of her notebooks. The waitresses were staring daggers at them when they finally finished sharing their last cigarette and left.
The house was dark when they came in. From behind Lily's closed door the rat-tat-tat of typing could be heard. "Probably typing a manifesto of her own," Dylan said.
"It would be a shame to disturb her," Eva said. "She really is brilliant."
Without thinking about it they moved closer to each other. Dylan's hand found the small of her back. "Yeah, but it's late. Time for bed."
Eva tilted her head up. "It is," she said, punctuating the statement with a kiss.
...
"Are you mad at me?"
Rose didn't answer. She sat up straight in the chair, hands folded in her lap. Jack was perched on the bed on the other side of the room. He paused, his left shoe half unlaced, "Rose?" They had barely spoken since leaving the disaster the dinner attempt had become. That in itself wasn't as disturbing as the fact that he hadn't been able to read her body language. It was as if, for the first time, she had retreated into some hidden place where even he couldn't follow.
"I'm not angry, Jack. I'm—I don't know what I am." She laughed joylessly. "I don't understand what just happened. All of that was supposed to be over. We weren't supposed to have to fight with anyone ever again." She shook her head. "I thought maybe..."
"It would be different?" Jack said, kneeling in front of her.
"Something like that," she said.
He took her hands in his. "I should've kept my mouth shut." Silver clicked against silver as their fingers laced together.
"Your ring hit my ring," Rose said, her mouth turning up slightly at the corners. She ran a finger over the surface of her ring. In her mind she could see the design that formed a border around the J in the center. Jack had the almost the same ring; his had a different design and an R. "I'll never forget watching you make these," she said. Her voice took on a dreamy quality. "I had never seen anything like it. There isn't anything you can't do with your hands, is there?"
"It isn't my hands I need to worry about," he said wryly, "It's my mouth."
"You can't unsay it, and I'm not sorry you did. I should be, I suppose, but after he spent the better part of an hour staring at me..." She shrugged. "I guess that's just the type of woman I am. Not only will I go to bed with anyone, but I have no conscience about offending other people."
"Don't you say that." Jack moved forward so he was almost in her lap. "Don't you go repeating what he said like he has any clue what the hell he's taking about."
"Actually, what he said was-"
"I know what he said." Jack touched her face. "And I should've hit him." Anger flared up in the pit of his stomach as Cal's voice echoed in his ears. He had almost hit him. His fist had been in the air, he had been just about to spring forward, when Rose's hand had landed on it, stopping him.
"That wouldn't have helped," Rose said with a sigh. "It would have just made things worse. And besides," she added, grinning, "It wouldn't be fair to hit him if I can't see it."
Jack wrapped his arms around her. She put her arms around his neck and slid out of the chair. He leaned back and caught her in his lap. "I'm sorry things turned out so badly," he said. "I'm sorry you were talked to like that."
She pressed her forehead to his. "He said some rude things about you too."
"Yeah, but it's nothing I hadn't heard before. Poor? I was. Dirty? Only when I couldn't find some water. Worthless? Only if you thought so."