Chapter 21

Another Goodbye

The end of the summer break was nearing and the sun cast a warm glow over the garden as Rose and Cora sat beneath the delicate branches of the old oak tree in the garden , sipping on chilled glasses of lemonade. The soft rustle of leaves overhead and the distant hum of the city provided a serene backdrop to their conversation. Cora's eyes sparkled with a mix of excitement and reflection as she began recounting her past few weeks in Los Angeles.

"It's been quite the adventure, Rose," she said, "The city is like nothing I've ever experienced. The people, the energy – it's all so different from San Francisco."

Rose smiled. "Apart from the big plot twist that happened, I can see that the summer here has done you good. You have grown into a beautiful independent woman, Cora."

"You really think that?" Cora was positively taken aback by Rose's remark.

"Of course." Then Rose's eyes glued onto Cora, sensing there was more to her experience of the past weeks. "It looks like you've learned a lot about yourself and maybe something else? Or 'someone' else?"

Cora hesitated, swirling the straw in her drink. "We have been spending spending a lot of time together. Lauren and I. He's a nice young man, you know."

Rose couldn't help but laugh as she noticed Cora's red cheeks. "Ah, Lauren. I had a feeling there might be someone special. You seem quite taken with him."

Cora blushed, a mixture of surprise and vulnerability in her eyes. "You noticed?"

Rose chuckled once more. "Darling, I might have only been here for a week, but I've been around long enough to recognize the signs. But, tell me, is there a reason you're hesitating?"

Cora sighed, her gaze drifting into the distance. "It's complicated. I mean, I feel as if I don't want to go back to San Francisco. I love it here. And Lauren, he's amazing. But I need to finish school, and I've always dreamed of going to university."

Rose nodded understandingly. "Love and dreams, my dear, have a way of intertwining. But it seems you're conflicted. Does it have something to do with him?"

Cora bit her lip, her eyes revealing a mixture of longing and uncertainty. "Yes, it does. I want to explore this connection with her, but I'm afraid of where it might lead. I don't want to become a housewife at eighteen. I want more for myself."

Reaching out, Rose placed a comforting hand on Cora's. "Cora, my dear, there's nothing wrong with wanting more. You can have both love and a fulfilling life. Don't let society's expectations dictate your path. Pursue your dreams, and if Lauren truly cares for you, he'll support you in that journey."

Cora sighed, taking solace in Rose's words. She watched her stand up, remembering she was going to help Jack with the last preparations for the opening of the gallery. "Rose?" She said.

"Yes, darling?"

"I really appreciate your advise, but in the midst of always making sure I am alright, I hope you don't forget to take care of your own heart." Cora watched how Rose's face faded into a state of deep thought before she smiled again and placed a soft and gentle kiss on the top of her head.

"You really don't have to worry about that, dear. I am a very happy woman."

The sun dipped low over the sprawling city of Los Angeles, casting long shadows across the streets as Rose strolled along the bustling sidewalks. The warm breeze carried the scent of flowers and the distant murmur of the city's rhythm. The streets seemed to be alive with the energy of the summer evening.

She couldn't help but reflect on her life, contemplating the twists and turns that had led her to this moment. She thought about Cora, the now young woman who had become the heart of her world, and how her life would have been drastically different if she hadn't adopted her. The image of Cora's smile filled her mind, a reminder of the joy that had blossomed in her life.

Lost in her thoughts, Rose wondered how different things might have been if she had discovered that Jack was alive right after the sinking of the Titanic. What if she had searched for him tirelessly and found him sooner? Would they have built a life together? Or would fate have taken them in separate directions?

Her feet carried her to the art gallery, a place where the colors and shapes seemed to tell stories beyond the canvases. As she approached, the summer warmth clung to her skin, and she braced herself for the coolness inside. She pushed the gallery door open, and there, in the big open space, stood Jack. The heat had prompted him to forego a shirt, his bare chest exposed to the world. Rose instinctively averted her gaze, but her peripheral vision caught a glimpse of the sculpted strength beneath his skin. She cleared her throat, trying to regain her composure.

The sound of her footsteps caught Jack's attention. He turned around and his eyes, a familiar shad of ocean blue, met her with a warm smile. "I am sorry," he said, referring to his bare chest, "This heat had gotten the better of me." He quickly grabbed his shirt off a chair and dressed himself into his proper state once again. As Rose entered the gallery, she couldn't shake the lingering thoughts of the what-ifs. Jack, oblivious to the storm of emotions within her, continued to talk animatedly about the latest additions to the exhibit. The air was filled with the scent of paint and the soft music playing in the background. Rose took a deep breath, grounding herself in the present. She had chosen a life of love, of family, of forging new connections and nurturing old ones. The past, with all its alternate paths, was just that — the past.

"You've already done so much, Jack." She gasped as she looked around the space. The walls were neatly painted a deep blue color, with most of the artwork already up, "are you sure you still want my help?"

"Of course. There is still a lot to be done."

So Rose followed Jack whilst he explained his vision for the following day. She could sense, with his hyperactive motions, that nerves had gotten the better of him. The way he spoke of this project with so much passion warmed her heart deeply.

As the evening approached and after having worked tiredly for hours, the couple finally took a break. With a cold glass of water in her warm hands, Rose sat at Jack's desk, scanning the room mindlessly. Then, she noticed a covered section in the corner. Curiosity getting the better of her, she lifted the cloth and discovered a series of breathtaking paintings, each one capturing the essence of Jack's soul. Rich strokes of color depicted scenes from their life, moments of joy, hardship, and passion.

"Jack… What about these?"

Jack joined her in his office, his eyes widening as if he had been caught. "Oh no, not those." he quickly said before taking the the cloth out of her hands and draping it back over the canvases.

Taken aback by his defending response, Rose quickly realized who was the creator of the works. "Those are yours, aren't they?"

"Yes." He mumbled.

"You took on painting?"

"Yes," he nodded his head again, "But anyway, shall we continue?" As he walked out of the room, Rose rushed after him. She placed a hand on his arm, making him turn around.

"Jack, those paintings are amazing. You shouldn't only display the art of other artists, what about your own?"

Jack hesitated, glancing over her shoulders where his private gems were safely hidden.. "I don't know, Rose. They're just... personal. I never thought anyone would be interested in them."

Rose's expression hardened. "Jack Dawson, you're an incredible artist, and this is your chance to prove it to the world. These paintings are beautiful and deserve to be seen."

Jack shook his head, a self-deprecating smile on his lips. "Rose, people come to buy art, not to see the musings of some struggling artist."

Suddenly, Rose's eyes softened with determination. "Jack, art is about more than just commerce. It's about expression, emotion, and telling a story. Your story deserves to be heard."

There discussion went back and forth until Rose noticed that his exhaustion had become evident. His shoulders were slumped and the weariness had etched lines on his face. She sighed as she recognized the toll the day had taken on him. "Why don't you go home, Jack." She finally said, "Go and rest. I'll finish up the last things."

Reluctantly, Jack agreed, with a grateful nod. The art gallery turned silent, the only sounds echoing through the spacious room were Rose's soft footsteps and the occasional rustle of paper as she admired each of Jack's hidden paintings. The ambient light illuminated the canvas, creating a mesmerizing dance of colors and emotions.

As Rose moved from one painting to the next, her eyes widened with awe and appreciation. Jack's talent was undeniable, and she couldn't fathom why he had kept these masterpieces hidden away. She marveled at the strokes of his brush, the vibrant hues, and the way he captured the essence of life in every piece.

Her gaze lingered on a particular painting—a woman with raven black hair, her eyes reflecting a complex mix of emotions. Rose felt a pang of curiosity and recognition. She remembered Jack briefly mentioning a fiancée, a woman who had once been a significant part of his life. This must be her, frozen in time on Jack's canvas.

As Rose continued to explore the collection, she couldn't shake the feeling of a connection to the mysterious woman in the painting. The more she studied it, the more she sensed the depth of Jack's emotions poured into the artwork. The unspoken stories and untold feelings seemed to resonate with her own experiences.

Determined to honor Jack's art and acknowledge every facet of his life, Rose decided that all of his paintings did, in fact, deserved to be seen. She envisioned the gallery as a testament to Jack's journey, a visual narrative of his triumphs and tribulations. With newfound purpose, she set to work.

Hour after hour passed as Rose meticulously hung each painting in its designated spot. The gallery transformed into a tapestry of Jack's soul, a gallery of emotions laid bare on canvas. As the clock neared three in the morning, Rose took a step back to admire her handiwork. The room glowed with the warmth of the art, each piece telling a unique story.

Exhausted but fulfilled, Rose knew she had given Jack's work the showcase it deserved. The gallery now spoke not only of artistic brilliance but also of personal triumphs and heartaches. As the first rays of dawn filtered through the windows, Rose left the gallery, content in the knowledge that Jack's art would finally have its moment in the spotlight, telling a story that went beyond the strokes of a brush.

"You're absolutely crazy." Jack gasped the next day as he observed the aftermath of having left early. Standing behind him, Rose tapped her feet nervously. She couldn't make sense of his facial expression.

"I hope you're not angry." She whispered before taking a step further, "I just thought…"

"Angry?" Jack interrupted her as he turned around. He took a deep breath. "How could I ever be angry with you?"

"Are you sure?" Rose said, taken by surprise, "I just couldn't let those paintings waste away in that office of yours. I had to put them up or I wouldn't a able to forgive myself."

A generous laugh escaped Jack's lips and he moved towards her. "I admire your determination Rose Cartmell," He carefully took hold of her hands, "Thank you, truly."

The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down her spine, and she couldn't deny the familiar fluttering in her stomach. They stood in close proximity, the world outside ceasing to exist. Rose's breath caught, her eyes meeting his with a mixture of longing and trepidation. The connection between them was undeniable, a magnetic force that had survived the passing of their faces drew closer, lips inches apart, the door to the gallery swung open with a sudden burst of noise. The shock of their sudden entrance jolted Jack and Rose apart, their hands slipping away as if burned. The intimate moment shattered, leaving Rose caught between the gravity of her choices.

"Rose, darling!" Mrs. Taylor exclaimed, a smile lighting up her face. "You won't believe the wonderful surprise we have for you."

Rose, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and trepidation, managed a strained smile. "Surprise?"

Behind Mrs. Taylor a familiar and sophisticated shadow appeared. "I hope I am a nice surprise." He said.

"Henry?" Rose gasped as she walked towards him. She placed a hesitant kiss on his cheek. "What on earth are you doing here?"

Cora and Lauren, who had also joined the gathering, exchanged knowing glances, shooting subtle smirks in Jack's direction. Meanwhile, Henry observed the scene with a raised eyebrow, his gaze flickering between Jack and Rose. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

"Of course I am. I wasn't expecting you that is all. Especially since we are leaving tomorrow."

"That's exactly why." Henry smiled. "I wanted to accompany you two on your trip back. But when I arrived at the house, Mrs. Taylor told me you were busy with this project. Which must be yours, sir?" He looked at Jack again who now surprisingly composed, extended his hand.

"Jack Dawson, nice to meet you."

"Henry Calvert." He looked Jack up and down with a hint of suspicion.

"I was thinking," Mrs. Taylor interrupted the awkward tension in the room, "about having a quick lunch whilst we sill can?"

"Excellent idea!" Rose responded a bit too excited and she quickly rushed towards the door, "shall we?"

Even with a hearty meal in front of them, the tension between the two men did not fade. Cora, sensing the tension, interjected with a forced smile. "Well, we're all here now, enjoying a lovely lunch. Let's focus on that, shall we?"

But Henry persisted, turning his attention to Jack's work. "I heard you draw nudes, Mr. Dawson. I must say, I find that quite unconventional."

Jack, unfazed, took a sip of his wine before responding, "It's all about capturing the human form, the raw beauty that often goes unnoticed. There's nothing indecent about it."

Henry raised an eyebrow. "Still, it's not something I would want my fiancée involved in. Rose, I hope you're not considering posing for him."

Rose bit her lip, suppressing a smile as she replied, "Of course not, Henry. It's just art."

Jack, with a twinkle in his eye, decided to play along. "Don't worry, Henry. I wouldn't dare ask Rose to pose for me. I respect your boundaries."

As Jack spoke, he glanced at Rose, a subtle acknowledgment passing between them. Rose couldn't help but remember the time Jack had sketched her on the Titanic, the forbidden thrill of the moment.

Trying to keep a straight face, Rose replied, "You have nothing to worry about, Henry. I have no intentions of becoming a muse for Jack's art."

As hours passed. The moment had come where everyone was most thrilled for. The air in Jack's gallery buzzed with excitement and the soft hum of conversation. The walls were adorned with Jack's vibrant paintings, each stroke a testament to his talent. Rose stood in the midst of the crowd, a glass of champagne in hand, her eyes scanning the room. The art world had gathered to celebrate Jack's success, but Rose's mind was elsewhere.

She felt Henry's presence beside her, his arm draped casually around her own. He smiled at the guests, exchanging pleasantries, while Rose nodded and forced a smile. Her attention, however, was drawn back to Jack, who was surrounded by admirers, basking in the glory of his achievement.

As the evening unfolded, Rose struggled to share in the joy of the moment. She was genuinely proud of Jack, her dear friend, but an invisible weight on her heart held her back. She couldn't escape the feeling that Henry's eyes were constantly on her, a reminder that she had to keep her emotions in check.

As the clock approached midnight, Henry leaned in, his voice low and soothing against her ear. "Rose, it's time to go. We have an early train to catch for San Francisco tomorrow morning."

Rose turned to him, torn between the duty to her relationship and the desire to stay in Jack's world, if only for a little longer. "Already?" she questioned, glancing back at Jack, who was now engaged in a lively conversation with a group of patrons.

"Yes, darling," Henry replied, his gaze fixed on her. "We need to rest. Tomorrow is a big day."

Rose nodded reluctantly, her eyes betraying the internal struggle. She excused herself from the conversation and made her way towards Jack. He noticed her approach and greeted her with a warm smile.

"Can I get you another drink?" He hinted at her now empty glass.

"No." She said. Her voice noticeable melancholy.

Noticing what that meant, Jack simply nodded, realizing the time had come between them to bid their goodbyes once again. "I really couldn't have done it without you, Rose." He the clock struck midnight, Henry approached, gently placing a hand on Rose's arm. "Rose, we really must be going."

Rose's gaze lingered on Jack for a moment longer, her heart heavy with conflicting emotions. She embraced Jack, whispering, "I'll miss you, Jack. Take care, and I hope to see you again soon."

Jack hugged her back, sensing something unspoken in her words. "You take care as well, Rose. You two are always welcome here."

As Rose and Henry walked away from the gallery, the night air held a mix of celebration and bittersweet farewell. Rose stole one last glance at Jack, hoping that life's journey would bring them together again, even as she stepped into the uncertainty of her future with Henry.