 
### A Right Turn At Jesus

### By Anna Scott Graham

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 by Anna Scott Graham

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. It is the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this novel, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

This is a work of fiction. Names and characters, incidents and places are either products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely fictional.

For my husband.

**Table Of Contents**

Chapter 1 - Rose At 5.02 AM

Chapter 2 - Emory Goes To School

Chapter 3 - When Sisters Speak

Chapter 4 - A Most Favored Teacher

Chapter 5 - Gifts And Lessons

Chapter 6 - Emory's Loose Braids

Chapter 7 - Knocking On Wood

Chapter 8 - Asking About Elmo

Chapter 9 - Lives And Deaths

Chapter 10 - A Right Turn At Jesus

Chapter 11 - Practice Sessions

Chapter 12 - Dancing With Lovie

Chapter 13 - Liam Gets An Earful

Chapter 14 - Garth Goes Away

Chapter 15 - Ghosts And The Ways They Move

Chapter 16 - A Hat Trick Part One

Chapter 17 - A Hat Trick Part Two

Chapter 18 - A Small Cold

Chapter 19 - Scents Of A Hospital

Chapter 20 - Truths And Consequences

Chapter 21 - The Casserole Brigade

Chapter 22 - Rose In A Real Universe

Chapter 23 - Full Appliances

Chapter 24 - A Hat Trick Part Three

Chapter 25 - Rose In A Parallel Universe

Chapter 26 - Gray At 5.02 AM

Chapter 1: Rose At 5.02 AM

At the end of August, it was still dark at four-thirty in the morning. Rose Robinson Burnett moved from bed on Monday the thirty-first, leaving her sleeping, sex-scented husband to his dreams. Rose assumed Gray was dreaming, for he twitched slightly, but wasn't disturbed by her actions.

Which included using their bathroom on Gray's side of the room. It was a small master bath, but Gray ignored Rose's movements, even when she flushed the toilet. Rose washed her hands, returning to the bedroom dressed in her usual cami top, worn in case their children had come in during the night.

Peeling off the tank top, she reached for a sports bra, her large breasts requiring support. A plain v-neck white t-shirt followed, Rose seated on the end of the king-sized mattress, another reason Gray wasn't bothered by her absence. He lay all the way to the left, turned on his left. Rose sat on the right corner, pulling on black track pants. Then she grabbed socks from the small table where she stacked her clothes. Walking clothes, sleeping clothes, daytime clothes she would need later; underwear, shorts, and another t-shirt, apparel Rose Robinson Burnett had placed there the night before, what she did every night, had been doing since she was a teenager.

If the audience who was used to an exuberant, occasionally stoned thirty-six-year-old woman saw how precisely Rose lived the rest of her life, they'd be hard pressed to accept these habits, ones Rose had been employing for over twenty years. She was meticulous in her routine, but didn't insist family follow her rules. Gray was tidy, their children not so much. They were young, Rose allowed. Plenty of time to become as anal as their mother.

After her socks were on, Rose stood, looking for a scrunchie on her dresser. Her long, wavy brown hair was already braided; she also did that every night before getting into bed. If she and Gray had made love, which was most nights, the braid loosened. On the mornings she walked, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, Rose affixed the scrunchie, but when the weather turned cooler, she would wear a hat or the hood of her sweatshirt. Since it was still summer, she only needed her hair away from her face and off her neck.

She slipped from their bedroom, moving down the hall past her children's rooms, a six and four-year-old still in slumber. Rose kept her shoes near the kitchen, where tile floor ran from the front door to where the hallway started. The house was built in the mid-1960s, but inside it was updated, except for the white-gray tile, which Rose hadn't wanted to change. Since buying the house after Petra's heart transplant, those tiles were the only original part of Rose and Gray's home.

The house was only lit by the computers that sat on either side of the living room, which was split by the white-gray tiles. From where Rose stood, emerging from the bedrooms, her desktop sat to her right, Gray's laptop on the other side. Rose's end contained her desk, a small one for Emory, some children's toys. Emory and Liam weren't on the computers much. Rose preferred them to not be inundated with technology, although it was a difficult rule to maintain.

On Gray's side waited a fifty-inch plasma TV screen, couches, a rocker, and recliner. Bookshelves stood on both sides of the room, a small bookshelf for the children between Rose and Emory's desks. Rose noted the books were in need of straightening. Before she grabbed her shoes, she sat at her computer, checking the news, then her email. Then she squatted, stretching her legs, watching the second hand tick off, thinking about what she needed; three Kleenexes, her phone, ear buds, and a dash of Carmex on her lips. On her way out she would take her keys from the counter, putting all those things in the pouch of her hoodie. She didn't need the sweatshirt so much for warmth, more for storage.

Rose stood, then pulled her right leg behind her back. Like limbering her voice, she took care to prepare her body for a lengthy walk around her neighborhood. The same path every morning; to the end of their street, then a few steps around the corner. Then she went left. Rose liked to walk in the darkness, which was increasing as the days grew shorter. She set her right leg down, then did the same with the left, balancing herself against the bookshelf near her desk.

She warmed up in her house, then once outside would walk at a slow pace before reaching the end of her street. Then Rose would pump her arms, her feet quickening as she trod along the sidewalk, making a large circle around this eastern suburban neighborhood that she and Gray had chosen fourteen years before as their home.

Because she walked in the dark, Rose rarely paid attention to the houses themselves. Some remained in obscurity, only a few with a light shining from the front window. On many a porch light shone and with the streetlights, Rose didn't need a flashlight. It was dark, stars shining, as if the middle of the night. By the time Rose left her house, it was already ten minutes to five.

She had been walking this early schedule since Liam was two. She had stopped nursing him then and with some time freed, she began her early morning jaunts, preferring the quiet streets, falling in love with the darkened skies. Autumn offered more days of night, days that began before anyone else. Before most, Rose would allow. It became another habit, walking in the dark. Everyone else thought she was nuts, the guys in the band worrying for her safety. Except for her breasts, Rose wasn't a large person; five foot five, one hundred thirty pounds most days. She joked at least ten of that were her boobs, but Gray never complained.

She wasn't big, but somewhat fearless, walking in near darkness. Golden-orange streetlights and the occasional porch light revealed cracks in the sidewalk, but didn't offer much in noting a possible predator. Rose surmised that even perverts needed sleep and her hours of exercise, anywhere from four to six in the morning, weren't conducive to those sorts of people. She was never accosted and rarely saw anyone except the occasional drunk sitting at the bus stop, or an equally disheveled man walking from the strip mall that was another street over, a lane Rose never took.

She remained along houses that held sleeping people; if she needed assistance, one loud scream would do the trick. Rose never felt afraid, particularly due to all that, and because she was never alone.

Except on the cloudiest days, of which there were few, even in winter, Rose took great pleasure, and some relief, in her shadow. It was silly, and the only one who knew this secret was her husband. Gray himself was another reason; because Rose walked before he got out of bed, she never worried about the children. But her silhouette soothed, felt kind, motherly, sometimes two of them, one behind, the other to her right. She hardly noted the one in her dust, but at her side a bobbing figure accompanied, taller and more slender with no breasts, or how it looked to Rose, a concerned but asexual escort. Rose always kept her music low so if someone actually _was_ behind her, she would hear them before they could get too close.

That morning it was warm, in the low sixties; once she began walking fast, she pushed up the sleeves of her hoodie. Then she changed the music, noting the time, 5.02 AM. Rose gazed up, the Big Dipper and other stars twinkling. Looking left over small hills that bordered their older district, an outline of the coming day was faint. Rose walked faster, as if she could beat the emerging sun.

Rose thought about her sister Petra, then considered their Aunt Margaret. Rose and Petra's mother was Margaret's youngest sister, but Rose's parents had died ten years before in a plane crash, leaving Margaret Leinhart the matriarch of the family. Rose's father Don was an only child, and Rose's mother Judith just had Margaret for company. Margaret's only offspring was Alicia, who was older than both Rose and Petra. A small family, names that Rose's children knew, only because there weren't many to recall. Now one more was departing, Alicia informing them yesterday that Margaret was near the end.

She wasn't ancient, but then neither were Rose's parents when they perished. It seemed rather unfair, but Rose wasn't blind to life's volatility; people died. They also lived, Petra a good example, still kicking at thirty-nine, but if Margaret did pass as Alicia was hinting, Petra would use her wheelchair at the funeral. The sisters had discussed that last night, sitting on the wicker settee on Rose's front porch. Liam and Emory colored at the iron-wrought table, but Rose and her sister, along with Gray, had the wicker furniture, chatting of Aunt Margaret and Alicia, memories the sisters possessed, some for Gray as well. When Emory began making a racket, Liam hoarding all the blue crayons, Gray sorted the fuss, the sisters still in deep discussion. It was then, Rose remembered, turning right along the road, that Petra had said she would want her wheelchair.

Rose hadn't been surprised, but Aunt Margaret's sudden turn of bad health had been a small shock. The family had visited their aunt, cousin, and Alicia's children back in June, Margaret her usual chatty self. Rose saw her aunt as a substitute mother, Alicia kind enough to share. Margaret was like Petra, always one ailment or another, the Hoffman women not all in the best health. Judith Hoffman Robinson had been able-bodied until her airplane landed with a thudding crash into the side of a mountain, and she'd passed her vigorous genes onto her youngest daughter. Margaret Hoffman Leinhart accounted for Petra's weak countenance and sometimes Rose wondered if by now, three generations down, her daughter Emory would be free of any Hoffman ailments.

Rose walked the street connecting her to the first long road, taking her back to her house. All these homes were built in the sixties, only three or four different designs. Most were small, less than thirteen hundred square feet. The house she and Gray owned had been a similar plan, but they had added an extra bedroom and bathroom, incorporating the garage into the right side of the living room, Gray's side, where the TV rested. On Rose's end, another garage was built, the only disadvantage where it connected in that portion of the living room. A door separated Emory and Liam's desks, but usually Rose appreciated it, especially when it was cold out, and they didn't have to reach the garage from outside. It also kept that side of the house somewhat clutter-free, the children's belongings out of the lane to the garage. Rose wished they had made a tile pathway; instead a clear plastic mat covered that area of the carpet.

She kept her shoes on the tile, not wishing to leave things all over. Rose's house was as organized as she was, only when she was going on stage did she let down her guard. Reaching the main road, she turned left, stepping along the white thick line painted for the stop sign. Rose followed most rules, but before she stepped out to sing, she got buzzed, usually Lovie with the joint. Only a few tokes, as she never got high anymore, just enough to loosen her up. Rose had been a self-confessed pothead before her children were born, but not anymore.

On Saturday night she had gotten stoned, but didn't feel it now. She had noticed it yesterday morning, waking with a sluggish tint to her muscles, not how they felt at that moment. She was nearing her left turn, well after five thirty she thought, as light emerged. Small pieces of the landscape were visible, yards that held patchy lawns, or lush, well-watered grass. Rose thought that wasteful, as rainfall was sparse. Their front yard was mostly rose bushes set amid gravel, the entire garden on a drip system. It was the backyard Rose and Gray covered in sod, only for their children.

She felt good, could walk another half hour, but Gray needed to go to work. This was a luxury for Rose, out in the lessening night, more turning to day. Her feet approached that left turn, and as soon as she rounded the corner, her pace slacked off as if she'd lost all momentum, as if she'd taken a huge hit, holding the smoke deep in her lungs. It took so little for her to get high anymore, especially since Lovie possessed superior weed. He'd always had the best, something they laughed about now. They were older, not able to get wasted at the drop of a hat. Especially not Rose, whose role as a mother brooked no allowances for such distractions. Only when performing would she permit herself to get high, aware by the next morning just a slothful feel to her bones would remain. Her head would be clear, if not a bit pained, and while her body didn't move with her usual grace or speed, she could pay attention. Taking a shower once they returned, not only to wash off any marijuana odor, but mostly that of plain tobacco, she would only appear sleepy to her children, eager to wake their parents after a night of music and frivolity. Emory and Liam whined they wanted to see their parents on stage. Rose didn't want that occurring for a long time.

She reached her darkened house; if Gray was up, she wouldn't see it from the street, their bedroom in the back. She pulled her key from the pocket of the hoodie, then with her other hand she checked her phone. Turning off the music, she noted the time, 5.52, fifty minutes since she had last looked. Day was slipping into the sky, stars disappearing, something Rose loved to observe when she took her eyes from the sidewalk, skimming the horizon finding stars to the east were nearly gone, only a few in the west.

Unlocking her door, Rose only heard the shower. Emory was just six, starting first grade. The elementary school was an easy walk in good weather, just enough of a distance when it rained to use the car. In August it was fine for a stroll, additional exercise that Rose would absorb into her day.

She took off her shoes, not bothering to untie them. She never did, having to loosen the laces on Wednesday morning when she next took her walk. As she set the shoes in their usual place on the white-gray tile, the shower stopped. She would be able to get in as soon as she undressed.

In stocking feet, Rose walked past her children's bedrooms, past the guest room and house bathroom to where she and Gray slept in the far corner of house. She heard him humming and the inside of her body went weak.

He wouldn't want to make love to her as she was. Not because he didn't like her sweaty and sticky, but only due to his recent shower. That and he needed to be at work early, this the first day of school. The high school went back today, the elementary as well, but Gray would miss Emory's first day of school. Of _real_ school, as she discounted kindergarten as something for babies.

Opening their door, Rose found her husband, his blonde hair wet, hiding white hairs emerging along his temples. He was naked, damp, mostly flaccid, and Rose smiled. She kissed him, then began peeling off her own damp clothes, throwing them in the direction of the basket. If they didn't quite make it, she would pick them up later.

Rose thought she heard him getting dressed, but as she turned, instead he'd gotten into bed. She only wore her underwear, her hair still in the scrunchie, pulled away from her face.

She liked making love to him with her hair back, especially if she was on top. Long waves spilling around her shoulders might look romantic, but those tresses got in the way. Rose smiled again, her husband no longer with a resting organ. Instead he was hard, waiting for her.

"You're gonna be late," she said, taking down her panties, also throwing them in the direction of the heaping pile.

She had no idea if the underwear made it. Instead all she cared about was the time. It was now 6.02 and Emory would only sleep another half hour, if that, being it was her first day of school. Gray needed to leave by then, but from how hard he was, as Rose set her body over his, within minutes she would be in the shower.

When he came, she looked at the digital clock on his side of the bed; 6.08. Rose kissed his nose, then got off her husband, heading into the bathroom.

Chapter 2: Emory Goes To School

There was a time for Rose and Gray when hurried sex wasn't compulsory. It occurred, but not because it needed to.

It happened during shows, especially after The Pool Gurus performed "Gimme Shelter". All they played were covers, but after that particular song, Rose always finished her vocals standing right next to her husband. They married young, but Rose Robinson had known Gray Burnett for over a year before she actually fell in love with him.

As soon as the couple's vocals ceased, a long kiss was shared. A very long kiss on occasion, then Gray would take his wife's hand, leading her backstage. They played small bars, a few larger clubs. Minor venues, yet there always seemed to be just enough room where, hidden from most, Rose would lift her skirt, pull down her underwear, welcoming her husband inside. Again it would take minutes; even if Rose was stoned, Gray never was. He preferred a few beers, but not before the show. Afterwards Gray might get quite drunk, but during a set he was sober. Sometimes after "Gimme Shelter" he was only sated.

It was how he kissed her, or maybe how she kissed him, Rose never sure why making love with him was so spontaneous. It hadn't occurred to her when they first met, before Colin died, her boyfriend at the time. A year after Colin's suicide, Gray Burnett moved to town and it was as if Rose viewed Gray differently, as if he was accessible. Or maybe she was free. Either way, the first time they had sex, it lasted less than ninety seconds from when he entered her. Their second time, twenty minutes later, was somewhat prolonged, but only in comparison.

Rose noted Gray's quiet goodbye as she washed her hair. Rose used conditioner, then soaped her entire body, intercourse from last night as well as that morning, in addition to her walk, leaving her grubby, like she'd been in the sandbox with her kids. The backyard was grass, a sandbox with a lid to deter cats, some trees along the side for shade. Gray and Rose had lived in this house for nine years before becoming parents, but that had always been in the back of their heads. For how often they made love, children seemed an obvious, eventual choice.

Rinsing her hair, Rose considered her morning; waking Emory first, then Liam, who only needed a bit of breakfast. Emory wanted a shower for her first day of school, plus breakfast, and if Petra arrived, pictures snapped at the house. Otherwise Rose would take a few shots at the school. Rose hoped Petra would join them, only because Gray couldn't. Rose's family was so few, any attended marker of her children's upbringing was appreciated. She could have asked most of the guys in the band, and Lise, Dane's girlfriend had offered. Drummer Dane Hammond and Lise Ryan were like younger siblings and Lise was Emory and Liam's babysitter. Their favorite, if Petra was busy. Petra wasn't active that morning, Rose was certain, unless she and Garth had somehow mended fences. Rose considered that as unlikely as Aunt Margaret making it through this round of bad health.

She had admitted that to Gray and Petra, in how anxious Alicia had sounded yesterday when she called; that her mother was in the hospital for tests. Later that evening it was more serious. Aunt Margaret would stay the night, maybe a few nights. Rose owned a sense, something she had known with her folks, with Colin too. A notion of when someone's time was drawing near.

Near to something else and Rose considered that, stepping from the shower as small footsteps entered her bedroom. "Mommy?' her daughter's voice called. "Are you naked?"

"Yeah honey. But I have a towel."

"Okay."

As Rose turned off the water, she knew where Emory was. In bed, one that needed fresh sheets, but neither of her children ever noted the smell. That of sex, a scent Rose loved, reminding her of Gray, one to which her children seemed ignorant. Maybe when they were older they would be embarrassed that odor had permeated so much of their childhood.

Rose reached for her towel. Better they knew the scent of lovemaking than pot, and she giggled.

"What?" Emory called.

"Oh, just that today you start school. And you'll be going to school for a long time."

"It's only a longer day," Emory said. "I went last year, remember?"

"Oh I do." Rose wrung as much water from her hair as was possible, then wrapped the towel around her body. Her hair still dripped; she had inherited her mother's thick, near-curly tresses, Petra with their father's more lank hair. Rose owned not only their mother's hair, but her eyes, wide and noteworthy. Petra looked like their father, smaller features in a face that otherwise seemed similar to her younger sister. They did look alike, from far away.

Next to each other, the Robinson sisters appeared dissimilar. Rose was a classic beauty, possessing a full mouth, high spaced cheekbones, she and Alicia looking more like siblings than Rose and Petra. Yet, where Petra was hampered physically, Rose was more emotionally strangled, why she still got just a little stoned before every show.

Emory Calla Burnett had no idea her mother smoked an occasional joint, nor did she know her mother had sex. Emory didn't know what sex was and Rose wanted to keep it that way for at least a few more years. "Honey, are you gonna use my shower?" Rose asked, the towel snug around her body.

"Can I?"

"Uh-huh. You can go on in. I didn't use much water."

"Are you sure?"

Emory's uncertain tone made her mother smile. Only a few times had Rose and Gray depleted the tank; in one of those instances Emory had been a victim. "Yes, I'm sure," Rose grinned.

"Hmmm. Did Daddy just get a shower?"

"Well, not just."

"I think I'll go check my backpack." Emory hopped off the bed and hugged her mother, nearly pulling Rose's towel loose.

Emory closed her parents' bedroom door as Rose giggled, removing the towel, hanging it on the rack.

Over breakfast, waiting for Petra, most of the Burnett family talked of what Rose and Liam would do, what Emory might do, what Daddy was doing, and how was Auntie Margaret.

They concluded that Mommy and Liam would go to the store, then wait for Lise, who was going to take Liam to preschool after lunch while Mommy and Aunt Petra went to Sessay to see Aunt Margaret. Before that Mommy would fill the crock pot, so Lise would only have to take Liam to his educational base. They called Liam's preschool his _educational base_ as it sounded more grown-up than preschool. Liam chafed at being the youngest, often insisting his parents have another baby. For all the sex Rose and Gray enjoyed, another shot at procreation was _not_ what Rose desired.

Fortunately that morning another Burnett in the making was omitted. Instead, Daddy was probably talking to a new classroom of juniors taking US History. Emory had a few tears after her pleasantly warm shower, that her father would miss her first day. Rose consoled that Daddy did have all summer free, and they had gone to see Aunt Margaret a few times, as well as visiting other friends. That Daddy missed a few special days was unfortunate, Rose admitted. But he did get all their holidays off work.

"When's Aunt Petra coming?" Liam asked.

"When she gets here," Rose replied. "Eat your toast."

Liam picked up a piece that was mostly crust. He owned Rose's coloring and her large eyes, brown like hers. Emory also had brown hair, wavy and thick like Rose's, but her eyes were gray like her father and his name.

They were slightly precocious, growing up around so many adults, most without children. Emory and Liam were spoiled on the side of affection, but unlike their peers, were not technologically savvy. They preferred playing outdoors to computer games and their time on either their father or mother's machines was strictly monitored. Rose felt too many children were couch potatoes due to PC's and laptops, as well as television. Gray had bought the plasma for baseball, a sport Liam was just beginning to appreciate. Otherwise it sat quietly in Gray's side of the living room, as if an empty fish tank. People always asked why they owned it, for all the good it did.

If they were home and there wasn't any baseball, music filled the house. Either Gray was practicing in the garage or their bedroom, or the stereo played. Rose might sing, she was always singing, but around her offspring it wasn't for practice. Only pleasure, and once both Emory and Liam were in school and Rose wasn't traveling to see an ailing relative, she would spend those few afternoon hours working on her instrument. Rose only sang, but she was very good at it.

As good as her husband on guitar, no one downplaying her vocal abilities. Gray was gifted, able to carry a tune as well as strum a guitar, but Rose's voice came from her mother, Judith Hoffman Robinson a soprano with a three-octave range. Petra couldn't hold a note to save her life, as if all Judith's talent had seeped into her youngest child. Rose hadn't wanted to do any more with her own three-octave endowment than sing rock and roll, causing her mother some disappointment. That Rose was still doing it eighteen years later was a testament to the band's longevity and her husband, both.

Liam had nibbled until only the crust was left, and Rose let him go, hearing Emory brushing her teeth. School began at eight fifteen and it was a quarter to eight. Petra wasn't a morning person and if she was late, they would leave without her.

"Let me take some pictures of you." Rose hoped to distract her children. Emory could tell time and either child could look at the microwave or stove.

Rose snapped photos of Emory with a mouth full of toothpaste, then a wide, toothy grin. She had lost her front baby teeth at the end of last school year; now big adult teeth dominated. Their dentist had told Rose both children would need braces, but Rose only considered her firstborn wasn't tiny anymore.

"Is Aunt Petra coming?" Emory spat into the sink one last time.

Rose scrunched the ends of her daughter's hair, bringing a spring to the wave. Almost a curl, but not quite, and she kissed the top of Emory's head. "Well..."

Emory spat again, but it was only saliva. "It's okay. We'll see her tonight right?"

"Uh-huh."

"She's going with you to see Aunt Margaret and then is having dinner with us, right?"

Rose wanted to sigh, hearing Emory's delayed anticipation. "Right."

Emory moved away from her mother, then returned for a quick hug. "I love you Mommy."

"I love you too Em."

They waited as long as Rose could stretch it, and as she locked the front door, Emory already to the next house with Liam in between, Rose heard screeching, her daughter's thankful, excited voice. "Aunt Petra! Aunt Petra's here! She made it!"

Rose skipped to the street, her sister's car idling in front of the house. Petra didn't get out, only rolled down the window. "Listen, if I drive, we can use my placard. And then we'll have time for pictures."

Emory had wanted to walk, but Petra could occupy a handicapped spot, and they wouldn't be late. "Em, that okay with you?" Rose asked.

Her daughter nodded, a huge smile showing those large teeth. "Yeah! Oh Aunt Petra, I'm so glad you made it."

Rose opened the back door and the kids piled in, then she took the front passenger seat. Her sister looked tired, but that was usual in the mornings. She also looked like she'd had sex. Taking a long breath through her nose, Rose smelled it. Petra had been with someone.

Emory and Liam were as unaware as if they were lying in their parents' bed, chatting of how exciting it was, and that Daddy wasn't able to be there. Emory was still carrying that and Rose hoped it would be gone by the end of her day.

They reached the school and Petra parked in a disabled space. Outwardly no hint of illness showed. What no one but Petra's boyfriends and Rose saw was the enormous scar running down the middle of her chest from where she'd received a new heart fourteen years earlier. That scar was hidden, as well as her other ailments, including possessing only her left kidney. Rose had offered one of hers, but so far, it wasn't necessary.

It wasn't just the heart transplant to hinder Petra; her right lung only harnessed half its capacity. She had type one severity of Brittle Bone disease, which had hampered her as a child, becoming less of an issue as she aged. That was the main reason they had driven, Petra not good with walking long distances. Also she was slightly deaf, a byproduct of Brittle Bone disease, but also Rose's fault, all the nights Petra spent in clubs and bars watching the band.

Rose never let that go without a fight, but that morning she knew it was none of her sister's physical ailments to make Petra late. She'd had sex, probably with Garth, unable to rouse her butt from bed.

The foursome walked around the front of the main building to a porta-cabin in the back. Emory had been to school every day last week, Gray taking both children to the site, then spending time on the playground. Emory had been here last year for kindergarten, but first grade seemed a huge step forward, and Rose's heart ached for her husband's absence. They might have enjoyed a quickie that morning, but it was no consolation for their daughter now.

Petra took pictures and Rose did too, then Emory took one of the sisters, with Liam standing between them. The mother of one of Emory's classmates then snapped all four. As Emory started recognizing other children, she was itching to leave.

"Gray not able to make it?" Petra whispered as Liam chased after his sister.

Rose nodded. She took Petra's arm and they ambled behind the crowd to the front of Emory's classroom. The cabin had a ramp, but Rose knew Petra didn't need to see the inside.

The day felt warm, Rose noting the small hills not in darkness or even near darkness. Bright sunshine filled the area and Rose squinted, even in her sunglasses. Small children and some not that small carried packs and lunchboxes, yelling and running. The bell was yet to ring and while taking in all around her, she missed Petra's tug on her arm.

Rose thought it was just her sister, getting her bearings. Then it was more pronounced and Rose turned, seeing her son in arms. The glare blocked her view, but her husband's voice rang in her ears.

Just like he'd told her that he loved her after she slid from his torso only a few hours ago, or as he said he loved her all the times before, so many times and Rose felt like crying. She didn't, as she rarely wept, but there, with no reason for his presence, Rose wanted to fall into his arms, find some secluded place and... "What in the world?"

"I snuck out," he grinned, his blond-gray hair dry and blowing about his face in the slight breeze.

Rose heard her children, the cries of _Daddy_ sharp and pleased. How and why were broached, but all Gray noted was how good Petra looked, Rose hearing in his voice the knowledge that perhaps Petra and Garth weren't as apart as they claimed.

As the bell rang more pictures were quickly taken. Emory stood still long enough for Petra to get three shots. Then Emory hugged her mother and father and was gone.

Rose watched her daughter's departure, then kissed her husband while her sister took Liam's small hand, returning to the car.

Chapter 3: When Sisters Speak

As they walked to Petra's car, Gray promised to reveal just how he slipped from class to attend this milestone. Rose giggled, noting he had set a precedent Liam would remember. Then she felt her husband's hands along the small of her back. Reaching the handicapped spaces, Gray motioned he was down the street. While Petra and Liam got into the car, Rose and her husband shared one more kiss, then Gray knocked on his son's window, gave him a wave, and headed to his vehicle.

On the drive back to Rose's, Liam asked Petra various questions, receiving a few answers. Rose wanted some answers too, but would save her queries for the sisters' trip to Sessay to see their aunt. The Robinson family had called Evanston their home, but Don and Judith were buried in Sessay, an hour away, where Judith had been raised. There was a perfectly good cemetery in Evanston, but it had been in their will, to the sisters' surprise. So many things had been shocking about their parents' deaths; that Don and Judith didn't want to rest in their daughters' hometown had been another storm to weather.

Petra had a cup of coffee as Rose checked her grocery list. With Liam nearby, the women only chatted about Emory's big day, their outing that afternoon, then Petra was ready to leave. She claimed she needed to water her plants, but Rose knew her sister wanted to nap. Petra wore a strange face, no guilt that Rose could ascertain, but certainly some regret. Rose assumed it was Petra's longtime boyfriend causing trouble; maybe someone between them had caused the split.

"We'll chat later," was all Rose said. Petra nodded, kissed her nephew, then was off. Rose had her son use the toilet, then they left, heading for the store.

When Petra returned three hours later, Lise stood in the front yard with Liam, blowing bubbles. The young woman waved to Rose's sister, translucent orbs floating through the large wand, heading to the sky. Petra received a hug from Liam, who walked her to the door. Then she was forgotten as bubbles from Lise's wand again filled the air.

Petra sniffed beef, salt, and MSG. "Did you use onion soup mix?"

Rose came from the back, laughing. "My god, what a snout you have."

"You always use it. Doesn't it make you sick?"

Rose kissed her sister, peeking into the slow cooker. "No. One day, I'm sure I'll wake up dead from it."

They giggled, Petra's health not allowing for such luxuries. "I suppose this's your way of telling me to find dinner somewhere else."

"No, I have something for you," Rose smiled. She opened the fridge, pulling out cheese tortellini. "And pesto sauce."

"Okay. So, Lise is here all afternoon?"

Rose gathered her keys. "Yeah. Emory will be on a cloud that her dad showed up. We'll hear the stories when we get home. And I want some on the drive."

Petra shrugged. "What's to tell?"

They left the front door open, seeing Liam and Lise near the mailbox. "Oh, a lot I think."

Liam approached the women and while Rose spoke to Lise, the little boy blew bubbles for Petra. Bubbles swirled around the sisters, slipping into Rose's car. Liam waved the big wand through the air, sending his mother and aunt on their travels with more bubbles in their wake.

The hour-long drive was spent in dialogue between two women three years apart, but much closer than most sisters. Part of it was due to Petra's poor health and their parents' early deaths. The other was a lasting bond that some sisters shared when friendship was the underlying tie.

They were friends as well as siblings, never competing for boyfriends or their parents' affections. Petra was Don's girl, while Rose belonged to her mother, those sentiments carried in looks as addition to Judith's voice. Margaret Leinhart had treated the girls without favoritism, and they spoke of her illness until Rose demanded to know just who had spent the night at Petra's.

"You know who," Petra sighed, once they were halfway to Sessay. The road was flat, brown, endless. It was an hour, but always seemed like more.

"I thought it was over," Rose said.

"It is, it is. He just came by and I told him about Margaret and..."

"Why'd he come by?"

"Said he needed papers or something, hell I don't know."

Rose giggled. Garth and Petra were supposedly finished, Petra's weepy visit only last Thursday. Maybe not so much grief, Rose pondered. "So, is he coming for dinner tonight too?"

"I don't know. You invite him?"

It emerged as a growl and Rose laughed out loud. "Jesus, no. As far as Gray and I know you two hate each other's guts, remember?"

"Shit," Petra sighed.

They were quiet as Rose merged into a two-lane highway that would lead them straight to Sessay. The towns were of equal size, nearly fifty-thousand inhabitants, but Evanston was only that quantity in summer. Nine months of the year it mushroomed to nearly seventy-five thousand, the university where both sisters had graduated providing Evanston a different flavor than Sessay. The band sometimes traveled that hour to do a show in Judith Hoffman Robinson's hometown, but other than a trek once or twice a year, they never strayed far from their base, Evanston full of bars, clubs, and a few dives that The Pool Gurus had fronted at one time or another over the last eighteen years.

Yet, the girls had traveled to Sessay to see their aunt, cousin, and maternal grandparents since they were small. Long before they even remembered this road, Petra and Rose had been sitting in the back seat of their father's car, talking and chattering, rarely sleeping. Their parents hadn't driven late at night, starting in the morning, heading home in early evening. Sometimes they had stayed for dinner, but even then little girls managed to keep each other awake, stories again occupying their thoughts. Even with three years between them, Petra and Rose always had something to say.

"So, is he coming over tonight, I mean, not to our house, but yours?" Rose asked after enough silence had elapsed.

"I don't know. Can't we talk about something else?"

"No," Rose said. "I thought it was over."

"It IS!"

"Not if he slept with you last night."

"Rose! Christ. It is over. It was just, well, you know."

"No, I don't. You tell me."

"What's to tell? He was there and I was crying. And you know how he is."

Rose did know for Garth Emory was Colin's older brother. Emory Burnett was Colin's namesake, Emory a name for Rose's first child whether it had been male or female. That it was a girl seemed easier for everyone, especially for Garth, who at the time of Emory's birth wasn't yet Petra's lover. Rose had asked Garth if he minded, and he'd been touched, shedding a few tears. That he and Petra had slept together after the news of Aunt Margaret didn't surprise Rose, what she would have imagined if the couple was together. That they weren't only added to Rose's curiosity. Margaret's illness surely wasn't enough to brook reconciliation, but it was adequate for sex to be shared. "Well, what I mean is are either one of you wanting to use this to, you know..."

"Maybe he thinks something's gonna come of it. I don't."

"What if he shows up tonight?"

Rose glanced away from the road. She had to see Petra's face and her suspicious were confirmed. If Garth stopped by Petra's apartment that night, he wouldn't be sent away.

"So should you stay late tonight?" Rose offered, her tone polite.

"Maybe," Petra smiled.

For most of their visit Margaret was asleep. To Rose and Petra, Alicia looked horrible, as if she'd not had a minute's rest. Rose felt small guilt for her peace of mind, that while she loved her aunt, her mother had been dead for ten years; Alicia had enjoyed time with her mom that Rose and Petra hadn't. Judith Robinson hadn't lived to see her grandchildren, but Alicia's three teenagers flitted in and out of their grandmother's room. Craig and Chris were seventeen and fifteen, daughter Kelly was thirteen, and all three looked like their father, divorced from Alicia since the middle of the decade. No sight of Carl Hester, but the teens spoke of him having visited last night. Alicia and her ex weren't friendly, married for over fifteen years before splitting. Rose knew Carl well enough that his total absence would have been odd. She didn't expect to see him that day, only at the funeral. Rose hadn't needed to be there long before realizing the next time they traveled would be for a funeral.

While Rose noticed the three kids' similarity to their dad, she never saw the ways in which she and Alicia were alike. They shared the same wavy hair, although Alicia's was now short and nearly blonde, highlights added since the last time Rose had visited in June. The golden bob lessened Alicia's forty-two years, but Rose didn't see that or her cousin's large brown eyes so much like her own, or the prominent cheekbones. She thought her cousin was gorgeous, but rarely did Rose accept her own beauty.

Petra said it kept her grounded, to made Rose laugh; what the marijuana combated all those years. They used to joke about Rose's habit, her stoner days ending with Emory's conception. Until then Rose got high all the time, especially after Don and Judith died. Once trying to conceive, Rose had cut back, then eliminated weed altogether until Liam was two. She'd been happy not smoking, proving to herself and anyone concerned she could quit, and now only imbibed before a show. She was grounded most of the time, she laughed with her sister, soaring wings clipped by offspring.

Alicia's children looked old to Rose, much older than the ones she'd seen that morning at Emory's school. As Rose watched her aunt struggle for breath, she realized that Emory and Liam wouldn't see their aunt again. Margaret was doing to die, maybe within a few days, but probably before the weekend. Rose wouldn't pull her daughter from this first week of school to see a woman Emory only knew as an aged relative. Rose could bring Liam, but again, that was even with less purpose, Liam only four. That child would be bored and fidgety, a two-hour round trip for Rose's son to be shushed. That Alicia's children were present was enough.

Rose had been wasted after learning of her parents' deaths, but would only have a glass of wine, maybe two that night. Gray would have a beer, Petra needing a drink, and maybe Petra would even want to spend the night like she did last Thursday, before they knew Margaret was ill, but after Petra and Garth had called it quits, for what that meant. Maybe that night Petra would hide at Rose and Gray's, not sleep with her ex-boyfriend. Rose wouldn't get high and Petra wouldn't screw Garth, an even trade. It was fair, neither sister employing their usual crutches to get through their aunt's passing.

Margaret was passing, her skin the hue of Rose's white-gray tiles. Margaret hadn't stirred and the sisters had been there since noon. Rose wanted to leave in another hour and had hoped to speak to her aunt one last time.

It wasn't that Rose didn't want to return, only that she knew. Rose had known her boyfriend wasn't going to last long after one failed suicide attempt. She hadn't expected him to try again so soon, and certainly hadn't wished to be the one to find Colin Emory with half his head blown off. She'd been horrified at the time, but later recognized it was better than if Garth had found his brother.

That inner sense of timing had wafted within Rose all through her parents' trip to Europe, Rose certain she wouldn't see her mother or father alive again. She hadn't said a thing to her sister, but Gray had been warned. It came to Rose at a show while singing a Carly Simon tune, "Never Been Gone", one of Judith's favorites. As Rose finished that song on a Saturday night in 1999, she knew. She wouldn't see her mother or her father ever again.

That night she had been high, not overly wasted, only buzzed. As if she'd had a couple of wine coolers, just a few tokes of Lovie Jones' exceedingly good weed put Rose in a pleasant place in which to perform. She didn't suffer stage fright, only that from when the band had come together, Rose had smoked pot. She always sung while high until the first show in which she was pregnant.

Now, as then, Rose knew death was coming. She and Gray and later Petra and Lovie had discussed it, a year after Don and Judith's plane from New York to California slammed into the Rocky Mountains. Freak weather was the cause, but Rose had kept mum after that Saturday show played there in Sessay, the one show that year in Judith's hometown. Rose waited for three days, having spoken to her mother one last time, telling her to be careful. Not that it was Judith's fault, only the clouds, a snowstorm, weather, fate. Karma, and then Rose endured an entire year before she felt able to tell her sister of what she had known. Gray learned that Saturday night, driving their car back to Evanston. That evening he and Rose went separately from the band and Rose wept the entire trip home. She wasn't a teary sort, didn't think she would cry at Margaret's funeral, but in telling her husband she wouldn't see her parents again, Rose Cathleen Robinson Burnett bawled like a baby.

She hadn't shed a tear when she told Petra later, but Petra sobbed, aware Rose knew things. Rose had known about Colin, having shared that with her sister, but not their parents' impending demises. Petra had been glad to remain unaware, but Rose had felt guilty until she told her.

There, sitting with her seventy-four-year-old aunt, Rose nudged Petra, who was holding Alicia's hand. Rose nodded to the ill woman, Petra releasing a long sigh.

Fortunately, Alicia didn't know of her cousin's propensity to predict the future. Rose wouldn't have said anything even if Alicia was aware, but since she wasn't, Rose only stood, pulling her chair closer to her aunt. Petra remained next to a teary woman three years' Petra senior as Rose spoke softly to anyone interested in listening.

"Aunt Margaret, you remember when you came to see me after Emory was born? You told me what a beautiful name she had, maybe you'd forgotten about Colin. It meant so much to me for you to be there, with Liam too. I think I allowed, for a few minutes, you to be Mom. I hope you don't mind."

Rose heard her cousin's weeping subside. "I'd have brought the kids with me, but Emory started school today, and Gray surprised us by showing up. He's at work today, or he'd be here too. They all send their love, but I left Liam with a sitter, the girlfriend of our drummer. He'd have only been bored, probably would have done something to get us hauled out of here."

Craig and Chris had small chuckles, what Rose had wished for. "We love you, Petra and I, everyone here. I heard that Carl came by last night, I hope you gave him a good what for."

That eased Alicia's heart, Rose heard it in her cousin's small giggle. "I'm going to step out for a minute, need to call the babysitter. Maybe you'll be awake when I come back."

Rose stood again, but left her chair. As she passed her sister, Petra got up with slow legs and took Rose's place.

The hallway was quiet, Rose seeing Alicia's daughter at the end of the corridor, talking on her cell. Rose wouldn't bother Kelly, her dying grandmother not as big of a pull as what might be going on with her friends. It was fine to miss a day of lessons, but to be yanked from the social whirl was altogether different. Rose only wanted a minute, setting her dying relative in a proper place. She inhaled, smelling a hospital, no sex, weed, or pot roast anywhere.

For a few minutes, right before the sisters left, Margaret Hoffman Leinhart opened her eyes, but Rose wasn't sure her aunt recognized them. Margaret mumbled a few words, more like asking for something to drink. Rose kissed her cheek as Margaret had done to Rose after Emory was born.

Slower to stand, Petra had been next, was sure Margaret realized their presence. Margaret had said her name, Rose's too, but Rose had to wonder. Petra's hearing wasn't great and it could have been anything. Maybe Margaret wanted her daughter. Or to leave. Maybe she only wished to be finished.

Outside the room, the sisters embraced all their relatives, the teens stiff but Alicia was soppy, and Rose wondered how her cousin would take this. Was it easier knowing, Rose pondered as she held Petra's arm exiting the hospital. The day was warm, Rose almost forgetting it was summer. Hospitals were cool, regulated, cut off from what was happening outside. Rose would drive home exceeding the speed limit. All she wanted was to see her children, hear Emory's stories, then hold her husband. Hear how he snuck out, then it would be a matter of waiting.

Rose wasn't so aware as to know when the call would come. She hadn't been sure with either Colin or her parents, but it was two weeks with her suicidal boyfriend, three days with her mother and father. Three days, then their plane crashed into the mountains, but the two weeks with Colin were like months; Rose was with him, right to the end.

So long was that time, what she considered as Petra rambled about their aunt and Garth. Garth had found Colin the first time, entering the brothers' apartment just as his younger and only sibling jumped from a chair with a rope around his neck. Rose wasn't sure if that initial attempt was serious and for two weeks she never left her boyfriend's presence. Either they were surrounded by his family, practicing with the band, or sleeping together, but Rose hadn't been able to tie herself to Colin's side every minute. The second time, he'd made sure that once it was started, there would be no errors.

None with a gun to his head. Rose had to pee, and she'd left him right after they made love. It was there, sitting on the toilet, where Rose heard one shot. She didn't note Colin taking a firearm from underneath his bed or setting the prewritten note on his side table. She only heard the weapon discharge. Then it was over.

Aunt Margaret wouldn't be so dramatic or messy. Rose hadn't been listening to Petra, then wondered if she'd missed anything important. "What'd you say?"

Petra smiled. "Where've you been?"

"Thinking of Colin."

"Oh. Is she gonna be that soon?"

"Yeah," Rose said. "Before the end of the week. The kids or Gray won't see her again."

The road was quiet, but Rose did pass one dawdling car, driven by an old man. She resumed her previous speed, that of seventy-five miles an hour, ten over the limit. If she got caught, she didn't care.

"I'm glad you didn't say anything. Alicia's pretty whacked as it is."

"Nothing to say. She's just not going to have that many more days."

"Rose?"

"Yeah?"

"If that happens to me, don't tell me. I don't wanna know."

"I won't. I don't wanna know either." Rose smiled, then turned on the radio, jazz returning the sisters to Evanston.

Chapter 4: A Most Favored Teacher

When Gray came home, the first thing Emory wanted to know was how he had managed to be there that morning. "Daddy how?" she pleaded.

"I'll tell you when you mother gets back," was all Gray said.

It wasn't the first thing Rose wanted to know, but in the top three. First were stories from Emory's day, then from Gray's. Liam had started back to his educational base last week, so that child's tales were perfunctory. After Rose heard Emory's news, the usual from her husband followed, students returning, new faces to learn, and a few altercations with those unaware of how Mr. Burnett ran his classroom. Then she asked. "So Gray, how did you get there this morning?"

Petra was close, also keen to hear. On the front porch, Gray sat on the left of the wicker settee, Rose in the middle with Liam on her lap. Petra was on Rose's other side and Emory had a small red plastic chair alongside Petra.

Everyone said Gray Burnett was a nice guy, a smile that never threatened, a voice never on edge. Grayson Noel Burnett had always suffered from that stereotype, though he was an exceptional guitarist and talented singer. Even with those rock and roll attributes, Gray never escaped from being seen, labeled, and ultimately called out as Mr. Nice Guy.

His children had no idea, only viewing him as their daddy. Rose and Petra recognized Gray hefted that other halo-heavy title, but the sisters also knew him more intimately, Rose as a lover, Petra as a sister-in-law. Petra also accepted Gray as the best friend of a one-night stand from her past, but Gray Burnett was nothing like Michael Roddy. Everyone adored Gray but few could stomach Michael.

Petra hadn't slept with Rose's husband, but a long time ago she'd spent a weekend with his best friend. After Rose and Gray got married, after her heart transplant, Petra Robinson let the antithesis of Gray Burnett into her bed, and paid for it in the worst way. Michael didn't know about that, no one did except Gary, Rose, and Lovie.

All admitted it was an incestuous group. The Pool Gurus was one reason. That all except Gray and Michael had grown up together was another. The band had been a logical offshoot of those childhood friendships, then relationships emerged; Petra had slept with two-fifths of the current lineup, guitarist Michael Roddy and keyboardist Lovie Jones. She had not been with Gray or drummer Dane Hammond, Dane far too young, even if he'd been single. She'd also not slept with the bassist Buster Cutler, but his marriage had suffered due to the severe familiarity these people shared.

Gray was the nice guy; he was also glue and peacemaker, and he hadn't even been around when they formed. Gray arrived after Colin died, after the band had pulled itself from that tragedy. A new drummer had been found, who Dane replaced only a few years previous. Michael had been Gray's introduction, his method of further integration into a group that knew all the other's secrets, or near enough. As they aged, some pieces remained off limits. People needed some private moments and as Gray sat with his family, Petra always included in that term, he shared only with them how he'd managed to see his daughter on her first day of school.

"Well, you see," his words slow, his voice smooth, not seeking the limelight. "I do have this reputation of being everyone's favorite history teacher."

"Uh-huh," both children answered.

That was true, Mr. Burnett the most knowledgeable history instructor at Evanston High School, even of their rival, McAuliffe High. Named for the teacher who died in the Challenger space shuttle explosion, not even that recent addition to the Evanston Unified School District had a more informed or talented lecturer not only for national history, but also global. Gray preferred teaching U.S. history, but also had a term of American government, assisting when there was a need. His second period was such a class, most of his students either having had him the previous year for U.S. history or wishing they did.

Gray was a nice guy, but didn't possess the reputation as a pushover. A fine line between those terms and Gray didn't need to do much to maintain on which he stood. He was the lead guitarist in one of Evanston's longest playing local bands, a title unspoken within the group as to assuage Michael's easily prickled feelings. Gray was also the co-lead singer, married to the other main vocalist, the most lovely and talented Rose Robinson Burnett.

Older siblings passed stories to those currently in school, sharing that Mr. Burnett and his wife were quite attached to each other, even during their shows. In fact, it was rumored that sometimes they went backstage and had _sex_ with each other, returning as if nothing had happened. Rose Burnett looked like the kind of woman a guy like Gray would lust after, but never attain. This time, Gray bucked the stereotype; he did have Rose, all the time.

Everyone also assumed that like his pothead wife, Rose still considered a stoner even though she had ceased all heavy smoking activities, Gray got high when not at work. He never tried to discount this rumor, only because that was all it was; speculation. In fact, Gray Burnett had never gotten high, or took any illicit drugs. A few cold beers were all he needed.

Sometimes more than a few, but only after a gig, if he didn't have to drive. He was thirty-nine years old, born in 1970, the same year as Petra, both the eldest of two siblings. Gray and Petra had that in common, but Gray's younger brother was the sickly child in the Burnett household, Trevor dying of ALS when Gray was fifteen years old.

A dead sibling enhanced Gray's nice guy demeanor, but Trevor wasn't the cause. He was enough, however, that people never gossiped behind Gray's back, hard to diss a man who'd grown up with an ill sibling. Nor was Gray assailed for his gift with a guitar. A prodigy, Gray had inadvertently joined The Pool Gurus, assuming leadership without a fuss. An adopted outsider, but most never guessed that Gray Burnett wasn't an Evanston native. He had married into a local family, slipping into the role of Rose's husband with nary a glitch.

How leaving his class of seniors had occurred that morning, for they all loved him, would do anything for him. The boys wanted to be him and the girls would have attempted seduction except that he already had a gorgeous stoner for his wife along with two beautiful children. And that it was for one of those adorable babies Mr. Burnett needed to step away, his second period Government class was as good as gold. He'd handed out the syllabus, then spoke briefly to his expectations. As this class was necessary for graduation, he wasn't as tough with grades as long as attendance was regular, homework completed. Tests in Mr. Burnett's government classes were never impossible to pass, more improbable to fail. Gray once had aspirations of returning to college and earning his PhD. It never happened. Instead he poured all his academic energies into being the best educator he could manage. Gray assumed it was on _him_ for students not to fail if they came every day and turned in their homework.

That reputation also preceded him, another reason he was so beloved. Gray wasn't an asshole who only wished to make life difficult for teenagers. He never assigned homework on long weekends or over holiday breaks. Occasional quizzes fell on Mondays, but again, they weren't difficult. While he didn't allow texting in class, if a lecture concluded early, he wasn't abject to pulling out a book or lesson plans, turning his back on students. Gray accepted where he was in the educational food chain; not a university professor, nor a babysitter in middle school. On a daily basis he dealt with young men and women who were nearly adults, at least in their own minds.

As such, all he'd had to do that morning was tell his class why he was heading out, and that his neighbor, Mr. Schulyer, who did have the reputation as a hard-ass, would be checking in periodically, as would Ms. Jenner, the associate vice principal. It wasn't overly complicated to explain, Gray appreciated by the administration as well as his students. Rose and Petra knew all this, both Gray's good-guy mantle and his professional standing. But Gray and Rose's children had no idea all this swirled above their daddy.

"So you just told your class you were coming to see me?" Emory chirped.

"Uh-huh," he said, having taken his daughter on his lap.

"And they were good?" her voice incredulous.

Gray laughed. He did complain about his students and saw his son's eyes on him, wide and brown, like Rose's, her eyes also resting on his face. "Well, they knew Mr. Schulyer was going to peek in on them, Ms. Jenner too. And it was just for today."

"What about me, what about when I start school?" Liam cried.

"I'm sure Daddy will have it sorted when that comes around." Rose lifted her son onto his feet. "Why don't you go wash up? I bet that pot roast is done by now."

He moved as Petra stood. "And someone promised me pesto tortellini," she smiled.

The air was warm, but everyone loved sitting on the porch, and movement came slowly not only from Petra. Foliage hung from the awning over them, devil's ivy, regular ivy, and spider plants with shoots waiting to be transplanted. A hanging petunia sported violet flowers, many of which needed to be deadheaded, but it had been a busy summer, and the excess flora added to the sense of longevity. If Rose or Gray didn't get around to certain tasks, it was only because nothing was going to change. Not until late autumn when the days grew cool, the spiders and ivies moving inside. Rose traded the seasons with her plants, allowing them to flourish outdoors in spring and summer, bringing them in during the coolest months. California didn't receive many cold days, but eventually plants wilted, looking pathetic if left on the porch too long. Only the petunia was relegated to the garbage, but not until the first hard frost. Rose would retrieve all the houseplants, leaving the petunia sometimes as late as Thanksgiving.

As Gray took the children inside, Rose snipped a few dead blooms between her fingers. She'd said little about Margaret, waiting until the children were in bed to give Gray an update. She had paved the way for Emory and Liam, that Aunt Margaret was very sick, and might not live much longer. They had been duly saddened, but their father was home, their other aunt fine. Somewhat of a misnomer, but Rose stayed quiet, Petra not disagreeing either.

As Rose pinched withered petunias from the hanging vines, she heard Gray start water for the pasta, her children's small voices harping for dinner. Rose and Petra hadn't returned until nearly four, by which time Gray had sent Lise home, taking charge of the children himself. Rose's husband was such a nice guy that Gray was thoroughly domesticated, willing to change diapers as well as take out the trash. Now that diapers were past them, Gray didn't mind cooking dinner. It seemed silly, as Rose didn't have a job other than caring for their children, but that afternoon she had been a chauffeur and consoler, a messenger, saying goodbye. Tomorrow Rose would finish the mealtime tasks, but she had started the pot roast; all Gray had to do was boil some water and put the pesto on the table.

That was all until a battered VW Bug pulled up behind Petra's Prius. The Beetle was a faded metallic blue, the kind of car one would expect to see parked in front of the Burnett household. This family of musicians and one occasional marijuana aficionado always seemed to attract a plethora of beater vehicles strewn along the sidewalk. Rose knew the car and sighed. Garth Emory had come looking for Petra.

The dinnertime conversation was carried by Rose's daughter, who like her mother had much to say when she felt willing. Emory told Garth, not Uncle Garth, but only Aunt Petra's boyfriend Garth, all about her first day of school. Real school, she interjected between bites of pot roast, not like baby kindergarten of last year.

"Mom, make Emory stop calling it that!" Liam would attend kindergarten next year.

"Emory, don't call it that," Gray chided.

She sighed, then continued. Lunchtime had been fun, although she didn't think she would need a whole peanut butter and jelly sandwich tomorrow. She liked hearing stories, her assigned seat beside her best friend Asia McMahon. Emory didn't like sitting in front of Lindsay Carpenter. She smelled funny, Emory complained.

The adults gazed at each other. Lindsay's father was a well known druggie, the family growing their pot plants hydroponically, but Lovie didn't like the weed they harvested.

"What'd she smell like?" Garth asked, sitting between Emory and Rose, not next to Petra.

"Oh, I don't know. This funny smell, like something stinky. When I think of it, I'll tell you."

"You be sure to do that," Rose said, rolling her eyes.

"Like Uncle Lovie?" Petra asked in a half giggle.

Both Gray and Rose stared bug-eyed at Petra, who offered a loud cackle, the most responsive she'd been since Garth walked through the door.

"No," Emory said, missing all of it. "Not like Uncle Lovie. Different."

"Good," Rose said under her breath.

"What?" Emory asked.

"Nothing. Eat your dinner," Gray told his daughter.

Unaware of the change in Petra and Garth's relationship, the children carried on with their youthful chatter as if it was last week, when their aunt and her boyfriend were still a couple. Rose and Gray hadn't made mention of it and now Rose was especially glad, as she didn't think they were as apart as Petra had claimed last Thursday when she arrived in tears. That had been after the kids were asleep and Petra had spent the night, the story on Friday morning that she'd had too much to drink to drive home safely. The children might not know about the scents of sex or pot, but they knew that sometimes adults drank too much, their father as well as Aunt Petra. Uncle Lovie did that too, but strangely, they never saw him with a bottle in his hand.

That Lovie was their uncle and Garth wasn't stemmed from semantics. Emory had been born when Petra and Lovie were together and he'd been christened Uncle Lovie from the time Rose was pregnant. He was still Uncle Lovie to the children, who didn't remember him with their aunt, only that Garth was just Garth, and that Garth was still living with Petra.

Rose had considered telling them until Alicia had called. Then everything, a new school year included, conspired against the truth being revealed, and here they were, sitting as on many nights of the week, four adults, two children, but one couple was not as usual.

Neither Emory nor Liam noticed, Petra and Garth's attentions more than civil, how Rose knew her sister wouldn't be sleeping alone that evening. Nor would she be staying there with them.

After dinner, the children were bathed, Emory taking a shower before her brother's bath. Petra braided the little girl's long brown hair, Emory wanting to wake in the morning with big waves. Before that commenced, Rose had towel-dried her child's long tresses, hinting that perhaps in the morning they wouldn't be quite dry.

"That's all right," Emory said. "I'll just take them out at lunchtime."

Her tone was matter of fact, much like Rose and Petra's mother, Emory already possessing a singing voice like that of Judith Robinson. She looked like Rose's mother; cheekbones high and noticeable resting in Emory's small face. Those large eyes called to Rose, as if she could see her mother as a young girl. Unable to sense her own resemblance to Judith, Rose noted it deeply in her daughter.

Gray and Garth watched baseball on their side of the living room while Petra took Rose's computer chair, Emory in her lap. Soon the girl needed to move, too heavy for her aunt's thin legs. Rose had been sitting in another chair reading emails, but occasionally she glanced to the men, Liam in their possession. Garth wasn't really watching baseball. He was watching Petra. And Emory too, Rose catching his face at times, offering a smile. Garth responded with an aching grin, one Rose had seen after Colin's death, then over the years, but not that often in the last five. Not since Garth had started dating Rose's sister.

Now that pained countenance was returned, so much like his brother, but Garth was aged, what Colin might have looked like, but who knew for sure? Who knew what the dead might have changed into, Rose aware her mother would be nearing seventy. Judith died at fifty-six with some wrinkles and gray hair, not old like Margaret. Aunt Margaret looked good for her age, but her age was seventy-four. Garth was forty-one and Colin would have been thirty-seven. Four years initially separated those brothers, but it had been a long time since only four years was held between them.

"Let's see you." Rose closed her inbox, then stared at her daughter. Petra had taught Rose to braid and someday Rose would teach Emory. "Very beautiful."

"I think she looks like Mom," Petra smiled.

Emory felt the plaits, then gave an approving nod. "They feel nice and tight. Mommy, I think Aunt Petra does it better than you."

Rose laughed. That wasn't true at all, for Petra's fingers couldn't grip as Rose's did. Rose only agreed, easier than arguing.

"All right then," Gray said, rising from the couch. He held his son in his arms, a child that didn't look a thing like him, but their temperaments were similar, Rose pleased to have a nice guy for a son. One could do so much worse she thought as Emory gave the usual goodnight kisses, some to her aunt, some to Garth. As Gray took the children to bed, Rose watched Garth return his gaze to the television.

"Well, what's next?" she whispered to her sister.

"You kicking us out already?" Petra asked.

"Uh-huh. Mommy and Daddy need down time. Besides, Gray wants to know what's up with Margaret."

At nearly eight-thirty, Rose was tired. Her walk from the morning seemed far away, but within her body other aches resonated. For moments horizontal, but not all of a sexual nature. Some, but not all.

Other pains Gray would attend to, like the ones in Rose's heart. Ones for Alicia and her children, and by the look on the faces there in the front of the house, for Petra and Garth. Petra looked ragged, lonely, but stubborn. Garth appeared lost.

He was lost without her, had come here tonight hoping to be found. Rose wasn't sure if Petra wanted to be located, not completely. She wanted to be partially discovered, like a teenager Gray might have in one of his classes. Hoping to hide much of themselves from adults and authority figures, but to be exposed by a peer, maybe one of the opposite sex, just to have a small part of themselves validated. Petra needed to be reassured she was alive, breathing, but Garth's presence wasn't needed full time.

Only part time, only for a night. Last night, maybe this night. Most assuredly tonight as Petra stood, walking across the white-gray tiles. Petra always wore Birkenstocks, which made no sound. Garth had no idea she was heading his way.

Not until she reached him and then only because she touched the back of his head. Petra stroked Garth's brown hair that rested on his collar, then placed her hand along the side of his face.

Rose had seen those moves thousands of times, Petra's way with the men she loved. She had done that with Lovie repeatedly, with Garth now, and with others who came before them. Those two men had once been close friends, were now acquaintances due to Petra. But Rose smiled to herself. Her sister had never touched Michael Roddy in such a discerning manner.

By the time Gray stepped from the hallway, Petra and Garth were heading out the door. Rose had put away the remnants of dinner, including the tortellini and pesto sauce, set in one container, for Gray's lunch tomorrow. Rose had asked her sister if she should save it for tomorrow night, as pot roast leftovers would be on offer, but Petra shook her head. Rose hadn't seen her sister's face, Petra sitting on the couch, Garth's arm around her.

All of that occurred while Gray was reading bedtime stories. When he emerged, books in hand, Garth had Petra's hand in his own. They would drive separate cars, but sleep in one bed. Gray said goodnight as Rose turned on the porch light, escorting them to the street.

Gary stood near his wife's computer, looking through open mini blinds. Petra walked with Garth's arm in hers; it was he to open and close her car door. Rose remained on the cement path that like the tile walkway separated the sides of the front yard. Roses placed amid gravel and flat stones decorated the area and the smell was heady, always fragrant this time of night. It was also prevalent during the day, but Gray was gone then. Only in the evening did he notice this sweet aroma, his wife choosing blooms with a lasting smell. Petra left first, then once she was away, Rose waved to Garth, who followed, making a three-point turn in the street. The Burnetts lived at the close of a dead-end road, always quiet and calm with plenty of room for extra cars which was often the case. Gray watched as his wife stood on the cement until Garth's car wasn't visible.

Then she turned and from the light shining on her face, Gray grew hard. He'd thought of her on and off all day as usual. Rose was never far from his mind, which at school rarely translated into an erection. Only that he loved her, considered her. Once in his car driving home, then his body's desires took hold.

Why Petra and Garth weren't still there; as soon as children were in bed, not even asleep but in bed, the married couple was too unless friends were present. But all knew how Rose and Gray were; after the children had been bathed and readied for sleep, no one would linger, not unless Gray had a beer in his hand. If he was drinking, then the party lasted until Gray finished his bottle. But if Gray only had one or two with dinner, that was different.

Which had happened that night; Gray had two bottles of beer with pot roast, Garth the same. Petra had one glass of wine, Rose one and a half. Petra's apartment was only five minutes away and while Garth might be legally over the limit, Gray didn't worry for their safety or that of anyone else on the road. Those two would drive as fast as Petra allowed, which wasn't quick at all. Especially since that while Gray knew they would sleep together, it wasn't as of before. Not because they loved each other, but because they had hurt each other, and Petra's aunt was dying.

One more reason Gray wanted to be in bed with his wife. Rose wouldn't cry for her Aunt Margaret, but in loving her, Gray would continue to remove, little by little, the ache that Rose carried. An ache from her parents' deaths, and even further, from when Colin Emory committed suicide right after Rose had left his bed.

Chapter 5: Gifts And Lessons

Gray and Rose's lovemaking was tumultuous, on occasion reckless even. That Rose and Gray had been the other's acquaintance for over two years before anything was consummated was only due to Colin Emory. That and neither knew the other very well.

Michael Roddy had brought Gray into their group in the early 1990's. Michael had integrated himself solely due to his musical prowess, that and his extreme antagonism. Every group needed one rakish member, one grating individual to hold the center. If nothing else, Michael was the one no one liked.

Yet, they appreciated him. He was an excellent musician, timely and organized, occasionally supplying the best weed. From where he got it, he never said, aggravating Lovie Jones to no end. It came from down south, Michael sighed in a disparaging tone, as if he managed to live in central California only by the grace of imported marijuana. Lovie thought it was bullshit, said so often. And he was right; Michael got his pot from a local guy whose junior high feud with Lovie kept those two on opposite sides of the street, even when pot was involved.

Michael Roddy was two years Gray's senior, the two having met in their shared hometown north of Los Angeles when Gray was in seventh and Michael in ninth grade. They went to the same junior high school, where Gray quickly established himself a guitar virtuoso, much to Michael's haughty disdain. He'd been playing that instrument for over a year and while a few chords were within his grasp, this innocent, bland looking boy had entered Michael's realm, shattering what musical confidence the elder boy possessed. It was the first time in Michael Roddy's life someone younger had bested him.

If Michael was destined to be a prick, he was also smart enough to see his own faults. At fourteen, Michael could appreciate Gray's relentless talent, and took it upon himself to make introductions, as if adopting the slight, unsophisticated youngster. A year later, Gray would be nearly raped by an overaggressive babysitter, but at that moment of their lives, he was an unsuspecting twelve-year-old who looked up to those older, wiser, in need. Like the horny predator who attacked Gray on a Halloween night, Michael was equally seeking to use Gray for his benefit, but not sexually as Janet Williams had done.

The two young men never were intimate except with their music. For the next three years, Michael took lessons from Gray, and while even twenty-six years later Gray was still the better guitarist, Michael had gathered other skills. Lovie had taught him to play piano, Michael nearly as proficient as the band's keyboardist on some pieces. Michael would never play better than Lovie, but it wasn't only due to ability. Michael rarely played for the love of music, only to exhibit his expertise.

When Michael graduated high school, Gray was a sophomore, but they had remained good friends because Gray was such a nice guy and an accomplished guitarist. That Michael had no real other friends also played a part. By the time Michael was leaving Gray's daily life, they were the same height, but not at all similar otherwise. Gray was slender, Michael bulky. Almost chubby, but he thinned out in college, retaining only a larger frame. Michael's short, nearly black hair contrasted with Gray's blonde mop, their eyes also opposite. Michael owned brown, much like Rose's, and Gray's were as his name. While everyone at their high school loved Gray, no one appreciated Michael, except for how well he played guitar. And by the time they were in high school, no one remembered it was Gray ensuring that Michael was so talented.

After Michael left, Gray's gift shined, but again, Gray never said he had instructed Michael on the instrument both men loved. As much as Michael wanted to be noticed, he did love playing the guitar, adored the feel of it in his hands, treasured it close to his body. It was that extension others considered, not the man behind the instrument. Michael was smart enough to comprehend that, using it all through college to sleep with as many girls as possible. He went north, to Evanston University, meeting Buster Cutler, Lovie Jones, Garth Emory, Garth's depressed younger brother Colin, and Colin's stunning girlfriend Rose Robinson. There was also Petra, Rose's somewhat fragile older sister, but at the time Michael gave Petra no mind. He had given Rose more than half his mind, but nothing more as she was firmly in Colin's grasp by the time Michael integrated their clan.

It had taken a few years, Michael standoffish, applying himself to photography. Only a hobby in high school, but in college, it grew to an obsession. Darkroom chemicals were his weakness, pot just a side habit. By the time he joined the band, on a whim answering their ad for a guitarist, Michael Roddy allowed music as only a temporary gig.

He arrived with his guitar and amp, and camera. Taking pictures of this rag-tag group might be as far as he would get, if not for Rose. As the lead singer, she was the glue. Before Gray came north, it was all about Rose.

It was about her, because of Colin. If Rose was included, then Garth's unstable younger brother would play his heart out, and Michael found these motley people weren't as he first noted. They were close, intimate, incestuous. Michael's outsider status once again reared its head, but this was different than anything he'd previously known. He was outside them not because he was a conceited jerk, but only due to their intricate ties, their tangled personal lives. Michael Roddy had never encountered that situation and using his intelligence, it was easy to permeate their hurdles.

He hadn't done it by sleeping with either Rose or Petra, only by bringing in really good weed, by playing with an unusual indifference. Not that he was better than they were, but that they needed him. He didn't try to show them up, nor would he have been all that successful. Lovie and Buster had been friends since grade school, playing together nearly that long. Colin was another prodigy and Michael had sighed; unlike Gray who held everything together from his dead brother to Janet Williams, Colin Emory was skittish, fraying around the edges. Michael saw them with clear eyes, all but Rose. She was viewed through blurred vision, but the rest were noted with no romantic natures, no hazy analysis. Colin Emory was destined for a short life, but not as limited as Michael had imagined.

Michael became indispensible not only for the high grade of weed he contributed, but for his seemingly unattached nature, the uncommitted manner in which he glided through those early sessions. He took no one's side, offering blunt, honest critique and praise, the first time in his life he felt at all truthful, except when Gray told him about Janet. Michael had been so stunned at Gray's confession, he hadn't been able to do much more than listen, no words emerging.

At band practice, Michael was equally muted, except for his music. He even spoke of Gray, that Gray had taught him to play. To say anything else would have been a lie and with these people, so intertwined and knowledgeable of each other, Michael was sure soon they would know him that well too. If he lied about Gray, it would eventually come out, and he would lose this family, of that he was convinced. If nothing else was true in his life, Michael Roddy needed these people, people he felt far superior to, people who needed him.

For the first time in his life, Michael Roddy found others requiring his presence.

If not for that turn of events, Rose and Gray would have never met. Gray graduated, entering college in Los Angeles. He played in a few bands, but concentrated on school while living at home. His mother floated about, a sorrowful woman whose youngest son had died when Gray was fifteen. Colleen Burnett had divorced her husband when Gray was nine, then Noel Burnett died, leaving his ex-wife with an ailing child and one obsessed with music. That Colleen's mother was wealthy stood as the only reason Gray didn't end up homeless.

The Burnetts weren't without resources, but Colleen's mother Beverly hadn't liked her daughter's choice of husband, for good reason she later said at every opportunity. Noel Burnett had abandoned his wife and two sons, one of which was dying from the moment he was born. Trevor Burnett had suffered various illnesses due to his premature birth, what Colleen and Beverly assumed in the beginning. When Trevor was ten, his health failed rapidly; he lost feeling in his limbs, had trouble talking, was so weak. After a proper physical, motor neuron disease was diagnosed, the same illness having killed Lou Gehrig. Trevor was a baseball fanatic, and when told of his prognosis, he allowed that if he was going to die of something so horrible, at least Lou had died of it too.

It was a slow death, one that ate at Gray with a silent, protracted nibble. It took much longer than anyone had suspected, Trevor suffering for three years before moving into a nursing home. Gray had watched as his little brother stopped walking, talking, and eating, smiling as if on a treadmill while Gray's abilities only increased. Trevor's weaknesses added to his brother's great gift. For every new note and chord young Gray Burnett mastered, it seemed Trevor lost another piece of his humanity.

Gray practiced harder, trying to assuage himself that some part of his brother would always continue. In Gray's music, Trevor Burnett survived. Gray never forgot his sibling and wondered if perhaps the way he loved Trevor was similar to the way Rose loved Colin, platonic and brotherly. By the time Colin was dead, Rose only felt companionship.

Yet, Gray hadn't desired her. Gray had met the band when Michael was in his fourth year of college. The men had fallen out of touch for a time, only due to lost addresses and misplaced phone numbers. Michael's occasional trip back to the southland reconnected their acquaintance and in 1992, a year after The Pool Gurus had been together, Gray Burnett traveled north. He didn't bring his guitar, but had strummed a few notes on one of Michael's to demonstrate his abilities. Gray had thought Rose was indeed lovely, could see how Michael lusted after her. All unrequited, Rose taken with the drummer who to Gray appeared transitory. Not as Trevor had been, but still not right. Gray said nothing, then returned home.

He didn't give Rose much thought, his own girlfriend satisfactory. Gray studied hard, earning his bachelor and master's degrees in five and a half years. He'd been determined to get a PhD and when Michael insisted he come to Evanston to do it, Gray had balked. LA had so many fine schools, why move to a small, provincial college town in the middle of California?

Gray knew why Michael wanted him there; the band. Gray thought it silly, but only said he would consider it. He would consider a small but acceptable college, not giving any more thought to it, a reflection for an old friend. It was no more than that until Michael called with news, that Colin had shot himself right after fucking Rose.

When loving his wife, Gray never remembered that conversation, Michael's actual language. Gray only allowed Rose's soft, warm body, her large, voluptuous breasts. How eager she was for him, how playful. They were somewhat reckless, in that they had two children but never locked their door. Gray had once tried to slip into his parents' room, but the knob was stuck, and he cried until his father let him inside. At the time Gray had no idea his parents were having sex, but it stuck with him, probably as it was one of his few memories of his dad. With Rose, Gray insisted they leave their door unlocked. Better for their children to find them in the middle of passion than be shut out.

Gray and Rose were reckless in other ways, but never to the detriment of their relationship. Having sex backstage was certainly not safe, nor had it been wise to come together as they had, only a few hours after Gray arrived in Evanston the year after Colin was dead. Gray hadn't attended the funeral, he really didn't know any of these people, and Michael hadn't needed Gray's support. Gray felt awful for Rose, Michael sparing no details. Colin had tried to hang himself two weeks before, Garth cutting him down before Colin broke his neck. After a weekend in the county hospital, Colin Emory had been released to his family's care, and that of Rose. The band played their part, keeping him occupied, but also allowing Garth and Rose a breather. Those two, far more than the brothers' mother and father, had carried Colin for the last several months, and over those final fourteen days they took turns, Rose sleeping with Colin at night, Garth watching his brother during the day. But something had to give and when Gray got Michael's call, that Colin had committed suicide, for a moment Gray understood Colin's actions, feeling a small relief for a man so much like Gray's brother, one hurting, dying so slowly.

Gray understood until Michael blurted in coarse terms Rose's involvement.

Rose had found her lover's still warm, twitching, but nearly dead body upon stepping from the apartment's one bathroom. She was naked, as was Colin, and Gray later learned the first person Rose contacted was not the dead man's parents or brother. It was her sister, for Petra to bring Rose some clothes. All she had were items discarded when the couple went to bed, a skirt, blouse, bra, and panties that remained on the mattress, covered in Colin's blood and cerebellum.

Gray thought of that when driving north to see Michael a year later. That Rose had no clothes, only standing nude as a man she had loved for over two years took what few halting breaths a body might attempt. Colin had set the handgun near his right temple and by the time Rose came from the bathroom, there was nothing she could have done. He was still breathing when she found him, but only for a few more seconds.

In their bed, Rose never spoke of it, Gray not pondering it either. They only made love, absorbed in each other. Not as recklessly as in the past, except for leaving their door unlocked, as much drama as they desired. Both had endured trauma with sexual overtones, but it hadn't affected their relationship. In fact, what Gray had suffered with Janet Williams at thirteen years old only enabled him to assist Rose eleven years later, twelve months after Colin had died.

Gray had arrived in Evanston in the mid morning, driving most of the night. He had crashed at Michael's apartment, surrounded by photographic chemicals permeating the space. Michael hadn't been there, spending the night with a girlfriend. None of Michael's lovers ever slept at his place, Petra included, Michael preferring his domain free from any feminine presence. His couch was always free for Gray, who had grown used to the scent of a darkroom when Michael lived in Los Angeles. It wasn't pleasant, but Gray knew of worse odors.

He had hated visiting Trevor in the rest home, reeking of age and death. Urine too, but it was mixed so thoroughly with old, dying bodies and Gray knew nothing would be worse than that. Except perhaps the scent of death and sex, of which he didn't ask Rose. She brought it up later, after her parents were gone.

Instead, when Gray woke in mid-afternoon, he only thought about what to do. Being with Rose wasn't consciously considered. Later that night, after they had made love, he admitted it must have been there somewhere, or else he wouldn't be lying with her in Petra's apartment. Rose had still been living at home, but Petra had her own place, and Gray and Rose had gone there for the night. There was no way Gray would take her to Michael's, and while he could have gotten them a motel, Petra mysteriously had somewhere else to be that evening. It was the only night Gray and Rose spent there, the first night of the rest of their lives together.

Gray had no idea that was what the rest of his day held while taking a shower at Michael's, then hearing his friend's arrival. They spoke of Gray's drive, of Michael's date, and that he was sorry. A small bit of guilt had crept through, that Gray had driven all that way, but Michael already had plans. The friends discussed Gray's schedule; he would be there for a week and Michael had told him it would be seven days full of reasons why Gray should move north, get his PhD at Evanston, not return to LA. In a year, Gray's trust fund would come through. Then he could do whatever he wanted.

Money never affected Gray's decisions. His grandmother paid his tuition and at the age of twenty-five he would come into a sizable inheritance, more than a quarter million dollars. His share, Trevor's too, much to the consternation of Gray's few cousins. His mother had one sister and those three children were only receiving what their grandmother had originally set as the base amount. But Trevor's decline, while expected, hadn't been something to keep Beverly from including that ailing grandson in her will. She was still living when Trevor died and only changed the terms, Gray inheriting his brother's portion.

Again details that Gray and Michael never discussed, yet Michael knew of that bequest. After what Gray had suffered, Michael didn't begrudge him the money. He didn't begrudge Gray much at all, except for Rose, another non-issue. Michael never mentioned Rose because it was useless and Gray kept mum because at that moment, he had no idea Rose would ever be between them. Rose was still connected to Colin, even if that man had been dead a year. Gray hadn't come north with Rose on his mind, nor did Gray know she was on Michael's. Gray only learned later, when Michael was very high. Only then did Michael Roddy confess his weakness, bordering on obsession.

Gray never thought about that when making love to his wife. All he knew was Rose's supple frame, a comforting respite that always soothed. It was her breasts that initiated the sensation, but the rest of her consoled; yet, Gray needed little relief now or back then. He always found it with her, they rarely argued. Only due her to habit, but that had been years before.

She had been slightly high when they met up that afternoon at band practice, a joint in her hand when Gray came through behind his friend. Gray smelled pot as he walked in the door, courtesy of Lovie, that man always with some weed on him. Gray declined as he had the few previous times they'd all been together. Rose passed the joint to Buster as Gray sat beside Garth on a creaky sofa along the wall of the shed.

The band rehearsed at Buster's grandmother's house on the west side of town near an airfield. Gray noticed the heat, box fans swirling warm air in his face, blowing the whiff of pot too. After a few minutes Gray was abuzz.

It made him smile, as did the invitation to join them. Gray picked up an extra guitar Michael kept close. If all were stoned, it was easier to play on this instrument than try to restring his hampered guitar. Gray improvised, then picked up the tempo. A few minutes later, he was leading the band.

Integration ensued that easily, as swiftly as he fell in love with Rose. The two went hand in hand, as Gray never imagined being a part of this group, or feeling anything more than sorrow for Rose Robinson. He had felt so sorry for her and later that night, he had felt even more pity. Pity and great release, but the distress came first. Their drummer, Nick Shelton, wasn't as talented as Colin, but certainly acceptable. Gray didn't know much at that moment, other than he was slightly high and near a woman that as their voices blended, Gray only wanted to kiss her.

She would taste like marijuana, and he laughed, missing some notes due to the small bit of smoke he'd ingested, and realizing Michael had been right. A few times in their long friendship, Michael had actually taught Gray a thing or two. Rose Robinson was one of Michael's more worthwhile lessons.

Gray recalled only that as he moved over his wife, his hands along her nipples. He rarely allowed that small moment when he fell in love with Rose to interfere with their present. The rest of it, even their first time in bed, didn't pervade their near daily lovemaking. Gray and Rose had sex every day, except when she was on her period, or if Gray was ill. Rose never got sick, but sometimes Gray picked up a bug from one of his students, bringing it home as a gift for his children. Rose remained healthy, nursing her family though coughs and colds. Once Gray could breathe without difficulty, or wasn't bent over the toilet vomiting, the couple was back as usual.

In bed, where Gray loved being best. In bed with Rose, in her, next to her, under her; to Gray it was one and the same, for in that room, their room, Gray knew nothing but her, Janet Williams and Colin Emory asserting no influence. Gray finished loving Rose, but didn't move from her. He absorbed her few tears as his tired face reached for hers, and with his cheek, he brushed those sorrows aside. There would be time later for words. Now Gray Burnett only laid his body over Rose, a barrier better than any locked door.

Chapter 6: Emory's Loose Braids

In the morning, Gray and Rose woke at the same time, made love, then Gray got up for a shower. Rose didn't walk on Tuesdays and she lay in bed while the water ran. After a few minutes, Rose stood, peeling off the cami top. She got in the shower with her husband, and while they didn't have sex, enough physical contact was shared that Rose had an orgasm.

That happened more often than not, especially if she didn't come during the night. Sometimes Rose would wait, then finding Gray in either the shower or only lying in bed, nearly asleep, she would masturbate next to him. The reasons were twofold; Rose loved to leave her husband wanting her. The other reason was that Rose liked masturbating. She'd done it often enough with Colin and while Gray did things to her that she had never managed to match solo, some small bit of her liked climaxing on her own. She had wondered about it, even talked it over with Petra. The Robinson sisters were close, speaking of their sex lives with little reservation. Rose knew all Lovie and Garth's peccadilloes, Michael's too. Lovie was a simple man, regular lovemaking, some good weed, and a few pools to clean all he needed. Their band was named for Lovie and Buster's company, those two the original pool gurus. Lovie still executed some hands-on aquatic maintenance, but Buster kept the books.

Sisters had discussed their lovers when much younger but once Rose was married, there wasn't much else to say. She and Gray had screwed each other backstage on more than a few occasions, everyone connected with the band finding them together at one point or another. That Rose and Gray had first slept at Petra's wasn't forgotten, Petra complaining what a mess the bed had been, and had they actually gotten any rest in it?

Rose remembered they did, a little. She had slept with Gray there and Michael had slept with Petra there. Rose, Gray, and of course Michael all knew that and it was to Michael that Rose had to thank for making love to Gray in the first place.

Gray stepped out of their shower with an aching erection and Rose giggled. She felt high, liberated, maybe that was another reason she masturbated. As he groused about being sore, Rose ran the washcloth over her breasts, wishing for his hands on her. Petra said that she and Garth often had sex in the shower, Garth far more adventurous than Lovie. The truce between those men, formerly close friends, was precarious. Although, Rose thought, rinsing shampoo from her hair, if Petra and Garth finally pulled away from each other, maybe Lovie and Garth would be more cordial.

"I'm almost ready to go," Gray said through the open bathroom door.

"Me too. Come back in here."

"Jesus Christ! You gotta be kidding me."

"I'll see you this afternoon. Take some vitamin E, okay?"

"You're gonna kill me," he laughed, leaving the room.

Rose chuckled, turning off the water. She opened their bathroom window and straining to hear, noted the garage open, a car start. The garage closed. Then Gray was gone.

The second day of school was far more relaxed and Rose only walked Emory to the gate. Asia McMahon was being dropped off, the girls reaching the porta-cabin together. Rose smiled at Asia's mother, Megan, who sported a two-month-old baby in a sling. Megan McMahon was an old friend from high school and Rose remembered similar days, albeit at a much younger age, when she and Megan sat at lunch benches, discussing their lives. Rose was going to be a scientist or maybe a rock star. Megan wanted to find the cure for cancer or write the great Irish novel. Not the American one, Megan would smile, much easier if she trolled her own family's heritage. That they were now mothers of young children said much about their lives in a small town. They had dreamed big, but stayed local.

Megan had assisted Petra with her memoirs after Petra's heart transplant. Petra was a journalist, graduating from Evanston University, then stepping into the world of investigative reporting. Hampered by her ill health, she didn't move away, instead working for the local weekly paper that was now part of a chain. The only thing that remained from the original was its liberal slant. In addition to the few articles of neighborhood interest were the obligatory left-leaning comics, but Petra still managed an engaging human interest story, or if she was feeling inspired, a more detailed account of some needful issue, providing the paper one small link to its former glorious past. A few staffers remained from those days, a movie critic, admen, plus one graphic designer that Rose had known in high school. Many of her friends had left Evanston, but just as many had stayed.

Rose came home with Liam and they played, then Rose started laundry. She didn't hear from Petra, but hadn't expected too, not until later. If Aunt Margaret grew worse, Alicia would call Rose. Rose wasn't sure if her aunt would hang on one more day, perhaps she would. Rose felt Margaret Leinhart had no more than a few days at the most. If she lived to the weekend, Rose would be surprised.

Liam had preschool and Rose drove him across town to the same playgroup Emory had attended. This would be Rose and Gray's last year connected to The Rumpus Room, a daycare and pre-k their children had attended from the age of three. Emory had loved it, Liam took more coaxing. Now all he wanted was to be with his sister, or for his mother to make another one. On that drive, Liam again mentioned it. "Mommy, when will you have another baby?"

Rose smiled. "Honey, I think Daddy and I are done having babies."

"Don't you like us?"

She peeked in the rear view mirror, finding a face gazing out the window. "We do. And because we like you and Emory so much, it's hard to think about having any more."

"But what if you'd felt that way after Emory? Then what about me?"

Rose chuckled. He was smart, so much his father. "Oh Liam, we knew after Emory we still needed one more. I mean, I love her to pieces, but I just knew I wanted a little boy."

"Well, what if I'd been a girl?"

"Well, then maybe you'd not want another sister. You'd already have one."

They reached the building and Liam was quiet. Rose didn't mind his inquires, for they were pointless. She didn't want any more children, neither did Gray.

Liam spotted Rusty Sinclair, forgetting all about babies. He and Rusty were three weeks apart in age, would be starting kindergarten next fall. Rose and Rusty's mother Shannon hadn't the heart to inform the boys it would be to different elementary schools, again Rose leaving things for later.

She didn't even say goodbye to her son, he was a big boy now, not requiring a hug. Rose waved to the staff, then returned to her car. She had errands, shopping that hadn't happened yesterday. She thought about her son's request however, noting babies everywhere she went. She had seen one right off the bat with Megan's infant, a boy, if Rose remembered correctly. Megan had suffered two miscarriages between that baby and Asia, or else the McMahon family might be twice its size.

Rose had never lost a child, but Petra had. She'd lost one, aborted one. None with Garth, the miscarriage with Lovie. The abortion had occurred before that, but Petra didn't like to speak of it. Rose didn't either. While they threw their sexual exploits to the wind, that one piece was never trolled.

Another baby for Rose and Gray had been considered, but ultimately two children were enough, and now with a gap in ages, Rose felt it wasn't worth it. Plus she would have to abandon her small toke before a show and more than she wanted to admit, she liked that little buzz. Like masturbating but better, for it lasted longer. A climax was usually over in a minute. Rose had felt a few experiences last longer, especially if Gray had managed to hold off. More now than before he would continue moving inside her, or press himself against her, depending on where he was. She had longer orgasms, but only due to age, her husband's age. Gray was nearly forty and it was just starting to show in their sex life.

As Rose only grew more horny, they joked, Gray would just have to start taking vitamins. She'd known that morning, joining him in the shower, he wouldn't be able to make love to her. He'd been aching when they woke and it took him longer than usual to come. Petra had complained about the same with Garth and he was two years older than Gray. Unfortunate that men and women peaked at different ages, but other than that small discrepancy, Rose was more than happy in her sex life. She couldn't imagine a time with Gray that she'd not been fulfilled.

Why having another child had been discarded; they were too obsessed with each other. While Rose adored her children, would do anything for them, another layer existed with Gray. Rose wondered if that was good. Should she still feel so much for her husband with small children about, shouldn't they be her priority? For all the sex the couple enjoyed, only two kids had been created, and maybe others had expected more. Not Petra, but their friends, including the guys in the band, had been surprised they waited as long as they did, and after Liam, that was it. Gray hadn't gotten snipped, Rose's diaphragm, then birth control pills, all they used. All they needed, not another child.

Rose did adore Emory and Liam, and without her son near, she felt incomplete, how she felt when Emory went off last year every day for kindergarten. Liam went to preschool three days a week and would be home tomorrow and Thursday. He attended on Fridays, a day when Rose had lunch with Petra. Most Fridays the sisters shared lunch and only now were those outings without the specter of small children.

That Friday the sisters might be thinking of their aunt and Rose collected her groceries, then stopped at the drugstore, getting that month's supply of pills. She would be on her period next week; maybe that was why she had been all over Gray during the night. He'd been all over her too, their needs in tandem, even if he was slowing down. It wasn't by much and she giggled driving home. That night, she would nail him to the wall.

Rose did just that, but not before seeing her sister and Garth off from the concrete walkway. This time they were in Petra's car, having arrived together. Petra had angel hair with leftover pesto sauce and Liam did too. He wasn't in the mood for pot roast and Rose wondered if he was coming down with a cold. Swine flu hadn't hit the preschool; Rose would vaccinate the children as soon as that immunization became available.

Liam only seemed bored by beef and veg; by the end of the night he was in high spirits, watching baseball with his father and Garth. Petra again braided Emory's hair, but the young girl hadn't needed a shower. This time it was dry hair and after Petra was done, Emory squeezed the braids, then looked disappointed. "I don't think they're in very tight."

"No, maybe not. My hands are sore. Did a lot of typing today."

Rose watched Petra's face, no trace of untruth. Braiding had been easier with damp tresses, but Rose didn't say a thing.

"Mommy, you feel them. I think they'll fall out."

Petra smiled out of Emory's view as Rose set fingers on Emory's hair, noting the looseness. "They do seem a bit different."

Emory wouldn't be cruel, Rose knew. But how could she get the braids redone, especially after her remarks from last night?

"Well, hmmm." Emory set hands on her hips. She wore an ankle-length nightgown, faded Disney characters on the front. It was from Alicia's daughter Kelly, one of Emory's favorite pair of pajamas.

She gave her mother and aunt a look of confusion, a six-year-old attempting diplomacy, but unsure of the path. Instead she joined the men, wiggling between her father and brother. Liam fussed, then Emory took a small blue plastic chair, similar to the red one on the porch, and set it next to her dad.

"She'll be back in a few minutes," Rose smiled. "She hates baseball."

"Just doesn't know how to get herself out of the corner she painted last night. I'm sorry."

Rose took Petra's hands, cool and small. "She needs to learn not to play both sides against the middle."

"Will you redo them?"

"Maybe," Rose grinned. "Depends on how well she grovels."

Emory sat through one half-inning before rejoining her mother and aunt, contrite and near tears. She threw herself on Rose's mercy and with Petra offering plausible excuses, Rose redid the braids, then sent her daughter back to the TV as penance. The women retired to the dining room, where Petra took her usual chair, one with a cushioned seat and back, the arms also covered. Rose sipped her wine from dessert, hearing small conversations between her husband and their children. Liam was again whining about another sibling, but wasn't getting any farther with his dad than he had with his mother.

Petra laughed, her wine glass with one drink remaining. "Why in the world does he want you get to get knocked up again?"

Rose shook her head. "I think he just wants someone to boss around."

"Poor Liam. He should have been the oldest."

Rose laughed. "Oh god, can you imagine?"

They finished their wine, then spoke of things which hadn't occurred. Rose hadn't gotten pregnant again, neither had Petra. Alicia hadn't called and both sisters rapped the table in the hopes they hadn't jinxed it. Then they spoke of Petra and Garth. Rose hadn't said a peep from the time they walked in together. Mostly that if she had, the kids would have heard. And that Petra would get around to it if Rose just left it alone.

"He's staying with me tonight," Petra started.

"I figured, since you came in one car."

"Yeah, sort of gives it away."

Rose looked around the room. "Are you back together?"

"Maybe. Oh god, I don't know. You think we should?"

Rose smiled. "That's like asking Liam if Gray and I should have another baby."

Petra giggled. "The blind leading the blind."

"Something like that. Listen, I see it on him. He wants you back. What do you want?"

There was only the sound of the TV, of Emory asking her father if her braids felt tight enough. Rose sighed, that girl never satisfied. Petra heard Liam again ask about another baby, then Garth's small groan. It could have come from the game, or from Liam's question.

Rose wondered the same. "Is it because of that?"

"Sort of. I mean, he knows I can't, we both know it. Not now, not five years ago. Not with Lovie, and it's only wishing. Like thinking if monkeys could fly outta my butt."

Rose laughed, the wine in her blood. She'd had one large glass during dinner, then poured another healthy portion when dessert was eaten. Now it was gone and she would love another to remove Liam's voice from her head. "You want some more?" she asked her sister, pointing to their empty glasses.

"No, I'm driving. Did you see how many beers he had?"

Rose hadn't noticed, trying to watch her sister's face. "No, I guess I missed it."

"He had three, no way in hell he's driving my car!"

"Is that why?"

Petra wouldn't meet Rose's eyes. "Maybe. Listen, don't say anything to Gray. I mean, it's one reason, but there's more."

Rose nodded. "I'm glad you've got the keys."

"Me too," Petra said as again Liam questioned his father and again Garth groaned.

Rose sighed, having come again, Gray lying next to her. She'd been on top, making him threaten to lock their door. When he said things like that, she knew she'd nailed him good.

Now they were immobile. Rose was glad to be a woman in these instances, for the sheer reason that if anyone tried to break in, it would be Gray to do something about it. Not that he'd be very useful, his body slack against hers as if liquid, only his skin keeping him from oozing all over the king-sized bed. When making love, they used as much of it as possible, as if not was wasting mattress space. Another example of their sexual recklessness Gray would say, if Rose was lying askew on a corner.

"On the contrary," she'd retort, "only sexual usefulness. I mean, let's go green Gray. Let's not waste any part of this bed!"

That night they hadn't moved much from the center and now both were nearing sleep. One might turn on a side, either side, either one. The other would follow, snuggling right up against their partner, but for a few more minutes Rose wanted to lie flat, her husband's warm body beside her.

"Baby, you hear Liam tonight?"

Rose nodded. "Yeah. He was harping on the way to school too."

"Is that why Petra and Garth split?"

She sighed. "Maybe. I mean..." Rose forgot her sister's plea. "Yeah, I think that's part. But Gray, what I really think is..."

A loud cry came from the hall and Gray was on his feet, stepping into his boxers before Rose could even move. She knew it was Liam, that he'd probably fallen out of bed.

She rolled over, feeling for her cami top. Slipping it over her head, she added her underwear, hearing two voices head for the bedroom.

"Oh honey, did you fall?"

"Yeah," Liam whimpered. "Can I sleep with you?"

In the small light from the hallway, Rose's nod was noted. "Yeah sure, climb in."

This happened a few times a month, maybe every two months. Liam tossed often at night and occasionally he landed on the floor. Only a bump, but while Rose didn't want any more children, these were still needy. It was in these moments Rose almost allowed the idea of another into her brain. That and the way Gray asked her. She knew that voice, and it hadn't been just about her sister and Garth.

If Gray ever asked her seriously, if he had a good reason, or even a half-baked idea, Rose might consider it. She wouldn't turn him down for anything, yet, it was only some small query, not even loud enough in Gray's head to be formalized. Instead there was this little boy, so small, his four-year-old body warm against them. He curled into his mother, his head hitting Rose's breasts. He'd nursed for two years, then cuddled against her there for another six months. Now he only did it when scared or sick and Rose never denied him. He was still little, barely a child. Getting there, and after only a minute, Liam turned, wanting his father.

Why she let him rest his head there, only an instinct. Some male hormone aware a woman's bosoms were good, kind, healing. Yet, he was becoming a child, and had only desired that quick fix. Then it was to his father he went, and Rose lay on her left side, seeing the back of Liam's body and Gray's smile, pleased and peaceful. Rose ruffled her son's head, then closed her eyes. The question Gray had posed remained in his face, Rose unsure of what answer he actually wanted to hear.

Chapter 7: Knocking On Wood

In the morning, Rose dressed for her Wednesday walk in the guest room. Both her husband and son were sawing logs and with her clothes in their usual neat stack, she only had to pick them up, and close the door behind her.

She couldn't hear Emory from the hall. Rose didn't close her door all the way and Emory's was wide open. Had Gray done that, Rose wondered. Usually Emory's door was mostly shut.

After putting on her bra and socks, Rose slipped on the white v-neck tee, then her track pants. Pulling her loose mop into a scrunchie, she approached Emory's doorway, but didn't see anyone in the bed. Rose looked on the floor, it too bereft of her child.

She slipped back into her room and there, on Gray's left side, nearly falling off the edge, was Emory. Sometime during the night she had switched rooms; had she sensed they were all in here together, maybe sharing some dream party? Rose placed her in the still warm spot that had been Rose's minutes before. Emory stirred, then scooted next to her brother. Liam stopped snoring, then began again, and Emory went out to that familiar noise.

In the darkness, Rose imagined her family, still in bed. It had been an early morning, not even five when Rose left the house. Small humidity hung in the air; had it rained last night? Maybe a heavy dew and Rose inhaled the evening which was ending. Not that very minute, but seeing both of her children in bed, morning was on its way. They hadn't been there when Rose and Gray initially got into bed, but had trickled in during the closing hours, first Liam, then his sister. Rose wondered if Emory's braids were loose, even though Rose had set them with firm tugs.

Emory's hair was not quite to the middle of her back, but lengthy for a girl her age. Rose had wanted it as long as Emory could manage and as Rose had time to keep it tidy, Emory seemed happy with it. Rose's own hair had been short during elementary school, Petra's too, as Judith hadn't wanted to bother. Maybe it was having two daughters and Rose gazed up, noting high cloud illuminated by the streetlights. It was dark but lit, as if day and night were merging, seeing which would be victorious.

Rose wondered if her mother watched her, kept an eye on her and Petra both. Petra needed it more, not only due to her poor health but Garth. Rose had dreamed of him, and she felt shy, dreaming she'd had _his_ baby, much to Liam's joy and Gray's consternation.

She concentrated on the dim sidewalk, not wanting to step on dog crap or snails that might have emerged due to moisture Rose still felt. It seemed damp, but she was sure it hadn't rained, only some odd weather the Central Valley was experiencing. It was hot here, warm even at night. Even as night was turning to day.

Was it the stillness she loved most, the privacy? Their bed wasn't solitary, another reason Rose loved her king-sized mattress. The kids _could_ come in, plenty of room. Rose and Gray had co-slept with their children while Rose nursed them the first year. Emory weaned herself at fifteen months, but Liam had been happy to keep going, although from nine months on he was in the nursery with his sister. In a crib, because if Rose had let him stay in their bed, he'd have nursed all night! He was all boy, she smiled, thinking of how eager he'd been to nuzzle milk that wasn't necessary, not after that first year. It was only mutual comfort, as Rose loved it too. She hadn't been able to get high or even buzzed, but with her small son attached, she hadn't needed it. Maybe, maybe if she did have another baby, that pre-gig toke wouldn't be missed.

She laughed out loud. What was she thinking? She didn't want another child. If Gray did, he was fooling himself; he had been the one to insist Liam went into the crib at nine months. Rose hadn't been bothered nursing on and off all night; Emory wasn't at The Rumpus Room yet and Rose didn't have a job. Her occupation was a family, nursing her baby a part of it. Yet, Gray had tired of trying to have sex with an infant in their bed, and while he hadn't insisted Rose stop nursing, it had been Liam's _father_ to carry him out one night after the boy had eaten, leaving him in the crib, only his sister for company. Emory lay in a toddler bed across the room and when Gray had returned, he'd made love to Rose, nailing _her_ to the wall.

She smiled, remembering that, as only a few hours back, it had been her turn to do the same.

As she reached her house, no lights shone, only hanging plants and faded petunia blooms littering the porch. Rose went inside, heard the shower, saw lights toward the back. If Gray was up, where were the kids?

Hearing Daddy in the shower, they would have stirred. Rose removed her shoes, then found their doors were closed. He'd put them back to bed, then started his day.

Rose ached, her legs and what sat between them. They hadn't made love during the night, and she wondered if Gray was rested. Was he hard? He was humming, hadn't heard her. She stripped naked, then slipped through the open bathroom door. The curtain was in place and still her husband only hummed to himself.

Rose felt herself get wet, but not from water in the spigot. She wanted him, wanted not to make a baby, only love. She pulled back the shower curtain, saw his eyes were closed, yet a smile shone.

"That you Rose?"

She giggled. "Uh-huh. Shall I come in?"

His head moved under the spray. As he rinsed soap from his face, Rose stepped in, hearing his invitation. "Oh yes. Shall I do the same?"

"Oh yes," she offered. "Please do."

Gray was gone before the children woke, but Emory emerged earlier than usual. "Mommy, can I have a shower this morning?"

Rose had stripped their bed, made it with fresh linens, eaten her breakfast, and was checking her email when Emory appeared. "Uh-huh. Do you remember coming into bed with me and Daddy?"

The little girl nodded. "Uh-huh. When did you take me out?"

Rose explained as Emory headed to her room. She didn't recall being moved from one side of the bed to the other, only getting in next to her daddy, then waking in her own space. Now she wanted a shower and would her mother rebraid her hair?

Rose smiled. The plaits were a mess on Emory's head. As she took them out, running a brush through, the water in the shower warmed. By the time Emory was ready, it was a pleasant temperature.

As Liam stirred, Rose was braiding Emory's tresses, and by the time she was done, both children needed breakfast. They ate Pop Tarts that morning, a small luxury. It was a simple morning, comparable to last year, as Emory had the early kindergarten session. By the time Rose and Liam returned from dropping off Emory, it felt like routine. The morning walk, sex with Gray, getting a shower, braiding Emory's hair. That had begun at the end of last year, seemed to be carrying into the fall. Rose held her son's small hand, purging the image of having Garth's child and the real baby Megan again wore strapped to her body. Liam hadn't raised the question, but it was early, Rose smiled. He'd be home all day and it would only take one reminder.

One little thing, but as mother and son reached their street, Rose saw her sister's car parked in front of their house. One small aberration and Rose wondered what had happed with Garth to bring Petra round so early.

It was something, Rose saw as soon as she got into the house. Her sister was sitting at Rose's computer, tears having fallen. Liam noticed nothing, only screaming like a banshee that Aunt Petra was there!

"Yeah Liam, I'm here." But Petra's tone was sullen.

"Not by much," Rose said.

_No shit!_ Petra mouthed.

"Liam, you still hungry?" Rose led her son away from her sister.

"No. Mommy, can Aunt Petra and I blow bubbles in the front yard?"

"Oh, not quite yet honey," Petra managed.

Rose stood between them, trying to deflect Liam's excitement, Petra never at their house this early. "Liam, you wanna watch TV?" Rose asked.

The way his face lit, she might have well as told him she was having triplets. "Oh can I?"

"Uh-huh. Come on." Rose led him to the other side of the room and turned on _Sesame Street_. It was the only thing she allowed them to watch if home sick, or if she and Gray needed to finish what couldn't be halted for more than it took to turn on the TV.

The boy was lost to the sounds and images as Rose followed her sister into the dining room. They had just been here last night, finishing their wine, speaking of things they never discussed; offspring and hoping Alicia wouldn't call with news of death and Garth wanting a baby. Rose thought about her dream, but said nothing, letting Petra spill her guts.

As Liam chanted his _A, B, C's_ and sang along with Elmo, Rose pondered two things; one was how well Liam knew the skits and tunes. Maybe he watched it at Rusty's house or maybe the preschool occasionally turned it on. Then it was all her sister said, mixed with The Count and Big Bird, as if those two were feuding. As if Big Bird wanted to be left alone, but The Count just wasn't listening.

"When did he leave?" Rose asked.

"Oh god," Petra sighed, wiping her face with a crumpled tissue. Several littered the table, a few on the floor Petra had thrown in disgust. Anger too, Rose saw, but especially pain.

"At like five. He'd been on the couch from like two, but then I think he fell asleep, and I think I did, and then I heard the door close. Like, how in the hell was he gonna get home, I mean to Buster's? He didn't have a car; I'm the one who picked him up last night."

"Before you came over here?" Rose asked.

Petra nodded. "My god, the things I do when..."

Liam roared in laughter and Petra cried again. "I hate that fucker, I really do!"

Rose wanted to ask if Petra meant Elmo, who was the cause of Liam's explosion. Rose hated Elmo, but was sure Petra meant Garth.

Or maybe both of them, as Elmo continued whining. Liam began to emulate it and Rose sighed. "Listen," she said, wishing for some half way point for all of them. Wishing for Cookie Monster over Elmo, wishing Garth and Petra could just get through this week, through the next few until Aunt Margaret was... But Rose wouldn't say it. Instead she knocked wood.

"What?" Petra asked.

Rose realized she hadn't finished her thought, Elmo and her dying aunt getting in the way. Now she didn't remember and sighed. "I have no idea. I hate that fucking Elmo."

"Oh god me too!" Petra wailed. "What a piece of shit red furball!"

Both sisters began crying and laughing as Liam kept giggling.

Once _Sesame Street_ was over, Liam was quiet, but Rose knew he was trying to pretend the show was still on. The next program was over his head and she went to the living room, turning off the TV. Petra had calmed and Rose set her son up on the computer. She and Gray tried to limit the outside influences, but concessions existed. Liam was told to be good and a timer was set. Usually Rose allowed them twenty minutes. Today, she gave her son forty.

It took all of those accumulated seconds for Petra to debrief, some things of which Rose knew, some of which were secrets Petra released because, as Rose heard in her sister's voice, Petra wanted them out. She wanted it to be over, but what she wanted and what had happened over the last few nights were incongruous. In Petra's spilled words, Rose heard not only the complaints, but a desire for them to catch hold, stick to Petra, so Petra wouldn't let Garth return.

Not to her apartment or her body. He was drinking more, which Rose could guess for herself. He was also smoking more, which was unknown. Petra liked to get stoned a few times a week, using it for medicinal purposes and a little extra. But Garth was getting high every night, and while he was never cruel to her, Petra was weary of living with a druggie. Rose took that with its intended meaning, aware Gray had probably tired of her daily activities in the past. A voracious pothead in her twenties, now Rose was a mother. Respectable, responsible, no time to be wasted off one's ass. If she was, Elmo would take over.

Rose wanted to say that, make Petra giggle. Instead she held her sister as more emerged. "The worst thing, and I mean, it's really not like he's beating me or cheating, my god. Maybe I have nothing to complain about."

"Petra, what?"

Rose's sister looked into the room, pictures of their parents, other relatives, and Rose's family all over the walls. "The worst thing is that he comes to bed, wants to make love, and sometimes we do, sometimes he can't. That's not the worst, but it's close. No, the worst thing is that..."

The phone rang. Rose knew if she didn't get it, Liam would.

"Hold that thought." She stood from her seat, just beating her son, giving him a look. "Hello?"

"Oh god Rose, that you?"

It was Alicia and Rose didn't even have to hear the words. Aunt Margaret was dead.

As she consoled her cousin, reset Liam's timer, then poured Petra an early glass of wine, Rose could only wonder; the worst thing was that... What Petra was going to say still wasn't released because Petra was letting Alicia vent, rant, cry. Alicia was angry because she hadn't been there, the hospital calling her too late. That Carl had been present only made it worse. Worse, but not the worst; Rose was dying to know what that was.

What was the worst Garth could do to Rose's sister? It wasn't rape or assault, not in Garth's personality. Petra had said he hadn't cheated, was only drunk and stoned, often. But really, how bad was that? All of them, at one point or another, had found themselves a little lost, even Petra, after the abortion. Not due to having had one, but all that came later, the lies and cover-up driving Rose's cohesive sister into a few fuzzier than usual moments.

To Rose's small relief, Liam grew tired of the computer and went outside to play. Petra handed her the phone and Rose heard a few more details. The funeral was set for next Tuesday, as everyone recognized this was the outcome. Alicia sounded like a liar when she said that, but Rose let it be. She had known, there was that. As her cousin finally mumbled _goodbye_ , warbled through tears, Rose saw Petra, drained and tired. And in need of another drink.

If Rose had some weed around, she would roll them a joint. Let Petra get high, maybe take a few tokes herself. Instead she made herself some tea, topping up Petra's wine glass. Petra had shaken her head but when Rose handed it her way, Petra took it without hesitation.

"My god, can you believe the timing?" Petra said after chugging half the glass.

"No, but that's usually how it happens."

From the small window over the sink, Rose located her son in the sandbox. If they moved into the dining room, she would have a better view, but Petra was settled in the computer chair.

"Shit. Well, there goes my Tuesday. Did she say the time?"

Rose shook her head. "Probably afternoon, but no, she didn't say."

Petra wasn't saying anymore either and Rose would have to let it rest. If she prodded, Petra wouldn't say another thing. Rose's mind teemed of her dead aunt, her aching sister, and stupid fucking Elmo. She really wished for a joint.

Dinner was quiet, only the four Burnetts. Aunt Margaret's death was a guest too, but not Aunt Petra, who had driven herself home once Gray arrived. She'd not had any more to drink, but had taken a nap when Liam did. Rose used those minutes to collect Emory from school. Liam wouldn't want to go to bed early. As it was, neither did Rose.

She snuggled with her son, then tightened Emory's braids, which had held from the morning. Emory decided she wanted her hair braided every day, as she could run around at recess and lunch and not have it in her face.

Rose did that task on auto-pilot, felt as if she was high. Not a good, happy trip, but one lower, sorrowful, which reminded her of Colin. Was Garth like his brother? Was he turning into some depressed druggie? Was _that_ the worst of which Petra feared?

It put the fear into Rose and she cuddled her child. Liam was chatty, even during baseball. They lay on the long couch, an old sofa bed that needed to be replaced, but it sagged in all the right spots, and Rose felt to be losing her grip. Losing the edge necessary to stay awake, take responsibility. What had happened to Colin might be happening to Garth.

"Honey, why don't you go to bed?"

Gray's voice punctured Rose's cozy bubble and instantly she was alert, the mommy reflex, which had saved her butt the few times she'd been stoned around the kids. Only twice, maybe three incidents when she had come home from a show and one of them had been ill or needy, and Rose had never been so thankful that whatever had happened within her body upon Emory's birth seemed to snap to attention at those moments. Again she was reminded of her life; even with only two children, Rose Burnett would always be someone's mother.

"No, I'm fine, really."

"C'mere Liam," Gray said.

The boy stretched out his arms, then went to his father. "Daddy, I'm not tired."

"I know, but Mommy is. Come on Mommy. Time for bed."

"Daddy, I'm not tired," Rose said.

Liam laughed. "He's not YOUR daddy!"

"He's my something, that's for sure." Rose stood, then felt her entire body collapse. Not to the floor, but from within. Gray was right, she did need to go to bed. At least Emory's hair was done and Rose nodded to her husband, Gray's comfortable hand leading her from the TV's noise, then down the hall. Rose also heard Liam cackling that _he_ would be up later than Mommy that night.

Rose used the bathroom, hearing Gray usher Liam out, then close their door. She emerged naked, walking to her side of the bed. The cami top she wore lay on her pillow, waiting for her.

"You want some panties?" Gray asked.

"I don't know. You gonna attack me in the middle of the night?"

"I don't know. Is Liam gonna fall out of bed again?"

She laughed. "Gray, something's going on with Petra and Garth. She was gonna tell me and then Alicia called."

She nodded toward her underwear drawer and Gray retrieved a pair of bikinis. "You have any idea?"

Dressed for bed, Rose lay down, not even pulling back the bedding. "No and that's the worst. What she said, the worst thing was... And then fucking Alicia calls and I never did find out. And I have no idea and Liam watched _Sesame Street_ and instead of me knowing the worst about Garth all I know is the worst about Elmo." She laughed again. "Gray, can I ask you something?"

He smiled. "Sure."

"You don't know anything do you?"

"No."

She nodded. "Gray, can I ask you something else?"

"Yeah. What?"

For a few seconds Rose thought about asking if he wanted another baby. Had that been it? Had Garth wanted Petra to try to get pregnant? That would be the worst, for it would kill her. Kill her, and them, all in one request. Instead Rose smiled. "Gray, you don't like Elmo, do you?"

She felt his kiss on her lips, then a chuckle. Yet, as if she had asked about another child, Gray Burnett never gave her a response.

Chapter 8: Asking About Elmo

Petra and Garth didn't have any more sex with each other and Petra didn't sleep at her sister's house either. She slept alone, in her messy apartment, thinking about her life.

In the days running up to Aunt Margaret's funeral, Petra finished an article, also writing to a few people who had read her book. Her memoirs, _Girl Without a Heart_ , had been written three years after her transplant, but still she received letters from people like herself, or their families, some as young as she had been, only twenty-five years old, some older, all ages really, for now the surgery was more successful, even if donors were still scarce.

Within Petra Margaret Robinson beat the heart of a young man, one having died after a car accident. In twenty-eight-year-old Jake Ashby's death, Petra's life had been returned to her, and while sometimes she felt bad for that man's family, her own had rejoiced.

The scar on her chest had faded over the years, fourteen years, but it would never disappear. A daily reminder, as well as drugs she took to keep that heart from recalling its origins; what Petra swallowed literately and figuratively, accepting her existence as a congruence of pieces here and there, time borrowed, stolen perhaps? Had she stolen someone else's life?

Hers had been fraught with issues, her heart the biggest, but brittle bone disease wasn't any fun, nor had it been conducive losing the use of part of her right lung. That she was given Jake Ashby's heart at all had been in question with other outstanding health issues, yet, it was hers and except for getting stoned every once in a while, Petra tried to never waste a day.

Over the weekend she did manage some cleaning and Rose had come by to help. Petra's sister seemed distracted, but they only spoke of Margaret, and that now Alicia was the eldest of the family. Petra smiled when Rose brought that up. Alicia was a bigger flake than any of them!

Petra wasn't looking forward to the service. She didn't like funerals to begin with, but had gone to some in her life. To Colin's, sitting next to her sister, although Rose had been stoic. They also sat beside each other at their parents' service, but Rose had cried then, leaning away from Petra into her husband's arms. Petra flinched inwardly when thinking of Gray, only in that he was Rose's husband, a title now carrying an unwelcome notion.

What Garth wanted to be to Petra, the worst that could happen. He wanted them to get married.

She hadn't told Rose because after having such a hissy fit that morning, the more she thought about it, the less _bad_ it seemed. There were certainly things much worse than Garth wanting to marry her, but Petra had been so stunned by his desire to make their roller coaster relationship permanent, the amazement had scared the crap out of her. Now she wouldn't say anything to Rose as it was ridiculous. Petra had told her sister so many other parts of her life, but this was different. This wasn't only what Garth thought they needed, but the last thing Petra wanted, and yet, it seemed to be what _most_ people managed.

Most people in long term relationships did make a commitment to one another. Sometimes it didn't work out, like Buster and Gloria, but even with Lovie, Petra hadn't wanted to tie the knot. Rose and Gray had, within weeks, which was some part of Petra's reluctance to tell Rose. That and mostly she had made such a big deal out of it, now Rose would laugh at her.

Petra's pride had gotten her into trouble before, but if nothing else, she was older. She owned a second chance on life. She did not want to be forty years old, marrying her stoner boyfriend just for the sake of it. And she didn't want to share all this with Rose.

Instead they spoke of the funeral, Aunt Margaret, Alicia, the kids. Gray and Elmo, and Elmo seemed to be making his way more and more into the conversation. Finally Petra asked. "Rose, what in the hell is it with you and Elmo?"

Rose's face turned down, as if guilty. "Petra, I think Gray wants another baby."

"What?"

They stood on opposite sides of Petra's kitchen, Rose going through cupboards, looking for tea. "I said," she sighed, "I think Gray wants another baby."

"I thought it was Liam who wanted another baby."

"Well, now I think they both do."

"Well, Gray's a lot more reasonable than Liam," Petra laughed.

"Yeah, but I don't know if Gray KNOWS he wants another baby."

"Oh Jesus!"

Rose shared all her suspicions and Petra let her ramble. Better for Rose to have lots to say than Petra having to define _The Worst_. Rose never bought it up and Petra only listened as Rose moaned and griped, then turned reflective.

"Rose, do YOU want another baby?"

"No," she said, giving another sigh. "I mean, not really. No actually, I don't. If it were up to me, no."

"Well, isn't it up to you?" Petra smiled.

Rose smiled too. "Yeah, I mean, ultimately. Gray wouldn't flush my pills down the toilet, but..."

As if _The Worst_ hovered, Petra watched her sister squirm while taking teabags from the box.

"But what?" Petra asked, hoping Rose wouldn't turn the tables on her.

Rose didn't. "But I love him and if he wanted to..."

"You'd do it."

Rose sighed. "Yeah, I think. I think I would."

"But he has to ask you first, right?"

Rose nodded. "And see, I don't think he knows it yet. I mean, maybe. Maybe, but probably not. If he thinks he does, he's also only thinking it's all Liam's caterwauling. And I could say that and you know Gray."

A nice guy, Petra smiled. He was nice and if Petra did ever marry anyone, it would be someone like Gray. Nice, responsible, maybe bland to others, but Rose's husband wasn't boring. Did they even make guys like Gray anymore, Petra wondered. "Yeah, he'd just chalk it up to Liam, then still fuck your brains out."

Rose laughed. "Yeah, that's about it. But see, I know he's thinking about it. And, well..."

Petra saw confusion, angst. Rose hated angst. She hated crying, wallowing in self pity. She hated things out of order, being late, being separated from her husband. And, Petra knew, being away from her kids. Rose didn't work because she liked being at home, but now those children were moving further from her, and what would Rose choose? Motherhood again or stepping out of her comfort zone? Rose loved being in her surroundings, which were her house, the band, her nighttime walks that Petra found so odd. Only her sister would want to walk in the dark!

Only her sister; Petra could say that in conjunction with Rose about lots of things. Only her sister would keep Emory and Liam away from the computer and television, only her sister would buy them Pop Tarts without frosting. Only Rose would fuck Gray out in the open, but not want to have another baby with him. Only Rose and Petra sighed. "Why don't you ask him?"

"I tried to, but..."

"What?"

"I only ended up asking him if he liked Elmo."

"ELMO?" Petra roared. "Why?"

Rose had the teabags in cups, was waiting for the water to boil. Both sisters owned electric kettles, Petra sure she'd had one first, but Rose claimed she'd been the one to buy Petra's for her.

"Because I knew if I asked him he'd tell me the truth. God, what does that say?"

"And the truth is..."

Rose poured the water. "The truth is he does, but he doesn't know it. And if I bring it up, then he'll know it and then..."

"Then," Petra said, taking Rose's larger hands in her own. "You'll have another baby."

Tea was brewing, and as Rose didn't cry, but only sniffed, Petra found a small tempest in Rose's life was developing too.

Monday was Labor Day and Rose had her usual crew over for dinner. Petra came alone and Garth didn't show up, but everyone else was present, and since most of them were men, they stood in the backyard while Gray commandeered the grill. In the house, Rose and her sister continued their conversation, using code.

"So, did you ask him about Elmo?" Petra started, once Lovie left the room.

"Yeah, I mean, I did ask him about Elmo."

"Like _Elmo Elmo_?" Petra smiled.

Rose nodded, taking precut vegetables out of bags. She arranged them on a tray, then set them on the counter, near the dips. "Yeah, like _Elmo Elmo_. The real Elmo. And he said he didn't have an opinion."

"My god," Petra laughed, then quieted as Michael approached.

"What are you ladies chatting about?" he asked, reaching for a carrot.

" _Sesame Street_ ," Rose said. "Is he ready for the meat?"

Michael Roddy nodded. "Yeah and the sauce too. Is the cheese sliced?"

Rose gathered those items from the fridge. "Can you get it all?"

"Yeah," his tone flat.

How he always spoke and Petra would never forget having slept with him. Every time she saw him, which was often, it rankled in her head. Why that was, she wasn't sure. Some sort of reminder of the fragility of life and why she shouldn't waste it. She had wasted a weekend on Michael Roddy and thirteen years it still haunted her.

He balanced the sauce and cheese in one hand, the platter of hamburger patties in the other. Rose opened the sliding glass door in the dining room, then returned to the kitchen, pulling salads from the crisper tray.

"Why do you keep them in there?" Petra asked. Once Michael was gone, it was as if that weekend vanished from existence.

"Oh, only more room. Listen, for tomorrow, you want to come over here in the morning?"

Rose would drive them to Sessay and Petra nodded. "Yeah, that's fine. Rose?"

"What?"

"You should ask him. I mean, for yourself too. Or else it'll drive you crazy."

Rose's back had been to her sister and she looked out the small kitchen window. Petra wasn't sure what she saw, but it held Rose's attention.

"What?" Petra asked.

"Pet, if I ask him, that's it. Either it'll be no, which I don't think is the case, or it'll be what I do think he wants."

Petra noticed Rose still hadn't looked her way.

"And if it is, well..."

"Yeah?" Petra wondered if another child for Rose would be _The Worst_.

Rose didn't answer and Petra knew it was because Rose wasn't sure.

That night all the men except Gray got stoned. Petra had a few tokes and Rose was tempted. Only her children kept her straight.

Only that or else Rose Robinson Burnett would have reverted to her former ways, not even needing to shed Gray's last name, just set that joint between her lips, inhale that luscious scent. The scent, the fumes, all of it, then let her mind go.

She didn't and no one else did either until Emory and Liam were in bed. Then adults sat in the backyard, men that Rose had known for years, letting their hair down. Their hair, inhibitions, but that night, Garth wasn't among them.

Probably why Lovie wasn't as mopey as usual. Petra sat next to him, away from Michael, which Rose always noted. Petra was laughing, feeling content. Rose didn't feel that great, only because of what she needed to exhale, needed to remove. Inhaling anything wouldn't have done her a bit of good.

Then the men began chatting and first it was all about the band. They had a gig in a couple of weeks, needed to practice. Buster offered that they were becoming fat and lazy. Michael refuted that; he wasn't fat at all.

"All you guys are getting tubby. I'm fine."

Gray had laughed, a beer in hand. He'd had a few while cooking the meat, a few during dinner, and now a few more. Rose knew they wouldn't have sex that night. She'd be happy if he made it to bed by himself.

Then the conversation moved to where Rose and Petra were heading tomorrow and the men spoke freely of the dead. Lovie and Buster's folks were gone, Rose and Petra's of course, and Gray's. Were Michael's parents still alive, Rose asked.

He nodded. "Yeah, big health nuts."

"Oh I remember that," Gray nodded.

Rose rolled her eyes. What her husband remembered that night wasn't going to be much. Then she had an idea. Once everyone had gone, she could ask him about Elmo, but not the _real_ Elmo. Petra would drive Lovie and Buster home, why she only took a few tokes. She'd had nothing to drink and Michael would call a cab. He probably hadn't even dreamed of asking Petra for a ride.

The group spoke of dead parents, then Colin, but only because Garth wasn't there. It didn't bother Rose in the least, and she talked too, how odd it was that now so many years had gone by.
So many years but Rose only had one number in her head; four. It had been four years since Liam was born and if Gray did want another baby, five years would separate Liam from the highly desired sibling. Five years, one more than the four that came between the Emory brothers. Four years but now even more, sixteen years since Colin was alive.

One day it would be that many since Aunt Margaret and by then, Rose's children would be out of the house. But not if she had another. Even if they got pregnant next month, Rose would still be thirty-seven years old and having a baby. Perhaps Megan McMahon didn't mind, but Rose had set that aside. Looking at her husband, she wondered; had Gray?

After speaking of Colin a breeze swirled, Rose also wondering if the dead had heard them. She never felt her parents were close, never felt Colin was. Would she sense Aunt Margaret? She doubted it. She knew when people were _going_ to die, but not of them afterwards. Rose hoped she would never know about her husband or their children. She wanted to go first, before everyone else, then she wouldn't have to worry, never be leery. She could be blissfully unaware, and then she thought about Elmo.

If she asked Gray, even with him pretty wasted, he would tell her. The few times he'd been this drunk, Rose had muttered one question or another, and Gray had been honest. Once it had been about Michael and Petra, and instead Rose learned that Michael had been in love with _her_! That had been disturbing and while finding out if Gray wanted another baby wasn't on that scale, did Rose really want to know?

People began making excuses, the wind feeling sharp. No one would smoke inside; all walked around the side of the house, only Rose going in, collecting keys, wallets, and leftovers sent home with single men. Even Michael had a plate waiting and he never took home food.

Rose doled out containers of cooked meat and salads, Michael's first as his cab was waiting. Lovie asked for some extra veggies with dip and Rose gave him his last, then a kiss. She knew Lovie was curious as to Garth's absence, but he hadn't said a thing. Rose loved him, but Petra needed to make that announcement. Maybe she would tell Buster and Lovie on the drive.

Rose wrapped arms around the tall, tubular man, but couldn't link her fingers around him. She tried and he laughed. "Hey Rosie, I'm getting fat, remember? Michael's such an asshole."

"Yeah, he is. And you're just fine."

"You're sweet. Next time, Gray stays sober. You get the buzz."

"Uh-huh," she giggled.

Charles 'Lovie' Jones walked with an unintentional swagger towards Petra's car and her Prius sunk once he was seated. Rose wondered if those hybrids were meant for more than two small people, but Petra sped away with ease.

In the house the scent of barbecue floated, but not pot. That was fine with Rose and she only put a few more items in the dishwasher. She ran it, hearing the soft hum.

That hum followed to her room, where she heard Gray starting to snore. She smiled. Even if she had wanted to ask him, he was already asleep.

Rose checked the doors, all were locked. Back in their room the din was like a train. Rose was tired, which was good, because Gray was snoring to beat the band, any band, even their band. She laughed to herself while getting undressed, putting on a cami top, then underwear. He wouldn't be horny that night.

He might be hung over in the morning and she smiled. How long had it been since Gray went to work feeling rough? A few years maybe and Rose was glad she hadn't enjoyed even one toke. She would wake feeling so good, not having to walk, only getting the kids ready. Then herself, for a funeral.

That set her back. Rose's aunt was dead, the last direct tie to her mother. Petra was the next one, Alicia far down the chain. Before Alicia came Emory and Liam, but they had never met Judith and Don Robinson. Didn't know any grandparents, rare small tears forming in Rose's eyes. They hurt, coming so infrequently; maybe she should cry every once in a while so when she did weep, it wouldn't hurt so much.

Rose got into bed, turning away from Gray. He didn't notice, not at first, and Rose wiped those painful tears with the sheet. But as if he could sense her sorrow, Gray snorted, waking himself. He rolled her way, wrapping his intoxicated, warm body along hers.

He wasn't hard at all, only kind, loving, touchy. He smelled like a brewery, but his hands were pleasant, aware. Rose realized that some part of Gray Burnett, no matter how drunk, sick, or tired, knew her. Recognized her needs, her wants, how to touch her, or when to stay away. That wasn't often and not how she felt now.

"Rosie?" he asked, using a name that only Lovie employed.

"Yeah Gray?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure Gray. What is it?"

As he spoke, Rose felt more knives fall from her eyes. They landed in her chest, poking through her cami top, imbedding themselves within her skin. Still, she would answer him.

"You want another baby with me?" Gray had mumbled.

Rose found her head nodding, as if disconnected from the rest of her body. "Yeah Gray. I think maybe I do."

Chapter 9: Lives And Deaths

As Rose drove toward Sessay, she listened to Petra's words, then considered the few spoken with Gray that morning. He had stirred with a hangover, an erection, and a few tears.

After they made love, very gently because of Gray's massive headache, Rose told him she loved him, and that they would talk later. Later, because he was already delayed, still needing a shower. Also because Rose was ambivalent about more children and the answer she gave him.

Petra said nothing about Elmo or another niece or nephew. Only that she disliked funerals, but didn't hate them. Petra didn't like using that word; if she did hate something, it would have to be consuming for her to say it as such. Rose assumed Petra hated Michael, but even toward him, Petra only sighed.

Rose let her sister carry the chatter, trying to decide if she _did_ want another baby. Sex with Gray that morning was the sort when one was suffering from illness. Sex that was tender, not overly engaged, as if Gray had a bad cold, not the consequences from a night of boozing.

Not the kind of sex they had when trying to make a baby, Rose remembering that well. Those few months, for it hadn't taken them long to conceive, were of moments so precious, affectionate, no drink or drugs near. Rose had quit and Gray did too, in support. Lifting that haze had been a part of discovering the love people made when babies were the focus, the cherished simplicity of what intercourse had originally been intended, the continuation of the human race. When it came to that aspect, all the couple's previous fucking seemed tawdry, whether it was in their own bed or standing backstage at a gig. Somehow, love made attempting to create a family owned a special meaning, set far above their usual antics.

Rose had made love with Gray in so many positions and with various connotations, perhaps until one of them was dying, they wouldn't discover any more. They had loved as young people, then as a married couple, engaging each other after the rare times they argued. Neither had ever cheated, that sort of making-up sex Rose _never_ wished to explore. Petra had, and from her description, it was brutal.

Other than aging, death, or infidelity, Rose decided she and Gray had done it with every other possible emotional tie. Adding to their family fell under the same category she'd known when they made Liam, just another baby. Yet, Rose sighed, that wasn't altogether true.

If they did try again, this time it would be different.

It would be altered because this baby wasn't her idea, it was Gray's. Emory had been a joint decision, Liam mostly from Rose, only in that another child was desired, but Rose hadn't wanted to wait. She was thirty at Emory's birth, didn't wish to be an older mom, one of the reasons she hesitated now. Thirty-seven sounded too close to forty and Rose didn't want to be _that_ old. Right now was the precipice; it was either sink or swim.

Rose loved being close to Gray in the water, their children nearby. She also loved feeling her body drenched in her husband's fluids, and her memories of pregnancy, while not one of her most enjoyable physical stages, certainly weren't bad. She'd loved having a child inside her, not the morning sickness that accompanied it. Or the swollen feet or leaking bladder or heartburn... Rose smiled, a long list of things she had assumed were behind her.

And now, it would be worse. Not _The Worst_ , of which Petra still wouldn't speak. She told Rose that Buster and Lovie knew things with Garth were over. Over was a pretty definite word, Rose said, listening for important pieces of conversation. Her head spun, but she could pay attention to Petra.

"What about, well..." Rose stuttered.

"What?" Petra's voice edgy.

Not _The Worst_ , although Rose was dying to ask. "Michael. Is he just gonna find out when you have someone else around?"

Petra laughed and Rose knew it was because she hadn't pressed. Usually bringing up Michael was waving a red flag. Whatever _The Worst_ had been with Garth, it was worse than Michael.

Which meant a few things; Michael had been bad for Petra, but hadn't killed her. More now of a thorn, which seemed silly to Rose. It had been thirteen years ago and yet Petra acted like she'd just screwed him last month. But she hadn't, it had been Garth and whatever he had done was something of which Rose's sister didn't want to speak. She had started to, having been waylaid by Alicia, not returning to that subject. Again, Rose wouldn't mention it, preferring to be distracted by what might _The Worst_ for her and Gray.

"Oh Michael. Well, if he asks, I'll tell him."

"He will," Rose smiled. "You know he will."

Petra laughed again. "Yeah, maybe I'll tell him Garth was getting too thin."

Rose laughed and it felt good. They discussed what an ass Michael was, but that yes, Lovie had put on weight. "It's all Cassandra's fault," Petra sighed.

Rose agreed. Lovie's girlfriend had left him in June and over the summer he'd drowned his sorrows in weed and fast food. Rose guessed he had gained at least twenty pounds, but Petra shook her head.

"More like forty," she sighed. "And he wasn't small before that."

Lovie Jones had always been large, in height when they were younger, now in girth, more than his six foot one inch frame could well support. When he and Petra had been together he'd weighed a little over two hundred pounds. If he was now two-seventy-five, Rose wouldn't be surprised.

They spoke of those men, Buster too, and of his failed reconciliation with Gloria. Buster's ex-wife had never been able to get too far from him, even though she had initiated the divorce. Neither Rose nor her sister thought it had been for any good reason, but what came afterwards was close to _The Worst_ for the band's bassist. For Buster, and his family.

Children torn from their father and Rose shuddered; would she be doing that to Gray if she told him _no_? More melodramatic nonsense, Rose sighed, spotting Sessay in the distance. They were ten minutes from Alicia's, the cemetery on the far side of town. Rose had kept very few things from Gray, not details of her life or her body, not any part of _her_. There were things she kept from herself, emotions and memories, but Gray knew those. Now it was a sort of denial, but at one point or another, Gray Burnett had heard every single speck that Rose Robinson could remember, recall, emit or pass along, in one manner or another, all but one that had to do more with her sister than Rose herself. Rose hid things from herself after purging them, but felt that was all right. Gray had a hold of what Rose couldn't keep close.

Except another baby. That could only come from Rose, only out of her body would that begin. Gray wanted a baby, of that Rose was sure, that and now he was aware too. And now that Gray knew, Rose inhaled, was it only a matter of time?

At Alicia Hester's house, Rose sat on a couch, feeling tired. Too much in her head and around grieving relatives, a weight descended as it had at her parents' funeral and at Colin's. People of whom she'd been aware time was fleeting, and again, Rose had known with her aunt. If she thought it would have helped her cousin, Rose would have told Alicia. Seeing her so weepy, aching, and tipsy, Rose had to wonder. If Alicia had known, would she be any different?

Probably not, and Rose took a sip of Petra's wine. They would spend the afternoon here so Rose didn't need a glass now, only one drink. Petra had a full portion from which to share.

It was only twelve thirty and the wine had been offered as a way to break the ice, loosen chains. Rose didn't need to be any looser than she already was, everything with Gray sloshing in her head. Maybe why Petra held a glass, the same for her and Garth. Whatever _The Worst_ was for that couple, it was far worse than a baby.

Enough to break them apart. If they'd been together, Rose wondered if Garth would be here, next to them. He could take a day off work, find someone to deliver the mail on his route. Not all that hard, but he was walking the streets of Evanston that early afternoon, not sitting next to his girlfriend of the last five years. Five years; right when Petra and Garth were getting together, Rose and Gray were making a baby, making the decision, then came Liam. It went hand in hand, another new life for Rose and one for her sister. Petra had fallen in love with Garth only a few months after splitting with Lovie and for as messy as those days were, Rose never forgot her sister's joy with Colin's older brother. The women shared their bliss; Rose had wanted to add to her family and Petra had wished to be in love. Desired it, then found it again, poor Lovie left in the dust. That relationship had been crumbling since Emory's birth, a slow, silent misery that ended in the beginning of 2004, Rose wondering if Petra would be all right. As Rose adjusted to motherhood, she only wanted her sister to feel a similar contentment. Petra couldn't have a baby, but she could have another boyfriend. No one assumed it would be Garth.

Rose missed his presence, wishing she knew of _The Worst_ , wishing it hadn't been so bad for her sister and Colin's brother. The foursome had shared so many good times, Petra the first to hold Liam after his parents, Garth the second. Those two had come in as soon as Rose felt ready to see others and sharing her son with them had made her cry. Rose wept so infrequently, felt last night's tears still stuck in her chest. But those with her new son had been freely shed, one little boy born for another that had shot himself. No one in that room, other than the midwife and nurses, mistook it for otherwise.

That Petra had found love with Colin's brother wasn't lost to Rose; had it been fate, the older siblings making up for what those younger had been denied? Yet, that was romanticizing it; by the time Colin was dead, Rose was over him. She didn't love him with fervor, only fear. Fear and anxiety and she'd been proven right. They had been intimate and it was nice, but not stirring, not exciting or passionate. Had Colin known? Was that why he killed himself at that moment?

Rose was unsure, felt odd considering Colin Emory on her Aunt Margaret's day. He'd meant enough to her that Emory was named for him, Gray not minding. He hadn't been bothered at all that Rose wanted to name their first child for her dead boyfriend, and that Emory was female was even better. Maybe if Rose's first offspring had been male, she might have reconsidered.

But first came a girl, Emory Calla. Then a son, Liam Grayson, for his father. And now another baby. Gray wanted another child. And Rose still didn't know what to do.

During the service, Rose pondered her own life, not paying attention to her aunt's funeral. With Petra's hand in hers, Rose heard Alicia's copious tears and those of her daughter. Rose shed none, didn't feel good or bad about it. She felt sorry her aunt had died, but as to her own lack of display, it was how Rose had always been. Even before Colin's death, Rose rarely cried.

She'd been a stoic child, one happy enough, but sorrow seemed wasteful. Especially with all of Petra's health woes, Rose again like her mother in that respect. Judith Robinson had wept occasionally, but not as much as people might have suspected with a daughter so frail. At least Rose is fine, Judith had said.

Which was Rose's view too. She was fine, healthy as a horse. While Petra battled illness, Rose strode ahead, not breaking a bone. Or a nail; Rose's childhood had been one spent singing along with her mother, making the best of their situation. Petra was delicate but Rose was thankful her sister was alive.

There was no time or reason for sorrow. Petra kept kicking and as long as that was the case, young Rose Robinson saw no purpose for crocodile tears. What was the use, she had asked her mother when others fretted over Petra. It wasn't until Rose was in her teens that she became fully cognizant of the extent of Petra's fragility, but even then, why weep? That Petra was still alive was reason to rejoice. They weren't a religious family, but Rose did feel her sister had some sort of guardian angel looking over her, and that was proven when Petra's heart finally gave out.

Rose noted the mourners around her, her aunt active in Sessay's community. A large turnout, but because Petra sat in a wheelchair, Rose had a seat beside her, right behind Alicia and her kids. The only blood family and if Rose had been alone, her youth might have seen her standing in the back even though she was the deceased's niece. More cotton heads gathered than Rose had seen in years, her parents' funeral attended by people of their generation, not quite sixty. Here the average age looked around seventy-five.

She and Petra were some of the youngest, only beating out Craig, Chris, and Kelly for that title. They were the grandchildren and the only ones under thirty. Then Rose felt not quite so old. At thirty-six, she was the fourth-youngest person there.

Fourth-youngest; maybe that wasn't too old to have a baby. Alicia was forty-two, beyond where Rose would want to be getting knocked up, but thirty-six wasn't creaky, not really. Not in present days certainly. What did age really matter, Rose then pondered, as friends of her aunt stepped forward to say a few words. Rose didn't listen to them, only her own intellect, trying to rationalize, trying to get to where Gray was. Rose didn't like being far away from him.

Not in distance or in mind. His absence wasn't an issue. While Rose wished for Garth on Petra's other side, Gray hadn't needed to take a day off. He would come home from work, Lise keeping an eye on Emory and Liam, and Rose preferred it this way, her husband to send Lise home. That Gray loved being with their children was another reason Rose couldn't dismiss. Couldn't discount how much he loved them, what a good father he was. She hadn't known that when she first slept with him, had she?

They hadn't spoken of children in those early days, only each other. And Colin, but Rose had only alleviated her mind, no passionate notions left for that man. She had loved him, but it was over, and then he died. Easier, she accepted then and now, making Colin's death so much easier.

Aunt Margaret's death wasn't all that tough, Rose sighed. She wasn't even paying attention, consumed with her own thoughts, but there were so many! A baby, Gray wanted another baby. He'd asked her last night, inhibitions long gone. Most of his senses were too, why he'd figured it out. Sometimes Gray thought best when drunk or buzzed. He was a good guitarist with a few beers down his gullet, only getting sloppy after five or six. After the many he'd consumed last night, his brain had clicked. Maybe it was so hidden it took tying one on to find it. The last time Gray had been that wasted, Rose couldn't even remember.

Now it was out. Gray had found what he wanted, found it and asked her. They couldn't go back, because he remembered it that morning, and the way he'd made love to her was slightly reminiscent of making love five years ago when Petra and Garth were just falling in love, when Liam was being considered. Even the pre-baby-making sex was within Rose's inspection, very intimate with a hint of _what if?_ What if we do this, what if we decide to add to our family? What if Gray's sperm meets up with Rose's egg? What if and what then?

What if, Rose wondered, hearing Alicia's loud cries. Rose peeked down the row to her left, Carl Hester wiping his eyes. Alicia's ex wasn't sitting in the front, but had been allowed the second row, where Rose and Petra sat. Two old women were between Rose and Carl and they seemed heartbroken. Older than Margaret; were they crying for their eventual destination? Many of the mourners seemed far more infirm than Rose's aunt. When that age was reached, was it only a matter of who came next?

These people were immune to thoughts Rose owned. No more procreation for them, only the grave. Because none of them were related to her, Rose had no idea who was going next. Several candidates stood out; the woman beside Rose shook with what could be Parkinson's disease, her thin, bony hands gripping a ratty tissue, and Rose offered her a new one.

"Oh thank you sweetie," the woman answered, patting Rose's leg. "Are you okay?"

Rose nodded as another woman approached the podium. "She was my aunt, my mother's sister."

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" The woman looked cautiously to the front, then down past Rose. "Where's your mother?"

"She died ten years ago," Rose whispered as another speaker began.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!"

"Thank you," Rose smiled.

She had noted the woman's eyes on her when she wasn't full of her own thoughts, eyes that seemed suspicious of Rose's calm demeanor. Now her lack of tears was excused. Her mother was already dead.

After that exchange Rose paid attention, for it seemed to be nearing the end. They had been sitting for long enough, then she felt guilty as Alicia heaved another round of sobs. Rose had cried some at her parents' service, but her outburst upon telling Gray her parents were _going_ to die muted much of the aftermath. Rose had never asked her mother why she was so tearless, had something happened to her? Only at moments like this did Rose feel awkward about her dry eyes. Even Petra was crying, but maybe it wasn't only for Aunt Margaret.

Petra squeezed Rose's hand as the pastor spoke, Margaret's body committed back to where it came. Ashes to ashes and all that, and Rose tuned out again. After this, she would wheel Petra to where their parents were buried, then head to one of Alicia's neighbors for the reception. Because they were the only other blood family, Rose and Petra would stay until the end, which was fine. Rose would mingle with senior citizens much closer to their own funerals than she was to hers. She was only in her mid-thirties after all, plenty of time left for Rose Burnett.

Was there time for another little Burnett too? Rose almost felt a tear with that notion. Almost, but none emerged. She hadn't cried when she and Gray talked of conceiving Emory and Liam, no test for Rose to have failed there. She had wept when they were born, wishing her mother was at her side, wiping her eyes as Garth held Liam, so much in Garth's face like Colin, if Colin had lived. What Colin would have looked like growing older, but instead he was always twenty-one. Garth was now in his forties, with no children of his own. Garth, Petra, Lovie, even Michael; none of them had reproduced, not successfully.

But Rose had and the question remained; would she again? After wrestling with that all morning, then during Margaret's service, Rose still didn't have an answer. Not that Gray would demand one when she got home. Maybe he had thought about it all day too, when not reaching for more painkiller. She smiled, her hung-over spouse suffering through a day of teenagers. Maybe after that, Gray might think two kids were just fine. If nothing else, Rose could tell Gray she'd done nothing _but_ think about another baby, and even there, at a funeral, she was no closer to an answer. Maybe that was an answer unto itself; if Rose couldn't be moved by death to want another child, perhaps nothing would do it.

Petra emitted a long sigh and Rose knew that sound. It wasn't about their dead aunt, but who else was missing. Inside her body Rose felt a twinge, near her heart, then lower. Her period hovered, but it wasn't even that, not the low backache that preceded cramps which led to bleeding. It was deeper, connected to her perfectly healthy heart, one that beat strong and regular. One that loved a man so much and Rose's tears fell. None for her aunt, only for Gray, and what he wouldn't even say but feel if she said _no_.

It was then that Rose turned to her sister, hearing the woman next to her. "There there dearie, it's all right. She's in a much better place now."

Falling into Petra's lap, Rose nodded, finding within herself a husband's love and what could be made from it.

Chapter 10: A Right Turn At Jesus

Alicia fell into Rose's arms, probably the strongest, Rose thought, as everyone else except Petra, Carl, and the teenagers were just too old to hug with much force.

Rose had shook Carl's hand as soon as the service ended. She hadn't been able to reach her cousin until most were gone, but Rose had let others comfort Alicia first. Plenty of time for them to hold each other once the seniors had moved on.

"You okay?" Rose asked.

"Oh Christ no," Alicia sighed. "Rose, what am I gonna do?"

Rose wasn't sure. Alicia and Margaret were as tight as Rose had been with Judith, but Alicia was Margaret's only child, so much those two shared, especially after Alicia divorced Carl. Margaret's sudden passing made this more difficult, Rose feeling a fresh round of sobs hurled like vomit from Alicia's body.

As if she could expel this place, what had happened; Rose clung more tightly, remembering how she'd stood with Gray's assistance at this same cemetery ten years before. She had wept a small amount, just enough so people knew she wasn't pretending it hadn't happened. Just enough for Rose, but Alicia had many more tears to shed.

"Baby, just let it out," Rose said, aware Alicia would do just that.

"Oh god Rose, all I've done is cry! Shit, I'm sick of it!" And then she wept more.

Rose saw her sister in the shade with a woman who wasn't much taller than Petra in her chair. Petra's hand was being patted and Rose fought a smile, Petra looking as if only she could just wheel far away.

"Mom, we need to go," Craig whispered.

"Oh yeah, right. Rose, you guys coming?"

Rose released her, feeling her cousin not wanting this part to end. Once they left, Margaret was gone.

All a mother had been would cease as soon as a daughter left this spot, this place of rest where people were buried and the living couldn't stay. Alicia wanted to plant herself right alongside her mother and Rose let go of her cousin with small, jerking motions, as if to say she understood. "Oh yeah honey, we'll be there. Just gonna stop and see Mom and Dad."

"Hang a right at Jesus?" Alicia said with a weak smile.

Rose nodded, not hiding her own. "Yeah. We won't be long."

"Okay. We'll see you in a bit."

Alicia's words stayed with Rose as she touched her cousin's cheek, wiping some of the wetness, but not all. Alicia seemed to leak a continuous flow that would be on tap for days, if not weeks, to come.

Moving back, Rose allowed Alicia's oldest son to take his mom's hand, then pull her next to him. Craig Hester stood a whole head taller than his mother and looked just like his father. Driving to the cemetery, Rose and Petra had discussed those kids, but Petra had disagreed, thinking only Chris, the middle child, looked like his dad. Rose stared as Carl approached his ex-wife and son, their other two children trailing behind.

"You ready?" Petra called to her.

Rose smiled, the short woman still jabbering away. "Yeah. Let's go see the folks."

That seemed to rattle the old woman, who again patted Petra's head, ire formed on Petra's face.

She wheeled herself to Rose as if to show she was still in fine form. "My god but I wanted to just haul off and..."

"Now now dearie," Rose giggled. "A right turn awaits us."

As they passed where Margaret would be set into the ground, Rose pushed her sister, staying along the roadway. Petra would have to walk once they reached the statue of Christ, then they would head right, twenty feet into the lawn. Rose remembered where their parents were buried exactly as Alicia described it, making a right turn at Jesus.

The statue stood eight feet tall with a fountain around it, bordered by a concrete walkway. Not wide or smooth enough for a wheelchair, but Petra was fine that day, could have sat in a regular seat. Rose hadn't been sure how difficult parking might be, not having been at this cemetery since their parents were buried. She hadn't used Petra's placard, other infirm mourners more deserving. Nor had Petra's chair needed to be front and center.

Yet, they had been and now it was over. For Rose, it was truly over, but Alicia's pain would linger. Rose had felt it, deep and lasting. Alicia would be a mess for ages, but Margaret was her mother, and Rose wouldn't begrudge Alicia that time, no scale by which to measure. Rose had mourned Judith a good while, wishing her mom had lived long enough to see her grandchildren. Then Rose thought of Gray.

Everything came back to him, even in death, back to Gray and a baby. As the sisters reached the statue, Rose moved the chair just off the concrete, then stared to the grass. Her mother and father had chosen this spot, which Rose still didn't understand, other than perhaps they didn't want their daughters to come and sit near them. Neither sister trekked out here to visit their parents, but Rose was sure Alicia would be making this a frequent stop.

Walking with Petra's arm in her own, Rose looked to the stones, names she didn't know, only three people in these grounds with which she was familiar. Rose's chest tightened; how might her life have been different if her mother was next to her, maybe on Petra's other side. Maybe her father would be dead, or maybe it would be Rose and Judith, Petra with Don, but they wouldn't be walking this way, about ready to make that right turn.

If Rose's parents were alive, they'd all be heading to Alicia's neighbor's house by now.

"It doesn't seem as tall." Petra looked straight up the statue. "I'd have sworn it was bigger."

"I don't remember." Rose felt strange being there. Now she knew why her parents were buried in Sessay and maybe even why so close to the statue. Easy to find once you were there, then you didn't have to poke about, missing those dead.

"I'd have bet ten bucks it was double this size," Petra continued. "It almost looks, well, minuscule."

"Uh-huh," Rose added, feeling chilled.

"You know, it's really pretty out here. I wonder why they chose Sessay, I mean, other than it's so peaceful."

"So we'd not come out here," Rose said quietly.

"What?"

She looked at her sister. "Pet, I just figured it out. They were buried here so we wouldn't drive to see them. Alicia's gonna be here all the time, she's gonna park her butt right at the foot of Aunt Margaret's grave, but Mom and Dad didn't want us doing that. That's why they're buried here."

Rose pointed to the right. "I mean, not here near Jesus, but here in Sessay."

Petra's grip had loosened, but now she clung. "Oh my god, of course! I bet that's it!"

"Yeah, I mean, I'm sure they didn't think, 'Right. We're gonna die early.' Only that when they did kick it, god Petra, you know what I mean."

Rose found herself staring out again, then back to where they had just been, that spot now busy with the task at hand, what occurred after everyone was gone. A hole was being dug, Rose noting two men with shovels getting on with their job. Gravediggers, but that sounded ghoulish.

But that was it, death, in this place, all over it. And for the Robinson sisters, far from where they lived. Far from their lives, still alive, even if Petra was ailing at times. Only a little, and Rose felt it again in her body. A baby; Gray wanted a baby.

Did Rose? The more she pondered her parents' motives, the more she felt something tugging at her innards. She was sure that was it, felt foolish for not having asked Margaret, but Rose knew Judith and Don, even though it had been ten years. They'd been thoughtful with their two daughters, more with Petra, allowing Rose leeway that perhaps otherwise they wouldn't have offered. Letting Rose marry Gray only after two months of courtship; life was short, Don Robinson always said. Gray and Rose slept together in June of 1994 and in August, Rose was his wife.

His wife, then mother of his two children, but a third, what about a third? "Petra, maybe I do want another baby."

"What?"

They had moved from the statue, turning right, facing headstones in neat rows, Rose's parents among them. They had allowed her to marry a guy she hardly knew, but had fucked many times in the space of only eight weeks. They never even raised an objection, Judith only asking Rose if she was sure. Rose had been damned certain; Gray Burnett was her man. Her man, husband of over fifteen years, and her heart ached, too many realizations for one day.

"Petra," Rose said with more volume, "I think I want Gray's baby."

"I thought you didn't."

Rose led her sister to the grass and they passed four markers, then came to a large rock, ROBINSON spelled in an arc over the top. Underneath were their parents' names, Donald Frederick and Judith Cathleen. Rose's middle name was her mother's and Rose felt tears, but they didn't hurt. Stung only a little, and she wiped them with her hand.

She heard birds, cars passing outside the tall pines acting as a border. If she concentrated, she might discern dirt being removed from an ever-growing hole. Then Gray's voice from last night, calling her Rosie, asking if she wanted another baby, with him. That had been the kicker, as if there was anyone else. No Gray, Rose wanted to say. There was no one else with whom she might want a child, but yes Gray, she thought she did. Rose did think she wanted Gray's baby.

Forgetting about her dream of having Garth's baby, instead Rose looked at the woman who would never carry any man's child. "Petra, for ten years I've been wondering why in the hell they were buried out here. I mean, it just didn't make any sense. Today it does. Because if they'd been buried at home, yeah, I would have gone there. I'd have taken the kids to see their grandparents. But that doesn't make any fucking sense because they're dead. They're dead and we're alive and I still have you."

Rose gripped her sister's arms, but not hard, only with fingers seeking who remained. "I still have you and my kids and Gray. Alicia's gonna come here and cry her fucking eyes out but it won't matter because Aunt Margaret's already up with Mom playing pinochle."

Petra laughed. "Yeah, I bet they are."

Rose smiled. "Or they're somewhere, but not HERE. And if Gray really does want a baby, well hell, there's lots of worse things he could want."

Rose stopped. She'd not said _The Worst_ , but saw that notion in her sister's eyes.

For a few seconds, Rose said nothing. If Petra was going to tell her what Garth had done, it would be now, here, alone. Really alone, but close to their mother and father. In this moment Petra had all the opportunity available.

Rose was sure she heard the sound of scooping. But Petra said nothing.

Swallowing, Rose then continued. "And if Gray really wants another child, then I do too because Pet, I love him. I really, really love him."

The hum of traffic swirled with birds overhead, small pieces of floating sound as a grave was prepared. Nothing else, no words, just noise, white and otherwise, the color of cars and birds, death and life, truth and silence. Petra put her hand on her sister's face, removing a few stray tears. Then the sisters embraced, _The Worst_ set into the ground alongside Margaret Leinhart.

On their way home, Petra quizzed her sister on the pros and cons. The lists were equal in length, but con felt weightier.

They had stayed at the reception for three hours, longer than either wanted, out of duty, obligation, but now it was over. They would be home in half an hour, those first thirty minutes discussing good and bad points of another little Burnett. Petra listened to her sister's ramblings, much of it spoken in an even-handed manner. Then as they talked of difficulties, Rose turned more definite.

It wasn't just that she was thirty-six and the likelihood of deformities was higher. It was that if Rose found out there was a problem, then what? And even if the baby was fine, Rose would be thirty-seven years old. Did she want to be in her mid-fifties with a kid still in high school?

Because Gray was such a nice guy, if Rose decided that no, she didn't want a baby, he wouldn't push. Therefore, everything sat in Rose's lap. Petra felt the scales starting to tip back to a few days' previous when Rose had said no, she didn't want another child.

Rose's see-saw thoughts seemed precarious and Petra wasn't sure if it had been just there at the cemetery to offer Rose one moment of clarity. Petra accepted the rationale to why their parents were buried there, astute of Rose to come up with that. As for reasons to get pregnant, while her heart was willing, Rose's head was pulling in the lead.

"Oh maybe I don't know what in the hell I'm talking about. Maybe people shouldn't think about such life-altering decisions in the middle of a fucking cemetery!"

Petra giggled. Rose had been swearing since that right turn at Jesus, which meant only one thing. Rose did want Gray's baby, but was trying to talk herself out of it. Rose only swore if she was high or attempting to put something out of her heart. Petra wasn't sure if Rose knew that about herself and decided to push the envelope. "You haven't asked my opinion yet."

Rose smiled. "No, I haven't."

Petra wondered if that was due to _The Worst_ remaining back in Sessay. Rose hadn't pressed on that either. "Well?" Petra asked.

"Oh, I know what you're gonna say."

"What?"

"No," Rose giggled.

It was at times like this Petra Robinson _loved_ being the older sibling. Sometimes Rose thought she was so smart, knowing when people were going to die and all that, but parts of Rose were forever muddled. Maybe some small damage had occurred from all her years of smoking weed. Petra stifled a chuckle. "Actually, I think you should have another baby."

She received an immediate reward as the car swerved wildly to the right. "What? What in the hell did you say?"

"I think you should. Rose, why not? You like being at home, you're a very good mother, and Gray's a great dad. And you _can_ have another baby." Petra sighed. "In ten years if you look back, maybe you'll really regret not. I mean, in ten years the chances would be pretty lousy compared to now."

"God, I mean, are you serious?"

The car stayed smooth, but Rose's voice trembled. Petra reached for her sister's hand. "Yeah Rose, I am. Maybe I'm being sentimental, I mean, I'd love to have had that baby, you know? And you can, which isn't the greatest reason, but it is a reason. You can and how many women can't?"

"Oh Christ Pet!"

"Honey, I know what you said last week and five minutes ago. But I also know what you said about Elmo, that if Gray really wanted another Elmo..."

"Shit, I hate it when you're right."

Petra laughed, keeping hold of her sister. "Rose, you love him. He loves you. It's what people do. If I could've had Lovie's, I mean, maybe we'd be together now, maybe we wouldn't. But I'd have had that baby, oh god, and yeah, maybe I wouldn't be here. But Rose, you _can_ carry a baby to term. And let me just say, I mean, I love you, you're my sister. But sometimes I envy you, sometimes." Petra smiled. "Not when they're puking all over the place, but Rose, it doesn't have to be that big of a deal, not life and death. Today was life and death, well, death, but life's good too."

Rose pulled the car over to the side of the road. "Petra, goddamn! Are you serious?"

"Are you?"

"Gray is," Rose said.

"I gather that and I haven't even talked to him. You haven't even talked to him! Maybe you need to, you know, talk to him. About this, and not about fucking Elmo."

Rose's eyes watered and Petra took her sister's face in her hands. "Honey, I think you're right about Mom and Dad. They wanted us to move on with life because they knew it might not be all that long."

"Pet, don't..."

"Rose, we just don't know. Like I said, in ten years you might look back on this day and think, shit, I should have. I should've gotten knocked up again. Should've spent nine months looking like a fat cow, then another two years with a kid hanging off my boobs."

Rose laughed.

"Or maybe you'll come find me and slap me upside the head with a nine-year-old trailing behind. But Rose, either way, Gray will love you, he will always love you. And people in love, they make more little people. And contrary to population doomsayers, having more than point-one kids isn't a bad thing."

"Goddamn you Petra, what in the hell am I gonna do now?"

"Start the car, go home, have a glass of wine, talk to Gray. Then the rest is up to you two."

Rose Cathleen Robinson Burnett did those very things. And as Don and Judith had kept themselves from their daughters, Petra Margaret Robinson left _The Worst_ far out of the sisters' sight.

Chapter 11: Practice Sessions

In the bedroom, Gray and Rose experimented with making another child. Outside their room, that notion remained cloaked, partially due to neither really able to speak of it to the other, nor did they want Liam to hear.

Outside their house that idea was invisible. On Thursday, after the funeral, the band got together at Lovie's, where in their longtime practice studio tunes were played, songs sung, a few tokes administered. One of the other reasons Rose gave up smoking was due to damage on her vocal chords. Right before her death, Judith noticed Rose's tone beginning to change, and in great shame Rose had to admit that yes, she was still smoking, and that yes, that was probably the cause.

Judith had never asked _what_ her daughter was inhaling, but Rose knew her mother wasn't stupid. Better to not ask those sorts of questions, for as Rose was honest with her sister and husband, she'd been mostly truthful with her mother.

But not with the band about another baby. Only that her aunt's service had been a reminder of her parents and that Rose had figured out why they'd chosen a town an hour away as their resting places. Petra was babysitting, she rarely came to rehearsals, and Rose knew this practice was one Petra wouldn't have attended for any reason; Garth was present.

He offered a few bits of musical expertise, usually playing the guiro on "Gimme Shelter". Like his dead brother, Garth had a feel for percussion, but not much more than raking a wooden stick along the grooves, for he could keep time. Rose felt bad that his time was not longer kept with Petra, as Garth looked miserable, and when Petra had arrived that afternoon, she didn't appear much better.

Better than Alicia, who had been calling Rose twice a day since Tuesday, but here, in Lovie's large shed, it was only these men and the music. Rose's voice had recovered once she stopped smoking daily, but had never again sounded pristine. She chalked it up to rock and roll as well as taking a spliff, her upper ranges still good, but not as when she was eighteen.

When Rose had been that young, she'd only needed these people, most of them. Not Gray, not yet. Not Dane Hammond, who was a baby still in Rose's eyes. His girlfriend Lise sat on the couch, reading for a class. Lise gave Rose a smile, Rose recalling her early twenties with no children, no responsibilities. Gray had still been considering his doctorate at the time, but other than each other, no distractions existed. Although, as Rose smiled back, to Lise the band was one small hindrance.

Rose had never experienced that, but she was a part of it, Lise just a girlfriend. The difference was huge, Buster's ex-wife Gloria also suffering that fate. Being part of the band but not _in_ the band was a precarious position; those women were tied to The Pool Gurus nearly as much as the members. But like Garth, they were only needed for support, an extra lift. Lise seemed pleased her boyfriend had integrated so well into this collective and Rose considered Lise one of them, like Gloria had been, but not Cassandra. Lovie's recent flame had never warmed to the band, but Rose wasn't sure if that had been part of their problems.

Rose never had to worry, for she'd been in place even before Gray, before Michael. Before those two men it had been herself, Buster, Lovie, and Colin, but they had needed a guitarist, and a few different guys floated in and out until Michael Roddy arrived, guitar and cynicism in hand. In both of his hands, Rose considered, watching Michael and Gray comparing finger positions. While Michael was older, in this environment Gray was the master.

Gray's head was bent down, his voice low, only for those two. Rose didn't care what they were talking about, for it had nothing to do with her, only the music. She watched as Dane twirled his sticks, then gripped them in his hands. He held them in the traditional manner, one supported as if a chopstick, not grasped like a toothbrush. So many drummers now held both sticks in that manner, but Rose had slept with a drummer for two years, knew well enough how old school men played.

As Dane tapped on his snare, mindless sound crept into Rose, not where Gray wanted to leave himself, but all through her bloodstream. She and her mother had spoken of that sensation, beats and notes overtaking them. Judith had sung with some folk groups in her youth, even a little jazz scatting. As Rose aged, she owned a greater appreciation for her mother, both as a vocalist and a parent. Within that space, it was as if Judith Hoffman Robinson stood next to her daughter, as much a part of Rose as Gray or their children.

Her mother would have urged Rose to have another baby, was that why Petra seemed so supportive, offering her voice for one silenced? That had also stunned Rose, was still strange. Petra hadn't asked when she arrived, the kids all over their aunt. No time for personal asides as Rose and Gray readied to leave. The gig was on Saturday and the band had been lazy, Michael was at least right about that. No intense rehearsals since early August, but standing there, absorbing Lovie's few notes on his piano combined with soft touches of Buster's keen fingers on bass, it wasn't necessary to assemble on a regular schedule. Not even when Dane joined the band, for his skill was as sharp as Colin's, another young man having spent his adolescence pounding skins. Dane offered a new dimension that their previous drummer, Nick Halling, hadn't possessed, namely another lead voice. That in itself had been liberating; now Rose sometimes sang duets with not only her husband but a man eleven years her junior.

Rose and Gray only sang together here, in this space. Not at home, for there it was only plain speech, keeping the music where it belonged, either in the shed or on a stage. They practiced their own instruments apart from the other, but duets around the kids were verboten. Rose wasn't even sure why.

Now that she knew the reason her parents had chosen Sessay as their place of burial, maybe Rose would ponder why she and Gray never sang together at home. She wouldn't ask him, for it would just lead to other things they needed to discuss, like a baby, Gray and Rose and another baby, one song to which Rose felt mute. Then as Gray and Michael moved apart, whatever they had been considering melted into Rose as her husband's fingers found strings, notes, chords. He found her in that instrument, but it hadn't been his musical prowess to initially seduce her. While they were first intimate in Buster's grandmother's shed, it had nothing to do with their love of music.

On occasion, when Rose needed cheering up, Gray sang a quiet, soft song by a New Jersey Band, Yo La Tengo, led by a husband and wife duo, Ira Kaplan and Georgia Hubley. Their bassist, James McNew, had come along after a few years, and the song Gray loved to sing was from the band's 2000 album _And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out_. A quiet record, one that Rose played often after the death of her parents, and her favorite song was "Our Way to Fall". It reminded her of exactly how Gray had come to Evanston at Michael's behest, but unstated were Michael's true hopes; that Gray would move north, joining their band. In 1994, shortly after James McNew joined Yo La Tengo, Michael Roddy wanted what could be termed his best friend, but really his only friend, to play for The Pool Gurus.

In 1994, Rose Robinson was twenty-one, a year past Colin's suicide. The band had a drummer installed, not Nick Halling, but Kevin Cadle, who only lasted through the end of the year. Rose didn't know of Gray's appreciation for small, indie bands, of which Yo La Tengo could be described, nor that she would fall in love again, and so thoroughly. She was just starting to feel ready to step out; it wasn't due to missing Colin, only in the last she had seen of him. Rose presumed finding her lover's head blown all over his bed and wall would affect her for some time. She had been correct.

In 1993, Yo La Tengo recorded an album called _Painful_. That record would have suited Rose to a tee, if she'd heard it then. She did hear it a year later, when Gray moved to Evanston. She heard it over and over as they made love in their apartment, shared only for a short time as lovers. Then as a married couple, but in those early days, Rose and Gray had fucked each other to the melodic but noisily hypnotizing contents of _Painful_ , the first Yo La Tengo record that James McNew played on every song. The record was a year old when Rose and Gray got together, but Rose remembered it as a bridge from Colin to her husband. A bridge that Rose first took stepping out of the bathroom, the reverberations of that single shot in her ears, in her nose, in her sight.

Rose stepped on that bridge with those sensations nudging her from behind. A year later, Gray came to a practice behind Michael, that man's slightly larger body obscuring his friend. Rose had seen Gray take a seat next to Garth on the sofa. Garth had been a fixture of their sessions since Colin's death, as if able to recreate his little brother in the music, in the ways people walked and jostled in the small shed, as if bits of Colin swirled about the room, air warm and dry but stirred, what Rose felt in her blood as Gray picked up Michael's extra guitar.

The tunes they first played later eluded her, but his voice enveloped, shutting out images that didn't make her cry, only chilled her bones. Rose hadn't been a squeamish person, but after Colin's death she preferred not to see people bleed if possible. Sometimes it wasn't. Petra had bled copiously after miscarrying Lovie's baby and Rose's children suffered cuts and scrapes, small injuries a mother could withstand. Rose and Gray didn't know any of those things back in 1994, children living and lost not in their realm. Only each other; after a few tunes by Nirvana, The Gun Club, even Carly Simon, Rose had realized that not only did the band have a second guitarist, really a lead guitarist which no one mentioned to spare Michael's feelings, but more. Rose had someone new to love.

When Gray sang "Our Way To Fall" in later years, even that Thursday in September at rehearsal, Rose always remembered meeting him, even though that song was six years from being written. Yet, Ira Kaplan could have been in that airless shed for the accurate portrayal of two people finding their match. Soul mates, lovers, spouses, any number of words to pinpoint what Gray and Rose were to each other. Husband and wife were their destinies, but Rose didn't know Yo La Tengo at the time, and in 2009, Rose was certain Yo La Tengo had never heard of The Pool Gurus.

Yo La Tengo had just released _Popular Songs_ , the title another sign of the group's tongue-in-cheek attitude. It was only another aside by a small band, but one more recognized than Rose's. Gray had downloaded the album, had ordered the vinyl too. Rose hadn't given it much of a listen, but Gray wanted to add the record's first track, "Here To Fall", to their set list. She would let him work that into their lineup, not on Rose to suggest songs, except her two favorite Carly Simon tunes, to the group.

Simon's "Haven't Got Time For the Pain" was usually played after their first break. Rose and Lovie would reappear, Lovie's fingers finding keys, weaving waves over Rose's vocals. Buster followed, his bass lines allowing depth. Michael and Dane joined, but Gray stayed away until the chorus, his guitar acting as a bridge. Gray had been Rose's bridge back to the outside world.

She used to sing another Simon tune, "Never Been Gone", but after realizing her parents were going to die in mid-song, Rose stopped performing it. Too painful, as Colin had been, in what she had seen, in how that had looked. Being naked hadn't helped, although Rose had reached for a t-shirt in Colin's drawer that sat next to the bed. Slipping it over her head, it was as close as she got to him, then standing watch over a dead body until Petra arrived with Rose's own clothes. New clothes, clothes Rose kept in a box in her closet.

Clothes she didn't wear again until she had crossed that bridge with Gray's hand in hers.

Music had played an enormous part in shaping both Rose's early childhood and later adolescence. Judith's voice wound within her daughter from infancy and Rose grew up singing as if breathing. The songs were different, but they were always changing. One Carly Simon song had been eliminated, and when Gray moved to Evanston, Rose was introduced to Yo La Tengo. When Dane joined the band, he brought along The Fiery Furnaces, Brendan Benson, The Raconteurs, and Jack White. Rose and Gray sang White's "Another Way To Die", the first time Rose had ever sung a James Bond movie tune.

The band only played covers, Rose and Colin's idea, and it had worked. College students loved alternate versions of truly popular songs mixed with those lesser known. Various Yo La Tengo tunes were useful in balancing out "Gimme Shelter", "Heart Shaped Box", and "Back In Black". Gray often said he would die a happy man if Ira, Georgia, and James ever played in Evanston.

After the first time she sang with him, Rose felt she would die a happy woman if he would only kiss her. So strong were her feelings for this friend of Michael's, but before she had never noticed him, not given Gray the time of day. Not when she was in love with Colin or even when she was only with Colin to keep him alive. After he died, Rose didn't see Gray until that visit, an entire year later.

One year; as if a widow freed from bondage, Rose could date anyone, sleep with anyone. She stood in the middle of the bridge, unaware she was even on it, only staring over the side as music and days and weed flowed underneath. Tunes she sang, joints she smoked, mornings, afternoons, and evenings that passed, all lived with some energy and much effort. Rose hadn't felt depressed, no one would have said she was. But she wasn't happy, wasn't pleased. Not content or elated or thrilled until Gray began to sing in her direction.

The song was innocuous, U2's "Mysterious Ways". Michael was a big fan of The Edge, but it was how the song came together, lyrics and melody that Rose knew well, Colin also a U2 aficionado. Tunes she hadn't listened to since his death returned to her ears in Gray's tingling voice, one not previously experienced. He lifted Rose's spirits and stirred her own vocals, initially cementing Gray's place in the band. Rose hadn't seen the looks Lovie and Buster exchanged, smiles as well as smirks. Gray wasn't only a better singer than Michael, but so much more of a musician! What Rose missed most were their faces to her, noting a rebirth as her voice soared along with this man who seemed to have come from the cold. From _Southern California_ , they later teased, but there nonetheless, and just in time. It had been a year and not only for Rose, but for everyone, Colin needed to be laid to rest.

Rose felt that occurred as Gray sang that U2 song, a Yo La Tengo song, any song really. Especially the one Carly Simon tune she still trilled; any song Rose sang was for someone and now most of them were for Gray. Nearly all of Rose's repertoire celebrated love, whether it was in Kurt Cobain's aching "Heart Shaped Box", Alicia Keys' soulful "Fallin'" or Rose's accompanying vocals to The Rolling Stones' "Gimme Shelter". Rose crooned Merry Clayton's parts, belting her own rich tones, that song one of her mother's favorites. Not necessarily the lyrics, but the way her daughter poured all of herself into the words. Rose wondered if Judith ever knew that for as vigorously as she sang that song, what sometimes occurred afterwards backstage with Gray was only an extension of that couple's devotion. An attachment that began as soon as that rehearsal broke up in June of 1994.

Rose found herself replaying that moment, noting how Lise and Dane left Lovie's building with arms around each other. So tightly entwined and Rose shuddered, sharing that feeling as she eyed her husband.

Gray and Michael were discussing the set list, Lovie and Buster alongside. Dane would only need someone to email it to him, but the older four men were the north, south, east, and west of the band. Maybe Dane was the rooster on the top, Rose giggled to herself. They were six people, but she and Dane could be termed the edge members. They didn't bother with set lists, Dane's only request that "Folk Singer" by Brendan Benson not follow "Gimme Shelter". Gray needed to be present for the beginning of Benson's song, not backstage screwing his wife.

Rose had other thoughts in her head, mainly "Our Way To Fall". So soft were Gray's vocals on that song, as if whispering to her how they met, how he had fallen in love with her by only singing next to her, or even standing; they were side by side on stage, sometimes very close if it was a small venue. Sometimes she stood near Buster; when he sang "She's Like Heroin To Me" by The Gun Club, Rose and Lovie would dance between Rose's husband and Buster, their talents not needed on that tune.

So many notions Rose owned as a vocalist, memories and moments as real as watching Saturday's gig being finalized. Garth also remained, still looking disheartened, and Rose joined him on the sofa. "You okay?"

"Uh, yeah. No," he sighed.

She took his hand as she had when Colin died, after Garth arrived, once she was no longer nude. Once Petra had brought her new clothes, then Rose called Garth, breaking the news far more gently than how she had learned.

What was _The Worst_ , Rose wondered, feeling years of shared existences in Garth's shaky grip. Had _The Worst_ for her been finding Colin, or singing what was still her favorite Carly Simon song while realizing her parents weren't going to return from their dream vacation? Whatever it was for Garth and Petra, Rose would never know, that truth buried back in Sessay.

"You gonna be all right, I mean..." Rose trailed off as Gray wrapped up the pow-wow.

"Oh yeah Rose, I mean, it's not that bad."

It was, Garth a poor liar. He'd lied to her after his brother had tried to hang himself, telling Rose that Colin would be all right. In 1993, Rose hadn't realized Garth's inability to deflect the truth. Now she knew.

"Honey listen, I love you. Pet's my sister, but you're family too."

Gray's eyes found his wife and Buster nodded to his roommate. Garth had arrived with Buster and he stood, then offered his hand to Rose.

She took it, noting such age, and Garth was only a few years past Gray. Garth seemed far older, like a grandfather. But he had no children, not a single one.

Was that really it? Had he, for some bizarre reason, wanted Petra to get pregnant? Was that why Rose's sister seemed so sure Rose should have another baby? Gray's arm enfolded her and with goodbyes to Michael and Lovie, the Burnetts followed Buster and Garth, the warm sunshine greeting them like a slap. Unlike their first rehearsal shed, Lovie's building had two small air conditioning units set into the sides and the heat of the early evening felt stifling. Rose wasn't sure of _The Worst_ for her sister and Garth, but could it be any more awful than what Colin had inflicted upon his brother, or what Colin had done to Rose?

Chapter 12: Dancing With Lovie

In the darkness Rose saw far more than anyone else for she was used to it, walking every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings. It assisted her when onstage, Rose viewing the audience with far more clarity than anyone else in the band.

Dane was just too far away, stuck behind his kit. He probably had the best vision, but the extra ten feet that stood between him and Rose precluded the drummer from a clear outlook, plus he was seated.

Lovie needed glasses, but wouldn't get them. He too was off toward the back, on the left side of the stage. His organ and piano were placed behind Michael, directly opposite from Buster, who stood on the right, not far from Dane.

Michael and Buster did wear corrective lenses, Michael in contacts and Buster with thick black frames that he thought behooved a bassist. As if he was Buddy Holly but not the lead, and his height led some to think maybe he was Holly, Buster standing at six foot three, carrying two hundred pounds. Compared to Buddy, Buster was corpulent, but against Lovie, he was thin.

Rose and her husband were placed in front, Michael to Gray's left. Michael hung back, affecting a pose as if he couldn't be bothered to take center stage where Rose usually stood or sat on a stool. Or when Buster was singing, where Rose danced with Lovie.

That Saturday night Petra babysat Rose's children. Lise had wanted to attend this show and as Gray required one of those women to watch Emory and Liam, neither was ever at a gig together. Only Petra, Michael, and Rose understood Gray's insistence, Janet William's lingering influence. Gray wouldn't allow any babysitters for his children unless they were under thirteen or over twenty-five. When Rose needed someone in a pinch, a neighbor girl, Helena Gallagher, kept an eye on the kids. She was just twelve, a Girl Scout trained in first aid. Rose wasn't sure how she'd tell Helena that next year she wouldn't be employed.

This show would have kept Helena out too late, Rose and Gray not reaching home until well after midnight. Only Petra or Lise took these evenings, and now with Garth out of the picture, Petra had been eager for another way to pass her Saturday night. Emory and Liam knew the drill and didn't question their aunt in the least. Liam only queried his father; were they going to have another baby anytime soon?

"Not anytime soon," Gray had replied in a weary voice. It was the tone that quieted the small boy, not the elusive answer.

Rose hadn't missed Petra's snigger and on the way to that night's venue, Rose wondered if Gray had seen his sister-in-law's face. Gray was tired and having started her period that afternoon, Rose wasn't feeling on top of the world. Yet, she had been expecting it either that day or the next. They had made love that morning, Rose's pre-cycle tendencies pounding Gray to the wall.

As if all that energy had been drained, Rose only wanted to get a little high, then sing. Then go home and fall asleep. She would sleep like a log between her body's churning, the weed, and the work. Rose considered her vocals no less taxing than sitting behind a drum kit or standing with a guitar. That she was also a menstruating woman added a small burden.

Once at the club, Rose took two Advil, then found Lovie. He'd already lit a joint and Rose took two hits. If she needed one more, she'd have it, but usually two tokes of what Lovie called his special stash would set her right. That night, cramping and out of sorts, Rose might take a third.

They had rehearsed earlier that afternoon after setting up their equipment. With a low backache in tow, Rose hadn't yet started, but knew it was imminent. She took preemptory Advil, wishing Lovie had brought some pot. He never did to gig set-ups, but that one time Rose would have loved a small buzz. It wouldn't have been responsible, but occasionally she felt like being young again, not having to worry about anyone but herself. Right before she got her period, Rose could be self-indulgent, stopping at the store for a candy bar, sneaking bites when her children weren't around. Sometimes it was that third toke. That night, Rose went for it.

"You okay?" Lovie asked.

She held the smoke in her lungs, trying not to laugh. She was already feeling a little high, and his question, coupled with her body, finally exploded.

"No," she giggled. "I'm on my period. Aren't you glad you asked?"

Lovie smiled. "Lucky you."

Rose chuckled, then took one more hit. It was short but sweet and as soon as she exhaled she knew she was downright stoned. "Oh Jesus Christ! What's in this stuff?"

"Just what the doctor ordered," Lovie said. "At least for you."

"My god! You're gonna have to hold me up all night Love."

"That my sweet Rose I will do."

She stumbled backwards, falling into Dane's arms. "Shit Rose, you okay?"

"No, she's stoned off her ass. Doesn't take much these days. Dane, you should have seen her when she was younger. She'd go through two or three joints, but the pot wasn't so great back then." Lovie recounted a few tales, taking Rose in his arms. She was dwarfed by his size and wasn't paying attention.

Dane had heard Lovie's stories and he took a hit. After a few minutes he nodded. "Shit man, that's some good weed." Then Dane looked at Rose. "Is she even gonna be able to sing?"

Rose giggled as Lovie tickled her. "Oh yeah. Just put her on stage and she'll go to town."

As Lovie spoke, Gray stepped from the bathroom. Rose laughed. "Hey Gray, guess what?"

The men exchanged glances. "What Rose?"

She moved from Lovie's arms, setting herself around her husband. "I think I'm sorta high."

"What'd you give her?" Gray asked Lovie.

Lovie looked to the floor. "She had a couple extra hits."

Gray sighed, leading his wife outside. "Okay Rose, come on."

The heat hit Gray, then Rose. "Man it's hot out here," she said.

"You gonna be okay?"

Rose stared at him. He looked like her husband, but sort of blurry. "Gray, we haven't talked about Elmo yet."

"No," he laughed, setting his hands along her face. "We haven't."

"If we have another Elmo I promise I won't do this."

"I won't let you."

"I know you won't." She smiled, then kissed him. "One of the things I like about you. You're kind of a Nazi."

"Oh yeah," he chuckled, holding her close. "That would be me, fascist musician."

Rose snuggled into him, her body feeling none of its previous aches. Her mind only magnified what she was experiencing so close to her husband. "Gray, I think I do want another Elmo. I mean, not a red furry one, but maybe another little..."

"Hey Gray! It's Petra." Michael poked his head out the door, Rose and her husband not far from the building.

"Okay," Gray called. "Rose, come on."

"What's Petra calling about?"

"I don't know. Come on Rose."

Reaching the door, Michael held Rose's cell, but made no motions to take Rose, who was struggling to stand. Gray held the cell and his wife. "Yeah, okay. Okay. Yeah. Okay, thanks. Uh no, she's uh..."

"I'm really stoned Pet!" Rose called.

"Yeah, she really is," Gray confirmed. "Just tell Alicia Rose'll talk to her tomorrow. But not early. Yeah, tell her we're at a gig and not to call until at least after..."

Rose giggled so loudly that Buster and Dane came to see the commotion. Gray gave them a look and both men shrugged. Would Rose be able to sing?

"Not until at least after one, maybe two tomorrow afternoon. Yeah. She's really that gone."

The only thing Gray could do was stay near his wife, keep her talking. As long as she didn't fall asleep, he was fairly certain the show could go on.

Lise brought Rose some ice water. Gray didn't want her to have any coffee, not conducive to her sleeping this off in a few hours. The set would last an hour and a half, then depending on the audience, maybe another twenty minutes for the encore. The band hadn't been on stage since the Fourth of July, could easily play for more than two hours. The audience wouldn't quite expect that, yet Gray had no idea how Rose would be, a long time since she'd been this wasted.

They opened with "Another Way to Die", and she was on. He'd hoped that would be the case, how it was in the past when she smoked every day. Music would hit her ears and words tumbled, correct notes, great notes. She owned a tremendous voice; Gray thought it funny she had only wanted to sing in a local band, aware of Judith's hopes for her youngest daughter. Rose had never been motivated to take lessons and then there was Colin.

Why Rose hadn't gone away for school, why she'd gotten involved with the band. That man had tied Rose Robinson to Evanston, but if not for Colin Emory, would Gray have found her? She moved to him as they sung the chorus and while her eyes were red, her voice was strong, controlled. If this was any indication to the rest of the set, Gray wouldn't have to worry.

Over the next forty minutes, he didn't. They played many of their favorites, Nirvana's "Heart Shaped Box", "Up the Neck" by The Pretenders, in which Rose was especially animated. She even got down on her knees, the crowd roaring their collective approval. The club reeked of weed, but Rose had already ingested enough that a barrier surrounded her, and Gray thought maybe she would get through it.

Lovie initiated Joe Jackson's "Cosmopolitan", a duet between Gray and his wife. Rose did well in the beginning, but by the second verse, she started to sway, her limbs flowing as if without bones, like she would melt onto the floor. Catching her eyes, Gray noted she was half aware, and he motioned her his way.

Holding her, Gray felt her wobble, perhaps the Advil was part of it? He didn't know how many she had taken, ages since she'd been this stoned. With his support, she could sing, but he needed both hands for the next three songs.

She wanted another baby, what she'd said outside, before Petra called. Another Elmo had been her exact words, and as Michael, Lovie, and Buster took over, Gray whispered into Rose's ear. "Honey, can you go on?"

Her eyes again found his, looking lost. "Uh-huh," she nodded.

Gray's hands weren't on his guitar. They were on his wife and he glanced behind him, first to Michael to take the rest of the song, then to Lovie. Not in anger or blame, but that it was time for him to dance with Rose.

"That was "Cosmopolitan" by the ever talented Joe Jackson. So, let me tell you a little story about that song."

Gray rambled as Lovie stepped from behind his keyboards, leading Rose backstage. Buster had been slated to sing that night, but not until later, perhaps during the encore. Right now Rose needed time to snap out of her haze and Gray explained how Joe Jackson had been asked to write some songs for a movie starting Debra Winger. The production was troubled and by the time the film was released, other music had been substituted. Jackson's soundtrack for _Mike's Murder_ was one of Gray's favorites, only eight tunes, and half were instrumentals. This older crowd recalled Winger's heyday after _Urban Cowboy_ and _Terms of Endearment_ , and the small anecdote was appreciated.

Gray strummed a few notes, the beginning of Buster's only tune. "So as you know, we all sing, even our bassist. Buster might be one of the only vocal bassists in rock and roll besides Paul McCartney."

The crowd laughed as Gray smiled Buster's way. Then he looked to the side of the stage. "Hey Rose, how you doing?"

Gray occasionally talked to his wife when she went backstage, Rose not always out for every song. A few were only the guys and she would take that opportunity to pee or drink some water. Gray couldn't see his wife or Lovie, and only hoped they hadn't stepped outside.

"I'm fine Gray," she called in an exuberant tone.

"Oh that's great Rose. You ready to dance?"

"Uh-huh, Lovie too!"

Gray took a deep breath. "Well, that's all I wanted to know. Buster, you ready to sing?"

"Sure," he said, not looking up.

"Okay," Gray sighed, looking to where his wife waved and Lovie shrugged.

As Gray's fingers hit strings, notes poured from amps around the sides of the band. Sometimes Gray wore earplugs, but not that night, unable to find any. Liam liked to squish them between his small fingers, but at that moment Gray was glad for the crunch emerging alongside the music. Sometimes his ears made crackling sounds and he would plug his nose, as if popping his ears, before that resonance disappeared. That night, Gray didn't want to miss a thing.

Lovie and Rose appeared, Rose still looking fluid, as if Jell-O rested in her body. Thankful for Lovie's capable size, Gray played the song by rote while watching his wife. Rose seemed a little girl next to Lovie, who twirled her around the stage as Buster sang, his vocals always flat. In the spare seconds he wasn't worrying about Rose, Gray wondered if Buster ever thought about his ex-wife when he sang. Did Gloria ever cross Buster's mind during a gig?

"She's Like Heroin To Me" was less than three minutes, not enough time for Rose to recover. As they finished, Gray nodded to all four men, then launched into a slow song, one that Dane had brought to their attention. "Together" by the Raconteurs was usually one Rose sang as well, but her vocals could be omitted that night. Gray took the lead, Michael his back up, Dane adding the chorus. Usually Rose stood next to her husband, but she remained close to Lovie, who held her as if she was his daughter.

Gray turned to them, Rose resting along Lovie's upper body, not even to his shoulder. She wore old flip flops, her trademark wide skirt hanging slack. But their steps were significant, like longtime lovers or a father and daughter. As if Lovie was Don Robinson and Gray's heart ached; someday he would dance with Emory that way, at her wedding maybe? Probably, Gray smiled.

He and his oldest child would stand as Rose and Lovie, hands held in innocence. Lovie leaned down and spoke to her, Gray watching Rose's head nod, one up and down motion. She looked to Gray and nodded again, mouthing: _I think I'm okay._

The band did one short encore, Rose somewhat recovered. She was still light on her feet and spent the remainder of the gig sitting on a stool, center stage. At several intervals Gray caught her staring into space, which made him take deep breaths. Then she would glance his way, smiling as when only slightly wasted.

As he had been at Monday night's barbecue. He had felt like shit the next morning, promising himself not to drink that much again. Too many beers over the course of one evening, but tonight's little fiasco had only taken Rose four tokes. Either she was turning into a real lightweight, or Lovie's grass had been premium.

Gray considered it was a little of both. They hadn't performed in two months, the longest in recent memory. Rose didn't smoke except at gigs and coupled with her period, she'd been pummeled. Gray needed to take her home, get her into the shower, then put her to bed. Hopefully in the morning, other than feeling tired, she'd be clearheaded.

She continued gazing into the crowd as Gray finished the last notes of "That'll Be the Day". He bowed, waved, then said goodnight. Helping his wife from her seat, Gray noted her body seemed more firm, as Rose waved, telling the audience she loved them, and to drive safely. Right as they reached the edge of the stage, she pulled from Gray, peeking through amplifiers for one last look to the crowd.

"Honey, what?" Gray heard people leaving, the band behind him as well as those in the club.

She shook her head and kissed him. "Gray, thanks for saving my bacon tonight."

"Maybe it's time you drop the evil weed," Michael sniffed.

Gray didn't say anything.

"Yeah Michael, maybe you're right. I'm getting too old or something." Rose's voice carried a smile, one that Gray knew was for Lovie.

"All of you are getting too old for that shit," Michael huffed.

"Oh, like you're always straight," Buster noted.

"Hey man, I never show up wasted."

Gray moved Rose to the door, which was now open. The air was still warm, but smelled good, fresh even at the back of a club. It also smelled like vomit, urine, waves of marijuana wafting about, but not the cloistered space he'd been standing in for the last two hours.

His wife's hands rested on her hips, Rose staring to the stars. Gray wondered if they looked different than what she saw on those early morning walks. "Whatdya see Rose?"

She smiled, opening her arms for him. "You, who I love."

Gray couldn't help a smile. Her voice was contrite, youthful, and he wrapped her close, closer and more intimately than Lovie had held her.

"Gray, I'm really sorry. I think I am gonna quit. Or at least cut down to just one little toke."

"Whatever baby."

He knew how she felt, he'd been the same not even a week ago. Guilty, tired, maybe she had a headache already. "Let me get packed up and we'll get home."

"Okay."

Kissing her once more, Gray then turned, heading back to the club. Usually Rose did her share of the work, but that night he only wanted her to take in the air, view those stars that held such fascination.

"Hey Gray?" she called.

"Yeah?"

He was to the door, could hear the guys, Lise too. But Rose motioned for him and Gray returned to her. "What honey?"

"Gray, I saw Gloria tonight. I know it was her."

"What?"

"Gloria was standing in the back. Alone, I think she came alone. Gray, I know it was her."

Rose was quiet but insistent. Gray nodded, but didn't think she could have made anyone out, not with how crowded it was, or how high she'd been.

She was still out there, up with those stars. Her eyes were red and tomorrow it would be Rose's turn to feel her age. Gray had known it all day Tuesday and now she would too.

"Don't tell Buster, okay? I mean, if she didn't come backstage, then she didn't want him to see her, but I KNOW she was there."

"Okay baby. I won't say a thing." Gray kissed her, then returned to the door. Before going inside, he glanced again her way. Rose was looking at the sky, her white blouse yellow in the streetlight's glow.

Chapter 13: Liam Gets An Earful

When Rose awoke on Sunday morning, her head ached and her stomach felt rotten. She heard her children outside blowing bubbles, but doubted it was with their aunt. Instead it was Helena Gallagher's youthful voice that filled Rose's ears, along with shouts and giggles. Perhaps Emory and Liam had no idea their mother was a wastrel.

How Rose felt that morning, good for nothing. She turned in bed, hoping to shut out those sounds, but instead she moved closer toward the window where the noise seemed to increase tenfold. Setting the blanket over her head, she wished to disappear.

"Baby, you awake?" Gray asked.

Rose nodded, wondering if he could see her from under the comforter.

He sat beside her along the edge. "Rose, you want anything?"

"A gun," she said, muffled by the covers.

"A what?"

Usually Rose never joked about killing herself with a firearm, but it was indicative of how miserable she felt. That Gray hadn't heard was for the best. "Gray, are the kids okay?"

He lifted the top blanket, leaving only the sheet obscuring his wife. "Yeah honey, they're fine. I just told them we were out late and you weren't feeling so good."

She sat up, pulling the sheet close to her body. She was dressed in a large nightshirt, but didn't remember coming home or getting a shower. Gray had cleaned her off, a towel covering her pillows.

"Gray, I am so sorry about last night."

She sighed. Feeling her underwear, a pad lined the crotch. He'd even done that and her shame was doubled.

"Baby, nothing you didn't do for me a week ago."

She laughed. "Oh Christ Gray! I was fucking out of my head last night. I don't remember even how in the hell we got home."

"You remember looking at the stars?"

Small voices wafted just outside their wall as if Rose just needed to stretch out her hand. She could catch a bubble, but wouldn't pop it. Only hold it like some crystal ball, trying to relive the previous evening. "No, no stars."

"It's okay baby. I love you. How are you feeling? You need some Advil?"

Rose shook her head. "Just shoot me the next time I even THINK about smoking anything!"

He chuckled. "Got it."

His eyes weren't sad, not disappointed in her. "Gray, why do you love me?"

He lay down and Rose leaned against him. "You remember when I told you about Janet?"

"Uh-huh." He'd asked her to marry him, then told her about the aggressive babysitter. Rose would never forget that moment.

"Baby, for as wrong as I knew that was, I knew you were right, no matter what."

"Mommy!" Liam's voice was much closer now, no walls separating them.

"Is it okay?" Gray asked.

By the time he spoke it was too late, a small boy leaping onto the bed. Emory followed and Gray got up, Helena in the hallway, apologizing for letting the kids inside. Rose snuggled with her children, Gray's sympathetic tone also in her head.

By evening Rose felt human and forgiven, although absolution wasn't actually something Gray had bestowed, more of Rose thinking she needed to seek it. Petra's presence was a calming buffer between Rose and the kids as if Rose had to receive their pardon too. They were only happy to have their mother and aunt and father near, but did ask where was Garth?

"With Buster," Petra said, blowing bubbles on the front lawn.

"Oh," Liam nodded. "Are they both coming over?"

"Not tonight honey." Rose felt her contributions had to come in piecemeal bites.

"Aunt Petra, are you and Garth broke up?" Emory asked, having let a huge swathe loose.

"What?" Petra asked.

"Emory!" Rose called.

That was all Emory needed. "Why'd you break up?"

"Emory," Rose repeated.

"No, that's okay. Liam, Em, Garth and I aren't going to live together anymore. In fact, he's going on a long vacation at the beginning of October. So we thought that maybe this was a good time to take a break."

Rose had been sitting on the wicker settee, her period hampering her efforts to feel fully recovered. She leaned forward, motioning her children toward her.

Liam took her lap and Rose smelled his head. He needed a bath and Rose would watch her son splash in the water, a soothing way for both to end the day. "Sometimes people just need time apart." Rose stared at Petra, who threw her hands into the air. "And maybe they'll get back together and maybe not."

Petra shook her head at her sister's words. For a few seconds, Rose wasn't sure which part Petra found displeasing.

"Well, I think you should go with him." Emory joined her mother and Rose sniffed her hair too, another shower necessary before bedtime.

Petra headed their way. "Why Em?"

"Because he keeps your house clean."

The sisters laughed, truths small children could voice.

"Well Em, your room's pretty clean. Maybe I should have you sort things out."

Petra's voice had been light, but Emory's face fell. She left her mother and hit her aunt at a dead run in the middle of the yard. Petra almost went over at the force of Emory's body.

"Em! Watch out!" Rose called.

"Oh Aunt Petra, don't break up with him! Don't do it!"

Rose flinched. How children reacted to a divorce; all Emory and Liam had known was a couple consisting of their aunt and Garth.

Gray came through the front door. "Hey, what's going on?"

Rose nodded to their daughter, Liam not as bothered.

Petra was supported by Emory as Gray offered a hand. Picking up her son, Rose joined the small huddle on the grass.

After baths, Rose braided Emory's hair, then chatted with Alicia. Rose was weary, but Alicia sounded worse. Gray put the kids to bed as Rose remained curled into the couch, the phone at her ear, baseball nearing an end.

Gray returned and sat at the end of the sofa, setting Rose's legs atop his lap. He left the TV muted, paying half his attention to the game, the other half to his wife's conversation. Lots of _uh-huh's_ and _yeah's_ , then long pauses. Gray didn't fault Alicia her grief, only that Rose needed a break too.

"Listen, I'll call you tomorrow. Gotta put the kids to bed. Yeah, love you too. Goodnight." Rose sighed, handing Gray the receiver. "Man, either she's at the cemetery or harping at me. God Gray, I don't mean to bitch, but doesn't she have anyone else to talk to?"

Gray smiled. "Does she ever call Petra?"

"No." Rose nodded toward the back of the house. "Were they okay?"

"Oh yeah, fine. Honey, they have no idea."

Rose sighed. All day she'd felt like the world's worst mother. Gray's eyes were gentle, but Rose still owned distress. Part of it was her period. Part was Liam again asking about a sibling. Most was last night.

"Rose, I want to ask you something. About Elmo."

"Oh god," she moaned.

Gray said nothing, then turned up the TV.

Rose wished for a blanket or a gun, either one. Some way to hide from her husband, their children, her actions of not quite twenty-four hours previous. Gray's face was turned away from her, watching the game.

She let half an inning pass, then sat up. "I think I'm going to bed."

"Okay."

Standing, she didn't say goodnight or offer him a kiss. Finding the kitchen a mess, Rose emitted another long sigh. She wouldn't want all that in the morning, only to leave for her walk. The TV hummed, Gray silent. Rose filled the dishwasher, started it, then hand-washed a few pots. He still hadn't approached her.

This was unusual; Rose wished her husband would get off his butt and come looking for her. Instead she wrung out the dishrag, setting it over the faucet. Checking on her children, all she heard were the sounds of sleep. Rose went into her room, readied her clothes for the morning, and got into bed.

As she was rolling to her right, away from Gray's side of the bed, she heard him walk down the hall. She hadn't noticed if he'd locked the doors, and she wished she was already asleep. Rose couldn't fake that state and lie on her back. If Gray wanted to talk, she wouldn't hide from him.

"Baby, you still awake?" he whispered.

"Uh-huh."

Gray eased his way onto his side of the bed, then leaned toward her. "Rose, I love you. You wanna tell me what's wrong?"

"Listen Gray, not tonight. I just wanna go to sleep."

His hand drifted along her face, small light from the bathroom letting him see her. She couldn't tell his features, but felt such tenderness in his touch, as if trying to erase her pain.

"Okay, you just sleep. I love you honey."

Rose waited until his hand had moved away. Then she spoke. "Gray, after last night, maybe another baby isn't in the cards for us. I mean, I'm just a fuck-up and..."

Words were sometimes spoken for their true effect, or to begin a discussion. Rose had felt incompetent all day, that was true. Did she really want to discount having another child with her husband due to one night's poor choice?

"Rose, it was just bad timing. You need to let me know when you're gonna be on your period and I won't schedule gigs on those days."

She giggled, an old habit from before the kids arrived. Every three or four weeks the band was off, none of the guys realizing that it was due to Rose until Gloria brought it up. Then it went unspoken. As the band's manager, Gray arranged their bookings, but it had been a while since considering Rose's bodily rhythms.

"Gray, about Elmo. I think I do, I mean, I'm like eighty percent sure."

He laughed. "Eighty's good."

"Yeah, I mean, eighty-five maybe. Except for when I do stupid stuff like last night. I don't even remember coming home. Did you get in the shower with me?"

She could feel his smile, but didn't see it. "Yeah, didn't want you toppling over."

Her giggle emerged. "You put underwear on me?"

Then he laughed, lying beside her. Rose went to his arms, needing reassurance.

"No, you did that yourself. Rose, you sure you don't remember looking at the stars last night, out behind the club?"

"The last thing I remember is seeing Gloria. Oh god Gray! I did see her, I'm sure of it!"

He nodded and Rose felt some release, as if her indiscretion was finally put aside. Only she to hold it in, but as she spoke of Buster's ex-wife, Rose was certain. Gloria Cutler had attended last night's show.

Rose spent the next few days in Alicia's clutches over the phone and in Liam's grasp there in Evanston. As if he could sense his parents' minds, all the little boy could talk of was another sibling, but Liam seemed to think Rose would produce a two or three-year-old. Walking home, Rose explained another sibling meant another _baby_. Liam hadn't considered that and then asked his mother if they could have a bigger child.

"It doesn't work like that Liam. Mommies and daddies make babies, like Megan's."

"But I want someone to play with NOW."

Rose smiled; here she and Gray were actually thinking about it and Liam was losing interest. "Honey, if Daddy and I do have another child, it's not going to be because YOU want a brother or sister but because we want another baby." Although we'd not have thought about it if you hadn't been so insistent, she wanted to tell her son.

The rest of that day mother and son ran errands then spent an hour at the park. They met a woman and her four-year-old daughter and Liam enjoyed running around with someone new. Rose and the woman, Ramona, spoke of motherhood, Ramona also with an older daughter in the second grade. Ramona had tried for third, but hadn't been able to conceive. "But I mean, that I had these two was a miracle," she smiled.

Rose stared at her; she didn't look much older than Petra, and instead of being nosy, which she wanted to do, Rose only nodded.

Ramona continued. "I'm nearly fifty," she grinned. "Just waited too long I guess."

Rose owned no appropriate words, too late to complement Ramona on her youthful face. Now Rose viewed lines on the woman's neck. Her hands, before unnoticed, were spotted, veins plain. "I guess," Rose said with little enthusiasm.

Liam ran toward them. "Mommy, can Lisa come to our house for dinner?"

Rose smiled. "Not tonight."

He sighed, then kicked the ground. Rose wondered if he would try to invite himself to Ramona's, but Ramona was focused on her daughter, who had found another child with whom to play.

"Excuse me," Ramona said. "Lisa needs me."

"Uh-huh." Rose stared in the distance, the small girl laughing as the merry-go-round spun. "Come on Liam, we need to pick up Emory."

"All right."

They walked to the fence where other parents waited. Liam stood at the gate, fingers clenched through the wire. In another year, Rose would be walking here part of the time by herself.

Ramona wafted in Rose's mind. She had never seen the woman before, not at the playground or here at Emory's school. Other elementary schools were nearby; Ramona's daughter might attend one of those. That woman was nearly fifty! Rose felt quite young and then she saw Megan approach.

The baby wasn't hanging on his mother and Megan stood next to Rose, a smile on her face.

"You're alone," Rose said.

"Yeah, Mitch's home, I left them together." She laughed, looking at her chest. "I feel like I'm missing an appendage or something."

To Rose, Megan did look askew, that baby accompanying his mother every morning. Rose felt an ache, but she was over her period. Maybe she just needed to nail Gray.

Emory appeared, arm in arm with Asia. The families left the yard together, but Megan lived on the other side of the school. As Emory and Asia waved goodbye, Liam skipped ahead until his sister caught up with him.

Rose watched them alternate leading the way, the streets familiar after walking most days the previous year. Soon they would identify this landscape as their own; boundaries were increasing and Rose felt insignificant. She was young, younger than Ramona, but who she was to her children was shrinking. Was that another reason to procreate again, something to keep Rose balanced, someplace where she was the center, besides in bed with Gray?

Not only in bed with him, Rose feeling in the middle of worlds she didn't want to anchor. Alicia still called daily, one of the reasons Rose had taken Liam to the park. Alicia was now calling three times a day; how often had she and Margaret spoken during a given twenty-four hours? Rose decided to never be that involved with Emory. Rose's children needed their own space, as Rose needed hers.

She rang Petra every few days, or her sister called her. They emailed or Facebooked, but not in the frequency Alicia seemed to require. Maybe it was just this early time. Eventually Alicia would chill out.

Rose laughed, hearing Liam's stories about Lisa. Then he pulled his sister aside, whispering something in her ear. Both children stared back at their mother.

"What?" Rose asked.

They waited for her to reach them, then Liam's arms went up. Rose was agreeable, holding her son, Emory gripping her other hand. "What you two?" Rose smiled.

"Mommy, are you gonna have another baby?" Emory's voice tentative.

"Not right now."

"Are you ever?"

"Why?"

Emory gazed to the ground and Liam felt heavy in Rose's arms. "Em, why?" Rose asked.

"Tell Mommy what she said," Emory nodded to her brother.

"No," Liam squeaked.

"What?" Rose groaned.

"Mommy, Lisa said her mommy was too old to have a baby. Are you too old?"

Rose swallowed a giggle, then set Liam down, squatting next to them and holding their hands, trying to keep her balance. "No, I'm not too old, and right now Daddy and I aren't pregnant. Maybe someday we will be, but for now you two are all I need. If that changes, Daddy and I will tell you, and if we get pregnant, we'll tell you about that too."

When did they get so smart, or was it only how kids were these days, Rose wondered, leading her children by the hand, walking along broken concrete that she knew well, cement that was being placed step by step into the minds and memories of her offspring.

Gray heard all the stories of their afternoon, of ageless Ramona and infantless Megan. Dinner was only the four of them, Petra busy with work. The children spoke to their aunt on the house phone while Rose chatted with Alicia on her cell. Rose cut that call short, offering that Petra needed to talk her.

Emory didn't get a shower that night, or any braids. Only bedtime stories and it was Rose to send her children to dreamland. What she told them, as if on a journey that ended when they woke in the morning. Traveling to a new day, Rose wished she could skip a few. Get Alicia over this early juncture, then find a place within herself that wasn't uncertain about furthering the Burnett gene pool. Move Petra over the single gal hurdle, easing Garth into a solitary lifestyle with minimal pain. Her children might be more concerned with their aunt, but Rose worried about Garth.

In their own bed Rose and Gray made love in a different manner. Not their usual end of Rose's cycle frenzy, but something closer to making a baby. Gray's affectionate movements traveled along her body, inside and out, Rose so aware of what he wanted. He did want another child, but it remained elusive, only voiced in hands attentive, fingers nimble. In a gentle, easy motions, and then, right before he came, Gray finally set words to all those actions. "Rose, I want a baby with you!"

It was whispered right above her, Gray supporting himself with outstretched arms. Lost in the moment, Rose nodded. "Gray, please!"

That was all he needed. Within seconds Gray was done, lying on her body. A great quiet rested between them, squished, Rose felt, but not like an old banana. More like the face of a newborn, just how nearly every baby looked. Something inescapable and soon it changed, completely unexpected.

How had they reached this decision, Rose wondered, feeling as if it was the only thing she wanted. Another baby with Gray; would they one day forget Liam had planted the bug?

"Honey, I love you. Gray, you okay?"

He gave barely a nod, keeping his head to the side.

"You want a boy Elmo or a girl Elmo?"

That brought him round. "How about just a boy or girl?"

"How about?" Rose said, kissing the side of his face. "I'm game."

He looked to her, then moved from her body. "Are you sure?"

"Gray, I don't want to be fifty wondering if we made a mistake now by only having two. My god, that woman will be in her late sixties when those girls are, well, in college."

"Rose, what if, I mean, what if something happens or..."

"Gray, hasn't enough happened already?"

He had no answer for her and truthfully, Rose felt the question was moot. They wouldn't have an Elmo, but they could try for another Burnett. What they got, if nothing else, wouldn't be a red, furry Muppet.

Chapter 14: Garth Goes Away

For over two weeks Petra and Garth had been successful in avoiding each other. Petra had told her sister she didn't want to see him before he left, needing the cleanest break possible. Rose had agreed, running interference when she could. For his part, Garth didn't come round, much to Emory and Liam's displeasure. Both children took the separation harder than the adults had considered, but by the time Garth prepared for his vacation, the kids had grown quiet about his absence.

They said little, but Rose had seen changes in both. Emory whined more, especially when Petra visited. Emory wouldn't mention Garth's name, but would begin noting something was missing. Not _someone_ , Rose and Gray noted, as if Emory had lost a toy. Liam was less subtle, occasionally asking if Garth was coming for dinner. Petra might not even be around when he voiced his query, but Rose never missed their grief. For a moment she was glad her mother had died before grandchildren had arrived. Garth's absence from Petra's side seemed bad enough.

Over those two weeks, Rose and Gray's other concern had moved into a higher gear. They had decided Rose would forgo that month's contraception and just see what happened. Rose wouldn't start anything so obvious as prenatal vitamins, but she was cutting back on caffeine, and wouldn't smoke any pot. She didn't bring up siblings with Liam, who had cooled on the idea since learning he wouldn't receive an instant playmate. Rose fought the urge to hold Megan's baby, but now and again the situation presented itself, and Rose tried to be objective. The little boy was soft, smelled good, seemed happy. That he was bald while her children had sported full heads of hair threw her, but the blue-eyed infant, named James, had assured to Rose that what she and Gray were planning would be fine. She shared that with Gray; after cuddling the baby, her score had moved from eighty-five to over ninety percent, hovering around ninety-three.

They still used code, Elmo this and that, which made Emory ask; did Mommy and Liam watch _Sesame Street_ while Emory was at school? Liam assured her they didn't, but he admitted to seeing it a few times with Rusty and at his educational base. He'd grown protective of The Rumpus Room after a few straight nights of Emory's teasing, infants at the preschool which doubled as a day care center. They were in a different facility and Liam never came into contact with them. Rose wished that he might, only to see babies weren't all that bad. On Thursday, the first of October, Rose had another opportunity to hold Megan's son. She sat on a curb as Megan delivered a paper to the office. "Liam, c'mere," Rose called.

He stood at the gate, but obeyed his mother, moving slowly to where Rose rested, almost on the ground. She had been seated, having arrived early, trying to escape her cousin's persistent and somewhat drunken phone calls. As Liam approached, Rose noted he seemed intrigued by the small creature in her arms.

James was awake, emitting cooing noises, a charmer, Rose smiled. As if flirting with Liam, trying to win him over, James batted eyelashes, attempting a smile. In gripping Liam's finger, Rose's son was instantly smitten. Megan returned to find Liam holding the baby, Rose's hands underneath.

Megan joined them on the ground. "What do you think Liam?"

"He's so small. Is he really going to get bigger?"

"He already has," she laughed. "I need to get new sleepers for him."

Rose felt her score inching along, now hovering around ninety-seven percent. If Emory offered equal enthusiasm, Rose suspected she'd be pushed over the top.

Liam's smile had done it for Rose, edging her within those last few percentage points. That and the utter joy of sharing another child with her offspring. She wished Gray was there, but would let Liam tell his father about James. That would be almost as good.

With freed hands, Megan went for the girls. Rose held the baby, Emory making her brother move over, taking his spot. Asia was nonplused, well used to her small sibling, but Emory was as Liam, fascinated with this tiny human, one who clutched at her fingers and made soft sounds, Emory thoroughly allured by the bare-headed infant within her mother's arms. Megan leaned down, collecting her son, placing him in the carrier. Rose then stood, giving a gracious smile, leading her children away.

All they could talk of was that baby; how cute he was, how good he smelled, which made Rose laugh. He'd pooped while in Liam's grasp, making her son giggle at his funny faces. Only once they were near home did either child ask the question that for a time had been stilled; were Rose and Gray going to have another baby?

Rose couldn't hide her smile. "Well, we're starting to think about it. Daddy and I are talking about having another child."

Liam's face turned. "A child? Not a baby?"

Rose laughed. "No, it'll be a baby, believe me."

They turned their corner, Rose in the middle with two hands in her own. Noting their squeezes, Rose realized she would be outnumbered, a concept not yet considered. Then she heard shouts, ones she hadn't given thought to in a few weeks. Her sister and Garth stood outside Rose's front door and they weren't discussing the weather.

"You goddamned bastard!" Petra's voice cut through the air, a cooler day than previous, but still not cold. Rose's first thought was that Petra must have forgotten her key, or they had only just arrived, neither usually so brazen with their displays.

"Hey!" Rose shouted, her children's hands tightening around her fingers. Emory and Liam had seen people drunk, high, and unconscious on a couch, but open antagonism wasn't a typical spectacle.

Both Petra and Garth turned and it was then Rose saw her sister's key in the door, or at least that Petra was trying to unlock it. Garth hadn't moved, but his body was clenched, arms around himself, a closed stance uncommon to the normally relaxed man.

"Go away Garth!" Petra yelled, lurching through the doorway.

If not for the children, the scene would have lasted longer. Rose ordered Emory and Liam to wait in front of the Gallagher's house, then she ran toward the couple, staring back to her frightened children.

"What in the hell's wrong with you two?" Rose hissed, passing by Garth, who still hadn't moved. Petra had only stepped inside the living room, a screen door separating them. "Can't you do this somewhere else?"

Petra flinched. "Rose, this sonovabitch followed me here. Maybe I need to call the police."

"Listen, my kids are one house away. You two can fight this out at your place!"

"It's not OUR place anymore," Garth groaned.

Rose looked back, Emory's arm around her brother. "Listen, I don't give a fuck where you argue, but you are not doing it here!"

Both Petra and Garth appeared chastened, but neither spoke.

"I mean it," Rose continued. "If you want to do this, get out of my neighborhood!"

Her voice had quieted, but her tone stung. She turned from them and headed to where the children stood.

"Mommy, what's happening?" Emory trembled.

Rose knelt, keeping her back to the angry couple. She only heard footsteps as the children gazed over her, seeking what was happening behind their mother. "Aunt Petra and Garth are having a discussion."

"You mean a fight." Emory tried to peer around her mother.

"Why are they fighting?" Liam asked.

"Because they're mad at each other," Rose answered.

"Well yeah," Emory huffed. "Why?"

"I have no idea," Rose sighed.

Garth's car left, the transmission's rattle giving it away. Then Rose turned, seeing no one standing beside Petra's Prius.

She stood, taking the kids' hands. "Come on, but once we're inside, you two go either to the backyard or to your rooms."

Small noises of dissent emerged, but Rose would have none of it. By the time they reached the front door, only a soft weeping sound was noticeable, and both kids ran to their aunt, sitting on the sofa.

Rose again sighed, setting her unused keys on the kitchen counter. The cordless phone stood with a flashing light, indicating a message. Certain it was Alicia, Rose ignored it, pouring her sister some water. As she approached the trio, Emory was soothing Petra's tears, Liam curled into his aunt.

"Pet, you want something to drink?"

"No."

"Aunt Petra, are you okay?" Emory crooned.

Setting the glass on the coffee table, Rose took the end of the sofa, watching her six-year-old console a nearly forty-year-old woman. Liam huddled against his aunt, but Emory already knew the motions.

"Oh babies, you guys are too good to me."

"Why was Garth so mad?" Liam asked.

Was he taking the man's side, Rose wondered. The only male, had Liam felt obliged?

"Cause, oh, I don't know." Petra stroked her nephew's head.

Rose knew that was a lie. Her children didn't.

For ten minutes they sat together, then Rose led the kids to the kitchen, getting them a snack. After another ten minutes, she plied them with bubbles to the backyard, telling them to be very careful not to spill on the grass. Emory seemed aware she was in charge, to which Rose only rolled her eyes, hearing an upper hand emerge in her daughter's voice.

Petra hadn't moved and Rose sat beside her. Petra scooted toward Rose, who noted more than some disagreement in Petra's fierce grip. Was it _The Worst_ revisited?

"Pet, what in the hell's going on?"

"Oh Rose! It's really over with him."

Wasn't it already, Rose wanted to ask. "Are you sure?"

"Uh-huh." Petra sat up, but didn't go far from her sister. "He wanted me to go with him tomorrow, and if I didn't, that was it. Rose, there's no way in hell I'm leaving for three weeks, what was he thinking?"

"Maybe he just wanted to see if..."

"You know what he wanted? He wanted me to give up everything and just leave. Just flake out on my life, work, responsibilities! He was gonna go on this trip even before we split and that was fine, because he also knew I wasn't coming along. But now it's like some stupid test. Some stupid fucking test and I'm not gonna play that game. He can just DROWN in the stupid Pacific for all I care!"

Rose knew some of the details, a two-week fishing trip. Of course there was no way Petra could go. It had been a test, Rose agreed.

"Honey, maybe this is better, I mean, that he's going and, well..." Easier for Petra to get over him if she was pissed. Easier at least for now.

If he was only away, Petra would pine for him. Not get in her Prius and drive south to wait for him, but now that wasn't even in the cards. Petra seemed ready to wash her hands of a man that had been her world for five years. Rose felt great loss seep into the room, smelling not of weed or poopy babies, but strangely of bubbles.

"MOM! Liam spilled the soap!"

"Just a minute!" Rose ran into the dining room. Just beyond the sliding glass door stood Liam in jeans soaked down the front with bubble solution.

Gray had arrived home to a child in the tub, Petra drinking wine on the couch, and Alicia on the phone. Emory was talking to Rose's cousin, Petra was crying into her cell, and from what Gray could tell, it sounded like Lovie on the other end, not an ideal situation. Then Gray found his wife and Liam in the bathroom, wet pants hanging over the rod.

"Uh hi." He leaned down, kissing his wife's head.

"Hi. What's going on out there?"

"Emory's chatting with Alicia and Petra's talking with L-O-V-I-E."

"Daddy, what's that spell?" Liam asked.

"None of your beeswax," Rose said.

"Daddy, I held a baby today."

Gray gave Rose a look and she stood, letting him have the toilet. The seat was down and Gray eyed his wife and son as Liam told his tale.

It was the best news Gray had heard all day, would hear for the rest of the night. Eventually he would get his daughter's side of it, two narratives sustaining Gray as the evening progressed. An evening that for Petra and Rose seemed full of turmoil, phone calls shared with people whom neither wished to speak.

But in the bathroom, Gray first heard how nice it was to hold a baby, that maybe a tiny brother or sister wouldn't be so bad. They wouldn't argue, Liam noted, then laughed.

"What's so funny?" Gray asked.

"Oh, Garth's in the doghouse," Liam said.

More exchanges between husband and wife, but it would have taken too long to spell it out, literally as well as figuratively.

By dinnertime, Gray knew far more than the kids. He knew his wife was ready to get pregnant, which pleased him. He knew Emory also admired James McMahon, nice to hear. Gray knew that Petra was drunk and spending the night, which wasn't a surprise. He also learned Alicia was drunk, but not heading their way. That was good, but qualified; Alicia had been drunk when on the phone with Emory at four o'clock in the afternoon.

The last bit was that Lovie wanted to come over, but Rose had told him no. That made Gray sad and resigned. Lovie still had feelings for Petra, something Gray had suspected. No one ever broached it, for Petra had moved on, Lovie too, supposedly. Allegedly Lovie had let her go, but not really, and Gray had spoken to the man himself, telling him the last thing Petra needed was any more upset. No more drama, not for Petra, nor any of the rest of them.

Lovie had sounded high and hadn't argued. Gray spent the bulk of the evening trying to grade papers, but was interrupted by phone calls, even Michael offering his two cents, just that if they needed anything to ask. The last person Petra needed _anything_ from was Michael, but Gray didn't say that, just as Rose didn't tell her cousin to set down the wine bottle and go to bed. Instead both told their callers they would speak to them tomorrow.

Gray wondered how Michael knew, but if Garth was in as bad of shape at his ex, Gray didn't ponder it for long. Garth and Buster probably were drinking, more Garth than his host. Michael didn't live far from Buster, maybe he'd been running and maybe the guys had been sitting on Buster's front porch, brews in hand. It was early October, but not cold; with alcohol coursing through their veins, the men wouldn't have minded the breezy evening.

It could be anything like that, but Gray didn't care. Only that he had work to finish and Rose was ready. She was one hundred percent willing and the kids had found a small bundle of joy delightful. Gray focused on those issues while trying to concentrate on The Preamble.

By eight-thirty it was beyond him, that piece of American history that still ran through his head in a ditty from Saturday morning cartoons. He could recite it by heart not from memorizing it in college, only from watching _Bugs Bunny_ on TV when he was little. Trevor Burnett had known those songs too, preferring _Multiplication Rock_ to _Grammar Rock_ , but even with musical snippets spinning in his head, Gray needed a break. He opened the fridge, saw no beers. That was fine, both he and Rose going on the wagon. Instead he poured some juice, then found his wife putting the kids to bed.

Gray stood in the doorway as Rose kissed Emory, Liam already tucked in. The guest room door was closed, but Gray had heard Petra's mumbles. He didn't want to know who was on the other end of that dialogue.

"Goodnight Daddy," Emory called.

He stopped in, gave his wife a squeeze, then bent down and kissed his daughter. "Goodnight Em. I love you."

"I love you too Daddy. Is Aunt Petra gonna stay with us now?"

"Only tonight," he said. Maybe one more, but that remained to be seen.

"Okay." Emory turned to the wall and Gray left the room, closing her door most of the way.

He'd already given his son a hug and didn't bother him now, better to end this day. In snatches of conversation Rose had explained how they came home, in addition to how they had left school. One far the superior, both with long-range consequences. Petra might spend a few nights, but a baby; Gray couldn't help his smile. Rose wanted to make a baby!

He found his wife in the kitchen washing dishes and Gray held her. "You okay?"

Rose nodded. "Honey, I think this's it for them."

"Well, if he wanted her to go with him, Christ! What's in his head?"

"Who knows? All I know is I'm tired of Alicia and tired of..."

Petra's door rattled, then she emerged. "Listen, I'm going to bed. Thanks, you know?"

"You need your meds tonight?" Rose asked.

"No, I'll just take them in the morning. Listen, if Lovie happens to call..."

"Don't worry." Rose moved Petra's way. "Come on, I'll tuck you in."

"Read me a story too?" Petra smiled.

Gray chuckled. " _Goodnight Moon_ or _Pat the Bunny_?"

"How about _Romeo and Juliet_?" Petra offered.

"Takes too long," Rose said. " _Pat the Bunny_."

Gray heard their giggles as they headed for Petra's room.

Sitting on the bed, Rose waited for her sister to use the bathroom, which was probably still humid after Emory's shower. No time for braids that night, but Rose might do them in the morning if Emory asked. Petra returned and closed the door, then undressed, Rose seeing that scar running right down the middle of Petra's chest.

Her sister's breasts sat on either side, Petra a generous B. When Petra had been pregnant with Lovie's child, she'd gotten far enough along that her bust had increased, a short-lived experience that Petra later said made that scar feel stretched. Now she only looked aged, wan. Missing something, someone.

"You gonna be okay?" Rose asked.

Having slipped a nightgown over her head, Petra started to braid her hair. "Here, you do it."

A brush waited on the side table and Rose ran it through her sister's thin tresses. Then with quick motions she plaited the length. "You're much easier than Emory."

"I don't wiggle," Petra said, getting under the covers.

Rose stood to leave, but Petra waved her to sit. "Rose, I wanna ask you something."

"What?"

"You think I'm ever gonna settle down, I mean for good?"

"Sure."

Petra laughed. "I don't, not with the losers around here. Either I leave town or someone new moves in. Rose, I love him, but I just can't do this anymore. He's too flaky, too..."

Needy, Rose thought, but didn't say. Why was it all of Petra's lovers needed her more than she wanted them?

"Too much of a kid. Why do I date, fall in love with, then live with guys who are perpetually thirteen years old?"

Rose had a small chill with that number, the age Gray was when the babysitter attacked. Petra knew that story, but maybe she'd forgotten specifics. "I don't know honey."

"Me neither. Thank god you have Gray."

"Yeah, knock on wood."

Petra gave another small laugh. "Listen Rose, you walk tomorrow right?"

"Uh-huh."

"Get me up when you leave. I need to take my pills."

"Okay. Pet, if you need anything tonight..."

"I know. You're just down the hall."

"Yeah, I am."

Rose hadn't moved, but her sister turned to the left, away from Rose's sight. All Rose saw was a long braid, like that of a girl. As she got off the bed and said goodnight, Rose wondered if Petra was the adolescent. Maybe it was mutual attraction, men and one woman who came together not seeking to make a family or a home. Petra rented her apartment, had lived in it for over ten years. She wouldn't have a child and Rose shuddered, life suddenly so transitory.

Chapter 15: Ghosts And The Ways They Move

By Saturday, October the third, Garth had driven his aging VW Bug all the way to Santa Barbara, then caught a lift with guys heading to San Diego. From there they were driving to Ensenada, Mexico, from where they were taking a large boat for two weeks of deep sea fishing, a few port of calls along the way. Petra knew few details, only his travel down south and that he wasn't due back until the twenty-third. Now she didn't care, telling Rose, Gray, Lovie, and Alicia just that. On Saturday afternoon, before The Pool Gurus' gig later that evening, those band mates and Alicia Hester sat on the Burnetts' front porch watching Emory and Liam blow bubbles. Petra had the wicker chair, Rose and Gray the settee, while Lovie and Alicia had drawn the wrought-iron chairs close. All were drinking except Rose and Gray.

"Maybe he'll fall into the goddamned Pacific." Petra sipped her wine, speaking in a hushed tone, the children not far.

"That'd teach him," Alicia slurred. She'd had far more to drink than any of them.

Lovie picked up the thread as Rose sighed, watching her offspring slipping through rose bushes, leaving thin trails of soap on leaves and stems. A few blooms still hung on branches ready for a rest, Rose having deadheaded all her bushes yesterday after returning from her walk. She had roused her sister, then headed into the night that didn't seem peaceful. Coming home, it was turning into day, and before she went inside, Rose had snapped a few dying flowers, careful of the ever present thorns.

Garth might become one of those, Petra expelling bitterness and anger. Part of it was the wine, part was Alicia's unhelpful demeanor. A small part was the large man who sat between Gray and Alicia, Lovie not bringing any grass with him. Not this early in the day, not around the kids. But he'd had three beers and Rose wondered just how he was getting home.

Gray could take him, but then Lovie's truck would need to reach the venue. The club was downtown and parking might be troublesome. Alicia was spending the night, her keys already in Rose's possession. Petra and Alicia would go with Rose and Gray, and from Lovie's red cheeks and eyes, he probably would too.

Rose's car could hold five, the equipment already in place. How they would trek everyone _home_ was another matter, but Rose left it, feeling Gray's hand around hers. In another week she might present him with some good news, which would alter things considerably. No more shows for Rose, in that even inhaling marijuana fumes was something she had avoided with Emory and Liam. The guys might still play, but Rose would be the one doing the babysitting.

But not that night, Lise watching the kids. As that thought crossed Rose's mind, up pulled the young woman's Toyota, Dane in the passenger seat.

The children flocked to the car, Dane with Liam's hand as Emory was all over Lise. Rose saw the youth of that quartet, then gazed at those with whom she sat. Alicia was the oldest and she looked it, Lovie right behind her. Gray and Petra appeared their years, less than Lovie, and if Rose could see herself, she'd be surprised.

There among those young and not quite middle aged sat Judith Robinson.

Rose was so similar to her mother, but only Petra noticed it, and that afternoon Petra was drunk. It didn't take much, only four glasses of wine, Petra Margaret Robinson a lightweight with either drugs or alcohol. Because she was unaffected by deep concepts, she missed how much her sister was their mother in how Rose moved, the way she parented her children, loved her husband. Had Judith lived to see this day, she would have perceived it, probably pointed it out to her daughters. Instead, Judith was dead, but never far from her offspring.

Rose and Petra had no idea their mother floated at their sides, rarely thought of her presence unless a reminder poked. Margaret Leinhart's funeral had been one, but otherwise the plane crash was ten years in the past, and so much had happened since; Petra's miscarriage, Rose's children, Lovie and Garth in Petra's life. Gray was a constant, but others had joined, left, stayed, Judith Robinson an ethereal element as real as the bubbles her grandchildren created.

If the Robinson sisters could see beyond their limited view, they would notice their mother hovering around Emory and Liam, catching those bubbles in her hands, letting them loose, trailing after those slight, slick balls that popped, then were recreated with another wave of a wand, the burst of air through a small plastic stick. Emory and Liam never knew it was their grandmother sending their bubbles high and low. No one knew Judith was even there.

A woman so much like Rose with long, brown wavy hair, large eyes and that warm smile, also a practical approach to organization. Rose was her mother's daughter, all except her smoking. However, in her day Judith Hoffman Robinson could knock a few back, from where Alicia got her penchant for drink. Margaret and Judith Hoffman had shared various traits with their progeny; Petra owed her ill health to Margaret, and Alicia and Rose liked to get wasted courtesy of Judith.

Alicia wouldn't say _no_ to pot, but like her Aunt Judith, preferred a glass of wine. Or three or four. More like six or seven since Margaret's death and that was just in the afternoon. In the evening another bottle was consumed, the last four weeks so difficult for Alicia Leinhart Hester. An alcoholic since before Carl left, Alicia's drinking had been one of the reasons he fled. It hadn't gotten any better after his departure.

Judith could do nothing for her niece or her daughters. She drifted through their lives, close enough to catch bubbles, dead enough to do little else. She caused no turmoil or pain, offering no comfort either, flanking Rose on those dark mornings, playing alongside her grandchildren, looking so much like her youngest child. Not much like her oldest, Petra taking after Don. But Judith's presence was not without implication. Like the child who did resemble her, Judith had also known when people were going to die. She had never worried about Petra, no sense ever entering Judith's mind something final would happen to that daughter in Judith's lifetime. However for Rose, it would not be that way. Rose's children would be fine. Rose's other blood relatives were a different story.

If Judith owned any method to inform her daughters and niece to this fact, she wouldn't. As it was a moot point, she only wafted about, altered to the worsening state of Alicia's health. Not as bad as Petra's, but Alicia was another ghost, living her life as if not within it. Since her marriage fell apart due to her drinking, Alicia had only her mother for support. Now Margaret was dead and while Judith might have wished to offer back-up, she was useless, unable to notify her niece to the gradual, slow passing she was encountering daily, or to tell Rose of Petra's eventual fate. Judith only chased her granddaughter, who appeared more like her mother and grandmother every day. Appealing features ran in that line of women as it had with Judith's mother Ethel; rangy voices, lush tresses, alluring eyes. Also the knowledge of impending heartache; Judith realized Ethel's fatal heart attack four days before it happened. She'd been in early labor with Petra, again more grandchildren unaware of their grandparents. That would cease with Rose and Gray, a couple quite lively when Emory and Liam would become parents. Rose Robinson Burnett would buck the trend; while her grandmother, mother, sister, and cousin would all die relatively young, Rose wouldn't.

But Judith was only involved in the present. On that blowy, autumn afternoon in early October, she romped invisibly with her grandchildren, keeping her distance from Rose, Petra, and Alicia. Judith didn't know that Rose would live a long time, only that one day Rose would be the only Robinson left. With no way to tell her, and not much of a desire to either, Judith remained in the yard, moving around rose bushes, occasionally through them. As her daughter came near, seeking to free Emory's sweater caught on an errant thorn, Judith Hoffman Robinson disappeared.

"Mommy!" Emory shouted. "I'm stuck!"

Rose stood, stretching arms over her head. Even for as drunk as Alicia was, it had been a pleasant afternoon. Stepping around her cousin and Lovie, she squeezed both their shoulders, heading to the upheaval.

"Don't move Em," Rose said, a sweater Margaret had made for Emory last Christmas.

"I won't. Mommy, is Lise staying with us now or is she gonna come back?"

Rose looked to the porch, Dane and his girlfriend standing on the edge near Petra. "I'm not sure. Probably come back. We're not leaving until after dinner."

"Oh."

Using gentle fingers, Rose unsnarled the soft yarn, red, blue, and green with flecks of yellow. Once Emory was free, Rose tugged loose strands back into position, then motioned for the kids to come with her. "Why don't you guys go out back?"

"Cause you're all out here," Emory said.

Rose smiled. "Okay well, what if we go out back too?"

Both children nodded. As she took their hands, alerting the rest to the change in location, Rose felt a small chill while passing her cousin. Alicia smelled of liquor, not only wine. She smelled of sadness, deep aching sorrow. A scent Rose knew, but couldn't remember from when.

They assembled in the backyard where lawn chairs were hastily arranged, no wicker furniture close. The kids ran on the grass and Dane joined them, as did Gray. It was only women and Lovie, and he was now seated in the middle of Petra and her cousin. He dwarfed them both, his laugh loud and ringing.

Rose felt that chill return, watching Alicia reaching for her drink. It was nearly empty and she'd said it was her last one. Rose wondered if that was true. Alicia had been drinking since she arrived, as if she hadn't stopped since the reception after Margaret's funeral. Rose had never previously considered her cousin had a problem, but that afternoon it hit her like a slap. All the phone calls; Alicia probably hadn't realized she was calling so often and Rose tried to remember if her cousin had sounded drunk for those conversations. Not before Margaret died, only afterwards.
"Anyone home?"

Rose stood, Michael's voice unmistakable. "Back here," she called.

He came around the side of the house dressed in his evening attire; black jeans, a long sleeved dark blue t-shirt, and black tennis shoes. His autumnal apparel and Rose kept her smile restrained. "Hey Michael. What's up?"

He stood stiff, nodding to Gray who continued to run around with the kids and Dane. Then Michael stared at Rose's cousin. "Not much. Just wondering what time we're getting over there."

"Take a seat." Lovie pointed to the one open chair.

Michael did after a few seconds, as if it was all his idea, sitting with them some favor. The free spot was on Alicia's left and she smiled at him.

"Michael, you remember my cousin Alicia? Alicia, this is our other guitarist Michael."

Not back-up or extra or spare, but _other_ ; Rose's voice had been even, gracious.

They exchanged pleasantries and when asked if he wanted a drink, he shook his head. "I'm driving. God Lovie, I hope you're not."

"Nope. Gonna ride with Rosie and Gray."

Alicia engaged with Michael, her speech emerging more clearly, less wrecked. Petra and Lovie chatted, ignoring Michael. Lise was involved in that conversation for a few minutes, then joined her boyfriend, Gray, and the children.

On her own, Rose noted the interactions between one couple from years ago, and another new. Was that the chill she had felt, Michael and Alicia? Rose's stomach felt slightly sour, all sensations she had known with Colin, with her mother, with those approaching the end.

Standing, Rose made an excuse. She didn't even look to her husband, going inside for a glass of water. It didn't help; instead she felt more woozy and ran to their bedroom, falling on her knees in front of the toilet. Rose didn't throw up, but she wanted to.

Another thought passed poked; was she pregnant? Rose hadn't felt any symptoms with Emory or Liam until after she'd known, well into the second month. Nausea, fatigue, mostly fatigue. She had been exhausted in the first trimester with both kids, but not all that sick. Wishing it was that, she stood, then was met by Gray in the dining room.

"You okay?" He reached for her face. "You look awful."

Rose laughed. "It's one of three things. Either I'm pregnant, Michael and Alicia are going to get it on, or someone's gonna die."

Gray chuckled, setting his hand on her belly. "I know which of those I'd prefer."

Rose kissed him, then looked out, a backyard full of her adopted and actual family. "God me too. Don't know which of the other two would be worse."

All evening Rose made up for her lackluster performance of the previous show, Petra backstage offering small strengths, Alicia too. For three songs Alicia joined the band, bolstering her own fragile sense of self. Rose gripped her hand, their voices balanced in what Rose accepted as a send-off to Margaret, who did not sing but had appreciated her sister's voice, Rose's too. After a few minutes' backstage, the group reappeared, one by one, as Rose sang "Haven't Got Time For the Pain", Alicia joining Rose. Years before Rose had followed that tune with "Never Been Gone", and as Gray strummed notes for "Another Way To Die", Rose approached her husband, whispering in his ear.

Rose then did the same to her cousin and Alicia nodded, the women having sung "Never Been Gone" as Rose's mother taught it to them. The intro was a quiet collection of hummed voices, which Rose initiated. It was lost to the crowd, who wouldn't be apt to recall an old Carly Simon tune not performed in ages, but the rest of the band knew exactly this collection of notes, and within seconds Lovie's piano began, the only instrument, save Rose's voice.

She stood center stage, completely sober. Her queasiness hadn't returned and unsure if she was pregnant, if nothing else Rose was filled with the memory of standing on a similar stage, learning a painful truth. Her mother was going to leave her, her mother and her father. They wouldn't return from their vacation and as the song ended, all seven voices emerged together, Alicia right at Rose's side. That cousin was crying and Rose stared out, seeing faces in awe, perhaps a few long-time fans who might know that tune, might remember that far back.

The words had come easily to Rose, shocking her. Alicia also knew them and as they finished, Rose only nodded to the rest, leading her cousin offstage. It seemed a strange way to end her role, but no additional vocals from Rose that night would be appropriate.

Rose heard cheers and applause, then the footsteps of the band. She hadn't expected them to follow her and once Gray stood beside her, she told him so. "Go back out there."

He smiled, stroking her cheek. "Honey, how in the hell do we follow that? Besides, they're leaving. That was really it."

"Well shit," Rose sighed.

"No, it's okay," Buster added, joining them. "Rosie, that was stunning."

She nodded, still not aware of what she'd done. The vocals had poured from her, was it some sort of final goodbye to her mother, something for Aunt Margaret, some introduction of what she and Gray were hoping to conceive? "Thanks Buster," was all Rose could muster.

He smiled. "Honey, I've always loved that song."

As they packed up, Rose still felt unsettled. She allowed it was that last tune, also the way Michael had his arm around her cousin. Petra had left for Rose's vehicle too choked to speak, but Rose wound cables around her bent forearm as Lovie carted his keyboards to the back of her car. They would take him home, Buster hauling whatever wouldn't fit in Rose's small SUV.

She didn't consider it as one of her last gigs, only that her cousin had needed some closure. Not for her recently deceased mother, but maybe for other things, her failed marriage and whatever had spurred Alicia's drinking in the first place. Rose wouldn't touch those issues, but another stared at her, Michael with Alicia's hand in his. "Listen," he said. "I'll take Alicia home, to your house. That way you can get everything packed up tonight."

"Okay." Gray looked puzzled. "But Buster's gonna take the rest in his truck."

"I'll still take Alicia with me." Michael's voice was unbothered.

"Well, follow us. She doesn't have a key on her." Rose spoke as if her cousin was too drunk to pay attention.

Was Alicia too inebriated to realize with whom she stood? Rose saw exhaustion, also elation. Was it from what they sang, or the man beside her?

That gave Rose a chill and she owned an inward smile, now aware of what made her want to vomit earlier, Michael with her cousin. Rose forced that trapped grin to her lips.

"We'll be right behind you," Michael said.

"That's great," Rose answered.

In the parking lot, Gray commandeered Rose's Ford Escape, Lovie and Petra in the back seat. Alicia sat beside Michael in his Audi, Dane waiting in a Honda Civic. He would follow them to Rose's to get Lise.

Buster sat alone in his Chevy truck, then got out, walking toward Gray. The window was cracked and he only offered that if they wanted him to take Lovie, there was room.

"I'll just dump him off at his house," Gray laughed, small drones rumbling in the back seat.

"Okay," Buster chuckled. "Just wanted to offer. I'll see you guys later."

Rose waved, noting someone approach Buster's truck, a small figure, not that of a man.

Lovie was snoring, but Rose didn't need to hear what Buster said to a person more than a fan. As the woman stood, arms around herself, she then twirled on her toes, a small pirouette with which Rose was familiar. "Gray, I think that's Gloria."

He was starting the car, Michael's headlights behind them. "What?"

Rose pointed as the woman let arms hang at her side. "Gray, it's Gloria!"

To Rose, she looked as a ghost, some figure from the mist. The night had been cool, clouds obscuring the stars Rose had peered for, but hadn't found. Only a flat sky and there in the dark, Buster and his ex-wife embraced. Or someone was hugging Buster.

Gray pressed the accelerator and as the couple was on Rose's side, she rolled down her window as Gray slowly drove past. With a glimpse, Rose was correct, Buster's face nodding their way, arms around his ex, his head then falling into her shoulder. Rose continued to stare at them until Gray turned left and the Cutlers were out of sight.

Chapter 16: A Hat Trick Part One

For the next few days, Rose had to wonder if indeed she was pregnant. She was tired, taking her morning walks with reluctance, but perhaps it was psychosomatic. Perhaps it was Alicia speaking of Michael with a kinder voice than any of the rest of them ever employed. Maybe it was Garth's absence not only affecting Rose's children, who asked every few days about that man, but the way Petra pined for him. Rose wondered if her sister had only been kidding herself.

Petra had been at the Burnetts every evening for dinner since the show and by mid-week had even spent two nights. While Alicia's calls had dropped off considerably, Petra's presence had taken their cousin's place as no one had taken Garth's. As Rose woke on Thursday morning, so glad to only need a shower, then get Emory to school, she heard her sister's snores from down the hallway. Petra was the only one who didn't close her door and her drones were noted.

Rose also heard Gray in the shower, then felt something within her stir. Not quite nausea, but certainly not the usual, easy manner of waking. She rolled toward her side of the room, attempting to calm her mind, find a level that discounted turmoil and upset. Even stomach upset, but Rose couldn't control that. She might ignore Alicia and Michael, even Petra's heartache, but Rose couldn't dismiss her own discomfort.

They had only started trying; did people get pregnant that easily? Rose was thirty-six, not a kid. Not in her twenties, not some youthful girl. Was she knocked up? She wanted to smile, wanted to giggle. Instead, all she felt was ill.

The water in the bathroom ceased and Rose sat up, taking deep breaths. She heard Gray pull back the curtain, then his quiet voice mulling over his day. He talked to himself, which endeared him to Rose, as if he was telling her all these things; a quiz to give in government, an essay to assign in U.S. history. He needed to speak to a few seniors that were already struggling. It would pain Gray if kids stumbled on this requirement for graduation and Rose got out of bed, running her husband's voice through her head. It was soothing, the one thing that eased her stomach. Not entirely, because Rose was listening for something other than Gray's day. Was he nearly done in the bathroom?

She didn't mind dry-heaving in front of him, had done it before. Not only when pregnant, but just when she felt lousy. Too many tokes would sometimes make her queasy, but this didn't feel like that. She was clearheaded, not fuzzy, and was Gray ready to step off the bathmat, the towel maybe around his middle or only set on the rack, leaving Rose plenty of space to kneel in front of their toilet and set her head over the bowl?

"Gray, you done?"

"Yeah. Good morning."

Rose didn't answer that. "Gray, I need the bathroom."

Their facilities weren't large and while Rose could have squeezed in, she'd prefer to not.

"Okay. I'm done."

He might be done, but he wasn't _out_ , and Rose poked her head around the door. The face Gray saw wasn't expected, what Rose noted in his eyes. They were wide, shocked by how _she_ looked, sick and rushed.

Rose wasn't aware of that, only eying him in desperation. He was naked, the towel in his hand. "Gray, could you leave please?"

"Baby, what?"

"GRAY!"

He moved around her as she went to her knees, but as she suspected it was only the motions, ones familiar even with a four-year break. Rose allowed that into her head. She hadn't gotten stoned last night, nor had she drank anything. She'd only made love to her husband all month without chemicals in her body to preclude anything being conceived. Her period's expected start was still three days away, but on that Thursday morning, Rose Robinson Burnett began to accept that bodily function would be months, maybe a year and a half, in returning.

Gray had little time to spare that morning, but he did need to hold his wife after helping her stand, also aware they might have gotten lucky far sooner than expected. They sat on his side of the bed, Rose leaning into him, Gray's arms around her so steadfast, as how he had been since singing together that first time in the Cutler family shed. A few months ago Gray hadn't realized he wanted another child, yet more than likely Rose was harboring something, more than a thing. A one, _someone_.

"Honey, how early, I mean, when can we find out?"

"Well, I'm due on Saturday, so two days."

Gray nodded, but his heart was devious. "What if I brought a test home today?"

She laughed. "It might only be a false-negative."

It was his turn to chuckle, their thoughts the same. "Baby, Rose, you think..."

Her grasp was fierce and Gray reciprocated. "Maybe Gray. Maybe. I sure don't feel good this morning."

"No more walks for you?"

She giggled. "At least not today. If I'm like this tomorrow morning, probably not then either."

"Jesus Christ," he whispered. "Baby, I can't tell you..."

She looked up. In her eyes he saw the same wonder, surprise, luck. It was sheer luck, neither of them young but fertile. Rose's age seemed to make little difference in that department. "Gray, do it."

"Do what?" he asked, stroking her face.

"Get a test on your way home today. If it's negative and I don't start on Saturday, we'll take another on Sunday."

"You sure?"

Her face returned to his side, snuggling close. "Yeah. I want to know as soon as possible."

Before he left, Gray Burnett did kiss his wife, but refrained from caressing her stomach. Partially not to jinx anything, mostly because Rose still looked green. "Listen, I'll call you later, see how you are."

"Okay," she smiled. "Gray, I think, maybe..."

"Maybe," he agreed and both laughed.

She walked him to the garage door on her side of the living room and stood in the doorway as he got into his car, a newer model Mazda hatchback. Gray touched the roof of the car, then smiled.

"What?" Rose asked.

"I think it's gonna be too small."

"Oh hell, you just bought it!"

"I know," he chuckled. "But maybe..."

"Get your butt to work Gray Burnett!"

"I'm going, I'm going."

Rose smiled as he backed out and she stared at him until the garage door went down. She didn't move from the doorway until steps were heard, not heavy ones Petra might take, but those lighter, Emory's voice following her feet. "Mommy, what are you doing?"

"Just said goodbye to your dad." Rose turned to find her six-year-old, hair hanging in plaits. Suddenly Emory looked huge, as if her steps should have resounded as Petra's did.

Emory hugged Rose, then stared at her face. "Mommy, you okay?"

"Sure Em, why?"

"You look different."

Rose smiled, closing the door. "How honey?"

Emory sighed, gazing at her mother. "Bigger. Did you grow overnight?"

Rose laughed, sitting at her computer, taking this oldest child onto her lap. "Emory, I love you."

"I love you too. Will you make French toast for breakfast?"

The thought of egg made Rose grimace, but Emory couldn't see her mother. "How about cinnamon toast?"

As if she'd offered a frosted Pop Tart, Rose felt Emory's nodding head. "Oh yeah! Do we have to tell Liam?"

Rose laughed again. "I'm sure he'll smell it."

Emory got off her mother. "Yeah, probably. Well, that's okay."

"Yeah, I think it's okay," Rose agreed.

While Emory had noticed something about her mother was altered, Petra saw no changes, neither did Liam. Because Petra was there, Rose left Liam with his aunt, both on the couch with _Sesame Street_. On the walk with only her daughter, Rose thought about Elmo. Emory spoke of Garth, aware her aunt wasn't all right with her boyfriend's departure. Emory struck Rose as so much older, but she hadn't felt that when pregnant with Liam. This time, Rose tentatively allowed herself, was going to be different.

As far as she would take it, but as soon as she saw Megan McMahon, Rose's nausea flared. Instead of talking to her friend, Rose only waved, noting Liam was at home with the TV for company.

"Oscar the Grouch keeping an eye on him?" Megan yelled, her baby hollering.

"Something like that," Rose laughed. "My sister spent the night and this time of day she's pretty cranky."

"I'll see you later," Megan called. "Someone's not too happy with me either!"

Rose didn't wait for Megan to come through the gate, using her walker's speed to leave the school grounds as fast as possible.

Once away from Emory's educational base, Rose relaxed, and she slowed to her usual going to school pace. All those kids had seemed bigger, older, and she wondered if she had gotten close enough to James McMahon, would he too have looked changed? Rose let those thoughts linger, not that Petra was waiting.

But she was, her Prius out front when Rose returned. Rose's Ford was in the garage, an oversized two-car addition that housed kids' bikes and other paraphernalia, but no baby gear. Rose had given away things as Liam went through each piece. They would have to restock a crib, high chair, stroller, only a few special items of clothing had Rose saved. She had thought they were done, no question. Now she only felt like an idiot.

Stupid to hastily toss so many necessary objects, but maybe Megan might want to share. Rose wasn't sure if the McMahons were contemplating another, for as much work as James took. Then Rose smiled, reaching her front door, hearing Elmo from inside. She wasn't even _sure_ yet!

Only counting chickens. Rose came through, hearing rapturous giggles from the sofa. The smell of cinnamon was thick and the loaf of bread was open on the counter, a knife poked into the stick of butter Rose had used for Emory's breakfast.

"Mommy," Liam called. "Aunt Petra likes _Sesame Street_ too!"

Rose stared at a house long past babies, knick knacks everywhere. Big kids' toys waited in containers on Rose's side of the room, remotes and Gray's laptop on the coffee table where Liam and Petra sat. So many alterations waited, but her mind had been changed. Maybe the house wouldn't be a hard transition.

"Yeah Liam, we used to watch it when we were little," Rose said, joining them. Her nausea had retreated and she scooted between them, Liam scrambling onto her lap.

"Did you really?" he asked.

"Uh-huh. No Elmo back then though," Rose smiled.

"Thank god," Petra whispered.

"What?" Liam asked.

"Nothing," Rose said.

She didn't add anymore. Like Rose's children, Petra hadn't been informed the couple was actively trying, only that they were actively thinking. Rose felt a giggle but suppressed it, a whole lot of difference between the two. And now maybe she was changed from before. Not only Rose Burnett, but someone else as well.

Not Rose and Elmo she chuckled, as that red monster ended the program. All three sat through that segment, then Rose stood with Liam's assistance. "Mommy, can I have more toast?"

"Uh-huh. Pet, you want another?"

"Sure."

The morning was a slow procession of cinnamon sugar, then Petra took a shower as Liam played on his mother's computer. Rose felt strange, not only in her stomach's small reminders that something might be coming, but also her silence. She didn't want to tell Petra until she knew.

Never before had she kept something of such magnitude from her sister, except for their parents' approaching deaths. Otherwise Petra knew everything. Knew when Rose and Gray had started trying for Emory, for Liam. Knew as soon as Rose and Gray did when those children's existences were confirmed. This time, Petra had no clue.

As Petra readied to leave, Rose considered her own hushed behavior. Was it because of _The Worst_? It seemed the only reason for Rose to be keeping secrets. Before there had only been one, that they were trying. Now another had been added, possibly. Probably, Rose thought, again feeling sick to her stomach. Petra had gathered her things and said goodbye to her nephew, who was mesmerized by the monitor's glow.

"Uh yeah, goodbye Aunt Petra," Liam mumbled.

Both sisters laughed as Rose walked out with one of Petra's bags in her hand.

"Listen, tonight, you're on your own," Petra said, opening the trunk. They set her belongings inside and Petra closed it with a slam. "If the best I can get for breakfast is cinnamon toast, I'm sleeping in my own bed."

Surrender emerged in Petra's voice, also acceptance. Of what, Rose wasn't sure. Of at least that there, in the Burnett house, children came first. _Sesame Street_ could be used to occupy time, sugared bread sufficed in a pinch, and that Petra's place was of the occasional sleepover, not full time lodger. Rose wanted to tell her, wished to offer another side of their life; maybe it would revert to baby furniture and long stretches of exhausted parents, but something held her back. Petra stared at the house, Rose feeling as if her sister's eyes were searching through her.

"Listen, you're more than welcome to stay." Again Rose felt a small piece of guilt.

"Nah, you and Gray need some peace and quiet. Haven't heard you two romping around since I've been here."

Rose laughed. It wasn't only Petra's presence. While her snores were loud, Petra's hearing wasn't sharp enough to detect any lovemaking the couple might have enjoyed. That morning, there hadn't been any.

"Well," Rose started.

Her sister laughed. "Call me in a day or so. I'm sure you'll have something to tell me."

"I'm sure," Rose choked.

Petra got into her car, Rose remaining on the cement that split the front yard, feeling great sacrifice within her. Something was coming. Something, Rose sighed.

Later that day Rose decided it wasn't Petra. It was Michael, Michael and Alicia both.

Rose's cousin had called after lunch, long before Rose could use collecting Emory from school as an excuse to get off the phone. Rose listened to Alicia's soppy cries, then her small excitement; Michael had traveled to Sessay last night, taking her to dinner.

That nearly made Rose vomit, but she withheld the tomato soup she'd eaten. That and crackers, what had seemed appetizing. Alicia's news wasn't, but Rose forced it down her throat, and to her surprise, Alicia then said goodbye. It had been short and sweet and Rose wanted to think it was because Alicia needed a drink. Rose did, but couldn't have one.

She wanted a glass of wine, the thought of her cousin and Michael eating a meal together quite unpalatable. Alicia hadn't mentioned if Michael spent the night, only that he had driven there. Rose wanted to know, then didn't, as in how she felt concerning what Gray was bringing home. A test would tell them yes or no, but if it was no, it might be yes anyways. If Michael went to Sessay, had he returned that same night or... Alicia hadn't given any indication and while Rose knew some parts of Alicia well, like her musical tastes, she had little knowledge as to how her cousin reacted with the opposite sex. Alicia's marriage had gone down the tubes. What might a relationship with Michael Roddy incorporate?

Again, more than Rose wished to ponder, other pressing matters to consider, what she spent the rest of the afternoon considering. She and Liam walked to the school, meeting Megan and James. Liam wanted to hold the baby, but Rose only peeked, not needing any more than that. Emory and Asia emerged and while Emory wanted them to leave as a pack, again Rose pointed out that Megan and her family lived on the other side of school.

Rose was relieved that was the case. She didn't need to see that small infant, his happy babbling enough for Rose. She wasn't even letting her heart in on the news.

Not until she knew and as it stood, maybe not even then. Rose held her children's hands, hearing Emory's stories. Lindsay Carpenter hadn't been to school all week, but came that day looking awful, ready to cry. Rose hadn't heard much of that girl recently. Rose pressed, learning that Lindsay missed a lot of school, only attending a couple of days a week.

"That's too bad," Rose said.

"Well, at least she doesn't smell like she used to," Emory huffed.

As they reached their street, Rose had pried a few more details, making her wish not to have asked. Rose had hung with a relatively safe crowd all her life, but that fringe element had hovered. If not for Gray, Rose didn't know where she would have landed.

Maybe where Lindsay's mother Caroline dwelled, and from the way Emory described it, that sounded homeless at the moment. Rose approached her comfortable four-bedroom, two-bath house, saw the garage door was open, Gray's two-year-old Mazda in its space. Gray was early and Rose sped toward that house, one similar to what she had left only an hour before to collect her daughter. Now it seemed safer, larger, as if bigger on the inside than what her eyes caught. They weren't homeless or addicted, Rose's children cared for and content. Emory and Liam didn't smell, but might not be a twosome for much longer.

"Look," Emory pointed. "Daddy's home!"

Rose let her go, Liam wriggling free, and she approached their house alone, but was she? Within a few minutes, Rose felt, hearing her husband's warm voice accompanied by their children's pleased shouts, she would know if that was true.

He'd bought two; if one was negative, they could test in a few days, see if the answer had changed. Rose thought that was prudent, but in telling her, Gray was giddy, as if that second test was only for show.

Rose had no dinner plans, complementing Gray's unexpected arrival. He had skipped out on his last period due to the students receiving some mandatory advising. It was his juniors-only U.S. history class and with nothing more for the day, Gray left, his only stop an out of the way drugstore where he could anonymously purchase a pregnancy test, two tests. Gray had bought two tests and all Rose could do was smile.

The kids had been allowed to watch TV as the couple discussed the when and how and even some thoughts toward dinner. In their bedroom, the door cracked, both accepted it would take a fire to pry their offspring from the couch, but the thought of doing more than holding each other's hands seemed inappropriate. They had done far more than that, enough that two kits sat on Gray's dresser, out of view if the children did barge into the room.

They decided to wait until that night, leaving the mystery through dinner and bedtime. Depending on what they found out, it might be difficult to remain straight-faced if it was yes, and if it was no, it still might be yes, and they would probably be just as goofy. Rose felt silly. This had come about so suddenly, with hardly any of the in-depth consideration they had taken for conceiving their other children. Kids who seemed to care not a whit if their parents were having sex or talking of the repercussions of said act. Rose and Gray could have gone down on the other and Emory and Liam wouldn't have moved a muscle.

Then Rose laughed; if she was pregnant, life for everyone was going to alter. Not only Rose, but mostly her in the beginning. Soon the kids would know change, in that Mommy was tired and a little more sick. Then Mommy would begin to look funny, her belly sticking out, her feet and hands swelling. And then the baby would arrive.

Rose's head spun; how had this occurred? Hadn't they just been discussing the possibility, and here it was, time to test, like a final in one of Gray's classes sneaking up on his students. But not quite the same; Gray's kids knew a last exam was in the cards, another baby not that clearly defined.

"Gray," she started. "What if it's yes and suddenly we think we don't want another baby?"

She expected him to laugh at her, but he didn't, taking her hand, kissing the back of it. "Rose, I've thought about this all day, how quick it's happened, I mean, that's pretty amazing."

Pretty fucking amazing, Rose wanted to say. All of this was beyond what Rose usually knew, not contained or set out ahead of time. They had decided to have a baby and as if conceiving immediately, here they were, reality moving at a far faster pace than either dreamed.

"And Rosie, all I kept coming back to was you, you with the kids when they were tiny, right from the hospital, how perfect those early days were. And every time I thought, 'Jesus Christ, what've we done?', then I'd see the pictures I have of you all on my desk. Just these new little people and my beautiful wife, my whole life." He sighed, then stood, fingering boxes recently purchased. With his back to her, he continued. "Rose, my whole life is you, Emory and Liam. Every time I thought about if this was too soon or had we gone into this without enough thought, I'd see you and them, all that mattered. And expanding that, making my life bigger seemed..."

"Yeah?"

He turned with a smile. "Like the only thing we should do. That yeah, there'll be a few years between the kids, but Rose, I love you. You and our kids make up who I am. Not school, not the band, nothing else but the three of you. And four, four of you, my god!" He laughed. "I know I can manage that."

She stood, standing as close to him as possible. "Let's test now."

"Right now?"

"Gray, I wanna know."

"What about dinner?"

"Screw it. I need to know."

Their hands trembled, but neither felt the other's shaking, only their own, curiosity and great expectation coursing through digits long held.

"Yeah let's," Gray smiled. "I'll go check the kids. You go pee on a stick."

As Gray left their room, he heard both Emory and Liam giggling at the television. Gray stood in the hallway, staring at the large screen with Muppets and humans intermingling. His children weren't visible, sunk into the sofa, but Gray noted small squeals and hushed whispers, no idea their father was behind them. Gray didn't reveal his presence, only taking in this moment; two children absolutely safe, his family at complete ease.

He turned, saw Rose coming from their room. She looked peaceful, her hair long, her smile aware. Did she know already?

Gray joined her, meeting her eyes. "Well?"

"You're gonna tell me," she giggled. To Gray, she sounded just like Emory. If his memory was better, he could say she sounded just like her mother, but at that minute, Gray didn't think of anyone except his wife.

Rose continued. "You bought the tests, you're gonna be the messenger."

"How much longer?"

"Maybe another minute," she said, leading them back to the bedroom.

Rose sat on her side, scooting against the headboard. Gray went into the bathroom where the stick laid atop the box.

"Two lines means yes," she said quietly.

"Okay."

Gray looked at the shower where he'd stood that morning, unaware of what his day would hold. Only a quiz, an essay to assign, some kids to counsel. Those had passed with little fanfare. This, Gray accepted, was different.

Different, and as he picked up the stick, good. It was very good and he laughed, then heard Rose get up from the bed.

She met him where she had that morning, but now she didn't need to puke. "What?"

Gray smiled, holding the positive result close to her face. "Congratulations Mama. We're having another baby."

Chapter 17: A Hat Trick Part Two

On that same afternoon, Alicia Hester went down on Michael Roddy more pleasurably than Michael had thought she would be. She wasn't that drunk, not then, and in his apartment where he never took women, he'd had her and now she had him. Alicia had Michael in her mouth, one of the best ways he liked sex.

He would admit it was due to the impersonal manner. Intercourse was great, but oral sex was superior. He couldn't see a face, didn't have to shut his eyes, easily imagining it was Rose. Orgasms when Rose Robinson lingered in his head were always his most lasting.

Did it help that Alicia looked so much like her cousin? Since Michael met Rose, Alicia had been the only one of his lovers at all comparable. That Alicia was blonde set her apart just enough to allow Michael the freedom to fuck her. He'd been intrigued at their first meeting the previous Saturday, seeing immediately in her alcoholic stupor she was easy pickings, that and how much she and Rose were alike. Rose had preferred pot, but both those cousins imbibed too much. How many times had Michael wanted to take one minute when Rose was fully wasted, but there was always someone around. She was never alone, and if she had been, would Michael have really done anything? Could he betray his best friend, his only friend? As Alicia's movements grew steadier, Michael sighed. No, probably not.

Michael Roddy's biggest failing wasn't his sarcasm or disdain for nearly everyone he knew. It was his inability to just be a complete asshole. He had stretched over the line a few times, but rarely with anyone who mattered. Once with Gray, never with Rose. Michael had royally screwed things up with Petra, but that was a small loss. She would always hate his guts and in the back of his mind he wondered if she had told her sister. If so, Rose hadn't let it affect the way she treated him.

Petra must not have, Michael concluded, but this with Alicia would be hard to hide. Hard in that Michael didn't wish to conceal it. They were adults, Alicia long divorced. That she was Rose's cousin mattered little; Alicia was a year older than he and maybe she was a drunk, but she was also forty-two years old, made her own decisions. If one of those was sleeping with him, Michael wouldn't apologize.

He didn't want this under wraps, didn't desire to sneak around as they were doing now. Her kids were back in Sessay, but they weren't little. That he'd brought her to Evanston last night had been a surprise for them all, and Michael smiled, not only for how talented she was, but that Alicia had spoken to Rose earlier that day, no one aware she was right there in town.

She was there and he was close. He wanted to tell her something, or wished she could speak. Of course she couldn't and Michael never talked during sex, not after Petra. Since that disaster, he maintained a stoic silence, only moans and grunts passed through his lips. Most of his lovers didn't mind, or if they did, they never lasted long enough for it to be a problem. Michael held all he was inside, too risky otherwise. As Alicia brought him to a climax, again his brain screamed one name, one word. Over and over, _Rose_ was all Michael knew.

That night they stopped by the Burnetts, but no one was home. It wasn't late and Michael surmised the family had left for dinner, maybe taking Petra with them, as Garth was gone. Michael always appeared unbothered to all their agendas, but he knew _everything_ ; Garth was on and off the coast of Mexico for two more weeks. Gloria Cutler had spent last weekend with her ex-husband. After leaving Gray's house, Michael drove past Buster's, but Gloria's white Ford Explorer didn't grace the driveway. Michael wondered if that couple's children knew anything was stirring between their estranged parents, then he looked to Alicia, and considered her kids. Michael would take her home that night, but they wouldn't reach Sessay until later. Maybe those teenagers had no qualms about staying in their house alone. Even if Alicia was there, what was she to them?

She was quite a drinker, but since Michael had started sleeping with her, only this past week, maybe she had cut back. He wanted to think that, think perhaps due to him she had tapered some. He would take that sort of credit, more than happy to allow his presence was calming or at least eased some of Alicia's pain. She ached tremendously over her mother's death, to an extent even Rose didn't understand. Michael had heard that in Alicia's teary voice, tender and similar to her cousin, their tones last Saturday night the icing on the cake. He knew after that he would have sex with her, for she was near enough. Enough like Rose to offer an approximation to what he had always wanted, but never received. He had wanted Rose since meeting her, but would never, ever have her.

Michael knew that, part of what kept him alive. Most men might be driven mad by that sort of unrequited passion, but it made Michael Roddy stronger. Made him more of a man, a better human being. By spurning any attempt at seducing his best friend's wife, Michael maintained his superiority, not accepting that by screwing anyone else and pretending _they_ were Rose he was delving into murky, dangerous waters. Or that by having slept with the two women genetically related to her, he'd tried to find an exact substitute. Petra had been a catastrophe. With Alicia, Michael felt smarter, again bolstering his abundant self-esteem.

Or so he thought. Really, Michael couldn't look at any of his sexual partners. Why he loved oral sex, craved it, easier to maintain his silence without someone right in his face, getting into his head. With a woman nowhere near his upper body, Michael could almost imagine he was alone.

With Alicia, he practically was. She was quiet, not knowing where he was taking her. Michael drove from Buster's, heading in directions to which Alicia was ignorant. She'd had a few drinks before they left, aware they were going to Rose's. Now she was shutting down, saving all her strength to get through the rest of the drive. She didn't eat much, but he was hungry. "You want some dinner?" he asked.

"Only if you do. I'm fine." In her familiar voice, again he was drawn to why he'd chosen her, why he'd slept at her house on Monday night. She was close, so close, and yet far, far away.

He reached for her hand, felt small trembling. She didn't need food, just something to drink. "You want to stop somewhere?"

"Sure," her voice giddy but ready to lose itself. She was on an edge, one Michael rested upon every day. He only had more self control, and less of his humanity, to show for it.

All Michael had strangled from the day he met Rose sat across from him in a loose, aching woman. For a few seconds he saw it, felt a weak, throbbing pulse. Then he smiled, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Let's go back to my place. I'd love a drink, then," he paused, sitting at a red light. "Maybe one more time, before I take you home?"

"Oh yeah," she purred.

He went through the green, imagining it was the sex she required. He knew it was the booze, but as she was a stand-in for who he really wanted, Michael Roddy thought it only fair.

Driving home alone, Michael considered where he lived, rarely heading back to Evanston from Sessay. Only when the band had a gig there, maybe once a year. Alicia's two sons had been waiting for their mother, but she had texted them, and they seemed amenable with Michael's presence. He'd met them properly on Monday night, not seeing any of the kids Tuesday morning when he left. That was at nearly noon, well after they had gone to school.

That evening the boys, Craig and Chris, were only relieved their mother hadn't been driving. Maybe they had appreciated the quiet, but Michael really didn't care how Alicia was once out of his sight. Only near him did her well being matter.

She wasn't Rose, never would be. None of them were, but truthfully that was for the best. Michael didn't want a full-time relationship, only someone to sleep with when he felt the need. That he'd taken Alicia to his place only occurred because she didn't live in Evanston. All his lovers were local women of varying ages. Although, he smiled, Alicia was one of the oldest.

Stars shone, the sky dark with occasional hints of light. Was this what Rose saw when she took those ridiculous early morning walks? Not even a chance encounter with her would drag Michael from his bed, or anyone else's bed, but like the others he had worried about her. Yet, she was Gray's wife, let him rein her in. Michael try to stare at the sky, only catching glimpses of black night, easy to hide behind, easy to drive his car the two-hour round trip, easy to sleep with Alicia Hester and pretend she was Rose Robinson, Rose Robinson Burnett.

Reaching Evanston's city limits, he considered just going to his house, but that seemed empty. It was only eight-thirty; they'd had a quickie, but the drink came first. He had swallowed two sips of wine while she chugged two glasses. Then she was on him again, but this time astride his body. Her face was over his, but not close, and the room was dark, he'd kept the lights off on purpose. Her voice was soft, alluring, not sloppy. She had called his name, apparently getting off on that, but Michael hadn't noticed if she'd come due to him or more to what she had said. Her language was crass, interspersed with his name, and it led him to close his eyes, imagining she wasn't a drunk, depressed woman, but someone else.

He was someone else too, not Michael, not Gray either. He was a man who had everything within his control, not like everyone else he knew. The guys in the band were all potheads, all except Gray, and he was different. He was someone Michael couldn't touch for who he held, how well he played guitar, and for what had happened to him as a kid. That had stayed with Michael far more than Gray was aware. That Michael's best friend had been sexually abused tempered Michael's own experiences, probably another reason Rose was out of reach.

She was what Gray deserved after what he'd endured, Gray nearly molested by some horny teenager on Halloween. Gray had returned from trick or treating, finding his brother's babysitter in a strangely amorous mood. Gray had only sat beside Janet to watch the last thirty minutes of _Night Of the Living Dead_ on TV, and if Trevor Burnett hadn't started choking, his windpipe clogged, Gray would have been raped right there on the family's sofa. Terrified by the assault, Gray called 911 asking for an ambulance, not on his behalf, only Trevor's. Janet Williams was never arrested, never charged, but after Gray told his mother what had _really_ happened, Janet Williams never watched Trevor Burnett again.

Michael hadn't ever suffered, not like Gray. He'd been speechless when Gray told him, due to the overwhelming nature of the news, and Michael had taken that upon himself, another reason to get Gray out of Los Angeles. People there were crazy, not right, unlike Evanston, well, most people up here. Michael had thought that until Colin died.

Such a waste! Michael drove through town, but didn't head home, his neighborhood quiet after a rash of burglaries a few years ago. Michael had bought a handgun after those incidents, but had never come close to using it. Only Gray knew of that firearm, still loaded in Michael's bedside table, and Michael found himself heading for the Burnetts, aware Gray would still be awake. The kids would be asleep and who knew about Rose, but at eight thirty Gray probably had papers to check, assignments to record, some educational details that Michael could easily interrupt. He desired to touch base with something authentic, and while Gray's past had been an unholy mess, his adult life was the most real existence Michael knew.

That Rose was a part of it never entered Michael's head. Only Gray's job, his kids, those forging a genuine, reliable life which Michael would never possess. He didn't want to be married, had never desired progeny. Only his music, photography, and then...

Rose. Michael hoped she would be sleeping. He wanted to tell Gray first, alone, then Gray could inform his wife about who Michael was fucking. Rose would know eventually, Alicia would let it slip. Michael didn't want Rose learning from her drunken cousin, nor from him directly. Indirectly, as he always dealt with her. As circuitously as possible.

Michael pulled up, pleased Petra's car wasn't out front, and that the lights were on. He couldn't see any from the back, but the half-opened front shades revealed that Gray hadn't yet gone to bed.

Did that husband and wife hit the sheets as soon as the kids were asleep? Michael didn't think so, both too old. If they'd been younger, he wouldn't have stopped, but Gray would be forty next year, Rose easing into her late thirties. Beautifully, Michael had to sigh, stepping from his car, shutting the door with more force than he realized. The loud slam lifted a few blinds and Michael smiled, finding eyes peering into the darkness.

The front door opened and Gray stepped out. "Hey, what's up?"

Michael found Gray's outside appearance odd, but didn't show it. "Is it too late?"

"Rose and the kids are in bed, but no, it's okay."

Michael put his hands in his pockets. Not jeans but dark blue cotton slacks. The air was cool and he wished for a sweater if they were going to talk there on the porch. "I don't want to bother you guys. I uh, just wanted to pop over, see if you were home."

Gray nodded as Michael released a small laugh, the sort leading one to believe the owner had more to say, if only there was enough time. Was there time, Michael wondered? Not standing outside on the porch. If Gray asked him inside, then he would talk. "Yeah, stopped by earlier, but you guys were gone."

"Yeah," Gray smiled. "Took Rose and the kids out for dinner."

So full of his own news, Michael completely missed all the obvious hints, having known Gray for so many years. Instead all he could do was set his hands over his arms, trying to blunt the chill. "Well, that's probably where you were. Must have just missed you."

"Yeah. Listen, she's asleep, if you wanna come in."

"Uh, okay, sure." Michael thought that unusual, or maybe he'd misjudged the time. If Rose was already in bed, perhaps she'd been having a few tokes outside their gigs.

The house seemed no different, Michael hearing the sounds of a family at rest. With doors closed, a great silence floated about, no children intruding, Rose not at her computer or in the kitchen. No sound other than baseball, playoff highlights. He followed Gray to the sofa and saw what he had expected; a laptop and papers, a glass of water, no remnants of wife or children. Only Gray, and Michael's tongue loosened.

They spoke for a few moments. Petra had been hanging around, more under her skin with Garth than others believed. Michael would keep that quiet, especially from Lovie, not only for Petra's sake. Lovie Jones was a heart attack waiting to strike. The last thing Petra needed was him in her life again.

The only generous thought Michael gave her, for his visit hadn't been about anyone but himself. He waited for Gray's chatter to cease, again missing his friend's underlying happiness because all Michael could note was his own.

Was he happy, he wondered for a few seconds as Gray saved his document, but didn't turn off the TV. It would mask their conversation, letting sleeping children and a spouse remain so. Michael decided he was content. Alicia was good in bed, easily placated, and not conscientious enough to ask questions. With her, things would be pleasant for a good long while.

"So, what's up?" Gray asked.

Michael allowed a small chuckle. "I need to be honest."

Gray smiled. "Oh do you?"

"Yeah. When I came over here earlier tonight, I wasn't alone."

Gray's laughter was quiet. "Who is she?"

Michael stood, moving toward the TV, allowing a few moments before he spoke, a flourish not only for who he would reveal, but also his normal manner. "Gray, it's Alicia."

Michael gazed away for a moment, another of his moves. In doing so, he missed horror crossing Gray's face, the same dread Gray exhibited when recounting the Halloween assault. When Michael looked up, Gray only appeared dumbstruck. "Alicia?"

"Yeah, I know, kind of crazy. But we really hit it off and I..."

"Oh hey man, no, I mean, that's uh, that's..."

"She's really something, I mean, I know she drinks but..."

"Yeah, she does. Rose's kinda worried about her and..."

"Listen, it was one of the things I noticed first off, and to be honest with you, I nearly didn't take her out because of it, that and her mother, but..."

"No, I mean, Michael, maybe that's what she needs. Someone to be there for her. My god, she's been calling Rose every single day since Margaret died."

Michael felt better for his small honesty. Again he sidestepped Gray's happiness that was now muted. "Yeah, I uh, I know. Today she called Rose from my house."

"I see."

For a few seconds Michael sensed hushed deceit. He didn't think his friend, such a good guy, capable of being duplicitous, and shook it off. "Yeah, I mean, that's why we came by. She didn't want it keep it from Rose. And I didn't want to keep it from you."

"Uh-huh," Gray said.

Michael felt a smile, let it shine. He was sleeping with Rose's cousin, and would continue as long as it was as good as the last three days had been, as long as she was enough. Unless she became really sloppy, or suddenly refused to give him blow jobs, their liaison would be one of his more permanent couplings.

"No, Michael, that's good, for you both. As long as you know she does have a problem."

Michael nodded, Gray's words with no intended malice or disdain, only the truth. Michael laughed inwardly, letting only a chuckle escape. Gray was so honest, such a nice guy, he wouldn't know how to lie about anything.

"Yeah, I mean usually I'd run from something like this. Shit Gray, you know this isn't me."

It felt authentic, Michael so pleased with himself. No, he wasn't the type to hook up with an alcoholic, wasn't of the mindset to save someone. That wasn't Michael Roddy at all, more like Gray Burnett. Michael was so full of himself that he missed all the usual notions spilling from his friend. Michael had missed those coming from Gray, but Gray hadn't missed a single trick with a man as selfish and arrogant as they came.

That was all Gray saw, unaware of the real reason Michael was sleeping with Rose's cousin. Everything else shined like a beacon; Alicia was vulnerable and needy, easy prey for someone as slick as Michael. She was lovely, Gray would give her that. Lovely but older than Rose and Petra, and was this just another way to get back at Rose's sister, some manner of revenge? Gray didn't think it was that either. He wouldn't have imagined Michael was still infatuated with Rose, but then Michael didn't know what Gray did.

Gray knew that Petra aborted Michael's baby, but didn't know his best friend was still obsessed with Gray's own wife.

As Michael left, Gray was glad to see him go, also relieved Michael had been so full of himself to not even suspect Gray's news. Gray's baby was safe, the most important detail. Rose hadn't told Petra yet, which Gray had found odd, but until they knew for sure, probably for the best. And until Petra knew, not one else could have any idea.

Not even Michael, especially not Michael. Rose would have to keep Alicia out of the loop or that man would find out. Gray locked up the house, turned off the TV, and went to bed with more in his head than becoming a father again.

That prevailed, but now a small cloud had descended, and Gray wondered how to tell his wife. Rose had gone to bed right after the kids, tired and a little nauseous. The couple had been thrilled all evening, the kids noticing something was up. Neither of them guessed, which Gray saw as a blessing. He wanted to savor this with only Rose for a few more days. Their little secret, but another slip of news now sat alongside, not much nice about that at all.

Gray sighed getting into bed. Michael was his friend. They were friends, yet, Michael was also an asshole. Gray accepted that as well, the two pieces of Michael Roddy he'd known for a long time. Michael was a jerk, but had brought Gray to Evanston, had set Rose into his life. If not for that, Gray would have probably cut his ties with Michael ages ago. So much about him was posed, all that he said earlier just fancy sentences full of this, that, and the other, the best way to just say he was fucking Alicia Hester. That's all it was and Gray lay flat, not wanting to corrupt his pregnant wife with that information.

Rose turned to him and Gray took her in his arms. She set her mouth along his side. "Make love to us," she giggled.

He smiled, words she hadn't used in over four years. "You got it."

Gray wasn't hard immediately and his wife noticed. "Gray, what is it?"

Again a laborious moan edged from his lips, not of joy or rapture.

"Gray what?"

She sat up and her face, while lovely, looked worried.

"Honey, Michael came by tonight."

"Oh god." Then she gasped. "You didn't tell him, did you?"

"Oh no, no honey. No. No, he uh, he had something to tell me."

"What?"

Her hands slipped along his sides, then down to his briefs. He wasn't erect, thinking of what Michael had dropped on their doorstep.

"Gray, what'd he want?"

He took her hands, kissing the backs of them, then setting all their fingers along her flat, nondescript belly. It wouldn't be like that for long, the news emerging soon, Michael's too. "Rose, he's sleeping with your cousin. He came to tell me he and Alicia are together."

"Oh shit NO!"

Gray was surprised at the vehemence of her tone, allowing it was pregnancy hormones. He wasn't taken aback at her tears and instead of making love that first night with another child on the way, he comforted his wife, then helped her to the bathroom, where Rose was sick for the first time with Burnett number three.

Chapter 18: A Small Cold

When Rose walked on Monday morning, it was far earlier than usual. At four o'clock, she woke feeling nauseous but inspired. After dressing quietly, but not throwing up, she left her customary piece of paper on the table. Scrawled then blacked out were times she had left the house; 4:45, 5:10, 5:15, 4:50, 5:00. That morning she scribbled 4:15 and was off.

She wasn't alone. She was pregnant, a second test on Saturday morning confirming that Rose and her husband had indeed conceived another baby. Rose would make an appointment with her doctor later that morning, hoping to be seen sometime that week, preferably that day, maybe Tuesday. Rose wanted to know for certain, have something within her set into stone other than Michael's news and Petra's tears.

Her sister had spent much of the weekend with the Burnetts and while Rose and Gray hadn't said a word about the baby, they did mention who Michael was seeing. Rose knew it was much more than that and when Gray took the kids to the store, Rose told her sister all Gray said that Michael had said; he knew Alicia was a drunk, but had fallen for her. With Gray's absence, the sisters shared the _real_ reason Michael had slept with their cousin.

"That fucking bastard!" Petra railed, nearly throwing her mug to the floor. "God Rose, you need to tell Gray."

Rose sighed. She had considered it over the years, when Michael had given her looks that were a bit too leering, somewhat suggestive. Yet, there hadn't been any solid proof. Michael had never hit on Rose directly, had never made any overtures. Only by proxy in that one encounter with Petra thirteen years before and now with Alicia. Or were the sisters just being paranoid?

It had been thirteen years since Michael had slept with Petra, gotten her pregnant, but he had no idea of that result. It had been enough for Petra to tell her sister, and later Lovie, and while Gray and Lovie knew that piece of Petra's past, neither man was aware of the motivating force behind the abortion.

They assumed it was Petra's health. Only a year after her heart transplant, there was no way Petra could have endured a pregnancy, that alone precluding her from having Michael's child. But what still made her hate him was how the sex had been.

Michael hadn't raped her, not physically, not even with callous language. It had been one word, just one, repeated over and over the second day of that weekend. On Saturday, Michael and Petra had made love as she had with any other boyfriend, somewhat tenderly due to her health, then with more passion as the night wore on. On Sunday, it had begun the same, there at Petra's apartment, as Michael never took anyone to his house. The smell of darkroom chemicals was his excuse and Petra preferred her own digs. That it had been in her own bed later clung to Petra, but she only hardened her heart to that man, to that entire weekend. Unable to forgive him, she had blotted it, but not forgotten. Still carried it, as if she'd not had a termination. She had rid herself of the baby, but not what he had done to her.

"I can't tell Gray," Rose said. "Pet, it's all over."

"It's not!" she yelled. "You know perfectly well as I do why he's screwing her!"

Rose grimaced. It had been thirteen years; he had to be over her, he must be.

"Rose, you need to tell Gray. My god, maybe he can do something."

What would Gray do? Why Rose had never said anything to him in the first place; what might Gray actually do? He was a nice guy, no getting around that, and Michael was his best friend. What did that mean, if your best friend was someone so sleazy, smarmy, obsessed. Was Michael still obsessed with her? Rose wasn't sure.

It sounded so self-absorbed, as if Rose assumed _everyone_ fell in love with her. But initially it had been Gray informing Rose that Michael was attracted to her, some small piece having slipped. Why Michael rarely got completely stoned, too much within him that could find its way outside, into the light, where those sorts of emotions would be exposed for what they were; not right. Wrong. It had been wrong for Michael to lust after his best friend's wife, past tense. Did Michael still harbor feelings for Rose?

Looking at Petra, Rose knew her what her answer would be: _You bet your sweet ass!_ "Pet, if I told Gray now, it would look petty. Like Michael and Alicia..." Rose nearly choked saying her cousin's name. "Like I was trying to get involved in Alicia's affairs, in her life."

"For God's sake Rose, she's our cousin! He doesn't love her, he doesn't give a shit about anyone but himself!"

"Okay, okay maybe. But I can't. I can't do that Petra, I mean, Christ, not now."

Rose felt sick recalling their conversation, and had to actually stop along the sidewalk, spitting saliva on the street. Now Rose had more than only herself to consider. And actually, that was another reason to tell Gray. Tell him so Rose would only have to carry their child. Petra had sniffed at Rose's unwillingness to tell Gray what Michael had said, yes, thirteen years before, Petra allowed, but she was still incensed by Rose's reluctance. Incensed, but not willing to step over her sister.

The night felt cold, or was it remembering their conversation, Rose wondered. Gray and the children had returned, Gray looking so thrilled. Rose knew what he'd been thinking. Out with their two, he had pondered what a third would mean. They would be outnumbered, but Emory was big enough to hold Liam's hand, keep him in line. Coming back to the house, Gray gripped both kids' hands, but soon Emory would be trailing her father, Liam in tow, while Gray held a baby in his arms.

Rose continued down her road, familiar and comforting, her shadow as if a friend. The dark sky seemed to agree with her; keep things under wraps. Just leave it alone for it was old hat, ages in the past. Rose felt nothing for Michael and while Petra detested him, right now she was biased with Garth's absence. Rose let that be why her sister was so pissed. It was really only due to Garth.

Bad timing, Rose allowed, as her body warmed from movement. She kept moving, didn't let her sister's thoughts into her head. Too much to consider, too many points Rose preferred to ignore.

By the time she got home, Gray was just stepping into the shower, and she joined him, letting him make love to her under the water. It felt intimate, only them and a third baby. Rose wanted to concentrate on that notion and with the curtain drawn, the room humid, and her husband near, nothing intruded in what Rose and Gray meant to the other. Rose felt him inside her and no part of her was at all chilled.

Afterwards she made his lunch, then watched him leave from the garage doorway in the living room. Rose had no connotations of Michael or Petra, only her husband and their rather new offspring. For the next five days, Rose Burnett would hold those notions tight to her, keeping out ideas unpleasant and cool.

On that same Monday morning, Petra woke feeling chilled, assuming it was from her dream. Stupid Michael Roddy had been in her head since Rose told her about him and Alicia, and if Rose really didn't want Gray to know, Petra would keep her mouth shut for now.

She got up, muscles aching. A hot shower was her first act, and that helped some, but not as much as she would have liked. Instead of getting dressed and making tea, all Petra did was put on some clean underwear and pajamas, leaving her wrapped head in the towel, returning to bed.

Later that day she ate some oatmeal, took her meds, then got back into bed, aware she must have picked up some bug. She laid the blame squarely at Michael's feet, thinking every nasty name in the book, wishing to slap all of them right up Michael's head. Within her head that man still rested and when she wasn't thinking about Michael, she thought about Garth.

She missed him, missed his apathetic ways, his somewhat useless attempts to live what Petra called a real life. That he had wanted to marry her slipped her mind, instead replaced by how much he drank, or how sad he'd been right before he left. He had stopped by her house early on the morning he was supposed to drive south. _The Worst_ had been again broached, but Garth hadn't insisted she come with him, only let him return home when it was over. She was his home, he'd said, kissing the backs of her hands, then wiping his few tears. Petra hated it when he got sentimental, reminding her of Colin.

Not at all like Michael, those two men so opposite. Then Petra got angry again, pissed at Garth for being drippy, furious with Michael for being such an asshole of a human being, and then mad, only a small bit, at her sister for hiding Michael's abominable behavior from Gray, even if it was thirteen years in the past!

By Tuesday, the day Rose did see her doctor, confirming she was pregnant, Petra wasn't feeling any better. The sisters hadn't spoken, Rose not wanting to tell Petra about the baby yet, Petra still annoyed with Rose. They had things to share, but wires were crossed, motivations blurred. Petra had considered calling Alicia, but then couldn't bear hearing nice things said about Michael. Knowing Alicia, that would be all to come from her boozy lips.

Lovie stopped by Petra's that night and the former lovers discussed other topics. That Gloria and Buster were easing their way to some accord, which Petra found fascinating. She ignored that perhaps Lovie was hinting they should do the same, and while he did some light cleaning, her kitchen untouched since Sunday, Petra only drank tea, staying bundled in her robe and slippers. Gloria and Buster had been on and off for the last year, but a huge argument in August had halted reconciliation. Now with the holidays approaching, perhaps the twosome owned kinder eyes.

Petra saw everything quite clearly. Lovie was there, hoping she would throw him a bone. Garth was out in the fucking Pacific trying to flee reality. Petra admitted that he had asked her to marry him, a slip of the tongue on purpose. Lovie took that piece of news as Petra expected, right into his heart. Now he wouldn't try to get any closer; Garth's proposal, even if Petra had told him _no_ , acted as a shield. In no way would Lovie intentionally harm Garth, no matter how lofty Lovie's torch for Garth's ex.

Petra was everyone's ex, she laughed to herself getting into bed that Tuesday night, feeling more aches and chills than yesterday. She had slept with half the band, throwing Garth into that pot. An incestuous clan, she giggled, having added a few shots of whisky into her last cups of tea. Maybe why she was in such bad health, mixing with men she'd known far too long, some too intimately. Petra went to sleep, but didn't dream of any of them, the liquor easing her mind but doing little to combat the virus building in her bloodstream.

By Thursday, Rose felt quite lousy. Liam noticed, but she passed it off as the stomach flu, and they stayed home, collecting Emory by car when school was over. Having scheduled an appointment in ten days with her obstetrician, it was now a matter of Rose surviving these first few weeks without anyone finding out. She had considered calling Petra under the pretense of their occasional Friday lunch, but again didn't want a big harangue about Michael and Gray. Instead Rose attended to small projects around the house, clearing out her refrigerator and cupboards. While Liam played, she took the inordinate step of locating the bag of baby clothes in the garage. Rose peered through stretched white plastic, not brave enough to open it there with her son close. That morning Liam had held James McMahon, asking if Rose was going to have another baby. She had almost said _yes_ , but managed to keep her mouth shut. For how much longer that would be possible, she wasn't sure.

Maybe another week, maybe a few more days. Maybe if Petra came to see her, Rose would say something, but she was fearful of that conversation. What if a baby had been _The Worst_ , breaking up Petra and Garth?

Between the sisters sat fragments of information, regrets, insinuations and truths, too many for either to sort. Neither felt well physically, and what lay in their hearts was even more unstable. Rose and Petra both guessed Michael was sleeping with their cousin for devious reasons, but to accuse him was precarious. More so for Rose, as she would have to admit to Gray she had kept something from him. The only thing, but it wasn't a small matter.

If Petra said anything, she would appear neurotic, the last thing she wanted. And because the entire nature was so personal and sensitive, no one but those few would know the _truth_. To everyone else it would look as if Petra was jealous, or just lonely without Garth, that she was stirring the pot, messing with her cousin's happiness. Alicia's mother had just died for god's sake! Couldn't Petra just let her be happy?

So many swirling, conflicting notions, all building upon each other; Rose wouldn't call Petra to tell her about the baby, Petra wouldn't call Rose and tell her she felt lousy. Garth wouldn't call Petra because he'd been spurned, and Rose wouldn't tell Gray about Michael because she didn't want to ruin their friendship. A melodrama had been brewing for some time. Now a maelstrom had formed, no way for anyone to reverse its course.

On Friday, Rose dropped her son off at The Rumpus Room, Liam going home that afternoon with Rusty. Rose then drove to her sister's apartment, not having seen Petra all week. Rose wasn't quite ready to tell her about the baby; first she needed to ascertain Petra's mood. Maybe over lunch, if Petra had calmed, and Rose knocked, then spat onto the sidewalk, but Petra wouldn't answer the door.

The sun felt good on Rose's back, taking some of the nausea which had plagued all week. She rarely vomited, which had kept Emory and Liam in the dark. Mommy only had a lingering bad tummy, sometimes the kids owned the same. Rose hadn't cooked, Gray bringing home fast food. Emory had joked Lovie was doing the cooking, but Rose had been too tired and ill to bother thinking about what sat in her kitchen, other than the occasional cup of tea and bites of crackers.

Standing in front of Petra's apartment, Rose allowed it was guilt too, remorse for not having called her sister, barely exchanging an email. Rose had heard from Alicia as if that cousin took Petra's place; Michael was such a nice guy, so much like Gray. Alicia giggled that Rose had been holding out on her, not introducing them earlier, but it had chilled Rose. Maybe Petra was right. Maybe Rose did need to tell Gray.

She knocked again, then used her key. The Prius had been parked in Petra's spot, but her blinds were drawn. Opening the door, Rose smelled quarters cramped and bleak. "Petra?" Rose called, stepping into the living room. The bedrooms were in the back, the kitchen to the left in its usual messy state. Another scent hit Rose's nostrils, that of unwashed skin, someone dank. Was somebody else there? "Pet?' Rose asked again in a softer tone. "Honey, you okay?"

"Rose?" came a croak. "That you?"

Rose ran to Petra's bedroom, finding her sister curled in the bed. Rose sat next to her, Petra's face on fire. "My god Pet, are you okay?"

"It's just a small cold. Lovie was here, oh, a couple of days ago. I think maybe it's a little worse since then."

Pill bottles covered the bedside table, but Rose had no idea if Petra had been taking her immunosuppressants, drugs necessary for Petra's body to not reject a heart that while in place for over fourteen years still wasn't hers. It was Jake Ashby's and for the rest of her life Petra needed those meds, reminding her body she owned muscle, no matter who'd had it first.

"Petra, have you been taking your pills?" Rose's voice was even, but her pulse raced, her stomach aching. Not from the baby inside her, but her sister's life, sitting in those bottles.

"Uh yeah, I mean, I think so."

Swallowing, Rose felt her sister's forehead. Clammy to the touch and Rose shivered. "Pet, why didn't you call me?"

Petra's eyes were half-alert. "Oh Rose, I should have, I know I should've. Lovie wanted me to, but I, oh hell."

Rose knew why, the same reason she hadn't called Petra. Now all Rose wanted was to call an ambulance. "Pet listen, I'm gonna get to you to the hospital."

"Oh Rose, I'm fine, really."

"Like hell you are!"

"Oh, don't, 'cause really, I'm just a little sick."

Rose smelled something. Not death, nothing as serious as Colin or their parents. It was something unknown to her and it stunk. Had Petra started her period?

Lifting the blanket, Rose saw nothing odd, but that scent remained. "Honey, you are not fine. I'm calling the doctor."

"Oh okay. But Rose, whatever you do, don't tell Garth."

Halfway out the door, Rose didn't hear Petra's request.

An hour later, Rose sat in the emergency room lobby, Lovie and Buster at her sides. Gray had arranged for Lise to collect Emory from school. Rusty's mother would take Liam home and Gray would meet with Rose at the hospital once finished with his last class.

Rose hadn't called Garth, or Michael. An ambulance had been summoned once Rose spoke with Petra's cardiologist. That smell Rose had noticed followed them to the hospital, but in the lobby, she only noted the men beside her, Lovie especially. Chlorine was thick, even this late in the season.

Buster smelled vaguely of Gloria's perfume, but Rose left that alone. All she could wonder was the origin of that unpleasant odor, and just how ill was Petra?

Rose didn't feel sick, but she was worried. Petra's health was nothing to discount and if only Rose had called her! Had heard the depth of Petra's heartache over Michael, yes, but more for Garth. In the ambulance, Petra had begged her sister not to call him, not to tell him. Rose agreed: _Yes, yes Petra._ Rose would have said nearly anything to calm her sister.

Anything but tell Gray about Michael, and why was that in Rose's head? Maybe for who else Rose hadn't called; Alicia. Rose didn't want Michael there and if she told Alicia, he'd show up, Rose knew he would.

She wished Gray would arrive, wished the doctor would come out with an update. Petra had been hooked to an IV, pumped full of fluids. Then Rose allowed the immunosuppressants; had Petra missed a few days? Lovie had only seen her in the evening and by then she would have already taken them, _if_ she took them, Rose considered.

She must have taken them. Petra was careful, although a few weeks before she'd stayed at Rose's, and then gone home to take her meds. What was Petra's schedule? Did she need to take them at the same time every day? Rose used to know, but it had been years since she was aware of her sister's routines. Garth had been with Petra, making sure she was all right.

Except that Garth was gone. Garth had left and Rose had been busy and Petra had gotten sick. Rose stood, sensing morning sickness. It was the middle of the afternoon, but she needed to vomit.

"I'll be right back," she said to her band mates. Her friends, those men were her friends, lifelong associates, but she had to tell Petra first. Before anyone else knew about the baby, Rose had to tell her sister.

Down the hall, Rose found a restroom, and like all the other times, only dry-heaved. She lost nothing, but if Petra was... Rose stopped herself, ridiculous to think that way. She'd not had that miserable feeling of death, only a woozy stomach. This was only Petra being sloppy, letting emotions get the better of her, letting a couple of men too far under her skin.

Into her heart, which wasn't hers, but another man, one dead. But Petra wasn't going to die. Rose would know if she was.

Returning to the waiting area, Rose found Gray standing outside the ER doors. She ran to him and he gripped her, whispering her name. "Were you sick?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Did you just get here?"

He nodded. "Is she..."

Rose looked to the floor. "Not that I know of. Gray, she's sick. I think that's all."

"Okay."

Gray led Rose back to the lobby, where a doctor cleared his throat. The same one who had admitted Petra, and he met the couple in the middle of the room.

"Is she all right?" Rose asked.

The doctor's face wasn't one Rose understood. He looked pensive, unsure. Rose would know before him if her sister was in dire straits, or maybe neither of them would.

"She's in pretty bad shape. It's pneumonia in both lungs. We're moving her up to ICU and it's just going to be a day-to-day watch."

"But had she taken her meds, you know, for her heart?"

"Yes, that was fine. I'm more worried about her lungs."

"She said it was just a small cold." Rose's voice was hushed, unsteady. "Just a small cold."

Gray was close, the only one holding Rose together. She didn't know, neither did this man with a Dr. in front of his name. Rose usually knew, she always knew. Maybe Petra was only giving them a good scare.

Chapter 19: Scents Of A Hospital

As her sister slept in ICU, Rose Robinson Burnett pondered snippets of her life, recent and the faraway past. Pieces swirled as nurses checked Petra's IV, took her pulse, made sure she was comfortable. Rose wasn't alone in the room; besides the patient, Gray and Lovie were in and out, as were Buster and Gloria, and Alicia. Michael wasn't seen.

On Friday evening Petra was conscious, but most of Saturday she slept, fighting a virus that had combined with bacteria. She received antibiotics for that portion of the pneumonia, but other than that, doctors could only treat her symptoms. A deep rattle rumbled in her chest as if that heart was starting to come loose from its chains. It was sewn in tight, but after fourteen years, perhaps the arteries and veins were beginning to relinquish their hold. What Rose considered, watching her sister struggle to inhale.

Rose also thought about her baby. Petra's heart gave Rose trouble, but a baby allowed Rose to sit in that room, not needing a toilet to pee or heave into. Rose clutched at her flat belly, or placed arms over her breasts, which ached a little. She wasn't sure if it was her boobs alone, perhaps her heart was also being affected.

The scent Rose had noticed within Petra's house was present in the ICU, but not as strong. A fading smell, bombarded with others, the aroma of a hospital. Rose hadn't been in one since Liam was born, but when Petra was younger, it was a common destination and the scent hadn't changed, disinfectants alongside unwashed bodies, collected urine, stale food. Still Rose's stomach hadn't reacted, nothing to explain.

She wanted to tell her sister, but so many people precluded that being shared, a baby Rose now felt was all she had. There was her husband, their children, but Gray stood on the other side of the room, or was gone, leaving his wife to battle this unaided. Rose had rarely been alone in her life, only the minutes before Petra brought her new clothes initiating the year after Colin died. In that time span, someone always stood near Rose Robinson Burnett, someone she loved.

She loved her baby, felt it an incredible miracle. It was far more enjoyable to concentrate on that, and Rose took those moments Gray was gone, Petra sleeping, to ponder what lay within her. Some embryonic mass of cells was changing into some _body_ , a tiny body, not even a real body at this point. Just goo, but it sat in Rose's uterus, doing whatever embryos did. Gather and collect, and then Petra's breath would shudder, and Rose was taken to the past. Petra had once been no more than what Rose was housing. Now Petra lay quiet, still, not doing much more than Rose's third child.

Maybe that baby was more active than Rose's sister. Cells being formed, exo and endoskeletons and organs assembling; Rose wasn't sure. She was barely a month along and hadn't told her sister about the baby. Rose hadn't said a thing, but didn't feel it was too late. She held a strange scent in her nose, mixed with Gloria's perfume, the hospital, Gray's body. He had moved next to her and Rose stood, holding him close.

"You okay?" he asked, stroking her face.

She wanted him to touch the middle of her torso, but the rest precluded that. "No. Come outside for a minute."

Her voice hadn't been quiet and Lovie caught her eyes. She smiled, then let Gray lead her out.

Gray kissed the side of her face. "Honey, you wanna go home for a bit?"

"No. I want to tell her about..." Rose set her husband's hands where she had wanted to.

"When she wakes up, I'll make an excuse, get everyone out."

Rose shook her head. Guilt was what she smelled, slapping her there in the corridor. Guilt after Colin died for not telling Garth what she had known was coming, guilt for not informing her sister about their parents. Rose felt guilty and a few tears escaped.

"Oh baby," Gray said, wiping her face.

"Gray, you do it. You tell her. I, I can't."

"Why?"

"Cause I should've last week. Oh Christ Gray, I should've told her and I need to tell you something too."

"What?"

Rose smelled it again, all around her. Then she heard voices, the scent nearly knocking her to the ground. Alicia had returned, Michael right behind her.

In the waiting area, Rose sat with Alicia while Gray and Michael went to see Petra. Rose shared her uncertainties, honesty really the best policy. If she had told Gray about Michael right off the bat, maybe he wouldn't even live in Evanston. Maybe Michael would have left; now this was Gray's town and Rose only wanted Michael Roddy as far from all of them as possible.

He looked no different, as distant and aloof as always. As if he was on stage, his whole existence one big act. Rose felt ridiculous, gauging his life so caustically. He'd never done a single thing to her and what had occurred between Michael and Petra was in the past. Long ago. Nothing connected to this day.

Then Rose listened to Alicia's voice, a thrill now attached, one allowing Rose's cousin some small happiness, but her eyes still looked red, drawn, miserable. Maybe that was Petra. Rose let that excuse what she wanted to think, that maybe Michael had hurt Alicia too.

He would hurt her, that as clear to Rose as the scent of remorse, as what she'd known over Colin and her parents. Michael Roddy would devastate Rose's cousin if given the chance.

She sighed, hearing more from Alicia's tone than sexual fulfillment. Those words weren't exchanged, not where they were. But joy dripped from Alicia's speech, as did a small waft of booze, wine Rose thought. Just after twelve noon Alicia had been drinking. Rose wasn't surprised, only sorry for this woman, sorry her cousin's life was wound in addiction and a total jerk.

"Honey, listen, I know she's gonna be okay. Pet's strong, she'll pull through this."

Rose nodded, but guilt was breaking her neck. She took a deep breath and stood. "Tell Gray I went to the bathroom."

"You need, uh Rose?" Alicia called, but Rose was to the end of the hall.

It was Gloria Cutler outside the stall, waiting for Rose. Buster's ex-wife held a piece of toilet paper and Rose took it, wiping her mouth. Then she washed her hands, splashing water on her face. "Thanks Gloria."

"You okay?"

"No. Is Gray..."

"He's waiting outside." Gloria smiled. "He nearly came in."

Rose had a weak giggle. "Thanks for being here."

Gloria looked to the floor. "Rose, I uh..."

"He needs you." Rose rubbed her hands under the air dryer.

Gloria didn't respond, but Rose peeked at her face in the mirror. Gloria looked humbled.

She seemed older than before, but had only lived out of town for a few years. The kids visited every summer, two boys and a girl, older than Rose's children. Travis was eleven, then twins, Carson and Melinda, were ten years old. Rose wondered if they were back in Hanson, a small town east of Sessay, where Gloria had been raised.

"Are the kids here?" Rose didn't want to step outside the restroom. Might Michael be there, next to Gray?

"No, staying with my mom. I told them Petra was sick, but I think they know something's up."

"Is something up?" Rose smiled.

"Oh Christ Rose, who the hell knows?"

Gloria's face also showed some pleasure and Rose took her arm. She couldn't hide in the bathroom all day. She had been sick, more due to Michael than her baby. If Michael was standing beside Gray, Rose wasn't sure what she'd do.

He wasn't, only Gray and Lovie. Rose gave Buster's ex a quick squeeze, then fell into her husband's arms. "Is he still here?" she asked, not caring if Lovie heard.

Gray nodded.

She looked down the hall, Gloria in Buster's grip.

"Dane and Lise showed up too," Lovie said. "Listen, uh, anyone call Garth?"

That name slipped with reluctance, but necessity. Rose shook her head.

"I'm gonna split for a bit. Shall I call him?"

"You have his number?" Gray asked in surprise.

"Buster gave it to me."

Again Rose stared at the hallway. The scent had retreated, no notion of impending doom. Recalling Petra's request, she gazed at Lovie. "Not yet. She didn't want him to know."

"You sure?" Lovie asked.

"For now," Rose nodded.

After Lovie left, Rose nearly told Gray about Michael. She did say that as soon as Petra woke, Rose wanted her to know about the baby. But that Gray had to tell her.

"Why me?" he asked, still standing near the restroom.

"Because I can't. You tell her, please Gray?"

"Sure honey, but Rose this's..."

"Gray, please?"

"Of course."

Rose snuggled against him, then finally set his hand on their baby. She felt better, felt stronger. Didn't feel that seeing Michael might kill her and with that, she started back for her sister's room.

The last time they were all together was at the beginning of the month, the show right after Garth left. Rose heard Lise's voice, but she'd been watching the kids that evening. They were never really _all_ together, always someone missing. Someone watching Emory and Liam, someone mad at someone else. Gloria hadn't been around for ages and now Garth was absent. Rose stared at all faces except Michael's, then she smiled. "Gloria, were you at a show in the middle of September?"

Gloria nodded, then turned to Buster.

"I knew it!" Rose said. Petra made no motions at her sister's loud voice.

"How could you know that?" Michael asked. "You were stoned off your ass."

Rose glared at him. "Some things you know no matter how stoned you are. I knew I saw you, standing near the door."

"Yeah, that was me," Gloria said.

The room grew quiet, Rose moving from Gray to the seat at Petra's right. Rose scooted it close, taking her sister's limp hand. Nothing, she felt nothing odd, telling, awful. Only cool digits and she smelled only a trace of guilt.

Concentrating on Petra, Rose missed Michael and Alicia's departure, the other couples' too. She focused on the monitor recording Petra's blood pressure and heart rate, trying to ignore the creaking of her sister's breathing. Rose finally turned, saw it was just her husband and Lovie. "Where'd they all go?" she asked.

"They're coming back later," Gray said. "You uh, you wanna take Lovie for a walk?"

Lovie Jones looked at them. "Something I need to know?"

"Something Petra needs to know," Rose said, getting to her feet.

"She's not awake," Gray noted.

"I know. Tell her anyway. I'll tell him."

"What?" Lovie asked.

"Come on big guy," Rose smiled.

"But honey, if she's not awake..."

"Poke her Gray. Maybe she needs a little roughing up."

Rose kissed him, then took Lovie's hand, leaving her sister and husband alone.

"Rosie, what in the hell..."

"Lovie, I'm pregnant."

They had moved to the end of the hallway, near the elevators. Rose had considered sitting in the waiting area, but another couple loitered there, and she wanted to tell him alone. Wanted to tell someone, wanted that scent of guilt to vanish.

"Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed. "Well shit. A surprise or..."

"No, we planned it, just not quite this soon." Rose smiled. "You're the first to actually know."

Lovie smiled, then looked back. "You hadn't told her yet."

"No," Rose said. "That's what Gray's doing."

"Rose, what the hell's going on? I mean, first this, and then Petra told me a few days back that Garth asked her to marry him and..."

"What?" Rose gazed at Lovie, saw the hurt in his eyes. "Garth did what?"

"Shit. Yeah. Pet said Garth asked her to marry him. Said she told him no, but Jesus, I gotta think that's why he left."

_The Worst_ fell onto Rose with Lovie's words. It wasn't Garth wanting a baby or that he'd hurt her. He had wanted to marry her! "Jesus Christ! Are you sure?"

"What she told me on Tuesday. I think she also wanted me aware that well, you know..."

Rose nodded. Petra hadn't wanted to marry Garth, nor did she want Lovie back either. Why didn't she tell me, Rose wondered. Then she felt silly. Why didn't I tell her about the baby?

"Good god," Rose sighed. Now she did want to sit and she headed for the waiting area. Those seats were empty and Rose took one side of a small sofa. Lovie squeezed in beside her, setting his arms around her.

She placed his large hands along her torso, feeling a fleeting peace. Even in this dismal place, Rose allowed a small comfort, this man big enough to take all her suffering. "Lovie, I don't know how she's gonna be."

"Ah Rosie, she'll be fine. Just yanking our chains."

She looked at him. "You think?"

His face seemed certain, but his voice wavered. "Sure. What'n the hell else she gonna do?"

"Die," Rose said.

"No honey, she's not gonna do that. Rosie, don't worry. Nothing like that for Pet."

Rose wished for his optimism. "Lovie, maybe you should call Garth. I mean, if he was that serious, he might get pissed that we didn't tell him about this."

"I thought you said she didn't want him to know."

Rose emitted a long, tired sigh. "Lovie, you ever keep secrets from people, I mean, other than Pet's abortion?"

"No, not really. Why?"

As he spoke, Rose felt a haunting, ugly notion. She took a deep breath, but didn't smell guilt, only traces of chorine and Lysol. "Lovie, maybe you should call him."

"Well all right, but if she gets pissed, I'm gonna blame you."

A humorous bite emerged in his voice. Rose heard it, wished it expunged that dreaded sense of truth. "Lovie, I think you should call him today."

Rose returned to Petra's room alone, Gray sitting beside his sister-in-law. A nurse stood on the other side and Rose stepped her way. "How is she?"

"So far, so good," the woman said.

"Uh-huh." Rose watched her leave, then stared at her husband. "She wake up?"

"No. I told her though. You tell him?"

Rose nodded, her voice tight as if speaking would be painful. It might make her cry and Rose didn't want that occurring. She had cried after Colin tried to hang himself, but it had done no good.

"Rose, you okay?"

She motioned for him to step outside and Gray followed. Just past Petra's door Rose took his hands, again setting them on the baby.

"Gray," she squeaked.

His face looked back as if someone was waiting for them. Then Rose found his eyes.

"Oh no honey, no. No, she's gonna be fine. Rose, she's gonna be just fine!"

Gray caressed her face, warm fingers set along her cheekbones, trying to implant his words, replacing thoughts she owned. It had slipped inside her sitting next to Lovie and not even that bear of a man could shield Rose from what she knew was approaching.

Neither could Gray's love. "Rose, no, no," he repeated.

Rose Robinson Burnett nodded her head. "I told Lovie to call Garth. She didn't want him to know, but Gray, he needs to be here."

"No Rose!"

His tone was one rarely heard, not by his wife or students, his children or band mates. An anguished voice Gray Burnett had employed with Janet Williams, and to his mother when she told her oldest son he was now her only son. As Gray began to shake, Rose took him against her, whispering in his ear what she hated, but knew to be true. Contrary to Lovie's assumptions, Petra Margaret Robinson was not going to be all right.

They took half an hour to digest what Rose still felt was an anomaly. Yet, it was also truth, and after calling home, checking with Helena Gallagher, Rose spoke to her children. Emory sounded the same, Liam whined. They wanted to see their aunt and Rose told them they would, tomorrow. Rose knew they had a few days, maybe up to a week.

After she gave Gray the cell, Rose stood, wrapping arms over her breasts. Now they throbbed, along with her heart. Petra wasn't going to get better. She was going to...

"Rose, you want to say anymore?"

She looked up; Gray had tears, couldn't speak. "Yeah."

He handed her the cell and she watched him wipe his eyes. Then Rose told her children to sleep well, that she wouldn't see them before bedtime, but that in the morning, she and Daddy would take everybody to the hospital. Emory was pleased and Rose told her she loved her, then said the same to Liam. Hitting the red button, Rose gave the phone back to Gray.

"I want to be with her tonight, maybe not all night," Rose said. "But most of it."

He nodded. "Helena can stay over."

"That okay with you?" Rose asked.

"Yeah. That's okay."

"You sure? I can call Lise if you want."

"No, this's okay."

Alone in the waiting area, they stood apart, then moved toward the other. Rose was swept in his arms, then Gray let loose. She lost no tears, but knew they were coming.

Chapter 20: Truths And Consequences

On Saturday night, right before Gray left, Petra woke briefly. Not long enough for either Rose or her husband to ascertain if Petra knew about the baby, but enough for Petra and Rose to exchange a glance. Rose would always wonder if Petra closed her eyes because of what she might have seen in Rose's.

They never spoke of it; Petra had told her sister she didn't want to know and Rose hadn't wanted to know either. Now she did and all night she slept, then woke again, in the chair to her sister's right. Rose stayed in that chair until Lovie showed up at seven on Sunday morning.

Gray came through then too, reporting that Lise and Dane were at the house, and that Lovie would stay with Petra while Gray took Rose home. Only those three knew of the baby and both men felt it best for Rose to nap in her own bed. Rose protested, but Gray whispered that it wouldn't be on Sunday. Petra wasn't going to die that day.

Rose nodded. _The Worst_ wasn't that Petra had been proposed too. _The Worst_ was still to come.

In her bed, falling asleep, Rose noted her children close, and she wished to stay awake, listening to their questions. Some about Petra, but Daddy had let something slip, and both Emory and Liam were curious; was their mother _really_ having another baby?

"Jeez Gray," Rose muttered, turning to her right, feeling Emory's knees against her back, Liam adjusting along the front of her body.

"Well, it just came out," he smiled.

"Mommy, did you tell Aunt Petra yet?" Emory ran her hands through her mother's long, loose hair.

Rose had taken a shower and her hair was still damp, a towel covering the pillow. She nodded, but wasn't sure if her daughter had seen it. "Daddy told her."

"Why didn't you tell her?" Liam whispered.

"Because Daddy's better at it."

"Oh. Can I tell people?"

"Not for a bit Liam," Gray said. "Come on you two. Let Mommy and baby get some rest."

"What does the baby look like right now?" Liam asked, getting off the bed.

"Like snot," Rose mumbled.

"What'd you say?" Emory asked.

"Like..."

"Come on kids," Gray ordered.

Sleep thundered at Rose like an approaching train. It didn't seem peaceful, but her body was immobile, snuggled under the comforter. She missed her children, then felt Gray replace those smaller bodies. "Just go to sleep. I'm gonna take them over there and Megan said I could drop them off at her house for the afternoon."

So close to slumber, Rose's mind was nearly shut down. "Gray, why'd you tell them?"

"It was better than what's coming."

Rose moved her head enough to provide a response. Gray patted her side, how she knew he'd seen her answer.

When she woke, it was light out, but the room was cool. Rose didn't know her mother was lying next to her. Judith had floated between her girls all morning, but both of them were unconscious.

Rose got out of bed, her toes cold. She felt chilled, wondering for a few minutes if she had pneumonia. She blamed her wet head and after peeing, waited for the water to get hot before washing her hands. Usually she never wasted water, but the warm liquid was necessary. All of Rose felt frigid. She knew why, was aware of the reason. Her sister was... Then Rose choked.

No one heard her, except her mother, but Judith was helpless. Rose sat down on the open toilet seat, fighting tears. It was simply the most shitty, horrible, asinine thing she could consider; Petra was going to leave her. How Rose could manage it; Petra was leaving.

Colin had left, Judith and Don too. Now Petra; goddamned her! Rose set her hands along her baby, thought it was good timing, but still not enough. _The Worst_ hadn't actually happened to Petra. Again, it was happening to Rose.

She allowed that moment of self-pity, then blew her nose with some toilet paper. She was going to let Petra have it, if she did wake, telling her sister that refusing Garth's proposal was _nothing_ compared to what Rose had suffered. Which didn't include Petra's previous scares, not the heart surgery or the abortion. Only this abominable, miserable, fucked agony waiting for her. Waiting for Rose, as others had in the past.

If Rose had seen her mother sitting on Gray's side of the bed, she would have run to Judith's arms, falling apart in her lap. Rose wished to let it out, cry a river and all that. She couldn't, not because it wasn't her usual manner, but that if she did it now, everyone would know. Rose might have told Lovie about the baby and Gray might have slipped it to the kids and if Megan McMahon found out, well, worse might happen. It would happen but, Rose sighed, no one could learn yet.

Gray returned with the kids, who were more affected than Rose had imagined. Liam especially, the little boy teary and depressed, and Rose wondered if he knew.

They sat on the sofa, one that Petra reclined on so often with these children. Her niece and nephew, but Rose only listened to her son's small sentences; his aunt looked awful and he didn't want to see her again until she was...

"What?" Rose asked.

Liam shook his head. "Nothing."

Rose and Gray exchanged glances and Rose set her son's hand on her belly. "Liam, I love you."

As their eyes met, a wave of knowledge passed between them. Somehow Liam knew.

"Mommy, can I tell you a secret?" he asked.

"You can tell us anything Liam," Gray said, Emory in his lap.

"Just Mommy."

"I wanna hear!" Emory fists were set into her sides.

Liam looked back to her. "Can YOU keep a secret?"

"Well yeah. I didn't tell anyone about the baby!"

Rose wanted to laugh. It seemed akin to their usual banter, not in the sounds and motions, but the theme. The theme was far above these children, like so much of what occurred. People came and went in this house, some high, some drunk, but the kids only thought they were tired or being silly. Now a thin, factual thread wafted through the room, one Rose had known since she was twenty years old. Liam was only four, far too young to own such awareness.

"Aunt Petra's gonna..." Liam burst into tears, setting his small head against his mother's belly. Rose saw Emory's momentary disgust, but as Liam continued to wail, Emory realized what her brother was unable to say.

"NO!" Rose and Gray's daughter exclaimed. "No way Liam, no way!"

Rose returned to the hospital alone. Lise and Dane had been called and thanked for their offer to watch the kids, but Gray would stay with them that afternoon. Rose appeared outside her sister's room, still only family, as Rose thought of all those beside her.

Lovie and Buster, Gloria and Alicia. Michael was gone and Rose was glad. "Hey," she said.

All eyes met hers, but those faces were as before. Only Rose and her family knew. These people were ignorant.

Lovie gave up his chair, which was Rose's chair. It was the chair for the one closest to Petra, and now that Rose had arrived, Lovie vacated it. "I talked to John Shepard," he said. "He'll get the message to Garth."

"He needs to know soon," Rose offered, taking her sister's hand in hers. "As soon as possible."

"He'll call me when he's gotten through to them, but it shouldn't be any later than tonight."

"Okay," she said. "Has she moved?"

"A little," Buster sighed. "But otherwise she's just sleeping."

Rose nodded, staring at her sister's frame. She looked tiny, as small as Emory. Emory had bawled, denying what Liam knew. Rose and Gray hadn't confirmed it, hadn't denied it either. When Rose left, Emory was in the bathtub, still in tears.

"You want some time alone?" Lovie asked.

Looking at him, she didn't see the knowledge her children possessed, only that if Petra stirred, the sisters might want a few minutes. "Yeah, if you don't mind."

"I think we all need a break. Listen, I'll be back later, but if I hear from John, I'll call you."

"Okay," Rose said.

Hugs were shared as if they were saying goodbye after a gig or dinner. Lighthearted, and Rose took them as such. Alicia was the last to leave. "I'll be at Michael's, but call me if you need anything."

The last person Rose now wanted to call was her cousin. "I'll do that," she lied.

Alicia had smelled sober, looked it too. Rose felt angry, that woman perhaps running ahead of her addictions, while Petra...

Rose sighed again. "Pet, you hear me?"

Nothing came from the bed. Rose picked up her sister's hand, pinching the skin. "Pet? You there?"

Rose stood, still holding Petra's fingers. "Pet, you were right. How about that? I will tell Gray, as soon as..."

As soon as what? Did it matter now? What was real, what was the worst? This was, Rose decided. This really was it.

She laid her sister's hand back on the bed and walked to the end. Petra's feet lay under the blanket and Rose touched the tips of her toes. "Pet, you told me you didn't want to know. So I won't tell you."

Holding herself, Rose stared at the monitor.

By four that afternoon, Gray had returned, but Lovie hadn't called. Emory and Liam were at the McMahons; Emory had spilled their good news, almost as they got in the door. Gray hugged Rose, from Megan he said. Then sat next to Rose on Petra's right side.

"Gray, I have to tell you something," Rose said after a few minutes of silence.

"What?"

Rose gazed at her sister. She didn't know if Petra would ever be conscious again, unsure if she would get to tell her about the baby. Maybe she'd know, maybe she wouldn't. But for her sister, and because Rose was feeling somewhat petty, she looked Gray right in the eye. "Honey, when Petra slept with Michael, he said something to her, something that was really the worst."

"What?"

Sitting in that room, Rose's existence was suspended, how she'd felt when Petra told her, how she'd felt when Gray shared his past. Ugly words, horrific events that while not occurring at that moment in time were trapped by memory. People were brutalized and sometimes they got over it, like Gray. Sometimes, like Petra, they didn't. "Gray, when Petra and Michael were having sex, he called her my name."

"Accidentally?" he asked.

"No," she said. "Not on accident."

Gray gazed to Petra. Then he found his wife. "Once?"

"No. Many times."

The only noise was the blood pressure cuff inflating on Petra's left arm. Rose listened to that, better than Petra's ragged breathing.

"Petra thinks he's only seeing Alicia because she reminds him of me. That's what Pet thinks."

"What do you think?" Gray asked.

His eyes were like his name, colorless, nonthreatening. Gray was such a nice guy and Rose hated her next words. "I think," she sighed. "I think she may be right."

Rose immediately looked to the floor, her stomach lurching from what could technically be called an untruth. Rose had no idea what Michael felt for her. No concrete, exact idea. She had plenty of gut instincts, none of them nice. Not for Michael, or her sister.

Again the room resonated with the sound of equipment and one woman's ruined lungs attempting to obtain oxygen. Pneumonia would kill Petra, Rose realized. Not her transplanted heart or brittle bone disease, but a viral and bacterial combination. Focusing on those notions, Rose forgot for a few seconds everything else.

Only when Gray took her hand did she remember. His fingers felt good in her palm and Rose wanted him, wished for a distraction. Then she turned his way.

Gray's face was ashen, distorted. Rose's heart pounded and she gripped her husband's digits. "Gray?"

"It'll be okay honey. You don't have to worry about a thing."

Later that night Petra stirred and again Gray told her the news. She seemed cognizant, giving them both a smile. Rose set her sister's hand on her abdomen and Petra nodded, then closed her eyes, returning to unconsciousness. Lovie came in a few minutes later; he had spoken to John. Garth was on his way.

For a few moments Rose wanted to tell Lovie, but then refrained. He seemed upbeat, chipper almost. Her children knew, Gray knew. Perhaps that was all who needed to be aware.

With Lovie's presence, Gray and Rose stepped out, and he held her, stroking her belly. Gray was tactile, especially when they were alone, but there, he touched Rose as if this was their room. The reason was unspoken, but Rose also felt memories in Gray's hands, a sense of frightened vulnerability. He said nothing, only displaying an inordinate amount of affection.

Twenty feet down the hall an elevator door opened and Alicia and Michael emerged, Dane behind them. Rose and Gray looked up, but Rose didn't catch anyone's eyes. Alicia looked her way, but Rose couldn't face her. Gray, however, stared right at Michael.

That man approached and Rose felt ill. "I'm gonna pee," she said.

Lingering in the stall, at first Rose heaved into the bowl. Then she urinated and after she flushed, another person entered the room. "Rose, you okay?"

It was Alicia, her speech slow. "Yeah, be out in a minute."

They met near the sink and Alicia tried to embrace Rose, who instead rinsed her hands. After Rose had washed, but not dried, Alicia had her way. Rose didn't clasp her damp fingers, holding her tipsy cousin with extended arms.

"Listen, she looked better this morning. I think it's gonna be okay," Alicia smiled.

"Yeah maybe," Rose said.

They left together, only Gray waiting outside the door. "Michael went to see Petra," he said.

"All right. See you in a few?" Alicia asked.

Rose nodded. Once her cousin was down the hall, Rose took her husband's hand. "Gray?"

He kissed her, then reached for her face. "Don't worry Rose. It'll all be okay."

At eight o'clock, Rose was fading, and with Lovie's assurance that he'd be there for the night, Rose kissed her sister, then left on Gray's arm. Michael and Alicia followed them, but distance prevented words being shared. Rose felt her husband's anger, wondering if Michael would sense it. Probably not, as Michael never assumed anything could be his fault.

Gray got Rose into the Mazda, then walked to where Michael stood, Alicia stepping into his car on her own. The men spoke, but in the dark it was hard for Rose to see more than bodies standing less than two feet from the other. She closed her eyes, placing hands on her baby. Not an Elmo, but Gray's child, and painful tears formed in Rose's eyes.

She didn't know Gray had returned until she heard the door open. She also heard an engine's roar and she peeked out, seeing Michael and Alicia leaving the parking lot. "What did you say to him?"

Gray put the key in the ignition, starting their car. "He said he was taking Alicia home and I told him if anything changed, we'd let them know."

"Gray, I'm sorry, I mean, for not telling you before."

She wondered if he would ask why she hadn't, ask her anything more at all. For how deeply Rose knew this man, on this subject, she had no clue to his thoughts.

"I love you Rose. I'm sorry that Petra's been living with this all this time."

He spoke as if she was going to live a lot longer, but Rose nodded.

Then he turned, reaching for her face. "Rose, I might be talking out of my ass, but if I had to make a bet, I think the reason he's seeing Alicia is exactly what Petra thinks. And what you think too."

Rose tried to look away, but Gray's hand kept her face from leaving his. "Gray why?"

It was her husband to break their gaze. "Because Rose, Michael's never gotten over you."

As he backed out, Rose held his hand. "How do you know that?"

That time, Gray wouldn't answer.

Chapter 21: The Casserole Brigade

On a cool, foggy morning Rose Robinson Burnett walked around her neighborhood, leaving her house at three thirty. She returned at four thirty, finding Gray in bed asleep.

Rose undressed, but instead of getting into the shower as was her usual manner, she got back into bed, cuddling against Gray's warm body. Within a few minutes, lovemaking commenced, Rose needing her husband, but not wanting to know why he agreed with her.

They showered together, then Gray dressed for work. He was teaching his first two classes, was hoping to miss the rest of the week. Even though the couple knew what was coming, that made it no easier.

Rose wondered how it would be if she didn't know. Or if she wasn't pregnant. During her walk she talked to her baby, telling Burnett number three as she called it all about its Aunt Petra. That Aunt Petra would have loved to attend all those milestones, then Rose had stopped, aware Burnett number two wasn't going to enjoy any highlights with Aunt Petra, unless one wanted to include Liam's awareness to his aunt's coming demise. Rose didn't count that, realizing only Emory would have Petra involved with part of her growing up. Liam might not clearly remember his aunt, but Rose felt sure he would never forget yesterday morning on the sofa.

Gray was ready before Rose had her shoes on and he kissed her goodbye in the bedroom. "I'll meet you at the hospital," he said, squeezing her hand.

Rose nodded. All she had to do was get Emory to school, Liam too. He was going with Megan, who would take him to The Rumpus Room after lunch. Emory would go home with the McMahons while Lise collected Liam from his education base, taking him to Megan's. If need be, Lise would watch the kids that night, but by then Rose might want a break. Watching Gray's car leave their street, Rose didn't feel that Petra would die that day.

With that notion, Rose went about her morning as if nothing was different, nothing was odd. Everything was turned around, maybe that evened it out, Rose considered, making her bed, rousing her children. Everything was a mess, but maybe that was okay.

Liam asked after his aunt, then told his mother he didn't think she was going to die today either. His voice was smooth as if they were speaking of the weather, of their activities for later. Then he smiled. "Mommy, maybe that's why you're having another baby."

"What?" Rose asked, poking into the back of the fridge.

"He said that's why you're pregnant," Emory sighed.

Rose looked to find open faces, no guile. Emory did appear a bit weary, only because Liam seemed more aware of things than she. Otherwise they were as before, young children who realized a little more than most.

Kneeling down, Rose touched their faces. A loving but not overly emotional mother, suddenly her heart felt pained, also liberated. Her sister was dying, but it wasn't a secret, not like when her parents were returning from Europe. Not as when Colin was on the verge, Garth blissfully ignorant. This time those who loved both Petra and Rose best _knew_.

"Maybe that's why." She pulled them toward her, leery for a second they would tumble into a heap, but these smaller bodies acted as ramparts, maintaining the balance. A proper balance this time Rose thought. Perhaps that would make it easier.

It didn't help when Rose dropped the kids at school, both Emory and Liam turning teary. Neither of them said a thing to Megan, but Rose did hold the baby, wishing she could take James to the hospital, set him besides her sister as some stand-in. Instead Rose kissed his head, then gave her children another hug. She left in her car, driving straight for the hospital.

Rose relieved Lovie, who slept in the chair to Petra's right. Before he stumbled out, Lovie relayed that Garth would be on dry land late that day, flying north tomorrow, arriving early in the afternoon. Rose nodded to all that, gave Lovie a hug, and settled in for the morning.

Not much occurred. Petra didn't wake, nurses came and went. People did too, friends hearing the news. Rose took a break for lunch when Gray arrived, otherwise that couple stayed at Petra's side the entire day. Rose felt ill only a few times, her morning sickness eased. She wanted to talk to her sister, but the longer Petra was asleep, the easier it became to think of her in another tense. Petra _had been_ awake on Friday, she _had been_ in her house last week. She was Rose's sister, always would be, but soon she wouldn't be here anymore.

No one but Gray and Rose had any idea as people filed in, took a few minutes, asked if there was anything to do. A few times Rose said to pray, but then she felt foolish; pray for what? Petra wasn't going to live, wasn't going to pull through. Rose let Gray answer those questions, for she had nothing to offer.

He took her home at dinnertime, Buster and Lovie standing watch. The children spoke of their days and Rose ate a substantial meal, a chicken spaghetti dish from Megan. Lise shared in their dinner, but Rose didn't want to return to the hospital. She wanted this part to be over. The casserole brigade would last a week, ten days, then life could go back to... "Gray," Rose said, her fork in hand. "I don't want to go back there tonight."

"But Mommy..." Liam whined.

"You sure?" Gray asked.

"Uh-huh. I'm tired and I've barely seen my kids and..."

Emory looked at Lise, then to her mother. "Mommy, if you don't go, you might miss something."

Rose smiled. "Yeah, I might. But if I don't stay here, I'll miss something else."

How to expound to a six-year-old that the small moments which make up a family evening were just as important as sitting next to an unconscious sibling. Rose couldn't explain it and caressed her daughter's face. "Em, we'll braid your hair tonight and think of Aunt Petra."

Emory began to cry. Gray, who sat beside her, took his daughter onto his lap.

"Listen, if you're sure Rose, I mean, I can stay here."

Rose nodded to Lise, then scooped more spaghetti. It was tasty and Rose would ask Megan for the recipe. "No, I mean, Buster said he'd be happy to do it, and depending on how the rest of the week goes..."

"Mommy, are you sure?" Liam asked.

"Yeah baby. I just want to sit on my couch tonight."

The children relaxed due to Rose's definitive tone. Lise finished her dinner and after arranging tomorrow's schedule, the same as that day, Lise left, taking some casserole home for Dane.

After everyone finished, Rose put leftovers in a container, Emory at her side. "Mommy, why'd you let Lise take home some of the spaghetti?"

"Because in a few days we're going to have a lot of leftovers."

"Why?"

"Because that's what people do when someone's sick. They bring you meals so you don't have to cook."

"Oh." Emory grabbed her mother's leg. "Will they do that when Aunt Petra dies?"

The words hit Rose, or maybe it was only Emory's voice. Curious, some sadness, mostly resignation. "Yeah honey, then too."

"What about when you have the baby?"

Rose smiled. Snapping the container's lid, she set a hand along Emory's cheek, skin smooth, soft, that of a youngster. Not like her aunt, Petra's face feeling older, looser, as if nearly empty.

"Yeah, they'll do it when I have the baby. Then too," Rose said.

Gray called the hospital, Petra's condition unchanged. Buster was spending the night, Alicia and Michael present most of the evening. Gray nodded to that news, then found his wife giving the kids their bath. Emory had decided against a shower and she had the right end of the tub while Liam sat in the left.

"Buster will call if anything happens," Gray said aloud. Then he leaned to Rose. "Alicia was there all night."

"Uh-huh," Rose said.

"What Daddy?"

Gray knelt near his son. "Just wanted to tell Mommy that I loved her."

"Well you can say that in front of us," Emory sniffed.

"Yeah, I can," Gray smiled. "Sometimes I like to tell just her."

"Her and the baby," Liam said.

"Yeah, just the two of them."

"Mommy, do you feel like there's someone else in you yet?"

"Sometimes Liam. Sometimes."

"Mommy?"

"What Em?"

Everyone looked to the right end of the tub, tears running down Emory's cheeks.

"What is it baby?" Rose asked.

"Can we see Aunt Petra again before she dies?"

"Of course you can."

The room was warm but Emory shivered, moving toward her mother. Rose embraced her, getting the entire front of her shirt wet. As Gray put a towel around them, Rose helped her daughter from the bathtub, cuddling Emory in her lap.

"Gray, are you asleep?" Rose asked.

"No."

She turned his way, seeing on his clock it was three fifteen. "Gray, let's take them today. This morning even. I'll just take Emory to school late."

"I think that's a good idea."

Rose lay on her side, Gray's hands over his head. As she moved into him, he set his right arm over her, then the left one too.

"Gray, can I ask you something?"

"Uh-huh."

"Gray, how do you know about Michael?"

Rose felt his breath stop, then restart. She'd hesitated asking him all evening, then after they made love, she fell right to sleep. Waking, it had been on her mind, perhaps due to a dream, all of which she remembered was Petra, angry.

"Rose, it doesn't matter. I love you."

"Gray, it does because the last thing you said about all this was right after we met, and this thing with Petra is thirteen years ago."

He sighed. "Rose, if I tell you, what difference does it make?"

"Was it recently?"

"Yes."

"How recent?"

"Rose..."

"Gray, I want to know. He's dating Alicia now, so how recent?"

"When you stopped nursing Liam."

Now Rose held her breath. Two years ago she had been breastfeeding their son. Not often, maybe once every few days. Just a loving moment between mother and child, right as Liam stepped from infancy into childhood. For another six months he had only laid his head against her bosom, but Rose had needed that physical attachment. Her stomach gurgled, Rose suddenly anxious for their next baby's arrival.

Gray turned to her, kissing her face. "Rose, you remember when we had that party and it rained? Michael got really stoned. I don't even think he had anything to eat that night."

"Yeah, I remember. You were gonna barbecue but I think we called out for pizza."

He nodded. "You'd already gone to bed, it was late, nearly midnight. He and I were sitting out front and he said something about you and the kids, I don't remember what exactly, but it was something about if you were left alone, like if something happened to me. He said that he'd take care of you, would make sure you'd be all right. And I said that was fine, you know, just saying it like I'm talking to you right now. Then he smiled and looked at me, said it wasn't fine, it wouldn't be at all fine, that he was probably the last person I'd want looking after my wife."

"Jesus Christ!"

Gray squeezed her, smoothing back loose hairs that had separated from her braid. "I just looked at him, I mean, what in the hell was I supposed to say? He laughed, you know, like he'd let something out, something he otherwise wouldn't. I have no idea why he said it, I mean, why in that I'm sure he felt that way, but why admit it? Why tell me?"

"My god Gray! What kind of sick asshole is he?"

"I don't know Rose, but when he said he was seeing Alicia, it was how he told me, like he thought he could bullshit me into thinking it was real or he'd changed. Rose, he's never been anything but a lying bastard. Lying to himself, to whoever he thinks he can fool. Honey, for ages I thought he was over you, thought it was something he'd put behind him. After that night, I had to wonder, then after he told me about seeing Alicia... Rose, I will never let him be alone with you, you or the kids."

Rose shook and Gray gripped her.

"Are you going to say anything to him?"

"I don't know. Maybe after Petra, maybe. Do you want me to?"

Rose's face rested against his side. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes I do."

On Tuesday morning Rose and Gray arrived at the hospital finding a surprise; Petra was conscious. She was alert, improved. The children were able to tell her they loved her, then as the mood lifted, they forgot what they knew. Within ten minutes it was as if Petra was only slightly unwell.

Rose knew differently, so did Petra's doctors. Her lungs were filled with fluid and while she was speaking in a normal voice, the strain on her body was palpable. The cardiologist was bleak. Rose's sister was critically ill.

"I know," Rose said to their amazement. "How long does she have?"

After a few gasps and shocked faces, the doctor on call most of the weekend cleared his throat. "Probably another day. It's hard to say, but..."

"Does she know?" Gray asked.

"We've told her there's little we can do. It was the first thing she asked when she woke."

Rose nodded. "Did she want any extra measures taken?"

"Nothing, just to let her go."

The couple stood close, Gray's hand moving to his wife's body. His touch comforted; Rose wasn't alone in her knowledge and Petra had learned from someone else.

It was Rose however to end the visit, Emory and Liam clamoring for more time. Petra was nearly asleep, the children saying goodbye before she nodded off. Emory kissed her aunt's hand, then Liam did the same, and Petra gave each a feeble squeeze. Then Gray kissed Petra's cheek, taking the kids from the room.

From her chair, Rose picked up Petra's hand. Rose wanted to speak, but words might lead to a conversation Petra had already endured. Plus, Rose remembered, Petra hadn't wanted to hear it, at least not from her.

"Rose, it's okay," Petra mumbled. "Thanks for bringing them."

"They love you," Rose whispered.

"They know," Petra sighed.

"Yeah, they do."

"Rose?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you happy, I mean, about the baby?"

Rose stood, her sister's eyes fading. "Oh yeah Pet, we are, both of us are."

"That's good, that's really good. Tell Gray it's an Elmo."

"I will," Rose smiled. "I'll tell him."

"Rose?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you tell him about Michael?"

"Yeah Pet, I did. I told him."

"And?"

Rose kissed the back of her sister's hand. "You were right."

Petra's face lit. "I knew it, that fucker."

Rose squeezed again, felt one small response. "Pet, can I ask you something?"

Petra moved her head up, then down.

"Pet, I know about Garth's proposal. He's coming, he's on his way. Honey, can I tell him anything for you?"

For a few seconds Rose wondered if her sister had gone back to sleep, returned to where no life or death existed, only waiting. Waiting for another day, another doctor, another face to note if a chest was moving, nods no longer possible.

"Tell him," Petra croaked, "that I'm sorry."

One last pulse hit Rose's fingers, a weak movement not even more than sensation. Not a grip or a grasp or anything else, but Rose responded with a ferocious squeeze. "I'll tell him honey. I'll tell him."

By lunchtime everyone knew and by dinner Rose's refrigerator sported foil-covered Pyrex dishes, some with heating instructions affixed to the foil with masking tape. Rose pulled out a dish that sounded appealing, leaving those with no directions for another day.

After the children had departed, Petra had been unresponsive, Rose keeping their exchange only between herself and Gray. Garth's flight was delayed in San Diego and Rose had left before he arrived. She didn't expect to see him that night unless the hospital summoned.

Her house heaved with people, the Gallaghers stopping by, the across the street neighbors Bill and Angela Price with some cookies. Dane and Lise had the kids in the backyard, blowing bubbles, but no one saw Judith Robinson, who trailed after her grandchildren.

To all but her husband, children, and Lovie, Rose was only saddled with a dying sister. The kids had kept quiet about the baby, news Rose wanted to share with Garth next. Megan knew, but she had already dropped off another casserole, which they had finished for lunch. That night it was beef stroganoff with green beans as a side. The Prices' cookies were dessert.

Rose chatted with all who came round, remembering this from when her parents died, when Colin died. People came by, but then the dead were dead. Petra only sat at death's door, but it felt as if maybe she was gone. She'd been in the hospital five days and now it was a matter of hours, another day or two. So little was the time, but Rose felt her sister's absence deeply. If Petra was living, she would be with them.

When the phone rang, it was Gray to answer it, Rose on the couch. She'd been talking with Channing Gallagher, but Gray's voice pricked her ears. She excused herself and stood at his side.

"Okay. Yeah, just let us know. Okay, thanks. Bye." Gray set the phone on the counter. "That was Buster. They finally reached the hospital. She's still unconscious, but at least Garth's with her."

"How's he?" Rose asked.

"Buster said he cried a lot on the drive, but by the time they got there and talked to the doctors, he was over it. Or at least he pretended that he was."

"So now we wait." She set her hand on top of Gray's that rested on the counter.

Taking her hand, he kissed her fingers. "Yeah. Now we wait."

Chapter 22: Rose In A Real Universe

The next morning after her walk, driving the kids to Emory's school, then holding Megan McMahon's baby, Rose drove to the hospital. As she approached the entrance, Buster exited showing worry, fear. What Rose and her family had realized for a few days was now everyone's reality.

Garth awaited her, but not Petra, not the sister Rose had known all her life. For all intents and purposes, Petra was no longer within Rose's sphere. Not as she'd always been, slightly ill, off balance, debilitated but not slowed. Before, Petra had been challenged. Now she was silenced.

Rose set a hand to her baby, taking the necessary steps through the lobby, inside the elevator, a few taps of one foot waiting to reach ICU. Then out of the small compartment toward another cubicle, from where Rose heard a tone familiar. Rose heard Colin.

Or what to her sounded like that dead man. Peering through the door instead she saw Garth, who in mourning his dying lover sounded like Colin, a low mewling tone all Garth could muster. It had broken Rose's twenty-year-old heart to see her longtime boyfriend so tattered. Sixteen years later, Rose's muscle ached, Garth an older, run-down version of his deceased sibling.

"Garth?" she mumbled, not wanting to surprise him.

"Oh Rose, Rose?" He stood by pushing himself from the chair. "Oh goddamn, Rose!"

It was maybe four or five steps to where she waited, but Garth took ages to find her arms. Then his grip was that of memory, one Rose couldn't shake. How he'd held her, seeing his brother splayed along the wall, all over the bed and Rose's clothes. Rose had worn a t-shirt, jeans, and flip-flops by the time Garth arrived, but in the doorway of Petra's room, she felt as naked as when finding Colin right after he'd shot himself.

"Oh baby, Garth, oh I'm so sorry!" Rose stroked his head, felt his sobs. Felt her own extricated from far inside in places they sat undisturbed. Rose held much love within her, but also dormant sorrow until stirred by an equally horrendous grief. Her parents had done it and now Garth tapped into her. Garth first, then _The Worst_ yet to come.

"R-Rose," he murmured, all he could say.

"Oh baby, she wanted you to know she was sorry, she was sorry."

He pulled away long enough to see her face. "Really?"

"Uh-huh," Rose said as his head returned to her body. "Lovie told me about what you asked her. God Garth, I'm so sorry!"

Rose was. Why in the world had Petra turned him down? Yes he drank sometimes and got stoned a little too often. That was her and Gray, in bits and pieces, but was that enough to say to one you loved _I don't want to marry you_? Rose was certain Petra had loved him, as she was positive Petra had been Garth's entire world. All he wanted, but now his universe lay nearly dead in a bed, just as Colin had been.

Rose smoothed back Garth's hair, brown, not that clean. Who knew when he'd last had a shower, but he didn't stink, not of fish or travel or guilt. Rose didn't note those scents, only great grief and loss. As much as for his brother, and Petra wasn't even dead.

"Garth, I love you. I have something to tell you."

He didn't speak, but nodded his head.

Rose took his hand that had been wrapped around her back, placing it in that magical spot that for the last few days sustained her, Gray, their children. Lovie too, and now she presented that small window of light to another. "Garth, I'm pregnant. I'm gonna have another baby."

"Oh Jesus Christ! Really? Really Rose?"

They looked at each other, both with tears. Rose felt no pain for these were the beginning. Only a trickle, hardly worth wiping from her face, mixed with joy for what she carried within, what bit of relief she could share.

"Yeah. Gray and I had just started trying. Got lucky right off the bat."

He chuckled, not moving his hand. "Did she, I mean, did she..."

"We told her yesterday, she was here already, I mean, we literally just found out. The kids and Lovie know, a gal from Emory's school too. Now you. No one else yet, but I had to tell you."

Her words were stilted; she'd had to tell Garth before the rest. Was it sentiment or just a gift, some small manner in which this could be more readily swallowed? Garth's back was to the woman lying in bed, but Rose saw Petra, also something new. A tube rested against Petra's lips and Rose's feet shifted, or was it the tiles upon which she stood?

"Garth, what's that in Petra's mouth?"

He still held his back to the bed. "She's on a ventilator Rose. They did it at six this morning."

One breath was taken, but it hurt. Another came, feeling worse. This, Rose knew, was the beginning of _The Worst_.

It took Gray to calm her. He'd had to teach his first period class, but now was done for the week. When he arrived at a little after nine, Rose sat in the waiting area, silently sobbing in Lovie's arms. In Gray's hold, Rose only changed her words, repeating her husband's name instead of Lovie's.

With Garth's arrival, they waited for no one. They waited on Petra, but really she was waiting for them to turn off the respirator that had been installed early that morning, only because family hadn't been close and Garth had insisted. One of the nurses knew he was Petra's boyfriend and while Rose's sister hadn't wanted any invasive measures, this wasn't a long term solution. Not even a quick fix, just to buy some time. Time for Rose to arrive, fall apart, then pull herself back together enough to watch her sister die.

Those were Rose's words to Garth, then Lovie, finally to Gray. If others were present, Rose would pull the plug herself, end this long, drawn-out death watch, not like a gun to the head or a jet into a mountain. Rose was beginning to hate this, and wondered if Petra felt anything. Had Colin, other than long term depression? Had her parents, other than a horrific, momentary realization their plane was on a collision course with nature? Why did this hurt so much, Rose wondered, seeking her tiny baby for solace, but finding just flat skin.

_The Worst_ had plopped onto Rose there in the doorway with Garth in her arms. Now it clung to her on the small sofa with Gray and she felt trapped, short of breath. Did her sister know that sensation or was Petra wherever Colin, Judith and Don were, Aunt Margaret too. Were they all in some floaty, just past the veil world where Rose's wailings were watched with clucking pity? Rose sat up, blew her nose into the torn-apart Kleenex Gray had given her, then looked around the room.

"Anyone here that's dead?" she called.

Judith sat beside her daughter but didn't say a thing.

"Well shit," Rose said. "Gray, call everyone. I want this over today."

He nodded. "What about the kids?"

"Jesus Christ," Rose sighed. Liam was with Megan, but Emory was in school. Did Rose want them there? Were they too young? "I don't know. What do you think?"

He ran a hand through his hair, Rose seeing his distress. His brother had died too, how many departed people did they have to possess?

"Let me call Megan, talk to Liam. You think that's okay?"

"Sure," Rose shrugged. "God Gray, I have no fucking idea."

He stood, helping her up. They headed for the women's restroom and while Rose went to dry-heave, Gray spoke to their son.

When Rose returned, her face wet from water as well as crying, Gray's face looked odd. "What?" she asked.

"He said he didn't want to be here and that Emory didn't either. Said they talked about it right before Em had to go to school."

"Are you sure?" Rose imagined Emory having a cow if they didn't ask her opinion.

"Yeah, he was adamant. Said we didn't need to worry about them."

Rose burst into tears again, the thought of her four and six-year-old children so organized making her weep.

Alicia hadn't stayed with Michael last night and the two hours it took him to fetch her were spent by the rest in Petra's room. Rose cried a little, holding her sister's hand, telling her things Rose felt others could know; memories from their childhood, Petra's long struggles with her bad heart, bad bones, bad lung. Now both lungs, and soon they'd be cold, truly useless. Rose left that out, felt it was overly maudlin. Everything had a drippy, overcast sense, yet the day was sunny, bright but not hot. By mid-afternoon the sunshine would feel warm. Rose was ready for it, wanting to go home and blow bubbles with her children.

Once Alicia arrived, Rose would tell her about the baby, then inform the rest. Maybe here at the hospital, or maybe after Petra was gone, but Rose wanted that secret released, even if it meant Michael would know. Rose didn't want that man anywhere near her, felt chilled considering his name. For years he hadn't bothered her in the least, but now he was cold, wrong, some invisible predator making her feel quite unsafe. She walked every other morning in the dark by herself and had never felt frightened. Michael threw the fear of god into her and the sooner Gray spoke to him, the better Rose assumed she would be.

Her spot was secure, Gray on her right, Lovie beside Gray. Across sat Garth, Buster, and Gloria. Dane and Lise held each other, those people composing Petra's family. They also protected both Rose and Petra from unwanted attention; if Michael thought he was going to get any nearer than Petra's feet, he was damned well mistaken.

Rose looked at their faces, her family by music. By music and time and this place where most were born and would probably die. Maybe not Dane and Lise, they were young. Rose's own parents weren't buried here, hadn't died here either. They died in Colorado, rested in Sessay. Then Rose wondered; where would Petra be buried?

There in Evanston, or might she want to lay with their parents? Rose tried to remember if they talked about it after Margaret's funeral, but all she recalled was a conversation about Elmo. About fucking Elmo and Rose fucking Gray to make their own version. Petra had wanted her to have another baby, but hadn't said squat about where she wanted to be buried. Or if. Maybe Garth knew.

"Garth?" Rose coughed. "Do you know what Petra wanted after this?"

"What?"

Only then did Rose realize her question was odd. "Nothing," she said.

"No, what'd you say?"

Rose smiled. "Garth, later."

"Okay."

Gray squeezed her hand. He'd heard, so had Lovie. "Rose," Lovie said. "I think she wanted to be with your folks."

Garth's eyes went to them and he sighed. "Oh yeah. Rose, she did. She told me a few years ago."

"Yeah, she always said she wanted to be over there, wished she knew why that was where they were buried." Lovie sighed. "I guess she'll never know."

"We do know." Rose noted an accord between those two men. "They're over there so Pet and I wouldn't be at their graves all the time."

"Really?" Garth asked.

Rose nodded, explaining how she'd figured it out. In between her words came breaths of relief, some small moment to think and talk. Garth and Lovie continued the conversation, apologies offered over details. Both had truly loved Petra, yet she hadn't been willing to stay with either of them more than five years. Maybe it had been Petra all along, Rose decided.

Then she looked to the door, hearing weeping, familiar and eerie. Alicia, followed by Michael, made her way into the room.

Rose didn't move, speaking the minimum to her cousin. Alicia was too broken and drunk to need any more, stepping to the other side of the bed, displacing Buster and Gloria, standing right next to Garth, whom she embraced in a messy, slurred manner.

Michael remained at the foot of the bed, Rose wishing Petra had been shorter, more space between them. He said nothing to her, nodding to Gray, but to no one else.

"Well, I guess this's it," Gray said.

"Oh god no!" Alicia cried. "Rose, what are we gonna do?"

"I don't know honey."

"Oh my god! Petra, Petra, please baby please!" Alicia stroked Petra's hand that was held by Garth.

Rose felt ill. Her sister would have been disgusted with their cousin's display, with Michael's presence too. As if Rose had to endure this ridiculous demonstration to ease _The Worst_ into her head and heart, but all she wanted was to vomit.

"Gray, I uh, I need a minute."

As Gray moved between her and Michael, Rose led her husband to the waiting area.

"Honey, just tell me what you want."

"I want to go home. I, I can't watch this, can't watch Alicia or him or Pet actually dying. I never saw the rest go and I'm not gonna start with my sister."

"You sure?"

"Uh-huh."

"Okay. Wait here."

Rose nodded, setting arms over her aching breasts. They felt huge as usual, but increasing, as was expected. Petra's demise had been known, like a coming baby, but so ghastly and awful, more than Rose could take.

Gloria and Lise approached her, Rose falling into them, her sobs soft but steady. Anyone else could watch Petra die, but not Rose.

A minute later it was only Gray. "Baby, they're gonna stay. You ready?"

"Hell yes!"

Anger spiked, especially with Michael's presence. He would stand near Petra in those final minutes, but Rose just couldn't.

Gray led them to the main lobby, where Rose stopped. "Honey, is there any way you can get him out of there? I don't want him in there with her."

Gray nodded. "Go get in my car. We'll come back for yours later."

"Okay."

Sunshine hit her face, warm and soothing. Away from that place Rose's fury melted. Reaching Gray's Mazda, she was almost contrite, wanted to call or text him, tell him that if Michael really wanted to be there, it was okay. Maybe Alicia would need him, maybe he had some tiny apology to offer for being such a huge prick. Rose hit Gray's name in her phone, but he didn't answer. She didn't leave a message, but did text him. No response emerged.

From where Gray was parked, Rose could only see the ER, not the main lobby entrance. She stood at her door until she spotted her husband. No one was with him and Rose ran to meet him.

"Gray, Gray? Did you get my message?"

Arms found the other, Rose feeling perhaps she'd been too late. Had Gray watched her sister die? "God Gray, is she, I mean?"

"I don't know. By now maybe. Probably."

"What happened?" Rose asked.

As she did, Gray's phone rang. "Yeah? Oh, okay. Yeah. Thanks Buster. Yeah. Just a minute." He looked to Rose. "It's over."

That was how _The Worst_ happened, over a cell phone in the valet parking section of the Evanston city hospital. Petra Margaret Robinson was dead. "Oh, okay. Okay."

"Honey, Buster wants to know if everyone can come over. You know, in an hour or so. Or tonight, whatever you want."

"Yeah, yeah that's fine. Are they okay?" It hadn't hit her yet. Not until she told her children or unwrapped a casserole would it be real.

"Yeah honey, they're just worried about you."

"No, no, it's okay. Tell them anytime after, uh, what time is it now?"

Gray looked at his phone. "Almost two."

Her sister died at almost two in the afternoon on Wednesday, the twenty-first of October. Petra died in the autumn and Rose sighed. "After four. I want to tell the kids first."

Gray relayed all that into the phone while Rose looked to the sky. So blue, not dark like that morning. She'd taken her walk at four-thirty. Not twelve hours later her sister was dead.

She didn't hear Gray finish the call, only noting his hands on her face, then his mouth set to hers, a warm soft kiss like how the day felt, kinder than Rose had expected.

"I love you. Let's go get the kids. I'll get the car later."

"Okay," she said.

They walked with Gray's arms around her, slowly, as if a solitary body, three of them moving as one. Gray opened her door and she sat while he knelt in front of her.

"I love you," he whispered. "The both of you."

Rose smiled. It felt honest, good but fleeting. "Gray, was he there? Did you tell him?"

His hand touched her face, then her lips, and Rose took one of his fingers in her mouth. Releasing it, she let out a sigh.

"He wasn't there. I got to him before that."

"Gray, what'd you tell him?"

"I only told him I didn't want him there."

"Gray..."

"Rose, it's over. He'll never bother you or Petra again."

Gray stood, shutting her door. As he got in, Rose waited for him to sit. Before he started the car, she took his hand, setting it on their baby. "What about Alicia?"

Gray Burnett stared straight ahead. "Rose, I told him I knew what he'd said to Petra, that he'd called her your name. Then I reminded him of two years ago. He seemed to know what I meant." Gray looked to his wife. "The last I saw he was leaving the hospital in front of me. All I know is he didn't go back upstairs."

At home, Rose noted the split living room, the white-gray tiles marking her side and Gray's. They invaded each other's space all the time, the first thing they did once arriving at their house. Gray had checked that all doors were locked, then took his wife to bed.

It was rushed, only due to their natures and the need to tell their children before people arrived. Afterwards Rose took a shower while Gray collected the kids. On their sofa, huddled together, Gray said the words that Emory and Liam had known were coming since Sunday. For three days they had been aware, but in learning it had occurred, both wailed and screeched, reaching into their parents. The whole family had a good cry, then Liam snuggled into his mother, resting his head where his unborn sibling lay.

"Mommy, am I always gonna know when people are gonna die?"

"Maybe," Rose sniffed. "I knew with my parents." She omitted Colin on purpose.

"Oh," Liam said. "Mommy, does it make it easier?"

"Maybe," she said. "But Liam, I guess we'll never know."

"Yeah, I guess not."

"I don't wanna know," Emory sniffed in disdain and from a runny nose.

"I don't either," Gray announced, getting her a tissue.

Emory blew, then sighed. "I wonder who the baby will take after."

The parents looked at each other, neither having considered that. Rose was already hoping for another son, sensing Emory might be jealous of a little sister right off the bat. Then Rose smiled. She wouldn't only want this third child. Probably a fourth, nature willing.

"I don't know which of us the baby will be like," Rose said. "But no matter what, that this baby came before Petra died means something."

"What?" Emory asked.

Rose heard voices approaching the front door. From the tones, it was Lovie, Buster, Gloria, and Garth. She didn't need any special sense, only their footsteps.

"I don't know Em. But one day, I bet we'll figure it out."

Chapter 23: Full Appliances

By the end of the week, Rose's refrigerator was still stuffed with anonymous casserole dishes, and she was starting to give food away. To Lovie and Garth, Buster and Gloria, whose children were spending the weekend at their father's house. Rose hadn't seen any of them yet, but when she asked if Buster might like some meatloaf, he took it with thanks.

Some things had been easy, others more difficult. The funeral was set for Tuesday afternoon in Sessay. A plot not twenty feet from where Judith and Don were buried had been available, Gray making those arrangements. Rose had got the kids to school, accepting condolences. The more unpleasant matters consisted with Alicia and Michael, as Rose assumed they would. Alicia was gutted, Michael right at her side. In a small way Rose was glad; her cousin needed far more than Rose could provide. Rose required solace, giving what little remained to her children and Garth. Lovie seemed all right and Gray would fend for himself. When Rose felt stronger, she would offer her husband all he'd bestowed since Wednesday. For now, Rose did what she could.

It wasn't much beyond caring for her children and herself. She gave away food not because she was up to cooking, but that so much had fallen their way. She froze what seemed applicable, but unknown dishes took space that Rose needed for milk and juice. It had helped that people were over most nights, but now on Saturday, the house was quiet. It had been three days; perhaps others felt the Burnetts wanted to be alone.

She spent that morning trying to clear the fridge, another Channing Gallagher quiche waiting on the counter. As Rose stared into the stuffed refrigerator, the doorbell rang. Rose wondered if maybe she could start offering the excess as door prizes.

"Coming!" She ignored the quiche but closed the fridge. Opening the door, Michael Roddy waited outside the screen. "Oh Jesus! Michael, uh, hi."

"Hey Rose. Gray around?"

She didn't move to allow him inside. "No, he took the kids over to a friend's. He should be back in a few."

Awkward air swirled, no way to deny it. Before Rose would have extended her home to him, but words had been exchanged, notions revealed, truths set between them. Rose had no desire to let this man any closer to her or the baby.

Did he know? She hadn't said anything to Alicia, the kids keeping quiet, Lovie and Garth too. Rose wanted to tell Buster, Dane, and their partners, not wives but an ex and a girlfriend. That she hadn't yet told her own cousin carried small guilt, but no scent accompanied, allowing Rose to still conceal that piece of news.

Rose didn't look at Michael, but heard his foot tapping. It slipped into her head, a rhythm cold, frightening. Had Petra known that when he was fucking her, calling her someone else's name?

"Uh, he'll be back really soon." She was stalling; Gray might be ten minutes or more.

"Rose listen, I'm sorry about Petra, about everything. Can I come in?"

Rose counted to five. If Gray didn't pull up, she didn't know what she would do, but counting 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 she said a quick prayer.

Nothing happened. "Yeah, come in," she said through gritted teeth.

He sat at the table while Rose pretended to find room for the quiche. Maybe she could just give it to him, but Channing was a great cook. Maybe Rose could give Michael something else, but nothing looked so unappealing that Rose could part with it.

"Listen Rose, I think there's been a misunderstanding. I mean, Christ. Okay, yeah, a long time ago I did have some feelings for you, but..."

"Michael, do you like quiche?"

"What?"

Rose peeked over the door. "My neighbor just left me more food. You wanna take a quiche home?"

"Uh, sure."

She peered back into the fridge. "How about pork roast? I've got a half one in here, you like that?"

"Rose, Jesus, yeah sure, whatever. Listen, I just want to..."

"Michael, don't, all right? Listen, I'll put this stuff in a bag and tell Gray you came by. I'm not really up for this right now."

Hiding in her refrigerator, Rose couldn't see anything other than casserole dishes. She did listen, wishing the garage door would open. Or maybe Gray might see Michael's car and just park behind him, slamming on the brakes, spinning in the gravel. Or maybe that was only when someone pulled away.

The next thing Rose knew was Michael's breath on the other side of the refrigerator door. "Rose, please. I just want to tell you I'm sorry about Petra, for, shit. For this. For all this, it's just a misunderstanding."

"Uh-huh," she said, hoping he couldn't hear her heart pounding in her chest.

"Rose, I never meant to hurt her, Petra, you know? It was a long time ago."

"Uh-huh." Rose felt sick, the way his voice tried to weave into her head.

"Listen Rose, I've known Gray a long time. I know how he is and there's no way I'd ever try to, you know, make some kind of move on you."

"Uh-huh," her voice a whisper.

"I mean, I know what happened to him with the babysitter, and god forbid anything like that happen to you. You know what I mean Rose?"

"Yeah."

Breaths were hard to collect; she assumed it was from a combination of things, that he was so close to her, that they were alone. Mostly from his tone, easy but menacing. Seductive and haunting, as if he held a knife to her throat and wouldn't think twice about slitting her skin.

Rose Robinson Burnett had never been so scared in her life. If her phone was within reach, she would dial 911.

"Rose, all I want to do is tell you I'm sorry. About Petra, about everything. About Alicia. I mean, you know why I'm seeing her. You know why Rose."

"Yeah," she repeated, all she could utter.

"And Rose, I don't want to hurt her either. I don't want to hurt any of you, you..."

"Hoffmans!" Rose's abrupt stance caused Michael to nearly tumble backward. "Michael, get out of here right now. I'll tell Gray you came by."

The refrigerator door remained between them but now Rose was on her feet, and while still terrified, her voice said otherwise. She hoped he would pay attention to that and not her trembling.

The front door opened and Rose took another breath as Gray stepped inside. Their eyes met and Rose didn't need to say a thing.

Michael turned around. "Hey Gray, wow, just who I was looking for."

For a few seconds no one moved or spoke. Then Rose closed the fridge and walked through the back of the kitchen, disappearing down the hallway.

Ten minutes later she heard what she knew were Gray's footsteps. She had been sick, but when he entered the room, she lay on their bed, a wet washcloth over her forehead.

"Baby, you okay?" Gray asked, sitting beside her.

"Oh Jesus Christ Gray!" Rose sat up, letting the rag fall to the mattress. She clung to her husband, repeating his name.

His arms wrapped around her, his mouth against her cheek. Her name eased from his lips, whispered softly. Rose's heart still raced, but there in a safe hold, she began to relax.

"Did you, I mean, what happened?"

"Rose, it's over. I told him to never come here again. Or to the funeral."

"Gray, what, how?"

"Baby, don't worry. If he ever does show up here, call the cops."

"God Gray, what'n the hell?"

"Rose, don't worry."

She took him at his word. She didn't want to worry or think about Michael Roddy ever again. They lay together for a few minutes, then Rose sat up. "What about the band?"

Gray sighed. "I told him he was out."

"You what?"

"Honey, it's all over. Michael's never gonna bother you or Alicia again."

His voice was final, as if Gray had booted Michael out of town. "Gray, my god. Are you sure?"

Rose felt his hand on her face, then to the baby. "Listen, when are you going to tell Alicia about Elmo?"

A small smile came to Rose's lips. "Petra wanted me to tell you that's what we're having, an Elmo."

"When?" he asked.

"The last time I talked with her, right after you took the kids out." Rose wiped her face. "Gray, I wasn't going to tell Alicia until after the funeral. Why?"

"Wait till then, all right? Is that okay?"

"Yeah, but why?"

"Honey, just do as I ask, okay?"

He had never been that forthright and Rose nodded. "Okay Gray."

His hand moved around her face, then stopped at her jaw. He kissed her and Rose kissed him back. Knowing the children were gone, Rose asked one more thing. "Gray?"

"Yeah?"

"Are the doors locked?"

He smiled. "Yeah. Yeah they are."

"Make love to us then."

"Okay honey. Whatever you say."

While Rose spoke with her cousin a few times a day, nothing had been seen or heard from Michael all weekend. On Monday night Rose finally cleared out her refrigerator, the last casserole dish sitting empty in the sink. Meals filled the freezer and Rose wouldn't have to cook for two weeks unless she felt like it. All she felt was empty, even with a baby.

That baby was still off topic, but when it was only family, Lovie or Garth, it emerged, usually Rose mentioning it. She would tell her cousin after the funeral, but wasn't sure how that would go. Alicia hadn't mentioned Michael, but Gray had assured his wife that man wouldn't be at the Sessay City Cemetery on Tuesday afternoon.

Rose still needed to stop at Petra's apartment, not to water plants or clear out her sister's fridge. Lovie had taken care of that, he still had a key. He and Buster had gone there on Friday, then again Sunday night. Rose wasn't sure if Garth had been there yet. Lovie didn't think so.

That evening Rose felt tired, edgy. Had _The Worst_ passed already? Maybe _The Worst_ had been Michael on Saturday, Rose still feeling the effects of that encounter. Gray hadn't left her alone at the house, either taking her wherever he needed to go, or making sure Lovie was there. He'd been around them more than Rose had assumed, Garth less. Tomorrow they were driving to Sessay in a caravan, but the children wouldn't attend the funeral. A reception was being held afterwards in Evanston, hosted by one of Petra's friends from the newspaper. All Rose had to do was get the kids dressed, then to school. Megan McMahon would watch them and on Wednesday life would return to normal.

Gray hadn't gone to work that day, would miss Tuesday, but then even he would be back to class. Rose didn't worry about Michael making some unexpected appearance. And like Gray said, if he did, she would call 911.

"Listen, I'm beat. Baby and I are going to bed." Rose stood, kissing her children, who were already in pajamas. Emory's plaits hung and Rose hoped they would hold through the night.

"Okay. Time for everyone to hit the hay." Gray joined his wife, but the children protested.

Leaving it for their father to sort, Rose walked down the hall. The guest room was open but dark, and she didn't stop in. The last few nights she had.

She was already in bed when two youngsters attacked, Rose on her back, feeling surrounded. Not by casserole dishes or anything sinister, only her affectionate, needy offspring. Since Petra's death, both Emory and Liam wanted their mother. Rose needed them just as much.

"Mommy, can we sleep with you and Daddy tonight?" Liam asked, getting under the blankets.

Rose sat up, her husband nodding in the doorway. "Yeah, sure."

Emory took Rose's side and flounced around, smacking the pillow.

"Only if you can lie still," Gray said, moving their way.

"I'm just trying to get comfortable," Emory sighed.

"Good grief." Rose set her hands along Emory's braids. "You think they'll stay in Em?"

"Mommy, did I hurt Aunt Petra's feelings when I said they weren't tight?"

"No. Her hands just weren't strong enough."

"Mommy, are you going to die soon?"

That was Liam, who snuggled between his parents. Rose turned her head, seeing her son, then finding Gray's eyes.

"No Liam, I'm not."

"How do you know?" he asked.

Rose inhaled. If she knew her mother was close she might have picked up her scent, one of which Rose herself smelled. It was motherhood, exhaustion, and a small bit of grief. Of being aware, but for her own demise, Rose hoped it stood far away.

"I just do Liam." Rose reached for Gray's extended hand. She squeezed it, then turned back to Emory. "I just do."

Chapter 24: A Hat Trick Part Three

On Tuesday morning, Rose felt like taking a walk. She never walked on Tuesdays, but that morning, slipping from bed at the end of the mattress as not to disturb her sleeping family, all Rose wanted was to be in darkness.

No track pants or V-neck shirt waited, but she scrounged through the hamper, hearing Emory turning, moving toward her brother. Gray laid to the left, Liam now between his father and sister. Rose watched them for a minute and almost got back into bed.

She was stealing one member, a small addition unable to protest. Taking the clothes she found, Rose changed in the guest room. The bra was tight; had her bust increased that much already? She only wore it for seconds, then took it off. She put back on the cami top, then the t-shirt and track pants. She'd worn that bra yesterday and it hadn't felt uncomfortable. Other things hadn't been so nice, but that bra had seemed fine.

Rose kept Michael from her head, only thinking that a few minutes, not even half an hour outside, would be good. A good way to start this day, one she had already lived. She had already buried family in Sessay, one member just weeks before. It had been weeks since Aunt Margaret's funeral and here they were, going to another.

In the living room, Rose put on her shoes, then found her phone and keys. She didn't need anything else, but wrote a note for Gray, not leaving her usual sheet. This was separate, Rose not wishing to incorporate today with her regular routine.

She scribbled that she loved him and was just going for a short jaunt. It was four thirty, maybe she would be out half an hour. Maybe she would come back and Gray would have seen her note, putting the children in their own beds. Or maybe he'd be taking a shower in the other bathroom where Rose would find him and nail him good. She smiled, feeling for her keys and cell in the hoodie's front pocket. She didn't turn on any music, leaving her earphones behind.

The night seemed friendly, also bright; a large moon sat to the west, illuminating the sky. No one ever saw her on a Tuesday morning, not that anyone would have expected her walking when later that day she'd be burying her sister. Everything to Rose felt new, but previously occurred. She wondered about that, moving down the street.

Everything happened over and over, just to different people in different places. Gray had lost a sibling, Garth too, and now Rose. Her only sister was dead and probably by the end of the week Rose would be inside Petra's apartment, clearing things out as she had at her parents' house. Garth had taken care of Colin's possessions, but not the bed. Buster and Lovie had removed that mess.

Once Colin was gone, Rose remembered. After the body had been removed, then those men, in their early twenties at the time, about Dane's age, had hoisted a mattress, wiped down walls. Garth had moved out, but what happened afterwards, had the owners repainted it? Rose rarely drove past that place, over by the college. How many kids had lived there with no idea a man had blown his brains out in that very space?

Rose saw small shadows, her own, those of cars along the sidewalk and she had to pay attention. She didn't want to fall, didn't want to skin her knees on this day. She would wear pantyhose under a navy skirt. Maybe like her sports bra both would be too tight.

She wasn't moving fast, didn't swing her arms as usual. She only walked, seeing a few cats moving for shelter under cars, hearing a few yapping dogs. Against the small hills, Rose saw an odd light, the moon's reflection she assumed, as if an alternate day. Not the daylight she encountered as the sun rose, but something unexpected.

Reaching the end of the long road, she looked both ways, but instead of turning right, she went back the way she came. The street looked peculiar, everything in reverse, as if she was stepping into an alternate world. Rose smiled. It was Tuesday. She didn't walk on Tuesdays. She went to funerals on Tuesdays, Aunt Margaret's and now Petra's. Petra wouldn't be sitting next to Rose today.

She didn't realize she was crying, only thinking of sitting with her sister during Colin's service, then at their parents'. Then for Aunt Margaret, but not this time. Rose reached the street where she usually joined her route, but instead of making her normal circle she had stepped backward into some other place, another collection of similar roads, the night not looking familiar, appearing as if some muted day. Petra wasn't alive anymore. Could it really be the same?

Petra wasn't alive and Rose was pregnant. She had never been pregnant without her sister around. Without Colin and her parents, but not Petra.

By the time Rose reached her house, the front lights shined, Gray opening the front door. He pulled her close, wiping her tears. That was how Rose Robinson Burnett learned she had been crying.

Because Gray drove them all to Emory's school, again Rose felt things were out of sorts. She sat in the car while her husband and children walked through the gates, Liam staying with the McMahons until it was time for him to attend his educational base. Megan would play chauffer and Rose and Gray would collect their children after the reception. Rose felt she needed to make a list, how a day could be so unlike all the regular days, but almost the same.

Another way was in how Gray made love to her when they got home. That never happened, for usually Gray was at school. Instead he was inside Rose and she cried more, but not all for Petra. Rose wept for how good Gray felt, how well he loved her and their baby. That morning Gray nailed Rose and she felt asleep naked and sated in their bed.

When she woke, it was to the sound of the shower and her husband's voice. But it wasn't dark out, Gray's clock reading eleven. Rose could barely move and when the water ceased, she called to him. "Gray?"

"Yeah?"

Rose sat up, pulling the sheet over her tender breasts. They hurt, ached incredibly. "What's happening?"

He came out dripping, the towel in his hands. "Baby, you just had a little rest. It's Tuesday Rose."

"We're still burying Petra today, right?"

He set the towel over the comforter, then laid beside her. "Yeah honey. Rose, you okay?"

She nodded. "Gray, today feels all backwards. Maybe I shouldn't have gone for a walk."

"It'll be okay baby. I'm right here."

Reaching for his face, Rose leaned for his mouth. "You still taste the same," she giggled.

"Good. You want in next?"

"Yeah. Yeah I do, but Gray?"

He'd gotten off the bed, toweling off his backside. "Yeah?"

"Don't leave me alone today, okay?"

He knelt beside her, holding her face in his hands. "I won't Rose. Don't worry."

"Okay," her voice small, her movements halted.

By the time they reached the cemetery, Rose decided this was a day out of time, or at least out of _her_ time. It was a day that seemed like it belonged, but really it was that of someone else, another Rose Burnett, because nothing felt like anything she knew. It _seemed_ the same, but people weren't dressed as she expected, Lovie, Buster, and Dane all in ties. Gray had one, but sometimes he wore a tie to work, and Garth didn't have one, but sometimes he wore one to make Petra laugh. Garth had on a dark blue button-up shirt with the top button undone. Long sleeves were rolled to his forearms and he wore dark glasses. Those Rose recognized, from his mailman route. The rest of him looked strange.

Only Alicia seemed correct, dressed in the same outfit from just last month. She stood with her children, but Michael was nowhere to be seen. Rose, Gray, Garth, and Alicia had the front chairs, Craig, Chris, and Kelly Hester behind their mother, Buster and Gloria, Lovie, Dane, and Lise behind Rose and Gray.

They had made that same right turn at Jesus, but the day wasn't warm, high cloud settling over the proceedings. Petra's casket stood on rollers and Rose wanted to watch it go into the ground, hear again the sound of earth being moved. What did they do with the excess dirt, she wondered, not at all listening to the words spoken around her. How tragic it was, but that Petra was at peace. Voices of friends and co-workers expressing their grief and tidbits of Petra's life that weren't wrapped in her family or boyfriends or the band. Rose didn't pay attention, only clinging to her husband, wishing to be anywhere else.

She never came here, to this place. Her parents had been laid to rest, now her sister was, and Rose didn't want to return. Not take that right turn, never come here again. Let Alicia have these graves, all of them. Rose only wanted to go home to Evanston.

They did, to the house of Consuela Hartman, one of Petra's friends from work. There were plenty of chairs, lots of food, but Rose was up to _here_ with excess food. With mourners and low voices, sorrowful faces, and the language of death. Rose hated where she was, some strange, awful place, and yet every door she entered, death found her. People well dressed but in clothes drab, dark, speaking in tones similar. So cloistered and stifling and Rose located Gray speaking with someone she didn't recognize.

"Can we leave?" she interrupted.

"Oh sure honey." Gray excused himself, taking Rose's hand. They stood in a quiet spot, many of them in Consuela's house. Loads and loads of quiet, but all Rose wanted was noise.

"Gray, take me to Lovie's. I wanna hear some music."

"Okay." He held her, but Rose still didn't feel right.

They said goodbye to those who mattered. Rose gave Alicia a hug, but didn't ask how she was getting home. The teenagers hadn't traveled to Evanston and Rose assumed Alicia was spending the night here for how drunk she was. Rose wished it otherwise, but some things were close to what she'd known recently.

Gray drove them to Lovie's house. They were still dressed for the funeral, but as soon as they got inside the shed, Rose took off her pantyhose which hadn't constricted, and Gray loosened his shirt. The tie had been discarded at the reception and Rose sat on the sofa, putting her feet under her. Gray picked up his acoustic guitar and joined her.

"What do you wanna hear?"

"I don't care. Just nothing sad."

He smiled, then found chords that made her laugh, picking out "Paradise City" by Guns N' Roses. Notes from one unplugged guitar made Rose giggle. "Gray, can we just get the kids and go home?"

He stopped. "Whatever you need honey. Rose, I love you. I am so so sorry."

The guitar went to the floor, then Rose snuggled in his lap. Then she moved more into his body, then hiking up her skirt, she was atop his torso.

"You remember this?" she asked, touching his face.

"Oh yeah." It was how they first made love when the rehearsal studio was across town at Buster's grandmother's house.

"Gray, all day I've felt like everything's been back-asswards." She laughed, continuing her movements. "You think this's okay?"

"Sure, why not?"

"I don't know." She found his mouth and they kissed for a long time. Then Rose took off her blouse, a different camisole over her bra.

"Gray, I don't think I want to be in the band anymore."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. If you guys want to keep doing it, that's fine. But I think now all I wanna be is a mom."

"Only a mom?"

She smiled. "Maybe a mom who's married to a rock guitarist. Gray, it's not going to be the same."

"No Rose, it's not."

"No, it won't be. Gray?"

"Yeah?"

"Make love to just me, okay?"

He removed the camisole, then unhooked her bra, placing his hands gently along her nipples. "Okay Rose."

"Okay," she said.

Everyone drifted to the Burnetts after the reception, no one dressed in funeral attire. Lovie and Buster smoked pot out back, Buster asking Rose if she wanted a hit.

"No," she laughed. "I'm off for a while."

Those unaware of the baby had noted Rose's sober temperament. Buster decided to press. "Rose, you know, the kids are asleep. It's okay, my god honey, you're entitled."

Rose sat next to Gray. She was dressed in old sweats and a flannel jacket. Everyone but Michael and Alicia were there and Rose no longer felt called to include her cousin in this news. "Buster I can't. I'm knocked up."

She giggled, hearing the same from her husband as Gray squeezed her hands.

While Lovie and Garth pretended to be surprised, the rest were truly shocked. Buster came their way, going to one knee. "My god you two! What the hell?"

Congratulations made the rounds. As Gray checked the kids, Rose stood, embraced by those she loved best. Not her sister or her cousin, but she set that from her head.

Gray returned with a glass of water for his wife. "Thought we'd surprise you all," he said, pulling Rose close.

She heard his whisper, that the kids were asleep, then more words from their friends. If Alicia had been present, Rose might not have said anything. She assumed Alicia was there in town, but hadn't asked.

An hour later the only ones left were Garth and Lovie. Garth would sleep on their couch, Lovie taking the guest bed. Rose watched them, both very high, speaking of Petra. They laughed, then cried, then finished each other's sentences. Rose hadn't witnessed them so close since before Lovie and Petra broke up, and she wondered if her sister could see them. Then Rose wondered if her sister knew where their cousin was, but Rose left that. Gray had assured her Michael would never bother her again.

And that he'd not trouble Alicia. "Gray," Rose asked once the laughter had quieted. "What did you tell Michael?"

All three men looked her way. "Nothing you have to worry about Rose."

"Do either of you two know what in the hell he said?"

Garth looked blank, but Lovie wore a telling face.

"Well?" she asked him.

"Rosie, now if Gray says it all over, there's nothing for you to worry about."

"Lovie, that's bullshit."

"Honey, please. Just let it be."

She turned to Gray. "What about Alicia? You said he wasn't going to fuck with her either. Well, she's there, I'm sure of it. She's with him."

Rose's voice raised, then dropped. "Gray, he scared the shit outta me on Saturday. I don't trust him as far as I could throw him."

Both Lovie and Garth stared at the couple. They knew Michael was out of the band, but hadn't been told about _that_ incident.

Gray put his hands behind his head. "Rose, like I said. It's over. Don't worry."

Once certain both of their guests were sound asleep, Rose and Gray made love. Rose had been cold going to bed, how they got started. Gray had pulled her on top of him, tucking the blankets around their bodies. That proximity had led to something further and as she went to sleep, Rose only knew the sound of Gray's gentle breathing, his hands on her stomach.

When she woke, it was to Gray's voice, calling her name. "Rose honey, Rose?"

"What? What Gray, what?"

He was sitting beside her, fully dressed. "Rose listen, we need to get up. Alicia's gonna need some clothes."

"Gray what are you talking about?" Rose looked at the clock, three in the morning.

"Honey, we need to get over to Michael's right now. Lovie and Garth can stay with the kids."

"Gray, what'n the hell?" Rose sat up, rubbing her eyes. It had been well after eleven when she and Gray had fallen asleep and she hadn't planned on taking a walk that morning, not after her partial trek on Tuesday.

He took her head in his hands, staring into her eyes. "Rose, Michael's gonna do something, I woke knowing it. Now get dressed and grab a few things for Alicia."

She was out of bed, wearing only the cami top. Finding some clean underwear, Rose slipped them on, then reached for the sweats and flannel shirt. "Oh Jesus Christ! Gray, what in the hell did you tell him?"

"I told him about the baby," Gray answered.

They left a note on the table but no one stirred. In the car, Rose clutched the bag of clothes her cousin might need. Gray gripped the wheel and Rose's phone rested in the pocket of her sweatpants. It went off, making her jerk in the seat. "Hello?"

"Oh Jesus, Rose?"

"Yeah Alicia. What is it?"

The car was dark, but even before she answered, Rose knew it was her cousin. She could almost picture where Alicia was standing, maybe in the doorway of Michael's bedroom, or in the living room, but not where the partially opened blinds would reveal her nude form.

Rose listened to her cousin's sobs, then felt Gray grasp her left hand. The phone sat in Rose's right, but her left had been resting on his leg. Gray squeezed her fingers as Rose held the phone out for Gray to hear.

"Oh Jesus Christ Rose, Michael shot himself! My god, please, can you and Gray get over here? He's dead, oh my god Rose, Michael's dead!"

Chapter 25: Rose In A Parallel Universe

As Gray parked the car, Rose imagined herself as Petra, arriving at Garth and Colin's apartment sixteen years before, holding a bag of clothes, but not a cell phone. Petra had driven a VW Rabbit convertible, what she had owned until she bought her Prius.

In the dark, as in 1993, Rose stepped out, dressed similarly to what she remembered Petra wearing, sweats and a soft, long-sleeved shirt. Rose remembered that because the first thing that Petra did, once stepping into the apartment, was pull her sister close, Rose's shaking body falling into warm clothing.

Colin Emory died in June 1993, but Petra always preferred warmer than usual attire, and since it was the middle of the night, she had been dressed accordingly. Rose only wore one of Colin's t-shirts, all her clothes shoved hastily against the wall, a wall that she had taken, Colin on the outer edge of the bed.

In the cool mid-October night, Rose shivered at the light from the few cracks in Michael Roddy's blinds. She didn't see her cousin and as Gray led the way, Rose took rare steps, hardly ever coming to this house.

"Alicia?" Gray whispered.

"It's open."

Again Rose followed her husband, hearing breaths, rapid and loud, but nothing else. The same silence Rose had noted in 1993, just her own inhalations, but not Colin's. She had only heard a few weak breaths after the shot, then nothing else, not sinister or soothing.

Rose's cousin sat on the couch wrapped in a large bath towel, a blanket around her shoulders. Rose smelled death, exactly the same scent as sixteen years before. While Gray looked around, then headed to the back of the house, Rose went to her cousin, the bag still in her hands.

"Baby, you okay?" Rose sat next to the shaking woman.

Alicia nodded. "Rose, oh Jesus Christ! We'd just had sex, I just needed to pee!"

"I know," Rose said, aware of everything.

"Rose, it was fine, everything's been just fine. I mean, he said he couldn't go to the funeral and then he told me why, you know, because of Petra."

"Uh-huh." Rose noted Gray standing just at the edge of Michael's bedroom doorway.

"He told me they'd been together a long time ago, after she'd had the heart transplant. Just a weekend, but that he'd loved her for a long time after that, even when she was already with Lovie. And then, well, when she lost Lovie's baby, Michael said that was when he started to let her go. My god Rose, I had no idea!"

"Me neither," Rose said with more force.

From the corner of her eye, Rose would later think she saw Gray move with Alicia's words, but maybe he had needed another view.

"He told me all this after he picked me up from the reception, my god he looked awful. Just terrible, he'd been crying, I've never seen him cry, but I mean, we've only been together, shit, a couple of weeks. Christ Rose, now he's dead!"

"Alicia, why don't you get dressed," Gray said, still with his back to them. "I need to call the police."

"Yeah, yeah." She stood, the blanket around her. "It just happened, I mean, just right before I called you."

Rose didn't move as her cousin took the bag. Alicia never questioned how quickly they had arrived or that Rose had clothes for her. Alicia would never ask Rose for those answers, but Rose stared at her cousin heading to where Gray remained, acting as a shield.

Once the bathroom door closed, Gray turned, his face expressionless but ashen. Rose joined him, hearing Alicia's few sniffles, the toilet flush. In her head was a question, one she could ask Gray or just move around him, see for herself. Rose felt the answer was moot, but in her heart, she wanted to know, wished to see just how much the last twenty-four hours of her life had been like another life. Her life, but not.

She began to move from Gray, but he reached for her arm. "Rose, are you sure?"

She nodded, then stared into his eyes. Like his name, those irises were the same color as his name. Had his mother known that when she called him Grayson? Had Colleen Burnett known her son would have eyes the same color as his first name?

"I just need to see," Rose said. "I need to see how he did it."

"All right."

"Okay." Rose stepped around Gray's frame.

Her first view was of the floor, blue carpet that led from the living room to the small space where they stood between the bathroom and other bedroom, which was Michael's darkroom. Rose smelled no chemicals, just blood, tissue, death the same odor as sixteen years ago.

Lifting her head, she stepped into the room, Michael's naked body placed along the edge of the bed, just as Colin's had lain. Michael's right arm extended outwards, what caught Rose's eyes, like Colin's. That was involuntary, Rose aware that part hadn't been planned.

The rest was, down to how Michael's left arm reached for the wall, his fingers almost touching the left edge of the mattress. She missed where the gun lay on the floor, only noting how similar the bodies were in placement and appearance. Much of both men's heads were missing, but Rose didn't look closely enough to see if the injuries were similar.

Then Rose saw the small handgun, lying on the carpet. Hearing her cousin step from the bathroom, Rose took one more look. The left side of Michael's bed was awash in blood, some spattered on the cream wall. The room was otherwise tidy, jarring against the contrast of Michael's dead body. But if comparing him to Colin, Michael couldn't have done a better job if he'd been killing someone else in his bed.

Rose sighed. He'd wanted to. If Michael could have conjured Rose in that room, he would have taken her too.

Sitting on the sofa, Rose heard clipped tones, police officers taking notes, snapping pictures of the dead man in the back bedroom. Gray sat next to his wife, Rose in the middle, but it wasn't she to whom any queries were pointed, not like last time.

She didn't feel sick as she had when it was Petra on her left, Garth on the right. Nor did her face hurt from tears that had heaved from her body. That night Rose only felt aching breasts and exhaustion. She could go to sleep right there if not for the smell.

Michael's body remained in the house and of course someone would need to clean his room. It wouldn't be Gray, perhaps Buster or Lovie might do it, but Rose wouldn't be surprised if they resisted. Someone else could, someone out of their circle.

He'd left no note, no time for him to have written anything, Alicia told the kind policewoman who took her statement. That family had been contacted first was also explained, Alicia not omitting any details. The couple had just had sex, oral sex, what Michael liked best. Alicia had needed to pee, and as soon as he came, she hopped off the bed at the end of the mattress, then used the toilet. She hadn't closed the door, hadn't noted him retrieving the weapon, only heard one shot, loud and striking. Alicia had been standing from the seat when he did it, hadn't bothered to wash her hands or flush the toilet. She had stood, only going as far as the doorway.

In hearing that, Rose realized she had been the only one to actually come close to him, although she had stood two feet from the door. Neither Gray nor Alicia had stepped into that room, only Rose.

The policewoman took copious notes, but it was obvious, even without a letter or warning. The gun was dusted, nothing out of place, and from Alicia's obvious trauma, Rose and Gray's too, the questions were routine. Michael's former girlfriend had just died, Alicia again spilling what he'd told her about Petra. That he'd loved her for ages and only that day had they buried her, and he couldn't even attend the funeral.

Several of the officers knew Gray and Rose, also knew that Gray and Michael were best friends, in the same long-standing band. The police photographer was a friend of Michael's and mentioned he'd seemed down lately, unaware of the personal loss Michael, Gray, and especially Rose, had just suffered. A few admonishments were offered, that if anything like this _ever_ happened again to please call the police first. Otherwise, Gray, Rose, and Alicia were free to go, no other questions necessary.

Rose stood, needing some air. "I'll meet you in the car," she said to her cousin and husband.

Both nodded and Rose took her leave.

From the porch she saw two cop cars, one parked behind Gray's Mazda, the other across the street. An ambulance was arriving as neighbors gathered along the sidewalk, both on Michael's side and the other. Rose ignored them and made her way for Gray's car.

Unlocking it, she saw another pull up alongside her. An old VW Bug and Garth stepped out, running toward her. "Rose, what in the hell happened?"

It was Garth's voice exactly as when she first saw him that early June morning, although he already knew. Rose had told him over the phone as soon as she was dressed. That night she hadn't needed to call Garth. He had read her note.

Leaning close, Rose whispered in his ear. "He killed himself just like Colin did."

Gray took Rose and Alicia to the Burnetts', but Alicia only wanted to return to Sessay, try to sleep it off at her house. Because Michael was dead, Gray had no worries for his wife, plus Garth was awake, Lovie's snores audible as Gray unlocked the door from the garage. Gray stood in the kitchen, waiting while Alicia used their bathroom. He would drive her home as soon as she was ready.

Rose sat with Garth on the sofa, that man in tears. Gray had to wonder how much of Michael's death had been not only for Rose's detriment, but for Garth's. A selfish bastard, Michael was mean-spirited too, planning his demise for maximum anguish. He hadn't given a shit for Rose's cousin, Alicia no more to Michael Roddy than a stand-in.

Gray got himself a glass of water, then two more. He chugged his, taking the others to the sofa. "Here, both of you have something to drink."

Rose's face met his and he wanted to smile, but didn't. Relief that Michael was dead was tempered with how that asshole had carried it out, but Rose looked better than Garth. If possible, Gray would have kicked the shit out of Michael. Too late for that, Gray sighed, but at least he had gotten in one last shove.

Michael might have put the gun to his head, but Gray had handed it Michael's way.

Rose downed her water, but Garth only gripped his cup, didn't seem interested. Garth wouldn't ask why Michael had done this, but Gray knew his wife would. Rose's eyes were already pointing in that direction and Gray was happy to have time before he'd have to answer her questions. The two hours it would take to get Alicia home would be a start.

"Thanks honey." Rose expressed only gratitude. She wouldn't say anything in front of Garth.

"Listen, I'll just run her home, and well, Christ." Gray sighed. "I was gonna go to work today, not sure if I still want to now."

"Stay home Gray," Garth said. "He was an asshole, but he was also your friend."

"Uh-huh," Gray said.

"I'm gonna take the kids today," Rose offered, finding her husband's eyes.

"Maybe I will just stay home. It's only one more day."

"Yeah, I mean, may he rest in some kind of peace, but Christ, too much fucking death for me." Garth sipped his water, then like Rose and Gray, finished the rest in one swallow.

Alicia came from the bathroom, standing next to Gray. "You ready?" he asked her.

She nodded. "Did I tell you I called the kids?"

"What'd they say?" Rose asked.

"Jesus, Kelly just broke down and even Chris was crying. I think they really liked him. God, I just, I mean, why now? It was good, early days, but Jesus Christ why?"

Alicia sobbed and Gray put his arms around her. "Maybe we'll never know the answer to that."

In Garth's nodding head, Gray saw agreement, but a different countenance sat on his wife's suspicious face.

Gray Burnett didn't drive Alicia back to Sessay, her ex-husband Carl Hester did. Not long after Alicia asked her question and Gray offered an untrue reply, Alicia received a text from Chris. Craig had called their dad and Carl was heading to Evanston, not wanting Gray to drive. Gray was Michael's best friend after all and with Petra's death still weighing on the family, Carl would fetch his ex-wife.

Rose saw tenderness between them; perhaps Michael's presence had changed Carl's heart. It had done something to Alicia's former husband and Rose received an embrace from her ex-cousin-in-law. Was that even a term, a former cousin through marriage? Rose didn't know, but was thankful Gray didn't have to leave.

By the time the Hesters were on the road, it was nearly six o'clock. Rose needed a shower, not wanting any more of yesterday left on her skin. She wanted to extinguish that odd, awful day that had felt so real but not. That it ended with Michael's death nearly twenty-four hours after she had woke next to her husband and children made Rose crave a warm but not hot shower. Maybe a bath; maybe she would fill their tub with bubbles, soaking away the image of another wrecked man, both dead by their own right hands.

But with Michael, Rose felt there had been one extra, maybe not a hand, perhaps only a nudging voice, subtle words offered, information given.

Of course Gray should stay home that day, his best friend was dead. His lifelong best friend who had been the one to get Gray to this town, into the band, into Rose's bed. Or at least onto the band's rehearsal couch, then Rose and Gray had been joined, made one on Grandma Cutler's worn sofa. Michael was such a great pal, coaxing Gray to Evanston, but Rose hadn't known that Michael was in love with her. In those early days she was completely unaware.

What had Gray told Michael, for Rose knew it was something. He said it was the baby; who's baby, theirs or Michael and Petra's? Rose stood in her kitchen, watching Gray and Garth on the sofa, Garth devoid of the evening's adrenaline rush. Rose would keep Emory quiet that morning so Garth could sleep.

At this time yesterday Rose had felt everything was off-kilter, but assumed within twenty-four hours all would be well, or back on the road to something resembling normalcy. Petra would be buried, Gray returned to work. Rose's pregnancy was still new, but they had told everyone last night, all but Alicia and Michael. Rose's cousin still didn't know about the baby. Maybe with what had just happened, it would be even more of a tonic.

Which baby had Gray mentioned to Michael, one new and growing or one old and dead? Only three people had knowledge of Petra's abortion, which didn't include Garth. Rose was glad Petra hadn't told him. Only more misery, which Garth didn't need.

Lovie had been furious, but Petra wouldn't have had Michael's baby even if she was perfectly healthy. Had Gray told Michael that, Rose wondered.

"I'm gonna lay down," she said, approaching the sofa.

"Honey, if you can, just go to sleep. I'll get Emory to school."

Gray's voice was what Rose needed to hear. She stood behind the couch, ruffling two heads, as if those men were her kids. "Thanks Gray. Garth, I'll see you when one of us wakes up."

"It'll probably be you waking me."

"Probably," Rose smiled.

Walking down the hall, she heard Lovie, but standing outside her children's doors, their small sounds were noticeable. Rose needed that, needed reassurance of people living, breathing. She used the bathroom, then discarded all her clothes into the hamper. She pulled out new underwear and another cami top, and as soon as she was dressed, she slipped under her covers. But sleep did not come.

Instead she thought of where she lay, where she was; in two worlds, having seen yet again another man with a hole in his head. This man's death didn't make her cry, but what had been orchestrated by Gray did make Rose curious. Something, she was certain. While her spouse was a good person, he was also her protector, a father. First Gray was Rose, Emory, and Liam's defender, their safeguard. Then he was a nice guy.

Chapter 26: Gray At 5:02 AM

All morning Rose and Gray stayed close to each other, Liam not far away. The first day he'd had his mother, not to mention his father, post-Petra's funeral, but Michael Roddy had not been mentioned. The parents hadn't yet decided how to tell their children that their father's best friend was dead.

It had been enough telling Lovie, then calling Buster and Dane; the rest of the band took Michael's death as a shock, which wasn't surprising. To them it was. Even to Lovie, aware of more than the others. Lovie knew how Michael and Petra were intertwined, but even with that, Lovie had never suspected Michael would kill himself.

Then it was how the act had been perpetrated; once that was learned, everyone, including Dane, sighed in disgust. Even Dane Hammond knew the details of Colin's suicide and Gray hadn't minced words; Michael had shot himself in the same position, right after screwing Alicia. That it had been oral sex made little difference. Like Rose, Alicia had only needed to use the bathroom. And like Colin, Michael had wasted little time once he was alone.

While Gray made calls and Garth snored on the sofa, Lovie ate breakfast, Rose and her sister's former lover speaking about Michael and Colin, about Petra and Garth. Lovie felt awful this was all so close together, Rose noting the same. They were an intimate bunch if nothing else and now she only wished for some respite. Liam had still been asleep, but Rose often set her hands on her baby, placing Lovie's there too. He had no children, but had made one with Rose's sister. Rose felt this man, like Garth, was more a brother-in-law than only an old friend or band mate. Then Rose told him she was quitting the band permanently. Lovie Jones didn't argue; maybe The Pool Gurus were looking at a long sabbatical.

Rose hadn't considered that and after he left, Gray still on his cell, Rose stirred her son. Lying next to her little boy, Rose pondered a future that wasn't only devoid of her sister, but of the band. Michael's absence weighed little on her mind, except in reminding her of previous moments. The band, what about the band?

She said nothing to Gray, fixing Liam some breakfast, which was oatmeal with raisins. Then Garth woke and Rose made him some too. She hadn't seen Emory that morning, but would accompany Gray that afternoon to the school yard. Maybe if all felt up to it, they would walk.

By lunchtime Garth was gone and Rose was napping, the baby her excuse. Not that she had been up in the middle of the night, not that her life had been steeped in paths long set aside; when Rose slipped under her covers, she closed her eyes to those memories, falling fast asleep.

While Rose rested, Gray blew bubbles with his son in the backyard. The day was cool; maybe they would use the car to collect Emory. Gray sat on a lawn chair in the middle of the grass as his son romped along, Liam quietly expending himself aware his mother was asleep. Then he approached his father, looking pensive.

"What is it Liam?" Gray asked.

"Daddy, did someone else die?"

Gray felt a breeze, assumed it was Michael's ghost. It was only Judith Robinson, wishing her grandson would generate more bubbles.

"Yeah Liam. My friend Michael did, last night."

"How?"

This was the question Gray dreaded. Not the suicide aspect, but how to deflect his own culpability. He'd not yet defended himself to Rose; instead it was to his son, who, like his mother and grandmother, knew when people were at the end.

Judith returned from the back of the yard, curious as to how Gray would explain. She took up the extra chair and set her hands in her lap, leaning back against the mesh.

"Liam, Michael ended his own life. He, he killed himself."

"He what?"

Gray picked up his son, who had never heard of this.

"Liam, Michael wasn't a happy man. For as long as I knew him he was always looking for more, for something he couldn't have. He pretended everything was fine, he always did that. But he really wasn't happy."

"But how, why?" Liam's small voice cut into the air, as if to pop any stray bubbles that might still be floating.

"Liam, Michael shot himself, and he died. That's how it happened."

"Oh Daddy! He was your best friend!"

Grabbing his father around the neck, Liam squeezed with a strength Gray felt all through him. Judith Robinson felt it too.

"Yeah, he was. From a long time ago, but you know, Aunt Petra was your mom's best friend and she's gone too."

"But they were sisters, not friends."

That comment made Judith laugh out loud. As if Gray could hear her, he looked her way, but only saw a vacant chair.

Gray smiled, assuming Petra was hovering. "No Liam, they were friends too. More than Michael and I were friends even."

That made Judith snort. Again Gray looked that direction, convinced that Petra was within hearing distance.

"But Daddy, what are you gonna do? Are you sad?"

"Yeah Liam, I am. But like I said, Michael wasn't happy. And maybe it's better for him not to hurt anymore. People only kill themselves when they're really sad, really in pain. Maybe what I'll think is that Michael's not suffering."

Judith lost a tear, more to what her daughter and Garth had lost than what Michael Roddy had actually felt. She stood from the chair as Gray and Liam snuggled in theirs.

Gray drove his family to Emory's school and the three of them approached holding hands. Liam was in the middle, his short arms reaching only his parents' palms. They met up with Megan and James, and it was Gray's turn to hold that baby, one that fit right in his grasp.

As well as their own would settle, Rose thought, still with Liam's questions in her head. Did people who killed themselves go to heaven? Would Aunt Petra and Michael see each other? What about the band?

Rose had let Gray answer those queries, noncommittal responses to the first two, but as to the last, Gray was forthright. "The band will just keep playing. If we need another guitarist, we'll find one."

After her talk with Lovie, Rose was surprised with Gray's reaction. Yet another thing for her to ask him about when they were alone.

It wouldn't be until after the children went to bed. First they had to tell Emory, who had heard of suicide, and was in tears on the sofa with the news. She had liked Michael, although he rarely paid the kids any mind. Rose assumed it was more to do with Petra, and she was right, for then Emory had a long cry over her aunt. Mother and daughter spent the afternoon on the couch, and by the time dinner was ready, a meal from the freezer that Gray reheated, Rose decided maybe another daughter would be good.

The family ate quietly, only the four of them, although Gray answered some phone calls, one from the high school, and one from Michael's mother. His parents still lived in Los Angeles and while Gray had spoken to Michael's father that morning, now he gave a few minutes to his mom. Gray took the call in the bedroom, but Rose heard his kind voice, gentle and untrue. Gray purported that Michael had been quite devastated by Petra's death, the same line Alicia knew.

After supper, Emory took a shower, then Rose braided her hair, both females lapsing into tears, wiping their eyes. The Burnett males sat on the sofa, Gray reading to his son, and his soft cadence allowed Rose and Emory to collect themselves. Once Rose had finished, Emory ran to join her father and brother, and Rose used the moment to blow her nose.

Silence hit her, then she looked their way. Three faces stared at her, Gray's with a smile. "Come over here Mama. Bring baby with you."

Similar phrases he'd used when she was pregnant before, ones that Rose needed to hear, pulling her back into this world, one she had been disconnected from since finding Petra's sick, smelly body in her apartment. Since then, Rose hadn't felt grounded.

Rose nestled into Gray's lap, with Liam leaning into her shoulder and Emory resting between her mother's legs. Closing her eyes, Rose heard her husband's smooth, loving voice relaying a children's story that had nothing to do with pain or death, anger or revenge. Her children had recently lost their only aunt and had learned that taking one's life was possible. There, on that night, the Burnetts were a regular family, no angst or turmoil within sight.

Rose lay down with her children for a few minutes. Both had wanted to sleep with mommy and daddy, but that night Rose told them mommy and daddy needed time alone. Daddy might need to cry for his friend and Rose was sure she would shed tears for her sister. Emory took the exclusion better than Liam, who fussed that he needed extra TLC.

Rose smiled, curling with her son until he was nearly asleep. He stirred as she got off the bed, then Liam rolled to his left and began to snore.

Hearing Gray on his laptop, Rose stepped into the kitchen, but he had run the dishwasher, little to clear. Rose washed two plates that sat in the sink, dishes that could have gone in the next load, but it gave her something to do. Husband and wife exchanged smiles and when Rose was done, she joined Gray on the sofa.

They lay as one, Rose atop her husband, their hands on each other's faces, smoothing back hair, tracing lines, finding lips. They kissed for a long time, Rose feeling Gray's erection through their clothes.

"Let's go to bed," she said.

"Good idea."

As Gray locked the house, Rose discarded all her clothes but the cami top. Her stomach was unbothered, but her nipples ached. When pregnant in the past, if she left a shirt on, Gray never messed with her boobs.

He didn't that night, only making love to other parts of her body. Rose fell asleep, not asking him a single question.

She woke at three to pee, then was up again at four thirty. That time she didn't go back to sleep, instead listening for her family. Emory was quiet, but Liam tossed about. Rose was tempted to lie down with him, but Gray rolled her way, his eyes fluttering in the small light coming through the window.

"Go back to sleep," she told him.

"Rose, what time is it?"

She leaned over his body. "Not quite a quarter to five."

It was early, but close enough to the start of another day. Rose knew Gray wouldn't return to slumber, not good sleep, maybe light dozing. But not even that, not that night. Too much was in his head, hers too. She leaned against him and Gray pulled her close.

They said nothing, only breathing, taking in the hushed house. No guests, no one on the sofa. No late night calls or dreams, no one disturbing. Nothing but a question Rose wanted to ask, one she knew Gray was reluctant to answer.

They had avoided it all day, but not other things. Alicia had called three times, so drunk by the last one Carl had taken the phone away. At least Carl had been there, Rose had considered.

Garth had stopped by for a few minutes right after they returned with Emory from school. He wanted to go to Petra's apartment on Saturday, which was Halloween, and Rose said she would meet him there in the early afternoon.

Buster had called right after Gray got off the phone with Michael's mother, asking if Gray wanted to announce the band wasn't taking any bookings for the rest of the year. It had been Buster's way of establishing parameters, but Gray surprised him by saying they should play their annual New Year's Eve show.

Those issues had arisen, but not the biggest one. Rose cleared her throat. "Gray, what happened with Michael?"

"Rose, it's over..."

"Gray, don't bullshit me." Her voice was soft. She wanted to know, then they could truly move forward.

He gave a long sigh. "Rose, I told him about the baby."

"Which one?"

"Ours. Ours first."

"Did you tell him about Petra's?"

Rose felt Gray's grip tighten. "Yes."

"What'd he say?"

Gray released her, then turned her way. Rose could see his eyes, but they didn't look to be their usual hue. Blue instead of gray, maybe from the reflecting light.

His right pupil looked bigger than the left. Rose hadn't noticed that before. He also had lines along his eyes, which seemed new.

"Rose, what does it matter?"

"Gray, you knew. You knew what he was going to do. Did he tell you?"

"No."

"Then how'd you know? How did you know to wake me up and have me gather clothes for my cousin?"

Gray released a long, beleaguered sigh. "Rose, I told you. I dreamed it. Maybe I'm turning into you and Liam."

"I don't dream these things Gray. Now stop bullshitting me and just tell me the truth. What did you tell him?"

She had imagined many things, that perhaps Gray had threatened Michael, or was there something only they knew, maybe concerning the overaggressive babysitter? Gray closed his eyes. In that moment, Rose saw what no one else ever did.

A man tired, weary, but not from physical burdens. From perceptions, from what others imagined. Gray looked like such a nice guy, gentle, unassuming. There with his eyes closed, Rose remembered that one pupil, more black, staring at her minutes previous. For the first time Rose felt her husband might not be such a nice guy after all.

She wasn't afraid, not for herself or their children. Really, that was all who remained. Petra was gone and as for Alicia, well, if Rose never went to Sessay again, that would be fine. Alicia had Carl, her children, all of Rose's dead family members. Maybe even Michael, depending on where he would be buried.

"Gray, what will happen to him? Is he going to be buried here or in LA?"

She let that between them, aware of something new. Her husband had done something, said something to Michael, and it hadn't been nice. Gray hadn't been a good guy with Michael Roddy, not that Michael warranted it. Michael got what he deserved, but what did Gray deserve?

"His mother said they wanted to bury him down there. I guess they have it all under control."

Rose sighed with that news, offering her some peace. She looked again at Gray, but didn't see much release on his face.

He set his hand to her belly and Rose added one of hers. Then Gray's other hand came atop Rose's. "Honey, I will never let anyone hurt you or any of our kids."

"I know Gray, I know. Listen, forget I asked, okay?"

Just as Rose closed her eyes, she saw his head shake, side to side. Then he spoke.

"Rose, I told Michael you were having my baby. That you were my wife and that if he ever came to our house or tried to see you again, I would kill him."

Rose felt a small chill, only from the gravity in her husband's voice.

"Then I told him why Petra hated his guts, that not only had he fucked her over in the head, but left her with something she had taken great pains to rid herself of. And that if he didn't believe me, he could ask Lovie. I told him neither Robinson sister thought he was worth a shit."

"Oh Gray!"

"And then I told him he was out of the band and that I thought he was the worst friend I would ever have. And that again, if he even dared speak to you, I wouldn't hesitate to end his miserable fucking life."

From the way Gray spoke, Rose knew he'd used those very words, words a nice guy would never say. But it wasn't that Gray had said those things or used that voice, fearless and leaving no doubt as to the significance of what had been charged. It was that Gray knew what Michael had done, that Gray had caught Michael harassing Gray's wife. That Michael had no idea Petra had been pregnant with _his_ child, and now Petra was dead.

Petra was dead and Rose was off limits. Michael had been kicked out of the band and excised from Gray's life.

"Honey, my god, are you okay?" Rose set her other hand on Gray's, felt his fingers grasping for hers. He took her hand, setting his over it, again her shield.

"Rose, I knew he had a gun."

"When?"

"He'd had it a while, from all those break-ins a couple of years ago in his neighborhood. He told me when he bought it that it was for self-protection, and that I didn't need to worry that he would ever pull a Colin."

Gray set one of Rose's hands along his face. "That's what he said to me, stupid smiling bastard. That he'd never pull a Colin."

"He did though."

"Yeah he did."

"Gray, when you told him these things, did you know he might, you know, do something?"

The light was dim, but Rose again noticed her husband's right pupil so large, leaving little of his usually kind gray eyes to be seen. "Yeah Rose. I did."

"Is that why you told him all that?"

Gray closed his eyes, pulling her on top of him. "Yeah Rose. It was."

They made love; as Gray came, Rose noted the time, 5:02. Before the clock read 5:03 Rose came as well. Then she lay on top of her husband, kissing tears that had fallen from his eyes.

They fell back asleep, but at six, Rose found herself in bed alone. She heard Gray in the shower talking to himself. That he had some catching up to do, a few students to check on, the same ones he'd been speaking of last week. Or maybe it was the week before.

Rose got out of bed, grabbing some clean underwear. She took off the cami top, throwing it in the hamper, then used the toilet. Setting her panties over her towel on the rack, she removed the braid from her hair, standing naked just outside the shower curtain.

"Gray, can I come in?"

"Yeah."

Rose pulled back the curtain, stepping into the tub. The water was warm and she saw soap in her husband's hair, on his face. Rose let him rinse off, then moved his way.

"I love you," she said, kissing his cheek.

"Are they up yet?" Gray asked.

"No."

He nodded, then placed his hands along her face. Rose felt his lips against one cheek, then on the other. Then his mouth was on hers and after one kiss, his face lay against her skin. His face, then as his body shook, his tears.

Rose held Gray, setting his right hand along her left breast, whispering into his ear. As water poured over them, Gray nodded, telling her the same.

_______________

### Liner Notes

This novel was written in November of 2009 during NaNoWriMo after I attended the funeral of my best friend's mom the previous month. The idea hit like a train, a manuscript squeezed in the second half of NANO at a time when I was feeling burnt out, that summer and autumn already full of words. But as paragraphs commenced, the muse responded, and I completed this book on the first of December, the last novel I wrote that year, a year when plots and characters spilled from my brain. But by the end of this story, I was ready for a rest.

Thanks to my best friend Dearheart for an inspiring sister-like friendship since we were fifteen years old. And to my sister Lynn for the title. Also to Brian for designing another wonderful cover. Lastly, my deep love and thanks to The Usual Suspects, without whom a single word would be written.

### About the author

Anna Scott Graham was born in 1966 in Northern California. A mother to several, she lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband and numerous hummingbirds.

Other ebooks by  Anna Scott Graham are available on Smashwords.
