Page 31 of Roses for Rosie

But then the porch light by the front door flicks on. I spring away from Adam, fumbling with the door handle on my side of the car.

“Shit, that’s my dad. I have to go,” I say, hastily pulling my clothing back into place and smoothing my hair.

“Wait, I’m coming with you.”

“You don’t have to…”

“Yes, I do.”

Adam grabs my hand as we walk up to the door together and gives it a reassuring squeeze. My father is standing just inside the door when I open it, doing his best to look menacing. Years of drinking have left him a shriveled husk of the man he once was though, and Adam overpowers him in every way. It would be funny if it wasn’t so sad.

“Mr. Hall.” Adam nods. “You have an amazing daughter.”

He turns toward me, saying, “I’ll be back in three weeks. You call me immediately if you need anything.”

He looks pointedly at my father and then back at me again. Dad gets the message, loud and clear. He’s being watched; Adam is watching him. He isn’t happy about it, but I can tell Adam scares him. Hopefully he scares him enough to keep him sober, or at least to keep him sober enough to remember to treat me like the daughter he loves and not like the scapegoat for all of his problems.

“I will,” I reply, smiling up at Adam.

He leans down and gives me a kiss on the cheek. I see my father flinch, hating that someone else is close to me. He wants to reclaim control of the situation, control of me, but he has met his match in Adam. There is only one alpha male here and is sure as hell isn’t my father.

I stay awake for a long time that night, staring at my ceiling, reliving the events of the past week. So many things have changed! I never in a million years would have guessed that Adam Smythe and I would go on a date, that he would stand up to my father, that my father would listen to him, that he would kiss me, or that he would promise to come see me after his book tour. Life feels like a fairy tale.

“Get your head out of the clouds and make me some breakfast,” my father sneers at me, as he comes out of his bedroom the next morning, interrupting my most recent daydream about my next date with Adam. “Do you really think Mr. Fancy Pants is coming back for you?”

“His name is Adam and yes, I do think he’s coming back,” I say, quietly.

“You’re a bigger fool than I thought.” He laughs.

Waiting on you is the foolish part, I think to myself as I put his plate of eggs and toast on the table in front of him. I keep my mouth shut though. It’s better not to antagonize my father.

He can’t leave it alone though. “Poor lonely Rosie,” he mocks in a sign song voice. “No man has ever wanted you and no man ever will. City boy is probably screwing some other floozie already.”

I feel the enthusiasm of a few minutes ago leak out of me like air from an old balloon. His words get under my skin and work their way into my psyche. They always do. My father has a gift for torpedoing my confidence with well-placed digs.

What if he’s right? I think. What if Adam was just using me for a night? I’m not even in the neighborhood of being his type.

My thoughts continue in a downward spiral until I lose all hope. Adam is gone, away on his fancy book tour with the rich and beautiful people he belongs with and I’m still here with my father. Last night was fun, but I must have been delusional to think he meant what he said about coming back to see me.

Who am I kidding? He has his pick of woman who make so much more sense for him. Why would he pick small town, baggage laden Rosie Hall over one of them? Adam and Scarlett Smith made sense. Adam and I are like a square peg and round hole. We’ll never fit.

My inexperience and naivety shine a bright spotlight on my lack of judgement. I let Adam charm me and take advantage of me. He must have laughed all the way to the airport. My face burns with the memory of my reaction to his promises.

When I got up this morning I was walking on air, still high on my date with Adam. Now each step I take feels like dragging a tractor tire a mile. The bookstore feels empty, even when it’s full of chattering customers. My food tastes bland. The colors of the world are muted and dull.

I thought I had it all, but it was just a mirage. My imagination ran away with me. My father is right. Nobody will ever love me. He’s all the family I will ever have and I should be grateful for him. I can’t believe I thought Adam was my knight in shining armor, that my life could be different from what it is.

“Never again,” I mutter to myself. “Never again will I get caught up in foolish fantasies like a schoolgirl in a story book.”

“Delivery for you, Rosie,” Vivian greets me as I return with a new load of books from the storeroom. I glance in her direction and see a vase overflowing with creamy white roses edged in the palest pink.

“For me?” I ask, taking a tentative step toward the overwhelming bouquet.

“The card accompanying them couldn’t be any clearer.”

She hands me the tiny piece of paper which I unfold to reveal a poem. It reads,”

The red rose whispers of passion,And the white rose breathes of love;O, the red rose is a falcon,And the white rose is a dove.

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