Page 7 of The Rose and the Hound
I am capable of happy relationships.
My phone buzzed.
Mr. Edison: Have just left the bar. I have some news, but nothing solid. Can I please call you, Ms. Myrtle?
I was on such a high from Gloria’s kind gesture and the prospect of news on Lou that I responded without thinking.
Me: Thanks Ace! Yes, I’m available.
As soon as I hit send, I realized my mistake. I called him Ace. I used an exclamation point. I hadn’t signed off as Ms. Myrtle. Maybe he wouldn’t notice. I was just a client after all, and he didn’t know my history.
The phone rang. Shit, I needed my lists in front of me. There was no time. I sat on the sofa and answered.
“Rose Myrtle speaking.”
“Hi Rose, it’s Ace. I’m just ringing with some news on Lou.”
Great. I’d ruined it all. I was back to “Rose” and he was back to “Ace.” This man was more like a Labrador sometimes than a hound.
“Thank you, Mr. Edison. What have you found?”
He was silent for a beat.
“I went to the bar today. The good news is that Lou was actually the owner. His son now runs the bar. The bad news is that he is in a nursing home 500 miles away. I do have a former colleague who lives close to his home, so I’ll make some calls and see if he can visit him on my behalf. His name is Lou Callahan. And this time, I saw a photo. He has red hair. Well, he had red hair decades ago. There were no other obvious likenesses to you, but the hair is a soft indicator.”
I couldn’t speak. What if Lou was my father?
“Are you there, Rose? Are you okay?”
I dropped the phone and curled up in the fetal position. What if Lou was my father and still didn’t want to know me? What if I had spent my life wanting a father and finally had to confront the fact that he had no interest in me? Was that why my mother had lied to Colin? Because she told Lou and he told her to leave?
I began sobbing. Why had I initiated this? I wasn’t strong enough to face the worst-case scenario, which wasn’t even a dead father. The worst case was a living father who still rejected me. Who wouldn’t tell me anything about his mental health history.
I lost track of time. I continued to cry, pulling down a throw rug when the room became chilled.Pull yourself together Rose! Don’t fall apart. This is not a big deal.
I am learning and growing from my troubles.
I am learning and growing from my troubles.
I am learning and growing from my troubles.
I repeated the mantra in my mind over and over. I was so caught up in it that I almost missed the knock on the door. Who would be visiting me? Maybe it was Gloria. I stood, wiping the tears from my face and putting on a composed look. I’d answer it and thank her for the juice and the drink bottle.
I drew a deep breath and answered my door without checking the peephole. It was Ace. I mean, it was Mr. Edison. What the hell was he doing here?
He looked concerned. “Rose, are you okay? You dropped the phone, and I could hear you crying.”
I stepped away from the door and picked up my phone. The call was still live. It had been going for 38 minutes. Why hadn’t he hung up?
I hit the red icon, and turned to apologize, only to find he’d entered my home and shut the door. It’s okay; he was still at a social distance, not even a personal distance.
“I apologize, Mr. Edison. I became a little emotional at the prospect of finding my father. It was rude to drop my phone, and I am very sorry to have concerned you.”
He stepped closer. I didn’t move back.
“That’s okay. I didn’t mind checking up on you. I sometimes have to deliver bad news to people, so I’m cautious about how that may make them feel. I should have told you in person. This is my mistake.” His voice was gentle and kind. His warmth broke something in me.
There should be a rule that when someone is upset, you’re not allowed to talk to them. I remember when my grandmother died. I was 11. She was so kind to me, and even though she was estranged from my mother, she used to send me encouraging cards and sweet gifts. She made me feel loved. When she died, my mother didn’t care. We didn’t go to her funeral. A teacher at school saw I was upset and said something kind to me, and I just broke down. For ages. The teacher held me, soothing me withcaring words. Sweet, kind Mrs. Myrtle. That’s how I’d chosen my name. If she hadn’t been so nice to me, I wouldn’t have broken down. How dare Ace be so kind to me?
