Page 8 of The Rose and the Hound (Ashes and Roses #2)

I was devastated to have to rule out the photocopier man as my father.

Why had Mom even suggested him if it was so obvious I was not his daughter?

I was starting to think I’d never find him.

Mom clearly got around back then, and “Lou” could be yet another dead end, leaving me with nowhere else to go.

She was also very obviously disingenuous to even suggest Robert as my father, so she was completely unreliable.

A liar. I’d have to talk to Dr. Warren about my fears.

She always made me feel ... not necessarily better but understood.

Even if I didn’t find my father, I was complete in myself.

I accept myself wholly and unconditionally.

I accept myself wholly and unconditionally.

I accept myself wholly and unconditionally.

It was crazy at work at the moment. It was the busiest time of year, so orders were flying in by the thousands every day.

I enjoyed being busy. Like jogging, it left me little time to overthink.

It also meant my colleagues would be too busy to socialize with me.

Gloria had left some bottled juice at my door yesterday, with a note saying she worked at the bottling plant and wanted to thank me for being a good neighbor.

She could definitely be behind the roses.

She seemed to want to be my friend, but I was cautious.

I hadn’t become obsessed with any women in my life, but I was aware of my aching need for connection.

If I became an unwanted pest to Gloria, I’d have to leave my apartment, and I liked it here.

I wandered through the hall to my apartment, hoping I wouldn’t run into Gloria. Part of me hoped I would. She was always so cheery, and I wondered what it would be like to have a real friend. There was a package at my door.

I picked it up and frowned. I hadn’t ordered anything lately.

Placing it on my kitchen counter, I slid the knife under the tape and opened the box.

Inside was a wrapped gift. It was an odd, long shape.

I tore open the yellow gift wrapping to find a bright green sports drink bottle. It had a quote printed on its length.

Open up the windows and let the sunshine in

It was pretty and vibrant, and matched perfectly with my favorite sports tank.

This was definitely Gloria. I didn’t know how to respond.

I’d have to thank her because this was truly a kind gesture.

She didn’t want to be my lover. She just wanted to brighten my day.

Make me smile. She also had darker features and potentially had Middle Eastern roots.

I smiled. A real, genuine smile. Someone liked me.

And even knowing that, I didn’t feel like smothering her or knocking on her door straightaway.

I’d wait until tomorrow. Or even the next day.

I wouldn’t buy a reciprocal gift or stay up all night baking a thank you gift.

I’d simply thank her and smile. Knowing all this and realizing the progress that it indicated made me excited and hopeful.

I am capable of happy relationships.

I am capable of happy relationships.

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 with caring 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?

The tears began again.