Washington, District of Columbia, October 1953
Washington, District of Columbia
It had taken over an hour, but both children were finally in bed and quiet, if not asleep.
And quiet was really all Rose could ask for after a day like today.
First, Richie had woken up complaining of a sour stomach.
Then Walter, jealous that his mother’s attention was focused on his older brother, claimed to be suffering from the same ailment, which he proceeded to demonstrate by rolling around on the floor, clutching his gut and howling so effectively that the family dog, a male mutt the boys had inexplicably insisted on naming Lady, joined in.
Then Dick had come into the room—apparently undeterred by the already-unfolding chaos—to ask Rose if she had seen his favorite tie.
Which meant that she had to remind him that he somehow managed to dunk a good quarter of it in tomato sauce last week when he leaned in to kiss her at the stove and it had yet to be picked up from the cleaners.
That caused Dick to relive the memory, getting upset all over again at his clumsiness—which Rose found quite endearing, actually—but that made him late for work, and the entire day had continued in much the same fashion.
Now Rose sank into her favorite chair—beige upholstery patterned with rust-orange palm trees that reminded her of the sunsets and warmth of Key West—and slipped off her flats.
Dick would be home any minute, as long as his bus didn’t run into too much traffic downtown, and she looked forward to sitting down to dinner together, then sharing a drink, and perhaps making love if he wasn’t too tired.
They had been discussing the possibility of a Baby Nash Number Three, but with Richie and Walter already running amok and Dick teaching this semester, they never seemed to have the time or energy.
Besides, another child would require more space than they had, and Rose and Dick had agreed that they would rather die in their two-bedroom near Dupont Circle than deal with the stress of moving again.
Rose’s thoughts drifted to Elsie, as they often did during rare moments of quiet.
Mourning her over the last year had been a process.
Through all of the anger, the grief, the guilt, Rose kept returning to that day in the bungalow in Key West when Elsie asked her to promise that she would try to be happy with Dick Nash.
Keep trying to be happy with this life for her , she reminded herself whenever everything felt too heavy.
But tonight, as Rose looked around her living room and noted the errant toy soldier lying defeated atop the coffee table, Lady snoozing beside the sofa, and the latest Sears catalog with half its pages dog-eared to indicate items under consideration for Christmas, she found herself sighing contentedly.
Somewhere along the way, Rose realized, she stopped having to try—and now she simply was.