Chapter Twenty-Two. Rose
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
ROSE
Lou is jumping on my bed, wearing a pair of waxy red Hot Lips, while I get ready for my date with Coop.
During the parade this morning, she snatched fistfuls of candy cigarettes, Bazooka bubble gum, and Jawbreakers.
She refused to nap this afternoon, so I expect her to descend into an overtired, sobbing mess at any moment.
But that will be Auntie’s problem, not mine!
“I want to go with you and Coop.” Lou pouts.
“Coop and I are going on a date. No little sisters allowed.” I stick my tongue out at her, then pin one side of my hair back with a silver comb. “You and Auntie are going to play cards with Ella and watch the fireworks from the front yard. You won’t be lonely.”
“I’m never lonely here,” Lou says, and I’m glad of it. Her red-and-white-striped romper blurs as she jumps, her pigtailed hair—a little darker than mine—trailing red ribbons. She misses Nanny and her little cat, but she likes it here. I do, too.
Three weeks in, it’s starting to feel like home. More than the big house in Washington.
“If you and Auntie and Ella and Coop are busy, I can play with the girl in the mirror.”
My hands freeze in my hair. My eyes freeze on Lou’s dear little face. “The … girl in the mirror?”
Lou falls onto a pile of pillows, giggling. I wait for her to scramble back up, my heart drubbing overtime. “What games do you play?”
“Hide-and-seek.” Lou starts jumping again. “She likes to hide in shiny things. Or the window when it’s dark. We race to see who can get from the bathroom mirror to my mirror, but she always wins. She’s awful fast.”
“Awfully fast,” I correct. My hands are shaking as I fix the other comb in my hair.
Would the ghost harm a child? Even if she doesn’t intend to …
I feel feverish—furious—irrational when she’s present.
But Lou hasn’t had any tantrums. She’s really remarkably good-natured for a five-year-old.
“The gho—girl in the mirror isn’t scary? ”
“No. She makes funny faces. Like this!” Lou uses her index fingers to stretch her mouth clownishly wide, then smiles with all her pearly baby teeth. I shudder and she cackles. “She plays with me when I’m sad. When I miss Nanny and Patches.”
I pick up my Fatal Apple lipstick. Lou can see the ghost, but she finds her comforting.
What does that mean?
There’s a knock at the door, and I start. Silly goose. The ghost doesn’t knock.
Ella pokes her head in. “Do you have a minute, Rosie?”
“Can you make it quick? Coop will be here soon.” I swipe mascara over my lashes.
Ella’s face falls, and I want to take my careless words back. She seldom seeks me out. Why did I go and bungle it?
“He won’t mind waiting, if it’s important.” Ella was quiet at the parade, and I wondered if she was still upset about McIntosh’s death. If I feel guilty for getting him canned, she must feel doubly so.
“We got a postcard from Father, that’s all.
It was stuck in one of Auntie’s catalogs.
” Ella waves the card at me, Bonjour! printed over a photo of the Eiffel Tower.
“He and Lena are having a marvelous time. They ate escargot—snails, can you believe it? How revolting!—and they’ve been to the opera and—”
“I want to see the snails!” Lou jumps off the bed, snatches the postcard, and dances out the door with it.
“He says the Palais Garnier is trés magnifique. He hopes we’re getting along all right and behaving ourselves.” Ella heaves an enormous, put-upon sigh. “I can’t believe Father’s in Europe, and we’re stuck here.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be much of a honeymoon with us tagging along.
You know he’ll bring us loads of gifts,” I say.
“He’s promised to send me to Europe next summer …
Perhaps you could come with me. We could go to Switzerland, to see your mom?
” Ella freezes at the mention of Anna, and I change the subject.
“I’d like to go to London … I wonder if Mrs. Christie ever does public appearances? ”
Ella puts her hands on her hips. “That’s what you want to do on your European tour? You’re such a brain, Rosie. What about Rome? Paris? We could go to the French Open!”
I find tennis dull as dishwater, but if it would make her happy, I’ll sit through it. “Sure. We can ask Father to get tickets.”
Ella brightens. “Really? Don’t tease. Won’t you take Clara?”
“I don’t think so.” I haven’t had a single letter in three weeks. Not a peep from Clara, nor anyone else from Miss Parker’s.
“Why? Did you two have a row?” And oh, that sympathetic, kindhearted look—I don’t see it often from Ella—that expression is pure Anna.
The newly installed doorbell chimes. I fly toward the stairs, relieved, stuffing my feelings down. For a few hours, I can put the ghost and my sisters and Clara out of my head and have a good time. “That must be Coop! See you later! Don’t wait up!”
Coop parks Myrtle on a narrow street lined with candy-colored Victorian houses. My heels are treacherous on the uneven brick sidewalks as we follow the crowd toward the park. Coop takes my arm to steady me.
!
The park is usually a wide-open grassy space with a gazebo, a bandstand, and a promenade along the Chesapeake—but tonight it’s packed with hundreds of people, all dressed in their most patriotic finery.
We pass a small petting zoo and a roped-off area for pony rides.
Then we enter a maze of booths. The smell of fried dough and powdered sugar hangs in the air, mixing with charcoal from the barbecue-chicken supper.
The merry-go-round plays a tinny tune as children climb onto the painted horses.
Closer to the shore, the Ferris wheel spins slowly.
Will Coop kiss me again up there? My stomach swoops with anticipation.
“There’s a bluegrass band in the pavilion, if you feel like dancing,” he says, over the shriek of kids on a dizzying teacup ride. “Or there’s a clown show, or Chinese acrobats. Or we could walk around a little. What do you think?”
It’s a riot of color and sound. “I don’t know where to look! I’ve never been to a firemen’s carnival before.”
“I bet the Fourth of July is pretty different in the city.”
“Our next-door neighbors usually have a picnic.” It’s a lavish catered affair on their lawn, attended by Supreme Court justices, senators, and other Washington notables.
Last year I sipped lemonade that Gil spiked with whiskey while he and his friends argued the relative merits of Georgetown versus Notre Dame.
My presence was purely decorative; I was bored out of my skull.
“I’d rather be here. With you,” I add.
Was that too forward? Coop only smiles.
“Step right up and test your aim! Win a panda bear for your girl!” a barker calls.
I flush with pleasure. I’ve never been anybody’s girl before. Not really. Not publicly.
Coop gestures at the stuffed animals hanging over the booth. “Want a panda bear?” I grin and nod. He hands the barker a quarter. “You want to try?”
“No, thank you. Ella’s the athlete in the family.”
“Grace has a better arm than I do,” Coop confides. “That’s why I’m a tailback. I just run the ball downfield and try not to get tackled.”
He takes five plastic rings from the barker. His tongue sticks out the corner of his mouth as he squints, concentrates, then tosses the first ring … and misses. Spectacularly. The ring doesn’t even land on the table with the Coke bottles.
“Almost!” I say encouragingly. The barker cackles.
“I’m not as fragile as all that,” Coop says wryly. “I missed it by a mile!”
We both giggle. It’s endearing that he can laugh at himself. When Gil lost at horseshoes because he was foxed, he got angry and accused his friend of cheating.
Coop’s second throw makes it onto the table. The third wobbles over a bottle but doesn’t fall over the neck. We both groan. The fourth time, his aim is true, and I clap for all I’m worth.
“I might not be a natural, but I’m a fast learner,” Coop says.
The barker hands him a panda. As Coop gives it to me, our fingers brush, and we look at each other with dopey grins.
“First date?” the barker heckles.
Coop blushes, but he takes my hand. After a moment, I interlace my fingers with his, and we walk that way for a little while.
Then he buys us each a lemonade, and we wedge ourselves onto the packed wooden bleachers to watch a high-wire artist, followed by a trio of Chinese acrobats.
We gawp and laugh at their antics. I never knew a small-town carnival could be so much fun.
“Do you want to go on any rides?” Coop asks after the show.
“The Ferris wheel? I bet the view would be spectacular.”
A man barrels into Coop, slapping him on the back so hard he staggers. “Harrow! You win that bear? Take a look at the one I got your sister!”
Grace is trudging behind Stanley, toting an enormous teddy bear. “That army training sure came in handy. I shot the hell out of that air rifle,” Stanley brags.
“What are you two up to?” Grace asks.
“We’re getting on the Ferris wheel,” Coop says.
“We’ll walk with you,” Stanley says.
I fall in step with Grace. She’s been avoiding me since I questioned her whereabouts on the night McIntosh died. It feels silly now, away from the hotel, with children shrieking and laughing all around us and the smell of sugar in the air. The coroner ruled McIntosh’s death an accidental fall.
“Will you be entering the bathing beauty contest tomorrow?” I tease.
Grace barks a surprised laugh. “Are you kidding?”
“I’ve seen you in a swimsuit.” She could win.
She rolls her eyes. “Dad would kill me. Good girls don’t make a spectacle of themselves. Good girls don’t like being looked at.”
I’m not a very good girl, then, because I liked the way Coop’s eyes lingered when I crossed my legs. He didn’t leer, but he looked. It was worth wearing these impractical wedges.
“Ooh, funnel cake! Stanley!” Grace points.
“I thought you wanted to ride the Ferris wheel,” he grouses.
“Later.” Grace smirks. “Let’s leave my brother and Rose alone. It’s their first real date.”