The Rose

The key stuck in the lock as Miranda tried to enter her apartment. She pressed her head against the door and took a deep breath through her nose. “Haste makes waste, Miranda.” She intoned her grandmother’s mantra as she shifted her canvas totes full of groceries from the farmer’s market and gently pulled the key out before trying it again with a small wiggle and heard it click home. “Finally!” She swept into the entryway and kicked her shoes off before bustling into the kitchen and dropping the heavy items onto the countertop. She wasn’t sure why she had been in such a rush to return to her lonely apartment. Perhaps the conversation with her sister bothered her more than she wanted to admit. She still wasn’t comfortable talking about David with the lawyers just starting to ease off, but Kelly had been curious. Miranda couldn’t blame her. She shut her family out during the proceedings. She knew how much they had liked David and didn’t want to hear the questions, and potentially the accusations. Her sister persisted though and been her anchor through the storm.

But it wasn’t just the conversation that unnerved her. After leaving Kelly’s she had stopped at the farmer’s market a block from her new place. It was the same one she used to visit with David. She had been back only a few times since moving out of the apartment they had shared. She wasn’t ready then and thought she was been ready now, but she had felt overwhelmed and when their favorite flower stall was shuttered for the evening she left with the produce and meat she had bought and hurried home, a sick feeling settling in her stomach.

Miranda walked back to the front door and roughly shoved it into the ill-fitting frame before turning all the locks. She noticed another chip of paint scratched off near the knob and sighed. This apartment was a quick and cheap option when she essentially fled the home she had shared with David for five years. Five years. Her eyes burned as she thought of the time spent and how the memories with him were already fading. She rubbed the back of her hand roughly across her eyes and turned back toward the kitchen. Dinner and a glass of wine, that was all she needed.

Once the asparagus was simmering quietly in the oven nestled between garlic cloves and drenched with too much butter and her burger was popping faintly in the pan Miranda poured herself a glass of red. She walked to her bedroom to change into her pajamas and grab the mystery novel she had stayed up too late last night reading. The glass slipped from her hand and shattered on the scuffed hardwood floor as she entered the room. The wine began to inch toward the hand-woven area rug she purchased just last week, but Miranda didn’t notice. Her eyes were on the crisp white duvet. The top turned down slightly below her pillows, her novel laid open just as she had left it. The bed was as it should be, but for the red rose lying precisely in the center. Exactly as it had been the evening she had last seen David.

* * * * * * * * *

Other moments were starting to fade, no matter how desperately she clung to them, but her final moments with David would be seared into her mind forever. They spent a wonderful evening with friends, participating in their usual Thursday game night. Miranda and David had both drunk too much and were facilitating a giggling, screaming argument between the two other couples over who was supposed to draw the next card. Shelly finally plopped down on the overstuffed couch in defeat and draped herself dramatically across Miranda’s lap. “All of you leave my home. You are a bunch of cheating monsters and I have to get up early for work. Turns out my client did cheat on his wife after all and just hoped no one would find the pictures. I need plenty of rest if I am expected to lose my case gracefully tomorrow.”

Miranda and David stumbled the few blocks toward their own apartment reliving the night and occasionally shushing one another as their laughter echoed too loudly. At the stoop, David’s phone buzzed and he frowned down at it. “Charlie says I left my wallet there.” Miranda stood a step above him and tugged at his sleeve. “Get it tomorrow. I’m not done playing with you tonight.” He grinned up at her. “I’ll be back before you know it. Promise.” He leaned in to give her a hasty kiss before starting back the way they had just come. She sighed dramatically before stomping the rest of the way up to the building’s entryway. “Taking acting lessons from Shelly I see,” he called to her back. She turned to stick her tongue out at him, but he was already strolling down the block, away from her.

Officers asked her to relive that moment over and over. Her friends told similar stories, but the lack of total agreement among them cast a bad light on her. They had all been drinking, it was absurd for the police to expect them to all remember the exact same details. Did they leave at 9:00 or 9:30? Did they all leave at the same moment or staggered? Did anyone else see David walking back to Charlie and Shelly’s place? Was there anything else she wanted to disclose? Had they fought? Was he having an affair? Was she having an affair? Why didn’t she called the police when he didn’t return right away? Did she know her rights? The initial tone of sympathy soon turned hostile when the detectives couldn’t find an immediate suspect. They instructed Shelly to keep her distance and not offer legal advice since she was entangled in the case. The rest of her friends followed suit and Miranda soon found herself defending her innocence alone with a second-rate lawyer and a gaping hole in her heart.

The truth was not appealing to the prosecution either. They pressed her. Asked her to walk them through that evening over and over again. She went upstairs, what next? She drank another glass of wine, then what? She had taken a picture of the flowers he surprised her with that evening and posted them on Instagram. That post, that spur of the moment swell of love she felt for David and wanted to share with the world. That image captured online at 9:45 was what saved her. David’s body, brutally stabbed, had been found at 10:15 in an alley two blocks away. Less than a mile from her he was dying while she selected a filter and used too many heart emojis.

David hadn’t bought her flowers in so long. She dropped hints each time they walked through the market together. She ensured he walked by the new flower girl’s stall with her and made a show of admiring the blooms. Sarah, who ran the little walled station always grinned at her and made suggestions. She was a few years younger than them and seemed shy in their presence, but never offended when they didn’t make a purchase. She would occasionally compliment Miranda’s outfit or hair and every once in a while Miranda caught her staring intensely at David. The attention didn’t seem to register with him and Miranda wasn’t the jealous type. She found Sarah whimsical and often imagined what her life must be like as a young artisan, making a living with her garden and the delicate pieces of handmade jewelry she displayed. Her booth was closed down occasionally, especially as the weather cooled, and Miranda always fretted about her well-being.

The bouquet was waiting for her that Thursday evening when she returned from work and she couldn’t stop smiling as she changed for game night and covered David with kisses. “It was from Sarah’s booth,” David called out from the kitchen after he untangled himself from her embrace and cracked open a beer. “I stopped by the market to get some apples and her booth was back.” Miranda tugged off her blouse and replaced it with a t-shirt before trading her pumps for sneakers. “Good! I was worried she was done for the season. Such a sweet girl, even if she does gaze longingly at you.” David laughed and came back into the bedroom. “Me? She’s only got eyes for you. The first time we walked by her she asked you 101 questions and couldn’t stop staring. You do that to people. You make them crazy.” He winked at her then smacked her playfully on the bottom. “We leave in five slow-poke.” He walked away with an exaggerated saunter in a parody of a model on the catwalk before looking over one shoulder and whispering comically, “I have another surprise for you when we get home tonight.”

* * * * * * * * *

Miranda kept staring at the rose. The rose perfectly placed in the center of her bed, just as it was been months ago. The first wild thought in her mind was that David was alive, but she had seen the body, and the aching emptiness in her heart didn’t fade. She had associated that rose with David because of his promise of ‘another surprise’. She hadn’t told anyone about the rose. The one she found on the bed before crawling drunk under the covers, still thinking he was on his way home. She assumed David dropped it there in a romantic gesture before they left, hoping it would spark the mood when they returned. She had fallen asleep while waiting for him to come back, crushing it to her chest. The shrill ring of her phone woke her an hour later and the broken flower had strewn petals around her as she sat and listened to the officer explain how her world had been shattered.

She understood now that was wrong. He hadn’t left the rose for her. She finally pulled her eyes from the red flower and swept her gaze around the small room. Were they still here? Had they come back for her? The dress she laid out that morning across the chair in the corner was now crumpled on the ground, the zipper undone. Almost as if someone had tried it on before discarding it on the floor. Her jewelry box was left open and necklaces spilled out onto her dresser. How many signs like this had she missed in her drunken state the night David died?

Her heart thundered in her chest each time she opened a door or swept back the shower curtain. Whoever had come was long gone. Sirens began wailing down the street and clarity finally settled in her mind. The police, she needed to call the police. She had been using the flashlight on her phone to check closets and realized she still held it tightly, knuckles white. She loosened her grip and navigated to the keypad and tapped in 9-1-1 when she began piecing it all together.

* * * * * * * * *

Miranda wandered aimlessly around the city after she identified the body and been released from questioning. She found herself in front of the bouquets of flowers sobbing silently. Sarah rushed around the counter and hugged her tightly. “I’m so sorry Miranda. I saw in the paper. It is just awful. David was so kind. Do they know who-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ask. That was insensitive.” Sarah released her briefly to flip the sign on her stall to closed then linked her arm with Miranda’s and drew her away. “Let me get you some tea.”

They sat in the cafe sipping in silence until the last shred of sanity wormed its way to the forefront of Miranda’s mind and she realized what Sarah was doing for her. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do this.” Sarah waved a hand, “It’s nothing, you must be so traumatized, so sad. You two were my favorite customers.” Miranda thought gave her a watery smile before staring back down at the warm mug she held tightly as if it was her only tether to reality. “Thank you, for helping him pick the bouquet that day. The flowers were lovely. It was almost like he was saying goodbye.” Sarah gently touched her hand and Miranda looked up at her and noticed a glint at her chest. A simple heart locket dangled from an impossibly thin golden chain. It must have been one of the pieces Sarah occasionally sold in addition to the flowers. It was similar to one Miranda had misplaced. She had hoped to find it in the move between apartments but hadn’t had the time or mental capacity to really search. “My grandmother gave me a locket like that. It had my third-grade picture in it. I meant to put David’s picture in it. I meant to do so many things-” A sob wracked her body and she let go of Sarah’s hand to wipe at her tears, embarrassed. Miranda glanced back up and Sarah looked almost as pained as Miranda felt. A little pale. Miranda shook her head and stood. “I am so sorry Sarah, I shouldn’t burden you with this. Thank you for the tea, I have to go.” She fled the cafe feeling sick to her stomach with grief.

Miranda returned to the booth one other time after the trial. Since she was declared innocent because of a social media post. Not her clean record, not the character witness accounts, but a timeline the prosecution couldn’t quite make work because of a picture of flowers and too many heart emojis. Kelly met her outside the courthouse and walked with her in silence. Similar to her aimless walk after the initial questioning, Miranda found herself in front of Sarah’s flowers without having consciously directed her feet that way, her sister waited quietly nearby admiring the necklace display. Miranda smiled timidly at Sarah, but the young woman was staring at Kelly, her brows furrowed. Miranda cleared her throat, “I-I don’t know why I’m here. I think I’d like to buy some flowers, but…” She trailed off lamely and stared down at the bouquets, bursting with life and joy, a physical representation of everything she had lost. Sarah’s eyes slid to Miranda’s own. “How about a rose? Like the last flower you received?” Miranda’s head snapped up and she stared into Sarah’s steady gaze. But Sarah knew of course, she had sold him the flowers. Miranda’s face softened and she shook her head before grabbing her sister’s hand and continuing her miserable shuffle through the city until they arrived at her new apartment.

* * * * * * * * *

She now stood in that violated apartment, her finger hovering over the green icon that would complete the call and connect her to safety, but her eyes traveled to the jewelry, the dress. Sarah, watching her sister in the market last week. The rose. “Oh god.” She began to search for her sister’s name in recent calls, but her hands were shaking uncontrollably. The police sirens grew louder as if summoned to her desperation even though she had never made the call. Miranda sank to her knees and the wine, spilled on the floor like blood, soaked into her jeans. Her phone rang.