Lost and Found (Chapter Two)

 

I got home to find Rosemary still curled up on our large comfy couch with “The Starlight Crystal”. The living room was small yet it gave the illusion of spaciousness with it's sliding glass doors leading to a third floor balcony and it's connecting open air kitchen. It really wasn't a bad deal for what I had to pay to rent it, I thought as I entered the adjoining kitchen to start a pot of tea. I desperately needed to relax. Even after all my thinking on the car ride over I still hadn't quite figured out what had made me so nervous all of a sudden at Arnold's place. In fact, the drive home had brought me face to face with even tougher questions. Why was it so hard for me to trust anyone? Could I even trust myself? Maybe it had something to do with my relationship with my father. That realization had hit me hard as I had no way of making amends with him.

 

I winced as I realized I would have to use my last two bags of organic kombucha. I made a mental note to buy more next time I was at Food Lion as I poured the water into the tea maker. Rosemary smiled up at me as I walked into the living room. I returned the smile with genuine happiness to be with her again.

 

“How'd it go?” She asked in her meek voice, “you took forever.” Her child tight skin showed faint lines of worry. She didn't know I had visited my boss, the visit had been spur of the moment, I had only told her I was going to get her enrolled in the school I had found the day before. Thinking it over it was no surprise that she was worried, to her it had taken a lifetime.

 

“It was fine, smoother than I thought it would be, actually. And guess what, I've got wonderful news.” She sat bolt upright grinning a huge childish grin, exposing a few teeth that hadn't grown back in yet. I almost laughed at the over the top display of excitement.

 

“What? What?” She said, calmer, leaning back into the couch nonchalantly as if to make it seem that she would happily dive back into her book if I didn't tell her fast enough.

 

“First, you start school Monday. I'll take you on my way to work and I'll be picking you up at three thirty. But best of all, I'm getting time off work to bring you home and fix you dinner, every day. And speaking of dinner, that brings me to the second thing, we're going over to Mr. Benson's house next weekend for steak.” Rosemary smiled from ear to ear, something I hadn't seen her do many times before. But today I had seen it twice, now and in the bookstore this morning.

 

I felt my heart race at the notion I might just be making a decent father for her. Truth be told, I didn't have the most amazing competition but nonetheless it bolstered my confidence. My senses were overwhelmed by the aroma of spearmint wafting from the kitchen. Calming though it was it woke me from my self loving thoughts.

 

“Tea's almost ready, do you want any?” I asked Rosemary as I found myself slowly wandering into the kitchen.

 

“Yes. Honey?”

 

“Of course.” I replied, searching the cabinets for the little bear shaped plastic honey bottle. I found it on the countertop beside the tea maker. I cursed myself silently for not remembering I had put it there.

 

A moment later I reentered the living room with a cup of steaming tea in each hand, the little bear under my right arm. I handed Rosemary her teacup and placed mine on the end of the glass coffee table by my chair, then, my hands now free, tossed the honey bear to Rosemary.

 

Both of us like the tea and enjoyed the times when we could relax together with little more to do than sip tea of coffee. I had once told her that kombucha was a mushroom and that this tea actually had three types of mushroom in it. She didn't believe me, the flavor of the tea was mostly spearmint and a little lemon grass with the vague hint of passion fruit that made you wonder if you only tasted it because you read it off the ingredients. At the time she had examined her tea bag for little mushrooms and when she found none I had a good laugh at her expense.

 

My reminiscence was broken by the ringing phone. I wasn't used to getting calls here as almost no one knew the number. I braced myself as I picked it up and answered with an inquisitive “hello”.

 

“Hello Mr. Oaken, how are you and Rosemary this evening?” The woman on the other end of the phone had a sickeningly sweet voice that I imagined went with an even more repulsive smile. It was the kind of faked compassionate tone often used by little old ladies that decided they were qualified to become high school guidance counselors. Disgust at the sickeningly shallow, perverse and unusual high school terrain as well as being forced to show fake compassion to kids they otherwise would've crossed the street in heavy traffic to avoid created the fake smile, attitude, and voice. But it was usually effective in covering their disgust or disinterest so a good deal of them seemed to use it. She also sounded a bit like a telemarketer, but if she was then how did she come to know about Rosemary? My curiosity quickly turned into grave apprehension as I contemplated she might know a little bit too much about us. I remained quiet, afraid to speak more.

 

Rosemary stiffened as my blood ran cold. Recently I had been finding that the small child was shockingly perceptive. Combined with her capacity for empathy, it often felt like she could read your mind. I had been trying not to let the worry show but from her reaction I could tell it wasn't working.

 

“Oh, I'm sorry Mr. Oaken, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Felicity Talbot, soon to be your daughter's teacher.”

 

I let a sigh of relief escape me and Rosemary relaxed and returned to mixing honey into her still steaming tea. I almost laughed, I wasn't used to teachers introducing themselves to me with first and last names. I decided to make a conscious effort to always call her by her first name.

 

“Oh,” I started, unintentionally letting the relief show in my voice. “I thought you were a telemarketer.” With her voice's faked compassion and sugary sweetness I figured she heard that a lot. I could smell the annoyance as she grunted slightly, trying to cover it with a cough. “Well, Felicity, we were just sitting down for tea.”

 

“Really? You have no accent. Um, I hope I'm not interrupting.” Did she think we were British? If I told her we were decorating a christmas tree, would she assume we were christian?

 

“No, we're not English,” I said, answering the unasked question, “and you aren't interrupting at all.” Felicity gasped, showing her discomfort. I didn't feel at all sorry for her, if she had wanted to avoid the uncomfortable situation she shouldn't have made such a rash assumption. I almost could've sworn I heard Felicity mutter “yuppies” under her breath after she sighed, as if only the British and yuppies drank tea. Actually, my real mother had been from the UK, not that I would tell her that, but I had never really noticed much difference as she had been in the US for about thirteen years before I was born.

 

Truth be told she was interrupting, but as much as that grated on my nerves I tried to make the best of the conversation. Ah, she would be fun to toy with, and I knew I would love hearing the shocked pauses that would pepper her speech if I were to play. No, that wasn't her, she was different. She didn't quite have the self control needed to keep quiet. I would enjoy hinting at the words she let loose, making her heart race wondering if I had heard. It would be adequate revenge for shocking me so when I answered. It would be fun.

 

Step one. “What?”

 

“Hmm?” She said innocently, pretending to not have said anything, but her voice slipped. Clearly she was wondering if I had heard.

 

“What will she need for school?” This was step two, making it appear as if I had just paused in the earlier sentence. Her response would be telling.

 

“Oh,” relief was clearly painted on her voice. I had been right, clearly she had said

something she hadn't wanted me to hear. “That's what I was calling about, she'll need...” She pattered on in the way teachers often did when it came to things like school supplies. How they were so turned on by pencils and paper I would never understand. It was only the fact that I was doing this for Rosemary that kept my attention on her voice as she prattled on about the exact thickness she liked in binders and whether or not the composition books should wire bound or not.

 

It was my turn to fake giving a damn as I grunted in agreement to why Rosemary should have exactly one and a half inch binders for her class. When she finished I replied, “Is that all?” My tone was cheerful but not sarcastic, though my thoughts were.

 

“Aside from getting her the materials as quickly as possible, I'll need you to have Rosemary study her textbook as soon as she gets it. It's a little late in the year to be transferring in and I'm afraid she might fall behind. I only have two months to prepare my students for the end of year testing, and I have to focus on that, not reviewing, 'No Child Left Behind,' you know?” Her tone was now more hushed and motherly.

 

Despite my growing dislike for her I did agree with her and her snipe at the No Child Left Behind Act. I had always thought that a child could not be valued numerically, and that personal development and actual learning were much more important than a test score. I also disliked the emphasis it put on teaching test taking skills over actual education. Most teachers I knew would be happy to agree with me on that point, though they grudgingly “taught the test” for their salary's sake.

 

“I'm sure it won't be a problem for her, she's a very bright girl.” Ears burning, Rosemary smiled as she pretended to be reading. She began to slip closer as she realized I was talking about her.

 

“I'm sure she is, but this type of situation can put a child under a lot of stress, I urge you to show compassion and at the same time keep her to the books.” As if I didn't show my own child compassion on a daily basis. Rosemary was already under a lot of stress, the two of us being fugitives along with the move and the situation that had caused it. If it hadn't been for my compassion we wouldn't have gotten this far.

 

Felicity was really starting to piss me off, acting as if I hadn't the first compassionate bone in my body. That, in combination with her gently suggesting Rosemary's emotional safety was less important than her grades sent me over the edge. It always had. What use is education to a person if they were too broken up inside to use it. Also, I was aggravated by her brushing off my statement that she was a bright child. It made it seem as if I was one of those parents that though their child was some polished gem of a person. In short, I found the whole statement to be highly insulting.

 

Usually I can handle insult without incident but somehow this woman's combination of insulting Rosemary and myself so cavalierly drove up up a wall.

 

“She'll do fine, Felicity.” My words came out very slowly, as if to milk the poison from my fangs. My tone was dark and demanding, and I could clearly hear the recoil as she fumbled to find a suitable reply. Rosemary stared at me, almost grinning as I chastised her teacher, but I could see something else in her face. What was it? Pity? Fear?

 

“Well I hope she has as much confidence in herself as you seem to have.” The words themselves were clearly meant to appease. However, her tone was defensive which I doubted was intentional, more likely a Freudian slip. Throwing a forced compliment my way was in no part an effective method to keep me from exposing my fangs further and going for the kill. Yet, an unseen force pulled me back from doing something I would later regret, telling me I would just make things harder for Rosemary down the road.

 

Thinking her last words could be an considered to be an appropriate end to the conversation, I hung up the phone before things got ugly.

 

I was still fuming as I put the phone back on its cradle and sipped my tea. What had gotten me so riled up? I didn't have the slightest clue. The tea burned slightly making it's way down my throat.

 

I called Rosemary by her real name, she continued to stare off into space. “Rosemary.”

 

“Yes?” I was starting to notice that she was no longer answering her old name as much as she should've. It was like she had abandoned it. It must be that she's so young that she can accept the change so easily. I knew that even if I went the rest of my life being called Dean, I would still answer to Julius.

 

“Do you want a piece of ice to cool off your tea?” She nodded. I walked into the kitchen. I guess I'll have to accept that we're different people than we used to be. Opening the freezer door I thought back to a few days prior, sitting on the edge of Rosemary's bed, watching her drift off to sleep.

 

“We are free.”