The Rose Garden Inn

It’s funny, the things that you think about after something bad has happened. Things that become so much clearer to you once it’s too late to change the outcome. The seconds it could have taken to say one more “I love you” or “thank you” to someone now linger as manifested regret; a regret that is so tangible you can feel it with every breath you take. You cannot change the past, you begin to realize, and it hurts. If only there was some way to make it right. If only you could go back and do what you know you should have done while you had the chance. If only there was some way to rewrite your life and undo the things that now haunt you. If only you could guarantee the happy ending that you so desire.

The real world, I’m afraid, doesn’t work like that.

~

“We’re almost there” I said in a tone that veiled how truly delighted I was behind a shroud of nonchalance.“It’s just around the corner, I think.”

Rose smiled and sighed contentedly as she looked out the window at the passing scenery. I watched her out of the corner of my eye and, for the first time in a long time, she seemed completely care free. Rose was in her late sixties, and had been my lifeline since I was a child. She had lived in the apartment above us, and when my brother and I lost our parents, she took us in. She had always put us first; working harder and longer than she had needed to just to make sure we were cared for. It was nice to see her without worry for once. And, for the first time in a long time, I felt proud of myself for being able to help make that happen.

The two of us had been driving for a little over two hours now and we had just entered the small town of Samson. It was a quaint little place; one you might see in one of those Christmas movies on TV; you know, the ones where the big-city girl begrudgingly goes back to the place where she grew up, only to find the true meanings of home, love and life.

The town was essentially one long street that was lined with mom-and-pop shops along the planked sidewalks on either side. At the end of the street was a small playground surrounded by apple trees and a dock that stretched out into Lake Chaplin. It was quiet here, and peaceful. It was the kind of place where people smiled at one another and didn’t bother too much with the rest of the world or anything out of their daily routine.

“I would love to live in a place like this” Rose said, making me wiggle with anticipation. “What store was it that you wanted to go to anyway? Cause I think we might have just passed them all” she continued with a laugh.

“It’s not a store, we’re going to” I replied, as I turned off the main road onto a narrow gravel driveway. White birch trees stretched out on all sides, filled with chubby chirping sparrows and squirrels chasing one another on the branches.

Rose didn’t say anything, but I could tell she was curious. As we pulled up to the little house

in the wooden glen, she smiled again. “Where are we?” she asked, truly confused now.

The house was a decent size. It had been owned by an eldery couple in town, who had downsized to something that was a bit closer to their grandchildren a few towns over. Standing two floors, the house had five small bedrooms, a living and dining room, and a large eat-in kitchen, with large windows that looked out right onto the lake. It had been well loved and cared for by it’s previous family, but the outside definitely needed a little tlc. The pink paint on the shutters was peeling, and there were several boards on the wraparound porch that needed to be nailed down. Superficial tarnishes, really, on an otherwise beautiful home.

“It’s a bed and breakfast” I answered as I turned off the ignition. “Our bed and breakfast” I added, as I got out of the car, grinning ear to ear. Rose sat there stunned for a minute. Make that several minutes. In fact, it wasn’t until I had pulled out a tiny set of golden keys and began unlocking the front door that I heard her get out of the car and chase after me.

“Rita,” she called out, “now wait a minute. What do you mean by that?”

I stood in the foyer as Rose joined me in the house. Neither of us said anything for some time as we took it all in. A wooden staircase lay before us, with a carpeted living room to our left and a paneled dining room waited behind two half-open sliding doors to the right. The windows had been left open, and the house was filled with a gentle breeze and the scent of earth.

“This is beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like it,” I answered, hanging the keys up on a little nail by the door. “I know it needs some touching up outside, but Landon said that he would be able to fix most of it himself.” I then proceeded to let her know that my brother and his wife, Gracie, were driving up the next day to stay and help get the place up and running.

Rose was in love with the house already. I could tell because she was still admiring every part of the entryway, running her hand along the doors to the dining room with a dreamy look on her face. She was just barely hearing what I was saying, and only beginning to register what it meant.

“This is really yours?” she asked, finally turning to look at me.

“Ours” I corrected, hugging her tight. “It’s time to quit your day job, Auntie. Welcome to your very own bed and breakfast.”

She didn’t look completely convinced. Years of things not coming easily had done a good job of turning her into quite the sceptic. “How is that possible? We can’t afford this” she assured. “A place like this would cost a fortune.”

“Well, I’ve been saving” I insisted with a cocky grin.

There was that sceptical look again. Man, she was good at those. I laughed.

“Okay, okay. I may have come into a little bit of unexpected financial help in that regard” I finally relented. She urged for more information, and I proceeded to direct her to the little desk to the side of the stairs.

As Rose walked over to the table, I followed her, pulling the little black notebook out of my coat pocket. “I thought we could use this as our reception desk” I began quietly. And as I gently laid the notebook on the desk in front of her, I spoke again. “And, this will be our guestbook.” She met my smile with her own.

“The one I gave to you for your birthday” she recognized it immediately. “But Rita, I gave you this so that you would finally start writing.”

I placed my hand on top of hers and opened up to the first page. “I did.” I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes as I saw her read the title of the short story I'd written inside.

'The Angel Living Upstairs'

“You told me to write what I know.” I said as she scrolled through the pages. “And the only thing that I know for sure is that you have been the guardian angel to Landon and I since we were little. So I wrote about you, and I used that story to win the money for the down payment.” She gasped, and tears began to fill her eyes too as she took hold of my hand. “Twenty thousand dollars, Auntie Rose. Twenty thousand dollars.”

Rose looked like she was on the verge of either fainting from excitement or from shock. “I told you I had some money saved,” I continued. “Landon and Gracie helped out too, but combine that with the winnings, and this place was ours. We’re gonna make this work, Auntie. You’re never going to have to work a day in your life ever again.”

“Oh, Rita, you don’t have to do this,” Rose began. Her tears were falling freely now; matching mine in turn.

“And you didn’t have to adopt two needy kids” I replied. “But you did. You did your part, Auntie. More than that. So if this in some way thanks you for everything you’ve done for us, well, then I’m going to go to sleep happy tonight.”

My words were interrupted by the crashing, almost desperate, hug that Rose enveloped me in. “I love you, girlie,” she said. “With or without a house.”

“I know,” I replied. “I love you too. But, admit it. It’s better with the house.”

She winked at me. “Well, of course” she said with a hearty laugh as she picked up the notebook one more time. Her eyes drifted to the embroidery that I had added to the cover. “The Rose Garden Inn” she read. “I love it.”

“I thought you might,” I answered, as I began to lead her down the hallway to check out the kitchen.

“It does mean that I’ll have to get working on a garden out front, you know?” Rose began. “You can’t have a name like The Rose Garden Inn without an actual garden.”

“Hey!” I interjected, feigning hurt. “Didn’t I just tell you that you were never going to work another day in your life?”

Rose laughed. “You also said that the notebook I gave to you would be the guestbook! How can we do that with your story written inside?”

I came to a stop in front of the kitchen window that looked out onto the lake. Rose stood close beside me and I wrapped my arm around her. “The book is only half full,” I assured. “There’s room for a little more, Auntie. I promise.”

~

I wish that I could say that was how it happened.

Sadly, The Rose Garden Inn does not exist in the real world. Nor does my beloved Auntie, who passed away from it two years ago. The twenty thousand dollars was won by someone else. I never got the chance to fully repay Rose for everything she did for me; or at least the way she deserved. The notebook that she gave to me remained empty; full of regret, unfulfilled promises and untapped potential.

Until now.

Now, within these pages I can change the past. I can create a world where my missed opportunities are seized. A world where I am able to repay the kindness she paid to me by ten, at least. A world that she still lives within, happy, free and proud of me; working away in her garden. A world where I am not afraid, but brave instead. A world where anything is truly possible. For that is what she gave to me when she gave me this little black notebook. The blank pages hold a second chance for us to be together again, and it is a chance that I am now ready to take. It seems that, even in death, Rose is still providing for me.

And so, today I begin to fill in the pages of this notebook with the story of The Rose Garden Inn. A story of family. A story of thankfulness and of love. A story about a woman who deserved so much more than I, or anyone else, could ever give to her as recompense. A story, I think, that may just be worth submitting for some kind of contest someday. Who knows?