Only Dying Roses
Only Dying Roses.
Chapter One: Lionel
by Linda Seaton
~oo00oo~
" Every Day
I ride with falcon to the river's edge
Or carry the ringed mail upon my back,
Or court a woman; neither enemy,
Game-bird, nor woman does the same thing
Twice;
And so a hunter carries in the eye
A mimicry of youth."
William Butler Yeats. I have never cared for Yeats but he makes a forced march into my imagination this time every year. Your shabby first edition of Yeats still rests on the bedside table where you left it, Lillian. When you had bought the book from that mouse-ridden shop in London I had warned you that you might get the plague; you had squeezed my arm and told me you already had it.
Now, you are so many years gone from life and I stand at the base of the stairs of what has become known as the Luthor ancestral home. The Luthor family manse? No. The Luthors were horse thieves and spent more time in prisons than castles. I rented this place, sight unseen, so I could seduce a woman.
Adriana Ramsey, with the green eyes and twenty million dollar trust fund, had led me across most of Europe before she agreed to attend my New Years Eve party -- a party that I had to plan and execute in three days. And only hours before the gala had begun I had stood in this spot and laid bare all my hopes and dreams and desires to Adriana. The look of horror on her face surprises me still. Unable to speak, she ran from the room. I almost pursued her but then I heard someone on the landing above me draw a breath.
You had been trapped halfway down the stairs by the scene of the madman frightening the girl. You looked at me and smiled almost apologetically. And then you said with a surprisingly sure voice, "Maybe she was 'struck dumb in the simplicity of fire'."
Yeats. You had quoted Yeats. And you were the one I kissed at midnight. And you were the one I married three months later. My father told me I had finally done something right; for once, I believed him without question.
This house which Lex tells me is nothing but a monument to my own ego...You had told me you wanted to see it before you died. The doctors wouldn't let you travel so I arranged to have to have the whole estate transported. You had laughed when I told you my plan and reminded me I was a pragmatist and not a romantic.
The house was completely finished almost a year after you died. You never walked through the doors of the castle while it was on this side of the Atlantic but I think at the last it pleased you to know I'd do something so ridiculous.
And everything is the same since we last occupied this room.
The grounds, you probably would not recognize. I had almost all the flowers in the gardens replaced with Yeats roses. You loved Yeats and the rare hybrid rose with the strong, bitter scent seemed perfect. Growing wild and uncut, the roses have overrun many of the stone walls and roadways. I hope someday that they take the castle.
I climb up the stair toward Lex's room. I'm debating on letting him sleep until dawn or rousing him now. Then the roses -- vermilion and violet in the half-light -- catch my attention. They rest in a large crystal vase on a side table just outside the boy's room. I lift the container with one hand and open the door with the other.
The door opens soundlessly but Lex stirs in his sleep. I hurl the vase at him with all my might.
~oo00oo~
Chapter Two: Lex
Cutting stems, the smell of the roses, the splash of water and the vase connecting with my chin. I had been in the middle of my favorite dream where I was flying when the earth suddenly came up to meet me.
"What did I tell you, Lex?"
He looms over me with the pointing finger and a rage that almost seems to cause him to tremble. This is my father at his worst. And that's saying something.
I wipe the water from my face and survey the flowers that are strewn across me and the bed. I struggle for the information and buy some time by dropping the vase to the floor. Then I remember. I try for matter-of-fact but I sound a little garbled.
"The roses weren't supposed to be cut."
He looks at me and asks, "Why do you defy me?"
It is his eternal question but I cannot understand why the roses have sent him spiraling so out of control. Before I came here he had warned me not to change anything or to cut the roses in the garden. I had assumed he was merely being controlling and I promptly forgot what he had told me not to do.
"How many of them were taken?"
"They're just roses. This is hardly Theseus making off with Helen."
"Spare me the overeducated drivel, Lex! How many?"
I roll over onto my side and smile up at my father. "You prefer just, plain, drivel 'Dad'?"
He does not rise to the bait of my calling him 'Dad' or rephrasing his sentence.
He steps in and asks in scarcely more than a whisper, "How many?"
He's hissing at me and I can feel my left eye twitch. "A lot." I answer as I swing up to a sitting position. I don't like the idea of having my stomach exposed.
He settles a little as he tilts his head to one side. "Today, of all days, Lex."
Wracking my addled brain for some idea of what 'today' signifies, I step through the water and petals that cover the floor. The aroma of the broken roses is heady as I take a deep breath. I shift into my bathrobe and turn to face my father.
"All I know is that it's Sunday. I'll rely on you to tell me the rest."
He gives me the half-smile and then he rubs his chin. Not good.
"It's the day your mother died, Lex."
I know it isn't true but it throws me. I know to the hour when she died and the anniversary of her death was almost four months ago. He didn't show up on my doorstep on the real anniversary so why is he here now? I try to come up with something arch and witty.
I only manage to say, "What." I can't even come up with a "?" at the end of it.
"What I want you to do is get all the roses back. All of them."
I try to smirk in his general direction but I'm not really sure what expression I manage to pull. My brain and body have both betrayed me. I latch onto the last thing he said and try to continue the battle from this new position.
"How will you know that I've got them all?"
"You know how many roses there are Lex. And I think you know what 'all' means."
"So, you want me to waste an entire day retrieving cut flowers?"
"You've wasted weeks, even years, doing things that I've considered pointless. Humor me."
He used the phrase "humor me" and I know the argument is over. There is no ground to be gained when my father asks to be humored.
He turns and sweeps from the room with his large coat furling behind him like a cape.
Feeling vaguely like I'm trapped in a tale from the Arabian Nights or maybe something by Perrault, I dress and check my watch. It's almost 6:00. The Kents are surely awake by now. I try to put together the sentence.
How do I ask Clark to return all the flowers he had taken for Lana?
~oo00oo~
Chapter Three: Martha
Sunday mornings before seven are always my time. Jonathan sleeps later on Sundays and Clark, well Clark is a teenager who will sleep late anytime I give him the chance. The Sunday paper rests untouched in front of me as I leaf through one of my books about flowers. Last night, Clark brought me a giant bouquet of roses taken from the Luthor estate and now I'm searching for a name. I know that they are climbing roses but cannot find anything similar in color.
I hear the purring sound of the expensive car approaching and I smile. Merely thinking the name "Luthor" will apparently bring one to your door.
There is a soft tap and without looking up I call, "Come in, Lex."
I turn to greet him and I can feel my smile fade away. Lex Luthor has taken a beating. I'm pretty sure by the way that he is holding himself he is unaware of how bad it looks.
"What happened Lex?" I ask as I rush over to open the door. He seems baffled by my question until I reach out and gently touch his chin.
He starts back and I'm not sure if it is because I hurt him or he just didn't want to be touched.
"Let me get some ice." I motion him toward the kitchen table as I scoop ice cubes out of the freezer tray and seal them in a plastic sandwich bag. He takes the offered ice pack and holds it against his chin.
"It's nothing, Mrs. Kent."
"Is your father in town?" It was past my lips before I even considered what I was saying.
"You think my father beats me, Mrs. Kent?"
He turns those eyes on me and I can't help but think of my great aunt's Siamese cats. When I was a little girl I thought they were the most beautiful and mysterious of creatures. I quickly found that they had sharp claws and a long reach. I try to shake the comparison; I may only be reminded of the cats by the strange scratches that cover Lex's face and scalp.
"Let me get Clark for you." I smile and hurry from the room.
Clark is going to still be unconscious but I'm not going back in that kitchen alone. I haven't been able to pick up my son since he turned six but this morning...
Oh, things just got worse. Jonathan is awake and walking straight toward me. I cut him off before he can tell me it's going to be a "perfect day" in his I'm-so-happy-it's-Sunday voice.
"Lex is here."
I could have just as easily told Jonathan that the barn had burned down based on the expression on his face.
"Be nice to him, Jonathan." I grab my husband's arm and half-whisper to him. "I just ask him if his father beats him."
"Martha!?"
I slide past Jonathan and rush to Clark's door. I knock.
There is muffled voice that I recognize as Clark's with a pillow over his face.
"Clark, I'm coming in."
I push open the door and regard my son buried somewhere in the pile of comforter and sheets.
"Lex is downstairs. I think something is wrong."
Clark rolls over and up. He blinks at me and then focuses.
"I'll be right down."
I wait until he is up and looking for his clothes before I shut the door after myself. Once Clark's feet hit the floor he's not likely to go back to bed.
~oo00oo~
Chapter Four: Jonathan
I barely look at Lex as I walk into the kitchen.
"Good morning, Mr. Kent."
"Lex." I respond as I get myself a cup of coffee and sit down at the table. Most of the time he tries to make nice but not this morning.
I look at him and he looks at me. Then I rustle through the Sunday paper and start to read. He sits quietly with the ice pressed against his chin.
No apologies today, either. He's really off his game.
Martha always tells me that I'm too hard on Lex. Clark tells me that I'm too hard on Lex. Hell, Lex in his own way has told me I'm too hard on Lex.
I just can't shake the feeling that Lex Luthor is gaining too much control over Clark and his future. And he's doing it in a slow and steady way. Kind of calculating without any big or obvious moves. I wouldn't let Clark accept that truck from him so Lex has resorted to a thousand small gifts. I would look like a fool objecting to a bunch of cut roses that would go to waste unless Clark took them. And if I had objected, Lex would have looked even more like a victim.
It's always like that with the Luthors. They put you between a rock and a hard place and they own both locations.
The only thing that gives me any comfort is the fact that Lex doesn't seem to be as cunning as his father. Lex's methods at least are pretty clear. I don't think he's capable of surprising me.
I watch him as he fingers the edge of the newspaper stacked in front of him.
"I've got the business section."
He looks up and lifts another part of the paper into his hands. "I was looking for the Book Review."
And we both sit quietly until Martha hurries back into the kitchen.
"Clark will be right down."
~oo00oo~
Chapter Five: Clark
I didn't get much sleep last night because of the roses. I had to unload all the ones at Lana's house but that had only taken about thirty seconds. The two dozen roses that I kept for Mom were what really caused the problems.
I've always had better hearing and vision and sense of smell than my parents. Over the last few months I've noticed that my vision is changing and I can see a lot farther. Farther? Further? I sometimes wish my brain would get better at thinking - especially early in the morning. For now, I have to live with the fact that my sense of smell is a lot better than before.
And the roses really stink. I had to move them from the kitchen last night after both my dad and mom started to complain about them. I put them out on the porch but then later I had to move them to the edge of the property. And I could still smell them. And they kind of smell like Jell-O and mayonnaise. I've never liked mayonnaise.
Lex is here and Mom told me something is wrong. Maybe he's here because of the roses? He kept about a hundred of them in his house and I wonder if he was driven out by the smell. I hope not because that would mean Lana...
I try to flatten my hair as I tear out of the room.
When I stumble into the kitchen the first thing I notice is that my dad is reading the business section of the paper. He never reads the business section.
"Lex is out on the porch," my mom explains.
I hear my father exhale as I shove open the screen door and rush out into one of those perfect spring mornings. The only problem is that I can still smell the roses.
Lex, all in black (no surprise, there), turns to face me. One thing that is surprising is the large bruise under his chin. I stare at the mark a beat too long because he offers up an explanation.
"I tripped and fell up the stairs. I hadn't even noticed I was hurt until your mother tried to pack me in ice."
"My mom should have been a doctor."
"Or a fish monger."
He smiles a little and his shoulders relax. I laugh politely because whatever he said must have been funny. I'll have to ask Chloe what a "monger" is...
"Clark, I have to ask a favor. I need to retrieve all those roses you took from the estate."
"Is there something wrong with them?" I know that in any other town that is not a question that I would need to ask.
Lex shakes his head. "Like something out of a Grimm's Brothers fairy tale my father had told me that I should never have the roses cut. I ignored him and now he wants the flowers back."
He grows really still, even for Lex, and seems to be debating telling me more. Instead he offers something about his father whom I know is the real issue.
"I'm sure if they were poisonous, Clark, my father would be more than happy to dole them out. Have you already given them to Lana?"
"Yes, but I can get them back. She might want to get rid of them by now anyway."
Lex gives me a questioning look.
"I kept a couple dozen of the flowers for Mom for today but last night we had to move them outside. Because of how bad they smelled."
"I'm sorry, Clark. I didn't know." His hand goes to the back of his neck and he offers up a weak smile. "I'm starting to think that the roses actually might be important. I should have known."
I think Lex would have to be one of those mind reading guys at the State Fair to understand his father. I don't say it out loud.
Lex edges down the front steps. "If you need any help, Clark..."
I cut him off. "No, I can do it. It's fine. I'll be at the house in about an hour."
I watch as Lex gets in his car and slams down on the accelerator. The back wheels throw up a cloud of dust before finally finding traction. The car tears off. Lex is always a much more careless driver when his father is around.
I walk back into the kitchen and both my mom and dad look up from their sections of the paper.
"So, what did Lex want this time?" Dad asks.
"I have to get all those roses back that he gave me yesterday."
"What?"
"It might be for the best Jonathan." My mom moves to get another cup of coffee. "Those two dozen roses almost fumigated us. How many did you give to Lana, Clark?"
"About six hundred and sixty."
Dad puts the paper aside. "You better get moving, son. If not for Lex's sake then to save us from a Nell Potter phone call."
I'm halfway out the door when I hear Dad call, "Be home soon. Don't forget we're taking your Mom out!"
"Okay!" I shout back.
I race out to the field to retrieve Mom's rejected roses. As long as I'm moving really fast the roses aren't too bad. I drop them in the back of the truck.
As I drive, I try to come up with either an apology for the horrible smelling roses or an apology for having to take them away if there's nothing wrong with them.
I turn the truck up the drive to Lana's house and I start to cough. The roses are, are... I can't even come up with a word for how bad they smell.
Lights are on in the house and I know I'm stuck loading the truck at normal speed.
This is going to be bad.
~oo00oo~
Chapter Six: Lana
Clark Kent has done many, many amazing things for me. The delivery of these roses was not one of them.
He did his normal let's sneak to the door and not take credit maneuver sometime before three this morning. I know it was before three because at three Nell woke me up. She was pretty sure some poison gas had escaped from the Luthor plant and we were going to die. It was a mad scramble as I grabbed my bathrobe, shoes, a photo of my parents and Nell found the 'disaster folder' with its birth certificates and bank account information. We ran out the front door and almost killed ourselves tripping through the wall of roses that Clark had left for me.
Nell used some choice language and wanted to call Clark that minute to take the roses away. I talked her into waiting until 8:00 this morning but he beat the deadline on his own.
I step out onto the porch and watch as Clark carries his fifth armful of roses back to the truck. Noticing me, he smiles a little sheepishly and then forces himself to walk over.
"I am so sorry Lana. I didn't know this would happen." He wipes his watering eyes and fights back a sneeze.
"It's alright Clark. How could you know something so beautiful could turn into something toxic."
"Well, it is Smallville."
I laugh and he relaxes into a real smile. I feel my shoulder's tense up a little bit. Whenever Clark is at ease I feel awkward and whenever I'm relaxed, well, Clark isn't. It's a vicious circle. No matter what we do we always seem to be out of step.
I start to speak but Nell saves me from saying something pointless by walking out onto the porch. She calls, "Is he almost done?!"
Clark grins as he kneels to pick up some more of the roses. "She's really mad at me. I'm getting the 'he's too stupid to hear me' treatment."
"Afraid so."
Trailing after him, I watch as he tosses the roses into the truck. The petals break apart into thousands of fluttering smears of color. Clark sneezes so hard that I can almost feel the ground shake.
"Clark!"
"I'm fine. Don't worry." He hurries back to gather the remaining roses and I practically run to keep up. He reclaims the last straggling flowers and asks, "Are you and Nell doing anything for today?"
"We're going to Metropolis. Lunch and shopping."
I follow after as he heads toward the truck with the orphan roses.
"What about you and your parents?"
"Dad and I are taking Mom out to lunch." He tosses the roses in the back of the truck.
"I hope you've recovered from the rose removal by then."
"Please don't worry about me, Lana. I'm fine."
But I do worry, Clark, and I know that I'm responsible for making you unhappy more often than you'll admit. I don't say any of this of course. I think Clark feels things really deeply and has a hard time expressing himself. I can relate as I try to come up with something, anything, to say.
Instead I take his arm and half lead him back to the door of the truck. Snuffling, he opens the door and crawls inside.
"Can you even see?" I ask as he leans out the truck window to say goodbye. His eyes are barely open.
"I can see. Kind of. But just to be safe I think I'm going to stop at Pete's and see if he can drive the truck out to Lex's house."
"Please, do." And I squeeze his arm. His eyes open a little wider as he smiles.
I want to offer to drive the truck for Clark but I notice Nell on the front porch checking her watch.
"Clark, you better get out of here. Nell."
"Tell her I'm sorry."
And Clark presses down on the accelerator and the truck is rolling.
"Lana!"
I hear Nell but I wait and watch the truck until it is out of sight. I race back to the house.
~oo00oo~
Chapter Seven: Pete
"Man, you smell bad!" I couldn't help myself. I had to say it.
Clark looks at me and nods. "I know, Pete."
"What is it?" I ask just as I sneeze and realize what it has to be: roses, some really putrid roses. I'm allergic to roses.
I listen to Clark as he rattles off the latest Luthor soap opera and all I can do is shake my head. Rich people are messed up.
"Those things don't smell like any roses I've ever been around." I lean out of the front door of the house and look at the Kent truck in our driveway. You can practically see the odor rising from the flowers. "It smells like one of brother's dorm rooms after he left Chinese take-out in his trash for a month."
"I know it's bad, Pete. But I could really use your help. I know how you feel about the Luthors but the smell is really getting to me. I can barely keep my eyes open. Could you drive the truck?"
"Clark, I'm really allergic to roses. Remember? In fifth grade when Mrs. Clemson retired and the class got her a dozen roses? I had to go home early because I couldn't breathe. And in seventh when we went to that school dance and I also had to leave even though Mara Hanson wanted to dance with me?"
I could have continued with stories about my war with the roses but I don't bother. Clark has that look on his face. He is too distracted with his current Lex problem to remember much of anything.
So, I come up with the only piece of advice that I can offer. "Maybe you should ask Chloe." I sneeze.
He nods his head. "Thanks Pete. And I'm sorry I forgot about your allergies."
I watch Clark drive off in the flower-power truck. Clark is a really linear thinker. He can always solve those "if two trains leave the station" math problems really quickly. In real life it sometimes takes him a long time to remember stuff that happened in the past. He would have remembered my allergies if he had more time.
At least that's what I tell myself as I go back into the house.
~oo00oo~
Chapter Eight: Chloe
A year or so ago, I would have been struck speechless by the sight of Clark Kent arriving at my house with a truck full of roses. Well, probably, nearly speechless. Now, I'm just curious and I hurry out to meet him. The smell is eye-wateringly overwhelming.
I pinch my nose shut. "Clark Kent. Blooming Idiot Delivery Service?"
"No jokes. Please no jokes."
"Fair enough. Why all the flowers?"
He tells me in that fast, eyes-averted way that Clark has mastered. He finishes, "And I was wondering if you could drive the truck. My eyes are almost swollen shut and I'm afraid I'm going to kill someone."
"Let me leave a note for my Dad and get my bag."
Almost apologetically he offers, "I asked Pete first but he couldn't do it."
"Pete's deathly allergic to roses, isn't he?"
"You know about Pete's allergies? Why didn't I?"
The thought that Pete sneezing his head off ranks somewhere far below the fascination that is Lex Luthor crosses my mind as I write my whereabouts on the "Where's Chloe" board in the kitchen.
I run into my bedroom, retrieve my bag and duck into my bathroom. I open the medicine cabinet and shuffle things aside to find the jar of Vicks VapoRub. I smear the Vicks under my nose and drop the container in my purse. Hey, SILENCE OF LAMBS is a great movie and it has provided me with the knowledge of how to mask the odor of all foul things.
I hustle outside and half-crawl behind the wheel of the truck. In comparison to my car this thing is a tank and, well, I kind of like the power. I gun the engine and we're off. I can only imagine what the wafting aroma must be like for the cars that pass us.
"Why, do they smell so bad?" He asks me as he leans out the truck window.
"Well, there's about five hundred of them..."
"682." He corrects me as he blinks away tears. "What do you think they smell like?"
"Kind of like that marshmallow creme stuff mixed with tuna fish."
Clark starts to gag and half-shouts, "Pull over!"
I obey and he actually throws himself out of the truck as it rolls to a stop. I put the tank in park and hurry to him as he paces up and down the road drawing in deep breaths.
"I don't know what gardener in his or her right mind would plant this many of this type of rose. They're infamous for their smell, especially when they're cut."
He seems embarrassed and tries to distract me with the sound of my own voice. He asks, "What kind of roses are they? My mom didn't recognize them."
"They're Yeats roses. Named for the poet, William Butler Yeats. Unfortunately, to get the great colors some botany-types created this aroma."
"I hate botanists," Clark coughs.
Ignoring the cries of the devil on my shoulder, I produce the Vicks from my bag and offer it to Clark. "Spread some of this under your nose."
Clark obeys. The look of the relief that spreads across his face is almost beatific. He smiles for the first time all morning.
"This is a lot better. You're the best Chloe."
I watch him as he races back to the truck and slides in behind the wheel. Clark always recovers from bad experiences instantly. I sometimes wonder if it is because of some genetically programmed optimism or if it's just because Clark doesn't feel or think all that deeply. He is my friend so I push that thought away.
He slams the truck door and calls to me. "Chloe are you coming?"
I walk back toward the truck. At my own pace. I don't run after Clark anymore.
~oo00oo~
Chapter Nine: From Lex, Clark and Lionel
The conclusion
My father has been outside on one of the back terraces since I got home from the Kent farm. The servants are smart enough to not approach him. I wish I had that luxury.
I walk toward him and he hears my steps on the stone. He turns and tosses his hair back on his shoulders. I used to believe that he did that to mock my baldness but I think I give myself too much credit. My father does everything merely because he can.
"The roses should be here soon."
He nods and remains uncharacteristically quiet.
I move to his side and finally ask a more or less direct question.
"Why are you really here?"
"I lost your mother today, Lex. You can't have forgotten."
"You're wrong." I say it with complete confidence and he smiles at me in that Cheshire cat possessed by the devil way of his.
"Can you prove it?"
"Yes. Wait here." I rush into the house and am halfway up the stairs before I remember that Clark should be at the estate anytime now. I look out one of the windows at the grounds and see the Kent truck fast approaching on an access road.
I half throw myself down the stairs in pursuit of my father whom I can see moving toward the main entry door of the house.
~oo00oo~
"Clark, once we're at the house do we have to unload all the roses or are there people on staff for that?"
I steer the truck up the Luthor drive and marvel at Chloe's ability to sound so happy and yet so bitter at the same time. I think I would get confused if I tried to combine the two.
"I'll probably be the one unloading," I explain.
"Too bad you don't have a dump truck." Chloe smiles at me as I put the truck that I do have in park.
We step out onto the drive and Chloe comes up behind my shoulder. I'm more in control of my senses thanks to Chloe's menthol gift. I just started concentrating on the new smell and now I think I've got the sensory overload under control.
"Do we knock?"
Before I can answer Chloe, the main door of the house swings open and Lionel Luthor, under a full head of steam, appears.
He walks straight toward me and even though I'm pretty much indestructible I wish I was on the other side of the truck.
Chloe edges out a little from behind me. She doesn't step completely clear of me - it's kind of like the time we went hiking and we found that snake on the path -- but she does speak to him.
"Hello, Mr. Luthor."
And he recognizes her. He actually smiles at Chloe. "Miss Sullivan, we seem to always be saying our hellos and good-byes on the driveway of this house."
"At least there's no flitting flames on the 'Emperor's pavement'."
I haven't a clue what Chloe is talking about and then I spot Lex heading toward us.
~oo00oo~
Clark, Chloe and my father. I have had nightmares remarkably similar to this but at least in this case I am not frozen in place and my father hasn't chopped off Clark's head. Yet.
"Clark." I say his name while I'm still too far away and I practically have to run to close the distance. "You managed to find them all?"
Before Clark can answer my father swings around to face me. "Miss Sullivan and I were just discussing traveling to "Byzantium."
I recognize my father is talking about something literary by the inflection of the word but Clark looks like he thinks there's a plane in the garage.
Chloe smiles, almost sunnily for being in the presence of the Dark Lord himself, and looks to the mound of roses. "You must really be fond of Yeats to want these roses back after they've been cut."
"Yeats?" I hear myself saying it and notice my father's smile. My mother loved Yeats.
"They're Yeats roses," Chloe offers with a note of confusion in her voice.
No, Chloe, I didn't know they were Yeats roses. Remind me to put you on payroll so you can explain my father to me.
"Lex has never been fond of flowers." Lionel rolls his "r's" as he explains me away.
Then he turns all his attention on me and waits for some kind of reaction. I just hold my ground and my blank expression.
The ever-practical Clark finally asks, "What should I do with them?"
"Just throw them out of the truck. Here will be fine." My father steps back and gestures to the center of the driveway.
Clark gives me a slightly questioning look and then moves to obey. Sliding on a pair of work gloves, he starts tossing armfuls of roses onto the drive. The smell is overwhelming and I have to fight down the gag impulse.
And then the truck is empty and the drive is covered in blood reds and greens.
"Thank you, Clark." My voice sounds tired even to my own ears. I always seem to be thanking the boy. "Would you like to come in?"
He shakes his head. "I have to get home and change. My dad and I are taking Mom out for Mother's Day."
He and Chloe say their good-byes to my father and I wait until the truck is out of sight before I speak.
"Mother's Day."
"Can you get one of the servants to bring me some gasoline?"
I have been dismissed and I walk back to the house. I order one of the servants to get the devil his gasoline and I take refuge in the conservatory. The window here overlooks my father's little tableau.
I watch as the gardener brings Lionel a tin of gasoline. My father takes it and pours the fluid in a slow spiral over the roses. He tosses the can behind him and even from the second floor I can hear it clatter on the stone.
He stands for what seems like hours with his thin arms folded almost protectively across his chest. He merely stares down at the roses. A slight breeze begins to stir the petals and my father reaches into his coat pocket. His lighter gleams as he strikes it to flame and tosses it into the roses. They ignite with a whoosh of blue.
Happy Mother's Day. Mother's Day. The day my mother died for him. I leave the window and hurry to my room.
~oo00oo~
The fire is somehow fitting and the stench gives the whole thing the effect of a funeral pyre. Lex had been watching from the window but he has retreated. The boy's biggest flaw is that his emotions ultimately rule his behavior.
I wonder what you would think of our son, Lillian? When he was a child you had maintained that a person who lacks passion lacks the ability to do the extraordinary. You had told me that I had to teach Lex to find the proper balance between emotion and reason.
I think all I have ultimately taught him is rage - a poorly veiled and contained rage.
He defies me at every turn and then retreats once his feelings are hurt. I told him about the roses. They were the only thing I specifically mentioned about this house when he moved here and he saw no reason to find out why.
His hatred, his fear, his resentment of me blinds him to what I want him to discover about me, about you, about himself. He is content to accept half-truths rather than challenge me or call me a fool.
I can almost hear Yeats' words in his burning roses.
"Turning and turning in the widening gyre,
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity."
The End