Going Back to Move Forward Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Converging Point

Kansas, 1962

"Hey, Maman, remember when you'd welcome new tenants with a house-warming party? Most of them were toon immigrants."

Rhoda stopped checking for water stains in the attic's ceiling. "Yes, Jack." Since the house was pretty much aired out, they need to check the roof for repairs.

"Hey, Maman, remember when you find homes for those kittens we couldn't take with us?" Jack called out from the inside of the attic while Rhoda hosed the roof on the outside.

"Yes, Jack," she answered back. "Now can you see any leaks?"

"I thought it was embarrassing and troublesome. But you did it anyway!" he yelled out.

"Okay, Jack. Any leaks yet?"

"You were- aagh! Yup there's a leak!" There sounds of him stomping around. Rhoda could imagine him rubbing his hair as he hop around in surprise. "Yup, another one! Ack! And another one!"

The sun beat overhead as Jack climbed up the ladder to their roof.

"Hey, Maman, remember when you invited that new mom over for dinner for months? Because you knew she'd be too busy to cook?"

"Catherine? Yes, Jack," Rhoda replied as they hunt for shingles with curled up edges. Instead she found broken ones. She began to pried them off with her hammer. However, Jack spoke again.

"Hey, Maman, remember when old Angie tripped in the mud?" he yelled over his own hammering.

Rhoda murmured an affirmative, throwing away the broken shingles in a sack.

"She was okay but you also 'trip' because you don't want her to feel bad about it- ow!" he yelled, holding out his red, swollen thumb.

"Jack!" she quickly climbed to his side and looked at his thumb. "Watch where you're hammering." She kissed the thumb and Jack sighed with relief when his thumb returned to normal.

"Thanks, Ma," he said and Rhoda returned to the part of the roof she was fixing.

Jack slathered roof cement over the new and repaired shingles that they have nailed in. But then, he spoke again.

"Hey, Maman, remember when you left a pot of catnip to Mr. Lion's doorstep whose wife was in the hospital? Even now, he doesn't it was you."

"That's okay," she replied as she pried off a curled shingle and bent it back into shape.

Jack did the same, concentrating on his side. "Hey, Maman, remember when you asked that new girl to come with you out of the class to help you with something?

"Who?" She proceeded to nail back the straightened shingle on the roof.

"Charlotte? Because you knew she's about to break down and cry?"

"Mm-hm," she replied vaguely, climbing on top of the house to check the other side of the roof.

"And you don't want to embarrass her? Remember when you came back in class with her smiling?" he asked, following her on the other side.

"Uh-huh," she said, distracted, as they hunt for more broken and curled shingles.

"Hey, Maman,remember when Rose-"

Rhoda stopped prying off a broken shingle with a hammer. "Okay, Jack. Enough," she said, her cheeks warming. Yesterday, he won't stop talking about how gentle Sweet was. Now this. "What's with all this reminiscing?"

The bag of broken shingles shook as Jack shuffled from his seat on the roof.

"Nothing," he quickly said.

Rhoda just smiled at him wryly before replacing a new shingle with nails. The tapping of the hammers echoed as they work.

"I just want you to remember that you're cool," Jack said in a small voice, it wouldn't have been heard by anyone without rabbit ears.

Rhoda stopped hammering. "Huh?"

Jack pressed his lips together before exhaling. "Ever since you met with Leroy, I could tell you feel terrible about what you did. About yourself." He ran his hand over his hair and rabbit ears. "Whatever those horrible feelings are, you believed in them so much." He frowned, lifting his chin proudly. "But I still think you're a pretty cool mom."

Her ears drooped. "Thanks, Jack," she quietly said. It should've made her feel better. But Jack didn't know what she really did. She picked a straightened shingle and began to nail it back on the roof.

Jack must've noticed it too, for he drove to the point.

"You left Papa, taking us with you," he looked down on the box of nails in front of him. Rhoda sighed, bowing her head as though accepting what will come.

"I'm sorry, Jack," she said in a small voice.

"I wished we have grown up with him. But… I can't get myself to hate you. I don't even want to…" He smiled, pained at her own self-loathing. His hand reached towards her as though to unravel it away. He stopped, realizing he must've looked silly. "Because the Maman who made all of those people happy," he thumped himself on the chest, "that's the Maman I know."

She breathed a chuckle. "Oh Jack, don't worry. I still think I'm a good per-" her vision began to blur. "Per-"she tried to speak again but something's tightening her throat. Jack felt horror when she furiously began to rub her eyes with her arm, her shoulders shaking.

"Ma!" he exclaimed, scooting towards her. She should've known by now that she couldn't lie to him. Not when he got her strange "feeling the air" audience-mood-detector-thingy.

Rhoda tried to control her chest heaving. She had been prepared prepared. Prepared to take it all. His anger for their father. Put on a stiff upper lip. The blood payment for being the faithless monster.

But Jack…

He finally shuffled to her side, unabashedly putting his arms around her. "I don't think so. I know so," he said, resting his chin on top of her head.

"Oh Jack," she mumbled, wondering what error occurred in the universe and she ended up with a son like him. She doesn't deserve him either.

XOXOXO

France, 1954

"Really? Don'cha think they're too young to know about the birds and the bees?"

"No, I'd rather they know it from me than from who-knows-where. They should feel comfy asking me these questions." She became quiet. "Maybe if intercourse isn't such a taboo subject, he wouldn't be seen as one either."

XOXOXO

Jesse's Apartment, 1962

Jesse waited patiently as Rose did some simple wrist and finger stretches before the piano. Her face was calm and devoid of emotion. But the stiffness of her spine denoted her nervousness to him.

He had been hearing a new tune playing as she used the piano. Last night, Rose had asked him if he would like to hear her song.

Her eyes rose to meet his and he gave an encouraging smile. Furred, delicate fingers hovered over the keys.

"You said," she spoke quietly, "to sing about something important to me that I'm afraid to speak about." Her chest rose with an inhale. "Are you ready?"

He nodded, reserving the space of silence for her song.

Her fingers weaved the now-familiar tune. Then she sang.

"They love me for who I am

But do they love me for who I really am?

If they found out, will they still do?

Will I still feel safe and trusted too?"

Her brows were knit together, remembering her teachers praising her grades. Toons her age admiring her emerald eyes down to her dainty rabbit feet. The girls telling her how lucky she was because so-and-so likes her.

With a surge of courage, she moved on to the next verse. Hoping she's not making a big mistake. Hoping Pa would at least let her call Aunt Mina if he's against what she would sing.

"Her words, her smile have made me felt

Sun's gentlest light of where I knelt

I see deeper beauty when they simply see her

But they say I must love the things they prefer"

She avoided looking at her father. Rose willed her fingers to relax. To focus. But her mind flashed to the tales of people like her being sent to conversion therapies by their own parents. Parents who were well-meaning but... most of them either ran away or looked defeated. Drained. Their own self-loathing encouraged. She pushed it all at the back, willing herself to sing her truth.

"But I'd rather be in her warm presence

Delving deep in her thoughts and essence

Than live their thoughts on what I should be

I'd rather be

Just she and me"

She forced herself not to stutter, to focus on the song, focus on the keys. Focus everywhere but the weight of the stare of her father.

"'I love you and I'll change you' he have told me.

'We'll be together and we'll both be happy.'

But I was never sad for who I was."

Fear stung her eyes. Her hands shook. Her brain finally berated her for doing this. Pointing out every flaw of her plan. She should've asked his opinion first about gay people. She should've just wrote him a letter and let him read it while she's at Aunt Mina's. She should've-

Rose stopped and breathed, remembering how Maman would do the same. She then continued to sing her one last line. She looked up, her voice calm and strong.

"Their shame's not mine and never was"

There was silence as Rose finished the trailing notes of her song. She handed him the lyrics of the song, just so he could read them over again, feeling naked.

"Pa... I'm a lesbian," she said, feeling their bond hang precariously in balance. Please don't hate me. Please don't send me for conversion therapies. Please let me call Aunt Mina. Please-

"I know. Your mother told me."

She jerked in surprise. "What?!"

He glanced at her lyrics again. "She had asked me before if my thoughts about queer people haven't changed. I said no." He handed her back the notebook. "Then she said 'Good. Because one of them will have something to tell you one day.''"

Rose blinked, the tension in her shoulders still not letting go. "You're… okay about it?"

"Of course. Good thing we're in California." He got up and kissed the top of her head. "That was beautiful, Rose."

She wanted to melt over the piano as relief flooded her. She wanted Jack. She wanted Maman.

Jesse startled when Rose tackled him into a hug. He smiled over her head and simply ruffled her hair.

"I was so scared," she mumbled against his shirt.

XOXOXO

France, 1958

Jack had long ago ran to the churchyard to play as Rose entered the Sunday School room. Her eyes lit up, feeling her heart swell pleasantly, when she opened the door.

"Sœur Marie! Vous êtes ici(Sister Marie! You're here)," she exclaimed.

The nun turned to her who was watching the toon chalk dance together. "Bonjour Rose(Good morning, Rose.)"

Once they have prepared for the class, they sat side-by-side as Sister Marie placed the Bible in front of them.

"J'ai entendu les enfants vous appeler 'Soeur Rose'(I've been hearing the kids call you 'Sister Rose')," the nun said, lifting delicate pages in her book.

The rabbit girl shrugged. "Ça ne me dérange pas. J'aime ça.(I don't mind. I like it.)"

Sister Marie affectionately patted her head. But her student of three years wasn't finished.

"Cela veut dire être comme toi. Cela signifie être une moniale un jour.(It means being like you. It means being a nun one day.)" She smiled her brightest at her. "Cela signifie être avec vous un jour.(It means being with you one day.)"

The nun's smile on her was rather frozen.

"Rose, j'ai remarqué votre admiration et je l'apprécie beaucoup.(Rose, I've been noticing your admiration and I greatly appreciate it.)" Her fingers stopped when they reached a certain chapter. "Cependant, il ya quelque chose que nous désapprouve dans notre couvent …(However, there is something we disapproved in our convent…)"

A few minutes later, Sister Marie had finished telling her the abominations God condemns. About Adam and Eve. How those kind of sinners who surrender to degrading passions could never have salvation.

She glanced at Rose who looked shocked, still as a rock.

"C'est un peché. Pure et simple. Mais ne vous inquiétez pas(It's a sin. Pure and simple. But don't worry)," Sister Marie reassured in a soft voice. "Ce que vous ressentez n'est que de l'admiration. Dieu vous pardonnera toujours. Mais il y a des choses que nous ne tolérons pas dans le couvent.(What you feel is only admiration. God will still forgive you. But there are some things we do not tolerate in the convent.)"

XOXOXO

Kansas, 1962

Is she a good person?

"People always think the worst of him. I thought you weren't one of them. You… you… you..."

Rhoda sat on the fence, watching the sun set over a sea of wheat.

If she wasn't smart. Or brave. Then what was she if she wasn't good?

"I've never seen Jesse cry before." His voice clenched like a fist. "And he's one of the strongest people I know."

She looked up to the violet-orange paint scrapings of clouds in the canvas that was the sky. When she chose the safety of her kids and her own sanity, she shut him off, completely and utterly. 

But not without pain.

Rhoda untied the bandanna covering her head. Her rabbit ears swayed with the wind. From afar, she could see Jack jogging with Sweet in the fields of tall grass.

Would he still want to continue, to rebuild their relationship?

Her feet seek the rough wood of the fence. Jesse have no obligation to forgive her just as he have no obligation to forgive his past "masters."

A heavy sigh escaped her mouth. The way he had acted last time, a divorce is a possibility. She had tried to rally Jack and Rose's spirits by saying that they'd come through with this. But she couldn't promise that they would "fix" this.

Cold eyes flashed in her mind with the intent to hurt her in the greatest possible way.

"You really are a fool."

She ducked her head into her knees. Was she? Even now?

But Jack's voice rang heartfelt and true inside her head.

"Because the Maman who made all of those people happy,"he thumped himself on the chest, "that's the Maman I know."

Rhoda looked up at the sun, now lower than ever.

It doesn't erased the fact that she did something horrible. She did caused Jesse and the twins 15 years apart.

But was she more than that?

Her fists clenched beneath her father's old workgloves. She will prove she is.

The question is, does Jesse still want her back?

Her shoulders and whiskers drooped as her ears slapped down on her cheeks.

XOXOXO

France, 1961

"The police tolerates homosexuals as long as they don't express it in public," she said glumly to Mina. "Oh yeah?" she suddenly blurted out, fire flashing momentarily in her eyes. "My Rose can treat a girl better than all your sons put together!"

She shuffled the papers in front of her. Hollywood went slightly crazy when they discovered he was dating her. It was worse when people found out a rabbit and a humanoid toon were getting married. The protests of conservative groups. Humans with toon fetishes who tried to validate themselves using their union as an example. Even a man who wedded a horse tried to associate himself with them. With Rose being a gay toon, Rhoda could only imagine what troubles people would give her if they find out.

"Thanks for giving me this, Mina."

The "Baby" grunted. It was simply a study in 1957 by Dr. Evelyn Hooker who proved that gay men are as well-adjusted as heterosexuals, often more so.

Rhoda thumbed the pages with a small, tired smile as though the study was saying what she had known all the time. "It gives me hope that one day, the world will be safe for my daughter."

It wouldn't begin so until the 70s when homosexuality is no longer considered a mental disorder.

XOXOXO

Jesse's Apartment, 1962

The halls of the flat echoed with the music of Why Don't You Do Right. Jesse silently played by memory of its dark, haunting tune. Alone with his thoughts, Mina had taken Rose shopping awhile ago.

He loved to sing and still do. Why did he quit again?

Jesse sat inside his dressing room. The window where he suspected Edna Valiant had taken pictures was boarded up and closed.

He couldn't do it anymore.

Singing in the stage, walking amongst tables and sparing women with attention. What happened?

His eyes stared out of the window, knowing only an empty house awaits him.

A discordant bellowing of keys blared out at the clash of his fingers. His mouth twisted into a bitter line that didn't even marred his features.

It always leads back to her.

But, he caught his own reflection on the piano's black shine, didn't he also quit because he suspected it's one of her reasons for leaving?

He frowned at his image. Rhoda knew they were all acts. They were all part of the show.

"But you two are married. Have you talked to her about it?"Leroy's voice echoed in his memories.

Jesse exhaled. They didn't need to talk about it. It's common sense. But his reflection seemed to stare back at him otherwise.

"Was it just easy to you? To just leave?"

"You think it was easy?" her voice cracked. "I did what I thought was best for Jack and Rose!"

His fingers hammered heavily into the keys with a horrible clashing of notes. But the anger was fainter now that his own mind was putting in pieces.

She should've trusted him more!

If Rhoda had been bothered by how he seduce women while singing for months, plus distancing himself physically and emotionally for weeks, was she really a fool for thinking he's having an affair with photographic evidence?

His eyes flared silently at his reflection. But she still shouldn't have left!

She was scared, his mind pointed out. Rabbit nature is something toonier toons can't help with. She had to make a hard decision between the safety of her unborn and what she'll find if she'll confront him.

But still!

The piano protested at the chaotic thrashing of its keys. Yet he continued, unmoved by the jarring jumble of notes, an abominable music of anger.

He remembered how he searched the house after reading her letter. He remembered her returning fifteen years later saying his kids want to meet him. Fifteen years. Could he even forgive her for those fifteen years when he broke? When she took away his kids from him?!

His fingers slammed against the keys and the piano screamed with unmelodious pain.

A moment of quiet, save for his harsh breathing. Slowly, purposefully, he caressed the keys, spinning the notes of Moonlight Sonata.

He continued to play even when it was dark. Even when the front door clicked and Rose entered with a key.

"Hello Papa," she said, giving him a quick hug from behind.

"Hello Rose," he murmured back. His fingers were beginning to tire but he persisted for the end of the piece, lifting a page of the sheet music.

She sat beside him, quietly enjoying the relentless intricate pattern of keys. When he have finished, Rose clapped.

"Have you been practicing while I was gone?" she asked.

He remembered mercilessly murdering music with anger. "A bit," he simply said.

They fell in a comfortable silence.

"Pa," Rose suddenly spoke up. "Have Maman told you about Mr. Antoine?"

He turned to look at her. "No."

Her hands reached to scrunched the hem of her dress. Then she stopped when she realized what she was doing. He wryly smiled. It's another habit Rose got from her mother.

"Mr. Antoine was our neighbor. When he first came, Maman did what she usually do: throw a flat-warming party." She shook her head with a dry, endearing smile. "But when we heard rumors that he's working for the Milieu, she kept us away from him. But you know Maman," she glanced at her father. "She's drawn to the sad and lonely."

Jesse wanted to snort. He wouldn't describe Baby Mina as sad or lonely. But-

He caught his reflection on the piano's shiny surface again.

"Sometimes, I would hear her talking to him in the balcony," Rose continued. "But as soon as she saw us awake, she'd close the balcony doors to cook us breakfast."

Her finger smoothed over one key. "But there was a time Mr. Antoine was in danger. And Maman was there."

XOXOXO

France, 1960

Antoine climbed the steps of the building, clutching a non-toon rag where his elbow used to be. He was gasping; white, runny paint slicking his fur.

A heist gone wrong. A trap. The package thrown in a drum of what he thought was water. Plunging his arm in it. A horrible noise which he soon realized was his own screaming. Down on his knees, unable to cradle what was his right limb before.

A warning, their head honcho had said, to send to your master.

He warily looked back, checking if he was dripping a trail of green and red paint. No, he had been lucky finding a rag out in the human streets. He couldn't touch it with his bare hand.

He stumbled up the stairs, his mind reeling with acidic pain of thinner. A pain no toon can shake off.

Knees crashed down on the floor. He cursed. Only a few steps to his door. The landlord might investigate the noise. He couldn't afford-

A door creaked open. He twisted around defensively with a snarl.

"Antoine?"

Said toon blinked. The mother rabbit still awake at this time of the night. Antoine wanted to groan. Rhoda was this chirpy, bubbly mother, while tough enough to raise more than one kid on her own; was the last person he wanted to see right now.

She gasped, unable to see his right hand. And forearm. And elbow. He eyed her warily as her chest began to rose heavy and fast.

Please don't scream. Please just faint.

He hissed in pain, feeling his rag squelched what remained of his arm further into a goopy painty mess. Rhoda's eyes suddenly snapped focused at the repressed cry.

She went down to her knees, slinging his good arm around her shoulders to help him up. "Donnez-moi vos clés.(Give me your keys.)"

They stumbled a bit as they neared his door. Rhoda passed by his living room as soon as they entered.

"Où conservez-vous votre approvisionnement en peinture?(Where do you keep your paint supply?)" she calmly asked, although Antoine could feel her heart pounding from his side.

"Cuisine(Kitchen)," he croaked, his own chest rising with effort.

The rabbit helped him by the sink, letting running water washed down whatever melted paint and thinner remained.

"Merci," he muttered, grimacing at the liquefied goop that was once his red-furred arm and green suit sleeve.

But Rhoda was opening the cupboards, pulling out jars of paint and ink. She helped him out of his ruined coat, throwing it in a plastic bag she had found. Antoine watched with amazement when she unbuttoned his vest and shirt all businesslike. He would've said something innuendous but the solemn look in her eyes told him it wouldn't be appreciated.

He was leaning against the kitchen counter, shirtless with a mangled stump of an arm when she suddenly stilled. Rhoda turned to the shadowy balcony. Antoine began to reach for his gun but she stopped him.

"Jack, Rose, I know you're in there," she called out in English.

A pulse of silence. Then the shadows moved in the balcony. Rhoda opened its door.

"Rose, Jack, go back to sleep."

Rose shook her head. "We want to help." Meanwhile, Jack was goggling Antoine's paint-thinned stump. "No way," he breathed with wonder.

Her eyes became steely at her thirteen-year-old twins. They quickly stood in attention. They know that look. "This isn't negotiable. Go back to your rooms," she commanded. "Now. And don't forget to lock the doors."

Jack who was twice taller than her, whined. Reluctantly, they climbed back to their balcony and closed the door.

"Je n'étais pas suivi(I wasn't being followed)," Antoine wearily muttered, the acidic pain still fresh on his mind. He clumsily pulled a roll of body-sized canvas from his cupboard with his good hand.

But the steely look on her eyes remained. "Peut-être, mais je veux qu'ils soient en sécurité. Période.(Maybe, but I want them safe. Period.)"

"Et vous?(What about you?)" he asked, getting out a charcoal pencil. Kneeling down, he entered the stump into the paper. He cursed again. He was right-handed. Unfortunately, he was also right-handless.

Antoine saw her looked at his melted bicep. Her mouth pressed together as though she could feel it too. "Je peux prendre soin de moi(I can take care of myself)," Rhoda replied. "Allez dans le journal, je vais esquisser votre bras en arrière.(Go into the paper, I'll draw your arm back.)"

He looked at her skeptically. Few toons are artists themselves. Still, he entered the canvas.

As confirmed, it seems Rhoda wasn't one of those artists. He watched her hesitate. But then a lightbulb flashed over her head.

He startled when Rhoda began folding the canvas in half, lengthwise while he was still in it.

"Qu'est-ce que tu fais?(What're you doing?)"

"Je vais tracer votre autre bras(I'm going to trace your other arm)," she replied. The canvas paper was thick. However, when she pressed the surface of paper firmly, she was relieved to see the faint outline of his good arm. "Ne bougez pas.(Don't move.)"

The hours blended as Rhoda copied the curve of his muscle, to each outline of his fur, down to the claws of his digits. Slowly, Antoine began to feel the soft pencil tracing his arms. He twitched.

Her voice became motherly firm. "J'ai dit ne bougez pas.(I said don't move.)"

She unfolded the paper again. Antoine watched her wipe the sweat on her brow as she mixed tones of reddish paint to match the light and depth of his fur. Focusing on his newly drawn arm, she began to fill it with careful, sure strokes. He felt himself relax at the soft swirls of the brush.

The sun was rising when Antoine finally rose from the canvas, his right arm whole again. Rhoda leaned against the wall, panting. She turned to the balcony again.

"I thought I told you two to go back to sleep," she spoke out in English.

Slowly the twins appeared in their view, Jack shrugged sheepishly.

"Sorry. We're just standing guard, just in case."

But Rose said nothing, staring at Mr. Antoine's new hand that he was flexing with wonder.

Maman ushered them out of his flat. But Mr. Antoine called out their mother.

"Rhoda..."

Rose watched from their door. A yawning Jack rested his head on her chin, spreading her ears apart to accommodate his head.

"Oui?"

Mr. Antoine reached out to Maman, causing Jack to snap out of his sleepiness.

"Hey! Mettez une chemise!(Hey! Put on a shirt!)"

Maman startled at his voice. "Jack, don't be so rude," she chastised.

But Mr. Antoine only smiled.

"Merci...et au revoir."

XOXOXO

Jesse's Apartment, 1962

"After that, he just disappeared the next day," Rose said. "I don't think he really wanted to involve us with him. Or with what he does."

Jesse said nothing, watching her tap a key lightly.

"I knew Maman would panic at a kettle whistle," she said, almost with wonder. "But I never saw her like that." She smiled, tugging her own ear. "I wouldn't have thought about tracing his arm by folding him in half."

But then she shook herself as though remembering herself.

"I just want to tell you that if there's anything between him and Maman, that's it. But if you want, you can ask her." She paused, looking up to him, green eyes reflecting his own. "But that's not really the problem, is it?"

His mouth pressed into a line. "Rose-"

Her eyes smiled sadly. "I wished I had known you earlier. I wished Maman didn't leave. But we're here now," she leaned against his arm, taking his hand. "We're here."

Pa simply said nothing, only to put an arm around her. He was thankful for at least getting to know them. Jack's lively grin. Rose's quiet grace.

"Pa," Rose suddenly spoke up. "Maman tones down situations when she tells them about it. But we know you're mad at her." She scrunched the hem of her dress before smoothing it. "You did something and she- well..."

Jesse looked down at her.

"She what?"

Rose froze as though she realized she swept herself into a corner. "She's fine now. But-"

"Rose," he pressed.

"She had a breakdown and got herself drunk. But she's fine now," Rose added hurriedly. "Aunt Mina stopped her from visiting you again because it's starting to harm her." She rubbed her arm in a self-hug. Rose forced herself to look at their father. "Jack and I talked about it. We understand if you can't forgive her for what she did." she said, her voice calm with acceptance.

He stared at her. "Rose, I just needed some time."

But his daughter only gave him a smile of someone who was let down more than once.

"We used to want for the two of you to get back together," she admitted. "But it's okay if you don't."

She looked away. It's better that way, she didn't add.

XOXOXO

France, 1958

It was the chilly kind of early morning where you breath fog like dragons.

Eleven-year-old Jack paid no mind to it as he stomped towards the church.

"C'mon, Rose. Get up!"

"I can't," the lump of blankets in the bed said. "She was right."

He stopped shaking her shoulder for a moment. "Right about what?" Jack maneuvered around the bed so that he was seeing her face.

But Rose only ducked deeper in the blankets. "I never realized it until she said it."

"Realized what?" he pestered.

She mumbled something. Jack wrapped his rabbit ear around her form.

"I have a crush on Sister Marie," she whispered miserably.

Jack straightened up. "Okay," he shrugged. "Get up!"

"I can't!" the bed lump mumbled, curling tighter into itself. "It's wrong."

He looked at her aghast. "You're the one who always says 'early to bed, early to rise-'"

"Not that, Jack!"

He blinked. "Then what?"

Jack was beginning to feel the growl on his throat as he made his way to the room of their Sunday school.

Sister Marie startled when the door was slammed open.

"Bonjour, Jack. Où est votre sœur? (Hello, Jack. Where's your sister?)"

"Elle est malade(She's sick)," he bit. "Malade à cause de toi. (Sick because of you.)"

Sister Marie sighed as though she's been expecting it. "Je suis désolé, Jack- (I'm sorry, Jack-)"

"Vous lui avez fait sentir comme ces perverts qui touchent les petits enfants(You made her feel like those perverts who touch little kids)," he growled. "Quand elle vous aime juste pour qui vous êtes!(When she just likes you for who you are!)"

"Jack, la Bible dit-(Jack, the Bible says-)"

His fists slammed the table. "Alors que le livre malodorant, vieux est de le rendre pire pour les filles comme sa! (Then that smelly, old book is making it worse for girls like her!)" He slammed the table again, his fists stinging. "Parce que de des gens comme vous! (Because of people like you!)" he yelled, slamming the table again.

There was a gasp from the outside of the room. They both turned around to see the priest who had stopped on his tracks.

"Eh bien je n'ai jamais! (Well I never!)"

Back in their flat, Rhoda worriedly felt Rose's forehead. Her daughter said she was sick. But the air around her felt… ashamed.

"Rose, it's my job to protect you," she said, tipping her chin to meet her green eyes. "You can tell me anything."

Rose looked at her blankly before curling to her side again. Rhoda sighed, deciding Rhoda may need some time to think instead. She left her room.

The phone rang. Rhoda went to get it.

"Bonjour? Sœur Marie? ... Oui, elle va bien ... Quelle? Jack!? ... Je viens tout de suite. (Hello? Sister Marie?... Yes, she's fine…. What? Jack!?... I'll come get him right now.)"

After calling a trusted neighbor that she'll be gone for a while, she quickly grabbed her coat.

"Mon cher, Maman's just going to go out for 15 minutes. Emergency numbers in the kitchen. I already told Miss Angie to check on you," she hurriedly said before running to the door.

Rhoda took the car to cut down the 15-minute walk into a 5 minute drive. After her talk with Sister Marie, she had taken a sullen Jack with her.

The drive was short and quiet the whole way. Rhoda parked the car near the flat and sighed.

Apparently, Jack had marched into Sister Marie and yelled at her. The priest, who was passing by, heard his blasphemy and had him sent to a time-out corner.

She shook her head at what happened while memories flashed inside her mind.

Sister Rose looked at her sympathetically. "J'ai simplement expliqué à Rose que sa admiration est inoffensive. Mais les femmes qui sont avec des femmes sont immorales. (I simply explained to Rose that while her admiration is harmless, women being with women is immoral.)"

"Je vois (I see)," Rhoda only said, "Je vais chercher mon fils maintenant. (I'll be getting my son now.)"

The nun nodded in understanding. "Voulez-vous que votre fils ait une confession pour ses péchés? Le prêtre a dit qu'il ne pourrait jamais revenir ici à moins qu'il ait demandé pardon. (Would you like your son to have a confession for his sins? The priest said he could never return to this church unless.)"

She felt her teeth clenched. "Peut-être la prochaine fois. (Maybe another time.)"

"Nous avons aussi des conseils religieux pour l'homosexualité (We also have religious counselling for homosexuality)," Sister Marie said. "Il est toujours bon d'être corrigé avant qu'il ne soit trop tard. (It's always good to be corrected before it's too late.)"

Rhoda couldn't take it anymore. "Bien (Good)," she brightly chirped. "Tu devrais aller là-bas. (You should go there.)"

She turned her back on the nun's shocked expression.

Rhoda took a deep breath and slowly exhaled it.

"Jack..."

"I'm not going to take back what I said," he stubbornly spat.

"And I'm not going to make you," Rhoda replied. "But what do you think you will accomplish by yelling at her?"

Jack folded his arms with a scowl. "Make her feel bad as Rose does," he said. But even he could tell it sounded silly.

"And did it make everything better?" she unclipped her seatbelt. She got out of the car, letting him mull it over. "Don't forget to lock the door on the way out."

She took her time, climbing up to their flat. Her fingers rapped on Miss Angie's door to thank her for her time. Then she went inside their flat.

Rhoda stopped by the door of Rose's bedroom, studying the forlorn bundle that was her daughter.

Finally, she sat on the edge of her bed.

"Rose, Sister Marie called."

The bundle didn't move.

"I have to pull Jack out of Sunday school. He was trying to defend your honor by yelling at her."

The bundle slightly shuffled as though to put a hand on her face. Rhoda wished she was better prepared for her daughter's situation. But where would she even get a book for this?

"Rose," she paused. "I didn't write the Bible. I don't speak for the big boss upstairs." Although her voice was calm and low, her mind was frantically pulling at everything for advice. In the end, she gave the truth to the best of her knowledge.

"But here's what I know," she spoke clear and strong, "you're a good daughter and sister." Her hand clasped Rose's shoulder. "I couldn't ask for anything more."

The air around her daughter quivered, the shame surrounding her shook. Rhoda looked down on the floorboards. "Maybe it's a phase. Maybe it isn't. But," she kissed her head, "I'd be happy to welcome any special person in your life."

Her daughter only lay there in her bed. But Rose never forget that. Even when she got older.

Two years later, rumors arose after her dance with Monet. The girls shunned her away. It was like they were afraid she's going to molest them. Monet gave her a cold shoulder throughout the school year.

Pierre said that he didn't care. He could change her to love a boy. Rose apologized and turned him down again.

The girls who once admired her looks and wit suddenly avoided her. Probably suspicious if she ever saw any of them "that way".

Rose simply raised her chin, not caring at all, as she walked with Maman and Jack. The ones that matter would stay and they did.

XOXOXO

Kansas, 1962

Jack watched the pitbull across the room. Sweet had progressed by romping in the hills with him this past few days. But still, he tends to keep to himself. The dog was now curled up in a corner.

He pushed a smile on his face and took out a dog treat. "Here, Sweet."

But the good thing was, the air around him was calmer. There were still edges of fear around him. Jack wondered if dogs could also get nightmares.

He stilled when Sweet dolefully looked at him. Then slowly walked up to him with his tail close to himself. With a lick on his hand, he took the treat and lain down beside him.

Jack felt his eyes water.

"Good boy, Sweet!" he cried, scratching the dog's head and his body all over. "Good boy!"

The dog thumped his tail, as though pleased with him too.

When Jack got home that afternoon, he hugged Rhoda, close to sobbing.

Rhoda's feet dangled in the air, her arms pinned to her body with Jack's arms squeezing. "There, there," she said, as Jack tried not to bawl over her shoulder.

"He's healing, Maman!" he wailed. "He's still scared but he went and trusted me!"

It wasn't easy comforting a six-foot son when you're 4 feet tall. But Rhoda managed.

Bandana tied over her ears, she and Jack worked on the yard. Rhoda showed Jack how to use a scythe. While Jack swung, she gathered bundles of tall grass into a pile. She looked down on the grass stains on her old overalls. Just another memory imprinted in the cloth.

Jack stopped cutting grass when a car came over the horizon. Trucks would sometimes pass by. Old, beaten cars sometimes. But that one looked rather familiar.

He practically dropped the scythe he was holding. "Maman!"

Rhoda turned around, still holding a bundle of grass. The car came into a stop in front of the house.

Rose was the first to come out. "Jack!"

Jack dropped the scythe and raced towards her.

Jesse came out of the driver's seat, staring at the decrepit house. He and Rose began to walk towards it.

Rose shrieked when she was swept by a blur. But then she laughed as Jack tossed her up in the air.

"Wow, Jack. Did you missed me at all?"

Jack looked confused. "Miss you? I'm just here to ask for that dollar you borrowed."

"Look at you," she beamed, "you're wearing human clothes now."

Jack shrugged. "Work. These will be the last time I'd wear them before they'd get wash later." He tossed her up again. "Tomorrow was supposed to be when we're leaving. What are you two doing here?"

Rose patted the arms holding her. "There was news from the Acme Studios." But then she paused, something catching her attention.

"What-"

"Shh!" Rose said, turning his head to see the direction she was staring.

Maman was walking towards them. Or more specifically, towards Pa. The twins watched as their parents stopped in the middle of the trail. Their father in his dark red suit, dust and dirt unable to penetrate his stylish appearance. Their mother in old, human overalls, the sleeves of her grass-stained shirt rolled several times up her elbows.

They were silent for a moment, standing there stiffly.

"Wallace wants to talk to you before they would press charges," their father said.

Maman cocked her head to the side. "They still want me even after the scandal?"

"Apparently so."

"You could've just called."

Pa glanced back at them. "Rose missed you."

Their mother turned to the sky, judging the angle of the sun. She flinched when it just blinded her. "It's getting late. You two could stay over in the house." She paused, looking at the peeling paint of the porch. Not the best representation for an estate. "If you want."

Pa nodded as though he didn't mind. "I'd be driving the three of you back."

With that, their mother turned her back and headed for the house. Pa followed her, a light suitcase in each hand. She opened the door.

"Rose, Jack, what are you two just standing there? Come inside! I miss my girl!"

Jack put down Rose. "What's the next plan?"

But she only shook her head. "We wait."

"Is Pa still mad?"

Rose went silent. "I think so," she decided. "I did say I missed you two. But Pa decided to drive me here." She bit her lip. "How's Maman?"

"I think she's still sad about everything."

They both looked at the old house where all four of them would be staying.

"Merde,"Jack said.