It took a few days, but Jack and Rose finally had a talk with Sylvia about Cal. They kept things as simple as possible, explaining that Rose had once been engaged to him, and it ended when she met Jack, whom she preferred. They left out the details of the sinking, and of Cal's devious, violent behavior toward the both of them. All Rose said was, "You can't trust him. You aren't old enough to know everything yet, but believe me. He isn't what he appears to be." Sylvia mostly accepted this explanation, though she couldn't help wondering just what Cal had done to upset her parents so much, all these years later.

Jack explained matters to Ruth the morning after the incident. As with Sylvia, he kept it simple. He left Cal out entirely, deciding it would just stir up too many unpleasant feelings and memories if he were mentioned. The rapport he and Ruth had established was still somewhat shaky in his estimation, and there was no reason to test it yet. Rose agreed. All he told Ruth was there was a problem at school, involving Sylvia and a strange man. She came to her own conclusions. He wasn't technically lying, but Jack still felt slightly guilty for misleading her.

But then again, he told himself, Cal could have been up to anything. It was a miracle he hadn't harmed Sylvia in any way.

...

Rose twisted the phone cord around her fingers, anxiety buzzing in her stomach. Each ring added another piece of the knot. Finally, Max answered.

"Max, this is Rose," she said, with a smile. "I know it's been a few days since-"

"Rose!" he exclaimed. "I wondered when I'd hear from you. I was starting to think you didn't get my message."

"No, I got it. I've just had a lot to deal with lately," she replied. "I'm sorry. I meant to get in touch with you sooner." She allowed herself to sit back in the chair. "So, Jack tells me you enjoyed the play?"

"I did. It was wonderful. But you know that already."

"I don't," she said.

"You wrote it. You have to know."

"Like many artists, I'm hardly fit to judge my own work," she said, with a laugh. "But you like it, and Jack likes it, so that's encouraging."

"And you're thinking about staging it?"

"Yes. Definitely," she said.

"Good. Good, I think we can work something out," Max replied. "I've been talking to some people, and I've got a theater lined up starting in about two weeks. I didn't really have any projects for it yet, but your script would be perfect if we can get the financing together."

Rose's heart fluttered. "Are you serious?" she said eagerly. "We can start that soon?" She ignored his mention of financing. The money would come together. During her time in the theater, she'd never seen a show fail to make its monetary goals. Some wealthy patron of the arts, or three, always opened their purse. And not to mention, she had a widely respected show to her credit.

"I'm serious," Max assured her. "Do you want me to go ahead and start feeling out potential backers?"

"Yes, of course!" She forced her voice to a normal level. "Please do," she said.

"Why don't you come down to my office the day after tomorrow?" he suggested. "I'll know a little more then, and we can go over the details. Around ten?"

"Perfect. I'll be there."

"Good. And Rose, thanks for sending this to me," Max said. "It'll be good to work with you again."

An elated Rose hung up the phone. Another show. It was really happening. She wasn't going to be just someone's wife, the muse behind the artist; she was going to be an artist in her own right. Her past success hadn't been a fluke. People believed in her work. All those hours spent writing and wracking her brain for the right words, the right names, scenarios, for natural dialogue that flowed easily, all of it hadn't been a waste of time after all.

For the first time in weeks, Rose felt in control again. She could do everything. Be with Jack. Have babies. Make art. And nothing would get in the way. It was all coming together the way she dreamed it would.

...

"I spoke to Max today," Rose said. She added a plate to the stack in her hand. "He called before, remember?" Jack nodded. Ruth gave her a questioning look.

"Let me help," Jack offered, taking the plates from her hands.

"I can do this," Rose said.

"I know." Jack grinned. "And I can help. So, what'd he say?"

"Basically what he told you," Rose replied. "He likes the play, and he wants to talk about doing something with it. He has a theater we can use, and I'm meeting with him tomorrow to discuss potential investors."

"Really? Rose, that's great!" Jack kissed her. He hugged her with one arm. "I'm glad you're doing this," he added.

"So am I," she said. "I need to do this."

"I know you do."

They shared a look, and everything else melted away. For a moment, it was just the two of them. They understood exactly how the other felt; they weren't just friends and lovers; they were two artists connecting.

Ruth cleared her throat. Rose laughed, slightly emabarrassed. Jack kissed her hair. "I'll finish this," he said.

"Do you think this is a good idea?" Ruth asked.

"Of course I do," Rose said. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Rose, in your condition? You intend to run around the city, meeting with strange men? Exhausting yourself?"

"Max isn't a strange man. I've known him for years," Rose replied. "We've worked together before. He helped get my first show going. It's perfectly respectable."

"Maybe on your end."

"There's nothing to worry about," Rose said. "And as for exhausting myself, that won't be a problem. I know my limits. One meeting isn't going to overtax me."

"Well, are you at least going to have Jack go with you?" Ruth said this as Jack came back from the kitchen. "Go with her where?"

"To my meeting tomorrow. Mother has some concerns," Rose explained. "I've been trying to tell her everything is fine."

"Reason with her," Ruth said, turning her gaze on Jack.

He looked from one to the other, an urge to step back into the kitchen suddenly upon him. "I'm not gonna tell you what to do, Petal," he said, choosing his words carefully. "But I'll go, if you want me to."

"You don't have to do that, Jack," Rose said. "You have to be at the gallery in the morning anyway."

"I can move things around," he offered.

"You've been doing that a lot lately. Maybe too much," she added.

"It's not a problem. Everything gets done," Jack said.

"That may be, but you don't have to do this. In fact, I'd rather go alone, if you don't mind."

"Course you can," he said.

"It's just, this is my project, and it's still so early," Rose explained. "I want to figure things out on my own first."

"I understand, Rose," Jack assured her.

"Well, I don't," Ruth said. "What kind of woman embarks on a business transaction without her husband?"

"An independent one," Rose said, without malice.

"There's no need to prove anything, Rose," Ruth replied. "I know things are done somewhat differently in the theater, but I can't imagine women in your condition go around putting plays together. Alone."

"Maybe I'll be the first," Rose said. "Someone has to be."

"Don't you think it's unseemly?What will people say?" Ruth said.

"I'm not sure I care," Rose said.

"Opinions matter," Ruth said. "You have to care."

Frustration welled up within Rose, threatening to spill out into her words. She kept her face impassive, and reminded herself her mother was just expression concern. "Maybe some do," she said. Rose hated it, but she knew Ruth was right, at least, partly. Still, she couldn't let that stop her from pursuing her passions.

...

The pain was like a knife between her eyes. Rose's stomach heaved, and the last of its contents were gone. She let herself lean back against the wall, breathing slowly. This had to end eventually. Every day couldn't be like this. She'd never make it through the rest of the pregnancy at this rate.

There was a knock on the door. "Rose?"

"I'll be out in a minute, Jack," she called. She heard him hesitate before walking away.

When she emerged from the bathroom her face was clean; her hair was swept back and pinned loosely, and she wore a fresh coat of lipstick to hide the paleness in her lips. To anyone else, she would have looked fine, but Jack's keen eye saw past the surface. "You alright?" he asked. He put a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm fine," Rose said cheerfully.

"You sure?"

"I was just a bit nauseated," she replied.

"You're still up for the meeting?"

"Of course," she said.

"And you can handle it by yourself?" he said, his eyes still on her face.

"Yes, Jack, I can handle it. Has my mother been talking to you?"

"No. I just wanna be sure you're alright," he said.

"Well, I am," Rose said. "I should go. I'm walking Sylvia to schol."

"You sure you're fine about that?"

"Walking her to school?" she said.

"I mean, what happened," Jack said. "We haven't really talked about it since then."

"There's nothing to talk about. It happened. She's alright. It's over. In the past. I don't want to think about it. We won't hear from him again. Whatever he wanted..." Rose let the thought hang.

Jack put his arm around her waist. "He won't get," he finished. "I'll make sure he doesn't."

Rose let him pull her closer. She rested her head on his shoulder and breathed in his scent. Gently, he rubbed her back. It felt so good to be held like this. His arm was strong around her, his touch gentle but reassuring. She believed him when he said he'd handle Cal if ever he appeared again. No-one else could've made her believe it, but no-one else was quite like Jack, were they?

...

"Rose! It's good to see you!" Max stood up as she came in. He held out his hand, with a smile. She took it. "It's good to see you too," she said.

"Sit down. Do you need anything? Water?"

"No, I'm fine, thank you," she said. She'd worn a loose dress on purpose, and now she worried it hadn't helped. Self-consciously, she folded her hands in her lap, covering her belly with her arms.

"You look different," Max said.

"I hope that's a compliment."

"It is. You look fantastic. Marriage agrees with you," he said. "I was worried when I heard. I thought we'd lost you."

"I could never completely give up my work," Rose said.

"Your husband might not agree," he pointed out.

"Jack supports me. He's an artist himself. He understands."

"Really?" he said. "An actor?"

"No," Rose said, shaking her head. "I'm afraid he's the kind you artist you find dull."

"Oh. He paints, does he? Well, we can overlook that since you seem to like him so much," Max replied goodnaturedly.

"How generous of you," Rose laughed.

"Shall we get down to business?"

"Of course," she said.

"I already told you I've got a theater lined up. It's on Aurora and Kent. Small, but I think it'll work. If we're as successful as I hope, we'll move somewhere else anyway."

"Do you really think it'll be that successful?" she said.

"Don't you?"

"I don't like to speculate about things like that," Rose replied. "It's just asking for trouble."

"That's why people like me exist. Someone has to do it."

"You mentioned potential investors on the phone," she said.

"There aren't many, yet, but I already had a few interested in backing a show. Any show. They don't care. They just want credit as patrons of the arts." Max said the last phrase in a mock haughty tone. "So, I think I can count on them. One guy's just doing it for his girlfriend. She likes that sort of thing. A Bohemian, art world person," he added. "You know, the way you used to be, before marriage made you respectable."

"I was always respectable," Rose said, rolling her eyes.

"I'm only teasing. I know you were. You never let yourself be seen with me, did you?" There was a wistful note in his voice. His look grew softer, and Rose sat straighter in her chair. "We're friends," she said. "We've always been friends. You know that."

"Yes, I know. Anyway, should I keep making arrangements?"

"Please do," she said. "I want to get this going as soon as possible."

"Eager to get back to work?"

"Yes." Rose didn't add she wanted the show as complete as possible before the baby was born, and she had to leave temporarily. If Max hadn't noticed her pregnancy, she wasn't going to tell him. Not yet, at least.

...

Rose wrapped her arms around Jack from behind. He reached back and gave her arm a squeeze, but his focus remained on the table, where a doorknob lay in pieces. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, revealing forearms that hadn't quite lost their tan yet. His hands maneuvered the small pieces. Rose watched, fascinated by his movements, and by the shape of his fingers. She didn't know what had come over her, but the moment she saw him, she wanted him. Desire burned through her. Her cheeks felt hot, and she wondered if he felt it radiating off her.

But judging by his loyalty to the minor repair at hand, the answer was, unfortunately, no. Jack hadn't the slightest idea of the thoughts running through his head. He didn't realize she was even looking at his hands, much less imagining herself biting the space between his thumb and index finger.

"Jack," she said.

"Hmm?"

"Is it absolutely necessary for you to do that right now?" she asked. She kissed his neck.

"It needs to be done," he said. "The lock sticks."

"But it's a door inside the apartment, right?"

"Yeah," he said.

Rose kissed his ear. "So, it can wait."

"I guess, but-" His words evaporated as she nipped at his neck. Her hand moved across his chest, finding his shirt buttons. "You want it to wait then?" he said, turning to look at her. Rose smiled and nodded. "It can wait," she said.

"Why now?" he asked.

"There has to be a reason?"

"No," he said. "Course not." He pulled her closer; his hands pressed against her back. Rose's heart beat faster. It felt like years had passed since he last touched her. He brushed his lips across hers, and she tilted her head up, kissing him eagerly. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Rose," he murmured.

"We're alone, Jack," she whispered.

"When did that happen?"

"Mother took Sylvia out for tea," she replied. She kissed him again. "They'll be gone for hours."

Jack swung her up into his arms. "Remind me to thank her," he said. Rose laughed. She kissed him as he carried her into the bedroom. Gently, he laid her down. He hovered above her, his hand on her cheek.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

His voice was low. "Nothing. Just looking at you." He kissed her, tenderly, but with a hunger. Rose pulled his shirt off, tossing it aside. Her hands moved across his back, over his shoulders, before making their way down to his hips. One of his hands slipped beneath her skirt, as the other unbuttoned her dress. He caressed her thighs, pleased when she moaned softly.

Jack lifted her up into his lap. She wriggled out of her her clothes. Her curls fell around her breasts, leaving only their soft curves visible. He pulled her closer. He brushed back her hair and kissed her throat. She was so soft. She was perfect. Nothing else mattered. It was just the two of them.

Jack had underestimated how much being alone changed things. They'd had so little time to themselves before. He was more concerened with fitting into their lives now than with anything else. Being with Rose, in whatever way he could, was enough. He never felt like either of them was holding anything back, but as Rose's cries grew louder, he realized he was wrong.

...

Rose's eyes sparkled. As they moved around the kitchen, they found reasons to touch one another. They reached for the same spoon, the same bowl. Their hands brushed, their hips bumped. It was a game. Ruth tried to ignore it. She exiled herself to the dining room while dinner was prepared. There was nothing untoward in their behavior, at least, nothing she could point out, but the feeling around them made her uncomfortable. The air was heavy with pleasure and desire. She didn't want to know what happened while they were home alone, and she fervently hoped Rose wouldn't feel the need to confide in her. Bearing Jack's presence was one thing, but this, well, that was quite another thing.