Rambling Rose Page #7

she had been so much on my mind.

Daddy?

Hello, old man. How you doing?

I'll be damned. Look who's here.

Good to see you, son.

- You too, sir.

You're looking chipper.

- You, too, how do you feel?

You bring any Yankee whiskey with you?

I don't mind. I'm only 133.

Now what's this about Rose?

You said you "sort of" heard from her?

There is some sad news.

I would have written, but I thought

I'd wait until you were here.

When I look at the river,

I feel like I'm a boy again.

I was 13 when I saw Rose

coming across the bridge

carrying that suitcase.

I remember that suitcase.

Well?

We have our drinks.

We're out here on the porch.

You have prepared me for it.

Rose isn't well.

Isn't that it? She's sick again?

No, son. She's dead.

Rose is dead?

I'm afraid so.

About a week ago.

Her husband phoned me. She asked him

to if anything happened to her.

You have

knocked me for a loop, old man.

I know.

You loved her.

You loved her, and so did I.

It was an awful shock to me, too, son.

Rose was so alive...

It's hard to believe.

Nobody lives forever,

and who'd want to?

That's a horrible thing to say.

Get a grip, boy. She had a good life.

She met Mr. Right.

What are you blubbering about?

I'm not blubbering.

Rose isn't dead, son, not really.

Some of us die,

and some of us don't.

Rose lives.

Don't worry about it, boy.

She's at rest with mother

in the creative universe.

She's at rest with mother.

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