The third day –the last of these days-- was a continuation of the second day. Rose woke beside Ed and his arm was draped over her chest. He breathed softly in and out, his face against the pillow. He seemed so gentle and beautiful to her. She lay with his arm around her, not moving. She could smell his soapy smell. It was now mixed with a faint sweaty scent. She inhaled deeply. How could someone who belonged to someone else seem so infinitely generous with her? She rolled over to her side and he adjusted his arm, in his sleep he found another curve of her body where it fit neatly. She gently ran her fingers over his wisps of light brown hair. She noticed how smooth his forehead was, his face. His lips were perfectly formed, a pale pink, wet just where they touched together. He inhaled deeply and then went back to his rhythmic sleep. 

I want to know you, she whispered in her mind. I want to know your art. Your paintings. I want to know about your childhood.. What do you think about the world? She turned to the window, the lace curtains hung still. Outside, the rain was coming down, drizzling. The sky was a dull gray. Rose knew that the warm, early summer days had retreated again. It would rain and stay gray until July.

She looked back at Ed. He opened his eyes slowly. He closed them again for a moment, then he opened them. 

He pulled her closer to him and put his face next to hers. "It is so nice to wake next to you." Their warm bodies came together naturally. It was a rhythm they created together. She was no longer over taken, but softened and they formed something just in being together. Something separate from each of them on their own. He made love to her again and she closed her eyes and felt the colors of summer return to her: the warmth of the garden. He touched her her face. That moment held every one of their moments together as lovers:  his lips on her ring finger when he'd walked through the door, his hands undressing her as he led her to the couch, his deep stare across the table from her at breakfast. 

After they made love she lay next to him. He lay on his side gently tracing her bare stomach. "I want you to be the mother of my children," he whispered. "I want you to have my child." He moved slowly down and kissed her stomach. He returned to her and kissed her lips before he said,  "I want my child to be part you."

She felt awkward, frozen. It was such a deeply intimate thing to say.

"How could I?" she asked.

He looked up at her as if he had been awakened from a dream. "I love touching you."

Later she ran a bath for him. She filled the tub with warm water and put some soap to make a bubbles. Once it was ready he slipped into the water and leaned his head back, with his eyes closed. The room was steamy and warm. She was dressed in trousers and a pink rayon shirt. She wiped the condensation from the mirror, and looked at her reflection. Her hair curled up more in the steam and framed her face. She looked like a different person. Her cheeks were flush. She combed her hair down and it formed dark waves. She parted her hair and put a silver comb on each side. She slipped the earrings Ed had given her on. She powdered her face and applied some coral lipstick.

She sat down on the edge of the tub. He pulled a soapy hand from the water and reached for her.

"Come in here with me," he said.

'I'm all dressed," She reached for his hand and lifted his to her lips. She kissed it gently.

"Come in anyway." He said.

She held his hand in hers. She bent down and kissed it again. Then she looked back up at him. "Can I look in your portfolio?" she asked.

He raised his eyebrows and hesitated.

"I don't know you at all," she said. "Isn't that why you brought it here? To show me?"

He looked down at the water and then sat up. "Sure," he said, "you can look." Then sunk back into the tub and closed his eyes.

Downstairs she retrieved the leather case from beside the couch. She had glanced at it several times since he'd left it there yesterday. She wanted to see what he created. She wanted to know more of him. She slowly unzipped the case. She put her hand inside and pulled out a stack of papers. Some of them had sketches, and some had ink and water color prints. On the top of the stack were studies of flowers. There was a beautiful bearded purple-blue iris, first sketched in pen and then colored with water color. She traced the lines with her eyes. Rose bit her lip and studied the picture. It captured the simple beauty and curiosity of the flower. The petals were folded over and the purple grew deeper near the bottom of the petal. She turned the page over, on the reverse it said, in pencil "Iris 1944." She remembered the picture of the rose he had given her. She looked at several more pictures, a delphinium. A grape vine with red, green leaves and luscious black grapes hanging in generous bunches. All from her garden. She placed the pictures face up on the couch. She moved to the floor. She wanted to look at them all together, she wanted him to come downstairs and tell her about them.

Between the pictures of flowers were some smaller sketches. Done in pencil with pastel. They were pictures of a woman. At first, Rose thought maybe they were pictures of her. She started to smile, but as she lifted the first picture and examined it, she could see that it was a drawing of Margaret. It sent a sick feeling through her chest. In the first picture, Margaret is smiling and she looks youthful, she looks shy. Her lips have been smoothed over with a rosy pastel crayon. She imagined that same intent look on his face as he rubbed his finger over the drawing of his wife's lips. She put the picture on her lap and looked up at the stairs. Why did he bring these pictures into her house? She looked back down at the stack. There were maybe ten sketches. In one of them, there is a picture of Margaret and the baby. The baby? A flood of regret poured through her. She thought of Henry. She reached up and felt her short hair. What was she doing?

She felt an anger rise in her. It was a strong fury. She wanted him to leave. She told herself to look at the rest of the pictures. It would give her strength. The more she looked at them the more certain she was. She piled the pictures up together and started to put them back in the portfolio. As she did, she saw that there were a stack of photographs inside. She reached into the portfolio and removed them. They carried the smell of leather from the case. She leaned forward in disbelief. There he was with Margaret. In one picture they were standing in front of a large house and behind that a country scene. That must be California, she thought. She examined the picture. Both of them looked younger. In the next picture, an even younger Margaret with long black hair was standing with an older couple. Her parents? Ed's parents? Rose was enraged. She put her hands to her lips feeling her slow breaths. She reached for another picture but didn't pick it up, then put her hands up to her lips again. She felt the collar of her shirt and pulled it together around her neck. She looked up and Ed was standing at the bottom of the steps. He had on his t-shirt and his trousers.

"What is this?" she said angrily, still seated at the floor. The drawings and photographs around her.

"I'm sorry—" he started.

"It wasn't a mistake," she said. "you brought them here on purpose."

"That's not true."

"Oh it isn't?" She was so angry that she wished Nick were there to help her control herself. She stood up and walked towards him. She felt her hands form a fist. She kept them by her side. She looked at him for an answer. He seemed hurt, but humored by the situation.

"I want you to leave. I don't want you to come back!" she shouted.

"Shhh. He said, "someone will hear you."

"Don't tell me to be quiet. I want you to leave!"

"I'm sorry he said and he walked towards her. He reached for her and she pushed him hard. This time he grabbed her arms and held her.

"Stop it!" she yelled. But, he put his arms around her. He held her tightly. He held his face close to her, When he held her in his arms, it was strong and she couldn't release herself. "Let go of me, Ed!"

"I'm sorry" he said to her, his face close to hers.

There was nothing for her to do but start crying. She was so hurt and angry. And he kept her in the tight embrace and he kept his face close to hers. She turned her head away and cried. 

He took her face in his hands. "Look at me," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

She opened her eyes.

"It was wrong." He said.

She felt jealous and angry. She felt betrayed by him.

"I wanted to see if you loved me," he said to her. And, the way he said it settled things. She stopped crying and took a deep breath.

"What?" she whispered.

"I had to know," He said.

"Loved you?" she whispered even softer.

"Because," he said, "I love you. I have loved you since the beginning of time." He leaned closer and kissed her. She kissed him back. But, now his kiss made her feel desperate. It was like a thirst. It was something she didn't want to give in to but she had to satisfy her desire. She didn't like it.

She pulled away and looked at him. "You're not a nice person." She said and pushed him away from her. "You are a mean person. I don't love you," she said. "So now you see. See how your trick worked. How could I? You're a liar" When she said liar she screamed it. He raised his eyebrows and stared at her without blinking.

"I want you to leave. I don't want you to come back here. Ever!"

He reached for her but she pulled farther away. Her face was stern. Her lips pulled tight. She was taking deep breaths and it made her chest move up and down. She clenched her fists because she wanted so desperately to pick something up and throw it at him. She put her hands on her waist.

He put his hand to his mouth and began to glare at her. He dropped his hand back down. "You want me to leave right now?" he asked angrily.

"Yes I do!" She said. Then she yelled, "No! I wish you had never come here. You're a terrible person."
He collected his pictures, hurriedly put them in his portfolio. "You knew I was married. He said. "You sat right next to my wife at the garden club!"

That infuriated her. Her eyes grew furious and she rushed towards him. She raised her fist to him and he grabbed it, held it tight. He stared at her coldly, then said softly, "You know its true. You knew about her all along."

"Get out!" she yelled.

"Gladly!" he said. He picked up his coat and rushed out of the front door. The door closed with a "clunk!" Then it was silent. Rose was breathing so hard that she thought she wouldn't be able to catch her breath. She paced around the living room, trying to calm herself. She looked on the buffet in the dining room. There was the picture of the rose that he had given to her. Her eyes glared at it. She rushed over to it and ripped it to pieces.