Rose walked out of the Sellwood 5 and 10 store. She had a bag in her hand. She'd bought some socks for Henry and a little wooden airplane. The rain was coming down in light drizzle. Whenever it rained in June, Rose felt that she was being deprived of a summer that was already overdue. And her mother had always said, "Summer doesn't begin in Portland until the 4th of July. You know that Rosie." Henry would be out of school in a week and then her days would be full of activities. Rose decided to get a coffee at Lepzig and maybe a slice of pie. She walked into the restaurant and sat down at a small table in the back. As she waited for the waitress, she noticed Ed O'Neil at the counter. He didn't see her and so she felt that she could secretly study him, at least his back. Again he was wearing wool trousers. She noticed a portfolio beside his feet under the counter. Must be sketches, or pictures Rose thought. He was wearing a white starched shirt. His hair was trimmed short and in the back you could see where the razor cut close at the nape of his neck. She saw that he had a gold wrist watch on and he was eating a sandwich. Just in that moment, she realized that he was watching her inspect him in the mirror behind the counter. He smiled slyly and raised his eyebrows. Rose told herself to act natural. What would I do if it were Carmen? No. Not Carmen. What it if were Mr. Morgan who lived next door. What would I do then? Rose lifted her hand and waved. Mr. O'Neil slowly turned towards her and smiled. He picked up his coffee and plate and walked over. Rose could feel her eyes growing large and she could feel her face grow flush. This did not look proper.

"Hello Mrs. Miller. May I join you?" He said standing above her table.

"I was just getting a coffee. I've done some shopping. I don't know--"And she could feel the grooves of his fingerprint on her heart. She could feel them becoming raised, more defined.

"I'm sorry, you want to be alone?" He said. And started to turn back.

"No." she said, "please join me."

In the moments that followed Rose felt she was being gently paddled down a lake, The day was warm and it was an old fashioned scene with a parasol and a long dress. There were crickets and the water would ripple and splash as a fish rose to the surface. And there was nothing but sunlight. Rose didn't mind that Ed O'Neil was married or that he was an odd California man. She didn't mind any of it, because it was exactly what it was. And, it was like Carmen said. It was what she needed right now. There was no harm in it.

After they finished eating, He asked unexpectedly, "Can I walk you back?" But, then Rose realized how this might look. It dawned on her, although it should have earlier. But, how would it look for him to walk her home. They had no reason to know each other or further, to be alone together.

"Oh, I would like that but I don't think it is a good idea," Rose said. She put her finger through the handle of the coffee cup and moved the cup back and forth slowly. She watched the little brown ring form a circle.

"I have something I wanted to share with you," he said. She looked into his eyes. They were deep and she had the feeling of suffocating, as if she couldn't break free. And she didn't want to stop looking into his eyes. Inside of herself, she shook her thoughts. "stop," she thought to herself. But, this is how crushes were, foolish and tantalizing.

"Can I bring something by later? Would that be all right?"

Here was the moment where Rose made a decision. She knew as she said the words that she was deciding what would come next. That she was entering into an agreement. She didn't know where it would lead or what would happen. She knew it was dangerous because it wasn't something people really did. Not anyone she knew. She was aware that there was no confusing a an infatuation with what she was about to do. There was a difference between Carmen and her dentist and Rose and Ed O'Neil. The path was splitting: a woman does not spend time alone with a married man. The first time, when he came over, it was an innocent mistake something that had unraveled-- but now it would be a choice.

"I'm going right home," Rose said, she heard her voice falter. It cracked a little when she finished her thought, "If you'd like you can bring it by. I have to watch for my son Henry at 3:15—he walks home from school." Rose paused a moment and then looked back up at him.

His eyes were looking intently at her as if to say So, we have a deal. Then he said, "Let's shake on it?"

Rose was surprised at first. But, then she could see he was joking with her. He held out his hand and she lifted hers. She put it in his hand, "All right, Mr. O'Neil."

He smiled and stood up, "All right, Mrs. Miller."

When he walked up the walk way he had his portfolio with him and a book. He was walking slowly to the door. Rose peered out of the window and watched him. He had the gait of a tall person, but he was only a few inches taller than her. Maybe 5'9" He knocked gently on the door. When she opened it, he smiled at her. She smiled back at him.

"Come in," she said. And he seemed familiar with the house. He walked right into the living room and stood for a moment.. "Would you like tea?" she asked.

"Are you having some, Rose?" he said and his voice had an almost apologetic tone.

"It's really not a bother."

"Why don't we sit an talk a while. Your son will be home soon. We just had coffee."

Rose sat down on the couch and he sat on the same couch further down.

"I meant to come back," he finally said, "and bring your picture. I'm sorry."

Rose could feel herself blush. Because she had wanted him to come back. He had ignited a curiosity in her. Touching her hair. And, here he was sitting almost in the same position, close enough to reach over and arrange it once again.

"You have your hair up again." He said, "Is that how you prefer it?"

"I just...I always wear it like this." She recognized that when they were alone, he was different. He pushed through the walls of propriety. They didn't exist when they were alone together. He said things a lover would say. And then she knew that when he had touched her hair out in the garden, he was treating her as a lover then too. She'd suspected it, but it had been ambiguous back then. Now she knew. She raised her eyebrows and looked at him.

"What?" he asked, and he drew back from her a little. "You look as if you have just formed an opinion about me."

"No," she said, "Well, yes."

"Oh? Well," he said, "It looks nice. Your hair. The way the waves frame your face. It's very nice."

Rose felt an elation. She also felt sickened, a little. A part of her felt like an actress. That this wasn't real, but she didn't' care. She was so alone. And, so empty. And this house was full of Nick and what he had done. Left them.

Ed leaned down and picked up the black portfolio. He placed it on his knees and untied the strings. He slowly pulled a small piece of paper from inside. "This is for you," he said. He handed it to her and watched her as she examined it. It was a single black red rose. She could see how the petals seemed velvety even though he had painted it in heavy broad strokes. The bud was just opening. The inside of the flower was a velvety red. And around the bottom of the bud where it met the stem, it was almost black. In small block letters was written "Rose, 1944."

"It's very lovely," she said. It was a beautiful painting. She wondered about the picture he said he wanted to sketch of her. Did he say that just to have her take down her hair, just to open her heart up. To ignite the longing. To touch her face?

"I have the sketch of you. Actually, a painting." he said, "in my studio." She looked up at him. Now she felt serious. She was listening intently to what he would say next.

"I'd like to show it to you, but I'd like to keep it. Unless you object?"

She shook her head and whispered "No. I don't object." She looked down at the floor. The pomegranate rug was beneath her and she traced the lines of the burgundy fruit with her eyes.

"What is it?" he asked.

She didn't want to say that she felt this was wrong. She didn't know the difference between her feelings and the truth. Again, she questioned herself. Maybe he was just an artist. Maybe he was just bringing a sketch to her. He was forward, but perhaps this was his way with all women. Harmless charm. But then, in a moment he was leaning next to her and had his hand on her neck. His cheek was pressed against hers, "you are so beautiful," he whispered. She let out a heavy breath and as she did he turned towards her and kissed her. Her heart was beating fast and she could feel his hands in her hair, slowly removing her hair clips. He had his fingers in her hair and she was leaning into him, kissing him back.

"I want to see you without any clothes. I want to feel you. Can we do that, Rose?"

Rose was so breathless, she just stood up and took his hand. They walked up to her room and lay down on her bed.

He began unbuttoning her shirt. "I found a poem. Rose, its about you."Its by John Clare, do you know him?" He was talking urgently. As if he had to tell her this quickly, before it was too late.

Rose was frozen, suspended in time and she couldn't' concentrate. She just shook her head. "No," she said, "I don't know that poet." He unbuttoned her shirt and opened it gently as if her were parting the petals of a flower. He leaned in and kissed her. She wore a silk camisole top and he ran his fingers over it, over the lace, then over her breasts.

"I think of you all of the time ever since we met," he said. "The poem is called secret love," He removed his clothes and she removed the rest of hers. They both lay naked across the bed and Rose could see the reflection of Jeff's smooth back in the mirror on the armoire. He leaned down and kissed her belly. He ran his finger over the stretch marks from when Charlie was born. She sat up and instinctively tried to cover them. But he looked up at her and shook his head, "No. Don't. You are beautiful. He ran his finger over her belly. And then he moved beside her and leaned close to her. He kissed her cheek and then in her ear he whispered the first verse of the poem:

"I hid my love when I was young till I

Couldn't bear the buzzing of a fly"

He kissed behind her ear, and whispered

"I hid my life despite

Till I could not bear to look at light:

I dare not gaze upon her face

But left her memory in each place;"

And, then he kissed her again, rubbed his lips across her cheek, "Oh Rose," he said,

"Where'er I saw a wild flower lie

I kissed and bade my love good-bye."

Before they made love, Rose looked at him intently. She looked worried. She whispered, "Please Ed, don't tell anyone."

He leaned in closer and said softly, almost inaudibly. "I won't. I'll never tell anyone."