A White Rose Page 7

  Dakota laughed; a sharp, bitter laugh. “No. Science has proven there's no God. So all this debate about good and evil is pointless. Suffering is nothing more than survival of the fittest.”

  Jaelynn pursed her lips. When she spoke again, it was with a wry smile. “Are you saying that my life is meaningless?” There was no offense in her tone, only a suggestion.

  Dakota shrugged. “I guess I am—But so is mine. We're just animals, hon. The best you can do is have fun and enjoy life as much as possible while you still have it.”

  “Eat, drink and be merry.”

  “Exactly.”

  “—Until someone else out there having a good time and enjoying his life collides with you and destroys your life.”

  An impatient exhale. “Not everyone is responsible, love, what can I say? You should enjoy your own life but have respect for others at the same time.” At this, she thought of the marriage she'd broken up several years ago after spending four months seducing the husband.

  She pushed the guilty memory far away and focused on the debate at hand.

  “But why?” Jaelynn leaned forward. “Why should we care about others at all unless it personally benefits us somehow? Survival of the fittest, right? The fact that most of us have this inner sense of caring for others in a sacrificial way indicates we aren't animals—that we were created to be something more than animals. Animals live ruthlessly—without morals of any kind.”

  Dakota twirled a lock of hair around her finger, very much interested in this spunky young woman who had at first seemed so demure and child-like. “I disagree,” she said, feeling a spark of defensiveness but enjoying the exchange all the while. “People think their lives are 'more meaningful' than animals simply because we're highest on the food chain and have evolved with the highest level of intelligence. That's all it is! Give the lesser animals another couple million years and maybe they'll have morals, too.”

  Jaelynn chuckled and lifted her coffee mug, finishing it off. She resumed eye contact with a thoughtful half smile. A pink flush had suffused her cheekbones. “I see where you're coming from,” she said. “But I've a question for you: How do morals tie in with 'natural selection'?”

  “Easy. We help each other out because our chances of survival are greater when people band together.”

  “But that suggests a directing intelligence though, and natural selection is purely biological. Natural selection doesn't encourage self-sacrifice—in fact, the selfish are much more likely to reproduce. Just look at the Holocaust for example, and all other acts of ethnic cleansing in the past century—versus those who courageously fought for equality. I don't see biology at work here. If anything, I see a continual waging war—good against evil.”

  Dakota shook her head from side to side slowly. “You know what? I like you, girl,” she said with a grin. “You're a feisty little chick.”

  Jaelynn laughed.

  “And your theories are interesting, I'll give you that,” she went on, hoping her tone wasn't condescending, “but they're way too philosophical.” She glanced at Jason's back. He was down on one knee, working the lower area of the painting. She hoped he didn't think she was being rude to his sister. “Sweetie, evolution is a fact,” she said, facing Jaelynn head on. “A sci-en-ti-fic fact. If you don't 'believe' in science, then you're being ignorant. It's just one more reason why I don't believe in God. I have logic and science in one hand and a far-fetched belief system in the other. Why would I choose the latter?”

  Jaelynn smiled, eyes tender. “I can only speak for myself,” she said. “I know God is real because he's shown himself to me many times. And I don't deny science—evolution is only a theory of science. Yes—we can see natural selection at work, but its ability to create change is extremely limited. There's a lot of good evidence supporting Intelligent Design and there's plenty of evidence supporting special creation as well.” She paused, considering. “Since no one can go back in time and see first hand how the earth came to be, we have to believe it with faith. There are different ways to interpret the same scientific evidence.”

  “Different interpretations, my butt. It's just outright denial, honey.”

  Undeterred, the girl went on. “It's true some things can't be debated, like the law of gravity. But when it comes to the origins of the universe, the Big Bang can't be recreated in a petri dish or observed in a lab. So how can it be a fact?”

  Dakota nodded, stretching out her legs and clasping her fingers together behind her head. “Well, maybe if we had ten million years to sit and stare at a petri dish, we could see something happen.” She laughed. “So, how about we agree to disagree? My brain is starting to hurt.”

  Jaelynn chuckled, rubbing her thigh as though it were sore. “Okay, okay,” she said, acquiescing pleasantly. “I have a couple of gardening questions actually”—she grinned—“and you're just the person to ask.”

  Dakota relaxed, glad for the change of subject. “Now, that's more like it. 'Scuse me one sec though.” She got up and knelt next to Jason who was down on his left hip, right knee up as he worked on the fine details of the lily pads and orange and white fish of what was to be a koi pond.

  “It's not in the photo,” she said, putting a hand on his right thigh and leaning over his knee, pointing, “but I would love a lil' green frog right there next to that water lily.” He nodded his consent and glanced at the hand on his thigh, meeting her eyes with a look that said, “Tell me you're not serious.”

  Smiling all innocence, she stood up and returned to her chair, winking at Jaelynn. The girl was rubbing her thigh again and seemed uncomfortable; perhaps embarrassed.

  “So. You had a gardening question?”

  “Right.”—a curt nod—“My mom planted a bunch of flowers along the front of the house and they aren't thriving very well. Any tips?”

  Dakota cast another glance at Jason, enjoying his curved, sitting form, and absently asked Jaelynn what type of flowers had been planted and how much sun the front of the house received. “If you're interested,” she said, peeling her eyes from Jason, “I teach a basic gardening course every Thursday evening at the greenhouses. The course takes four weeks. You and your mom are welcome to sit in on a class sometime—see if you're interested in signing up. We're in the third week right now.”

  “Hey, that sounds perfect.” Jaelynn beamed like a little girl. “What time is it?”

  Conversation was much lighter after that and much to Dakota's surprise, she realized she was enjoying Jaelynn's company.

  Jason chipped in occasionally now that the conversation had resorted to small talk, but for the most part he was intent on his project and seldom looked their way. When eight o'clock rolled around, he capped his paints, wrapped up his supplies and was ready to leave.

  “It was nice to meet you,” she said to Jaelynn as Jason casually followed his sister out the front door and to his gold-colored, Kia station wagon.

  Jaelynn turned with a smile. “You too. I'll talk to my mom and see if we can try out your class next week. Thanks for the invite!” Balancing on both feet as though in no need of a crutch at all, she tossed it into the backseat and climbed into the front passenger seat.

  With an impersonal wave good-bye, Jason slipped into the wagon and started the engine, twisting in his seat as he backed out of the driveway.

  Dakota stood in her front door frame and watched them drive away, wondering if Jason was further turned off by her atheism. At the time of the debate, she hadn't given his presence much thought. Now she wondered if it might have been better to play the agnostic. Oh well, too late now. Besides, she wasn't a phony. She used her looks and her charms to woo a man—not deceit.

  At this rate, she was going to have to try a lot harder to seek out a weak spot in him and some measure of camaraderie. Otherwise, this fling just wasn't going to happen.

  Chapter 12

  It hadn't yet been a month but Mona Reilly called Dakota early Friday evening and practically begged her to come for dinner the n
ext day. Though Dakota had tried to get out of it, her mother was insistent, and she relented.

  Saturday morning then came and went—in which she made no visible progress with Jason—and after picking up a bag of hot dog buns, she grudgingly made the trek to the highway trailer park—hoping bearded man wouldn't be there.

  It was five o'clock when she reached the park.

  The sun was bright in the sky, blaring down on her mother's trailer. Mona was sitting out front at the cheap patio table beneath the awning. Dakota let out a relieved sigh as she parked her car. It looked like her mother was alone.

  After retrieving the grocery bag from the passenger seat, Dakota joined her mother on the platform where a sweating bottle of beer was already waiting for her on the table. She popped the cap, took a swig and met her mother's eyes. “Hey Mom, how are things?”

  Mona ground the stub of a cigarette into the ash tray and proceeded to pull another one from a scuffed metal case. Lighting it, she slipped it between bright pink lips and pursed them. After a slow exhale, she crinkled the corners of her mouth upward—her unique smile—and leaned back in her chair. “Things are crappy, as usual,” she said with a nasal tone. “What did you expect? Butterflies and daisies?”

  Dakota rubbed at a dusting of ash on the table; stifling a groan. She frowned and swallowed down a note of anger, saying nothing.

  “I'm glad you came,” Mona said softly, losing the sarcastic edge. With an outstretched arm, she tapped the tip of her cigarette and ash floated down to the Astroturf. “I know I'm not the greatest company, but I get lonely sometimes.” She crinkled her eyes. “I just wanted to spend an evening with my only child—Is that a crime?”

  Dakota lifted her eyes to Mona's aging, weary ones and tried to smile pleasantly. Why did she even bother to visit when her mother put her on a guilt trip every time? “Look, I'm here, aren't I? I visit you every month.”

  Mona nodded. “That you do.”

  Dakota took another gulp of beer, hoping the alcohol would ease her tension somewhat; make the evening go by a little faster. “So, we're having hot dogs, are we?”

  Mona licked her lips before slipping the cigarette between them again. She took her time inhaling and blew the smoke from her mouth and nostrils. “Unless you'd prefer pork 'n beans.” She let out a laugh. They'd been down this road before; Mona clearly resenting her daughter's financial success.

  “I could've brought something nicer. You know that.”

  “And what's that supposed to mean?” Mona's green eyes flashed and the lines in her tanned forehead deepened. “Are you saying you're better than me? Cuz if I had a sparkling white kitchen like you do with all the trimmings, I'd make us a stinkin' roast duck with caviar. But all I've got is a busted stove with four tiny burners. If it can't be cooked in a pot or a frying pan, it can't be cooked—plain and simple.” She coughed a few times and glared at the tabletop, penciled eyebrows all bunched up.

  Dakota drew in a breath, cheeks growing warm. She made an effort to keep the irritation from her tone. “Hot dogs it is. Would you like me to make them?”

  Mona shook her head. “No. I'll get to it soon enough. Drink your beer.” Her eyes softened then and she looked up with what appeared to be tenderness; perhaps even affection. “Look, Kid, there's a reason I wanted you to come over tonight.” She sniffed, the corner of her lips dipping into a frown. “I wanted to talk to you about some things.”

  “Oh, yeah? Like what?”

  “Like how I used to be beautiful like you are.” She drew on her cigarette. “Like how I could fill out a pair of hipster shorts with a round little tush, just like you've got there.” She leaned back and whacked the side of her thigh. “I've still got a little tush, but the only thing filling out my shorts is deflated cellulite.” Another laugh.

  “Mom, what are you getting at?” Dakota peered at her mother, zoning in on the beginnings of a turkey neck. She remembered her childhood, when her mother was young and attractive. Strip away the leathery skin, wrinkles and nicotine damage, and she had to admit they looked a lot alike. Same high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes. But her mother's figure, once svelte and curvy, was now bony and loose-skinned. Her large breasts hung limply yet she still insisted on wearing tube and halter tops all summer long. She hadn't aged well in the slightest and her body bore the mark of years of alcohol and substance abuse.

  Mona narrowed her eyes. “I'm getting at the very thing you're thinking about right now—Beauty fades, my darling. It doesn't last forever. Just look at me.”

  “No offense, Mom, but I don't chain smoke and live off hot dogs.”

  “No doubt. In fact, I've only ever seen you nibble at your food—that parchment-baked fish crap you always eat—like some kinda dainty little pixie. Must be nice. But if you're anything like me—and I'd bet the farm you are—you're terrified of getting old. Of losing your good looks.”

  Dakota shook her head impatiently but said nothing.

  “I'm serious here.” Mona balanced her pink-stained cigarette in an ashtray and tapped the tabletop with her yellowed index finger. “You may have more money than I ever had but your lifestyle is no different than mine. Binge drinking and prancing from one guy to the next—too independent to settle down. 'Ain't nobody gonna tell me how to live my life'—I know your type. You're me. Like mother-like daughter.”

  A ragged exhale. “So—what's your point, Mom? I didn't come here for a lecture. You're the last person on earth who has the right to judge me.”

  Mona sighed and reached for her half-done cigarette. She lit the tip with a lighter, sucked it a moment, and let out a long exhale. Then, resting the heel of her hand on the edge of the table, the cigarette propped between two fingers, she resumed eye-contact with her daughter and exaggerated a frown. “I don't wanna see you end up in my shoes, is all.” A long, narrow-eyed look. “And it's about time I told you so.”

  “I won't end up like you. Trust me.”

  “How can you know that for sure? You thrive on the attention of men. Are you using proper protection? People lie, Kid. I've had chlamydia, I've had warts. And now… ” She shook her head ruefully and looked away, blinking twice. “Never mind… ”

  Dakota choked on her beer and squeezed her eyes shut, counting to ten slowly. She shuddered and blinked her eyes open. “Yikes, Mom. That's the last thing I wanted to know.”

  “I'm just saying—it comes with the territory.” A frank look. “You sleep with a different man every month, sooner or later, you're gonna end up with a nasty.”

  “Yeah, and if you eat too many sweets you'll die of a heart attack. Life is full of risks—I know! But I'm not about to lock myself in a sterile room just to avoid them. You have to take risks in order to enjoy life.”

  “Fair enough.” Mona nodded, taking another pull from her cigarette; the tip of it glowing with orange and black specks. A woodpecker tapped on a nearby tree as a stale breeze moved over them. “I just don't want you to end up like me, okay,” she said, eyebrows bunching. “I should've been faithful to your father. Maybe then he would've stuck around… ”

  “I thought Dad left you for a younger woman.”

  She laughed. “Well, yes, of course he did. And I don't blame him. Look at me!… But seriously,”—a pointed look—“he left because he was sick of me never being around. Said he was tired of bringing home the bacon every week and babysitting you all the time, while I ran off and slept with everyone but him.”

  Dakota finished off her beer and pushed the bottle to the center of the table. She shifted her position, trying to ignore the butterflies flitting in her stomach. “Mom… don't worry, okay? I have no intentions of ever getting married, so what does it matter? I'm not hurting anybody.”

  Mona crinkled her eyes. “I sure hope not.” She ground her stub into the half-full ashtray and leaned back in her chair. “I used to believe that too, you know—that I wasn't hurting anybody. But now I'm old and ugly—with a daughter who barely tolerates me. I squandered every penny I ever made and now
I live in a trailer all by myself. I have nothing to show for my life. Nothing! Except—” She hesitated, breaking eye contact and blinking.

  A frightened look flicked across her face. “At any rate,” she went on, blowing out a ragged exhale and making eye contact again. “I'm miserable and lonely and it's too late to change.”

  Dakota pressed both palms down on the tabletop and summoned a cheery smile, pushing her chair back. “Well, hey, Mom, how about we get started on those hot dogs? I'm hungry.”

  Mona pursed her lips and shoved back her chair. “Fine. I get it.” She coughed twice as she stood to her feet. “I just hope you'll think about the things I've said.” She smoothed the seat of her shorts and straightened her freckled shoulders. “I'm not one for motherly-daughterly talks, but once 'n a while, you know, it's gotta be done.”

  ***

  The rest of the evening went by dreadfully slow.

  The hot dogs were overcooked and shriveled and there was nothing interesting on TV. They watched Wheel of Fortune together while the interior of the trailer grew foggy with Mona's chain smoking.

  Dakota eventually went about opening the windows but all that was coming in was stale summer heat, so she flipped on three various fans. This only served to blow around the smoke and stagnant air and she gave up, resigning herself to recline on a cushioned swivel chair until she could take her leave politely. When eight o'clock came, she gracefully excused herself, and let out an enormous, pent-up sigh of relief as she started her car and backed out of the driveway. Glorious, fresh air-conditioning bathed her sweaty neck and forehead, and she relaxed.

  Freedom.

  Yet the thought of returning to an empty house was dismal somehow; dreary at best. On a weeknight, fine—she could enjoy a quiet evening in—relaxing, watching TV, reading—whatever. But not on a Saturday night. Saturday nights had to be exciting or she'd be stir-crazy by mid-week. She needed that weekend fix. Sure, she loved working at the greenhouses—her days were fulfilling and rewarding—but without any enticing romance on the go, she often experienced dreaded feelings akin to “mid-life crisis.”