13 WINDOWS

Chapter 33 Part 3: The PRODIGAL SON...

Sandra held the red watering can in her left hand as she walked barefoot towards the wild rose patch she had planted in the early spring. The effects of the painful year she had just lived through were showing on her face. There were more wrinkles around her eyes, and her hair had gone completely grey.

The water poured down into the soil and soaked down towards the roots of the roses. "I always remember how much you loved roses, Emeline. God's perfection you said. Well I suppose its only fitting that you meet your end beneath this soil." Sandra prayed for her sister Emeline, whose bottled and embalmed head now lay beneath the new rose garden.

"Take care of my Rupert. Wherever you are Emmy. I hope wherever you are you can forgive me," Sandra said in a ghostly whisper. Her memory of that horrible night had changed. She had believed, in the middle of her angst and anger, that she had been justified in killing her sister. But now that she had a clear mind she was feeling an ever-deepening shame for what she had done.

As Sandra strolled back to the old house she began to weep. When she had found out Rupert was in trouble in Romania she had committed to herself that she would clean up her act. So far she was succeeding. But she now had the difficult task of hosting the wake for her son. She looked up at the cloudy sky and felt a few drops of rain.

The event was long overdue. She wasn't sure how she was going to face so many people. The investigation into Rupert's death had dragged on for several months. The main suspect, Rupert's roommate, a former Romanian wrestler, had himself been found murdered. After that the trail had gone cold. Rupert's mangled body was finally delivered from Romania back to Toronto. It had been Rupert's final journey.

During the wake Sandra looked over at the container of ashes up on the shelf above the fireplace, next to the portrait of her deceased husband. She had never thought that she would have outlived her husband, as well as both of her children. But that was how her life had turned out. She had to face it. Everything seemed to be going in slow motion, as if she was just a passive observer watching a movie.

She looked around the wake she had organized for Rupert. She had not had this many people in her home for a very long time. A few of of Rupert's old friends from school had shown up. There weren't many left from that period of his life. But his friends from work, other graphic artists, television producers and some actors, were out in full force.

Daniel and Brodie, who had rescued her in the ravine so many years ago, did the catering. Sandra had helped them finance their now thriving restaurant and catering business. She now considered them family.

Several of Rupert's friends had expressed their sympathy to Sandra, always with a recurring theme, that they had lost touch with Rupert in the past year or so. And when they had heard about him it was in the newspaper. But he had been more respected than either Rupert or Sandra had ever thought.

Several of the artists were discussing Rupert's artwork. There were many of his finished drawings framed on the walls, but she had also left out many of his sketch notepads. The unfinished drawings seemed to be commanding quite a lot of attention. She wondered if Rupert would somehow become more famous after his death than he had been when he was alive. Even the newspapers had written articles about his talent, and his turbulent final year. Rupert himself would never have believed it. It was a shame, she thought, that artists always had to die to be appreciated.

Shel came over and brought with him a glass of wine for Sandra.

"Thanks Shel. But I don't drink anymore. I had to stop," she said. Shel nodded and then drank the wine down in one gulp. Sandra giggled. "You have always been a sweetheart. And a good friend of Rupert's right until the end," she said squeezing his shoulder. Her eyes were damp. Shel hugged her.