Brooklyn, Baby | Spot Conlon ²

Chp. 23: Black Rose

That night, Kendall sat in her desk chair. She held her rose, staring at it as if it would vanish any second and looking at it was her only way to survive. 

Then came a knock. 

"Kendall?" Rosaline. "Can I come in?" 

"Yes," 

Rosaline quietly slipped in, closing the door. She saw Kendall sitting, very focused. 

"That's a very pretty flower," She said. "Where did you get it?" 

Kendall contemplated telling Rosaline everything. She was already her confidant in many things, but she would never keep a secret this big from her brother or Anthony. Although, that's exactly what she had been doing. 

"Rosaline, if I tell you something, will you swear to tell no one?" 

"What is it?" 

"Swear to it," 

"You know me, Kendall, I take it to the grave. Tell me," 

"Anthony or my brother can never find out about this," She says seriously. "I will be a dead woman," 

She buried her face in her hands, dropping the flower on the bed. "I am already dead, my sins are punishable by even death,"

"By God, Kendall," Rosaline laughs. "What have you possibly done?" 

"He lives," 

"Who?" 

"Him," 

Rosaline raises an eyebrow, lets it sink in, then her mouth drops. "You mean Mr. Conlon?!" 

"Keep your voice low," She hissed. "Yes, him."

"But you were so certain--" 

"Why do you think I spent so much time in my room? When I excused myself with a headache or tiredness, it was because he came through the window silently," 

"All this time...?" 

"Just since the trip to Georgia in the winter, he came then," 

"When you were all alone," Rosaline grins. "The man is a genius," 

"This is not a good thing!" 

"Oh, please! Kendall, you spent so long in mourning, were you not relieved he was alive?" 

"Relieved!" She laughs humorlessly. "I was furious! He caused me so much suffering, Rosaline!" 

"Love feeds on suffering," She jokes. Kendall glares at her, and she clears her throat. "Sorry. So, what did you do?" 

"I tried keeping him away, of course! I wanted nothing to do with him, and his mere existence made painful memories I had tried so hard to forget come back." 

"And then?" 

"Then, I got used to his presence," She leaned her head on her knees. "Convincing myself that I didn't enjoy it had no purpose," 

"I wanted so badly for him to disappear," She continues. "I wished it was only a dream, and I would then wake up to normalcy. I would wake up to my life, and remember I was a Vanderbilt engaged to a Buckley. I would be a woman of high status," 

"I do wish you would have told me," Rosaline places her hand on Kendall's shoulder. "This all has been a lot to handle alone," 

"Well, I've gotten used to it, I guess," Kendall smiled with her lips. "Yes, Francis has been with me for most of it, but really, I struggled internally." 

"Wait, so, when you went to the plantation..." 

"That was to be alone, I promise." She says. "He followed me there, and I had no real choice but to interact with him," 

Rosaline grins. 

"Not in that sense," Kendall rolls her eyes. "Well, he did kiss me," 

"What?!" Rosaline squeals. 

"Shh!" 

"You have sinned, you naughty girl!" Rosaline screams with laughter. 

"How you are a Vanderbilt is a mystery," 

"Tell me!" 

"Well, we both felt the pull toward each other stronger than we ever had felt it," She blushes thinking about it. "When he acted on it was when we realized our lives were meant to be apart," 

"What?" 

"We said our final farewell, and that, Rosaline, is how I got the flower," 

"Surely he will come back for you," 

Kendall smiles sadly. "Not this time, I am afraid. Our story has come to its end," 

"No, not possible!" 

"I tell you, I am beyond grateful for being able to not-so-successfully resist him once more. It gave me the little rebellious moment before a life of sophistication. It was needed, but it is over." She says assuredly. "Thank you, though." 

"Thank you for confiding in me," Rosaline matches her sad smile. "I'll leave you to your thoughts," 

She steps out of the room, and Kendall stays in her spot on the bed. 

"I haven't been given that in a while," She says to herself with a small laugh. 

She picks up the rose, and holds it in her hand. Her other hand is on her knee, her head resting on top. 

She looks at him while he puts his finger on the page of her journal.

"White roses,"

He walks toward the window, ready to climb out.

"Excuse me?"

"White roses," He repeats. "Would look the best. They had 'em in Brooklyn. Simple, yet the most beautiful of all," 

"If I am a white rose," She starts. "Then you are a black rose," 

"A symbol for pain and despair, but still as beautiful as the stars," 

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