A Rose Without a Voice would Smell as Sweet

It was a relaxing Thursday evening in October. The air was just starting to get its first chill in the air, and the leaves were just starting to fall. The world seemed peaceful and content, and nothing reflected this more than the two people inside the small red house on the corner. There was a woman on the ground floor, putting on her work shoes and tying her long caramel hair into a bun, and a girl, a teenager, on the top floor, reading a large book with very small print on the floor of her room, her legs folded to her chest, the pages inches from her face. There was a serenity to the scene, and the girl's breath gently ruffled the pages as her eyes devoured every word.

"Lydia-Rose Evangeline, come and say goodbye to me." The woman's voice echoed through the small home, and it jolted Lydia-Rose from the world of her book. Getting to her feet, the fifteen-year-old ran down the stairs and leapt into her mother's arms. This was a familiar ritual- the girl would read and be distracted, and her mother would call her down before she left for work. "Make sure you go to sleep on time, baby girl- you've got school tomorrow."

Lydia-Rose let out a silent huff, and began to sign. I don't like school. Can't I be homeschooled? The teen had lost her voice in a car accident when she was three years old. She'd been in the car with her grandparents at the time, and they'd both been killed. Her father, devastated at the loss of his parents and his daughter's injuries, had withdrawn into himself, and eventually turned to alcohol for comfort. After he began missing work and coming home drunk, her mother made him move out. When he came home one night and began attacking his wife, shouting and beating her, she divorced him. Lydia-Rose had seen him only a handful of times since that day.

Her mother laughed and ruffled her daughter's hair, a beautiful caramel color that was exactly the same as her own. "You'll be fine. You're the smartest person I know, Rosie. If anyone deserves to go to school, it's you. Besides, Peyton would hate it if you abandoned her."

Peyton Brown was Lydia-Rose's best friend, since before the accident, even. She had learned sign language with her voiceless friend, and acted as her interpreter, so they had all their classes together. The other girl would never forgive her if she became homeschooled, leaving her alone in high school.

I know, she signed. And she did. I wasn't being serious. This was also true. It was part of the ritual- Lorraine Evangeline would tell her daughter to go to bed, and remind her of school, and Lydia-Rose would try and find a way to get out of going. It never worked, but it was fun all the same.

Lorraine's eyes softened. "I know, baby. I'll be here when you get up, so I'll make pancakes. I promise. Do you have any homework?"

Her daughter shook her head.

"Okay. Good," she smiled gently, her pretty face lifting and showing how beautiful and kind she really was. "I love you. Bye." Lorraine kissed her daughter on the forehead and then turned toward the door leading to their garage. When she touched the doorknob, she hesitated. This was not part of the ritual- Lorraine Evangeline was not a woman to hesitate at anything. She was the type that lived wholeheartedly by the phrase 'carpe diem.' She always seized the day.

So Lydia-Rose was surprised when her mother turned back around and gave her a big hug. "I just have this weird feeling..." she said to herself, so quietly the girl almost didn't catch it. When she let go, this time there was no hesitation. Lorraine twisted the knob and opened the door, going out to the old blue VW Beetle that sat in the tiny garage. Lydia-Rose watched her mother pull out of the driveway and head off to work, and then made her way back upstairs, where she would get ready for bed and read herself to sleep. That was part of the ritual, too.

She didn't know that this was the last time they'd ever perform this comfortable ritual together.

In the morning when she woke, Lydia-Rose expected to smell the cooking pancakes her mother had promised. She expected to hear the loud Classical Rock music her mother loved so much playing over the large speakers. She expected to immediately know that her mother had kept her promise and come back during the night. But she didn't smell any pancakes, and the house rang with a heavy silence. Her mother wasn't home. Why?