Forever Remember: The Rose Code

Chapter 2: Operation Bathsheba

"Operation what?" I asked Dean as our cell connection crackled.

"Bathsheba. You know, King David and Queen Bathsheba, from the Bible. Meet me outside the Splash at 10:45. I'll explain everything then."

"Thanks for your help, Dean."

"Anytime, Jasmine, um . . ." He paused as if uncertain what to say next. "I remember what today is. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, except for one problem: I don't own a bikini."

"So buy one, I dare you. I'll see you on Saturday. Bye."

I gave the phone back to Melaney and plopped on her bed. "Dean is meeting me outside the Splash at 10:45 on Saturday. He wants to go swimming instead of going on rides. Is that okay with you?"

"Sure. Swimming sounds better than standing in line all day." She sat down beside me. "What is Dean helping you with now?"

"Just some family stuff." My reply was deliberately vague.

Melaney looked suspicious, but she didn't ask any more questions. I wanted to tell her that I had paid Dean $300 of my babysitting money to spy on Tyler, but Dean made me swear not to. He knew Melaney would disapprove of our less than legal eavesdropping.

Dean's mom, Diane, worked for an international phone company. Somehow (I didn't ask for details) Diane put spyware on Tyler's cell. All of his text messages were sent to Dean's phone. For the past three months, Dean had read each one to help me discover the perfect time and place to properly reintroduce myself to Tyler.

Summer was almost over. Saturday at Picnic Creek Park could be my last chance to get him to notice me before school started. This Operation Bathsheba had to work!

I glanced at the alarm clock on Melaney's dresser. I should get home before Hannah woke up. It was my job to take care of the foster kids every Saturday morning while The Rents slept in.

"I'll see you later," I told Melaney before climbing out the window and down the tree. I hurried home to the weathered, white Cape Code at the dead end of Dogwood Street. 

I carefully opened and closed the back door without a squeak and quickly prepared breakfast for myself and Hannah, a shy, tiny three year old, who was living with us until her mother finished rehab. Hannah didn't speak - to anyone. She reminded me of myself after Daddy died. I was too sad to talk.

I heard the pitter-patter of her bare feet on the wooden stairs and poured milk on our oat cereal and blueberries. "Good morning, Sunshine. Are you hungry?"

Hannah smiled and nodded. For a few seconds, I saw dimples in her cute rosy cheeks and happiness in her big brown eyes.

She sat down beside me at the oval oak table for six. In the past, every seat had been filled with The 'Rents, Dean and me, and another foster boy and girl, but lately there were only four of us. The empty seats made me miss Dean even more.

After Hannah and I ate our cereal and put our dishes in the sink, we went upstairs to our bedroom. I helped Hannah put on a pretty pink dress and brush her long blonde curls, and then we preceded to the couch in the living room and watched princess cartoons until Mother woke up.

Mother plodded into the room in her worn slippers and faded bathrobe which was the same shade of slate blue as her tired eyes. When Daddy was alive, she was so bright and vibrant. Now she was dreary and forlorn, just a shadow of her former self. Even the gold highlights in her hair had turned to gray.

"Good morning, girls. Did you sleep well?" she asked, yawning.

Hannah nodded, and I sighed. I hadn't slept well in nine years, but mother always asked that same question, expecting a different answer. Wasn't that Einstein's definition of insanity?