Immediately after his children left for school the next day, Rex dug the old keys out of his sock drawer and called Roy and asked him if he would come down from New York and watch his children again for a couple of days. It was a big favor, but he knew it was important. And Roy was the kind of friend who always did a favor for a friend in need. Roy had checked in on 299 East 82nd Street for Rex regularly over the years, but Rex knew the time had come for him to go up and check in himself.
“Always here to help however I can, Rex,” Roy responded genuinely. “I can be down there before the kids get home from school.”
As soon as he heard those words, Rex got into his black car and drove all the way to 299 East 82nd Street without stopping. He drove with Willow and Asher and Rosie on his mind and “Leather and Lace” on the speakers. He drove all the way to the apartment he had not visited for years and years and years. To the apartment his mind often wandered to. To the place where Rosie was perfectly Rosie. To the apartment where Rex was a better Rex.
Over all these years, Rex never found himself willing to relinquish that apartment. Especially knowing he had given Rosie a key in case she wanted a retreat. And now, more than ever, he was happy he did. He needed that place now. Perhaps as much as Rosie needed to know it was an alternative, an escape all of these years.
He knew Rosie might not be able to be Rosie in the quiet suburbs of Virginia. The way he knew Rosie might not be able to be a wife without the energy of the city. The things, the people, the movement in the city. The way he knew Rosie might not be able to be a mother without the ripples of the world flowing so wildly around.
And it could not be said for certain whether it was the deprivation of city life or the hormones that rushed through her after the birth of her son or the natural vicissitudes of Rosie’s chemistry, but in truth Rosie stopped being Rosie soon after the move. It happened in a way that Rex knew could not be reversed. Not with his embrace or back rubs. Not with his children or his offer to return them all to the walls of 299 East 82nd Street.
Even after Rosie dropped the key in his lap and Rex knew he and Rosie would never move back to that apartment together, Rex could not bring himself to get rid of it. He knew it needed to live on, even if in a faraway dream.
And as soon as Rex took one delicate step through the doorway, he remembered exactly why he had kept it. He had kept it because there were pieces of the Rosie he fell in love with in this apartment. Pieces of her that would be there forever. There were pieces of her in the patterned wallpaper and the mismatched doorknobs. In the intricate crown molding and the rickety heater. There were pieces of her in the mustiness that was thick in the air now after sitting there unused. There were pieces of Rosie in every cranny of 299 East 82nd Street. And keeping the apartment meant keeping pieces of her. And being in this apartment now meant being with her.
He was sorry he hadn’t had the wisdom to see it all before—the strength to insist they come back with the children from time to time...
Rex walked from room to room with his eyes lightly closed as his fingertips traced the walls. He was feeling for Rosie. Willing her energy, the memory of her, her love to move through him. Willing that energy to be strong enough to enter his heart. Willing that force to be strong enough for him to pass on to Willow.
And then Rex’s eyes opened when his fingers were interrupted by a break in the smoothness on the wall. It was the locket he had given to Rosie that first day in this apartment. That first day in the apartment when Rosie first told him about Willow. That day Rosie tacked that locket to the wall as a manifesto to love. To their unlikely beautiful love. To their nuanced and special complementary love.
Rex took the locket into his hands and examined it. He turned it over and over to inspect each scratch. Each bit of tarnish. Each chipped golden edge. He snaked the chain through his fingertips, and then gently moved his fingertips across the engraving on the back.
299 East 82nd Street. Apartment 5.
It was always so special here at 299 East 82nd Street. It still was special here. Because everywhere where Rosie was, was special. And Rosie left pieces of herself everywhere she ever was. Rosie left pieces of Rosie in everyone she ever loved. Even if she was gone.
Rex cupped the locket in his hand, and then pressed it into his heart. He could feel Rosie in that locket. He could feel the locket pulsing. He could feel Rosie’s life force pulsing. Giving him love. Giving him life.
It was exactly what Rex needed. And he knew it was what Willow needed too. With Rosie in his heart and his heart guiding him now, Rex felt ready to love his daughter in the way she deserved to be loved. In the way he might not have been able to love Rosie toward the end.
Giving Willow the love of Rosie, the love Rosie stored up in that locket, would be the first step.
* * *
The next day, on the way back from Manhattan, when he was almost home, Rex stopped at the bus depot where all of Robert Kansas Elementary School’s yellow buses were held. He stopped at the depot like he had so many times already this school year. And he walked over to the dispatcher, Chris, who shook his hand and pointed him the direction of Bus #50 like he had so many times already this school year.
And then Rex slipped two more grape Pixy Stix into the depths of the front left seat like he had so many times this school year. He tied his “For Willow” note around it. And then he wrapped Rosie’s locket around it.
Rex smiled warmly at his gift. Yes, Willow could have a little piece of Rosie to hold on to. And the healing process could begin. The reacquaintance of Willow and Rex through the memory of Rosie. Through the love of Rosie. The reacquaintance of father and daughter through Pixy Stix and an old gold locket.