A Rose Revealed Read Online Free PDF Page A

Jake lift his body from his chair, holding himself suspended by his arms for several seconds. It was part of his routine to prevent pressure sores. Change position every fifteen minutes. Maintaining good health when confined to a wheelchair was no simple matter.
    While he resumed his seat and wheeled to the car, I levered my seat as far back as it would go, then sat sideways, facing him, my feet resting on the ledge of the open door. Our knees met between us.
    “Okay,” Jake said briskly. “Suppose we start with the first explosion.”
    I nodded. “Did you ever have any Pockets when you were a kid?”
    Jake looked at me strangely and said, “Yes. Mom always put them in all our pants from Father on down to Elam.”
    Now it was my turn to look at Jake strangely. “Your father played with Pockets?”
    “I doubt he played with them. He carried things in them just like I did.”
    Realization dawned. “Not pockets. Pockets .”
    “Maybe that bump on the head was worse than you thought,” Jake said.
    “Capital P Pockets. The little cars.” I made a small rectangle with my hands. “Pockets Cars.”
    Jake nodded. “Gotcha. And one of them exploded?”
    I gave a little laugh. “I wish.” I was quiet a minute.
    “Rose.” Jake tapped on my knee with an index finger. “You were saying?”
    “Right. Well, one of my clients was Sophie Hostetter. Her late husband Tom was the one who invented Pockets, the little metal cars that get their name because they’re just big enough to fit in your pocket.”
    “I had one Pocket when I was a kid. I found it at Kauffman’s Market when we went to get peaches for jam. Some English kid must have left it behind. I was fascinated with it. There I stood in my straw hat and Amish haircut, my little shirt and black broadfall pants, a horse and buggy waiting outside to take us home, and I had a car! My very own car!”
    I was caught by the picture of Jake as a little boy, bangs dangling over his forehead, bare feet hanging out of too short pants, dazzled by the forbidden object. “What did your mother say?”
    “I didn’t tell her. She was so busy lugging bushels of peaches around that she never noticed. I kept that little blue car hidden for years. I never even showed it to my brothers. When I was a teenager and went through my rumspringa , one of the first things I did was buy myself a blue car just like my Pockets one.”
    “Well, I have the ultimate collection,” I said. “Sophie gave me the collector’s special case of sixty of the little things plus the plastic mat that’s a village complete with fire hall and police station. I also have the construction site mat with accompanying bulldozers and the racetrack mat with Formula One and NASCAR racers.”
    Jake looked suitably impressed. “Do all the cars’ doors open, or was I just lucky to get a special one? I’ve always wondered.”
    “I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve never opened the set.”
    “What?” Jake clutched his chest. “You have this complete set of Pockets, and you’ve never played with them? Have you no interest in the finer things of life?”
    I actually grinned. “Thanks.”
    He grinned back, the hard planes of his face softening. “You’re welcome.”
    My smile slowly faded as I watched this man I was afraid I loved. “What happened to your Pockets?”
    “I still have it.”
    “What?”
    “I do. It’s on the end table in the living room. I kept it in my bedside table at the rehab center as a reminder that someday I was going to drive again. It took me a while to get my license, but I owe it all to my trusty blue Pockets.”
    “Sophie would have loved that story. I wish I could tell it to her.”
    “She died?” Jake’s voice was gentle.
    I felt the tears again. “The explosion. She and her son Ammon.” I cleared my throat, pushing down the welling emotion. “It was her car that exploded. I was there.”
    Jake, who had been leaning toward me while we talked, fell back in his chair as if