Missing Rose (9781101603864) Read Free

me.
    Diana, my darling, this is not a time to say good-bye. No time is. Please never forget, I am always with you. And I love you very much.
    Your Mother

2
    D IANA UNFOLDED the farewell letter Mary had written to her father. It was now time for it to turn to smoke.
    17 March
    Dear Dad,
    I have to leave home today.
    You must be wondering why.
    Yesterday, after so many years, I read Saint-Exupéry’s
The Little Prince
again. The book seems to have changed completely! The only thing that hasn’t changed is that the rose is still my favorite character. And the fox, of course; because it is he who teaches the little prince how to become responsible for his rose.
    I think I’m beginning to understand at last what “being responsible for a rose” means. And that’s the reason why I’m leaving.
    At the end of the book, Saint-Exupéry urges us to ask ourselves, “Has the sheep eaten the rose, yes or no?” He says the answer to this question changes everything.
    So I’m asking myself a similar question:
    â€œHave Others stolen my rose, yes or no?”
    Saint-Exupéry was right; the answer to this does change everything. But I know that no grown-up will ever understand why.
    I’m leaving because my answer to this question is “Yes.”
    I’m leaving to reclaim my rose . . .
    Mary
    Diana turned to the bottles once again.
    â€œSo tell me, bottles!” she said. “Tell me what on earth all this means . . . Doesn’t it seem insane? To take off after reading a book? To go missing on account of a rose? What’s all this about? Reclaiming your rose, being responsible for a rose . . .
    â€œNo, no, I’m not interested in knowing what the rose in
The
Little Prince
stands for, nor in what it means to that girl. I couldn’t care less! All I want to know is why it’s
me
who’s being made to pay because some girl I’ve never even seen left home and then wanted to kill herself.”
    She fell silent, angry with herself for appealing for help to the bottles she’d despised such a short while before. But who else was there? Who else except these bottles would listen to her?
    â€œHow true Mom’s words are,” Diana murmured. “She said Mary was unique. Well, of course she’s unique. The way she stole my mother from me makes her one of a kind.”
    After a moment of silence, Diana crumpled Mary’s letter in her hand and threw it into the fire. “Forgive me, Mom,” she whispered, watching with an expressionless face as the ball of paper slowly turned to ashes.

3
    S TARTLED, Diana awoke to the sound of the doorbell which, despite its melodious chime, cut like a knife through her aching head.
    â€œSenhora Lopez! Senhora Lopez! Please answer the door!”
    Hearing no reply, she remembered that it was Senhora Lopez’s day off. Holding on to the sofa, she dragged herself up. Then, hardly able to stand, she made her way to the door.
    On looking at the security camera, she could see that the unwelcome caller was Gabriel, the courier who regularly delivered flowers and all kinds of beribboned packages to her.
    When she opened the door, she found Gabriel standing with yet another festooned package, its top reaching almost to his chin. His brown face, brown overalls and brown hat were a perfect match for the color of the package.
    â€œGood day, Miss,” Gabriel said. “I have yet another gift addressed to Rio’s most beautiful girl. Would you know if she happens to live here or not?”
    â€œIsn’t it a bit early to be delivering parcels, Gabriel?”
    â€œWell, this must be the right address, then. But maybe the wrong time?”
    â€œWhat time is it?”
    â€œIt’s already noon.”
    â€œIs it really that late?”
    Diana took the package and signed her name in the delivery book in a scrawl that resembled any signature but her own. And before Gabriel