The Rose

Diane bent over the microscope, her face pressed against the eyepiece as she studied the diamond that was set onto the golden band of a ring. She made notes based on the 4C’s of diamonds: cut, color, clarity, and carat weight. She was patient in her study of the gem, examining it from all angles for any flaw, no matter how minute. An appraiser wasn’t a thrilling job; to most, it would be rather boring, but Diane liked the slow pace and the detail involved in each piece. Working alone provided peace in a too-busy world.

The ring was a family heirloom, a beautiful two-carat diamond set in the middle of a small 24-karat gold rose. The family found the ring in the attic of their grandparents’ house and contacted Diane to verify its authenticity. She knew they would be pleased when she informed them that it was genuine and gave them the estimated market value. When they dropped it off, she saw the dollar signs instead of nostalgia in their eyes. Diane finished her notes and thought the ring probably had an incredible story behind it that would now be lost forever.

After writing a formal assessment of the ring and messaging the owners that they could stop by tomorrow to pick up the ring and paperwork, she left the workshop. She walked to her house, only twenty-five feet away, and decided to do some painting before dinner. Diane loved to paint, to see the colors blend as she glided the brush across the canvas. She would never measure up to the greats, but she didn’t need to. These were what came out of her, sometimes bright and cheery, sometimes dark and dreary. Only she and Maisie, her neighbor and best friend, saw them.

Turning the radio on for soft background music, she settled into her chair in front of an easel holding an empty canvas. Natural light flowed through the window, and the Willow tree branches beyond swayed lightly in the breeze. Picking colors by intuition, she began adding some to her palette before searching out a brush, humming to the music as she spread the first color. After a few songs, she found herself singing to a song she hadn’t heard in many years, a song that came out before her time but was a radio classic. Her voice sang out about love being a hunger, along with Bette Midler, not caring about being very off-key. Her thoughts drifted back to that ring she had appraised earlier, the diamond set in a rose. The singing continued, and the paint flowed as time slipped away along with her thoughts.

The hard knock on her front door, followed by a yell from Maisie, snapped Diane out of her reverie, surprised to see how much of the canvas she had covered and the time that had passed. Her friend strolled into the room, her smile bright and sassy, just like her.

“Wow. That is really pretty,” Maisie said, her eyebrows raising as she stared at the fresh colors on the canvas that displayed random gold rings with roses scattered across in different shades. “That color is gorgeous,” Maisie added, stepping closer and pointing to one of the roses. “What is it called?”

Diane stared at the color, a mixture created on her palette. “I don’t know.”

“It’s like a mix of mauve and purple,” Maisie said as she looked closer. “Let’s call it murple.”

“Murple?” Diane asked with a laugh.

“Why not?” Maisie shrugged. “You created it, so we should name it. What inspired the rings and roses?”

Diane told Maisie about the ring she had appraised earlier while cleaning her brushes and palette, explaining its beauty and how she felt that it had a story, although the owners seemed more interested in the monetary value.

“Buy it and research it yourself,” Maisie suggested. “I have only seen a few pieces ever affect you like this. It touched you.”

Diane put her cleaned supplies away in their spaces and glanced at the canvas again, agreeing that the ring had affected her, as she usually didn’t get painting inspiration from her work jewelry. Maisie changed the subject to local news and dinner plans as they left the room.

The ring owners showed up at Diane’s workshop the next day, eyes eagerly reading the value she had printed on the report. A pull inside of her didn’t want to let the ring go, so she took Maisie’s advice and offered to buy the ring from them herself. They wavered with thoughts of selling for more, but finally broke when she said she could pay cash. The family wanted the money, not the sentimentality, and that worked in her favor, even giving her the name of the grandparents so she could search history.

She paid through a phone app after agreeing on a fair cash price, printing the receipt for her records and theirs. After they left, Diane held up the ring, the sunlight catching the diamond through the window. It felt right in her hands, almost vibrating with energy she couldn’t describe. Putting the ring back in its container, she set it aside for now, in favor of other jobs waiting. Later, she would start searching for the story behind the ring with the golden rose set with a nearly perfect diamond.