Rosemary Kennedy Diary Novels & Stories

Flipping to the last page, I stopped, and a name was written there, boldly. “Lala Daisy Kennedy” It reads. Is that her full name? Is there any way for me to know who this was? Dropping the diary back to the position I have seen it, I walked out of the room, closing the door gently as I went back to my study. I opened the laptop and went straight to the search bar and typed the name, as I waited for it to show I hoped that she would not only exist here but that I could find her. When the name was done loading, there was nothing, no one was answering that name, nothing to show that the person existed.

I had to mute the group just because of her. “For as long as she does not get the necklace nothing will happen.” Hector informed. Ken, Tiffany, Emilio and I nodded in agreement. We were at Kimberly’s café having a snack after school. We couldn’t meet up on Saturday because Hector would be working, Ken and tiffany made plans and I will be taking my drivers lessons on the road. “Unfortunately, there is a downside to that.” I revealed and all eyes were draw to me and nervousness creeped in. “Firstly I would like to say that your grandmother gave me Rosalina’s diaries.”

I walked them to the door and waved Kennedy off. I sighed as I shut the door after them. The room suddenly felt empty with Kennedy’s absence but I wasn’t so bothered because I knew she would be well taken care of. I suddenly remembered the diary under my pillow and picked it up. I opened it up and tried flipping through the second page but of course, it was still sealed shut. I wonder who owns this diary. Since it is pink, I’m guessing it belonged to a female. Could it have been a student? Different thoughts flashed in my head but the more I thought about it, the more I was thrown into confusion.

I muttered walking back to my ward. When I arrived, Max wasn't there yet. I sat on the bed and flipped the pages of the diary. The first entry was over a decade ago. His handwriting was so beautiful. But the words… Entry 1: I met you today. Gosh, I don't even know your name but I am already down bad for you, mystery girl. You saved my life. I hope we meet again someday. Entry 2: It has been days and I still can't get you out of my mind. Thankfully, I know your name now. Rosemary. Mind if I call you my Rosie?

Ken sniffed the jacket barely placing it under his nose. First the strong cologne and cigarette scents then underneath Haze’s manly musk once he searched deeper his brain kicked into over drive. “Rosa?” The fresh dandelion smell of the woman Ken had grown up with, who he assumed dead, was the first name that popped into his mind. “Are you sure she is dead, Ken? I need your absolute certainty you saw her ashes.” Ken was quiet for a moment. He relived walking into that hell house seeing poor Goslin and Granny’s ashes. Rosa’s casket was empty. She couldn’t have survived a hunter’s surprise attack. His mind convinced him of that, but the scent told him otherwise.

’ More laughter, then goodbye. Baden crumpled Billy’s note into a tiny ball and threw into his wastepaper basket. He sat staring, empty minded, through the leaded diamonds of his study’s windowpane, at the blooming white roses which he could almost smell through the glass. He put the old Filofax back into its draw and drew his diary from another. Interview by satellite link with the BBC, today, 3 o’clock, he mused. Cheeky little bastard. ***

Rosemary said. "Ooh my," Houghton a and shook his head. "And as usual, he didn't claim any right or responsibility for what he ever did at all?" Houghton a curiously. "Yes, he never did, and then I had to finish it all by packing all the journals into one large one at the end of the day," Rosemary said.