black_dahlia63 (black_dahlia63) wrote in csi_lv_slash, @ 2008-04-08 14:41:00 |
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Current mood: | awake |
Current music: | Lipstick On Your Collar - Connie Francis |
"Kjaere" (Nick/Greg, 2/12)
Title – Kjaere
Author - black_dahlia63
Characters – Nick Stokes, Greg Sanders, various OC’s
Spoilers - Fannysmackin’
Rating – PG
Warning – Serious angst, but hey…people kind of expect that from me by now, right?
Disclaimer – not mine, don’t sue.
Thanks to – Nina, Shana and elmyraemilie for creative input and moral support. *g*
AN: The story covers the time span of a year, and will update by one month every week.
December 14th.
Dear Nick –
Thanks so much for sending me Emily’s school photo – she sure is growing up fast, isn’t she?
I have big news from Louisiana – Jim and I are expecting a little brother or sister for Cassie! She’s real excited about being a big sister, and I think she’s told everyone in the neighbourhood at least twice already. I’m not even due till April, and she’s acting like it’s going to happen tomorrow! It’s kind of weird when I think about how much I’ve changed in four years – I’m married, I’m assistant manager at the salon and I’m going to be a mom again. Who’d have thought it, right?
I can’t tell you how sorry I am about what’s happened to Greg - I hope those kids get sent to jail for as long as possible, I really do. We’re all thinking about the three of you, and please will you let me know as soon as you get any news? Good or bad? I’m sure Greg’s going to be okay, though – I know how much he loves you and Emily, and he’d never leave the two of you without a fight.
Look after yourselves – you’re all in our prayers.
Love to the three of you
Alison
X
Desert Palms, December 18th – 9.10 a.m.
“We’re flying out at three tomorrow afternoon,” Nick said. “I tried letting Emily pack her own suitcase, but she ended up with one pair of socks and all her Beanie Babies,” and he tried to smile but didn’t quite succeed as he squirted shaving foam into his left palm. “Told you she had her first sleepover last night, didn’t I? She went to Madison’s house, I’m supposed to pick her up once I leave here. Yeah, I guess they’re friends again this week -”
Leaning over the bed, he slowly lathered up the expressionless face resting against the pillows, and now he smiled although it hurt terribly to do it. Greg’s eyes would sometimes blink open now, and the doctors had told Nick that this was merely a reflex – but what if it wasn’t?
“Your folks arrive this afternoon,” Nick went on once he’d dried his hands on the nearby towel. He removed the safety cover on the disposable razor, his throat tightening as he thought of the dark blue Gillette Mach 3 that lay drained of power on the top shelf of the bathroom cabinet back at the apartment. “I’m going to make supper, and then we’ll all come and see you before Emily goes to bed,” he said, drawing the razor down Greg’s chin. “I figured I’d do pot roast, what do you think? I know your mom likes that…”
These visits had become so engrained in Nick’s life that he couldn’t remember a time when they hadn’t taken place. It was as though everything before the night when Greg had driven down that side street had somehow not happened, leaving everything that had come afterwards to take over Nick’s entire world.
He had work, he had his daughter, and he had what was in this room.
He would come here every morning once he’d dropped Emily off at kindergarten, her Bratz backpack dragging from one hand and the photo clutched in the other. On days when there was no school, he would take her to Angie’s house on the pretext of “running errands” with the promise that he would be back as soon as he could – and the sight of Emily’s face pressed against the sitter’s kitchen window as he drove away, almost as though she feared she would lose him too, sliced another layer away from Nick’s soul every time it happened.
Nick would come into this room to shave away the stubble that had sprouted on his lover’s face, and the same memory would hit him each time. He would recall a Saturday morning, he couldn’t remember how long since, when he’d looked round the bathroom door and seen Greg standing in front of the bathroom mirror with a towel slung low around his hips. He’d turned towards Nick, the grin on his face making his intent obvious as he’d set his razor down; Nick had protested no, G, we can’t, because Emily had been watching cartoons just down the hall – and Greg had simply pulled him into the bathroom before locking the door and whispering well, you’ll have to be quiet, won’t you?…
It hurt Nick more than he would have thought anything could to think about this, to remember Greg the way he had been and to look at what he’d become now – but he still came here every day, and as he shaved Greg’s stubble away he would talk to him. He’d recount the previous night’s shift, he’d talk about what Emily had said while he’d been driving her to school…he would keep pouring words into that silent, sterile room even though he never got a response, and he would keep doing it no matter how much pain it caused him.
The doctors could talk all they wanted about a persistent vegetative state, about how every day that passed with no change meaning that whatever eventual outcome there was would not be a good one – but Nick always put these words in the back of his mind, where he put all the other things he’d been told lately that made him want to scream until his voice gave out. Accepting them meant giving up, admitting that this motionless shell in the bed was all he would ever have of the man he’d loved for what felt like his entire life; and because he couldn’t face the fact that he might never have Greg’s warm weight draped over him in the small hours of the morning, might never catch another smile as they passed each other in the corridor at work, might be left alone to raise the child they’d waited so long to have, he had to believe that if he came here every day and tried hard enough he would prove the doctors wrong.
“- and I’ll call every day while we’re in Dallas,” he said, beginning to ply the razor against Greg’s right cheek. “Just to make sure you’re okay – and we’ll be back on the twenty-third, like I told you,” and as he continued what he’d come here to do, Nick talked about what they ought to buy Emily for Christmas. Given the amount of gifts she received from their relatives every Christmas and birthday, Nick and Greg’s present to their daughter was never a sizeable one, but a great deal of thought always went into it nonetheless.
The previous Christmas, Emily had wanted what she referred to as “the purple Beanie”; it had been made to commemorate the death of Princess Diana, and Angie – herself an avid collector, which was where Nick suspected Emily had acquired the habit from – had received one as a gift from a pen friend in England. Nick and Greg had tried their best to explain to Emily that the purple bear was hard to find, and had asked her if there wasn’t another bear she’d like instead; but even at the age of three, Emily had remained resolute, and after combing the city without success Greg had resorted to eBay. Emily had been ecstatic when they’d presented her with the bear on Christmas Day, thanking them repeatedly while hugging them tightly; and unlike the rest of her bears, which had all had their tags removed and currently lay in a heap on her bedroom floor after being dumped out of her suitcase, “Diana” sat on Emily’s dresser – still in the plastic display box in which she’d been shipped – and nobody was allowed to touch her.
“She’s been wanting a CD player,” Nick said now, and he gently patted Greg’s face dry as he spoke. “I figured we could get her one of those ones where you can lock the volume button, so at least she wouldn’t go deaf,” and then he fell silent. He was going to have to do the Christmas shopping on his own this year; there would be no Greg to carry Emily on his shoulders when she got tired, to follow Nick round the malls and say you’re not getting your mom any more sweaters or I think Sam’s a bit old for Duplo, Nicky or why are you buying your sister that? Don’t you want her to like you?
Tears filled Nick’s eyes, but he took a deep breath and blinked rapidly until they’d disappeared again. Leaning over the bed, he took hold of Greg’s right hand and kissed it before letting it rest against his face; as he did this he prayed, the way he did every morning, for a flicker of movement or a spark of recognition from those sightless eyes – but eventually he was forced to admit that this would be denied him again, and he laid Greg’s hand back down on the bedcovers before lowering his head so that his lips were level with Greg’s right ear.
“I don’t care what they’re trying to tell me,” he said in a whisper. “I know you’re still there,” and he planted a gentle kiss on Greg’s lips. “We’ll see you this evening, okay?” and he left the room without looking back, steeling himself for the coming evening when he would be here again.
**********
10.45 a.m
The girl opening the door couldn’t have been more than fifteen, but her cut-off Emily Strange T shirt revealed a navel ring; jet-black hair, obviously dyed, fell across her face, and she flipped it back to look at Nick with dark-rimmed eyes.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m Emily’s father,” Nick said. “I came to -”
“Mo-om!” the girl bawled, her voice at a deafening pitch. “Emily’s dad’s here!”
“Well, would you let him in, Jessica?” a voice called back, making the girl roll her eyes and step aside to allow Nick into the house; seconds later, Madison’s elegantly-dressed blonde mother emerged from the kitchen, wiping manicured hands on her apron. “I see you’ve met my stepdaughter, Mr. Stokes.”
“It’s Nick,” he said with a smile, and he turned his head towards the stairs at the sound of thundering feet; it was Madison, still dressed in her pyjamas, who waved shyly at Nick as she came down the stairs to stand next to the teenage girl.
“Hey, brat,” Jessica said, obvious affection in the words as she ruffled Madison’s hair. “Go tell your little friend her dad’s here, okay?”
“Nick! Nick!” a shrill voice called out, and Emily came running out of one of the bedrooms. Taking the stairs at an almost alarming speed, she wrapped her arms round Nick’s waist and hugged him fiercely before grinning up at him; and this was one of the increasingly rare occasions these days where Nick found himself laughing, because his daughter’s eyes were expertly outlined in black while her fingernails were painted the same colour and her lips were dark red.
“Jessie did it,” Emily said proudly. “What’s an emo?”
“Go and get dressed,” Nick told her, trying to keep a straight face. “We need to go and buy groceries before grandma and grandpa get here.”
“And you can clean her nails and get that stuff off her face, young lady,” Madison’s mother told her step-daughter, provoking more eye-rolling as Jessica led the two little girls back upstairs. “Can I offer you some coffee, Mr. – Nick?”
“That’d be good,” Nick said gratefully, and he allowed himself to be escorted into a kitchen that was easily three times the size of the one back at the apartment. “How was she? Really?” he asked as he sat down. “She never slept over anywhere before – well, except for her cousins’ houses,” he added somewhat sheepishly. “I kept expecting you to call me and say I had to come and pick her up.”
“She was an absolute angel,” was the reassuring answer. “I can always tell when a little girl’s been brought up properly,” and a mug of coffee was slid across the table towards Nick. “We’d be glad to have her back any time,” and Madison’s mother suddenly snapped her fingers as she turned back towards the kitchen counter. “I almost forgot to give you this!” and when she joined Nick at the table she had the tattered photo of Emily’s party in her hand. “She left this in the car when we picked her up from school yesterday -”
************
Dallas - December 19th, 6.00 p.m.
A great many phone calls had gone back and forth before this visit, and even though it was so close to Christmas it was going to be kept low-key. Nick’s sister Meg and her family were going to drive over from Fort Worth for supper the night before Nick and Emily flew back home; the rest of the time would be taken up with riding the horses, sleeping, eating and trying to relax - rather than emphasising the fact that Christmas was coming in less than a week and Greg wasn’t here to share it with them.
“Are we nearly there?” Emily asked now.
“Nearly,” Nick replied. “Keep looking out of your window, and when you see the McDonalds sign that means we’re going to turn onto the road that gets us to the ranch,” and he looked in the rear view mirror of the rental car to watch Emily press her face against the window; the car’s radio, tuned to a local country station, was quietly playing a Kenny Rogers song, and Nick drove the final few miles to the ranch in silence.
He thought about the previous afternoon, when Greg’s parents had been at the apartment before checking into the hotel where they would spend the next eight days. Emily had been delighted to see them, chattering away in Norwegian, and this had made Nick go to the kitchen - on the pretext of making coffee – where he had stood valiantly trying to stave off tears; because he had recalled all the moments when Greg would whisper something to Emily in his native tongue and make her laugh, all the nights when they’d curled up on the couch while Greg read to Emily from the book that had been his own favourite as a child…
They had all gone to Desert Palms after supper, and when they had arrived outside the door of Greg’s room Emily had hung back. “Don’t wanna,” she’d whispered, and when Greg’s mother had opened her mouth to speak Nick had shaken his head before a word had been uttered. “I’ll wait out here with you,” he’d told his daughter, and the silent gratitude in Emily’s eyes had brought a lump to his throat. He’d sat with Emily on the uncomfortable plastic chairs outside the room while Greg’s parents had gone in to see him; when they’d emerged again, Greg’s mother’s eyes red and puffy from weeping, Nick had asked Emily whether she wanted to go in and say goodnight to Greg – and when she’d nodded silently, he’d led her in and watched as a kiss had been placed on that pale, unmoving face.
“I see it!” Emily cried, breaking into his thoughts. “Turn here, Nick!”
*******
December 20th, 8.05 a.m.
“Good morning.”
“Hi, mom,” Nick said, kissing his mother’s cheek before sitting at the kitchen table and rubbing his eyes. Emily had crept out of her bed and made her way into her father’s somewhere around midnight, something she hadn’t done in a while; and while she was still sleeping soundly, Nick had put up with being kicked in the small of the back for long enough and had decided to get up.
“I don’t need to ask if you could use some coffee,” Jillian Stokes said, smiling fondly at her youngest son, and she reached for a mug from the kitchen cupboard; once she had filled it and handed it over, she sat down opposite Nick. “We didn’t really get to talk last night, did we?” she said. “I can tell by your face that something’s wrong,” and she reached for his free hand. “You want to talk about it?”
“Emily’s got this photo,” Nick said. “Of the three of us, at her last birthday party,” and he stared down into his mug. “Ever since what happened to Greg, she’s taken it everywhere with her – and I mean everywhere,” he said. “School, the bathroom, the grocery store, you name it.” A long silence followed, and it was only after half-emptying his mug that Nick spoke again. “She had a sleepover two nights ago, and when they collected her from school she left the picture in their car – they gave it to me when I went to pick her up,” he went on. “She hasn’t asked me where it is, and the night Greg’s folks arrived she didn’t want to go in and see him,” he said softly. “She never did that before, mom, and I’m not sure how to deal with it,” and when he looked up his eyes were troubled. “It’s like she’s giving up.”
“She isn’t giving up,” his mother said. “She’s four years old, Nick, and I remember how your sisters were when they were that age,” she continued. “They’d have a fight with someone in the playground and they’d come home swearing they hated them, they were never going to speak to them ever again – and then a week later they’d be saying mom, can Julie come over to play after school?”
“She does that too,” Nick said. “But Greg’s her father, not some kid in the playground -”
“Little girls don’t think the way their parents do,” Jillian said. “They see today, and that’s as far ahead as they think. She wasn’t carrying that picture for you, Nick, she was carrying it for herself, and just because she might not want to do it any more doesn’t mean she loves Greg any less - she’s having fun with her friends, and that’s what’s keeping her going,” and she squeezed her son’s hand gently. “What’s keeping you going, sweetheart?”
“Not having time to stop,” Nick replied, the words delivered in a strained tone. “I need to go to the mall today, mom, I haven’t had time to do any Christmas shopping yet – can you keep an eye on Emily for me?” and seconds later, Nick cringed at the excited voice several feet behind him.
“The mall? I wanna go too!”
********
1.45 p.m
Nick had spun breakfast out as long as he could, and he’d insisted that Emily take a bath before she got dressed – hoping that by the time he was ready to leave, his daughter would have found something to interest her at the ranch rather than accompany him. It wasn’t until his mother had said that she needed someone to help her make the Christmas cookies, and Emily had negotiated the right to lick the beaters after the frosting had been made, that Nick had been allowed to leave the ranch on his own; now, after jockeying for a parking space for ten minutes and finally securing one in the ‘S’ section of the parking lot, he was making his way through the crowds in a glass-domed structure that was plastered with artificial snow and ornately-decorated trees.
He’d never been fond of malls, even when he’d gone to them with Greg, and this was why he hadn’t wanted to take Emily with him today – so that he could do what he needed to do and then get out as quickly as he could – but the enormous amount of people with the same idea was going to make this impossible.
The piece of paper in Nick’s pocket had roughly two thirds of the names on it crossed out by the time the urge to sit down became too strong to resist; one hand clutching a paper cup of coffee, the other with enough carrier bags looped round the wrist to nearly cut off the circulation, he walked through the food court looking for a place to sit down and spotted a vacant space at the end of a bench. Bags heaped between his feet, he sat waiting for the temperature of his coffee to drop to a manageable level as Christmas carols played in a seemingly endless loop – and that was when his eyes were drawn to the display next to Macy’s a few yards away.
A picket fence surrounded a small forest of Christmas trees that had been sprayed white and liberally doused with glitter; a wooden throne sat in the middle of this forest, and a sizeable queue of children were lined up for an audience with its red-suited occupant. Nick sat taking this scene in, the piped music seeming to fade into the background, as his mind went back to the previous December when the three of them had gone shopping two weeks before Christmas.
“You want to go see Santa, Em?”
“Nuh-uh.”
“How come?” Nick asks, bending down to the three year old’s level. “Don’t you want to sit on his lap and tell him what you want for Christmas?” and he looks up as a snicker erupts from his companion’s lips. “You’ll be getting coal if you’re not careful, G.”
“What’s coal?”
“It’s what naughty people get from Santa,” Nick tells Emily, still looking at Greg, and the words produce a giggle. “You want to give me a little help here?” he murmurs as he straightens up. “We won’t see mom this year, and I wanted to send her a photo.” He watches Greg crouch down in front of Emily, speaking in Norwegian, and whatever he says first provokes a vehement “nei!” – but the next sentence results in a nod and a smile before Emily allows herself to be led towards the queue to meet Santa, and half an hour later it will emerge that Greg promised Emily an ice cream sundae of such proportions that she will be sick in the Denali on the way home…
…and Nick sat frozen in pain, wondering whether this was what a broken heart felt like, as crowds of shoppers milled around him; he would have cried if he could, but he was barely able to summon the strength to breathe – and in this moment, finally faced with the impact of what had happened, he was terribly afraid that whatever he tried to do to save his family wasn’t going to be enough.
********
“I took care of it myself, you don’t need to worry,” the man in the faded jeans and the Harley Davidson T shirt said as he stepped out of the elevator. “He wouldn’t say hello or kiss my ass by the time MTV called back,” and he grinned broadly at the elderly woman who tutted as she caught the tail end of his remark; he’d never minced words, that had been one of the few useful things he’d learned from his father, and he had no patience for people who didn’t behave in the same way.
“No, I’m flying back to Daytona tomorrow afternoon,” he went on, catching sight of yet another No Smoking sign at the entrance to the food court; he shook his head resignedly, and not for the first time he vowed that he was going to give up the damn Marlboros because the government was making it so difficult for him to light them up these days. “I’m having a big party on Wednesday – no, a family party, wiseass. I have to hit a toy store and get stuff for my sister’s kids, any way I can write that off on expenses? Well, if you don’t try, you never know, right?” and he followed the words with a chuckle. “I haven’t figured out what I’m doing yet, can you believe that? Yeah, we will, definitely – I’ll call you tomorrow when I get home. You take care,” and he snapped his phone shut before scanning the booths in the food court; what he really wanted was to be sitting on the patio of the Regatta Pub with a beer and a swordfish steak, but for now he was happy to settle for a burrito. Then his eyes came to rest on the man sitting at the end of a nearby bench – his shoulders hunched, his hands clasped round a takeout coffee cup – and it didn’t matter how much time had passed, there was still something that sparked a jolt of recognition.
That’s Nick.
****
Nick didn’t know how long he must have been sitting on the bench, but when he finally lifted the paper cup to his lips he realised the coffee was stone cold. He knew he still had four more gifts to buy, he knew that if he didn’t get back to the ranch soon Emily would worry; but he felt tired, empty, as though it would take more strength than he possessed to get up again –
“Nick Stokes? It is you, right?” The man standing in front of him wore faded jeans and a T shirt, had short hair that looked almost jet black – and Nick had the strangest feeling he’d seen him before, but the fog in his mind was too thick to look back through and remember where.
“Do I know you?” he asked, and he was answered by a lift of the man’s right eyebrow; something penetrated the fog then, a long-ago memory of sun beating down and a voice saying
“Don’t y’all drink beer in Texas?”
“Luke?” he said, setting down his cup and half-rising to his feet as his hand was clasped and the world came back into focus. “My God, it is you,” he said, and he managed a smile. “You look different on TV -”
“Yeah, how much is it they reckon it puts on you? Ten pounds?” was the man’s response, and teeth that were white and even enough to signify expensive dental work flashed in a broad grin. “How the hell are you, man?”
“I’m good,” Nick said, and some far-off part of his mind hated lying; but people close to him had no idea what was going through his head at the moment, so he wasn’t going to unburden himself now. “I’m just up here visiting mom – what about you?”
“I just opened another franchise,” was the cheerful reply. “Had a damn TV crew following me all morning, but I’m off the hook now – got some Christmas shopping I need to take care of,” and Luke sank down into the vacant spot next to Nick. “Thought I’d get something to eat, you want to join me?” but before Nick could answer, his cell rang; he removed it from his pocket, and his heart sank at the sight of the familiar number on the display.
“Hello?”
“How much longer are you likely to be, sweetheart?” his mother said. “I know the mall must be crowded, but I’ve got a little girl who’s worked herself into a state here,” and Nick could hear Emily crying in the background. “Are you almost done?”
“Four more names on the list,” he replied, reality sinking in again. “Let me speak to her, mom, okay?”
“N-Nick?”
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asked, oblivious to the crowds and to the man watching him. “I’ll be home soon, I promise.”
“I can’t find my p-p-picture!” Emily sobbed. “I don’t know where it is, and I need it!” and Nick pinched the bridge of his nose between the thumb and forefinger of his free hand as he recalled what he’d said the previous evening.
“It’s like she’s giving up…”
“I’ve got the picture,” he said in what he hoped was a soothing tone of voice. “It’s in my wallet, sweetie, you left it in Madison’s car – you can have it when I get back, I won’t be much longer -”
“No! Now!” Emily shouted, before dissolving into fresh floods of tears. “I want it now!”
“Okay,” Nick said, the numbness setting in again with a vengeance. “Okay, sweetie, put grandma on again – mom? Just keep her calm, I’m coming back now,” and he ended the call, cramming the cell back into his pocket before bending to grab the carrier bags. “Luke, I’m sorry, I have to go.”
“Are you okay?” Luke asked, although now he’d been looking at Nick for a minute or two he hadn’t seen anyone look less “okay” in a long time. Nick’s face was that of someone who had gone without sleep for what looked like weeks, but it wasn’t only the dark pockets of exhaustion beneath the man’s eyes – it was the expression in the eyes themselves, and the last time Luke had seen this expression he’d been part of a group gathered in a Daytona church nearly twenty years previously. He’d looked at the face of a young widow clutching a child, had seen the loss and grief in her eyes and vowed he’d never get close enough to anyone to hurt that much…
…and before he could say anything else, Luke was looking at Nick’s retreating back as the Texan pushed his way through the crowds of shoppers. Sighing, he started to get to his feet, and that was when he noticed a bright blue paper bag on the ground; picking it up, he pushed the tissue paper aside and found himself looking at a portable CD player that was an almost painful shade of pink – and as he looked at it, he remembered the tension that had been on Nick’s face while he spoke on the phone moments before.
“Mom? Just keep her calm, I’m coming back now.”
Wife? Child?
Who was he talking about?
What’s he been doing?
Don’t get involved, a little voice said. Whatever’s going on, you don’t need to be part of it - but whatever that voice was telling him, Nick was going to need that CD player back.
“Damn it,” Luke muttered softly, and he stood up with the bag in one hand while his other hand foraged in the pocket of his jeans for his cell.
“Marty?” he was saying, a few moments later. “I need you to fix me up with a car, I have to go somewhere. Yes, now – I know, but I can’t, something’s come up,” and as he pressed the button to summon the elevator there was a tug on his sleeve.
“Are you the guy on the bike show?” A small boy with white-blond hair, probably no more than five, and Luke hoped to Christ this kid hadn’t watched the episode they’d filmed in Sturgis during Bike Week.
“That’s me,” he said, smiling despite his desire to get the hell out of the mall and see what was wrong with Nick. “What’s your name, kiddo?”
“Toby,” the little boy said, his face bearing an awestruck expression that Luke still couldn’t quite get used to, even though it was happening more often now the show was in its second season. “Please can my mom take our picture?”
“Of course she can,” Luke told him, looking at the woman who stood nearby holding a camera, and he flashed a grin that brought a visible crimson flush to her cheeks. “You stand in front of me, and let’s give your mom a big smile -”
********
3.15 p.m
Eyes almost swollen shut, Emily lay on Nick’s bed with the photo clutched tightly in her hand; there were no more tears, but her chest was still heaving visibly, and with every breath a soft whimper escaped her lips and broke Nick’s heart a little more.
“I’m sorry I was gone for so long,” he whispered, drawing his daughter against his chest. “You know I love you, right?” and he felt an arm wind round his neck as he stroked Emily’s back and those soft whimpers continued to echo in his ears. “I do,” he said, and he began repeating the words that had been used since the day they’d brought Emily home as an infant. “You’re the best little girl in the world…I love you…Greg loves you…” and he continued to recite soothing nonsense until the grip on his neck relaxed slightly; drawing his head back, he saw that Emily’s eyes had closed completely, but even though she was asleep he wasn’t going to leave her.
Shifting onto his side, he kept one arm round Emily and let his head rest on the pillows; he closed his eyes, because he was too weary and heartbroken to do anything else, and when sleep tackled him he didn’t fight it.
********
6.00 p.m.
“My goodness,” Jillian Stokes said as she studied the figure on the front porch. “Luke, how are you?”
“I wasn’t sure you’d recognise me,” Luke said. “How long has it been now?”
“Ah, but you’re a celebrity, aren’t you?” Nick’s mother replied. “I see you on television when any of my grandsons are visiting, and they never believe me when I tell them I know you – well, come in, for heaven’s sake, don’t stand out on the porch,” she went on with a smile, and she held the front door open wide enough for him to enter the house. “I’d ask why you’re so far from home, but I’m not sure where your home is these days.”
“Well, my mail goes to Daytona, so I suppose that’s home,” Luke told her; he could smell something in the nearby kitchen that made his mouth water, and he was fairly certain that whatever he’d be eating once he got back to his hotel wouldn’t taste half as good. “I opened a new shop today, I’m flying back to Florida tomorrow -”
“You’ll stay for supper, won’t you?” Jillian said, leading the way into the kitchen. “It’s just about ready, we’re going to eat as soon as Nick wakes up.”
Wakes up? Why’s he asleep this early?
“I don’t want to be a…”
“You won’t be a bother,” Jillian interrupted. “I always cook too much, anyway,” and she crossed the kitchen to take a covered dish out of the oven. “You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”
“I thought that was illegal in this state,” Luke said, his remark provoking a soft laugh from Nick’s mother – and then he took a deep breath before asking the question that had been bothering him all afternoon. “Jillian, is Nick all right?”
“He’s fine,” a voice said, and when Luke turned round he saw Nick standing in the kitchen doorway. However long he’d slept, it hadn’t made much difference to the expression on his face or the tense set of his shoulders – and there was a child standing next to him, a little girl with masses of red hair who hid her face against his side at the sight of a stranger in the kitchen. “What are you -?”
“You left something behind at the mall,” Luke said. “I thought I’d bring it back,” and he pushed his chair back to hand over the bag. “Listen, man, I really should go.”
“Did mom ask you to stay for supper?” Nick said, stowing the bag on top of the fridge. “If she did, I’d do it, because she never takes no for an answer,” and while he was doing this the little girl was peeping around his side with blue-grey eyes; there was something in one of her hands, but she hid it behind her back when she saw Luke looking at it.
“Hello,” Luke said softly, bending down to look her in the face. “Who are you, then?” but his efforts were rewarded with a shake of the little girl’s head as she hid her face again.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Nick said, bending to place his arm round her – and while there was real affection in his voice, the smile on his face looked as though it had been nailed there. “Cat got your tongue? He’s a friend of ours, you can tell him what your name is,” and once the little girl’s shoulders had been squeezed reassuringly she spoke in a voice that was tinged with Nick’s Southern accent.
“Emily Sanders Stokes,” she said, and then she looked up at Nick. “Is he gonna stay for supper?”
**********
8.45 p.m
They had eaten supper – chicken casserole, followed by an apple pie that easily rivalled anything Luke’s mother had ever made – and then Emily had asked if she could watch a DVD. This hadn’t prevented her making appearances at the door leading out onto the deck where Luke and Nick were sitting, checking that they were still there, but these appearances had become fewer as time had passed – then, eventually, Nick had gone into the house for more coffee and returned with the news that his daughter had fallen asleep on the floor of the den.
That had been when Nick had finally begun to talk, his hands clenched around his mug as he spoke; he hadn’t looked at Luke until he’d finished his story, and that strange stilted smile had still been on his lips.
“There you are, Luke – that’s how I am.”
“Jesus,” Luke said, almost under his breath, as he lit a cigarette with shaking hands. “Tell me they caught these kids, at least.”
“Oh, we caught them,” Nick said, and there was a grim set to his lips. “One of them goes on trial the week after Christmas, I’m supposed to make some kind of victim impact statement,” he went on. “I feel like saying follow me around for a day, see what this has done to our daughter, that’s your statement -” A long silence followed, and then Nick sucked in a deep breath before turning towards his companion. “I don’t know how many times I’ve given evidence now, but doing that…”
“What’s he like?”
“Greg? He’s – well, he acts like a smartass, but he’s not,” Nick said softly. “Not underneath, and that’s why I know he’ll get out of this, because he’s stronger than everyone thinks,” and he half-emptied his mug before he continued speaking. “We’d been seeing each other for a while, and we’d been to meet his folks,” he went on. “I – well, he asked when we were going to go up to Dallas, and I said…I said that’s not a good idea, you don’t know how my dad is. So he asked me what I meant, and I told him what Cisco said the day I finally came out -”
“What did he say?”
“He said I might still be his son, but I was never going to bring my lifestyle under his roof,” Nick said. “That’s why I never really saw anyone for more than a month or so – I guess I backed off before they got too close, you know? I couldn’t imagine loving someone and not having them be part of my family, so I said I didn’t do relationships, that kind of thing – and I said that to G when he brought the Dallas thing up, I remember that,” and that strange smile twisted across his lips again. “He said we’d been seeing each other for nearly six months, and wasn’t that a relationship?” he went on. “I hadn’t even realised it had been that long, I’d just – I’d gotten used to him being around, I guess - and he looked at me across the table, we were in Denny’s after a shift – and he said we’re not going to live out there, Nicky, I’d just like to meet the parents of the man I care about.” Another pause, another sucked-in breath. “We’d never really talked about it, you know? Where we were going? And he said – he said if it’s just your dad we’ll get through it, but if you’re ashamed of me it stops here -”
“He’s pretty direct, isn’t he?”
“Always,” Nick said, tilting his head back to stare up at a sky that was almost black. “I thought about what he said, about it stopping, and I didn’t want it to,” he said after another lengthy pause. “I told one of my sisters once that all I wanted was to be happy, like our parents were, but I didn’t think there was a guy who could handle the amount of baggage I had – and she said there was one somewhere, if I didn’t manage to scare him off,” he continued. “She was the first person in my family who met him, and she told me if I let him get away she’d kill me herself – and he was standing behind her, she didn’t realise it, and he said – he said there’s no chance of that, Meg, he’s stuck with me now,” and when Nick turned towards Luke his face was taut with suppressed pain even though he was still trying to smile. “That’s why I know they’re wrong about him not coming back,” he said. “He even got through to my father eventually, so he can beat this,” and a bitter laugh escaped his lips. “Bet you’re sorry you ran into me today now, aren’t you? We don’t see each other for twenty years, and then…”
“Screw what I think,” Luke said, once he’d taken a deep drag on his cigarette. “Are you talking to anyone about this?”
“You mean a shrink?”
“I don’t think you’re nuts,” was the immediate response. “But you’ve got all this to deal with, you’ve got a kid -”
“I haven’t got time to see anyone,” Nick said, staring down at his knees. “I’ve barely got enough time to keep everything together as it is.”
“Will you take some advice? Even though we haven’t seen each other for twenty years? Make time,” Luke said. “I didn’t think I needed a therapist either, but I don’t think I’d be here if I hadn’t seen one – what?” but before Nick could answer the door behind them creaked open.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Nick said, the tension on his face softening visibly but not nearly enough. “Come here,” and he set his mug down at his feet. Emily padded across the deck and climbed into his lap, her left thumb plugged securely in her mouth while the fingers of her right hand were still clutching whatever it was she’d hidden behind her back in the kitchen.
“Is it time for me to come in?” Nick asked, and there was an indistinct mumble as his daughter pressed her face against his shirt; he lowered his head, planting a kiss on the tangled red hair, and only looked up when he heard Luke’s chair scrape back. “Let me get her settled, and then…”
“No, man, I really ought to get going,” Luke said, getting to his feet. He had turned his cell off before getting out of his car, and he didn’t doubt there would be more than a dozen missed calls waiting when he turned it back on; it wasn’t only this that was making him want to leave, though, but he couldn’t have articulated the other reason now if he’d tried to. “Will you do something for me?”
“Sure,” Nick said as he stood up with Emily draped over his right hip. “Name it.”
“My email address is on here,” Luke said, fishing a business card out of the pocket of his jeans. “Phone number too, and I’m going to get yours from your mom and chase you up if you don’t keep in touch,” and he tilted his head enquiringly. “What did I say?”
“The others,” Nick said. “The rest of the team, they still go and see him, but they don’t know what to say to me any longer – I just figured you’d be the same -”
“Well, I’m not them,” was the blunt response, making a smile rise unbidden to Nick’s lips. “Are you going to keep in touch?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” Luke said, reaching to ruffle Emily’s hair. “And you’re a witness, young lady -”
“You shouldn’t smoke,” was the little girl’s answer, delivered around the thumb that was still in her mouth. “It’s bad for you.”
“I know,” Luke told her, biting back a smile. “My doctor tells me that too, sweetie,” and he led the way through the kitchen into the hall just as Jillian bustled through from the living room.
“Are you on your way, Luke?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Luke said, taking Nick’s mother by the hand and kissing her on both cheeks. “Thank you for supper.”
“You’re very welcome,” Jillian said. “I’ll let these two see you out - give your parents my best, won’t you?” and she had made her way back into the living room by the time the front door was open.
“I meant what I said,” Luke said as he retrieved a set of car keys from his pocket. “About keeping in touch, and talking to someone.”
“I will.”
“You’d better,” was the answer, and Nick’s free hand was squeezed firmly. “Goodbye, Miss Emily,” Luke went on gravely, chuckling when the little girl hid her face against her father’s shoulder; he unlocked the car, climbed into the driver’s seat, and moments later Nick and Emily were watching taillights disappear at the end of the driveway.
*********
Bernie’s Icehouse - 10.55 p.m
Almost eleven o’clock, and the noise in the bar was at a near-deafening level.
The owner of the new franchise and the five men who would be working for him had come here to celebrate the official opening of the shop, and Luke had joined them because it was part of the ritual he’d enacted five times now. He’d go to a bar with the newest members of his team, he’d put a couple of hundred bucks on the tab; he’d sit at the bar, giving the men their space but occasionally joining in with the banter – and nobody had ever caught on that there was never anything more than club soda or Pepsi in his glass.
Tonight, most of that couple of hundred bucks was already gone. There was a small forest of empty glasses almost covering the two tables that had been pushed together; Pete, the man who’d bought the franchise, was in the middle of a Polish joke he’d started telling about ten minutes ago, resulting in hoots of laughter from his companions whenever he had to break off and start it again. None of them had noticed that for almost half an hour now, Luke had been sitting at a small table out back where he was smoking a seemingly endless stream of cigarettes and staring into the empty glass that sat in front of him.
He’d received a call from his mother one night in Daytona, when he’d been in the middle of turning his apartment upside down for the one receipt his accountant needed - “Luke, have you got the news on? It’s Bill and Jillian’s youngest boy, can you believe it?” she’d said, and he’d switched channels before sitting dry-mouthed and frozen in front of the screen. The story had been practically nation-wide over the days that followed, and when he’d looked at lurid tabloid headlines such as Buried Alive!! and Psycho Blows Himself To Bits he’d told himself he ought to call – just to see how Nick was doing, their parents were friends after all – but he’d stopped himself from doing it.
There’d been another call, just over four years ago now, when his father had told him about Bill Stokes passing away – “The funeral’s on November twenty fourth, Luke? Can you make it? It’d mean a lot to Jillian and the family if you could,” he’d said, but he’d understood when Luke had explained about a trip to New York to talk about opening another shop…not knowing that his son had agonised in the days following that phone call about whether he should reschedule his trip, but had finally decided to leave things the way they were.
Luke’s shoulders sagged while he lit another cigarette from the tip of the previous one, and as he exhaled a thin stream of smoke he thought about the summer he’d been twenty-two, having to copy a key to sneak into his parents’ house because they’d all but disowned him. He’d done this one Friday afternoon, knowing that his mom and dad were at a wedding and figuring he’d be alone to have a shower and wash his clothes and sleep in a comfortable bed…but there’d been this guy there - this kid, really, Bill and Jillian’s youngest boy, not quite eighteen then. His eyes and his shy smile had hit Luke hard, despite everything in him saying that he shouldn’t touch this kid with a ten foot pole – because if he’d been caught, “disowned” wouldn’t have been close to what his father would have done, he’d have been more likely to be crucified…
He’d been Nick’s first lover, and he’d never managed to forget him.
He’d moved to Daytona a week after that night, and he’d thought that throwing himself into the job his buddy had offered him would take his mind off the kid with the Southern accent and the shy smile, but it hadn’t. He’d asked Nick to come and join him, had said as long as Nick wanted to be with him they’d get past the fact that they had no money to speak of; Nick had said yes, he’d do it, and there’d been something in his voice that told Luke he meant it – and even now, Luke couldn’t forget how it had felt to sit in his fleapit apartment in Daytona, waiting for Nick to get off a bus and realising that it wasn’t going to happen after all.
The job had turned into a chain of six shops and a TV series, the fleapit apartment was now a townhouse in Daytona and a waterfront condo in Massachusetts; although he’d been discreet, there had been more guys than he wanted to think about, mostly because he couldn’t remember any of their names – and God damn it, all this should have been enough to erase the memory of a single night, but it wasn’t…
“Hey, Luke!” a voice slurred behind him, breaking into his thoughts. “We’re gettin’ a game of pool together, you want in?”
“Yeah, I want in,” he replied, summoning a smile, and he stubbed out his cigarette and rose to his feet. “I just hate taking your money, that’s all,” and he managed to laugh as he slung a companionable arm round Pete’s shoulders. They walked back into the bar, and the image of Nick’s taut, pale face was dispelled; but Luke knew instinctively that when he was alone in his hotel room and trying to sleep, it would return with a vengeance.
*********
December 25th, 10.40 a.m
“Thank you!” Emily cried excitedly as she unearthed the CD player from its nest of wrapping paper. “Thank you, Nick, how did you know I wanted one?”
“You only told me about a billion times you wanted one,” Nick said, ruffling his daughter’s hair and making her giggle. “You going to say thank you to Greg too, sweetie?”
“Thank you, Greg,” Emily said, rising on tiptoe to plant a noisy kiss on the left cheek of the silent figure in the bed. “Can I open the present we made him, Nick?” and when her query was met with a nod she began to shred the red tissue paper that surrounded a small, flat package.
“It’s a calendar,” Emily told Greg, holding it up over the bed. “It’s got pictures of all of us, and I’m going to put it on the table next to your bed,” and once she had done this she remained motionless and silent for a long time as she studied Greg’s face; eventually, though, her shoulders drooped almost imperceptibly, and when she turned back towards Nick her lower lip was quivering. “Can we go, Nick?”
“Yes, we can,” Nick told her, drawing her into a hug and kissing the top of her head. “You go wait out in the hall with grandma and grandpa, and I’ll be there in a minute, okay?” and he waited until Emily had left the room, her CD player clutched in one hand, before he leaned over the bed. He took hold of Greg’s hand, the one whose ring finger bore a silver band, and he pressed it tightly between both of his own; he looked down at his lover’s expressionless face, the way their daughter had done moments before, and words failed him until he was about to leave this room and rejoin what remained of his family.
“Please, G,” he whispered. “Please,” and sorrow mushroomed in his chest and throat until he feared it would choke him; but he managed to swallow it as he kissed Greg’s mouth, remembering all the times when he’d done this and tasted coffee. He let go of Greg’s hand, placing it gently back down against the bedcovers, and then he left the room; he felt his hand grasped, heard Emily ask whether she could play a CD when they got home, and he was so numb that whatever he managed to answer sounded as though it was coming from someone else.
To be continued.