testdog65 (testdog65) wrote in qaf_challenges, @ 2007-02-20 19:35:00 |
|
|||
Original poster: _alicesprings
Title: The Shadows of His Past
Written By: gaeln
Timeline: 6 years Post 513
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Minor character death
Summary: “And tomorrow comes, a warm, sweet day of letting go.”
Author's Notes: I’m not Catholic so if I’ve got it wrong, please let me know.
Thanks to shadownyc for making what I write so much better & to badbadpixie for making what I write so much prettier
It’s exactly seven years from the day he last sees her until the day he receives the call telling him she’s died. He’ll never know that, he’ll never make that time-line connection and most likely wouldn’t have cared if he had, just another one of those little life-ironies so often missed by those having trouble actually living through them.
They get home late, after another perfect Saturday night of sex-laden night-club dancing; only to find that little life-irony waiting for them, the telephone answering machine’s red-light flashes the warning. Brian requests of it, “Messages,” and it tells him, in a voice so falsely serene it’s almost annoying, that ‘there are eight,’ in the past four hours eight messages have been left, ‘three from Michael Novotny’ and ‘five from Claire Kinney-Jackson,’ the last one at 2:46am and without answering, without even hearing them, Brian knows. He leans against the glass and metal table, thigh pressed against it, its edge, sharp and cold, grounding him, as he hovers over the machine. He gently runs his fingertips over the tabletop’s smooth surface and up over the machine’s cool plastic, tapping on the buttons while he considers just what he should do next.
The matriarch of the Kinney clan is dead, not just dying but…dead, he knows it without being told. If asked how, he would admit he really doesn’t know how, he just does but no one will ask, the point will never be up for debate. He finally decides that dealing with this new reality can wait until morning. He turns, moving away, away from it, away from what he doesn‘t want to deal with and toward what he does. “Let’s go to bed,” Brian directs to Justin, moving with such tranquility down the loft’s hall that, to Justin, he almost seems to move without moving, doing his own physical interpretation of the answering machine’s voice of false serenity.
“Brian?” he questions, “Aren’t you…?” but when Brian turns toward him, Justin is stopped, he actually steps back at the look on his face. It’s then that Justin really understands…he understands by the pain he sees in Brian‘s eyes, by the confusion he feels moving off of him. He takes a sharp breath at of the suddenness of his understanding because now life shifts…changes…will never be exactly the same. Tomorrow will bring with it a new reality and what that new reality will be remains to be seen.
“It can wait, it’s late, nothing we can do now anyway. I…I uhm…I just want you’re ass in bed…”
“But Brian…”
“Bed Justin.”
“Yeah, okay” Justin tells him, “I’ll be there in a minute,” Justin assures him, watching as Brian, smiling slightly, he watches as Brian continues his glide down the hall and into their bedroom.
“I’ll be waiting,” he almost, but not really, sing-songs from the doorway before finally disappearing into the darkness beyond.
Justin sighs his concern, deciding his best course of action is appeasement. Anyone else would at least listen to the messages but not Brian. He’s shut-down to Pittsburgh and he knows that no amount of rational argument will change that. Brian will move at his own pace, deal in his own way and confrontation would only insure further withdrawal.
Every night it’s Brian that makes sure their world is protected, that they are safe from any possible dangers, either from within or without, but tonight he’ll take on that responsibility…that routine. He wanders from here to there, checking this and that, turning on alarms, checking doors as he slowly realizes that he’s not only very sad, not only very worried, but he’s also afraid. He finishes his responsibilities…he ends his routine, at the large glass window overlooking lower Manhattan, standing before it watching, without really seeing, the swirl-dance of city lights as they mingle with the dark velvet sky of 3am and he realizes he really is very afraid.
He leans his forehead to the cool glass and he thinks and the only conclusion he can come to with any certainty is that Brian will act like this is no big deal, like it doesn‘t matter. Joan hasn’t been in his life for years…even before he left Pittsburgh…he hadn’t even told her he was leaving. He remembers laughing, at the time, when Brian had dropped her the note letting her know where he could be found. They had gone together to the store to pick out the card. He’d watched as Brian scrawled across it, ‘Hey mom, guess what?’ His last communication with her, the last words he would ever say.
Weird how that doesn’t seem all that funny just now.
He shifts up, moves away from the window, listening as Brian finishes up in the bathroom; he knows his time of reflection is coming to an end. The truth is…the real truth is Joan had no relationship with her son, had no real relationship with her grandson so, honestly, she won’t even be missed by Gus and she never did acknowledge him as Brian’s partner, not…ever, so…
…why is he feeling so sad? So worried? So afraid?
For her? No…not for her? He’s not even really feeling all that sorry for her. Okay, maybe a little, maybe he’s feeling just a little sorry for her but the fact of the matter is she made her own choices. She chose to never give herself the chance to understand her son. She chose to never know the man he has become…to never know her grandchild…to never know…him, and for that, Justin maybe does feel a little sorry for her but not much more, except …except in that way he was taught he was supposed to feel bad when someone dies, anyone dies; lost opportunities, lost history, all that other shit. But let’s face it, she made her own bed…yadda yadda.
For Brian?…Yeah for Brian, he knows he’s definitely feeling all those things for Brian, all of that and more. Because no matter how he may play this to the contrary, Justin knows he’s hurting and will be for a while. He’s a good Catholic boy, whether practicing or not, whether believing or not, he was raised to it, it’s a part of him just like being Irish. And just like with most good Catholic boys, he has mama-issues, his issues as deeply-rooted and as deeply-buried as anyone‘s…probably more so then most…undoubtedly more so then most and those issues will, in all likelihood, have to be laid open, dealt with in some way and that’s not something Brian does very well.
And what about for himself?…well for himself he is feeling just a little afraid because things have been good between him and Brian for a while, real good, the way he’s always thought it could be, kind of interesting and cool if still unpredictable and complicated but now it’s safe to assume that things will change, will become more unpredictable, more complicated. Brian will change. A lot of the dark shadows of his past will get the full light of now shone on them and there’s always pain that comes with that; pain and regret and who knows what else, and for a while life will be more difficult, more unknown then he could have imagined only an hour ago.
Only one long hour ago, night-club dancing, sweaty and vaguely light-headed, held tight in Brian’s arms, the thumpa-thumpa pulsing his ears, the rainbow-colors flashing his eyes, and the bubble of beautiful, hot, horny men swirl-weaving all around him, life was understood. Brian will always have his temper…his erratic moods, his frustrations and insecurities that flash across him like summer storms. He will always have his dark under-layer…his volatility, he will never be easy, and really, he wouldn’t want him that way but for a while life’s been as angst-free as he had any right to expect .
So now comes the change. But he knows his role, at least he thinks he does, he wants to believe he understands the part he is to play. He will do whatever he can to make this transition as gentle, as uncomplicated, as angst-free as possible for Brian, knowing, nonetheless, that troubled times lay ahead.
So when Brian calls to him, he goes to him and he does his very best to comfort him. Tonight Justin will take Brian his way and Brian will let him.
His clothes are half way off, his shirt unbuttoned, his belt unbuckled with jeans unzipped and riding low, his boots toed-off and kicked away, by the time he makes his way down the hall and into their room. Brian’s already in bed, the covers pulled back, urging him in. Justin crawls into the warm space and over him, moving Brian onto his back, he covers him, his body pressed completely to Brian’s and Brian sighs, a sigh of expectation and want. He understands that tonight Brian needs to be made love to slowly, it taking forever, and every part of him craves doing that.
He pushes down under the covers, nestling between Brian’s legs and he begins his slow process of arousal. What he wants for Brian is one drawn-out, mind-numbing orgasm followed by the escape of sleep and, having noticed the answering machine’s green off-light blinking, he knows that’s what Brian wants too.
There will be consequences tomorrow but fuck that for now. Right now…right now…it’s all about touch…touch and smell and taste.
His skin has the feel of silk to it, of silk and honey, has the taste and smell of warmth and sweat as Justin begins his licking where Brian’s balls lie soft and still yielding against his inner thigh. He moves deeper inside the cave of down comfort, tongue tracing each muscle, teeth nibbling each tendon, with nails scratching on skin and lips sucking over veins. His tongue licks spit and his lips murmur only vaguely heard words over every inch of firm leg…down one thigh…one calf…one foot and up along the other.
When he reaches Brian’s balls again, they’re now not as soft, not as yielding and he can hear, he can feel that Brian’s breathing is a little more rapid, a little more urgent. The arousal has begun. Without warning, he sucks both sacks quick, but not too hard, into his mouth and he hears Brian’s gasp. He curls into Brian and continues his sucking, his mouthing, his nose pressed lightly into his pubes. He’s content for a while, they both are but then he feels Brian’s fingers tugging in his hair, his nails scraping on his scalp. After a while he starts hearing Brian’s whispered, “Justin…Justin,” over and over letting him know he wants more…much more…and pretty much now.
Draping himself over Brian’s hip, half inside, half outside the comfort of his spread legs and, leaning over him, onto him, licking from his tightening balls up his cock to its swelling tip, he swallows Brian complete and Brian jerks up into him, would have choked him if he wasn’t expecting it, if he wasn’t ready for it. It’s a reflex Brian always does without really knowing. Dragging his lips upward, slow twists from side to side, his tongue dance-licking Brian’s nearly hardened cock, Justin allows one finger to drift down, down between his balls, down toward his hole and reaching it, he soothes the sudden tightening he feels there.
It takes a little while but soon enough Brian spreads his legs, as much as he can, spreads himself open, allowing himself to completely feel his touch. Soon enough Brian is aroused enough that he allows Justin in.
“This how you wanna cum?” Justin whispers to him after some indefinable amount of time has drifted by. “You just want me to keep doin’ this?” he clarifies, with lips gently kissing, a hand gently stroking and two fingers gently fucking.
“I…I want in you,” Brian manages to growl, changing Justin’s plans which is fine really, plans are often in need of revising.
“Kay,” Justin acknowledges, shifting positions. He leans toward the bedside table, grabbing a condom and unwrapping it, he smooths it down over Brian’s cock. Using his now upright knees for support, he lowers himself, steady but not too quick down Brian’s length until his ass feels pubes and he can go no further. He rests there for a minute; together they feel the tightness there for a minute, before Justin begins their dance.
Usually the first time in any given night is hard and fast. Usually they’ve been mind-fucking with each other for long enough that they’ve pretty much driven each other crazy. It doesn’t matter if they’re right next to each other…bar-hugging or fast-dancing together in their own tight little cocoon in the middle of the swirl-sensation of New York night-life, or across the room from each other…flirt-playing or cock-teasing, using everyone else in the room to work off of, they both know all the signals to send, all the buttons to push, all the ways to make each other hot.
With pretty much everyone else around them a part of it too.
And while the beginning of this night was pretty much like any other, the ending won’t be. Tonight it won’t be about hard and fast, the first of maybe two, maybe three. Tonight there’s only going to be one time and Justin wants it to last forever so he dances slow. He moves up…opening himself, and he moves down…tightening himself, with an almost painful deliberateness, soft hips moving to the left and to the right, and back again. If they were slow dancing, it would be his hand on the small of Brian’s back, it would be him setting the pace; he would guide their direction, their moves.
He can feel ever twitch in Brian’s cock, every pulse, can feel him swelling, can feel him getting close and maybe it’s time. It’s past 4am, the liquid-crystal display of the clock reminds him they’ve been in this place for over an hour…no record for them, that’s for sure but not bad either. Sometimes an hour is forever, sometimes an hour is enough.
Slowly bringing himself up one last time, his ass clenched tight as he rises, he hovers for a second and then opening himself, he brings himself down as hard as he can, arching back, as Brian pushes up into him as hard as he can…one last time. He feels…hears…smells Brian as he cums. He doesn’t see him, his eyes are shut too tight, the stars behind his eyes are too bright. He grabs his own cock and with only one squeeze brings himself to that same most beautiful place. He feels himself falling as Brian grabs him, pulling him down, down into his arms and he feels himself drowning when Brian kisses him, kisses him so hard that there will be bruising tomorrow.
And then they finally can sleep.
And when he wakes, he hears him. The first thing Justin hears is Brian talking. Glancing at the clock which tells him, in no uncertain terms, that it’s 7:30am, he realizes it’s only been 3 ½ hours since they fell asleep. He wonders if his plan worked at all. Did Brian even sleep at all? Realizing, suddenly knowing he didn’t, he rolls onto his back, both arms over his eyes and he murmurs, “Ah shit,” which pretty much sums it up.
Brian’s voice is getting louder. He’s starting to sound defensive, cornered, like he’s done something wrong which, let’s face it, he has. Justin knows damn well Brian should have called last night, that he should have left the machine on, that they should’ve turned their cells on and now he’s paying for trying to escape. Maybe it’s Michael, could be Michael.
“Of course I’ll fucking be there. Do you really think I wouldn’t be Claire, do you really think I wouldn’t show up to my own mother’s funeral? That’s what you think of me?…Christ.” Justin can hear him from the other room. “How’d that look to all her little church-lady friends if her only son didn’t show…huh? You really think I’d do that to her memory?”
Obviously not Michael and, just as obviously, not good…really not good, so he’s up and still ass-naked, he moves down the hall to the living room, finding Brian pacing, phone clenched tight in his right hand, his left raking nervously through his hair. “Bullshit, Claire, that’s just bullshit. You seriously think she would’ve come to my funeral if the cancer’d gotten me ‘cause really, that’s just you being delusional. But you don‘t have to worry, I‘d never treat her the way she would‘ve treated me. I was there to say good-bye to Jack and I’ll be there to do the same for Joanie.”
He moves up behind him, lays himself along Brian’s back and can immediately feel Brian start to relax, if only in a nearly imperceptible kind of way. “Oh and Claire, just for you, I promise…I….promise, I won’t fuck Justin in front of them…at least not until after the burial, so how’s that, big sister? Feeling okay with him coming now?”
And Brian goes quiet, listening to his sister as Justin soothes along his back, rubbing smooth chest to muscled back, as he kneads the heels of his hands over Brian’s tense shoulders, as he licks a silken trail from the middle of those same shoulders to just inside the waistband of his jeans, smiling when he makes Brian moan, something he loves doing, especially when it’s inappropriate…like now.
“Yeah…yeah, we’ll…be there. As soon as we‘re in Pittsburgh I‘ll come to the house,” and he pauses, adding “Christ Claire, I remember where we used to live, for fucks-sake. Look, I gotta go, I‘ll call.” And with the phone slammed down, for the moment free of his obligations, he turns, taking Justin in his arms and he just holds on.
But only for a moment.
“What’d the hell you say to her?” Justin questions, licking slow and wet up into Brian’s jaw.
“Why do you immediately assume I’m to blame…huh?” but at Justin’s give-me-a-fucking-break scowl Brian admits that, “I may have intimated we wouldn’t…you know?” He starts to explain as he strokes his hands along Justin’s back, possessive and knowing, stroking down over his ass, pulling him close, “That maybe we wouldn’t be coming…just to…”
“…just to what, Brian, just to fuck with her?” as he grinds gently into Brian’s thigh, “‘Cause what? She doesn’t have enough going on already…”
“I know, I…know, it was stupid, it’s just…she just goes off on me the instant I get her on the phone, giving me the ‘you bringing HIM to our mother’s FUNERAL’ bullshit,” he murmurs into Justin’s neck and over his shoulder. “I mean the second I…”
“Because?” and Brian stops. “Be…cause, Brian?”
“Be…cause…she doesn‘t…want you there?” he hesitates.
Justin does his -please- frown and asks again, “Because why, Brian, why ever would she…?”
“Alright…. I should’ve called…alright?…I get it.”
“Do you Brian? Do you…get it?”
“Yeah I…get it,” and annoyed, Brian just slightly pushes him away.
Time for a change. “Well good, I’m gratified so, now what? Do we have to leave right away?”
“Pretty much.” And then Brian does move away, moves toward the very same window he’d made use of last night. Brian stands with his back toward him and murmurs, “Oh, Christ.” And that’s all.
“Did you sleep?” Justin quietly asks.
“Nah,“ Brian quietly replies.
This is going to be one long day and it’s only 8am. “I’m gonna get dressed,” and Justin does. Returning, finding Brian in just the same place, Justin asks, “What can I do, tell me what to do?”
Brian startles, almost like he’d forgotten not only that Justin had gone but even that he would be coming back. “Uhmm…I don’t know…we’ll need a flight, as soon as you think we can make it to the airport. I need to help her. She’s got too much to deal with on her own.”
“You need to not add to that Brian…“
“I know, I know…it’s just…I always get that same tone from her, that same disapproving tone I always got from mom and I get so…”
“Uhmm…let’s see, how about pissed?…defensive?…defiant?”
“Yeah, yeah…all of that,” and Brian turns, he turns toward Justin, a slight smile softening his expression, or at least softening it from what he imagines it must have been before and Brian asks, “Isn’t there something you need to be doing?”
And chuckling Justin confirms, “Yeah, I’m…on it.” And he is, he sets the whole thing up, sends Brian off to shower while he books their reservations, calls for a cab to the airport, even talks with Michael so he can pick them up when they arrive. When Brian comes back, clean and sweet smelling, he even has their boarding passes printing out and their bags mostly ready to go.
“What wooould I do without you?” Brian smirks while cupping his face, while kissing him softly, Brian’s eyes only half-closed when he brings their foreheads together.
“You will never have to find out…I promise.”
“You do promise.”
“I do promise.”
“Good. Now come on, we have to finish packing, you still need to shower, I need to call work, what about the gallery…?”
“Already called ‘em. They completely understand, told me that Shelly and Michael will be able to cover my shifts without any problem until we get back. I just have to let ’em know what’s goin’ on…”
“Good, okay so that just leaves building management…”
“Already called them too, they completely understand too, told me they’ll be happy to check the mail, pick up the paper blah blah, yadda yadda, even asked if we have plants that need watering or fish that need feeding. They’ll take care of everything until we’re back so…anything else?”
Turns out everyone’s on the same page since everyone understands the idea of losing a mom. Brian’s agency, Justin’s gallery, their building manager…everyone.
So once in the cab, with the journey still ahead of them and with little in the way of distraction, Brian goes quiet and, for the most part, Justin leaves him to it.
And once in the airport, with the endless time-before-boarding ahead of them, Brian pretends to read, some trade journal he’s picked up at one of the terminal stores. Justin notices, he can hardly help but not notice, how he rarely turns a page, how his eyes aren’t often in read mode, how he’ll tense, moving abruptly, rubbing his hands over his face, stretching his legs out straight before him, how suddenly he’ll need to release his tension by pacing, to the window overlooking the runway and back to their seats, to the window and back, repeated as many times as is necessary. Once calm, or calmer, he’ll sit and resume his pretending. The ritual repeated until finally the time-before-boarding passes and they’re able to leave.
And once on the plane, during the hour and half flight, it’s pretty much the same, only amplified and more focused because now Brian can’t pace, he can’t even stretch. He’s not able to work off his anxiety in just the same way so he fidgets and bitches instead, shifting this way and that way, trying to figure out how to best fit his body into the space he’s been given. Business class wasn’t an option, time being the priority, so he’s trapped, confined in a space too small, on a journey he doesn’t want to be on, working from a place of little or no sleep…not simply tired but also vulnerable and not just a little scared, scared because deep down inside him, a boy is trying to come to terms with the idea that he no longer has a mother, no longer has any parents really, and the outside man that he has become isn’t handling that as well as some might expect.
But he tries.
And all things taken equally, he does reasonably well. It’s really only Justin who has to take the heat, who has to listen to the only half-said-out-loud bitches and moans; only he has to nod his head in agreement with the grumbled litany of complaints, only he has to empathize with the only-audible-to-him sighs of exasperation. All and all though, with Justin running interference, he really doesn’t do too badly at all.
From New York to Pittsburgh, they don’t argue once, something, at one time, Justin would have thought impossible. He can’t help but be just a little pleased with himself, but not too pleased, karma being what it is, erratic and inclined to smack someone down hardest when they‘re feeling their most confident. Karma’s a cruel master, Justin’s decided; a very fickle and a very cruel master and one not to be fucked with so he doesn’t.
It’s pretty obvious to him from the minute they arrive that while they’re in Pittsburgh, Michael will take over some of the responsibility of handling Brian, will sometimes be his right-hand man while he moves over to Brian’s left and that’s just fine with him. He meets them at the airport, Justin watching as they embrace, listening as he murmurs words of solace, watches as Brian takes them in, making them a part of himself. Justin listens to Michael as he does his best to comfort Brian and he feels glad to know he‘s not entirely on his own. He stands just inside the quiet pull of their long association watching as the world moves, unknowing, around them, oblivious to the life-altering psycho-drama being played out before it.
Finally Michael steps away. He moves away from Brian and he smiles to Justin, and in so doing, he pulls him a little more into the center of what had been just theirs…of what had been just his and Brian’s. Michael invites him in.
“Hey, Justin, glad you could get off work. Ma‘s expecting us, we better get going.”
Brian calls Claire on the way from the airport telling her he’ll be at the house in a couple of hours. The conversation is short and civil, a brother and his estranged sister doing their best to play by the rules. As Justin stretches out in the back of Michael’s car he can only wonder how long it will last. He keeps up his silent mantra, ‘just get through this as easy as possible, just get through as easy as possible’ over and over again.
Debbie’s house is warm and quiet and she is abnormally subdued. Carl takes their bags upstairs for them and Justin realizes suddenly that all he wants to do is follow him to the guestroom, to lie down in the bed and to just fade away. It’s not so much the lack of sleep that’s throwing him as the emotional anxiety of having to be on guard, on edge…what’s throwing him is the strain of having successfully run interference between the world and Brian for hours. But of course he doesn’t, he doesn’t follow Carl upstairs, he stays where he is because he knows he’s supposed to.
Justin moves to the edge again; to the edges of understanding, to the edge of really knowing Brian when he was young. He becomes more spectator than participant as he watches them surround him, cocoon him. Both Michel and Debbie do understand him, or at least as much as anyone can, and not from being told but from having lived through a great deal of his past with him. They were young when he was and they talk of old times. He sits at the kitchen table with them, eats with them and listens to them. He knows he has nothing to add.
They share responsibility for Brian, they know what to do. After Debbie has fed them, Michael takes Brian away, away to see Claire, with a brown paper-bag of food to take to her and then Justin sleeps. He excuses himself claiming, and rightfully so, to be really, really tired. Carl and Debbie don’t argue. He feels he counts on their empathy.
Except when he’s almost settled, just about to turn off the light, the sound of soft tapping at the door stops him with Debbie’s voice asking him, “Justin, honey, you still up? Mind if I come in for a quick minute?” shifting him from a place of about to sleep to a place of needing to stay awake, his mind realigns itself and he is more or less alert and really, how can he say no?
“Sure Deb, not a problem,” he tells her as he moves away from the lamp, and sitting pillow-propped-up in the bed he awaits her arrival, which takes about a second as she moves into the room, almost solemn, as she sits on the edge of the full-size, four-poster, reaching for him, smoothing his hair from his face, stroking him just a little. She takes her hand away, sits quietly, both hands now still in her lap. She hesitates, gathering her thoughts and he waits.
“How’s he doing really, Justin? He says he’s doin’ fine but I’m not buyin’ it, not for one minute. A man doesn’t loose his mama, not even a man like Brian Kinney, not even a mama like Joan Kinney, and do just fine. I know he’s hurtin’, I know he’s got to be.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you’re right but I’m also pretty sure he’ll never admit it, at least not in so many words. You know how he is? And anyway, let’s face it Debbie, you were more a mother to him then she ever was,” and he’s pleased to see her soft smile.
“He was here a lot Justin, too much. I never could understand it; why she let Jack get away with his shit the way she did, hurting that poor boy. It just wasn’t right…not right at all. Nearly drove Vic crazy sometimes, wanting to do something, wanting to confront Jack or something but Brian wouldn’t let him. He’d beg Vic not to, told us the best we could do for him was to give him a place to come to when it got too bad. Seems like there should have been something more…I don’t know, I…I really don’t.”
“You did the best you could, better then she did, and…?”
“Yeah, and now we’re putting her in the ground. Tomorrow the wake, next day the liturgy and the burial and then it’s done. But he never did get the chance to mend things with…”
“She never gave him the chance, Deb, she didn’t. Did he ever tell you how she told him the cancer was God’s way of punishing him for being gay? Did he tell you that?”
“He never did but I wouldn’t put it past her, I wouldn’t. She was just mean sometimes, so…closed off, so…angry. She never did like me…”
“Because she knew Brian found a real mom in you…”
“Well yeah that and I think I was probably a little…flashy for her, ya’know? Maybe having a little more fun being alive then she thought I should but still, I don’t understand how that’s doing God’s work I really don’t, acting that way, letting a man hurt his child. Making it so the only way he can be safe is if he runs away from home, I really don‘t understand it.” Then, noticing Justin’s stifled yawn, she assures him, “I know you must be dead tired, baby, I’ll let you go. You need your sleep, gotta a couple of tough days ahead of us, you up to it?”
“I have to be Debbie, I have no choice. He’s gonna need me, he’s gonna need all of us so we just have to be there for him, that’s all.” He turns off the light, scrunches down in the comfort of old cotton sheets and sighs. “That’s all Debbie, it really is.”
“I know you’re right,” she confirms his words, pulling the worn comforter up around him. Ensuring he’s settled for the night, she stands to leave. The only light now is from the hall, a brush of yellow behind her when she opens the hallway door, moving away from him, she sighs, “And that really is all there is to it…huh? G‘night, sweetie, sleep well.” And she’s gone and he does sleep well, for a while anyway until, and almost as if by instinct, he feels Brian settle into the bed next to him.
“You okay?” Justin questions him and even though his voice is soft, Brian still startles.
“Sorry, didn’t want to wake you.”
“Not a problem, come here,” and at Brian’s hesitation, he emphasizes, “Come on…come here,” and Brian does. He envelopes himself in the safety of Justin’s arms.
“Wanna talk about it?” Justin murmurs.
“I…I don’t know.” Brian wavers.
“Brian, talk to me…”
And he does. Brian tells him, “She’s got everything arranged. Vigil at the house, mass at her parish church…”
“Claire? Claire’s got…?”
“No, mom, she’s had everything arranged for fuck knows how long?”
“With that same priest guy?”
“Yeah, Father Tom,” and he chuckles softly, “He’ll be at the vigil. He’ll preside over the liturgy and the burial. She’s got it all arranged down to what she wants…uuuhmm…down to what she wants to be buried in, that same dress she wore to pop’s funeral.”
“I didn’t see it, remember? I wasn’t…”
“Oh, right, you weren’t there, I forgot.”
“It’s okay, doesn’t matter now.”
“No, guess it doesn’t. Strange to think that you never met Jack though…” he’s laying on his back now, his hands cupping the back of his head, staring into the darkness of Debbie’s guest room at the ceiling he knows is there but that he just can’t quite see.
“I met your mom alright though…jeez, that was so embarrassing…” He curls at Brian’s side, his mouth, his lips within inches of Brian’s ear. He whispers because there’s no need to do otherwise.
“Yeah, actually more than just embarrassing…”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You understand, it would’ve ended up the same way, no matter how she found out, she would have reacted in exactly the same way. No matter what, Justin, she would have rejected me, no matter what. None of it was your responsibility, it was mine for not telling her sooner.”
“If you insist.” Justin gently smirks.
“I do. I think it’s kind of messed up though that she didn’t even trust us to handle any of the arrangements.”
“Strange, Claire must be kind of hurt, right? I really don’t know much about this stuff but maybe she was just trying to make it easier for you guys. Plus this way she gets just what she wants, right? No possible fuck-ups.”
“I think Claire’s okay with it. I don’t know, maybe you’re right, maybe she’s even a little relieved. All we had to do was put in the calls and people knew what to do, I really don’t care. I’ll explain more later, about how this goes but you should know that the wake will be tomorrow during the evening, at the old house. You’ve never even been there before, have you?”
“I never have. Can’t wait to see John again, shit, he’s what?...twenty now?”
“More like twenty-one, twenty-two, I think but he won’t be there. He’s away at school…somewhere; Claire’s not bringing him home. Neither of my darling nephews will be in attendance.”
“Ahhh…too bad,” and he snuggles in closer to Brian as he turns toward him. He feels it as Brian shifts to that place of shelter they can only find when in each other’s arms. “Kiss me,” and Brian does. “Now, go to sleep,” and he’s relieved to hear his soft comforting wheeze when Brian finally does that too.
Morning can only come too early. There’s really no other way for it to come.
Michael closes the store early. He’ll spend most of the day, until late-afternoon, with Brian and Claire, not only getting the house ready for the wake that evening but helping them start the immense job of clearing out, and getting ready for sale, a house that has been lived in by the same woman for over forty years. They don’t know what to do, don’t know where to start and the idea of the job ahead of them begins, in some unforeseen way, to bring a brother and sister lost to each other back to each other again. They start to remember, if only vaguely, a time when life was right with them and they only knew to love each other.
“I know this,” he tells her, “There’s nothing here I want,” he adds emphasizes by tossing another romance novel into the Goodwill box. “Not a…thing.”
And she teases him, “There’s nothing, absolutely nothing anywhere in this whole house you want, no pictures, no books, no albums, no…nothing…anywhere…in this whole…”
“Alright,” he concedes, “I don’t know, maybe, I’ll see?”
And they continue to make the house right for Joan’s vigil; all her church-ladies will be there. They, thankfully, are bringing all the food, and a few of the neighbors will also attend so the place must be clean…spotless…immaculate…all the right phone calls are made, all the right things are done.
They return to Debbie’s for late lunch-early dinner. Ben joins them and Brian asks Claire to stay. She sits next to Justin with Brian to her other side and they talk…small talk…meaningless words but friendly and a beginning.
They stay together, Claire and Brian, until it’s time to go back, until it’s time to start this final chapter in the life of their mother. Brian and Justin take her home so she can shower and change, planning to be at the house by 7:30pm. Father Tom’s there at 8pm, with Joan’s friends having already arrived bringing with them the warm smell of food, the sweet smell of flowers and the soft sound of their voices as they reminisce. They’ve come to honor her life and to offer prayers to help her on her journey home. Justin stays close to him, always at hand should Brian need him, and he watches as this first part of the ritual reveals itself to him.
This vigil, this wake, consists of prayers and Scripture readings with Father Tom doing the introductory rites, the liturgy of the Word, offering prayers of intercession, and ending with a concluding rite…he does all the correct things, in the correct way and in the correct order. And if Joanie could have been there, she would have been pleased. She is remembered. Claire doesn’t have to ask for stories of her mother the way she did for her father, the stories just come, easily and real. The neighbors, especially, tell the story of a woman Brian and Claire barely remember; stories of a young woman, a happy, pretty woman, a woman in love with her husband and proud of her children and they start to remember. The veil of intervening years is drawn back and they find themselves reliving the stories of another time, of a time when they were young .
Brian and Claire can’t help but wonder where she went…this woman they only barely remember. They can’t help but wonder why she chose to leave them alone.
They stand together at the door, on either side of Father Tom, thanking everyone for having come and they all leave with promises of tomorrow…tomorrow…we’ll see you at St. Bartholomew’s tomorrow.
And tomorrow comes, a warm, sweet day of letting go.
This occasion is more solemn although the same women are in attendance, only now also joined by their husbands, all the story-telling of the night before is replaced with quiet grief and an almost unacknowledged fear. Today Joan Kinney, tomorrow…one of them, who knows which one. Joan died with no warning, sudden and alone and in some hidden place, deep within each of them, knowing that makes them afraid.
Still, the funeral liturgy, including mass, are performed beautifully, they can’t help but admire how St. Bart’s is decorated only with fresh flowers, some from the vigil of the night before, some added new, all refined and in moderation with Father Tom so handsome, so understated in his white vestments, his voice strong and clear, his tone both solemn and uplifting. The casket, polished and draped in its white pall, exuding a sense of forever, is placed at the front of the nave for viewing. The Mass includes the reception of the body, the liturgy of the Word, the liturgy of the Eucharist with the final commendation taking place at the burial.
Leaving the parish church and driving the short distance to the cemetery, Brian holds Justin close. Few words are spoken between them only Justin asking what’s next and Brian explaining to him about the committal, the last step of their part in Joan‘s journey, words murmured into him, quiet and by rote, in the back seat of the shiny black limo. Claire sits across from them and watches, silent and learning.
This place is so different from that day ten years ago, a harsh day of snow and wind, beautiful yet severe. Today the sun shines and warms them. No need for umbrellas or overcoats, the weather is mild. When Claire speaks in remembrance of their mother, she is brief, Brian standing beside her, looking a little lost, a little unsure. Father Tom concludes with the commendation.
And the committal of Joan Kinney to the ground is done. For some the memories of this day will always be clear and precise. Justin will be one of these, for others, the memories will be only vague and scattered; Brian will be one of these. All will come away with their own story to tell.
They only stay another day, leaving the next afternoon, the need to get back home almost overwhelming. Justin doesn’t need to run interference as much this time. Brian seems calmer, more contained, more able to cope. It’s not until late that night, when awakened from his sleep by a dream that scares him that Justin knows that Brian isn’t really coping very well at all. He finds him in the living area in front of the window, that same dance of colored lights and black void before him, with silent tears and regrets.
“She loved us once, Justin. She loved…me…once. Why’d that change? What’d I do to make that change?” he murmurs with a false calmness that reminds Justin of why he’s been afraid. It’s like all this time he’s just been holding his breath waiting…waiting for the cracks in Brian's defense to reveal themselves. He's held it together as best as he can and the effort of doing that is starting to show.
“You didn’t do anything,” he replies matching Brian’s own calmness. “Brian, you…did…nothing. I don’t know why, I can’t even begin to understand why but the one thing I do know is that you did nothing…nothing to deserve the way she treated you…the way they treated you.” Justin will soothe him long into this night, the first of many such late night exchanges of ideas explored and of reasons offered, of reasoned explanations, and of halting confessions.
At first Justin feels like he’s moving in the dark, fumbling and unsure. He doesn’t understand enough to know if what he’s doing is right or wrong. He says what he thinks he should but he doesn’t know if what he’s saying is helping or not, he can’t be sure. He does know what to do though and that’s listen. And eventually because he listens...really listens, he will start to understand, he will start to find their way out of the shadows.
And with time Brian will start to realize his best course of action is to just go with him. He will learn that in this, Justin really does know what he’s doing. Eventually, with Justin's help, he will start to forgive.
Not just with Justin's help but with Joan's help as well.
Brian’ll spend his next month with weekends in Pittsburgh as he and Claire, sometimes with Michael’s help and sometimes without, dig through the bits and pieces saved of their mother’s life. And discoveries are made, couldn’t be any other way. Some discoveries are physical like the hidden journals they find at the back of her closet, one for every year since she was eighteen years old. Some discoveries are more of the mind as they reminisce and piece together their shared time in the Kinney home. Being older, Claire remembers more. She remembers when it was Joan, not Brian, that Jack would lash out at, would hurt with words and hitting but how, as Brian got older, how Jack turned from her to him, venting his frustrations on his son.
“We tried to make him stop but, I don’t know, Brian, that only seemed to make him worse. He hit me once, do you remember? He hit me so hard it knocked me out. When I came to, you made me promise I’d never do that again. I couldn’t, not at first, I couldn’t make you that promise, but when I realized that trying to help you only made him worse, I had to back away. It hurt too much…I…I didn’t know what to do.”
“Fuck, Brian, you remember? He’d come home so drunk, any fucking thing would set him off and he’d come looking for you. I don’t know why…I don’t, I just didn’t know what the fuck to do and neither did mom. I didn’t want it to be anything I did, ya’know? I didn’t want to be the one to set him off so I just started staying away as much as I could. Mom, she just started dying inside, she started all the drinking. I guess that’s when she started going to church more, turning to the Lord but I think really, in the beginning, she just wanted to get away, to get away from dad. Gotta all be in her journals but I haven’t started reading them, have you?”
“Nah, I haven’t. Can’t…not yet.” They’ve been going through some boxes in the garage, old odds and ends, holiday stuff neither of them wants, stuff saved from elementary school, from middle school, from high school, stuff no one any longer wants, their collective discarded pasts. “Claire…?” he hesitates, “Why’d…?”
“I don’t know why, Brian, I…” but she stops, she stares out the garage door to their neighborhood once so familiar and now unknown. She collects her thoughts, tries to find her reasons, “…I don’t. I don’t know why I believed him…I really don’t.” She tries to go back to working again but she can’t, she stops again, she stops sorting, stops straightening, stops shifting boxes from one place to another, just…stops.
“How could you think I’d do….?”
“I was so confused, mom was so convinced, so…adamant and I really didn’t want to believe John would do something like…would tell us such a horrible lie, put you at risk like he did for no reason? I didn’t want to believe I’d raised that kind of child…”
“So it was better to believe I was that kind of man…?”
“No…no it wasn’t but mom kept at me about Justin. I know…I know, but she had me convinced that the relationship you had with him was so wrong, that you had seduced him when he was almost a child himself and after he was hurt at that school, the things I read that his father said, he called you a …”
“I know what he called me, Claire…I know but there’s a hell of a big difference between seventeen and thirteen.”
“I know…I know there is,” and she moves a little closer to him, next to him, “I’m so fucking sorry. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I think one of the reasons I’ve stayed away from you all this time is because I just didn’t know how to deal with the guilt. John swears he would’ve never let them put you in jail, I have to believe him, Brian, I…”
“I don’t Claire, I don’t have to.”
“I know, I know you don’t but, please Brian, we have another chance. I‘m not asking you to forgive us, not yet, but maybe…maybe you could give us a chance?”
They’re both sitting still on the cold concrete floor, surrounded by chaos becoming less so, order slowly being restored as all the useless shit of the past gets thrown away…and maybe, just maybe, he can try, maybe he can at least try to do what she asks. “We’ll see,” he tells her, “Maybe,” he concludes. And when she smiles so does he.
Eventually, when the house sells he gives her his half, his way of telling her that maybe they do have a second chance, that maybe it is time for a change and, frankly, she needs it a hell of a lot more then he does. He’s done well and he can afford to be generous.
Between them, sharing their mother’s journals back and forth, they learn her reality. Her attempts to protect him, her guilty at her inability to do so, her confusion at not knowing what to do or who to turn to and, strangely, her thankfulness that Brian eventually found a safe place to run.
Over the years Joan shifts though, becomes bitter and resentful, grows to hate Debbie Novotny for being able to give her son the safety and care she never could. Her journals show how, more and more, she hides her pain, her failure, her confusion, in drink and the church. The church tells her that her son is a sinner, a pervert, damned, tells her that he’s no longer worth the effort of saving and her drink numbs her enough to allow her to believe that’s true. He always was a bad seed…they convince her. He brought it all down on himself…they reassure her, there’s nothing she could have done to save him…nothing and she’ll believe them.
They will forgive her her failures but, deep within herself, she never will. She will never be able to forgive herself for so many things she didn’t do right but mostly she will never be able to forgive herself for not being able to protect her son.
But Brian will. Eventually, after reading her words and coming to understand her life, he will be able to move on because sometimes the best way, the only way to comfort hurt is through forgiveness.
And eventually that’s what Brian will do. He will learn to not only forgive her but he’ll learn to forgive life for having dealt him the hand it did because without he could never have become the man he eventually does.