Chapter 20
Max
After more than an hour playing of building snowmen and making snow angels Liz and I tromp in from the cold, our lips blue and our cheeks ruddy and numb but inordinately happy. Once we peeled off our ice-encrusted layers we treat ourselves to a luxurious, steamy shower followed by a session of luxurious, steamy lovemaking. I can’t help but marvel at how that intimacy has taken on a singular newness between us, almost as if it’s our first time.
Later, Liz lays sprawled across my chest, nibbling provocatively at my nipple, her breath forming wispy little puffs of heat against my skin. Lazily, I drag my fingers through her dark hair, tentatively drying the dampness from the silken strands. The moment is quiet between us, reflective…happy. I want to freeze us this way, just shut out the rest of the world forever and live completely in this moment. But inevitability reality gradually begins to reassert itself.
“Are you tired?” I ask her quietly when Liz falls still with a disjointed sigh and lays her cheek down against my chest. She stretches, long and languorous, like a satiated, drowsy kitten and turns her face up to mine. Her eyes are practically glowing in the dimness as she smiles at me, but I can see something darker flickering there beneath the surface. Her mind is working a mile a minute, despite her relaxed demeanor. “Not particularly,” she answers, a sweet smile curving the corners of her mouth.
However, instead of being beguiled by that smile I’m made anxious by what I sense is gathering beneath her unperturbed façade. I decide to revise my question. “Liz? Is something on your mind?”
She traces small circles in the valley of my abdomen. “Just how much I love you,” she murmurs as her fingers drift lower, but again I glimpse the shuttered look in her eyes. “And how glad I am to be here with you right now.”
“Is…Is that all?” I ask in a hitching gasp, desire and concern at war within me. On the one hand I want to kiss her until she forgets whatever is bothering her, but on the other I want to encourage her to open up to me when she feels conflicted. Especially because she’s had such a problem doing so in the past. “Are you sure you’re not thinking about something else?” I prod further.
“Isn’t that enough?” she counters huskily. Her mischievous hand slips down beneath the covers but I capture her questing fingers before they can make contact with my throbbing flesh. Liz blinks up at me innocently and I must force myself to concentrate on persuading her to talk to me and not the growing demands of my body. “You don’t want me to?”
“There’s something on your mind, Liz, I know it,” I declare gently, “Come on…tell me.”
Her lack of denial lets me know my assumption isn’t wrong. She settles back down against my stomach, burying her face in my side to shield herself from my view. “I don’t want to spoil the mood,” she whispers, “Everything is going so well…”
“Just talk to me,” I insist again.
“It’s Claudia,” she reluctantly reveals in a guilty murmur.
I smile at her reply partly because it was so wholly expected and partly because coax the admission from her was easier than I had anticipated. Tugging her closer so that she’s cradled against me and her cheek cushioned against my shoulder, I say, “So what about Claudia?”
“She’s eighteen. She’s pregnant and completely vulnerable,” she sighs despondently.
“She has Zan,” I point out. After all, isn’t that the very same argument she’s been giving me all this time?
Liz slants me a wry glance. “He’s not much better off than she is,” she comments dryly, “I’m just so worried about them and the situation with David isn’t helping either.”
In a purely comforting gesture, I smooth my hands up and down the sleek length of her back. “You could call her and check up,” I suggest mildly, “I’d completely understand.”
Liz glances up, surprised. “You…You really wouldn’t mind?”
Again I have to smile at her. “Liz, you’re worried about her. Of course, I don’t mind. I didn’t expect that worry to go away just because we came on this trip.”
“But this time is supposed to be about us,” she argues faintly, “And I told Maria to call me if things get bad. She hasn’t called so maybe I’m overreacting.”
“I don’t think you’re overreacting,” I tell her, “You’re her mother. It’s perfectly reasonable that you’d be worried.”
“But Maria’s there and Mom and Michael and Zan, too.”
“And you’re still worried,” I declare when she’s exhausted her arguments.
She expels a disgusted sigh. “You’re right…I’m still worried.”
“So call,” I tell her again. This time I go so far as to roll over and make a grab for the phone. “You’ll never be able to relax until you do,” I tack on when she continues to eyeball the telephone receiver warily.
She hesitantly plucks the phone from my fingers and brings it to her ear. “And you’re sure you won’t mind?” she ask again, “I don’t want you to think I’m distracted.”
“You are distracted,” I tell her, “But that’s okay.”
“I can always wait if you want,” she offers.
“Liz, I’m fine.”
“But--,”
“Make the call already,” I order with an exasperated grunt.
A knowing expression gradually drifts across her beautiful features. “You’re worried about them, too, aren’t you?” she deduces smugly, “That’s why you’re being so magnanimous right now.”
I dodge the question by dragging the telephone base into my lap and deftly dialing our home number. “Just make the call, smart ass.” She’s still smirking at me when her call is answered a few seconds later. I listen intently to the one-sided conversation.
“Oh hey,” she says in pleasured surprise, “I wasn’t expecting to get you at all. Where’s Maria? Oh well, I’m sure Mom’s getting a kick out of that. Michael, too, hmm…that’s bound to be explosive. He stayed over last night? Lots of fighting, huh?” She laughs and I have the ridiculous urge to laugh with her just because she looks so incredibly happy right then. I’m relieved to know that things with Claudia seem well in hand. Liz would never be able to enjoy the remainder of our vacation otherwise.
“So how are you, sweetheart? Any morning sickness? It’s sure to pass soon…try some soda crackers and toast in the meantime. How’s Zan? Is he being a help to you? That’s wonderful, sweetheart. Yes, I expect he is.” Her tone takes on a measure of hesitancy when she asks her next question. “And have you heard from your father at all? Claude? Claudia?” I sense the rising panic in her tone and my smile gradually fades along with hers. I press closer, though it does little to aid in my hearing the other side of the conversation.
“What do you mean ‘you’re handling the situation’?” Liz demands, her voice an octave higher than before, “Don’t give me that grown woman crap now! You do not need to be dealing with him on your own, Claudia Lorraine! Yes, I do know what I’m talking about! A crib…and…what? Claudia, I thought we already discussed all this. Do I need to come home?” Now there’s threat in her tone, scolding threat. “Dammit, Claudia, you have no idea what you’re doing right now. I know you want to make amends with your dad but letting him run your life isn’t the answer.”
Whatever Claudia says in reply causes Liz’s lip to thin into a hard line of disapproval. “It’s not the same, Claudia, and you know it. Fine…you think I’m being unfair? And what does Zan think about that? Oh…oh…well, how about I speak to your father instead? Put him on the phone. What? What?. Well, maybe I wouldn’t treat you like a child if you didn’t act like one!”
There’s a long, ominous pause and I suspect that Claudia is spewing quite a bit of that temper she’s so well known for. As the silence grows Liz’s features become tighter and tighter with anger. I almost have the urge to duck and hide.
“Okay,” Liz finally says in a tone that implies she’s reached the zenith of her patience, “You’re obviously in no frame of mind to talk reasonably with me. We’ll continue this conversation when you get a better handle on your emotions. Good-bye.” She places the phone back into its cradle deliberately, as if the undertaking is the only thing keeping her calm and sane at the moment. I suspect it is.
“Well,” I prompt with a great deal of reluctance, “What happened?”
“What always happens,” Liz returns mockingly, “My daughter thinks she knows everything and, as usual, she refuses to listen to anything I have to say.”
“What’s wrong now?”
“David’s there,” she answers shortly.
“David’s where? At the house?” Liz answers with a jerky nod. “What the hell is he doing there?” I demand.
“Apparently, he’s spending a few days in town with Claudia,” she explains bitterly, “Right now they’re having ‘quality time’ together.”
“Please tell me he’s not staying at the house.”
“He’s not so you can relax. Though that small miracle is only due to the fact that David refused Claudia’s invitation to stay. At least he had that much sense,” she finishes in a mutter.
“What on earth is she thinking?”
“He’s charming her,” Liz answers succinctly, “Claudia’s so anxious to please him and to make up for all the lies she told she’s letting him steamroll her.”
“What?”
“He’s going to take her shopping to get things for the baby…whatever she wants.” Liz utters a low, scoffing laugh. “He’s even talking about setting up a nursery back at the house in Sacramento for the baby. Claudia’s so busy being grateful that she hasn’t stopped to consider what will happen if she accepts her dad’s offer. More than likely he won’t let Zan within a hundred feet of the baby, or us for that matter, if he has his way.”
I can only gape at her. The idea that Claudia would be swayed by a few gifts, no matter how expensive, after the manner in which her father treated her seems ludicrous to me. Not our headstrong, belligerent, downright feisty Claudia. More likely she’d tell David McKee just where he could stick those gifts of his. But from the sound of things it seems as if, instead, Claudia is already bending to her dad. I can’t quite reconcile that surprising turn in my mind. “Surely she’s not buying into his ‘goodwill’ routine?” I balk, “Claudia always struck me as being more obstinate than that. She’s always seemed very adamant about her independence.”
“Well, not this time,” Liz replies direly, “She is buying it…hook, line and sinker. It’s always been that way. Where David is concerned Claudia always makes excuses. Nothing is ever his fault. I wouldn’t be the least surprised if she blames his reaction the other day completely on herself. He can never do wrong in her eyes. She’s a Daddy’s girl, through and through.”
I shake my head over her explanation. “What does Zan say about all this?” One thing I know for certain Zan will definitely not allow for McKee to walk all over him, or Claudia for that matter. “He can’t possibly agree with this.”
“She didn’t say how he felt, but I gather from her tone of voice that he’s not pleased with her decision. I’m not surprised.”
“Neither am I,” I concur softly. I look at her then and ask the question we’ve both been thinking…and dreading. “Do you want to go back home?”
“Honestly, I do and I don’t,” Liz tells me, her tone conflicted, “I know if I do Claudia will just resent me. She’ll think I’m trying to control her and that will make her cling to her father all the more. I’d rather forgo the aggravation for a few more days here alone with you. Maybe Zan will be able to talk some sense into her.”
Despite the grim circumstances her sweet words about wanting to spend time with me bring a smile to my face. I slide back down into the covers, taking her with me so that we can snuggle beneath the blankets. “Is there any chance at all that McKee’s not being sincere?” I wonder gravely.
“Oh, I’m sure he’s being sincere,” Liz answers, “I do believe that David loves Claudia. But that doesn’t mean he without an ulterior motive. David is a businessman. He’s always looking for the most profitable angle. He thinks we all are a bad influence in Claudia’s life and I doubt he’ll stop until he gets her away from us.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I think he’s still as unreasonable as ever. He’s only changed his tactics. I’m sure David realized that badmouthing us isn’t going to draw Claudia closer to him, but if he charms her and plants little seeds of doubt along the way…”
“Yeah, but Claudia knows we love her,” I argue, “She’ll know that whatever he tells her is a lie.”
“Will she?” Liz counters direly, “Already there’s dissention between her and Zan over this. David is dazzling her, Max, and the more we warn her to be careful the more we look like the enemy.” She sighs heavily. “Maybe I’m just overreacting,” she reasons in a mumble, “David is her father after all, not the antichrist. Maybe he does have her best interest at heart.”
“Do you really believe that?” I ask, tipping her chin up so I can look into her face.
“I don’t know what to believe,” she confesses miserably, “It just seems like this whole thing with Claudia has become this awful tug of war that no one can possibly win.”
“Perhaps you and I should try talking to McKee together when we get back to Roswell,” I suggest pensively, “I think we need to establish some ground rules…for all our sakes.”
“You’d really do that?” Liz breathes in awe, “For me? I…I know how much you dislike him, Max.”
I strum my fingers over the ridge of her cheekbone and whisper reverently, “I do dislike him. I loath him actually. But I love you so much more. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you, Liz.”
She captures my fingers and brings them to her lips, meticulously pressing kissing to the tips. “Okay…then we’ll talk to him,” she decides softly, “But we won’t go home…not yet. I want to have this time with you before chaos ensues.”
“I believe I can arrange that,” I tease, hugging her close, “Whatever will we do with ourselves in the meantime, Mrs. Evans?”
Grinning wickedly, Liz rolls atop me and pins me down into the mattress. “Oh, I think I can dream up a few things.”
TBC
Misdirection (MATURE) Sequel to The Chosen Path CC COMPLETE
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Deejonaise
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Deejonaise
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- Joined: Thu Feb 28, 2002 12:48 am
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Chapter 21
Zan
“I’m on to you.”
Mr. McKee whips away from the window at my sudden intrusion, his manner irritated. “What the hell do you want now?” he demands gruffly.
I have the mind to tell him off right then. After all, this is my friggin house! I shouldn’t have to explain myself when I enter my own damned living room. He definitely doesn’t have the right to cross-examine me about it. But I check my rant and the various swear words tripping at my lips. Inciting further antagonism between us will do nothing more than make the entire situation all the more difficult.
“Claudia asked me to keep you company while she takes a shower,” I reply tersely, “She thought it might give us the opportunity to talk.”
Mr. McKee draws up tall and straight, raking me with a contemptuous once-over. “I don’t have anything to say to you,” he declares disdainfully.
“Well, that’s too bad,” I retort, “because I’ve got plenty to say to you.” He slices me with another hateful glare, which I return in equal measure. I think he might be having a difficult time restraining himself from slugging me one right this second if his bunched fists are any indication. It’s good to know because I’m currently having just as much difficulty. “I think it’s disgusting what you’re doing to Claudia right now.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re playing on her guilt about lying to you about our relationship and the baby. You’re using it to control her,” I reply succinctly, “And I’ll be damned if I let you get away with doing it.”
“Oh-ho! I’m controlling Claudia?” he queries sardonically, “No, I think the controlling one here is you, young man. You’ve got my daughter tied up in so many knots she doesn’t even know who she can trust anymore.”
“She can trust me.”
His crisp gray eyes narrow in a caustic stare and he cocks his head to one side as if he’s sizing me up…and finding me lacking. I hate those eyes, which is ironic in itself because their Claudia’s eyes. I look into them every day. And yet hers has never seemed as wintry and unyielding as her father’s. Rather Claudia’s eyes are stormy, vibrant, and chaotic with passion. I have to believe that Mr. McKee’s eyes reflect what’s inside his heart just like Claudia’s reflect what’s inside hers. Simply stated, he isn’t a man I’d like to know at all.
“That’s exactly what you want, isn’t it?” he accuses me balefully, “You want to isolate Claudia from everyone she loves so that the only people she will have to depend on are you and your kind.”
“That’s an interesting theory,” I utter dismissively, “But also a complete load of crap.”
“Is it?” he counters tersely, “It seems to me that you don’t want Claudia to need anyone else but you.”
“That’s not true,” I deny hotly, “This isn’t a contest for me, Mr. McKee. I wouldn’t care about you being in Claudia’s life if I could be sure that you weren’t going to hurt her.”
“I’m going to hurt her?” he sneers, “You abandon her at one of the most needy times in her life, causing her to have a nervous breakdown and then take her back a few months later only to get her pregnant before she’s even completed her first year of college and I’m the one who’s going to hurt her?”
I don’t want to admit it but his words are definitely hitting their mark, lacerating me emotionally with their piercing veracity. Though I’ve yet to admit it, even to myself, I do carry a fair amount of guilt for my part in Claudia’s break. She tells me over and over that it wasn’t my fault, that what was broken inside her had been there long before we crossed paths and still I wonder… I torture myself.
Her grandfather had just died only a few days earlier. She was being eaten alive with guilt; not only for being away when Jeff Parker finally passed but also for the pain she’d caused her parents as well. In an understandable need to undo the anguish she’d inadvertently caused she shared my lifetime secret with her father and for that I cut her out of my life. When she got sick only a few weeks later I blamed myself. I still blame myself…and so does her father.
“It was never my intention to hurt her,” I croak guiltily, “I love Claudia. You could never understand just how much.”
“But you still hurt her,” he presses softly, “Don’t you see what you’re doing? You’re ruining her life.”
I shake my head in denial. “No. I make her happy. She needs me.” I stare at him hard. “We need each other.”
“Sounds like co-dependency to me.”
“You’re hardly one to be giving relationship advice,” I return coldly, “How many failed relationships have you had?”
“My relationships aren’t the issue here, young man,” he reprimands tersely, “Your relationship with my daughter is. You’ve shown an utter lack of regard for her welfare and I think--,”
“Whoa. Whoa,” I interrupt furiously, “You think I’ve shown a lack of regard for Cee? Since when? I’m not the one who was spewing hate and disdain at her three days ago.”
“Maybe not,” he concedes with calculated smoothness, “But you are the one who compelled her to lie to her family and you are the one who’s been sneaking around with her for the last year. You are the one who got her pregnant.”
“Claudia isn’t a child,” I argue stiffly, “She makes her own decisions.”
“Which you greatly influence, I’m sure.”
I’m finally goaded beyond patience. David McKee is quite obviously spoiling for a fight. I’m more than willing to accommodate him. “And what about you?” I retort sharply, “Look at the way you treated her the other day. You acted as if she disgusted you. She was crying…begging for you to stay and you just walked out on her. How dare you accuse me of showing disregard for her? You’ve seemed to accomplish that in spades.”
“Claudia forgave me for all of that and we’re past it,” he replies lamely and I know, just as his words did earlier, my accusation has left its mark.
I snort an ironic laugh. “Is it so surprising to you that she did?” I query disdainfully, “That’s what Claudia does. She has a very forgiving heart when it comes to the people she loves. If you knew her even a little bit you’d already be aware of that.”
“Don’t presume to tell me what I do and don’t know about my daughter!” he spits at me, “Having sex with her does not make you an authority on her life! You’ve been with her for two years! I raised her, dammit!”
I swear I would have launched myself at him in that second if Claudia didn’t drift into the living room. But her smile of greeting collapses into a frown of sorrow as she accesses our belligerent stances. I can tell she was anxious to rejoin us, probably in the hope that somehow we’d managed to make peace with one another. Her hair isn’t even completely dry yet, but pulled back from her face in a damp ponytail. She’s not even wearing any make-up. To see the look of devastated disappointment on her face is heart wrenching.
“Sweetheart, we--,”
She holds up her hand to cut off her father’s beginning excuse. “I was hoping you two would try and find some common ground,” she whispers glumly. Her gaze travels between us sadly. “I guess not.”
“This isn’t something you can just fix, Cee,” I tell her gently, “Your dad and I have a lot of issues between us. They’re not going to be settled in one afternoon.”
“But maybe you can try,” she beseeches with unconcealed hope.
“We can’t,” her father declares, “I don’t like him and…he doesn’t like me.” He sends me a glance of freezing hatred. “Nothing will change that, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m the one who’s sorry, Dad,” she mumbles remorsefully, “Because I’m completely in love with Zan. He means everything to me and…if you can’t accept him then you can accept me either. And…and there’s no way I can come back to Sacramento to live with you.”
McKee appears positively tortured by her succinct proclamation. “Claude, one has nothing to do with the other,” he protests, “You were living with me before all this happened. There’s no reason we can’t go back to the way things were.”
“Things were near unbearable before,” she says brokenly, “I doubt they would get much better with me pregnant.”
“I think we can work something out,” her father proposes desperately.
“No, Dad, I don’t think we can,” Claudia contradicts flatly, “Because Zan and I are a packaged deal. How am I supposed to accept your invitation to come and stay with you if I know Zan won’t be welcome? You’ll just try to dictate when and if he can see me just like you do with Mom.”
“Claudia, you’re my daughter. This boy,” he says, leveling me with a quivering finger, “means absolutely nothing to me. It’s your welfare I’m concerned about.”
“When you said you wanted to try I thought you meant trying to know Zan better, too,” she responds sadly, “I thought you meant finally letting go of all this hatred you have inside.”
“Claudia, listen to me,” McKee implores urgently, “You want to love this boy there’s little I can do to stop you. You want to have his baby…again there’s nothing I can do. But I’ll be damned if I stand back and watch you make yet another mistake by marrying him. This is not the life I envisioned for you.”
“Marrying Zan wouldn’t be a mistake,” she refutes calmly, “If you knew him you would never think that, Dad.”
“If I knew him?” her dad explodes in a furious whisper, “He’s a lying punk who impregnated my little girl and has disrespected me at every turn! Why would I want to have anything to do with him?”
“You talk about it like I had no say in the matter!” Claudia yells back, “I wanted to be with Zan. I made the choice to keep our relationship a secret. He didn’t force me, Dad! This baby is a direct result of the decisions we made together! I played a part in this just as much as he did.”
“And what if he’s brainwashed you to think that?” he considers wildly, “I know these…these people can mess with your mind. That’s why your mother’s so turned around.”
“Dad, stop it,” she warns. Her tone is even but I can see tears beginning to shimmer in her eyes.
“No,” he insists obdurately, “Why won’t you even consider the possibility that they don’t have your best interests at heart?”
“What you’re suggesting is ridiculous.”
“Why can you believe him but be skeptical of everything I say?” he growls.
“You sound as if you want me to choose!” she cries.
“And if I so want that,” he counters coldly, “Then who would it be, Claudia? Who would you choose?”
The events that follow McKee’s outburst go by in a blur for me. Later when I think back on the events and my adrenaline isn’t pumping I will reflect on my supreme terror in that second. I will remember just how close Claudia was to dying. But right then, in the heat of things, I react on pure instinct. At first, every piece of glass within a six-foot radius of us shattered. And then, as the living room is cloaked in dimness, Claudia slumps to the floor.
My first thought as I dive forward to catch her is that she’s fainted. With each day her pregnancy progresses her symptoms become a bit more pronounced. But as I lower her unconscious body to the ground I quickly assimilate that this is no fainting spell. Her body is completely motionless, ice cold and overrun run with charges of blue-green energy. I shake her a bit, call her name, all the while her father on the brink of near hysteria above my shoulder.
“Claudia. Claudia,” I call urgently, “Wake up and look at me.” That’s when I realize the rapid color change to her skin. She’s gone from a light golden bronze to ashen gray in a matter of seconds and she’s…she’s not breathing.
I go into automatic mode, much the way I did when she was shot that day in the Crashdown. As the connection blossoms wide there’s a rush of energy transferred between us so strong that it nearly knocks me aside, but then we’re one…sealed. Her mind pictures flitter through my head, numerous times with her dad, as well as her aching need to have his love, his presence. For the moment I push past those deep emotions just beneath the surface, searching…searching for the cause of her collapse. When I finally discover the reason I nearly stop breathing myself.
Her heart has stopped and…I can’t get it to start again. I’m sobbing inside myself, focusing all the energy I have on that tiny muscle which carries so much power but I can do nothing. And then, once more, I’m jolted again…so hard I feel as if I’ve been knocked unconscious. When I open my eyes again I can feel I’m still in the connection, I can still feel Claudia’s essence swimming around me, weak though it is, but I’m someplace else entirely.
The landscape is surreal even though I recognize the place as our little hideaway in the desert. The place where Cee and I always run when things are bad. She is perched on a large, craggy boulder not far ahead of me, smiling gently. “I’ve been waiting for you to come,” she says softly.
I stumble forward, a million questions veering through my head, but only one thought managing to make itself manifest. “You’re not breathing,” I tell her with an edge of panic.
Claudia rises to greet me, wraps her arms about my neck. I shiver over how vibrantly alive she feels in my arms. “But you’re going to change that, aren’t you?” she whispers against my ear.
And like that it’s over. The connection is broken and I come out of it feeling weak and quivering all over. Claudia is still lying on the floor, her chests rising and falling jerkily in a greedy need for air…mercifully alive. And suddenly, even holding up my head is too much and I lean forward until our foreheads are rested against one another.
“Is she okay?” McKee demands anxiously.
I roll a glance over to him. Sometime during our ordeal he made his way over to Claudia’s side. He’s gripping her hand now and the composure is seemed to where like a glove earlier is completely gone. He looks…helpless. Exactly how I feel.
“She’s fine,” I tell him.
“And her baby?” I’m actually surprised that he would show even a modicum of concern over our child. I run my fingers down Claudia’s abdomen and establish a quick connection with my reserved strength. My daughter’s emotions saturate my senses. Warm, protected and blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding outside her world. I answer Mr. McKee with a slight nod. “Thank God,” he mutters.
Claudia groans and shifts under me slightly, causing me to rear back a bit. “Wh-What happened?” she asks as she comes to rest up on her elbows, “Why am I on the floor?”
“You don’t remember?” her dad asks.
She fixes him with a startled frown. “Dad? H…Have you been here long?”
Now it’s McKee’s turn to be startled. He looks at me, as if asking for assistance before finally turning to regard Claudia again. After an extended pause, he attempts a tentative reminder. “Honey, don’t you remember,” he asks carefully, “You and I were supposed to go shopping this afternoon. We were going to have dinner together.”
“Dinner?” Claudia murmurs in confusion, “Shopping? But I thought…” She considers me for a moment and then her father. “You…You aren’t mad at me anymore?”
“Claudia, we straightened all that out,” he tells her, “Remember?”
Evidently, she doesn’t. I watch her struggle to recall, but her efforts seem only to render her more befuddled and frustrated. “Baby, why don’t you get some rest for now, okay,” I soothe her gently, “You look really tired.”
I solicitously assist her to her feet and she absently gives my cheek a loving pat. “I…I don’t know what’s going on, Zan,” she whispers, “My head hurts.”
“It’s okay. I’m here with you,” I murmur, “We’ll talk about everything when you wake up. I promise…I’ll explain it all.”
“I love you, Zan,” she says with a weary smile, “What would I do without you? And I think I will lie down for a few minutes. I am tired.” She looks back at her dad and gives him a weak smile. “Maybe we’ll talk later,” she implores hopefully.
“I’ll be here,” he tells her.
After I put Claudia in bed she falls asleep almost the instant her head hits the pillow. I watch her a few minutes, just to assure myself that she’s still breathing before leaving her alone to nap. When I reenter the living room McKee is waiting for me.
“She was out for six minutes,” he recounts quietly, “Tell me what’s happening to her.”
“I’m not sure,” I reply, falling into the nearest chair. Shaking with frustration and belated shock, I drag all ten fingers through my hair. “Claudia is going through a lot of changes right now, both physical and emotional. I don’t know if her body can handle it all.”
“So basically what happened?”
“Her heart stopped,” I explain flatly, “And something happened to keep it from starting up again.”
McKee slumps into the chair adjacent to mine. “Oh God,” he utters, “She could have died.” He raises his gaze to mine, his eyes swimming with a mixture of gratitude and fear. “She would have died,” he amends quietly, “If it weren’t for you.”
His gratitude, tacit though it is, makes me wholly uncomfortable. I decide to ignore his statement altogether. “Look, the best I can tell these…glitches…with Claudia happen when she’s in a high emotional state, especially when she’s upset or angry.”
“So what are you telling me?”
“Claudia’s determined to have us both in her life,” I tell him grimly, “When I connected with her I could feel how much she needs you…how much she needs us both.” I level him with a hard, accessing stare. “If this is going to work out you and I are going to have to find some way to get along…for her sake.”
TBC
Zan
“I’m on to you.”
Mr. McKee whips away from the window at my sudden intrusion, his manner irritated. “What the hell do you want now?” he demands gruffly.
I have the mind to tell him off right then. After all, this is my friggin house! I shouldn’t have to explain myself when I enter my own damned living room. He definitely doesn’t have the right to cross-examine me about it. But I check my rant and the various swear words tripping at my lips. Inciting further antagonism between us will do nothing more than make the entire situation all the more difficult.
“Claudia asked me to keep you company while she takes a shower,” I reply tersely, “She thought it might give us the opportunity to talk.”
Mr. McKee draws up tall and straight, raking me with a contemptuous once-over. “I don’t have anything to say to you,” he declares disdainfully.
“Well, that’s too bad,” I retort, “because I’ve got plenty to say to you.” He slices me with another hateful glare, which I return in equal measure. I think he might be having a difficult time restraining himself from slugging me one right this second if his bunched fists are any indication. It’s good to know because I’m currently having just as much difficulty. “I think it’s disgusting what you’re doing to Claudia right now.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re playing on her guilt about lying to you about our relationship and the baby. You’re using it to control her,” I reply succinctly, “And I’ll be damned if I let you get away with doing it.”
“Oh-ho! I’m controlling Claudia?” he queries sardonically, “No, I think the controlling one here is you, young man. You’ve got my daughter tied up in so many knots she doesn’t even know who she can trust anymore.”
“She can trust me.”
His crisp gray eyes narrow in a caustic stare and he cocks his head to one side as if he’s sizing me up…and finding me lacking. I hate those eyes, which is ironic in itself because their Claudia’s eyes. I look into them every day. And yet hers has never seemed as wintry and unyielding as her father’s. Rather Claudia’s eyes are stormy, vibrant, and chaotic with passion. I have to believe that Mr. McKee’s eyes reflect what’s inside his heart just like Claudia’s reflect what’s inside hers. Simply stated, he isn’t a man I’d like to know at all.
“That’s exactly what you want, isn’t it?” he accuses me balefully, “You want to isolate Claudia from everyone she loves so that the only people she will have to depend on are you and your kind.”
“That’s an interesting theory,” I utter dismissively, “But also a complete load of crap.”
“Is it?” he counters tersely, “It seems to me that you don’t want Claudia to need anyone else but you.”
“That’s not true,” I deny hotly, “This isn’t a contest for me, Mr. McKee. I wouldn’t care about you being in Claudia’s life if I could be sure that you weren’t going to hurt her.”
“I’m going to hurt her?” he sneers, “You abandon her at one of the most needy times in her life, causing her to have a nervous breakdown and then take her back a few months later only to get her pregnant before she’s even completed her first year of college and I’m the one who’s going to hurt her?”
I don’t want to admit it but his words are definitely hitting their mark, lacerating me emotionally with their piercing veracity. Though I’ve yet to admit it, even to myself, I do carry a fair amount of guilt for my part in Claudia’s break. She tells me over and over that it wasn’t my fault, that what was broken inside her had been there long before we crossed paths and still I wonder… I torture myself.
Her grandfather had just died only a few days earlier. She was being eaten alive with guilt; not only for being away when Jeff Parker finally passed but also for the pain she’d caused her parents as well. In an understandable need to undo the anguish she’d inadvertently caused she shared my lifetime secret with her father and for that I cut her out of my life. When she got sick only a few weeks later I blamed myself. I still blame myself…and so does her father.
“It was never my intention to hurt her,” I croak guiltily, “I love Claudia. You could never understand just how much.”
“But you still hurt her,” he presses softly, “Don’t you see what you’re doing? You’re ruining her life.”
I shake my head in denial. “No. I make her happy. She needs me.” I stare at him hard. “We need each other.”
“Sounds like co-dependency to me.”
“You’re hardly one to be giving relationship advice,” I return coldly, “How many failed relationships have you had?”
“My relationships aren’t the issue here, young man,” he reprimands tersely, “Your relationship with my daughter is. You’ve shown an utter lack of regard for her welfare and I think--,”
“Whoa. Whoa,” I interrupt furiously, “You think I’ve shown a lack of regard for Cee? Since when? I’m not the one who was spewing hate and disdain at her three days ago.”
“Maybe not,” he concedes with calculated smoothness, “But you are the one who compelled her to lie to her family and you are the one who’s been sneaking around with her for the last year. You are the one who got her pregnant.”
“Claudia isn’t a child,” I argue stiffly, “She makes her own decisions.”
“Which you greatly influence, I’m sure.”
I’m finally goaded beyond patience. David McKee is quite obviously spoiling for a fight. I’m more than willing to accommodate him. “And what about you?” I retort sharply, “Look at the way you treated her the other day. You acted as if she disgusted you. She was crying…begging for you to stay and you just walked out on her. How dare you accuse me of showing disregard for her? You’ve seemed to accomplish that in spades.”
“Claudia forgave me for all of that and we’re past it,” he replies lamely and I know, just as his words did earlier, my accusation has left its mark.
I snort an ironic laugh. “Is it so surprising to you that she did?” I query disdainfully, “That’s what Claudia does. She has a very forgiving heart when it comes to the people she loves. If you knew her even a little bit you’d already be aware of that.”
“Don’t presume to tell me what I do and don’t know about my daughter!” he spits at me, “Having sex with her does not make you an authority on her life! You’ve been with her for two years! I raised her, dammit!”
I swear I would have launched myself at him in that second if Claudia didn’t drift into the living room. But her smile of greeting collapses into a frown of sorrow as she accesses our belligerent stances. I can tell she was anxious to rejoin us, probably in the hope that somehow we’d managed to make peace with one another. Her hair isn’t even completely dry yet, but pulled back from her face in a damp ponytail. She’s not even wearing any make-up. To see the look of devastated disappointment on her face is heart wrenching.
“Sweetheart, we--,”
She holds up her hand to cut off her father’s beginning excuse. “I was hoping you two would try and find some common ground,” she whispers glumly. Her gaze travels between us sadly. “I guess not.”
“This isn’t something you can just fix, Cee,” I tell her gently, “Your dad and I have a lot of issues between us. They’re not going to be settled in one afternoon.”
“But maybe you can try,” she beseeches with unconcealed hope.
“We can’t,” her father declares, “I don’t like him and…he doesn’t like me.” He sends me a glance of freezing hatred. “Nothing will change that, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m the one who’s sorry, Dad,” she mumbles remorsefully, “Because I’m completely in love with Zan. He means everything to me and…if you can’t accept him then you can accept me either. And…and there’s no way I can come back to Sacramento to live with you.”
McKee appears positively tortured by her succinct proclamation. “Claude, one has nothing to do with the other,” he protests, “You were living with me before all this happened. There’s no reason we can’t go back to the way things were.”
“Things were near unbearable before,” she says brokenly, “I doubt they would get much better with me pregnant.”
“I think we can work something out,” her father proposes desperately.
“No, Dad, I don’t think we can,” Claudia contradicts flatly, “Because Zan and I are a packaged deal. How am I supposed to accept your invitation to come and stay with you if I know Zan won’t be welcome? You’ll just try to dictate when and if he can see me just like you do with Mom.”
“Claudia, you’re my daughter. This boy,” he says, leveling me with a quivering finger, “means absolutely nothing to me. It’s your welfare I’m concerned about.”
“When you said you wanted to try I thought you meant trying to know Zan better, too,” she responds sadly, “I thought you meant finally letting go of all this hatred you have inside.”
“Claudia, listen to me,” McKee implores urgently, “You want to love this boy there’s little I can do to stop you. You want to have his baby…again there’s nothing I can do. But I’ll be damned if I stand back and watch you make yet another mistake by marrying him. This is not the life I envisioned for you.”
“Marrying Zan wouldn’t be a mistake,” she refutes calmly, “If you knew him you would never think that, Dad.”
“If I knew him?” her dad explodes in a furious whisper, “He’s a lying punk who impregnated my little girl and has disrespected me at every turn! Why would I want to have anything to do with him?”
“You talk about it like I had no say in the matter!” Claudia yells back, “I wanted to be with Zan. I made the choice to keep our relationship a secret. He didn’t force me, Dad! This baby is a direct result of the decisions we made together! I played a part in this just as much as he did.”
“And what if he’s brainwashed you to think that?” he considers wildly, “I know these…these people can mess with your mind. That’s why your mother’s so turned around.”
“Dad, stop it,” she warns. Her tone is even but I can see tears beginning to shimmer in her eyes.
“No,” he insists obdurately, “Why won’t you even consider the possibility that they don’t have your best interests at heart?”
“What you’re suggesting is ridiculous.”
“Why can you believe him but be skeptical of everything I say?” he growls.
“You sound as if you want me to choose!” she cries.
“And if I so want that,” he counters coldly, “Then who would it be, Claudia? Who would you choose?”
The events that follow McKee’s outburst go by in a blur for me. Later when I think back on the events and my adrenaline isn’t pumping I will reflect on my supreme terror in that second. I will remember just how close Claudia was to dying. But right then, in the heat of things, I react on pure instinct. At first, every piece of glass within a six-foot radius of us shattered. And then, as the living room is cloaked in dimness, Claudia slumps to the floor.
My first thought as I dive forward to catch her is that she’s fainted. With each day her pregnancy progresses her symptoms become a bit more pronounced. But as I lower her unconscious body to the ground I quickly assimilate that this is no fainting spell. Her body is completely motionless, ice cold and overrun run with charges of blue-green energy. I shake her a bit, call her name, all the while her father on the brink of near hysteria above my shoulder.
“Claudia. Claudia,” I call urgently, “Wake up and look at me.” That’s when I realize the rapid color change to her skin. She’s gone from a light golden bronze to ashen gray in a matter of seconds and she’s…she’s not breathing.
I go into automatic mode, much the way I did when she was shot that day in the Crashdown. As the connection blossoms wide there’s a rush of energy transferred between us so strong that it nearly knocks me aside, but then we’re one…sealed. Her mind pictures flitter through my head, numerous times with her dad, as well as her aching need to have his love, his presence. For the moment I push past those deep emotions just beneath the surface, searching…searching for the cause of her collapse. When I finally discover the reason I nearly stop breathing myself.
Her heart has stopped and…I can’t get it to start again. I’m sobbing inside myself, focusing all the energy I have on that tiny muscle which carries so much power but I can do nothing. And then, once more, I’m jolted again…so hard I feel as if I’ve been knocked unconscious. When I open my eyes again I can feel I’m still in the connection, I can still feel Claudia’s essence swimming around me, weak though it is, but I’m someplace else entirely.
The landscape is surreal even though I recognize the place as our little hideaway in the desert. The place where Cee and I always run when things are bad. She is perched on a large, craggy boulder not far ahead of me, smiling gently. “I’ve been waiting for you to come,” she says softly.
I stumble forward, a million questions veering through my head, but only one thought managing to make itself manifest. “You’re not breathing,” I tell her with an edge of panic.
Claudia rises to greet me, wraps her arms about my neck. I shiver over how vibrantly alive she feels in my arms. “But you’re going to change that, aren’t you?” she whispers against my ear.
And like that it’s over. The connection is broken and I come out of it feeling weak and quivering all over. Claudia is still lying on the floor, her chests rising and falling jerkily in a greedy need for air…mercifully alive. And suddenly, even holding up my head is too much and I lean forward until our foreheads are rested against one another.
“Is she okay?” McKee demands anxiously.
I roll a glance over to him. Sometime during our ordeal he made his way over to Claudia’s side. He’s gripping her hand now and the composure is seemed to where like a glove earlier is completely gone. He looks…helpless. Exactly how I feel.
“She’s fine,” I tell him.
“And her baby?” I’m actually surprised that he would show even a modicum of concern over our child. I run my fingers down Claudia’s abdomen and establish a quick connection with my reserved strength. My daughter’s emotions saturate my senses. Warm, protected and blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding outside her world. I answer Mr. McKee with a slight nod. “Thank God,” he mutters.
Claudia groans and shifts under me slightly, causing me to rear back a bit. “Wh-What happened?” she asks as she comes to rest up on her elbows, “Why am I on the floor?”
“You don’t remember?” her dad asks.
She fixes him with a startled frown. “Dad? H…Have you been here long?”
Now it’s McKee’s turn to be startled. He looks at me, as if asking for assistance before finally turning to regard Claudia again. After an extended pause, he attempts a tentative reminder. “Honey, don’t you remember,” he asks carefully, “You and I were supposed to go shopping this afternoon. We were going to have dinner together.”
“Dinner?” Claudia murmurs in confusion, “Shopping? But I thought…” She considers me for a moment and then her father. “You…You aren’t mad at me anymore?”
“Claudia, we straightened all that out,” he tells her, “Remember?”
Evidently, she doesn’t. I watch her struggle to recall, but her efforts seem only to render her more befuddled and frustrated. “Baby, why don’t you get some rest for now, okay,” I soothe her gently, “You look really tired.”
I solicitously assist her to her feet and she absently gives my cheek a loving pat. “I…I don’t know what’s going on, Zan,” she whispers, “My head hurts.”
“It’s okay. I’m here with you,” I murmur, “We’ll talk about everything when you wake up. I promise…I’ll explain it all.”
“I love you, Zan,” she says with a weary smile, “What would I do without you? And I think I will lie down for a few minutes. I am tired.” She looks back at her dad and gives him a weak smile. “Maybe we’ll talk later,” she implores hopefully.
“I’ll be here,” he tells her.
After I put Claudia in bed she falls asleep almost the instant her head hits the pillow. I watch her a few minutes, just to assure myself that she’s still breathing before leaving her alone to nap. When I reenter the living room McKee is waiting for me.
“She was out for six minutes,” he recounts quietly, “Tell me what’s happening to her.”
“I’m not sure,” I reply, falling into the nearest chair. Shaking with frustration and belated shock, I drag all ten fingers through my hair. “Claudia is going through a lot of changes right now, both physical and emotional. I don’t know if her body can handle it all.”
“So basically what happened?”
“Her heart stopped,” I explain flatly, “And something happened to keep it from starting up again.”
McKee slumps into the chair adjacent to mine. “Oh God,” he utters, “She could have died.” He raises his gaze to mine, his eyes swimming with a mixture of gratitude and fear. “She would have died,” he amends quietly, “If it weren’t for you.”
His gratitude, tacit though it is, makes me wholly uncomfortable. I decide to ignore his statement altogether. “Look, the best I can tell these…glitches…with Claudia happen when she’s in a high emotional state, especially when she’s upset or angry.”
“So what are you telling me?”
“Claudia’s determined to have us both in her life,” I tell him grimly, “When I connected with her I could feel how much she needs you…how much she needs us both.” I level him with a hard, accessing stare. “If this is going to work out you and I are going to have to find some way to get along…for her sake.”
TBC
Last edited by Deejonaise on Mon Dec 08, 2003 2:00 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Deejonaise
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Slight posting frenzy here, folks...
Chapter 22
Liz
The lobby pianist plays a charming little Christmas jingle as Max and I lounge on the sofa before the fire, sipping hot cocoa. We spent a good portion of our afternoon and evening making love, but finally managed to rouse ourselves at dinnertime. After dinner we decided to hang out in the lounge area and enjoy some hot chocolate. We’ve been here ever since even though the hour is beginning to grow late.
“This place is like a dream,” I sigh cozily as I set aside my mug, “I wish we never had to leave.”
“Then let’s not,” Max suggests with an impish grin, “We could change our identities and just hide out here forever. I’m an alien, remember? I can make it happen.”
“Stop it,” I giggle, giving him a playful nudge, “I just may take you up on that offer.”
“This thing with Claudia is tying you in knots,” he surmises sympathetically.
I shrug. “Really how can I complain about her not being the perfect daughter when I was never the perfect mother? I’m still not,” I finish in a self-deprecating mumble.
Max sets aside his own chocolate to gather me close. He lovingly kisses my temple. “And what exactly made you so imperfect?” he wonders skeptically, “I know you, Liz. I know your capacity for love and loyalty. Even at your angriest, even when you claimed to hate me you’ve always had my best interests at heart. I can’t imagine that you were any different with Claudia.”
“You’re right…I always did have her best interest at heart,” I agree softly, “And I did love her…I do love her, very much. It was just…when she was smaller I was…distant.”
“Distant?”
I pause for a moment, wracking my brain for the most apt way to describe my attitude. For a long time I’d excused my behavior, mollified by the fact that I wasn’t physically or emotionally abusive. I never hesitated to give Claudia the things she wanted or needed. I was always there when David couldn’t be. I was the one who planned her birthdays, who attended the school functions and parent-teacher conferences, the one who made her doctor’s appointments and cared for her when she was sick. I was the model mother except…I had put up a wall and no one was getting in. Not even my own daughter.
“Claudia and I weren’t ever friends when she was growing up,” I tell him, “I think the longer David and I were married the more withdrawn I became. When I started thinking of my marriage as a mistake I think, subconsciously, I started thinking of Claudia as one, too.”
“Did she know that?” Max asks.
“We touched on it in her therapy sessions,” I tell him, “It was never something I told her outright. It wasn’t even something I believed myself, but that’s exactly how I treated her. We had a relationship much like the one I had with my mom when I think about it. I never felt like my mother understood me or like she even wanted to. She was like some distant, judgmental stranger and a good deal of the time I found myself hating her for it even as I was wishing that she’d let me in.” I sigh in self-reflection. “I suppose that’s the way my mother felt about me.”
“Sometimes we’re more like our parents than we realize,” Max murmurs, “We always say when we’re young how we’re going to be so different with our own kids but then we grow up and repeat all their same mistakes.”
I have to nod in agreement with that assessment. I’m rather appalled by the discovery. And here I thought that Nancy Parker and I were as different as the moon and sun. It seems that we have more in common than I ever realized.
“I remember how I used to lie and do exactly what you just said,” I recount sadly, “I’d tell myself how I’d be completely different with my own daughter, that I would never make her feel like an afterthought in my life and then I turn around and do exactly that.”
“Nobody’s perfect, Liz,” Max murmurs, “I know that better than anyone.”
“But I’ve scarred her, Max,” I whisper regretfully, “Just like my mother scarred me.”
“But you made it all right,” he reassures me, “Claudia will, too.”
“Will she?” I wonder grimly, “She’s so emotionally fragile, Max. I’m so afraid that she’ll break under all this strain and then all that progress she made at the hospital will be for nothing.”
“I think maybe Claudia is stronger than you or I give her credit for,” Max says thoughtfully, “I think as long as we continue to treat her like she’s incapable of handling the curve balls life throws at her Claudia is going to act accordingly. How can we expect to build her self-confidence if we don’t show that we have any confidence in her ourselves?”
I favor him with a crooked smile. “So wise,” I commend him, “I don’t think I’ve ever considered that way before. Why didn’t you share this crunchy nugget with me earlier?”
“Because I’m an idiot.”
“Huh?”
“You and I have been going about this thing all wrong, Liz,” Max replies as he leans back to prop his feet against the coffee table. I follow his lead. “Somewhere along the line it stopped being we and started being you and me. We haven’t been working as a team the entire time we’ve been married. Up until now you’ve left me to handle the problems with Zan while I’ve left you to handle the problems with Claudia and McKee. It shouldn’t be that way.”
“It shouldn’t?”
“Liz, we’re married,” he says gently, “Your problems are my problems and vice versa. We’ve got to stop acting like we’re in this alone, Liz. That’s not what marriage is supposed to be about. You’re supposed to have my back and I’m supposed to have yours.”
“You mean like we’re friends?” I consider with a broadening grin.
Max smiles back. “I’m game if you are.”
“You know what happened the last time we were friends,” I warn in mocking laughter.
“Yeah, I do,” Max murmurs reverently in return, “It was one of the best times of my life…the only time when my life actually made sense.”
“Oh, Max… Thank you for saying that,” I breathe emotionally. Up until now I have always assumed what my friendship meant to Max, but to hear him tell me so aloud, to hear how very much it did mean to him, warms me inside.
“Don’t you dare start crying or I’ll be forced to tickle you until you pee,” he threatens laughingly, but there’s a definitive sheen to his eyes as well.
We settle back into the sofa then and listen to the pianist play his rendition of “Silver Bells.” I’m feeling warm, drowsy and decidedly content as I lay snuggled in my husband’s arms right then. My world and all my problems seem infinitesimal now. It’s been reduced to a tiny, little pinpoint, a slice heaven where only Max and I exist. “I wonder if he knows the Peanuts song,” I murmur sleepily, letting my eyes drift closed as I lean against Max’s shoulder.
I can feel Max smile against my forehead. “The what song?”
In answer I pop open one eye. “You know…” I prompt with a tired smile, “The Peanuts song…Charlie Brown’s theme song…” I hum off a few verses for him and his eyes flare wide with laughter. “Yeah, that song,” I confirm with an ever widening grin.
“Well, I don’t know if he’ll play it,” Max returns with a devilish grin of his own, “But I can definitely ask him.”
“Max, don’t!” I cry in mortification as he starts to slip from the couch. I make a desperate grab for his forearm. “Don’t go ask him that,” I beg, “He’ll think I’m completely insane!”
“No, he’ll think it’s totally sweet,” he contradicts impishly, “Just like me.”
“Max, please don’t do it,” I beg plaintively. But it’s too late. He’s already shrugged out of my hold and is swaggering over to the pianist. As Max greets him I lower my head and shield my face from view with my hand. When I dare to peak up, however, Max is pointing directly at me! Even from a distance I can hear the pianist’s answering chuckle distinctively. I groan as my cheeks burn with renewed embarrassment.
The next thing I know the lobby is filled with the exhilarating tunes of Charlie Brown’s theme song. I could literally sink into the sofa cushions right about now. And Max…that betrayer, that Judas, actually has the nerve to come striding back over to me smiling. I could bite him.
However, my mutinous expression doesn’t seem to faze him one bit. In fact he extends a hand down to me. “Wanna dance?”
“Absolutely not!” I hiss primly, “I’m so embarrassed I can hardly speak!”
“Liz, come on,” he cajoles, “You know it’s funny.”
“It is not,” I reply coolly, but my lips definitely do twitch.
“Come dance with me,” he invites again, “Or will I have to start without you?” When he starts to swivel his hips in time with the music I jump off the sofa before he can make a bigger ass of himself.
Ironically though, when we’re out in the middle of the lobby doing our own “real people” version of the Charlie Brown dance I forget all about my embarrassment. I forget that we’re drawing a curious smile or that other couples have joined in our silliness. I forget everything but Max’s face smiling above me. We’re like teenagers again, laughing and easy, but without all the emotional baggage of before. For the first time in a really long while I feel free to love, free to give my heart without the fear of having it handed back to me sliced and diced on a platter. I’m healing…
As the song comes to an end I twirl into his arms laughing, while the dense crowd of guests around us break into applause. Max laps up the attention with a spoon. “Thank you! Thank you!” he says with flourish, “We’ll be here all week!”
I’m choking with laughter by the time we make our way back to the sofa. “How did I miss the fact that you were such a nitwit?” I ask him laughingly.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Liz Evans,” he remarks softly.
I shift onto my side, drawing my knee up onto the cushions so that I can regard him face to face. “Oh yeah…like what?” I challenge.
Max pretends to think for a minute. “I don’t like turkey.”
I emit a disbelieving snort. “Liar.”
“No, seriously…I hate it,” he continues, straight-faced, “Did you notice I didn’t even touch it at Thanksgiving?”
He’s right about that, but I had previously assumed it was due to the melodrama that had played out prior to dinner. Max had just nibbled only here and there for the remainder of the evening. “But…But you ate it last year,” I sputter.
“I choked it down for your benefit,” he says, “I really can’t stand the stuff.”
“Hmm…interesting,” I reply faintly, wilting back into the couch, “What else?”
“I cried watching Runaway Bride.”
Now he’s just being silly. “You did not!”
He shrugs, but I can see the laughter twinkling in the green gold depths of his eyes. “Some chick flicks really do move me,” he teases, placing his hand over his heart in a mockingly fervent gesture.
I roll my eyes in response. “Max, be serious. Tell me something true…something profound.”
“Something profound, hmm?”
“If you can manage,” I retort jokingly.
“Okay,” he agrees slowly, “Other than Tess you’re the only woman I’ve ever slept with.”
I freeze completely. Not because he mentioned sleeping with Tess because strangely that knowledge no longer has the power to hurt me, but for the other. I can’t believe that time between us when the kids were missing had been his first in nearly eighteen years. “Max, I…” But I trail off because I really don’t know what to say to him…maybe because I don’t know why he decided to impose a life of abstinence upon himself.
“It’s not that I didn’t try,” he tells me, “There was a girl in my Advanced Anatomy class who was definitely hot for me. She wasn’t looking for any commitment and neither was I but when I tried to go through with it I couldn’t do it.”
“Why not?” I whisper thickly.
“Because being with her felt the same way it had when I was with Tess,” he answers quietly. His eyes are practically luminous as he regards me. “It felt as if I was cheating on you so I left. I never tried again.”
“Cheating on me?” I echo faintly, “Max, we…we weren’t together anymore. I was married…I had a family by then… You didn’t even know where I was.”
“We weren’t technically together when I slept with Tess either,” he reminds me softly, “But my heart still belonged to you.” He taps his chest for emphasis. “I was still committed to you there and I went against my instincts…my soul. I decided that I wasn’t going to make the same mistake again.”
“So you really were waiting for me,” I murmur, amazed, captivated…shaken.
Max nods and when he speaks his words are so choked with emotion that I can barely make them out. But when they penetrate I feel as if I might burst into tears right then. He says, “I would have waited forever if I had to,” and I believe him.
I completely believe him.
TBC
Liz
The lobby pianist plays a charming little Christmas jingle as Max and I lounge on the sofa before the fire, sipping hot cocoa. We spent a good portion of our afternoon and evening making love, but finally managed to rouse ourselves at dinnertime. After dinner we decided to hang out in the lounge area and enjoy some hot chocolate. We’ve been here ever since even though the hour is beginning to grow late.
“This place is like a dream,” I sigh cozily as I set aside my mug, “I wish we never had to leave.”
“Then let’s not,” Max suggests with an impish grin, “We could change our identities and just hide out here forever. I’m an alien, remember? I can make it happen.”
“Stop it,” I giggle, giving him a playful nudge, “I just may take you up on that offer.”
“This thing with Claudia is tying you in knots,” he surmises sympathetically.
I shrug. “Really how can I complain about her not being the perfect daughter when I was never the perfect mother? I’m still not,” I finish in a self-deprecating mumble.
Max sets aside his own chocolate to gather me close. He lovingly kisses my temple. “And what exactly made you so imperfect?” he wonders skeptically, “I know you, Liz. I know your capacity for love and loyalty. Even at your angriest, even when you claimed to hate me you’ve always had my best interests at heart. I can’t imagine that you were any different with Claudia.”
“You’re right…I always did have her best interest at heart,” I agree softly, “And I did love her…I do love her, very much. It was just…when she was smaller I was…distant.”
“Distant?”
I pause for a moment, wracking my brain for the most apt way to describe my attitude. For a long time I’d excused my behavior, mollified by the fact that I wasn’t physically or emotionally abusive. I never hesitated to give Claudia the things she wanted or needed. I was always there when David couldn’t be. I was the one who planned her birthdays, who attended the school functions and parent-teacher conferences, the one who made her doctor’s appointments and cared for her when she was sick. I was the model mother except…I had put up a wall and no one was getting in. Not even my own daughter.
“Claudia and I weren’t ever friends when she was growing up,” I tell him, “I think the longer David and I were married the more withdrawn I became. When I started thinking of my marriage as a mistake I think, subconsciously, I started thinking of Claudia as one, too.”
“Did she know that?” Max asks.
“We touched on it in her therapy sessions,” I tell him, “It was never something I told her outright. It wasn’t even something I believed myself, but that’s exactly how I treated her. We had a relationship much like the one I had with my mom when I think about it. I never felt like my mother understood me or like she even wanted to. She was like some distant, judgmental stranger and a good deal of the time I found myself hating her for it even as I was wishing that she’d let me in.” I sigh in self-reflection. “I suppose that’s the way my mother felt about me.”
“Sometimes we’re more like our parents than we realize,” Max murmurs, “We always say when we’re young how we’re going to be so different with our own kids but then we grow up and repeat all their same mistakes.”
I have to nod in agreement with that assessment. I’m rather appalled by the discovery. And here I thought that Nancy Parker and I were as different as the moon and sun. It seems that we have more in common than I ever realized.
“I remember how I used to lie and do exactly what you just said,” I recount sadly, “I’d tell myself how I’d be completely different with my own daughter, that I would never make her feel like an afterthought in my life and then I turn around and do exactly that.”
“Nobody’s perfect, Liz,” Max murmurs, “I know that better than anyone.”
“But I’ve scarred her, Max,” I whisper regretfully, “Just like my mother scarred me.”
“But you made it all right,” he reassures me, “Claudia will, too.”
“Will she?” I wonder grimly, “She’s so emotionally fragile, Max. I’m so afraid that she’ll break under all this strain and then all that progress she made at the hospital will be for nothing.”
“I think maybe Claudia is stronger than you or I give her credit for,” Max says thoughtfully, “I think as long as we continue to treat her like she’s incapable of handling the curve balls life throws at her Claudia is going to act accordingly. How can we expect to build her self-confidence if we don’t show that we have any confidence in her ourselves?”
I favor him with a crooked smile. “So wise,” I commend him, “I don’t think I’ve ever considered that way before. Why didn’t you share this crunchy nugget with me earlier?”
“Because I’m an idiot.”
“Huh?”
“You and I have been going about this thing all wrong, Liz,” Max replies as he leans back to prop his feet against the coffee table. I follow his lead. “Somewhere along the line it stopped being we and started being you and me. We haven’t been working as a team the entire time we’ve been married. Up until now you’ve left me to handle the problems with Zan while I’ve left you to handle the problems with Claudia and McKee. It shouldn’t be that way.”
“It shouldn’t?”
“Liz, we’re married,” he says gently, “Your problems are my problems and vice versa. We’ve got to stop acting like we’re in this alone, Liz. That’s not what marriage is supposed to be about. You’re supposed to have my back and I’m supposed to have yours.”
“You mean like we’re friends?” I consider with a broadening grin.
Max smiles back. “I’m game if you are.”
“You know what happened the last time we were friends,” I warn in mocking laughter.
“Yeah, I do,” Max murmurs reverently in return, “It was one of the best times of my life…the only time when my life actually made sense.”
“Oh, Max… Thank you for saying that,” I breathe emotionally. Up until now I have always assumed what my friendship meant to Max, but to hear him tell me so aloud, to hear how very much it did mean to him, warms me inside.
“Don’t you dare start crying or I’ll be forced to tickle you until you pee,” he threatens laughingly, but there’s a definitive sheen to his eyes as well.
We settle back into the sofa then and listen to the pianist play his rendition of “Silver Bells.” I’m feeling warm, drowsy and decidedly content as I lay snuggled in my husband’s arms right then. My world and all my problems seem infinitesimal now. It’s been reduced to a tiny, little pinpoint, a slice heaven where only Max and I exist. “I wonder if he knows the Peanuts song,” I murmur sleepily, letting my eyes drift closed as I lean against Max’s shoulder.
I can feel Max smile against my forehead. “The what song?”
In answer I pop open one eye. “You know…” I prompt with a tired smile, “The Peanuts song…Charlie Brown’s theme song…” I hum off a few verses for him and his eyes flare wide with laughter. “Yeah, that song,” I confirm with an ever widening grin.
“Well, I don’t know if he’ll play it,” Max returns with a devilish grin of his own, “But I can definitely ask him.”
“Max, don’t!” I cry in mortification as he starts to slip from the couch. I make a desperate grab for his forearm. “Don’t go ask him that,” I beg, “He’ll think I’m completely insane!”
“No, he’ll think it’s totally sweet,” he contradicts impishly, “Just like me.”
“Max, please don’t do it,” I beg plaintively. But it’s too late. He’s already shrugged out of my hold and is swaggering over to the pianist. As Max greets him I lower my head and shield my face from view with my hand. When I dare to peak up, however, Max is pointing directly at me! Even from a distance I can hear the pianist’s answering chuckle distinctively. I groan as my cheeks burn with renewed embarrassment.
The next thing I know the lobby is filled with the exhilarating tunes of Charlie Brown’s theme song. I could literally sink into the sofa cushions right about now. And Max…that betrayer, that Judas, actually has the nerve to come striding back over to me smiling. I could bite him.
However, my mutinous expression doesn’t seem to faze him one bit. In fact he extends a hand down to me. “Wanna dance?”
“Absolutely not!” I hiss primly, “I’m so embarrassed I can hardly speak!”
“Liz, come on,” he cajoles, “You know it’s funny.”
“It is not,” I reply coolly, but my lips definitely do twitch.
“Come dance with me,” he invites again, “Or will I have to start without you?” When he starts to swivel his hips in time with the music I jump off the sofa before he can make a bigger ass of himself.
Ironically though, when we’re out in the middle of the lobby doing our own “real people” version of the Charlie Brown dance I forget all about my embarrassment. I forget that we’re drawing a curious smile or that other couples have joined in our silliness. I forget everything but Max’s face smiling above me. We’re like teenagers again, laughing and easy, but without all the emotional baggage of before. For the first time in a really long while I feel free to love, free to give my heart without the fear of having it handed back to me sliced and diced on a platter. I’m healing…
As the song comes to an end I twirl into his arms laughing, while the dense crowd of guests around us break into applause. Max laps up the attention with a spoon. “Thank you! Thank you!” he says with flourish, “We’ll be here all week!”
I’m choking with laughter by the time we make our way back to the sofa. “How did I miss the fact that you were such a nitwit?” I ask him laughingly.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Liz Evans,” he remarks softly.
I shift onto my side, drawing my knee up onto the cushions so that I can regard him face to face. “Oh yeah…like what?” I challenge.
Max pretends to think for a minute. “I don’t like turkey.”
I emit a disbelieving snort. “Liar.”
“No, seriously…I hate it,” he continues, straight-faced, “Did you notice I didn’t even touch it at Thanksgiving?”
He’s right about that, but I had previously assumed it was due to the melodrama that had played out prior to dinner. Max had just nibbled only here and there for the remainder of the evening. “But…But you ate it last year,” I sputter.
“I choked it down for your benefit,” he says, “I really can’t stand the stuff.”
“Hmm…interesting,” I reply faintly, wilting back into the couch, “What else?”
“I cried watching Runaway Bride.”
Now he’s just being silly. “You did not!”
He shrugs, but I can see the laughter twinkling in the green gold depths of his eyes. “Some chick flicks really do move me,” he teases, placing his hand over his heart in a mockingly fervent gesture.
I roll my eyes in response. “Max, be serious. Tell me something true…something profound.”
“Something profound, hmm?”
“If you can manage,” I retort jokingly.
“Okay,” he agrees slowly, “Other than Tess you’re the only woman I’ve ever slept with.”
I freeze completely. Not because he mentioned sleeping with Tess because strangely that knowledge no longer has the power to hurt me, but for the other. I can’t believe that time between us when the kids were missing had been his first in nearly eighteen years. “Max, I…” But I trail off because I really don’t know what to say to him…maybe because I don’t know why he decided to impose a life of abstinence upon himself.
“It’s not that I didn’t try,” he tells me, “There was a girl in my Advanced Anatomy class who was definitely hot for me. She wasn’t looking for any commitment and neither was I but when I tried to go through with it I couldn’t do it.”
“Why not?” I whisper thickly.
“Because being with her felt the same way it had when I was with Tess,” he answers quietly. His eyes are practically luminous as he regards me. “It felt as if I was cheating on you so I left. I never tried again.”
“Cheating on me?” I echo faintly, “Max, we…we weren’t together anymore. I was married…I had a family by then… You didn’t even know where I was.”
“We weren’t technically together when I slept with Tess either,” he reminds me softly, “But my heart still belonged to you.” He taps his chest for emphasis. “I was still committed to you there and I went against my instincts…my soul. I decided that I wasn’t going to make the same mistake again.”
“So you really were waiting for me,” I murmur, amazed, captivated…shaken.
Max nods and when he speaks his words are so choked with emotion that I can barely make them out. But when they penetrate I feel as if I might burst into tears right then. He says, “I would have waited forever if I had to,” and I believe him.
I completely believe him.
TBC
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Deejonaise
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- Posts: 385
- Joined: Thu Feb 28, 2002 12:48 am
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Chapter 23
Claudia
There’s only the clink of our flatware against our plates to break the horrible, monotonous silence that has fallen over the dinner table. The atmosphere is tense, uncomfortable and I have the terrible suspicion that it’s completely my fault as well. Even though Zan is responsible for coordinating this dinner between him, myself, my father, Maria and Michael I have an inkling that I’m at the heart of it. There is definitely no way that these four people would decide to dine with one another otherwise.
Michael hates Maria. Maria hates Michael. Zan hates my dad. My dad hates Zan. The only other neutral party at the table is Justin and he’s definitely no help, even with the gummy smiles he offers me. I feel at least I should attempt to carry the conversation since this is all happening for my benefit but really my mind is going in a million different directions.
Quite simply I’m worried…about everything. If I’m not obsessing over the baby and what sort of mother I’ll be, I’m obsessing over Zan and what sort of wife I will be. Am I ready for either responsibility? I look in the mirror and I tell myself that I am. I’m ready, I’m fully prepared, but inside I just don’t feel it. And now that Zan has filled in the gaps on what happened this afternoon I’m obsessing over the alien changes to my body as well.
I can sense what’s happening inside me. It’s almost as if I’m falling asleep inside, going into hibernation, preparing for something bigger. But what that “something” is I can’t imagine and yet I’m poised on the edge of panic and riddled through with fear. And I can’t talk to Zan about what I’m feeling though I literally have to bite my tongue in order to keep from doing so. I know what will happen if I tell him my fears. He’ll wrongly blame himself. I won’t have that. For once I’m going to protect him with that same terrier fierceness with which he protects me.
In the meantime my stomach is churning, my heart is racing and I’m battling the strong and compelling urge to run screaming from the dining room. It’s one of those moments where I wish for my mother’s legendary composure. Sometimes she’s like ice, like nothing can touch her. Satin over steel. But I’m more like my father, governed by my emotions. I lash out first and then survey the damage later. I have very little impulse control, which is why it’s taking Herculean effort for me not to completely lose it at the dinner table.
While I appreciate that everyone is willing to swallow their pride and misgivings to sit through a meal together for my sake I’d be more appreciative if they actually put some effort into making the experience a pleasant one. “Pass the potatoes,” is not exactly my idea of dinnertime conversation. On the edge of desperation I toss a pleading glance at Maria but she only shrugs in reply as if to say, “Hey, don’t look at me.”
Okay, so obviously this is my moment to step up. I’m always spouting off to my mom about how I know what I’m doing and how I want to be treated as a adult, but when it comes to actually acting like one I’m clueless. Maybe that’s why I gave her such a hard time this morning when we talked on the phone. I knew she was right…even though I didn’t want to admit it. I don’t know half as much as I pretend I do, but I suppose that’s where the lesson lies. I’ll never prove to myself that I’m ready to face the changes life has ahead for me unless I start taking control for myself.
So, in other words, I can’t wait for someone else to start conversation. I need to take the initiative. And it’s true that I have no idea how to bring these four antagonistic dinner guests together but I get that it’s my responsibility to try. Inhaling a deep, shaky breath I dive right on in. “So Dad,” I begin and I swear everyone at the table jumps at the sound of my voice, “How is business going?”
He stares at me for a good ten seconds in befuddled silence, as if I’ve just spoken a foreign language. Finally, he grunts, clears his throat and attempts an answer. “It’s…It’s good,” he tells me and reaches for his wine. He takes a long draught before continuing. “I’m up for promotion.”
“Wow, that’s great!” I reply with forced cheer, “Isn’t that great, Zan?” I nudge him beneath the table with my knee to reanimate him.
“Yeah, it’s great, Mr. McKee,” he mumbles in lackluster agreement.
That elicits yet another noncommittal grunt from Dad but still I persevere. “I guess that means your work load’s increased, huh?”
“Somewhat,” he answers shortly. But just when I’m ready to take up the steak knife and jab it in my eye Dad finally contributes to the conversation. “So…Zan,” he begins haltingly, “Claudia tells me you’re pre-med.”
“Yes, sir,” Zan replies but he doesn’t offer much more than that. I suppose I should be happy that he even answered at all.
“Are you going to study pediatric medicine like your father?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” Zan replies.
“You should start thinking about that,” Dad advises, “You’ll be graduating before you know it.”
“Zan has a good grip on his future,” Michael interrupts rudely, “He doesn’t need any advice from you.”
Dad calmly sets aside his knife and fork and I brace myself for World War III. “He’s planning to marry my daughter,” he declares to Michael coldly, “Of course I want to make sure that their future will be financially sound.”
“Of course, he does,” Maria interjects firmly. Now, she decides to throw me a lifeline! Oh brother, talk about a day late and a dollar short! “It’s perfectly understandable that you would be worried about Claudia with everything that’s going on, but really, David, she’s in good hands.”
“So I’ve been told,” Dad remarks with an assessing glance over at Zan, “But I’m reserving my judgment for now.”
“That makes two of us,” Zan returns dryly, but Dad seems not to hear or else deliberately ignores Zan’s reply. Either way I’m glad he opts for the non-confrontational route.
“Maria, how’s the career going?” Dad asks formally, in an attempt to change the subject, “I’ve heard that you have some new projects lined up…maybe even a cd.”
“The cd is still in the works,” Maria replies primly, “My manager and I are currently having a difference of opinion but other than that everything is great. Thank you for asking.”
“Not,” Michael coughs behind his hand.
Maria shoots him a death glare and then fixes my dad with a saccharine smile. “Recently, I even played a small part in a movie,” she perseveres.
“You were an extra in a scene and you had, like, two seconds of screen time,” Michael snorts, “It’s doubtful you’ll be nominated for an Academy Award or anything.”
“Did I ask for your running commentary?” Maria snaps.
“Did you not ask for it?” Michael counters rudely.
I surge to my feet in an effort to regain some control over the quickly declining exchange at the table. “Who wants dessert?” Four pairs of startled eyes ricochet to my face. “We’re having chocolate cake,” I announce with as much composure as I can manage, “I’ll just go to the kitchen and get it.” I heave a small sigh of relief when I reach the sanctuary of the kitchen. Only then do I allow the firm grip I have on my self-control to relax.
I brace my hands against the island countertop and lean my weight against it, my body shaking all over. “Enjoy your time in there while you can, little one,” I whisper to my baby, stroking my fingers down over my abdomen, “This world isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“Is it really that bad?” I whip around at the gentle intrusion of Zan’s voice, fixing him with a narrowed stare. He favors me with a guilty smile. “I guess that look answers that question.”
“What question?” I demand.
“You’re pretty pissed with me right now, huh?”
“What do you think?” I counter calmly.
He rolls his lips inward in a chastened expression. “Yep, you’re pissed,” Zan surmises.
“And why shouldn’t I be?” I query sharply, “You go through the trouble of putting this entire dinner together and then you don’t speak two words to my dad the entire time! What the hell was the point if you weren’t going to put forth any effort anyway?”
“He’s not speaking to me either,” Zan returns lamely.
“Yeah, but I expect better from you,” I reply, my tone mildly admonishing. And then I sigh in defeat because maintaining my indignation is requiring more energy than I have at the moment. “I understand that you were trying to do a good thing tonight, Zan, and I really appreciate it, but…”
“…But it’s only increased your stress level rather than alleviating it,” he finishes quietly. When I glumly nod my confirmation to that fact he steps forward and takes me in his arms. “Cee, I was really trying to do a good thing, I swear,” he whispers thickly, “But your dad…I don’t know what to say to the guy.”
“You hate him,” I sniffle into his shirtfront, my tears overflowing when I feel his fingers sliding through my hair.
“I don’t hate him,” Zan replies carefully, “But I don’t like the way he treats you either. I can’t get over that. I guess I wonder how you can.” His honest reply makes me cry even harder. “Is this all about your dad,” he asks, leaning back slightly so that he can see my face, “or is this the hormones talking?
I dab my eyes with the hem of his t-shirt. “It might be a little hormonally induced.” Zan gives me a “yeah right” look. “Okay, maybe a lot,” I amend testily.
“Here,” Zan says, reaching deep into his pocket, “I brought you something.” He presses that something into my palm.
A stare down at the shiny object with a slight frown. “You’re giving me a whistle?” I ask, somewhat disgruntled.
Zan smiles at my tone. “Well, since you’ve evidently been designated our unofficial referee I thought you should have the proper equipment.”
I drop my forehead against his shoulder. “Oh, Zan,” I moan, torn between laughter and tears, “I just want you and my dad to get along. Is that so bad?”
“No. I don’t think it’s ‘bad’ at all.” For the second time in a five-minute span I’m startled when my dad’s voice sounds from the kitchen entrance. Zan and I regard him with wary stares. “You were taking a while with the cake,” he explains lamely.
“Maria and Michael’s bickering get the better of you,” Zan presumes sagely.
A reddened flush creeps up Dad’s neck. “They…ah…they’re something else,” he hedges, “I thought I’d come in here for a little breather when I caught the tale end of your conversation.”
“Well, at least you’re not denying that you were eavesdropping,” Zan observes dryly.
I hiss his name in reprimand. “I don’t think Dad came in here to fight,” I murmur cautiously, “Did you, Dad?”
“I…I wanted to tell you that my offer to buy a few things for the baby still stands.” Zan and I don’t say anything, me because my throat is too constricted to form words and Zan because I suspect my father’s statement has just knocked him on his ass. However, Dad seems to mistake the silence on our parts for hesitation. “I don’t have to go with you,” he reassures us quickly, reaching into his wallet and pulling free a credit card, “This card has a $50,000 limit. Buy whatever you want and I’ll take care of the bill.”
Dad extends the card towards Zan but he doesn’t take it. Instead he flicks a suspicious glance from Dad’s hand to his face. “Why?”
“The baby needs things,” Dad explains simply, “Neither of you have jobs right now. If this will help the two of you get started--,”
“We don’t need your money, Mr. McKee,” Zan interrupts tersely, “And if this is your attempt at buying us it isn’t going to work.”
“I’m not trying to buy you,” Dad denies, “This is my way of making amends.” Dad lifts a beseeching hand towards me. “Claudia, please…let me help you with this. It isn’t a trick, I swear.”
I slant a questioning glance up at Zan. “I think he means it,” I tell him.
“Look, Zan,” Dad says and both Zan and I are acutely aware that this is the first time he’s referred to him by name, “you and I have definitely started off on the wrong foot. I’m sure I’ve made a bad impression on you and I can assure you that you’ve made an equally bad impression on me.” Zan ducks his head a little in guilty conciliation. “My point is that this isn’t who I am,” Dad continues fervently, “I’ve had a rough couple of years and I can admit that I haven’t handled things in the best way.”
“You’ve used Claudia to punish Liz and now you’re using her to punish me,” Zan declare succinctly, “I’ll say you haven’t handled it in the best way.” I think he must expect some sort of angry retort from Dad at that but when he doesn’t get one he adds in guilty chagrin, “But then I haven’t done much to inspire respect from you either. My only excuse is that I’ve been trying to protect Claudia and I guess, somewhere deep down, you were trying to do the same.”
“I was,” Dad agrees softly, “But I’m tired of being angry and frustrated all the time. I want to trust you. I want to believe you’ll make my little girl happy. I’ve watched you with her today. I don’t doubt that you love her.”
“I do love her,” Zan says.
“And so do I,” Dad replies, “Which is why I want you to take this card. This is my way of apologizing. It’s really the only way I know how.” He tosses the card onto the kitchen counter. “It’s yours…no strings attached.”
I know that for the irrefutable truth. My dad has always had a penchant for saying, “I’m sorry” with trinkets, but he’s always been sincere in his desire to make amends. Just like I know he’s being sincere now. Again I look to Zan. “What do you think?” I whisper.
“Buying us a crib and a car seat isn’t going to automatically make everything better, you know,” he tells my dad. But there’s a definite wavering in his tone now, as if Dad is getting to him, too.
“I’m not suggesting that it will,” Dad says, “I was actually hoping you and Claudia would come and stay with me a couple of weeks in Sacramento. It would give us all an opportunity to get to know one another and perhaps put all this ugliness behind us.”
I love Zan even more in that moment because he fails to mention, and rightly so, that most of the “ugliness” was my dad’s doing. “And I’d be welcome?” Zan asks distrustfully, almost as if Dad’s offer seems too good to be true. I’m feeling a little of that myself.
“Yes,” Dad agrees after a tense moment, “Yes, you’ll be welcome.”
“When would you want to do this, Dad?” I interject tentatively, interrupting the penetrating stare he and Zan are exchanging.
“How about in another week or two?” he suggests, “I have some business I have to attend to this week, but then I’ll put in for some vacation time and we can do it then.” He turns to regard Zan once more. “Well…what do you say, Zan? Are you willing to give it a try?”
“I don’t know if I should trust you,” Zan replies carefully.
“Then don’t trust me,” Dad says, “Trust my daughter…trust her instincts about this. I don’t want to disappoint her anymore and I think Claude knows that.” He looks at me then, his eyes full of unmitigated sadness and regret, and I know he means it. Before me is a broken and lonely man. He feels as if he’s lost almost everything and he’s desperate not to add me to the list.
I look up at Zan, my expression full of silent pleading. I can tell he still has some misgivings, but I can see hope lurking in the electric blue depths of his gaze as well. Finally with a grunting sigh, he nods. “Okay, we’ll do it,” he agrees, “Just tell me when you want us to come.”
TBC
Claudia
There’s only the clink of our flatware against our plates to break the horrible, monotonous silence that has fallen over the dinner table. The atmosphere is tense, uncomfortable and I have the terrible suspicion that it’s completely my fault as well. Even though Zan is responsible for coordinating this dinner between him, myself, my father, Maria and Michael I have an inkling that I’m at the heart of it. There is definitely no way that these four people would decide to dine with one another otherwise.
Michael hates Maria. Maria hates Michael. Zan hates my dad. My dad hates Zan. The only other neutral party at the table is Justin and he’s definitely no help, even with the gummy smiles he offers me. I feel at least I should attempt to carry the conversation since this is all happening for my benefit but really my mind is going in a million different directions.
Quite simply I’m worried…about everything. If I’m not obsessing over the baby and what sort of mother I’ll be, I’m obsessing over Zan and what sort of wife I will be. Am I ready for either responsibility? I look in the mirror and I tell myself that I am. I’m ready, I’m fully prepared, but inside I just don’t feel it. And now that Zan has filled in the gaps on what happened this afternoon I’m obsessing over the alien changes to my body as well.
I can sense what’s happening inside me. It’s almost as if I’m falling asleep inside, going into hibernation, preparing for something bigger. But what that “something” is I can’t imagine and yet I’m poised on the edge of panic and riddled through with fear. And I can’t talk to Zan about what I’m feeling though I literally have to bite my tongue in order to keep from doing so. I know what will happen if I tell him my fears. He’ll wrongly blame himself. I won’t have that. For once I’m going to protect him with that same terrier fierceness with which he protects me.
In the meantime my stomach is churning, my heart is racing and I’m battling the strong and compelling urge to run screaming from the dining room. It’s one of those moments where I wish for my mother’s legendary composure. Sometimes she’s like ice, like nothing can touch her. Satin over steel. But I’m more like my father, governed by my emotions. I lash out first and then survey the damage later. I have very little impulse control, which is why it’s taking Herculean effort for me not to completely lose it at the dinner table.
While I appreciate that everyone is willing to swallow their pride and misgivings to sit through a meal together for my sake I’d be more appreciative if they actually put some effort into making the experience a pleasant one. “Pass the potatoes,” is not exactly my idea of dinnertime conversation. On the edge of desperation I toss a pleading glance at Maria but she only shrugs in reply as if to say, “Hey, don’t look at me.”
Okay, so obviously this is my moment to step up. I’m always spouting off to my mom about how I know what I’m doing and how I want to be treated as a adult, but when it comes to actually acting like one I’m clueless. Maybe that’s why I gave her such a hard time this morning when we talked on the phone. I knew she was right…even though I didn’t want to admit it. I don’t know half as much as I pretend I do, but I suppose that’s where the lesson lies. I’ll never prove to myself that I’m ready to face the changes life has ahead for me unless I start taking control for myself.
So, in other words, I can’t wait for someone else to start conversation. I need to take the initiative. And it’s true that I have no idea how to bring these four antagonistic dinner guests together but I get that it’s my responsibility to try. Inhaling a deep, shaky breath I dive right on in. “So Dad,” I begin and I swear everyone at the table jumps at the sound of my voice, “How is business going?”
He stares at me for a good ten seconds in befuddled silence, as if I’ve just spoken a foreign language. Finally, he grunts, clears his throat and attempts an answer. “It’s…It’s good,” he tells me and reaches for his wine. He takes a long draught before continuing. “I’m up for promotion.”
“Wow, that’s great!” I reply with forced cheer, “Isn’t that great, Zan?” I nudge him beneath the table with my knee to reanimate him.
“Yeah, it’s great, Mr. McKee,” he mumbles in lackluster agreement.
That elicits yet another noncommittal grunt from Dad but still I persevere. “I guess that means your work load’s increased, huh?”
“Somewhat,” he answers shortly. But just when I’m ready to take up the steak knife and jab it in my eye Dad finally contributes to the conversation. “So…Zan,” he begins haltingly, “Claudia tells me you’re pre-med.”
“Yes, sir,” Zan replies but he doesn’t offer much more than that. I suppose I should be happy that he even answered at all.
“Are you going to study pediatric medicine like your father?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” Zan replies.
“You should start thinking about that,” Dad advises, “You’ll be graduating before you know it.”
“Zan has a good grip on his future,” Michael interrupts rudely, “He doesn’t need any advice from you.”
Dad calmly sets aside his knife and fork and I brace myself for World War III. “He’s planning to marry my daughter,” he declares to Michael coldly, “Of course I want to make sure that their future will be financially sound.”
“Of course, he does,” Maria interjects firmly. Now, she decides to throw me a lifeline! Oh brother, talk about a day late and a dollar short! “It’s perfectly understandable that you would be worried about Claudia with everything that’s going on, but really, David, she’s in good hands.”
“So I’ve been told,” Dad remarks with an assessing glance over at Zan, “But I’m reserving my judgment for now.”
“That makes two of us,” Zan returns dryly, but Dad seems not to hear or else deliberately ignores Zan’s reply. Either way I’m glad he opts for the non-confrontational route.
“Maria, how’s the career going?” Dad asks formally, in an attempt to change the subject, “I’ve heard that you have some new projects lined up…maybe even a cd.”
“The cd is still in the works,” Maria replies primly, “My manager and I are currently having a difference of opinion but other than that everything is great. Thank you for asking.”
“Not,” Michael coughs behind his hand.
Maria shoots him a death glare and then fixes my dad with a saccharine smile. “Recently, I even played a small part in a movie,” she perseveres.
“You were an extra in a scene and you had, like, two seconds of screen time,” Michael snorts, “It’s doubtful you’ll be nominated for an Academy Award or anything.”
“Did I ask for your running commentary?” Maria snaps.
“Did you not ask for it?” Michael counters rudely.
I surge to my feet in an effort to regain some control over the quickly declining exchange at the table. “Who wants dessert?” Four pairs of startled eyes ricochet to my face. “We’re having chocolate cake,” I announce with as much composure as I can manage, “I’ll just go to the kitchen and get it.” I heave a small sigh of relief when I reach the sanctuary of the kitchen. Only then do I allow the firm grip I have on my self-control to relax.
I brace my hands against the island countertop and lean my weight against it, my body shaking all over. “Enjoy your time in there while you can, little one,” I whisper to my baby, stroking my fingers down over my abdomen, “This world isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“Is it really that bad?” I whip around at the gentle intrusion of Zan’s voice, fixing him with a narrowed stare. He favors me with a guilty smile. “I guess that look answers that question.”
“What question?” I demand.
“You’re pretty pissed with me right now, huh?”
“What do you think?” I counter calmly.
He rolls his lips inward in a chastened expression. “Yep, you’re pissed,” Zan surmises.
“And why shouldn’t I be?” I query sharply, “You go through the trouble of putting this entire dinner together and then you don’t speak two words to my dad the entire time! What the hell was the point if you weren’t going to put forth any effort anyway?”
“He’s not speaking to me either,” Zan returns lamely.
“Yeah, but I expect better from you,” I reply, my tone mildly admonishing. And then I sigh in defeat because maintaining my indignation is requiring more energy than I have at the moment. “I understand that you were trying to do a good thing tonight, Zan, and I really appreciate it, but…”
“…But it’s only increased your stress level rather than alleviating it,” he finishes quietly. When I glumly nod my confirmation to that fact he steps forward and takes me in his arms. “Cee, I was really trying to do a good thing, I swear,” he whispers thickly, “But your dad…I don’t know what to say to the guy.”
“You hate him,” I sniffle into his shirtfront, my tears overflowing when I feel his fingers sliding through my hair.
“I don’t hate him,” Zan replies carefully, “But I don’t like the way he treats you either. I can’t get over that. I guess I wonder how you can.” His honest reply makes me cry even harder. “Is this all about your dad,” he asks, leaning back slightly so that he can see my face, “or is this the hormones talking?
I dab my eyes with the hem of his t-shirt. “It might be a little hormonally induced.” Zan gives me a “yeah right” look. “Okay, maybe a lot,” I amend testily.
“Here,” Zan says, reaching deep into his pocket, “I brought you something.” He presses that something into my palm.
A stare down at the shiny object with a slight frown. “You’re giving me a whistle?” I ask, somewhat disgruntled.
Zan smiles at my tone. “Well, since you’ve evidently been designated our unofficial referee I thought you should have the proper equipment.”
I drop my forehead against his shoulder. “Oh, Zan,” I moan, torn between laughter and tears, “I just want you and my dad to get along. Is that so bad?”
“No. I don’t think it’s ‘bad’ at all.” For the second time in a five-minute span I’m startled when my dad’s voice sounds from the kitchen entrance. Zan and I regard him with wary stares. “You were taking a while with the cake,” he explains lamely.
“Maria and Michael’s bickering get the better of you,” Zan presumes sagely.
A reddened flush creeps up Dad’s neck. “They…ah…they’re something else,” he hedges, “I thought I’d come in here for a little breather when I caught the tale end of your conversation.”
“Well, at least you’re not denying that you were eavesdropping,” Zan observes dryly.
I hiss his name in reprimand. “I don’t think Dad came in here to fight,” I murmur cautiously, “Did you, Dad?”
“I…I wanted to tell you that my offer to buy a few things for the baby still stands.” Zan and I don’t say anything, me because my throat is too constricted to form words and Zan because I suspect my father’s statement has just knocked him on his ass. However, Dad seems to mistake the silence on our parts for hesitation. “I don’t have to go with you,” he reassures us quickly, reaching into his wallet and pulling free a credit card, “This card has a $50,000 limit. Buy whatever you want and I’ll take care of the bill.”
Dad extends the card towards Zan but he doesn’t take it. Instead he flicks a suspicious glance from Dad’s hand to his face. “Why?”
“The baby needs things,” Dad explains simply, “Neither of you have jobs right now. If this will help the two of you get started--,”
“We don’t need your money, Mr. McKee,” Zan interrupts tersely, “And if this is your attempt at buying us it isn’t going to work.”
“I’m not trying to buy you,” Dad denies, “This is my way of making amends.” Dad lifts a beseeching hand towards me. “Claudia, please…let me help you with this. It isn’t a trick, I swear.”
I slant a questioning glance up at Zan. “I think he means it,” I tell him.
“Look, Zan,” Dad says and both Zan and I are acutely aware that this is the first time he’s referred to him by name, “you and I have definitely started off on the wrong foot. I’m sure I’ve made a bad impression on you and I can assure you that you’ve made an equally bad impression on me.” Zan ducks his head a little in guilty conciliation. “My point is that this isn’t who I am,” Dad continues fervently, “I’ve had a rough couple of years and I can admit that I haven’t handled things in the best way.”
“You’ve used Claudia to punish Liz and now you’re using her to punish me,” Zan declare succinctly, “I’ll say you haven’t handled it in the best way.” I think he must expect some sort of angry retort from Dad at that but when he doesn’t get one he adds in guilty chagrin, “But then I haven’t done much to inspire respect from you either. My only excuse is that I’ve been trying to protect Claudia and I guess, somewhere deep down, you were trying to do the same.”
“I was,” Dad agrees softly, “But I’m tired of being angry and frustrated all the time. I want to trust you. I want to believe you’ll make my little girl happy. I’ve watched you with her today. I don’t doubt that you love her.”
“I do love her,” Zan says.
“And so do I,” Dad replies, “Which is why I want you to take this card. This is my way of apologizing. It’s really the only way I know how.” He tosses the card onto the kitchen counter. “It’s yours…no strings attached.”
I know that for the irrefutable truth. My dad has always had a penchant for saying, “I’m sorry” with trinkets, but he’s always been sincere in his desire to make amends. Just like I know he’s being sincere now. Again I look to Zan. “What do you think?” I whisper.
“Buying us a crib and a car seat isn’t going to automatically make everything better, you know,” he tells my dad. But there’s a definite wavering in his tone now, as if Dad is getting to him, too.
“I’m not suggesting that it will,” Dad says, “I was actually hoping you and Claudia would come and stay with me a couple of weeks in Sacramento. It would give us all an opportunity to get to know one another and perhaps put all this ugliness behind us.”
I love Zan even more in that moment because he fails to mention, and rightly so, that most of the “ugliness” was my dad’s doing. “And I’d be welcome?” Zan asks distrustfully, almost as if Dad’s offer seems too good to be true. I’m feeling a little of that myself.
“Yes,” Dad agrees after a tense moment, “Yes, you’ll be welcome.”
“When would you want to do this, Dad?” I interject tentatively, interrupting the penetrating stare he and Zan are exchanging.
“How about in another week or two?” he suggests, “I have some business I have to attend to this week, but then I’ll put in for some vacation time and we can do it then.” He turns to regard Zan once more. “Well…what do you say, Zan? Are you willing to give it a try?”
“I don’t know if I should trust you,” Zan replies carefully.
“Then don’t trust me,” Dad says, “Trust my daughter…trust her instincts about this. I don’t want to disappoint her anymore and I think Claude knows that.” He looks at me then, his eyes full of unmitigated sadness and regret, and I know he means it. Before me is a broken and lonely man. He feels as if he’s lost almost everything and he’s desperate not to add me to the list.
I look up at Zan, my expression full of silent pleading. I can tell he still has some misgivings, but I can see hope lurking in the electric blue depths of his gaze as well. Finally with a grunting sigh, he nods. “Okay, we’ll do it,” he agrees, “Just tell me when you want us to come.”
TBC
-
Deejonaise
- Addicted Roswellian
- Posts: 385
- Joined: Thu Feb 28, 2002 12:48 am
- Location: On my rusty dusty...
Chapter 24
Max
“I’m spoiled,” Liz announces right before she slips beneath the warm, soothing bubbles of the Jacuzzi. When she surfaces again her face is flush from the heat, her dark hair slicked down her back alluringly. “I’m never leaving this place,” she tells me as she back peddles to the other side, “Never.”
I lean back into the side of the hot tub, allowing my lower body to float to the surface. “Ah, you say that now,” I tease lazily, “But just wait til Claudia calls and says ‘Mommy, I need you.’ You won’t be able to get on a plane to Roswell fast enough.”
She reaches for her glass of champagne on the deck and regards me with good-natured sneer. “Smart ass.”
“So what do you want to do now?” I ask, watching her sip champagne.
Liz shrugs. “Hmm…I don’t know. We still haven’t toured the grounds yet. I hear the stables are really beautiful.”
“Perhaps the reason we haven’t seen them yet is because there’s eight inches of snow on the ground,” I reply dryly, “But it’s only a theory.” Liz snaps her teeth at me, unfazed by my sarcasm. Once she drains her glass of champagne she reaches for the bottle to refresh her drink. I study her each graceful movement, each flex of her lithe body with keen eyes.
My look doesn’t go unnoticed, but Liz mistakes the reason for it. She extends the bottle towards me. “You sure you don’t want some?” she invites temptingly.
I shake my head, but it takes effort because I’ve been considering it for the last ten minutes now. Champagne and Liz’s glistening skin. But still I attempt reason. “You know how alcohol affects me,” I tell her. We both fondly and not so fondly remember the time I got drunk off a sip of liquor from Kyle’s flask. I’m a little leery of losing that much control though I’ve made an effort to loosen up during this trip. “I’ll just watch you,” I murmur.
“Max, I’ve really been thinking about that time,” Liz considers and I know from her tone that’s she’s gone on her scientific kick. God, she’s so hot when she’s being logical. “I’m sure that whatever Kyle was drinking that night had to be like 80 or 100 proof. I doubt you’d have the same reaction with a sip of champagne. You might even be able to indulge in ¼ of a glass.”
“Liz, all it took was a sip before and I lost my mind,” I remind her, “We don’t know if the potency of the alcohol has anything to do with it.”
“And it’s an excellent time to find out.”
Determined to be the practical one, I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
“Loosen up, Max. No one’s around,” she cajoles, casting a surreptitious glance over her shoulder as she drifts toward me, “It’s just you and me. You can stop whenever you want.”
I cock an eyebrow at her phrasing. “Are you trying to lead me down the path of wickedness, Elizabeth Evans?”
“That depends,” she says, her mouth on a hairsbreadth from mine.
My eyes drift to that mouth that lusciously pink mouth, mesmerized. “On what exactly?” I whisper.
“On whether you want to be,” she answers right before whisking her tongue across my lower lip in a provocative caress. She leans back then, far enough to see into my eyes. “So what do you say?”
“You’re playing dirty,” I tell her breathlessly.
“It’s the only way I know how,” she replies without a hint of remorse, “Besides,” she continues, trailing a lone finger down the expanse of my chest as she does, “I miss that silly Max. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him.” She looks up at me with a beguiling pout. “Couldn’t he come out to play…just for a little while?”
“You’re so bad,” I scold her with a grin, plucking the glass from her fingers, “Now if I start making the room glow with disco lights just remember that I warned you.” I take a tentative sip of the champagne, bracing myself for the woozy, floating feeling, but receiving only a mild, light-headed buzz instead.
“Well?” Liz prods in an anxious whisper, “How do you feel?”
“Like my head is filled with helium…pretty mellow, but nothing too incredible.” I take another sip, this time to sample the taste rather than gauge my reaction to it. The bubbles tickle my nose. Again I feel a giddy lightheaded wonder that is only slightly more intense than the last time. I grin at Liz. “It’s vewy good,” I tell her.
“Uh-oh,” she laughs, whisking the flute from my hands, “Sounds like you’re starting to slur a little, partner.”
“I’m in complate-compete-complete control of my faculties,” I whisper, leaning forward to nibble my way down the arc of her neck. I pull the spandex strap of her bathing suit down her shoulder to take my exploration further.
“Max!” Liz gasp in a laugh when I try and expose her breast as well, “Some one could walk in on us at any time! Then how would we explain?”
“Why do we have to explain?” I wonder fuzzily, nibbling just over her collarbone.
“Max?” she says in her most warning tone, but her hands hold me closer instead of pushing me away.
“I want you,” I murmur hotly, finally raising my lifts from her skin to regard her with a heated stare, “Let’s do it right here.” I nudge her with my pelvis for emphasis so that she can feel the heat of my arousal. Even in the dimness there’s no denying the flush that comes to her cheeks.
“Max, you’re crazy,” she tells me, but there’s a glint in her eye that says she’s game as well, “We’re not teenagers anymore, okay.” She cups my cheeks to raise my gaze to hers. “You want me, Mr. Evans? Then take me back to our room and make love to me properly.” I can’t whisk her out of that Jacuzzi fast enough.
When I wake up some time later my body feels sticky and sore. The bed sheets are mangled, barely clinging to the mattress. Save for the light shining from the bathroom the room is dark, but I can still make out my love, my Liz. It’s not hard. She is draped across my chest, her hair spilled all over my body like dark wine. And the first thing I see when I focus in the dimness is her beautiful smile.
“I thought for a moment that you might actually sleep through the night,” she whispers, “We missed dinner and everything.”
“Dinner?” I parrot in a grunt, “How long have I been asleep?”
“About four hours.”
“Four hours?” I explode softly and then wince when the outburst causes sharp pain to ricochet through my temples. “Oh God…” I groan, collapsing back into the pillows. “How much did I drink?”
“I’d estimate about half a glass, give or take a few ounces,” Liz provides with an impish grin, “Half a glass and you were three sheets to the wind. I’ve never actually seen anyone react that way to champagne before.”
I regard her through half-mast eyes. “Yeah, well I’m an alien, if you recall. I’m sure I made a complete fool of myself.” But when I try and recall exactly what sort of fool I’d been I draw a blank. It’s not that the memory is blotted out totally but is situated just on the fuzzy edges of my consciousness. I know it’s there I’m only having a hell of a time reaching it. When I refocus I notice that Liz is still staring at me, her smile wider. “Yup, made an ass of myself,” I mutter at her look.
“You didn’t do anything that you should be embarrassed about,” she says, “Before, when you were drunk, you were trying to win me over so you acted accordingly. This time you knew you had me and…let’s just say you cherished me instead.”
I pass a skeptical glance between her smiling face and the empty champagne bottle on the nightstand to my left. “Did my cherishing in any way involve that champagne bottle?” I wonder astutely.
“You were creative,” Liz replies vaguely, “You didn’t try anything I didn’t enjoy.”
“Ah…no wonder I’m so sticky,” I surmise. I drag her up the length of my body so that she’s lying flush against me. “Hmm,” I groan as I nuzzle her sticky neck, “You need a shower, Mrs. Evans, and so do I.”
“We do indeed, Mr. Evans, but first I need a meal,” she replies, “Those airline peanuts I nibbled on while you were sleeping aren’t cutting it.”
“What are we supposed to do, Liz? The kitchen is closed.”
“Ah…I beg to differ,” she says, rising to her knees. “Just tell me what you desire and your wish shall be my command.” She does her best “I Dream of Jeannie” impression complete with the mock, subservient bow. Of course my laughter over her antics leads to an impromptu tickle fight, which I win. And as I lean above Liz, her naked body pressed beneath mine, I can’t remember when I’ve ever been happier. God, why did it take us so long to realize what we needed? Not just the time away, but also the opportunity to reconnect. Thank God for Asheville, North Carolina, the South’s version of paradise.
And that’s how Liz and I end up eating farmed raised cheeseburgers and cheesecake at two o’clock in the morning while watching the Lifetime movie network. The pickings for entertainment were pretty slim so I can’t complain. After our meal is finish we hop in the shower for a quick wash that become quickly heated instead. By the time we stumble back to bed it’s nearly half past three.
But after my long nap this evening I find it nearly impossible to fall back asleep. Something is nagging at me, an uneasy panic that’s been slowly creeping upon me all night. So instead of sleeping I lay in the darkness, wired, and listen to Liz’s quiet breathing. Finally, I whisper her name.
A sleepy, “Hmm,” is my response.
“Are you asleep?” I follow up inanely.
“Not anymore,” she grudgingly replies, “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing’s the matter,” I answer, “Everything’s perfect right now and I guess that’s the problem. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
For a moment Liz is perfectly still and I’m sure she’s going to ignore me completely but then she rolls over and clicks on the lamp. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a pessimist, Max?”
“I think I have good reason to be,” I answer dryly.
“And why is that?” Liz challenges.
“This last time I was this happy you told me you loved me.”
“And?”
“You left me less than twenty-four hours latter,” I provide softly, “I’ve learned since then that blessings always come with a price. Always.”
She reaches up to stroke my face, her fingertips glancing across my chin and cheeks as she regards me with something akin to sadness. “Max,” Liz begins softly, “You have to know that I’ll never leave you again. You believe that, right?” I nod mutely. “We have a son together…a family. I’m not going to walk away from that.”
“I understand what you’re saying, Liz, and… I don’t think how I’m feeling has anything to do with us,” I explain vaguely, “I’ve just got this gnawing gut feeling that something bad is about to happen.”
A worried frown creases her forehead as she lifts up onto her elbow. “How long have you felt this way?” she whispers.
“I can’t really pinpoint it,” I tell her, “Maybe it’s been there the entire time but I’m just now beginning to really feel it.”
“You think it has something to do with Zan and Claudia?” she asks fearfully.
“Or the baby,” I consider.
“Max, you’re scaring me.”
“I’m scaring myself,” I reply gruffly, “I’ve been laying here, trying to shake it, trying to tell myself that this is my own pessimistic nature taking over just like you said, but it’s not working.”
“Okay, I’m calling home right now,” Liz declares, snatching up the phone.
“Liz, wait!” I say, not wanting her to jump into full-fledged panic before there’s reason to, but the minute I touch her arm time is suspended. I am suddenly swept up in a powerful flash; so vivid I can feel what’s happening there. I can hear the terrified screams and feel the acrid heat from the fire. And chaos…it’s all around me. People are crying…dying. The scene is macabre, one that will be etched into my mind for a long time to come. But just as abruptly as the flash came upon me it dissipates just as quickly.
“My God, Max, what was that?” Liz gasps.
“You saw it, too?” I whisper in surprise. Liz answers with a deliberate nod. “We should definitely call home.”
But no sooner does she begin dialing home when we hear the distinctive ringing of my cell phone. I dive from the bed in a frantic search for my pants, finding my phone just as the little musical ditty ends. “Hello?” I answer with an edge of desperation, “Maria?”
“M-Max?” she stammers in return, “You…You were expecting my call? Do you know already?”
“Know what, Maria?” I fire out in a panic, “What the hell has happened?”
“There’s been an accident,” she says gravely, “You and Liz need to fly home right away.”
TBC
Max
“I’m spoiled,” Liz announces right before she slips beneath the warm, soothing bubbles of the Jacuzzi. When she surfaces again her face is flush from the heat, her dark hair slicked down her back alluringly. “I’m never leaving this place,” she tells me as she back peddles to the other side, “Never.”
I lean back into the side of the hot tub, allowing my lower body to float to the surface. “Ah, you say that now,” I tease lazily, “But just wait til Claudia calls and says ‘Mommy, I need you.’ You won’t be able to get on a plane to Roswell fast enough.”
She reaches for her glass of champagne on the deck and regards me with good-natured sneer. “Smart ass.”
“So what do you want to do now?” I ask, watching her sip champagne.
Liz shrugs. “Hmm…I don’t know. We still haven’t toured the grounds yet. I hear the stables are really beautiful.”
“Perhaps the reason we haven’t seen them yet is because there’s eight inches of snow on the ground,” I reply dryly, “But it’s only a theory.” Liz snaps her teeth at me, unfazed by my sarcasm. Once she drains her glass of champagne she reaches for the bottle to refresh her drink. I study her each graceful movement, each flex of her lithe body with keen eyes.
My look doesn’t go unnoticed, but Liz mistakes the reason for it. She extends the bottle towards me. “You sure you don’t want some?” she invites temptingly.
I shake my head, but it takes effort because I’ve been considering it for the last ten minutes now. Champagne and Liz’s glistening skin. But still I attempt reason. “You know how alcohol affects me,” I tell her. We both fondly and not so fondly remember the time I got drunk off a sip of liquor from Kyle’s flask. I’m a little leery of losing that much control though I’ve made an effort to loosen up during this trip. “I’ll just watch you,” I murmur.
“Max, I’ve really been thinking about that time,” Liz considers and I know from her tone that’s she’s gone on her scientific kick. God, she’s so hot when she’s being logical. “I’m sure that whatever Kyle was drinking that night had to be like 80 or 100 proof. I doubt you’d have the same reaction with a sip of champagne. You might even be able to indulge in ¼ of a glass.”
“Liz, all it took was a sip before and I lost my mind,” I remind her, “We don’t know if the potency of the alcohol has anything to do with it.”
“And it’s an excellent time to find out.”
Determined to be the practical one, I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
“Loosen up, Max. No one’s around,” she cajoles, casting a surreptitious glance over her shoulder as she drifts toward me, “It’s just you and me. You can stop whenever you want.”
I cock an eyebrow at her phrasing. “Are you trying to lead me down the path of wickedness, Elizabeth Evans?”
“That depends,” she says, her mouth on a hairsbreadth from mine.
My eyes drift to that mouth that lusciously pink mouth, mesmerized. “On what exactly?” I whisper.
“On whether you want to be,” she answers right before whisking her tongue across my lower lip in a provocative caress. She leans back then, far enough to see into my eyes. “So what do you say?”
“You’re playing dirty,” I tell her breathlessly.
“It’s the only way I know how,” she replies without a hint of remorse, “Besides,” she continues, trailing a lone finger down the expanse of my chest as she does, “I miss that silly Max. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him.” She looks up at me with a beguiling pout. “Couldn’t he come out to play…just for a little while?”
“You’re so bad,” I scold her with a grin, plucking the glass from her fingers, “Now if I start making the room glow with disco lights just remember that I warned you.” I take a tentative sip of the champagne, bracing myself for the woozy, floating feeling, but receiving only a mild, light-headed buzz instead.
“Well?” Liz prods in an anxious whisper, “How do you feel?”
“Like my head is filled with helium…pretty mellow, but nothing too incredible.” I take another sip, this time to sample the taste rather than gauge my reaction to it. The bubbles tickle my nose. Again I feel a giddy lightheaded wonder that is only slightly more intense than the last time. I grin at Liz. “It’s vewy good,” I tell her.
“Uh-oh,” she laughs, whisking the flute from my hands, “Sounds like you’re starting to slur a little, partner.”
“I’m in complate-compete-complete control of my faculties,” I whisper, leaning forward to nibble my way down the arc of her neck. I pull the spandex strap of her bathing suit down her shoulder to take my exploration further.
“Max!” Liz gasp in a laugh when I try and expose her breast as well, “Some one could walk in on us at any time! Then how would we explain?”
“Why do we have to explain?” I wonder fuzzily, nibbling just over her collarbone.
“Max?” she says in her most warning tone, but her hands hold me closer instead of pushing me away.
“I want you,” I murmur hotly, finally raising my lifts from her skin to regard her with a heated stare, “Let’s do it right here.” I nudge her with my pelvis for emphasis so that she can feel the heat of my arousal. Even in the dimness there’s no denying the flush that comes to her cheeks.
“Max, you’re crazy,” she tells me, but there’s a glint in her eye that says she’s game as well, “We’re not teenagers anymore, okay.” She cups my cheeks to raise my gaze to hers. “You want me, Mr. Evans? Then take me back to our room and make love to me properly.” I can’t whisk her out of that Jacuzzi fast enough.
When I wake up some time later my body feels sticky and sore. The bed sheets are mangled, barely clinging to the mattress. Save for the light shining from the bathroom the room is dark, but I can still make out my love, my Liz. It’s not hard. She is draped across my chest, her hair spilled all over my body like dark wine. And the first thing I see when I focus in the dimness is her beautiful smile.
“I thought for a moment that you might actually sleep through the night,” she whispers, “We missed dinner and everything.”
“Dinner?” I parrot in a grunt, “How long have I been asleep?”
“About four hours.”
“Four hours?” I explode softly and then wince when the outburst causes sharp pain to ricochet through my temples. “Oh God…” I groan, collapsing back into the pillows. “How much did I drink?”
“I’d estimate about half a glass, give or take a few ounces,” Liz provides with an impish grin, “Half a glass and you were three sheets to the wind. I’ve never actually seen anyone react that way to champagne before.”
I regard her through half-mast eyes. “Yeah, well I’m an alien, if you recall. I’m sure I made a complete fool of myself.” But when I try and recall exactly what sort of fool I’d been I draw a blank. It’s not that the memory is blotted out totally but is situated just on the fuzzy edges of my consciousness. I know it’s there I’m only having a hell of a time reaching it. When I refocus I notice that Liz is still staring at me, her smile wider. “Yup, made an ass of myself,” I mutter at her look.
“You didn’t do anything that you should be embarrassed about,” she says, “Before, when you were drunk, you were trying to win me over so you acted accordingly. This time you knew you had me and…let’s just say you cherished me instead.”
I pass a skeptical glance between her smiling face and the empty champagne bottle on the nightstand to my left. “Did my cherishing in any way involve that champagne bottle?” I wonder astutely.
“You were creative,” Liz replies vaguely, “You didn’t try anything I didn’t enjoy.”
“Ah…no wonder I’m so sticky,” I surmise. I drag her up the length of my body so that she’s lying flush against me. “Hmm,” I groan as I nuzzle her sticky neck, “You need a shower, Mrs. Evans, and so do I.”
“We do indeed, Mr. Evans, but first I need a meal,” she replies, “Those airline peanuts I nibbled on while you were sleeping aren’t cutting it.”
“What are we supposed to do, Liz? The kitchen is closed.”
“Ah…I beg to differ,” she says, rising to her knees. “Just tell me what you desire and your wish shall be my command.” She does her best “I Dream of Jeannie” impression complete with the mock, subservient bow. Of course my laughter over her antics leads to an impromptu tickle fight, which I win. And as I lean above Liz, her naked body pressed beneath mine, I can’t remember when I’ve ever been happier. God, why did it take us so long to realize what we needed? Not just the time away, but also the opportunity to reconnect. Thank God for Asheville, North Carolina, the South’s version of paradise.
And that’s how Liz and I end up eating farmed raised cheeseburgers and cheesecake at two o’clock in the morning while watching the Lifetime movie network. The pickings for entertainment were pretty slim so I can’t complain. After our meal is finish we hop in the shower for a quick wash that become quickly heated instead. By the time we stumble back to bed it’s nearly half past three.
But after my long nap this evening I find it nearly impossible to fall back asleep. Something is nagging at me, an uneasy panic that’s been slowly creeping upon me all night. So instead of sleeping I lay in the darkness, wired, and listen to Liz’s quiet breathing. Finally, I whisper her name.
A sleepy, “Hmm,” is my response.
“Are you asleep?” I follow up inanely.
“Not anymore,” she grudgingly replies, “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing’s the matter,” I answer, “Everything’s perfect right now and I guess that’s the problem. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
For a moment Liz is perfectly still and I’m sure she’s going to ignore me completely but then she rolls over and clicks on the lamp. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a pessimist, Max?”
“I think I have good reason to be,” I answer dryly.
“And why is that?” Liz challenges.
“This last time I was this happy you told me you loved me.”
“And?”
“You left me less than twenty-four hours latter,” I provide softly, “I’ve learned since then that blessings always come with a price. Always.”
She reaches up to stroke my face, her fingertips glancing across my chin and cheeks as she regards me with something akin to sadness. “Max,” Liz begins softly, “You have to know that I’ll never leave you again. You believe that, right?” I nod mutely. “We have a son together…a family. I’m not going to walk away from that.”
“I understand what you’re saying, Liz, and… I don’t think how I’m feeling has anything to do with us,” I explain vaguely, “I’ve just got this gnawing gut feeling that something bad is about to happen.”
A worried frown creases her forehead as she lifts up onto her elbow. “How long have you felt this way?” she whispers.
“I can’t really pinpoint it,” I tell her, “Maybe it’s been there the entire time but I’m just now beginning to really feel it.”
“You think it has something to do with Zan and Claudia?” she asks fearfully.
“Or the baby,” I consider.
“Max, you’re scaring me.”
“I’m scaring myself,” I reply gruffly, “I’ve been laying here, trying to shake it, trying to tell myself that this is my own pessimistic nature taking over just like you said, but it’s not working.”
“Okay, I’m calling home right now,” Liz declares, snatching up the phone.
“Liz, wait!” I say, not wanting her to jump into full-fledged panic before there’s reason to, but the minute I touch her arm time is suspended. I am suddenly swept up in a powerful flash; so vivid I can feel what’s happening there. I can hear the terrified screams and feel the acrid heat from the fire. And chaos…it’s all around me. People are crying…dying. The scene is macabre, one that will be etched into my mind for a long time to come. But just as abruptly as the flash came upon me it dissipates just as quickly.
“My God, Max, what was that?” Liz gasps.
“You saw it, too?” I whisper in surprise. Liz answers with a deliberate nod. “We should definitely call home.”
But no sooner does she begin dialing home when we hear the distinctive ringing of my cell phone. I dive from the bed in a frantic search for my pants, finding my phone just as the little musical ditty ends. “Hello?” I answer with an edge of desperation, “Maria?”
“M-Max?” she stammers in return, “You…You were expecting my call? Do you know already?”
“Know what, Maria?” I fire out in a panic, “What the hell has happened?”
“There’s been an accident,” she says gravely, “You and Liz need to fly home right away.”
TBC
-
Deejonaise
- Addicted Roswellian
- Posts: 385
- Joined: Thu Feb 28, 2002 12:48 am
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Chapter 25
Liz
It’s raining. The sky is opaque, gray and heavy. That fact seems incredibly appropriate given the circumstances. My heart feels opaque, gray and heavy as well. I find the weather oddly comforting however. The thick darkness blanketing the plane is something welcome rather than repugnant. It’s as if the sky is mourning, too…
Who would have guessed that when Max and I flew back home from North Carolina tragedy would be waiting for us? Who would have guessed that Max’s “bad feeling” had been valid after all? I had expected disaster but nothing so bad as what we got. Now, three days later, I’m still reeling over the unbelievable reality.
I’ve handled all the arrangements by rote. Really there was no one else to do and it seemed appropriate that the responsibility should fall to me. Probably that is what David would have wanted. And it’s been so much, too much sometimes that I can hardly remember it all.
There had been the business of picking out the casket and settling the insurance claim and paying the funeral fees, not to mention serving as the emotional rock and shoulder. Because I was still listed on all David’s insurance policies as joint beneficiary all the paperwork fell to me. Even if I weren’t legally appointed for those duties I’m pretty sure I still would have been left to handle them. I seriously doubt his parents could have handled the arrangements even if they had wanted to do so.
But me…I’m practiced by this point. Every task has been executed fluidly, as if I had planned a hundred different funerals in my lifetime. The truth is I’ve only buried two people in my life, my grandmother and father, and only with Dad did I personally handle the arrangements. I can still remember how it felt to pick out the suit he had been buried in, how the lump had stayed in my throat for the longest time. But even then I had some help in Max and Maria and even in David. But now the morbid business rests solely on my shoulders. Max does what he can to ease the burden but still it weighs heavily.
The first thing I did after the shock and numbness had receded some was to put in a call to Charles and Susan McKee. I think the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life was telling my former in-laws that their son, their only child, was dead. In a way it had been worse than confirming the truth to Claudia, who had just looked at me with dead eyes. I knew she could hear what I was telling her but her mind wouldn’t let her register it. Afterwards I had held her in my arms, waiting for her to cry, my heart breaking into a thousand pieces when she didn’t. That had been incredibly hard, but it was nothing compared to telling Susan McKee.
At least with Claudia I could make some gesture for comfort. I knew I could hold her until the pain lessened. I knew I could somehow make her grief easier to bear. For Susan McKee I could do nothing. Her child was gone and nothing I did or said would eradicate the void he’d left behind.
Beyond their request to have David’s remains flown back to Vermont Charles and Susan hadn’t contributed much to the arrangements. Instead they dully placed their explicit trust in me, which was understandable but also unconscionably stressful as well. I would probably go a little crazy if it weren’t for Max. He’s been my anchor these last few days. I’ve let myself lean on him in a way I never have.
Back when we were younger I was always conscious of needing to be strong and keep it together. After what happened to Michael during the sweat and how I freaked out during the healing I promised myself that I would never be “weak” again, especially when it involved Max. I would always do what needed to be done. I’ve done that now, but I’ve let myself be weak as well, crying in my husband’s strong arms every night and feeling safer than I have in years.
These three days have proven to me that Max meant all that he promised in Asheville and more. He’s going to be there. He’s not going anywhere. In fact, he’s with me now, in the row in front of me, quietly dozing. Zan is seated beside him, awake and probably trying very hard not to glance back at Claudia every two seconds. They had insisted on coming despite my feeble protests. I hadn’t been able to dismiss the awkwardness Max would undoubtedly feel at the funeral of my ex-husband. But he had insisted.
“It’s like I told you in Asheville,” Max had whispered, “We’re together in this. You need me so I’m going.”
“I don’t want you to feel uneasy or excluded,” I had returned, “Most of the people who will be at the funeral are people David and I knew from when we were married. There’s a certain loyalty there and I’d hate it if someone were hostile towards you over it.”
He had only smiled and brushed his lips across my temple sweetly. “I think I can handle a few cold shoulders, sweetheart.” After that I hadn’t put forth any further arguments. I really hadn’t wanted to anyway. I needed him to be at my side just as much as he needed to be there.
Presently, I glance from Max’s lolling head and turn my gaze out the airplane window to watch the rain drizzle on the wing. I do this and ignore the fact that Claudia is gripping my hand hard enough to crush bone. She’s afraid and I know why. Right now she’s agonizing about the flight because of what-ifs, but she’s also probably playing out the last moments of her father’s life just as I am. She’s probably wondering what he was thinking at that last second. Did he know he was going to die? Was he panicked or calm? Knowing David he had probably gone down swearing right to the end. That’s just the way he was. He could never accept life when it didn’t go his way. Perhaps that’s why he kept fighting so hard after the divorce. He never did accept the fact that he and I weren’t meant. What’s so ironic is that it was his stubborn determination to have things his way that had attracted me to him in the first place.
The memory of him and happier times makes me smile, but when I glance over at Claudia my smile collapses. She looks close to passing out or…throwing up. I’m not sure if her morning sickness is asserting itself or if she’s just sick at heart. I know she didn’t want to take this flight, had become nearly hysterical at the thought and I understand her reasoning. David’s plane had taxied all the way to the end of the runway before it burst into a ball of flames. There had been no survivors.
But still her paleness alarms me and I feel the need to say something. “Do you want something to eat?” I ask her, “I can ask the stewardess to bring you one of those bags of peanuts.”
“I’m not hungry, Mom,” she mumbles.
“You didn’t even have any breakfast, Claudia,” I persist.
“Mom, I’m fine.”
Already I can see that stubborn jut coming to her chin. She feels like I’m picking on her and I’m really not trying to do so, but my worry seems to be manifesting itself in that way. “Claude, think of the baby,” I return in an insistent whisper.
“Mother, please,” Claudia moans, “Can’t you go two seconds without trying to shovel food down my throat?” But hot of the heels of her hissed outburst her features darken with regret and she ducks her head shamefully. “I’m sorry for snapping at you,” she mutters, “I know you’re only trying to help it’s just…”
“…You’re grieving,” I finish quietly.
She leans her head back against her seat and releases a long, staccato breath. “It just hasn’t hit me, you know?” she murmurs faintly, “I mean…I know we’re flying to Vermont for his funeral. I know we’re burying him this afternoon but…it just doesn’t seem real. I feel like I’m in the middle of this awful nightmare and I’m just waiting to wake up.”
“Claudia--,”
“This can’t be real, Mom,” she whispers in an agonized tone, “We…We were going to go and stay with him for a couple of weeks, you know.”
“We?”
“Zan and me,” she explains, “He invited us. He…” She pauses to suck in a breath and I can tell she’s fighting her tears even now. It’s as if she believes that if she cries, if she grieves that somehow will make her father’s death real. “…He gave us money to buy some things for the baby,” she finishes hoarsely, “I think he was really trying, Mom. He was really sorry for what happened.”
“I’m sure he was, sweetheart.”
“And he was finally gonna get to know Zan,” she continues disjointedly, “He was finally gonna realize how totally wrong he was about everything and it was all gonna work out.” She looks at me, her eyes wet and stormy, mirroring the thick, gray sky outside. “It was supposed to work out, Mom. Why? Why did this happen?”
“They just…do, Claude,” I reply thickly, “No one knows what Go--,”
“Don’t talk to me about God!” she snaps out furiously, “He doesn’t care…if he even exists at all. There was no reason Dad had to die. He was trying to change…he was.” It’s breaking my heart to watch her struggle, breaking my heart because I can’t do a thing to stop it. “Why didn’t I just ask him to stay?” she laments mournfully, “Just one more day and he wouldn’t have been on that plane. But I didn’t want to push things…”
And then finally they come, like a breaking storm, harsh, rasping sobs that sound as if they’re being ripped from her chest. “Why didn’t I ask him to stay?” she weeps, “Why? Why?” I watch her break down, utterly helpless, but as I reach forward to take her into my arms Zan is already there, pulling her close.
“Shh…shh,” he croons into her hair, “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. You know that, Claudia. It’s not your fault.”
“I should have asked him. I should have asked him,” she sobs over and over.
“Claudia, don’t do this,” Zan begs quietly, “Please don’t…” And my heart cracks again because it sounds as if Zan is near to tears as well. That likelihood must dawn on Claudia a little because she manages to pull herself together.
“I don’t know…I don’t know if I can do this,” she tells him wildly, “I can’t. I can’t watch them put him into the ground, Zan.”
“Then we won’t watch,” he whispers, gently sponging away her tears with the tips of his fingers, “We don’t have to go to the burial if you don’t want.”
Claudia looks over at me, her eyes wide and desperate. “Mom?” She’s looking for reassurance. She knows Zan won’t fault her for skipping her father’s burial but what she needs to know is if I will. Seeing that lost little girl look in her eyes all I want to do is comfort her as best I can.
“Zan’s right,” I tell her softly, “You don’t have to attend the burial if you don’t want to.”
For a considerably long time she’s silent and I’m sure she’s going to take me up on my offer but when she replies she says something completely unexpected. In a quavering little voice she declares, “No, I’ll go. Dad deserves that much. Besides you’ll need the support and so will Grandma and Grandpa.”
“Claudia, people will understand if you don’t go,” Zan says, “You’re pregnant, babe, not to mention all the other weird changes going on with you. Cee, you don’t need the stress.”
“This is my last chance to say good-bye to my Dad, Zan,” Claudia replies thickly, “I don’t want to squander it.” She cups his face in her hands. “Please don’t fight me about this. I need to do it.”
“Okay,” Zan consents, lifting up to press a kiss to her forehead, “Whatever you want.” The two exchange a long stare in a moment that quickly turns awkward for me. I feel as if I’m witnessing something intensely private between the two of them. In addition, seeing them together only makes me yearn for Max. “Well…uh…I’d better get back to my seat then,” Zan says as he pushes to his feet.
“Why don’t you take my seat?” I offer him, “You’re much better at comforting Claudia than I am anyway.”
“No, Mom--,”
“Claudia, it’s fine,” I say, silencing her protests with a sad smile, “I just want you to get through this. Go ahead and sit with Zan. I’ll be up front if you need me.”
By the time Zan and I are finished switching places Max is coming awake, stretching in the strict confines of his window seat. “Are we there yet?” he asks with a broad yawn.
“Another forty-five minutes,” I tell him.
“I can’t believe I fell asleep,” he replies sheepishly, scrubbing the last of the sleep from his eyes, “Some support I’ve been.”
“Don’t be hard on yourself,” I scold him, “You were understandably exhausted. You’ve been awake for two days straight helping me finalize all the arrangements. I’d be a complete wreck right now without you.” I lean over to kiss his cheek. “Thank you for being my hero, Max.” His loyalty means even more because I know how he disdained David and his behavior this last year.
“I’m doing it all for you, Liz,” Max says quietly, as if he read my thoughts, “And for Claudia. I know you both loved him despite everything.”
“He really was a good man, Max,” I reply tearfully, “He…He wasn’t always like you knew him. David just… He didn’t like to lose. He wasn’t accustomed to it.” Max nods at my explanation but I don’t get the impression that he’s placating me. I think Max understands David’s complex and sensitive nature better than I give him credit for. Maybe he understands that I could have never loved David at all if he had been anything less.
“Maybe if I had just told him the truth from the beginning I could have spared us all this pain.” I’m playing the what-if game again, much the way Claudia had done only a few seconds before. I know it’s futile to do so but I can hardly stop myself.
“You did what you had to,” Max tells me in a gentle, soothing tone, “Don’t blame yourself for what happened between you and McKee. You might have hurt him, but he made the choices. Besides, there’s no guarantee that he would have reacted any better to the truth if you had told him back then. What’s done is done, Liz. I’m just sorry you couldn’t make some sort of peace with him before he died, Liz.”
“So am I, Max,” I whisper mournfully, leaning my head down against his shoulder as my own tears begin to flow, “More than you know.”
TBC
Liz
It’s raining. The sky is opaque, gray and heavy. That fact seems incredibly appropriate given the circumstances. My heart feels opaque, gray and heavy as well. I find the weather oddly comforting however. The thick darkness blanketing the plane is something welcome rather than repugnant. It’s as if the sky is mourning, too…
Who would have guessed that when Max and I flew back home from North Carolina tragedy would be waiting for us? Who would have guessed that Max’s “bad feeling” had been valid after all? I had expected disaster but nothing so bad as what we got. Now, three days later, I’m still reeling over the unbelievable reality.
I’ve handled all the arrangements by rote. Really there was no one else to do and it seemed appropriate that the responsibility should fall to me. Probably that is what David would have wanted. And it’s been so much, too much sometimes that I can hardly remember it all.
There had been the business of picking out the casket and settling the insurance claim and paying the funeral fees, not to mention serving as the emotional rock and shoulder. Because I was still listed on all David’s insurance policies as joint beneficiary all the paperwork fell to me. Even if I weren’t legally appointed for those duties I’m pretty sure I still would have been left to handle them. I seriously doubt his parents could have handled the arrangements even if they had wanted to do so.
But me…I’m practiced by this point. Every task has been executed fluidly, as if I had planned a hundred different funerals in my lifetime. The truth is I’ve only buried two people in my life, my grandmother and father, and only with Dad did I personally handle the arrangements. I can still remember how it felt to pick out the suit he had been buried in, how the lump had stayed in my throat for the longest time. But even then I had some help in Max and Maria and even in David. But now the morbid business rests solely on my shoulders. Max does what he can to ease the burden but still it weighs heavily.
The first thing I did after the shock and numbness had receded some was to put in a call to Charles and Susan McKee. I think the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life was telling my former in-laws that their son, their only child, was dead. In a way it had been worse than confirming the truth to Claudia, who had just looked at me with dead eyes. I knew she could hear what I was telling her but her mind wouldn’t let her register it. Afterwards I had held her in my arms, waiting for her to cry, my heart breaking into a thousand pieces when she didn’t. That had been incredibly hard, but it was nothing compared to telling Susan McKee.
At least with Claudia I could make some gesture for comfort. I knew I could hold her until the pain lessened. I knew I could somehow make her grief easier to bear. For Susan McKee I could do nothing. Her child was gone and nothing I did or said would eradicate the void he’d left behind.
Beyond their request to have David’s remains flown back to Vermont Charles and Susan hadn’t contributed much to the arrangements. Instead they dully placed their explicit trust in me, which was understandable but also unconscionably stressful as well. I would probably go a little crazy if it weren’t for Max. He’s been my anchor these last few days. I’ve let myself lean on him in a way I never have.
Back when we were younger I was always conscious of needing to be strong and keep it together. After what happened to Michael during the sweat and how I freaked out during the healing I promised myself that I would never be “weak” again, especially when it involved Max. I would always do what needed to be done. I’ve done that now, but I’ve let myself be weak as well, crying in my husband’s strong arms every night and feeling safer than I have in years.
These three days have proven to me that Max meant all that he promised in Asheville and more. He’s going to be there. He’s not going anywhere. In fact, he’s with me now, in the row in front of me, quietly dozing. Zan is seated beside him, awake and probably trying very hard not to glance back at Claudia every two seconds. They had insisted on coming despite my feeble protests. I hadn’t been able to dismiss the awkwardness Max would undoubtedly feel at the funeral of my ex-husband. But he had insisted.
“It’s like I told you in Asheville,” Max had whispered, “We’re together in this. You need me so I’m going.”
“I don’t want you to feel uneasy or excluded,” I had returned, “Most of the people who will be at the funeral are people David and I knew from when we were married. There’s a certain loyalty there and I’d hate it if someone were hostile towards you over it.”
He had only smiled and brushed his lips across my temple sweetly. “I think I can handle a few cold shoulders, sweetheart.” After that I hadn’t put forth any further arguments. I really hadn’t wanted to anyway. I needed him to be at my side just as much as he needed to be there.
Presently, I glance from Max’s lolling head and turn my gaze out the airplane window to watch the rain drizzle on the wing. I do this and ignore the fact that Claudia is gripping my hand hard enough to crush bone. She’s afraid and I know why. Right now she’s agonizing about the flight because of what-ifs, but she’s also probably playing out the last moments of her father’s life just as I am. She’s probably wondering what he was thinking at that last second. Did he know he was going to die? Was he panicked or calm? Knowing David he had probably gone down swearing right to the end. That’s just the way he was. He could never accept life when it didn’t go his way. Perhaps that’s why he kept fighting so hard after the divorce. He never did accept the fact that he and I weren’t meant. What’s so ironic is that it was his stubborn determination to have things his way that had attracted me to him in the first place.
The memory of him and happier times makes me smile, but when I glance over at Claudia my smile collapses. She looks close to passing out or…throwing up. I’m not sure if her morning sickness is asserting itself or if she’s just sick at heart. I know she didn’t want to take this flight, had become nearly hysterical at the thought and I understand her reasoning. David’s plane had taxied all the way to the end of the runway before it burst into a ball of flames. There had been no survivors.
But still her paleness alarms me and I feel the need to say something. “Do you want something to eat?” I ask her, “I can ask the stewardess to bring you one of those bags of peanuts.”
“I’m not hungry, Mom,” she mumbles.
“You didn’t even have any breakfast, Claudia,” I persist.
“Mom, I’m fine.”
Already I can see that stubborn jut coming to her chin. She feels like I’m picking on her and I’m really not trying to do so, but my worry seems to be manifesting itself in that way. “Claude, think of the baby,” I return in an insistent whisper.
“Mother, please,” Claudia moans, “Can’t you go two seconds without trying to shovel food down my throat?” But hot of the heels of her hissed outburst her features darken with regret and she ducks her head shamefully. “I’m sorry for snapping at you,” she mutters, “I know you’re only trying to help it’s just…”
“…You’re grieving,” I finish quietly.
She leans her head back against her seat and releases a long, staccato breath. “It just hasn’t hit me, you know?” she murmurs faintly, “I mean…I know we’re flying to Vermont for his funeral. I know we’re burying him this afternoon but…it just doesn’t seem real. I feel like I’m in the middle of this awful nightmare and I’m just waiting to wake up.”
“Claudia--,”
“This can’t be real, Mom,” she whispers in an agonized tone, “We…We were going to go and stay with him for a couple of weeks, you know.”
“We?”
“Zan and me,” she explains, “He invited us. He…” She pauses to suck in a breath and I can tell she’s fighting her tears even now. It’s as if she believes that if she cries, if she grieves that somehow will make her father’s death real. “…He gave us money to buy some things for the baby,” she finishes hoarsely, “I think he was really trying, Mom. He was really sorry for what happened.”
“I’m sure he was, sweetheart.”
“And he was finally gonna get to know Zan,” she continues disjointedly, “He was finally gonna realize how totally wrong he was about everything and it was all gonna work out.” She looks at me, her eyes wet and stormy, mirroring the thick, gray sky outside. “It was supposed to work out, Mom. Why? Why did this happen?”
“They just…do, Claude,” I reply thickly, “No one knows what Go--,”
“Don’t talk to me about God!” she snaps out furiously, “He doesn’t care…if he even exists at all. There was no reason Dad had to die. He was trying to change…he was.” It’s breaking my heart to watch her struggle, breaking my heart because I can’t do a thing to stop it. “Why didn’t I just ask him to stay?” she laments mournfully, “Just one more day and he wouldn’t have been on that plane. But I didn’t want to push things…”
And then finally they come, like a breaking storm, harsh, rasping sobs that sound as if they’re being ripped from her chest. “Why didn’t I ask him to stay?” she weeps, “Why? Why?” I watch her break down, utterly helpless, but as I reach forward to take her into my arms Zan is already there, pulling her close.
“Shh…shh,” he croons into her hair, “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. You know that, Claudia. It’s not your fault.”
“I should have asked him. I should have asked him,” she sobs over and over.
“Claudia, don’t do this,” Zan begs quietly, “Please don’t…” And my heart cracks again because it sounds as if Zan is near to tears as well. That likelihood must dawn on Claudia a little because she manages to pull herself together.
“I don’t know…I don’t know if I can do this,” she tells him wildly, “I can’t. I can’t watch them put him into the ground, Zan.”
“Then we won’t watch,” he whispers, gently sponging away her tears with the tips of his fingers, “We don’t have to go to the burial if you don’t want.”
Claudia looks over at me, her eyes wide and desperate. “Mom?” She’s looking for reassurance. She knows Zan won’t fault her for skipping her father’s burial but what she needs to know is if I will. Seeing that lost little girl look in her eyes all I want to do is comfort her as best I can.
“Zan’s right,” I tell her softly, “You don’t have to attend the burial if you don’t want to.”
For a considerably long time she’s silent and I’m sure she’s going to take me up on my offer but when she replies she says something completely unexpected. In a quavering little voice she declares, “No, I’ll go. Dad deserves that much. Besides you’ll need the support and so will Grandma and Grandpa.”
“Claudia, people will understand if you don’t go,” Zan says, “You’re pregnant, babe, not to mention all the other weird changes going on with you. Cee, you don’t need the stress.”
“This is my last chance to say good-bye to my Dad, Zan,” Claudia replies thickly, “I don’t want to squander it.” She cups his face in her hands. “Please don’t fight me about this. I need to do it.”
“Okay,” Zan consents, lifting up to press a kiss to her forehead, “Whatever you want.” The two exchange a long stare in a moment that quickly turns awkward for me. I feel as if I’m witnessing something intensely private between the two of them. In addition, seeing them together only makes me yearn for Max. “Well…uh…I’d better get back to my seat then,” Zan says as he pushes to his feet.
“Why don’t you take my seat?” I offer him, “You’re much better at comforting Claudia than I am anyway.”
“No, Mom--,”
“Claudia, it’s fine,” I say, silencing her protests with a sad smile, “I just want you to get through this. Go ahead and sit with Zan. I’ll be up front if you need me.”
By the time Zan and I are finished switching places Max is coming awake, stretching in the strict confines of his window seat. “Are we there yet?” he asks with a broad yawn.
“Another forty-five minutes,” I tell him.
“I can’t believe I fell asleep,” he replies sheepishly, scrubbing the last of the sleep from his eyes, “Some support I’ve been.”
“Don’t be hard on yourself,” I scold him, “You were understandably exhausted. You’ve been awake for two days straight helping me finalize all the arrangements. I’d be a complete wreck right now without you.” I lean over to kiss his cheek. “Thank you for being my hero, Max.” His loyalty means even more because I know how he disdained David and his behavior this last year.
“I’m doing it all for you, Liz,” Max says quietly, as if he read my thoughts, “And for Claudia. I know you both loved him despite everything.”
“He really was a good man, Max,” I reply tearfully, “He…He wasn’t always like you knew him. David just… He didn’t like to lose. He wasn’t accustomed to it.” Max nods at my explanation but I don’t get the impression that he’s placating me. I think Max understands David’s complex and sensitive nature better than I give him credit for. Maybe he understands that I could have never loved David at all if he had been anything less.
“Maybe if I had just told him the truth from the beginning I could have spared us all this pain.” I’m playing the what-if game again, much the way Claudia had done only a few seconds before. I know it’s futile to do so but I can hardly stop myself.
“You did what you had to,” Max tells me in a gentle, soothing tone, “Don’t blame yourself for what happened between you and McKee. You might have hurt him, but he made the choices. Besides, there’s no guarantee that he would have reacted any better to the truth if you had told him back then. What’s done is done, Liz. I’m just sorry you couldn’t make some sort of peace with him before he died, Liz.”
“So am I, Max,” I whisper mournfully, leaning my head down against his shoulder as my own tears begin to flow, “More than you know.”
TBC
-
Deejonaise
- Addicted Roswellian
- Posts: 385
- Joined: Thu Feb 28, 2002 12:48 am
- Location: On my rusty dusty...
Chapter 26
Claudia
Reality has, at last, curled its long, icy fingers around my heart.
Watching them lower my dad’s casket into the ground is harder than I imagined. Not because doing so is unbelievably painful, it is that…the agony is almost like a physical ache actually. But I even greater than the pain I feel a sense of indignance. I am horrified, anguished that this moment is what my dad’s entire life has been reduced to. Eternity in a small, dark wooden box. Worm food. I gag on the visual image that accompanies that thought.
It’s unbelievable how irrevocably life can change in only a matter of hours. I’ve gone from the heights of excitement to the depths of despair. My world is imploding around me and I want to scream but I can’t. I don’t. There’s only this awful aching want clogging my throat and the knowledge that even if I do rant to the heavens it won’t change a single thing. I can scream myself hoarse and the world will still go on. And my dad will still be dead.
I’m left impotent by the awful reality. I feel lost, fearful, like I’m trapped inside a plastic bubble gasping for air while it gradually shrinks all around me. With each crank of that mechanized lowering device the bubble grows smaller and smaller. There’s a part of me, a very vital part of me that’s being buried right along with my dad. As his casket disappears into the ground I lose a little more of myself, too. And I’m grieving for that loss as well because I know after this day I will never be the same.
Beside me Zan reaches for my hand and brushes his fingertips across my palm but I hardly feel it. I feel cold all over. I’m numb to his touch. Numb to everything. That scares me more than anything because Zan’s touch has always had the power to make me feel painfully alive. But now his love, his devotion makes me suffer.
I pull my hand free of his grasp without even glancing in his direction. When I do I notice that Zan slices sorrowful eyes in my peripheral vision but he says nothing. He’s hurt, I suspect, not because I’ve hurt him with my rejection but because he knows I’m someplace that he just can’t reach right now. I’ve gone inside myself and he knows it.
Only vaguely do I register Aunt Maria’s approach as well as her tender hug and the kiss she presses to my cheek. I know that she must expect some sort of response from me but I can’t give her one. I remain rooted in one spot, her voice coming to me as from a far off distance.
“Oh, Claude,” Maria croons, “I’m so sorry for your loss, sweetie. I know this must be killing you.”
I almost want to ask her if she really is sorry. No one in my family was particularly fond of Dad near the end. I imagine most of them feel like they’ve dodged a bullet with his death. He had been nothing but a threat to them and now he had been neutralized. Could I believe that they were truly sorry?
The angry words are there, rolling at the surface but I valiantly hold back my venom because I know attacking Maria won’t change a single thing. And so I nod in response to her platitude and give her the impression that her words have somehow comforted me. She moves on quickly to my mother and I’m relieved because I don’t have to keep up my pretense any longer than necessary.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d make it,” Mom whispers as she and Maria embrace, “What happened to that music video you were shooting?”
“I’m still doing it,” Maria says, “I just took a break so I could come here and pay my respects, but I can’t stay long. I’ve got an evening flight out.”
“Oh,” Mom says.
It’s clear she’s disappointed. Disappointed that Maria can’t stay longer, but not necessary disappointed that my father is dead. She’s probably singing “good riddance to bad rubbish” in her heart right along with Max and all the others. Only Zan had been willing to give him a chance, but even he isn’t too torn up by my father’s passing. Very likely he thinks my father’s untimely demise is in my best interests. Needless to say I doubt that any of them are mourning him right now. And though I know they’re all here for my benefit and to bring me comfort the very fact that they don’t feel the same sorrow I do makes me feel all alone.
“Aren’t you and Max leaving out tonight anyway?” Maria asks Mom.
“Charles and Susan are having a little get together after the service,” Mom explains, “They want us to attend and stay overnight as well. I couldn’t say no.”
“Overnight?” Maria echoes. She hazards a quick glance at me, probably to make sure I’m too busy receiving condolences to see her, before mock gagging. But I do see her. I also hear her next words to my mother though they are barely above a whisper. “Liz, I thought you and David’s mother hated each other’s guts. Why would she want to invite you and your new husband to stay with her? It seems suspicious to me.”
“I think she wants the extra time with Claudia,” Mom says, “She hasn’t seen her in over six months. With all that’s happened I’m not surprised that she’s being rather clingy.”
“Well, I guess that’s understandable,” Maria considers, “What about your Mom? Is Nancy here, too?”
“She stayed back in Roswell with Justin,” Mom whispers, “I just thought it would be too much. You know how Susan always wanted a grandson. I thought it would be like slapping her in the face.”
I listen to all this surreptitiously while battling the urge to shrug out of Zan’s arms. The entire time people have been stepping to me to offer their condolences he’s had me hooked at his side in a light embrace. Any other time I would crave to be in his arms, would like nothing better than to crawl into his protective embrace and hide from the world. But now…now I feel like hiding from him because, for all his love and gentleness, he can’t understand what I’m feeling now.
“Do you wanna get out of here?” he whispers in my ear, “I asked Dad for the keys to the rental car. We can go anywhere you want.”
“I should stay,” I reply woodenly, “Mom expects it and Grandma, too.”
“We won’t be gone long,” he urges, “At least let me take you someplace to get a bite to eat. You haven’t had anything since yesterday at lunch.”
“I really don’t have an appetite right now,” I reply.
“Claudia, you need to eat.”
“Look, I can’t,” I tell him with a twinge of impatience, “I really don’t want to go anywhere right now.”
“Then what do you want?” he asks.
“I just want to be left alone,” I say, resolutely pushing at his comforting hands, “I need a little time to myself.”
And then I contradict myself by striking out for the far side of the cemetery. I pray to God he doesn’t follow me and for once He must be listening to my prayers because Zan thankfully stays behind. Blindly I walk past the endless headstones, wondering vaguely how many girls before me have taken this same walk and for the very same reason. Only when I find solitude behind a massive tree do I give into my tears.
I hadn’t allowed myself to cry during the service. The desire was there the entire time, especially when I saw the coffin. It was a closed casket funeral, of course. Dad’s body hadn’t been in any condition to be viewed. Whenever I think about what pain he must have endured at the end I shiver. My only consolation is perhaps it was quick. Perhaps he died on impact.
Those were the thoughts swirling through my head the entire service and still I would not give into the crushing grief. I hadn’t wanted to seem weak. I hadn’t wanted to let them see how torn apart I was. Now, however, I let my deluge of sorrow pour forth. I slide down rough bark of the tree trunk, sobbing jerkily. I don’t know how long I sit there, crying into my knees but it seems like an eternity has gone by before I feel someone band their arms around my shoulders. Still sobbing, I glance up expecting my rescuer to be Zan, but it’s not.
“Your mother’s been looking for you,” Max informs me softly.
“Leave me alone,” I tell him, pushing at his arms but his hold is surprisingly firm.
“You know I can’t do that, Claude,” he says, “Come on…let’s go back.”
The sad tremor I hear in his tone makes me inexplicably angry and I struggle with renewed force to free myself of his embrace. “Don’t pretend you care!” I rail bitterly, “Don’t pretend you know how I feel at all!”
“You’re right,” Max agrees softly and I’m so surprised by his response that I stop fighting momentarily, “I don’t know how you feel. But I want to, Claudia…I really want to understand.”
“No,” I say, looking away from his earnest gaze, “I don’t believe you.”
“Would I be out here if I didn’t care?”
“My mom sent you,” I reply tersely, “Or Zan. No way did you come out looking for me on your own.”
“And if I did,” he challenges quietly, “Then what? Then will you believe that I’m concerned about you?”
“Concerned?” I snort tearily, “It’s probably bruising your facial muscles trying to keep from gloating right now.”
“You think I’m gloating?” he asks and if I didn’t know better I’d swear he sounds hurt by the accusation.
“It’s no secret that you hated my dad,” I accuse him with a sniffle, “You probably think he deserved to die or something. You’re definitely not sorry he’s dead!”
“No, Claudia,” he denies softly, “I don’t feel that way at all.” When I look up at him again I feel immediately ashamed over the way I’ve unfairly attacked him. There’s no malice on his face right now, no indignation, just naked concern and caring. And yes, hurt, too. I’ve hurt him with the things I’ve said but it hasn’t made Max any less determined to comfort me. Now I know where Zan gets it. Now I know why my mother loves him so much.
I bury my face into his shirtfront, sobbing once more. “Oh Max, I’m so sorry,” I weep brokenly, “I don’t know why I said those horrible things. I…I didn’t mean it.”
“You’re hurting,” he says, brushing his hand down the length of my hair in long, comforting strokes, “I’m an easy target especially considering the way I felt about your father.”
“He wasn’t a bad man,” I choke out desperately, “He really wasn’t!”
“I think I’m beginning to see that.”
“But you didn’t trust him. You thought he was a threat.”
“But your mom didn’t,” he says quietly, “And I should have trusted her instincts long before now. I’m sorry I didn’t show your dad more patience when he was alive, Claude. I’m sorry you had to lose him the way you did.”
“I think he was just…lonely and scared,” I explain to Max tearfully, “He felt like I was slipping away from him, I could tell, so he would hold on so tight… He didn’t want to lose me like he lost…” I trail off before I can say something decidedly stupid. Unfortunately, Max is quite intuitive and has already deciphered where my thought was headed.
“He didn’t want to lose you like he’d lost your mom…right?” he concludes softly.
I shrug back from his embrace a bit. “He was still in love with her,” I whisper, “It’s not something he ever said out loud, but I could tell. I don’t think he knew how to stop.”
“I knew that,” Max replies, “I suspected that was the reason for most of his actions…because he was still in love with Liz and because he was jealous.”
“But you still didn’t like him?” I wonder aloud.
He shrugs. “Claudia, I know better than anyone the stupid mistakes a person can make when unhappy,” Max says, “I’ve made more than my fair share in my lifetime and I’ve paid for them all. But just because I understood the reason for your father’s behavior doesn’t mean I excused it.” He tips up my chin so that we’re eye to eye. “Neither should you.”
“I’m…I’m not angry with my dad,” I deny weakly.
“Like hell you’re not,” Max counters, “You’re so pissed off at him you can’t see straight and that’s perfectly okay, Claude.”
“No. He’s dead now,” I protest, licking at the tears collecting at the corner of my mouth, “I can’t be mad at him. I…I mean I’m not.”
“Yes, you are,” Max returns, “Because you feel like he wasted all that time being angry with me and your mom, trying to get back at us for being happy while basically neglecting you in the process.”
His assessment is so succinct, so brutal, so true that fresh tears well in my eyes. I’m not angry with my family and friends for not feeling my father’s death. I’m angry with myself. I’m pissed off because, once again, my dad has cut out on me when I needed him most. I’m pissed off because he wasted, wasted all that time we could have had together. I’m pissed off because we will never get that time back.
“It’s okay to be angry, Claudia,” Max whispers against my temple, “You wouldn’t be human if you weren’t. You can still love and miss your dad while acknowledging the mistakes he made.”
“But how can I be mad at him now?” I sob, “He’s dead, Max. How can I be mad when he’s dead? And yet I am. I’m so mad at him right now, for wasting our time together, for being too selfish to be a father to me, for being unable to put me before his own damned ego. God, he was a lousy father and…and I still love him anyway.” I choke out a teary giggle. “And I miss him so much, too. I want to scream and cry all at one time. It’s like I’m coming apart… I don’t even know what to think or to feel.” I bury my face back into his jacket. “I’m scared, Max.”
“You’re not alone,” Max whispers fervently, reaching into his breast pocket to pull free his handkerchief. As he continues he begins carefully drying the tears from my cheeks. “Your mother…me…Zan…we’re all here for you, Claudia. We’re not going anywhere, okay…so let us help you through this.” He cradles my face in his hands and leans forward to kiss my forehead. What’s so frightening ironic is that I feel more of a father-daughter bond with him in this moment than I ever did when my father was alive. “You are not alone,” he tells me again.
“I’m not?” I wonder tearful surprise.
He smiles at me sadly, hugging me close once more. “You never will be again,” he vows, “I promise you.”
TBC
Claudia
Reality has, at last, curled its long, icy fingers around my heart.
Watching them lower my dad’s casket into the ground is harder than I imagined. Not because doing so is unbelievably painful, it is that…the agony is almost like a physical ache actually. But I even greater than the pain I feel a sense of indignance. I am horrified, anguished that this moment is what my dad’s entire life has been reduced to. Eternity in a small, dark wooden box. Worm food. I gag on the visual image that accompanies that thought.
It’s unbelievable how irrevocably life can change in only a matter of hours. I’ve gone from the heights of excitement to the depths of despair. My world is imploding around me and I want to scream but I can’t. I don’t. There’s only this awful aching want clogging my throat and the knowledge that even if I do rant to the heavens it won’t change a single thing. I can scream myself hoarse and the world will still go on. And my dad will still be dead.
I’m left impotent by the awful reality. I feel lost, fearful, like I’m trapped inside a plastic bubble gasping for air while it gradually shrinks all around me. With each crank of that mechanized lowering device the bubble grows smaller and smaller. There’s a part of me, a very vital part of me that’s being buried right along with my dad. As his casket disappears into the ground I lose a little more of myself, too. And I’m grieving for that loss as well because I know after this day I will never be the same.
Beside me Zan reaches for my hand and brushes his fingertips across my palm but I hardly feel it. I feel cold all over. I’m numb to his touch. Numb to everything. That scares me more than anything because Zan’s touch has always had the power to make me feel painfully alive. But now his love, his devotion makes me suffer.
I pull my hand free of his grasp without even glancing in his direction. When I do I notice that Zan slices sorrowful eyes in my peripheral vision but he says nothing. He’s hurt, I suspect, not because I’ve hurt him with my rejection but because he knows I’m someplace that he just can’t reach right now. I’ve gone inside myself and he knows it.
Only vaguely do I register Aunt Maria’s approach as well as her tender hug and the kiss she presses to my cheek. I know that she must expect some sort of response from me but I can’t give her one. I remain rooted in one spot, her voice coming to me as from a far off distance.
“Oh, Claude,” Maria croons, “I’m so sorry for your loss, sweetie. I know this must be killing you.”
I almost want to ask her if she really is sorry. No one in my family was particularly fond of Dad near the end. I imagine most of them feel like they’ve dodged a bullet with his death. He had been nothing but a threat to them and now he had been neutralized. Could I believe that they were truly sorry?
The angry words are there, rolling at the surface but I valiantly hold back my venom because I know attacking Maria won’t change a single thing. And so I nod in response to her platitude and give her the impression that her words have somehow comforted me. She moves on quickly to my mother and I’m relieved because I don’t have to keep up my pretense any longer than necessary.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d make it,” Mom whispers as she and Maria embrace, “What happened to that music video you were shooting?”
“I’m still doing it,” Maria says, “I just took a break so I could come here and pay my respects, but I can’t stay long. I’ve got an evening flight out.”
“Oh,” Mom says.
It’s clear she’s disappointed. Disappointed that Maria can’t stay longer, but not necessary disappointed that my father is dead. She’s probably singing “good riddance to bad rubbish” in her heart right along with Max and all the others. Only Zan had been willing to give him a chance, but even he isn’t too torn up by my father’s passing. Very likely he thinks my father’s untimely demise is in my best interests. Needless to say I doubt that any of them are mourning him right now. And though I know they’re all here for my benefit and to bring me comfort the very fact that they don’t feel the same sorrow I do makes me feel all alone.
“Aren’t you and Max leaving out tonight anyway?” Maria asks Mom.
“Charles and Susan are having a little get together after the service,” Mom explains, “They want us to attend and stay overnight as well. I couldn’t say no.”
“Overnight?” Maria echoes. She hazards a quick glance at me, probably to make sure I’m too busy receiving condolences to see her, before mock gagging. But I do see her. I also hear her next words to my mother though they are barely above a whisper. “Liz, I thought you and David’s mother hated each other’s guts. Why would she want to invite you and your new husband to stay with her? It seems suspicious to me.”
“I think she wants the extra time with Claudia,” Mom says, “She hasn’t seen her in over six months. With all that’s happened I’m not surprised that she’s being rather clingy.”
“Well, I guess that’s understandable,” Maria considers, “What about your Mom? Is Nancy here, too?”
“She stayed back in Roswell with Justin,” Mom whispers, “I just thought it would be too much. You know how Susan always wanted a grandson. I thought it would be like slapping her in the face.”
I listen to all this surreptitiously while battling the urge to shrug out of Zan’s arms. The entire time people have been stepping to me to offer their condolences he’s had me hooked at his side in a light embrace. Any other time I would crave to be in his arms, would like nothing better than to crawl into his protective embrace and hide from the world. But now…now I feel like hiding from him because, for all his love and gentleness, he can’t understand what I’m feeling now.
“Do you wanna get out of here?” he whispers in my ear, “I asked Dad for the keys to the rental car. We can go anywhere you want.”
“I should stay,” I reply woodenly, “Mom expects it and Grandma, too.”
“We won’t be gone long,” he urges, “At least let me take you someplace to get a bite to eat. You haven’t had anything since yesterday at lunch.”
“I really don’t have an appetite right now,” I reply.
“Claudia, you need to eat.”
“Look, I can’t,” I tell him with a twinge of impatience, “I really don’t want to go anywhere right now.”
“Then what do you want?” he asks.
“I just want to be left alone,” I say, resolutely pushing at his comforting hands, “I need a little time to myself.”
And then I contradict myself by striking out for the far side of the cemetery. I pray to God he doesn’t follow me and for once He must be listening to my prayers because Zan thankfully stays behind. Blindly I walk past the endless headstones, wondering vaguely how many girls before me have taken this same walk and for the very same reason. Only when I find solitude behind a massive tree do I give into my tears.
I hadn’t allowed myself to cry during the service. The desire was there the entire time, especially when I saw the coffin. It was a closed casket funeral, of course. Dad’s body hadn’t been in any condition to be viewed. Whenever I think about what pain he must have endured at the end I shiver. My only consolation is perhaps it was quick. Perhaps he died on impact.
Those were the thoughts swirling through my head the entire service and still I would not give into the crushing grief. I hadn’t wanted to seem weak. I hadn’t wanted to let them see how torn apart I was. Now, however, I let my deluge of sorrow pour forth. I slide down rough bark of the tree trunk, sobbing jerkily. I don’t know how long I sit there, crying into my knees but it seems like an eternity has gone by before I feel someone band their arms around my shoulders. Still sobbing, I glance up expecting my rescuer to be Zan, but it’s not.
“Your mother’s been looking for you,” Max informs me softly.
“Leave me alone,” I tell him, pushing at his arms but his hold is surprisingly firm.
“You know I can’t do that, Claude,” he says, “Come on…let’s go back.”
The sad tremor I hear in his tone makes me inexplicably angry and I struggle with renewed force to free myself of his embrace. “Don’t pretend you care!” I rail bitterly, “Don’t pretend you know how I feel at all!”
“You’re right,” Max agrees softly and I’m so surprised by his response that I stop fighting momentarily, “I don’t know how you feel. But I want to, Claudia…I really want to understand.”
“No,” I say, looking away from his earnest gaze, “I don’t believe you.”
“Would I be out here if I didn’t care?”
“My mom sent you,” I reply tersely, “Or Zan. No way did you come out looking for me on your own.”
“And if I did,” he challenges quietly, “Then what? Then will you believe that I’m concerned about you?”
“Concerned?” I snort tearily, “It’s probably bruising your facial muscles trying to keep from gloating right now.”
“You think I’m gloating?” he asks and if I didn’t know better I’d swear he sounds hurt by the accusation.
“It’s no secret that you hated my dad,” I accuse him with a sniffle, “You probably think he deserved to die or something. You’re definitely not sorry he’s dead!”
“No, Claudia,” he denies softly, “I don’t feel that way at all.” When I look up at him again I feel immediately ashamed over the way I’ve unfairly attacked him. There’s no malice on his face right now, no indignation, just naked concern and caring. And yes, hurt, too. I’ve hurt him with the things I’ve said but it hasn’t made Max any less determined to comfort me. Now I know where Zan gets it. Now I know why my mother loves him so much.
I bury my face into his shirtfront, sobbing once more. “Oh Max, I’m so sorry,” I weep brokenly, “I don’t know why I said those horrible things. I…I didn’t mean it.”
“You’re hurting,” he says, brushing his hand down the length of my hair in long, comforting strokes, “I’m an easy target especially considering the way I felt about your father.”
“He wasn’t a bad man,” I choke out desperately, “He really wasn’t!”
“I think I’m beginning to see that.”
“But you didn’t trust him. You thought he was a threat.”
“But your mom didn’t,” he says quietly, “And I should have trusted her instincts long before now. I’m sorry I didn’t show your dad more patience when he was alive, Claude. I’m sorry you had to lose him the way you did.”
“I think he was just…lonely and scared,” I explain to Max tearfully, “He felt like I was slipping away from him, I could tell, so he would hold on so tight… He didn’t want to lose me like he lost…” I trail off before I can say something decidedly stupid. Unfortunately, Max is quite intuitive and has already deciphered where my thought was headed.
“He didn’t want to lose you like he’d lost your mom…right?” he concludes softly.
I shrug back from his embrace a bit. “He was still in love with her,” I whisper, “It’s not something he ever said out loud, but I could tell. I don’t think he knew how to stop.”
“I knew that,” Max replies, “I suspected that was the reason for most of his actions…because he was still in love with Liz and because he was jealous.”
“But you still didn’t like him?” I wonder aloud.
He shrugs. “Claudia, I know better than anyone the stupid mistakes a person can make when unhappy,” Max says, “I’ve made more than my fair share in my lifetime and I’ve paid for them all. But just because I understood the reason for your father’s behavior doesn’t mean I excused it.” He tips up my chin so that we’re eye to eye. “Neither should you.”
“I’m…I’m not angry with my dad,” I deny weakly.
“Like hell you’re not,” Max counters, “You’re so pissed off at him you can’t see straight and that’s perfectly okay, Claude.”
“No. He’s dead now,” I protest, licking at the tears collecting at the corner of my mouth, “I can’t be mad at him. I…I mean I’m not.”
“Yes, you are,” Max returns, “Because you feel like he wasted all that time being angry with me and your mom, trying to get back at us for being happy while basically neglecting you in the process.”
His assessment is so succinct, so brutal, so true that fresh tears well in my eyes. I’m not angry with my family and friends for not feeling my father’s death. I’m angry with myself. I’m pissed off because, once again, my dad has cut out on me when I needed him most. I’m pissed off because he wasted, wasted all that time we could have had together. I’m pissed off because we will never get that time back.
“It’s okay to be angry, Claudia,” Max whispers against my temple, “You wouldn’t be human if you weren’t. You can still love and miss your dad while acknowledging the mistakes he made.”
“But how can I be mad at him now?” I sob, “He’s dead, Max. How can I be mad when he’s dead? And yet I am. I’m so mad at him right now, for wasting our time together, for being too selfish to be a father to me, for being unable to put me before his own damned ego. God, he was a lousy father and…and I still love him anyway.” I choke out a teary giggle. “And I miss him so much, too. I want to scream and cry all at one time. It’s like I’m coming apart… I don’t even know what to think or to feel.” I bury my face back into his jacket. “I’m scared, Max.”
“You’re not alone,” Max whispers fervently, reaching into his breast pocket to pull free his handkerchief. As he continues he begins carefully drying the tears from my cheeks. “Your mother…me…Zan…we’re all here for you, Claudia. We’re not going anywhere, okay…so let us help you through this.” He cradles my face in his hands and leans forward to kiss my forehead. What’s so frightening ironic is that I feel more of a father-daughter bond with him in this moment than I ever did when my father was alive. “You are not alone,” he tells me again.
“I’m not?” I wonder tearful surprise.
He smiles at me sadly, hugging me close once more. “You never will be again,” he vows, “I promise you.”
TBC
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Deejonaise
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I want to thank everyone for the marvelous feedback. I know that seems an inadequate response considering what you've all written, but please know that it's heartfelt gratitude nonetheless. You guys keep me motivated.
Chapter 27
Zan
I wordlessly pass the plate of finger sandwiches into her hands, mentally preparing myself to be rebuffed. But all Claudia says is a mumbled “thanks,” before inviting me to sit down beside her.
“I’ve been avoiding you,” she declares softly when I take my seat.
“Yeah,” I agree glumly, “pretty much.”
We’ve been doing this dance for some time now; really from the moment Claudia learned that her father was dead. The change in her hadn’t been abrupt or jarring, however. She had drifted away slowly, first not talking, then not touching, then not even sleeping in the same bedroom. That moment on the plane when I comforted her had been the first contact we’d had with one another in days. When Liz had offered me her seat I could have flipped over the moon but that elation hadn’t lasted very long when faced with Claudia’s continuing stoicism.
Still I’ve pressed on, determined to be there for her even when it seemed my presence was annoying her. I would have probably continued to stick by her side if she hadn’t asked for time alone. It had ripped my heart out a bit a time to watch her walk away from me and I had to keep reminding myself that she was grieving, not rejecting me.
Since then I’ve watched her flit around this massive family room with her grandmother, greeting this person and that. The entire time Claudia had a gracious smile on her face but I could see, even from afar, that the effort was taxing her. When she finally broke off from her grandmother I wasn’t surprised, but made a quick swoop by the refreshment table and made my move. Now I want to let myself feel joy over the fact she hasn’t yet sent me on my way, but with one look into Cee’s shuttered gaze I’m well aware that her acquiesce could turn out to be a bad thing. She wouldn’t be making the effort to talk to me if she didn’t have something pressing to say. There’s a large part of me that dreads whatever it is.
I study her from beneath my lashes. “I’m not holding it against you.”
“You never do,” she remarks shamefully.
“Cee, it’s not a big deal--,”
“I just didn’t want to…” She falls silent, as if she’s searching for the right way to phrase her words. “I’m a mess today,” she says, tunneling her fingers through her hair, “I didn’t want to take it out on you so I avoided you instead.”
“Since when are you afraid to be a bitch to me?” I ask wryly, hoping she might relax a bit with my teasing.
She doesn’t even smile. If anything, her expression becomes grimmer. “Since I knew I had the potential for being an unforgivable one,” she whispers, “I didn’t want to hurt you, Zan.”
“So you ignored me instead,” I surmise with a trace of sarcasm, “Great alternative. That one didn’t hurt a bit.”
“You’re angry with me, aren’t you?” she concludes glumly.
“No…ah…I’m not mad,” I deny, feeling like a complete asshole for guilt tripping her, “I’d have to be a special kind of bastard to be mad at you right now.” She just stares at me with wide, gray eyes so full with pain that I have to look away. “Eat your sandwich,” I mumble. Out of the corner of my eye I watch her nibble but I can tell her heart really isn’t in it. She’s just doing it for my sake because she wants to please me. Even now when her world is painful turmoil Claudia is concerned with pleasing me. The realization is both humbling and gutwrenching.
When she’s finally finished one of the tiny sandwiches I ask, “What are you doing hiding over here in the corner anyway?”
“My grandmother,” she explains with a flare of irritation. I watch as she sets aside her paper plate and dust her hands free of crumbs. “She’s determined to introduce me to everyone in this room and every introduction starts with, ‘Claudia, dear, you remember…’ But I don’t remember any of these people. The last time I saw them I was barely five, for crying out loud!”
“Have you tried explaining to her that you can’t possibly remember people that you last saw when you were four years old?”
“Are you kidding?” Claudia scoffs, “Logical and reasonable are not concepts my grandmother is familiar with. I love her but…she’s a fruitcake.”
I hold back my snicker, mainly because I’m not sure if Claudia meant the comment as a joke and because her expression doesn’t alter in the slightest when she says it. So I just sit there with a dutiful stare, waiting for her to continue the conversation.
“Where have you been?” she finally asks in a trembling whisper, “I haven’t seen you since the burial.”
“You said you needed time to yourself,” I reply achingly, “I was trying to give you space, but I’ve been close.”
It had killed me to stay away, too. I’m, by nature and nurture, a hoverer. It is a trait I have both loved and despised in my father, a trait that has evidently been passed on to me. A trait Claudia most likely loves and despises in me as well. But I can hardly quell the instinct. I see protecting Claudia as both my personal mission and express privilege.
“So,” I prod tentatively when she says nothing, “Have you had enough alone time now or should I make myself scarce again?”
Claudia reddens at my blunt query and ducks her head, so that her hair falls across her face like a dark curtain and obscures her features from my view. I’m tempted to brush back the shining strands, just to have an excuse to touch her, but I’m not sure how the gesture will go over with her. Instead I wait anxiously for her response, knowing on some level I’ve flustered her because she refuses to meet my eyes.
Finally she says, her voice barely above a whisper, “I’m glad you’re here, Zan. I really couldn’t get through this without your support. I’m sorry I’ve been so distant lately.”
I can hear the infinite sorrow in her tone and it makes my heart ache, fills me with guilt, too, because I feel as if I’ve pushed her. “I know you’ve been dealing with a lot lately,” I tell her despondently, “I’m sorry if it seems like I don’t realize that…if I’m putting pressure on you… I guess I should try to be more patient.”
She presses her hand down against mine and my heart leaps. It’s the first time in days that she’s touched me. “You have been patient, Zan,” Claudia insists quietly, “And perfect. I haven’t been very appreciative of that and…and I’m sorry.”
“Please, don’t apologize. Your dad just died, Cee. There’s no right or wrong way to deal with that.”
Claudia smiles at me faintly before lowering her eyes once again. “Your dad told me the same thing this afternoon,” she murmurs.
“It’s good advice,” I tell her sagely, “Where do you think I heard it?” Her smile widens just a bit more and the sight makes my palms sweat with excitement. “What else did he tell you?”
“That he would be there for me,” she says hoarsely, “That I’m not alone.”
I squeeze her fingers. “You’re not,” I promise.
“I’m trying to remember that,” she croaks huskily, “I really am but… My life is such a mess right now, Zan.” I nearly groan aloud with that last sentence. I have a horrible suspicion where she’s going and I’d probably laugh out loud if it weren’t so depressing. She’s switched into martyr mode, determined to do the right thing for my sake even when it’s not the right thing at all. Her next statement confirms my suspicions. “I’m thinking maybe we should take a little break from each other. Not forever,” she adds quickly when she glimpses what must be a destroyed reaction on my part, “Just until I get my life together again.”
My heartbeat bounces with her words despite the fact I was fully expecting them. How could I not see this coming? My impulsive, sensitive, self-deprecating Claudia. Leave it to my darling to increase her own misery while trying to alleviate mine. “Cee, what are you thinking,” I demand in a deceptively calm manner.
“I’m thinking of you for a change.”
“Really?” I bark sardonically, “Cuz I don’t recall ever asking for time apart.”
“Don’t get upset.”
“Don’t get upset?” I hiss, “You’re trying to break up with me. Am I just supposed to sit here and smile?”
“I’m trying to do the right thing.”
“This isn’t it,” I reply tersely, “We’re supposed to get married, Claudia. We’re having a baby, dammit! You can’t take time off from that! Why the hell are you doing this now?”
“Zan, think about it for a minute,” she pleads in tearful exasperation, “The entire time you’ve known me I’ve been in some kind of emotional crisis. I mean it’s a wonder you didn’t go crazy just being with me. I know you didn’t sign on to be in a relationship with someone who’s...who's…emotionally unstable.”
“You’re not emotionally unstable.”
She flicks me with a dubious glance. “I can’t believe you made that statement with a straight face,” she scoffs gruffly, “I was committed, remember? I’m a friggin mess. Mom is already talking about putting me back on the anti-depressants. She doesn’t think I’m ‘strong’ enough to handle Dad’s death on my own.”
“And how do you feel about it?” I ask her softly. The point is for Claudia to know what her limitations are. She’ll never figure it out if everyone keeps on telling her how she’s supposed to feel.
“How should I know?” she mumbles, “All I do know is that I’m a wreck. You’ve got enough to worry about without having to play caretaker to me as well.”
“Oh and you think that if you break up with me I’m not going to worry about you,” I challenge mockingly, “Talk about skewed logic. I’m going to worry about you no matter what, you idiot.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do?” she cries plaintively, “I love you too much to put you through this crap again.”
“Don’t I get a say?” I interject quietly, “Or do my feelings not count anymore?”
Claudia leans back in her seat, her features becoming obstinately remote. “It’s not like you would ask for a break even if you needed one, Zan,” she says, “So I’m making the decision for you.”
“Gee, thanks,” I bite out acridly, “And would you like to pick out my clothes and dress me, too? So much for being in a relationship.”
“Don’t be snarky.”
“This coming from the Queen of snark herself,” I snort.
“Stop it.”
“No, you stop it,” I retort firmly, “You’re right. I didn’t sign on for the drama and chaos that surrounds your life but I wouldn’t trade it either. I don’t want to back out. I don’t want to run. The only thing I want is to help you through this.
“If you’re doing this because you’re worried you might have another breakdown then don’t worry because I definitely believe you’re past all that. But even if you aren’t I’m still not going anywhere.” I cup her face in my hands and force her to look at me. “I love you, fair weather or storms, Claudia. Whatever happens…we’ll get through it just like we always have.”
“I don’t know when things will make sense again,” she whispers brokenly.
“As long as we’re together, they will, Cee,” I reply fervently, “So stop trying to break up with me and just let me fucking love you, okay.”
Claudia smiles crookedly at my forceful tone. “Okay…okay,” she surrenders, “Don’t go all Donnie Brasco on me.”
“You drive me to it,” I sigh, pressing my forehead to hers in utter relief, “God, you’re completely neurotic, you know that?”
“Maybe a tiny bit,” she whispers, nuzzling against me.
“So what do we do now?” I ask her. Really I don’t want to think about it. I’m content to remain in this moment with her, perfect, quiet, and peaceful.
Claudia must feel the same because she reluctantly replies, “I’m afraid I don’t have it plotted out any further than dinner.”
I rear back to eye her quizzically. “Does that mean you’re actually planning to eat dinner this time?”
“I’ll definitely make an effort,” she tells me, “In the meantime I was thinking that I should introduce you to my grandparents.”
“I’ve already met your grandparents,” I say, recalling our first introduction. Her grandfather was quite congenial but her grandmother… I shudder just thinking about her frosty demeanor. Snob is too mild a word to describe that woman. It’s little wonder Claudia only visited once a year. “And once was enough…trust me.”
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to suck it up and do it again,” Claudia says regretfully, “You see when my grandparents met you before they were meeting Zan my stepbrother and not Zan my lover and father of my baby. I’ve got to set them straight about that.”
“Do you have to do it now?” I whine, “A second ago you were trying to break up with me, now you want to introduce me to your grandparents?”
“I was pretty sure that whole break-up thing wasn’t going to fly with you anyway. I guess I just needed to hear you say it,” she replies wryly, “However, reintroducing you to my grandparents was already a forgone conclusion.” I imagine my expression lacks a marked amount of excitement because she says, “Don’t look so grim, baby.”
“I think your grandparents are probably handling all they can right now, Cee, particularly your grandmother,” I tell her, “Maybe we should wait.”
“No good can come from that. Besides I’m sick of hiding what you mean to me,” she says firmly, “If we’re going to be together then we’re going to do this 100%. That means telling my grandparents exactly who you are to me, Zan. No more hiding. I did that with my dad already and…I’m not doing it again.”
I understand her determination even while I’m unnerved by it. “When you talk about ‘no more hiding’ do you mean about…everything?” I prod tentatively.
“Relax, Alexander. I’m not suggesting we tell them anything beyond the fact that we’re together.”
“Oh,” I sigh in obvious relief, “That’s good.”
“Zan,” she whispers fervidly, “I’m never telling that secret again. I wish you could believe me.”
“I do believe you. I guess I just needed to hear you say it,” I tell her, turning her earlier words to me back on her.
To my eternal relief and delight, she smiles at me crookedly. “Good. So we’re agreed,” she says, surging to her feet and grabbing hold of my hand as she does. “Let’s get this over with then.”
TBC
P.S. I forgot to mention I'll be going out of town in a few days so that means I won't update again until next year. See you then.
Chapter 27
Zan
I wordlessly pass the plate of finger sandwiches into her hands, mentally preparing myself to be rebuffed. But all Claudia says is a mumbled “thanks,” before inviting me to sit down beside her.
“I’ve been avoiding you,” she declares softly when I take my seat.
“Yeah,” I agree glumly, “pretty much.”
We’ve been doing this dance for some time now; really from the moment Claudia learned that her father was dead. The change in her hadn’t been abrupt or jarring, however. She had drifted away slowly, first not talking, then not touching, then not even sleeping in the same bedroom. That moment on the plane when I comforted her had been the first contact we’d had with one another in days. When Liz had offered me her seat I could have flipped over the moon but that elation hadn’t lasted very long when faced with Claudia’s continuing stoicism.
Still I’ve pressed on, determined to be there for her even when it seemed my presence was annoying her. I would have probably continued to stick by her side if she hadn’t asked for time alone. It had ripped my heart out a bit a time to watch her walk away from me and I had to keep reminding myself that she was grieving, not rejecting me.
Since then I’ve watched her flit around this massive family room with her grandmother, greeting this person and that. The entire time Claudia had a gracious smile on her face but I could see, even from afar, that the effort was taxing her. When she finally broke off from her grandmother I wasn’t surprised, but made a quick swoop by the refreshment table and made my move. Now I want to let myself feel joy over the fact she hasn’t yet sent me on my way, but with one look into Cee’s shuttered gaze I’m well aware that her acquiesce could turn out to be a bad thing. She wouldn’t be making the effort to talk to me if she didn’t have something pressing to say. There’s a large part of me that dreads whatever it is.
I study her from beneath my lashes. “I’m not holding it against you.”
“You never do,” she remarks shamefully.
“Cee, it’s not a big deal--,”
“I just didn’t want to…” She falls silent, as if she’s searching for the right way to phrase her words. “I’m a mess today,” she says, tunneling her fingers through her hair, “I didn’t want to take it out on you so I avoided you instead.”
“Since when are you afraid to be a bitch to me?” I ask wryly, hoping she might relax a bit with my teasing.
She doesn’t even smile. If anything, her expression becomes grimmer. “Since I knew I had the potential for being an unforgivable one,” she whispers, “I didn’t want to hurt you, Zan.”
“So you ignored me instead,” I surmise with a trace of sarcasm, “Great alternative. That one didn’t hurt a bit.”
“You’re angry with me, aren’t you?” she concludes glumly.
“No…ah…I’m not mad,” I deny, feeling like a complete asshole for guilt tripping her, “I’d have to be a special kind of bastard to be mad at you right now.” She just stares at me with wide, gray eyes so full with pain that I have to look away. “Eat your sandwich,” I mumble. Out of the corner of my eye I watch her nibble but I can tell her heart really isn’t in it. She’s just doing it for my sake because she wants to please me. Even now when her world is painful turmoil Claudia is concerned with pleasing me. The realization is both humbling and gutwrenching.
When she’s finally finished one of the tiny sandwiches I ask, “What are you doing hiding over here in the corner anyway?”
“My grandmother,” she explains with a flare of irritation. I watch as she sets aside her paper plate and dust her hands free of crumbs. “She’s determined to introduce me to everyone in this room and every introduction starts with, ‘Claudia, dear, you remember…’ But I don’t remember any of these people. The last time I saw them I was barely five, for crying out loud!”
“Have you tried explaining to her that you can’t possibly remember people that you last saw when you were four years old?”
“Are you kidding?” Claudia scoffs, “Logical and reasonable are not concepts my grandmother is familiar with. I love her but…she’s a fruitcake.”
I hold back my snicker, mainly because I’m not sure if Claudia meant the comment as a joke and because her expression doesn’t alter in the slightest when she says it. So I just sit there with a dutiful stare, waiting for her to continue the conversation.
“Where have you been?” she finally asks in a trembling whisper, “I haven’t seen you since the burial.”
“You said you needed time to yourself,” I reply achingly, “I was trying to give you space, but I’ve been close.”
It had killed me to stay away, too. I’m, by nature and nurture, a hoverer. It is a trait I have both loved and despised in my father, a trait that has evidently been passed on to me. A trait Claudia most likely loves and despises in me as well. But I can hardly quell the instinct. I see protecting Claudia as both my personal mission and express privilege.
“So,” I prod tentatively when she says nothing, “Have you had enough alone time now or should I make myself scarce again?”
Claudia reddens at my blunt query and ducks her head, so that her hair falls across her face like a dark curtain and obscures her features from my view. I’m tempted to brush back the shining strands, just to have an excuse to touch her, but I’m not sure how the gesture will go over with her. Instead I wait anxiously for her response, knowing on some level I’ve flustered her because she refuses to meet my eyes.
Finally she says, her voice barely above a whisper, “I’m glad you’re here, Zan. I really couldn’t get through this without your support. I’m sorry I’ve been so distant lately.”
I can hear the infinite sorrow in her tone and it makes my heart ache, fills me with guilt, too, because I feel as if I’ve pushed her. “I know you’ve been dealing with a lot lately,” I tell her despondently, “I’m sorry if it seems like I don’t realize that…if I’m putting pressure on you… I guess I should try to be more patient.”
She presses her hand down against mine and my heart leaps. It’s the first time in days that she’s touched me. “You have been patient, Zan,” Claudia insists quietly, “And perfect. I haven’t been very appreciative of that and…and I’m sorry.”
“Please, don’t apologize. Your dad just died, Cee. There’s no right or wrong way to deal with that.”
Claudia smiles at me faintly before lowering her eyes once again. “Your dad told me the same thing this afternoon,” she murmurs.
“It’s good advice,” I tell her sagely, “Where do you think I heard it?” Her smile widens just a bit more and the sight makes my palms sweat with excitement. “What else did he tell you?”
“That he would be there for me,” she says hoarsely, “That I’m not alone.”
I squeeze her fingers. “You’re not,” I promise.
“I’m trying to remember that,” she croaks huskily, “I really am but… My life is such a mess right now, Zan.” I nearly groan aloud with that last sentence. I have a horrible suspicion where she’s going and I’d probably laugh out loud if it weren’t so depressing. She’s switched into martyr mode, determined to do the right thing for my sake even when it’s not the right thing at all. Her next statement confirms my suspicions. “I’m thinking maybe we should take a little break from each other. Not forever,” she adds quickly when she glimpses what must be a destroyed reaction on my part, “Just until I get my life together again.”
My heartbeat bounces with her words despite the fact I was fully expecting them. How could I not see this coming? My impulsive, sensitive, self-deprecating Claudia. Leave it to my darling to increase her own misery while trying to alleviate mine. “Cee, what are you thinking,” I demand in a deceptively calm manner.
“I’m thinking of you for a change.”
“Really?” I bark sardonically, “Cuz I don’t recall ever asking for time apart.”
“Don’t get upset.”
“Don’t get upset?” I hiss, “You’re trying to break up with me. Am I just supposed to sit here and smile?”
“I’m trying to do the right thing.”
“This isn’t it,” I reply tersely, “We’re supposed to get married, Claudia. We’re having a baby, dammit! You can’t take time off from that! Why the hell are you doing this now?”
“Zan, think about it for a minute,” she pleads in tearful exasperation, “The entire time you’ve known me I’ve been in some kind of emotional crisis. I mean it’s a wonder you didn’t go crazy just being with me. I know you didn’t sign on to be in a relationship with someone who’s...who's…emotionally unstable.”
“You’re not emotionally unstable.”
She flicks me with a dubious glance. “I can’t believe you made that statement with a straight face,” she scoffs gruffly, “I was committed, remember? I’m a friggin mess. Mom is already talking about putting me back on the anti-depressants. She doesn’t think I’m ‘strong’ enough to handle Dad’s death on my own.”
“And how do you feel about it?” I ask her softly. The point is for Claudia to know what her limitations are. She’ll never figure it out if everyone keeps on telling her how she’s supposed to feel.
“How should I know?” she mumbles, “All I do know is that I’m a wreck. You’ve got enough to worry about without having to play caretaker to me as well.”
“Oh and you think that if you break up with me I’m not going to worry about you,” I challenge mockingly, “Talk about skewed logic. I’m going to worry about you no matter what, you idiot.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do?” she cries plaintively, “I love you too much to put you through this crap again.”
“Don’t I get a say?” I interject quietly, “Or do my feelings not count anymore?”
Claudia leans back in her seat, her features becoming obstinately remote. “It’s not like you would ask for a break even if you needed one, Zan,” she says, “So I’m making the decision for you.”
“Gee, thanks,” I bite out acridly, “And would you like to pick out my clothes and dress me, too? So much for being in a relationship.”
“Don’t be snarky.”
“This coming from the Queen of snark herself,” I snort.
“Stop it.”
“No, you stop it,” I retort firmly, “You’re right. I didn’t sign on for the drama and chaos that surrounds your life but I wouldn’t trade it either. I don’t want to back out. I don’t want to run. The only thing I want is to help you through this.
“If you’re doing this because you’re worried you might have another breakdown then don’t worry because I definitely believe you’re past all that. But even if you aren’t I’m still not going anywhere.” I cup her face in my hands and force her to look at me. “I love you, fair weather or storms, Claudia. Whatever happens…we’ll get through it just like we always have.”
“I don’t know when things will make sense again,” she whispers brokenly.
“As long as we’re together, they will, Cee,” I reply fervently, “So stop trying to break up with me and just let me fucking love you, okay.”
Claudia smiles crookedly at my forceful tone. “Okay…okay,” she surrenders, “Don’t go all Donnie Brasco on me.”
“You drive me to it,” I sigh, pressing my forehead to hers in utter relief, “God, you’re completely neurotic, you know that?”
“Maybe a tiny bit,” she whispers, nuzzling against me.
“So what do we do now?” I ask her. Really I don’t want to think about it. I’m content to remain in this moment with her, perfect, quiet, and peaceful.
Claudia must feel the same because she reluctantly replies, “I’m afraid I don’t have it plotted out any further than dinner.”
I rear back to eye her quizzically. “Does that mean you’re actually planning to eat dinner this time?”
“I’ll definitely make an effort,” she tells me, “In the meantime I was thinking that I should introduce you to my grandparents.”
“I’ve already met your grandparents,” I say, recalling our first introduction. Her grandfather was quite congenial but her grandmother… I shudder just thinking about her frosty demeanor. Snob is too mild a word to describe that woman. It’s little wonder Claudia only visited once a year. “And once was enough…trust me.”
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to suck it up and do it again,” Claudia says regretfully, “You see when my grandparents met you before they were meeting Zan my stepbrother and not Zan my lover and father of my baby. I’ve got to set them straight about that.”
“Do you have to do it now?” I whine, “A second ago you were trying to break up with me, now you want to introduce me to your grandparents?”
“I was pretty sure that whole break-up thing wasn’t going to fly with you anyway. I guess I just needed to hear you say it,” she replies wryly, “However, reintroducing you to my grandparents was already a forgone conclusion.” I imagine my expression lacks a marked amount of excitement because she says, “Don’t look so grim, baby.”
“I think your grandparents are probably handling all they can right now, Cee, particularly your grandmother,” I tell her, “Maybe we should wait.”
“No good can come from that. Besides I’m sick of hiding what you mean to me,” she says firmly, “If we’re going to be together then we’re going to do this 100%. That means telling my grandparents exactly who you are to me, Zan. No more hiding. I did that with my dad already and…I’m not doing it again.”
I understand her determination even while I’m unnerved by it. “When you talk about ‘no more hiding’ do you mean about…everything?” I prod tentatively.
“Relax, Alexander. I’m not suggesting we tell them anything beyond the fact that we’re together.”
“Oh,” I sigh in obvious relief, “That’s good.”
“Zan,” she whispers fervidly, “I’m never telling that secret again. I wish you could believe me.”
“I do believe you. I guess I just needed to hear you say it,” I tell her, turning her earlier words to me back on her.
To my eternal relief and delight, she smiles at me crookedly. “Good. So we’re agreed,” she says, surging to her feet and grabbing hold of my hand as she does. “Let’s get this over with then.”
TBC
P.S. I forgot to mention I'll be going out of town in a few days so that means I won't update again until next year. See you then.
-
Deejonaise
- Addicted Roswellian
- Posts: 385
- Joined: Thu Feb 28, 2002 12:48 am
- Location: On my rusty dusty...
Hello all. I'm leaving tommorow morning but I've squirreled away just enough time to write this next part and ready it for posting. I hope you guys enjoy it.
On another note I've started writing a third story in this series. (nitpick23, relax. I was planning something like this from the beginning, lol) It's not a sequel exactly, but rather an AU to The Chosen Path. Basically I explore what would have happened had Liz gone home to Roswell instead of marrying David. I've got the entire thing plotted out already and have written the Prologue and the first chapter. But, I won't be posting it on a public forum. However, if any of you who have read this series are interested in having it when I'm finished just let me know and I'll send it to you once I'm done. It won't matter if you read it before finishing Misdirection because like I said before it's not a sequel sequel.
Well, I hope you guys enjoyed your family time and I'll see you next year.
Chapter 28
Max
I lie in bed, admiring Liz’s shapely figure flex and shift beneath the translucent, floating material of her nightgown as she rifles through our suitcase for clean underwear. “Why don’t you just leave it off?” I suggest sweetly, stacking my hands behind my head and offering her a lascivious wink, “I don’t mind.”
Liz throws me an indulgent smile. “I’m sure you don’t,” she says, “But I wouldn’t be so cruel as to tempt you with what you can’t have.”
I pout my disappointment. “I can’t have it?”
“Not in this house,” she replies flatly, “It would be too weird. Aha!” She pulls free a lacy pair of bikini panties, waving them in the air like a flag. “Besides,” she continues as she pulls them up her body, “doesn’t it seem sort of wrong to be so happy considering the circumstances? It was David’s funeral and all…”
Right now the deceased David McKee is the furthest thing from my mind. My dear, sweet wife has my undivided attention as she pulls her panties into place. I try not to groan aloud when I catch a glimpse her shapely thighs and the dark thatch of hair at their apex. I think Liz might be aware of how she’s teasing me and is definitely getting a kick out of it because she’s sporting a Cheshire-like grin when she finally crawls into bed and sprawls beside me.
“This was the longest day ever,’ she declares wearily as we cuddle.
“You think so?” I query, “It wasn’t nearly as horrible as I expected it to be.”
Liz lifts her head and surveys me with an incredulous look. “Are you kidding?” she bleats, “I thought it would never end. I hate funerals.”
“You do? I can’t imagine why,” I tease her cheekily, but when she flashes me an evil look I add contritely, “But it was probably extra stressful for you having to handle all the arrangements. Considering the disdain Susan McKee seems to have for you I’m a little surprised she allowed that.”
“Her acquiesce didn’t come without a price,” Liz grumbles bitterly, “Do you know she actually had the nerve to criticize my choice for the flower arrangements and the casket? It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her off right then but I had to remind myself that she was grieving, therefore, prone to more bitchiness than usual.”
“So it wasn’t just me then,” I consider in an underbreath, “She’s just like that in general. Whoa. That’s a chilling thought.”
“Susan is just naturally insufferable,” Liz tells me, “No matter the occasion.”
I really don’t know what to say to that. I can’t imagine anyone simply being mean for the hell of it, but then I also can’t imagine why Susan McKee would be so hateful to people during one of the most excruciating ordeals of her life. Perhaps the reason was simpler than we imagined. Perhaps by inflicting misery and discontent on others Susan McKee could forget her own.
“Was the dinner afterward totally horrible for you?” Liz asks meekly, breaking me out of my silent musings.
“Huh?”
“I’m sorry I had to leave you on your own all that time.”
Liz had spent most of the night glued to Susan’s side, at the woman’s behest, so that Liz and Claudia could catch up with all their old acquaintances. I had been, quite purposely, left behind but not for lack of effort on Liz and Claudia’s part to include me. However, Susan had been determined that it be “the three of them.” I almost had to laugh at her retreating back. As if I wasn’t perceptive enough to discern when I was being snubbed. She wasn’t nearly as subtle as she believed herself to be.
But I never held any of it against Liz. She was as much a leaf twisting in Susan McKee’s windy manipulations as I was. Yet, I can tell from her demeanor and the careful way she’s surveying me through her lashes that she’s afraid I might resent her for it.
“Liz, I was fine,” I assure her with a grin, “Trust me. I probably met one more ‘Buffy’ than I cared to, but honestly they weren’t a bad crowd. Most of them were full of stories about David and very eager to share. They expressed some sorrow over your divorce but seemed to think you hadn’t done so badly for yourself the second time around.”
Liz buries her burning face into my side. “Oh God,” she squeaks, “Did someone actually say that to you?”
“Several someones,” I tell her impertinently, “Don’t worry. It was cool.” I slip my arms around her and coax her up the length of my body. “So there,” I say, dropping a kiss to the tip of her nose, “We survived the trip and the funeral and tomorrow we all go home. Problems solved and Paradise restored. I can hardly wait.” At my enthusiastic declaration Liz’s eyes skitter away and instantly I know something is amiss. My body goes slightly rigid. “What?” I demand hesitantly, “Liz, please tell me we’re leaving tomorrow morning as planned.”
“We are leaving,” Liz says glumly, “But Claudia and Zan are staying behind.”
“Staying behind?” I parrot blankly, “Why would they want to do that?”
“Charles and Susan wanted to have a little more time with Claudia,” Liz explains.
“Okay, that makes sense considering the circumstances and how rarely they see her but,” I concede, “what does Zan have to do with it?”
“Well,” she hedges, “They wanted the opportunity to get to know Claudia’s fiancé also.”
I literally stop breathing in that second. I don’t even blink. There’s a stiff roaring in my ears and I shake my head against the pillows as if to clear it. “What did you just say?” I enunciate carefully.
“Claudia told them the truth tonight.”
“The truth?” I croak anxiously.
“That she and Zan are together and that they’re having a baby,” Liz provides. I must look completely appalled by the idea because she adds almost belligerently, “It’s not a shameful thing, Max. They’re in love. They shouldn’t have to hide it.”
“But their relationship…the way things are…most people don’t understand it,” I mumble lamely, “They’re stepsiblings, for Pete’s sake! They just can’t go announcing they’re together to people like it’s no big deal.” Belatedly realizing I’ve an octave away from shouting, I compose myself at the last second, reserving my freak out. “Okay…so how did the in-laws receive this blessed news?”
“Susan was livid, as expected,” Liz recounts dryly, “She actually threatened me with a lawsuit for exposing Claudia to incest and other…oh…how did she put it…perversions.”
“Lovely.”
“Technically, they were together before we got married, Max,” Liz reminds me dryly, “We’re the ones who created this awkward situation for them in the first place.”
“Liz, that’s not true,” I argue softly, “There was an us long before either of them were even thought of.”
“I still feel guilty,” Liz insists quietly.
Quite honestly, so do I and I suspect my wife knows it. I expel a heavy sigh. “So where was I during this explosive conversation?”
“Enjoying your fifth glass of punch if I recall,” Liz says, “Anyway Susan was completely disgusted by the entire thing. I think Charles must have been in shock because he didn’t say too much. There was a lot of shouting and a lot of crying. Finally, everything came to a head when Claudia told them about the baby. The room got really quiet then.”
Liz smiles softly in reverie and settles back down against my chest. “Claudia totally amazed me in the way she handled them tonight. She pretty much told her grandparents that she loved Zan and they could like it or not, but if they decided to make trouble for her that she wouldn’t see them again. She told them that they wouldn’t just be losing her but their great grandchild as well.”
“And then what happened?”
“They caved, of course,” she replies, “For all Susan’s frost she does love babies. Besides, Claudia is her only grandchild and her last link to David. She wouldn’t jeopardize losing that.”
“So.”
“So they’re going to stay a few days and get to know one another,” Liz says, “I actually think it might be a good idea. As long as Zan is here with her I’m sure everything will be fine.”
“Do you want to stay a few days extra?” I ask her, “Just to make sure?” I know better than to trust the brave front she’s put on. Beneath her unruffled exterior is an ocean of rolling worry even if she won’t admit it aloud.
She lifts her head to regard me for a moment. “Part of me does want to stay,” she says, “But then part of me misses Justin too much. I feel like I haven’t seen him in months, even though it’s only been a couple of days. We’ve spent so much time away from him and I don’t think he understands why.”
“I know what you mean,” I whisper sympathetically, “I miss him, too. Time seems to be zipping by so fast. Just think…we were in North Carolina only five days ago and yet it feels like an eternity.”
“I’m sorry we had to cut our vacation short,” Liz murmurs, “Maybe we can try and reschedule later when Claudia’s better. We can even take Justin with us.”
I frown a bit at her wording. “What do you mean when Claudia’s better?”
“You know what I mean,” she says with a touch of exasperation, “She’s in a very fragile state right now.”
“Of course,” I agree, “Her father just died, but she’s coping. She’s fine, Liz.”
“Max, this isn’t just a matter of grief,” Liz protests, “You know it’s not that simple.”
“Why not?”
“Because Claudia is different,” she says tersely, “You’re well aware of what she went through last year. It could quite possibly happen again. And with the reading of the will next week and the settling of the insurance claims…I just think it might be too much for her. I was thinking that she and I could go spend a few days in Sacramento so that she could attend some therapy sessions and maybe get back on the anti-depressants…just for a little while anyway.”
“Liz, I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I advise cautiously, “Maybe you should just let Claudia work through this in her own way.”
I know immediately I must have said the wrong thing because Liz is suddenly pushing up from my body and brightening the touch lamp beside our bed. “What do you mean let her work through it in her own way,” Liz demands tersely, “Claudia is too fragile to do anything on her own, Max. It sounds as if you’re suggesting that I simply leave her to figure it out all by herself.”
“That’s not what I’m suggesting,” I soothe, but she’s having none of it, “Don’t get riled.”
“Too late,” she snaps, “Why do I get the impression you’re not on my side about this?”
Sadly realizing that this discussion isn’t going to die a quick death, I push myself upright against my pillows and regard my indignant wife with a mild stare. “Liz, you have to stop doing this,” I advise calmly, “Claudia is a grown woman. You can’t micromanage her life, sweetheart. I thought we talked about this in Asheville.”
Liz has the grace to appear chastened and guilty. “I’m not micromanaging her,” she protests weakly.
“Then why don’t you let Claudia tell you when she needs help and support,” I suggest gently, “Let her ask for it instead of just taking over. You’re going from one extreme to another. First you were too distant and now you’re much too close.”
“You sound like you think I’m trying to control her,” she grunts.
“Aren’t you?” I challenge, “Liz, when we first got together I didn’t think it was my place to give you any advice where Claudia was concerned. You and McKee were handling it and that was fine. But that was nearly two years ago and now I love Claudia like my own. I don’t think doctors and pills are the answer, especially with all the changes going on inside Claude’s body now. We don’t know how she might react to the drugs and besides I don’t think medication is the answer. What Claudia needs is love and support from her family.”
“That’s what I’m trying to give her,” Liz insist stubbornly.
“But you’re being overbearing about it,” I tell her gently, “You tell her what she should feel instead of letting her figure it out on her own. You’ve got to find a middle ground, Liz, before you drive her away.”
“I don’t want to do that,” Liz whispers as the remainder of her angry pride deflates from her, “I…I only want to help. I don’t want her to go back into the hospital. A second time would kill her, Max.” She blinks several times, but it’s not enough to keep her tears from spilling over. “It would kill me.”
“That’s not going to happen,” I tell her before reaching forward to pull her back into my arms, “You said it yourself. Claudia surprised you today when she faced up her grandparents. She’s starting to stand on her own, Liz.”
“But what if it’s too much for her?”
“Then we’ll just have to trust her to tell us,” I murmur into her hair, “I know you’re worried, Liz, and scared but you have to ease up and let Claudia be an adult. She’s only a few months away from becoming a mother herself. Believe me…I know how you feel. I’ve had to give myself this same talk at least four times this last week and I force myself to listen because I know it’s good advice. You can’t keep leading her by the hand. It’s time to stop paying penance for your past mistakes. Claudia’s already forgiven you…now you just have to forgive yourself.”
“I can’t,” she chokes pitifully, “I can’t forget she went into that hospital, Max, and I can’t forget that I’m the reason she did. You saw how she was after we told her about David…how hysterical she got. Her powers just went haywire. She’s not ready.”
“Maybe not,” I reply, “But she’ll be ready…if you give her the chance.”
“She’s not eating,” Liz points out, “That’s not good for the baby.”
“She’s nibbling,” I counter.
“And she’s not sleeping,” she frets, “I can tell by the bruises under her eyes. But mostly I can tell that something’s wrong because she’s not talking about her feelings…just like the last time.”
“She talked to me,” I return quietly.
Liz looks up at me in grateful surprise. “She did?” she whispers thickly, “When?”
“At the cemetery,” I tell her, “When I went looking for her.”
“What did she say?” Liz asks shakily.
“Claude’s dealing with a lot of anger…mostly towards David. She wants to mourn him, but there’s a lot of stored resentment, too, probably stuff she never let herself feel when he was alive. She doesn’t understand why he never put her first.”
Liz emits a soft, choked sob. “When Claudia was younger and David and I would fight so much work would be his refuge,” she explains sadly, “I suppose after so many years he didn’t know how to do without it.”
“Maybe you could try explaining that to Claudia sometime,” I say, “It might help her to cope with some of her feelings.”
“You mean just go and talk to her…sans the motherly advice?” she queries wryly.
“It might work.”
Liz ponders my suggestion for a long moment but then finally nods. “Okay, I’ll try it,” she consents, “Tomorrow before we leave for the airport. I’ll talk to her.”
“Good,” I sigh, reaching over to click off the lamp. Once the room is cloaked in darkness we scoot down together beneath the covers and buddle against each other. I’m teetering just on the edges of sleep when Liz whispers my name a short time later. “Hmm?”
“Thank you for the advice,” she says softly.
Eyes closed, I smile in the darkness. “You’re welcome.”
A second later I feel her mouth brush over mine in the softest of kisses. She skates the tips of her fingers across my cheekbones, her breath wafting warmly over my face. “I love you, Max,” she whispers reverently, “Thank you for not giving up on me.”
My smile softens and I draw her closer for another kiss. “No, Liz,” I counter thickly, plunging my fingers into her luxuriant hair, “thank you for not giving up on us.”
TBC
On another note I've started writing a third story in this series. (nitpick23, relax. I was planning something like this from the beginning, lol) It's not a sequel exactly, but rather an AU to The Chosen Path. Basically I explore what would have happened had Liz gone home to Roswell instead of marrying David. I've got the entire thing plotted out already and have written the Prologue and the first chapter. But, I won't be posting it on a public forum. However, if any of you who have read this series are interested in having it when I'm finished just let me know and I'll send it to you once I'm done. It won't matter if you read it before finishing Misdirection because like I said before it's not a sequel sequel.
Well, I hope you guys enjoyed your family time and I'll see you next year.
Chapter 28
Max
I lie in bed, admiring Liz’s shapely figure flex and shift beneath the translucent, floating material of her nightgown as she rifles through our suitcase for clean underwear. “Why don’t you just leave it off?” I suggest sweetly, stacking my hands behind my head and offering her a lascivious wink, “I don’t mind.”
Liz throws me an indulgent smile. “I’m sure you don’t,” she says, “But I wouldn’t be so cruel as to tempt you with what you can’t have.”
I pout my disappointment. “I can’t have it?”
“Not in this house,” she replies flatly, “It would be too weird. Aha!” She pulls free a lacy pair of bikini panties, waving them in the air like a flag. “Besides,” she continues as she pulls them up her body, “doesn’t it seem sort of wrong to be so happy considering the circumstances? It was David’s funeral and all…”
Right now the deceased David McKee is the furthest thing from my mind. My dear, sweet wife has my undivided attention as she pulls her panties into place. I try not to groan aloud when I catch a glimpse her shapely thighs and the dark thatch of hair at their apex. I think Liz might be aware of how she’s teasing me and is definitely getting a kick out of it because she’s sporting a Cheshire-like grin when she finally crawls into bed and sprawls beside me.
“This was the longest day ever,’ she declares wearily as we cuddle.
“You think so?” I query, “It wasn’t nearly as horrible as I expected it to be.”
Liz lifts her head and surveys me with an incredulous look. “Are you kidding?” she bleats, “I thought it would never end. I hate funerals.”
“You do? I can’t imagine why,” I tease her cheekily, but when she flashes me an evil look I add contritely, “But it was probably extra stressful for you having to handle all the arrangements. Considering the disdain Susan McKee seems to have for you I’m a little surprised she allowed that.”
“Her acquiesce didn’t come without a price,” Liz grumbles bitterly, “Do you know she actually had the nerve to criticize my choice for the flower arrangements and the casket? It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her off right then but I had to remind myself that she was grieving, therefore, prone to more bitchiness than usual.”
“So it wasn’t just me then,” I consider in an underbreath, “She’s just like that in general. Whoa. That’s a chilling thought.”
“Susan is just naturally insufferable,” Liz tells me, “No matter the occasion.”
I really don’t know what to say to that. I can’t imagine anyone simply being mean for the hell of it, but then I also can’t imagine why Susan McKee would be so hateful to people during one of the most excruciating ordeals of her life. Perhaps the reason was simpler than we imagined. Perhaps by inflicting misery and discontent on others Susan McKee could forget her own.
“Was the dinner afterward totally horrible for you?” Liz asks meekly, breaking me out of my silent musings.
“Huh?”
“I’m sorry I had to leave you on your own all that time.”
Liz had spent most of the night glued to Susan’s side, at the woman’s behest, so that Liz and Claudia could catch up with all their old acquaintances. I had been, quite purposely, left behind but not for lack of effort on Liz and Claudia’s part to include me. However, Susan had been determined that it be “the three of them.” I almost had to laugh at her retreating back. As if I wasn’t perceptive enough to discern when I was being snubbed. She wasn’t nearly as subtle as she believed herself to be.
But I never held any of it against Liz. She was as much a leaf twisting in Susan McKee’s windy manipulations as I was. Yet, I can tell from her demeanor and the careful way she’s surveying me through her lashes that she’s afraid I might resent her for it.
“Liz, I was fine,” I assure her with a grin, “Trust me. I probably met one more ‘Buffy’ than I cared to, but honestly they weren’t a bad crowd. Most of them were full of stories about David and very eager to share. They expressed some sorrow over your divorce but seemed to think you hadn’t done so badly for yourself the second time around.”
Liz buries her burning face into my side. “Oh God,” she squeaks, “Did someone actually say that to you?”
“Several someones,” I tell her impertinently, “Don’t worry. It was cool.” I slip my arms around her and coax her up the length of my body. “So there,” I say, dropping a kiss to the tip of her nose, “We survived the trip and the funeral and tomorrow we all go home. Problems solved and Paradise restored. I can hardly wait.” At my enthusiastic declaration Liz’s eyes skitter away and instantly I know something is amiss. My body goes slightly rigid. “What?” I demand hesitantly, “Liz, please tell me we’re leaving tomorrow morning as planned.”
“We are leaving,” Liz says glumly, “But Claudia and Zan are staying behind.”
“Staying behind?” I parrot blankly, “Why would they want to do that?”
“Charles and Susan wanted to have a little more time with Claudia,” Liz explains.
“Okay, that makes sense considering the circumstances and how rarely they see her but,” I concede, “what does Zan have to do with it?”
“Well,” she hedges, “They wanted the opportunity to get to know Claudia’s fiancé also.”
I literally stop breathing in that second. I don’t even blink. There’s a stiff roaring in my ears and I shake my head against the pillows as if to clear it. “What did you just say?” I enunciate carefully.
“Claudia told them the truth tonight.”
“The truth?” I croak anxiously.
“That she and Zan are together and that they’re having a baby,” Liz provides. I must look completely appalled by the idea because she adds almost belligerently, “It’s not a shameful thing, Max. They’re in love. They shouldn’t have to hide it.”
“But their relationship…the way things are…most people don’t understand it,” I mumble lamely, “They’re stepsiblings, for Pete’s sake! They just can’t go announcing they’re together to people like it’s no big deal.” Belatedly realizing I’ve an octave away from shouting, I compose myself at the last second, reserving my freak out. “Okay…so how did the in-laws receive this blessed news?”
“Susan was livid, as expected,” Liz recounts dryly, “She actually threatened me with a lawsuit for exposing Claudia to incest and other…oh…how did she put it…perversions.”
“Lovely.”
“Technically, they were together before we got married, Max,” Liz reminds me dryly, “We’re the ones who created this awkward situation for them in the first place.”
“Liz, that’s not true,” I argue softly, “There was an us long before either of them were even thought of.”
“I still feel guilty,” Liz insists quietly.
Quite honestly, so do I and I suspect my wife knows it. I expel a heavy sigh. “So where was I during this explosive conversation?”
“Enjoying your fifth glass of punch if I recall,” Liz says, “Anyway Susan was completely disgusted by the entire thing. I think Charles must have been in shock because he didn’t say too much. There was a lot of shouting and a lot of crying. Finally, everything came to a head when Claudia told them about the baby. The room got really quiet then.”
Liz smiles softly in reverie and settles back down against my chest. “Claudia totally amazed me in the way she handled them tonight. She pretty much told her grandparents that she loved Zan and they could like it or not, but if they decided to make trouble for her that she wouldn’t see them again. She told them that they wouldn’t just be losing her but their great grandchild as well.”
“And then what happened?”
“They caved, of course,” she replies, “For all Susan’s frost she does love babies. Besides, Claudia is her only grandchild and her last link to David. She wouldn’t jeopardize losing that.”
“So.”
“So they’re going to stay a few days and get to know one another,” Liz says, “I actually think it might be a good idea. As long as Zan is here with her I’m sure everything will be fine.”
“Do you want to stay a few days extra?” I ask her, “Just to make sure?” I know better than to trust the brave front she’s put on. Beneath her unruffled exterior is an ocean of rolling worry even if she won’t admit it aloud.
She lifts her head to regard me for a moment. “Part of me does want to stay,” she says, “But then part of me misses Justin too much. I feel like I haven’t seen him in months, even though it’s only been a couple of days. We’ve spent so much time away from him and I don’t think he understands why.”
“I know what you mean,” I whisper sympathetically, “I miss him, too. Time seems to be zipping by so fast. Just think…we were in North Carolina only five days ago and yet it feels like an eternity.”
“I’m sorry we had to cut our vacation short,” Liz murmurs, “Maybe we can try and reschedule later when Claudia’s better. We can even take Justin with us.”
I frown a bit at her wording. “What do you mean when Claudia’s better?”
“You know what I mean,” she says with a touch of exasperation, “She’s in a very fragile state right now.”
“Of course,” I agree, “Her father just died, but she’s coping. She’s fine, Liz.”
“Max, this isn’t just a matter of grief,” Liz protests, “You know it’s not that simple.”
“Why not?”
“Because Claudia is different,” she says tersely, “You’re well aware of what she went through last year. It could quite possibly happen again. And with the reading of the will next week and the settling of the insurance claims…I just think it might be too much for her. I was thinking that she and I could go spend a few days in Sacramento so that she could attend some therapy sessions and maybe get back on the anti-depressants…just for a little while anyway.”
“Liz, I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I advise cautiously, “Maybe you should just let Claudia work through this in her own way.”
I know immediately I must have said the wrong thing because Liz is suddenly pushing up from my body and brightening the touch lamp beside our bed. “What do you mean let her work through it in her own way,” Liz demands tersely, “Claudia is too fragile to do anything on her own, Max. It sounds as if you’re suggesting that I simply leave her to figure it out all by herself.”
“That’s not what I’m suggesting,” I soothe, but she’s having none of it, “Don’t get riled.”
“Too late,” she snaps, “Why do I get the impression you’re not on my side about this?”
Sadly realizing that this discussion isn’t going to die a quick death, I push myself upright against my pillows and regard my indignant wife with a mild stare. “Liz, you have to stop doing this,” I advise calmly, “Claudia is a grown woman. You can’t micromanage her life, sweetheart. I thought we talked about this in Asheville.”
Liz has the grace to appear chastened and guilty. “I’m not micromanaging her,” she protests weakly.
“Then why don’t you let Claudia tell you when she needs help and support,” I suggest gently, “Let her ask for it instead of just taking over. You’re going from one extreme to another. First you were too distant and now you’re much too close.”
“You sound like you think I’m trying to control her,” she grunts.
“Aren’t you?” I challenge, “Liz, when we first got together I didn’t think it was my place to give you any advice where Claudia was concerned. You and McKee were handling it and that was fine. But that was nearly two years ago and now I love Claudia like my own. I don’t think doctors and pills are the answer, especially with all the changes going on inside Claude’s body now. We don’t know how she might react to the drugs and besides I don’t think medication is the answer. What Claudia needs is love and support from her family.”
“That’s what I’m trying to give her,” Liz insist stubbornly.
“But you’re being overbearing about it,” I tell her gently, “You tell her what she should feel instead of letting her figure it out on her own. You’ve got to find a middle ground, Liz, before you drive her away.”
“I don’t want to do that,” Liz whispers as the remainder of her angry pride deflates from her, “I…I only want to help. I don’t want her to go back into the hospital. A second time would kill her, Max.” She blinks several times, but it’s not enough to keep her tears from spilling over. “It would kill me.”
“That’s not going to happen,” I tell her before reaching forward to pull her back into my arms, “You said it yourself. Claudia surprised you today when she faced up her grandparents. She’s starting to stand on her own, Liz.”
“But what if it’s too much for her?”
“Then we’ll just have to trust her to tell us,” I murmur into her hair, “I know you’re worried, Liz, and scared but you have to ease up and let Claudia be an adult. She’s only a few months away from becoming a mother herself. Believe me…I know how you feel. I’ve had to give myself this same talk at least four times this last week and I force myself to listen because I know it’s good advice. You can’t keep leading her by the hand. It’s time to stop paying penance for your past mistakes. Claudia’s already forgiven you…now you just have to forgive yourself.”
“I can’t,” she chokes pitifully, “I can’t forget she went into that hospital, Max, and I can’t forget that I’m the reason she did. You saw how she was after we told her about David…how hysterical she got. Her powers just went haywire. She’s not ready.”
“Maybe not,” I reply, “But she’ll be ready…if you give her the chance.”
“She’s not eating,” Liz points out, “That’s not good for the baby.”
“She’s nibbling,” I counter.
“And she’s not sleeping,” she frets, “I can tell by the bruises under her eyes. But mostly I can tell that something’s wrong because she’s not talking about her feelings…just like the last time.”
“She talked to me,” I return quietly.
Liz looks up at me in grateful surprise. “She did?” she whispers thickly, “When?”
“At the cemetery,” I tell her, “When I went looking for her.”
“What did she say?” Liz asks shakily.
“Claude’s dealing with a lot of anger…mostly towards David. She wants to mourn him, but there’s a lot of stored resentment, too, probably stuff she never let herself feel when he was alive. She doesn’t understand why he never put her first.”
Liz emits a soft, choked sob. “When Claudia was younger and David and I would fight so much work would be his refuge,” she explains sadly, “I suppose after so many years he didn’t know how to do without it.”
“Maybe you could try explaining that to Claudia sometime,” I say, “It might help her to cope with some of her feelings.”
“You mean just go and talk to her…sans the motherly advice?” she queries wryly.
“It might work.”
Liz ponders my suggestion for a long moment but then finally nods. “Okay, I’ll try it,” she consents, “Tomorrow before we leave for the airport. I’ll talk to her.”
“Good,” I sigh, reaching over to click off the lamp. Once the room is cloaked in darkness we scoot down together beneath the covers and buddle against each other. I’m teetering just on the edges of sleep when Liz whispers my name a short time later. “Hmm?”
“Thank you for the advice,” she says softly.
Eyes closed, I smile in the darkness. “You’re welcome.”
A second later I feel her mouth brush over mine in the softest of kisses. She skates the tips of her fingers across my cheekbones, her breath wafting warmly over my face. “I love you, Max,” she whispers reverently, “Thank you for not giving up on me.”
My smile softens and I draw her closer for another kiss. “No, Liz,” I counter thickly, plunging my fingers into her luxuriant hair, “thank you for not giving up on us.”
TBC
Last edited by Deejonaise on Fri Dec 26, 2003 10:07 am, edited 2 times in total.
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Deejonaise
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I've had the rough draft of this part written for a week now so I'm sure you'll see where the idea for And the Road... came from, lol.
Chapter 29
Claudia
I emerge from the bathroom in the middle of brushing my teeth to find my mother perched upon my bed with folded hands, waiting. “Mom?” I bleat in surprise around a mouth full of toothpaste foam, “What are you doing in here?”
“Can we talk?” she asks quietly.
Her question is dripping with various implications and all of them grim. My gut instinct is to refuse her request right off the bat. Could this be more discussion about the need for doctors, pills and therapy sessions? I could really do without, especially after the sleepless night I’ve passed. I fought continual nightmares about my dad and several times I awoke crying. I didn’t even have Zan’s warm body there to comfort me. He had slept in the room down the hall. Not because I had chosen so, as before, but because Zan and I had come to a mutual understanding about it. Until my grandparents could make the leap from stepbrother to fiancé we thought it best to sleep apart. Needless to say I’m not in the mood for verbal sparring with my mother.
My reluctance must be plain on my face because she adds, somewhat wryly, “I promise this won’t be painful.”
“O…kay,” I concede cautiously, “Just let me rinse.” After I’ve returned from the bathroom I ease down next to her on the bed. “What do you want to talk about?” Could I sound less enthusiastic? Well, if my mother is irritated by my lack of excitement she doesn’t show it.
“Max tells me I’ve been smothering you,” she announces with sudden flatness, “Have I? Do you feel like that, too?”
I’m so taken aback by her straightforwardness that all I can do is blink. “Huh?”
“Do you feel like I’m trying to control you, Claude, or…or manage your grief,” she reiterates tenderly, “Tell me the truth.”
Quite unexpectedly my moment has come. She’s inviting me to tell her exactly how I feel. No sugarcoating at all. I can just dive right on in and…I can’t. Not when she’s looking at me all puppy-eyed and contrite, as if she’s well aware of the disservice she’s done and is appropriately apologetic. I look at her and I can’t be mad.
“You care,” I reply softly, “I know that’s the reason you’ve been getting on my nerves lately. It’s because you care.”
“But I have been getting on your nerves,” she concludes sadly.
“Just a little bit.”
“I’ve just been worried,” she says, sighing, “I didn’t know how you were adjusting to your dad’s death.”
“Is that what I’m supposed to do?” I wonder astringently, “Adjust?”
“I lost my father, too,” she whispers, “I know a little of what you’re feeling even if you don’t think so.”
“Not exactly,” I mutter thickly, “Grandpa was there for you. You’ve got, like, a hundred great memories of him and I have…maybe five of my Dad. You miss Grandpa for all the times you shared together while you were growing up. I miss Dad for the times that could have been, the times we didn’t have because he was too busy working.”
“You’re angry.”
“Sometimes,” I confess woefully, “And other times I’m just incredibly sad…so sad that it had to end like this.” A sound that’s half laughter, half sob escapes my throat as I pass a hand down over my abdomen. “He’s never going to know his granddaughter now,” I whisper, “And she’s never going to know the man her grandfather could have been.”
“And neither will you, huh, Claudia?” Mom points out regretfully.
“I guess you’re right about that,” I reply with scoffing bitterness, “Neither will I.”
“Oh, sweetheart…can’t I do something, anything to make it better?”
“I don’t think you can, Mom.”
“Maybe a hug,” she suggests tearfully, “Could I hug you?”
I answer her with a trembling smile and open arms. “That’s doable.”
“He did love you, Claudia,” she says as we pull apart a long time later, “You were the best thing in his life…in both our lives.” I try to look away then but she won’t let me. “I know we didn’t always show it but you were our world. David and I just didn’t know how to live together and, unfortunately, you suffered for our shortcomings.”
“You can’t help who you love, Mom,” I whisper, “And you couldn’t love Dad. I understand that.”
“Then I shouldn’t have married him,” she replies honestly, “I shouldn’t have committed to him. Even with all the hope that I had in the beginning I always knew in my heart that David and I wouldn’t last. I shouldn’t have done that to him…or to you. And I’m sorry.”
“Mom, don’t,” I implore her, pressing a kiss to the palm that cradles my cheek, “Everything worked out the way it should have. I’ve thought it out. What if you hadn’t married Dad?” I muse aloud, “You would have come back to Roswell and had me here. Eventually you and Max would have reconciled and gotten married and Zan and I would have been raised brother and sister.” I shudder at the mere thought. “I definitely like how it worked out instead, at least for Zan and me anyway.”
My scenario startles a teary laugh out of her and I laugh right along with her. “Mom, I’m not sorry for how things went down between you and Dad. I know that worked out for the best. But what I am sorry for is how things went down between Dad and me. That’s the part I want to change. That’s the part I can’t change”
“It sucks living with regret, doesn’t it, sweetheart?” Mom sympathizes.
“Do you?” I wonder gloomily.
“Plenty,” she sighs, “Especially about all the things I wanted to tell my father and couldn’t. I wish he could have known what Max did for me that day in the Crashdown. I know he would have been grateful and relieved…amazed even. If only you had seen his face when he thought I had been shot…” She trails away, lost in her own sorrowful reverie. “I just wish he could have known Max the way I knew him.” She stops when she notices I’m staring at her with incredulous eyes. “What?”
“You,” I clarify vaguely, “You…You sound almost like you envied me just now…like you envied me for telling my dad the truth where you didn’t.” I can hardly entertain the notion because when I did Mom had been one of the loudest voices telling me I had screwed up.
“I guess I do,” she admits with a shrug, “I can’t say it wasn’t one of the stupidest things you’ve ever done, but I can definitely understand the sentiment.”
“It did turn out badly, didn’t it?” I muse wryly, “Sometimes I wish I had just kept my big, fat mouth shut.”
“And others?” Mom prods.
“Other times I’m glad I told him,” I whisper, “Even with all the chaos I caused by telling him I can’t regret completely that I did it.” I shrug in consideration. “I don’t know…maybe I’d feel differently if Zan had chosen not to forgive me.”
“But he did,” Mom says, “because he loves you.” She levels me with a penetrating look and I recognize that the circumventing is over. Mom is ready to get to the meat of the matter now. “I love you, too, Claudia,” she adds softly.
“I…I know that,” I reply shakily, a little leery as to where this all is leading.
“Do you?” she probes, “Because I know that I’ve probably been putting you off lately with all this talk about doctors and anti-depressants. I just thought we could talk about that, you know…openly and honestly.”
“You want me to be honest?” I query.
“100%,” she answers without hesitation.
This time I don’t waver for a second. “Okay…here goes. I feel like you expect me to go off the deep end any second,” I mutter crossly, “You’re always watching me, always hovering and asking ‘Claude, are you okay?,’ ‘Claude, do you need to lie down?,’ ‘Claude, did you go to your session?’ You make me feel like a walking bag of nuts.”
She chokes on her laughter with my bald reply. “Oh sweetheart,” she replies, lips twitching, “I never meant to make you feel that way. I guess I was afraid that dealing with your father’s death on top of everything else would just be too much for you.”
“At times it feels like it is,” I confess wearily, “but I’m muddling through, Mom, and I’d rather do it without medicating if it’s all the same to you.”
“Point taken,” she says contritely. But then she lowers her eyes and I can tell that she’s still wondering, still worrying. “What does Zan say about it?”
“Zan stands behind whatever decision I make,” I reply directly, “He doesn’t just love me…he respects me, too, Mom.”
My unspoken admonition doesn’t escape her notice. “I respect you, Claudia,” she protests quietly, “It’s just difficult for me to…to…”
“To let go?” I provide, “Or to stop atoning?”
“Maybe a little of both,” she whispers, brushing aside a stray skein of my hair, “I want to be the mother to you I should have been from the beginning.”
I nibble at the corner of my mouth. “I get that but…could you just not try so hard…please?” I plead gently, “Sometimes I just need a little room to breathe.”
“Okay…okay,” she agrees with a hefty sigh, “I can do that.” But she continues to finger my hair, her worried gaze darting all over my face. “Are you sure you’ll be alright here alone with your grandparents?” she asks anxiously.
“Mom, if this is the part where you offer to stay, please don’t,” I interrupt quietly, “I can manage…really. Zan and I are going to spend a few days here and then we’ll fly back home to Roswell, okay. Don’t worry yourself crazy over nothing.” She makes an effort to smile but doesn’t quite make it. I make another attempt to soothe her. “Grandma and Grandpa want to take Zan and I out for lunch this afternoon. There’s nothing sinister going on, Mom. Just lunch.”
“It’s not that I don’t think you can handle yourself--,”
“Then what is it?” I demand, somewhat impatiently.
She suddenly snaps her mouth closed. “Nothing,” she says, patting my hand, “I’m sure you’ll be fine.” And then she frowns, casting a glance around the room for the first time. “Where’s Zan?” she asks carefully, “He’s not trapped in the bathroom, is he?”
I have to laugh at her horrified expression. “He’s across the hall, Mom.”
“He didn’t sleep here with you?”
“No, we’re giving the grandparents some time to adjust,” I explain wryly.
Her smile wobbles again and she stares down at her hands. “That’s nice.”
I sigh, feeling that old sense of guilt creep up on me once more. “Maybe we should have given you and Max time to adjust, too,” I whisper ruefully.
“We knew you were together,” she replies but it’s interesting to note that she’s still not making eye contact with me.
“Yeah,” I agree, “But you didn’t know we were together together.”
“And uh…how long have you two been together together?” she asks carefully.
“About six months,” I whisper.
Finally she looks at me, her eyes clouded with disappointment and something else. “That’s a long time to keep a secret, Claude,” she remarks sadly, “I wish you had come to me then. We could have talked.”
“I already know about birth control, Mom,” I retort crisply only to blush ten shades of red when she flicks a glance down at my belly and says, “Evidently not enough.” Score! Liz Evans, one…Claudia McKee, zip. I’ll give her credit though; she tries to take the sting out of her reply by stroking my hand. “I’m just saying that…maybe I could have told you things that would have helped to make your first time smoother.”
I can feel myself blushing at the direction our conversation is taking. “Zan…he…uh…he made it smooth,” I assure her.
“Good,” she says and it’s pretty evident that she’s just as uncomfortable with the subject as I am. She surges to her feet. “Well I guess I should get downstairs. Max is waiting.”
I stand as well. “So I’ll see you in a few days?” I ask, folding her in an awkward hug.
“In a few days,” she agrees.
“Tell Justin I said hello,” I tell her as we walk towards the door, “And show him pictures of me. That kid’s long term memory is completely out of whack.”
Mom turns and takes me into yet another hug, this one lingering. “Take care,” she whispers in my ear, “And call if you need me or if things get too rough.” She squeezes me harder. “Just call, Claudia.”
“I will, Mom,” I vow thickly, “I’ll definitely call.”
TBC
Chapter 29
Claudia
I emerge from the bathroom in the middle of brushing my teeth to find my mother perched upon my bed with folded hands, waiting. “Mom?” I bleat in surprise around a mouth full of toothpaste foam, “What are you doing in here?”
“Can we talk?” she asks quietly.
Her question is dripping with various implications and all of them grim. My gut instinct is to refuse her request right off the bat. Could this be more discussion about the need for doctors, pills and therapy sessions? I could really do without, especially after the sleepless night I’ve passed. I fought continual nightmares about my dad and several times I awoke crying. I didn’t even have Zan’s warm body there to comfort me. He had slept in the room down the hall. Not because I had chosen so, as before, but because Zan and I had come to a mutual understanding about it. Until my grandparents could make the leap from stepbrother to fiancé we thought it best to sleep apart. Needless to say I’m not in the mood for verbal sparring with my mother.
My reluctance must be plain on my face because she adds, somewhat wryly, “I promise this won’t be painful.”
“O…kay,” I concede cautiously, “Just let me rinse.” After I’ve returned from the bathroom I ease down next to her on the bed. “What do you want to talk about?” Could I sound less enthusiastic? Well, if my mother is irritated by my lack of excitement she doesn’t show it.
“Max tells me I’ve been smothering you,” she announces with sudden flatness, “Have I? Do you feel like that, too?”
I’m so taken aback by her straightforwardness that all I can do is blink. “Huh?”
“Do you feel like I’m trying to control you, Claude, or…or manage your grief,” she reiterates tenderly, “Tell me the truth.”
Quite unexpectedly my moment has come. She’s inviting me to tell her exactly how I feel. No sugarcoating at all. I can just dive right on in and…I can’t. Not when she’s looking at me all puppy-eyed and contrite, as if she’s well aware of the disservice she’s done and is appropriately apologetic. I look at her and I can’t be mad.
“You care,” I reply softly, “I know that’s the reason you’ve been getting on my nerves lately. It’s because you care.”
“But I have been getting on your nerves,” she concludes sadly.
“Just a little bit.”
“I’ve just been worried,” she says, sighing, “I didn’t know how you were adjusting to your dad’s death.”
“Is that what I’m supposed to do?” I wonder astringently, “Adjust?”
“I lost my father, too,” she whispers, “I know a little of what you’re feeling even if you don’t think so.”
“Not exactly,” I mutter thickly, “Grandpa was there for you. You’ve got, like, a hundred great memories of him and I have…maybe five of my Dad. You miss Grandpa for all the times you shared together while you were growing up. I miss Dad for the times that could have been, the times we didn’t have because he was too busy working.”
“You’re angry.”
“Sometimes,” I confess woefully, “And other times I’m just incredibly sad…so sad that it had to end like this.” A sound that’s half laughter, half sob escapes my throat as I pass a hand down over my abdomen. “He’s never going to know his granddaughter now,” I whisper, “And she’s never going to know the man her grandfather could have been.”
“And neither will you, huh, Claudia?” Mom points out regretfully.
“I guess you’re right about that,” I reply with scoffing bitterness, “Neither will I.”
“Oh, sweetheart…can’t I do something, anything to make it better?”
“I don’t think you can, Mom.”
“Maybe a hug,” she suggests tearfully, “Could I hug you?”
I answer her with a trembling smile and open arms. “That’s doable.”
“He did love you, Claudia,” she says as we pull apart a long time later, “You were the best thing in his life…in both our lives.” I try to look away then but she won’t let me. “I know we didn’t always show it but you were our world. David and I just didn’t know how to live together and, unfortunately, you suffered for our shortcomings.”
“You can’t help who you love, Mom,” I whisper, “And you couldn’t love Dad. I understand that.”
“Then I shouldn’t have married him,” she replies honestly, “I shouldn’t have committed to him. Even with all the hope that I had in the beginning I always knew in my heart that David and I wouldn’t last. I shouldn’t have done that to him…or to you. And I’m sorry.”
“Mom, don’t,” I implore her, pressing a kiss to the palm that cradles my cheek, “Everything worked out the way it should have. I’ve thought it out. What if you hadn’t married Dad?” I muse aloud, “You would have come back to Roswell and had me here. Eventually you and Max would have reconciled and gotten married and Zan and I would have been raised brother and sister.” I shudder at the mere thought. “I definitely like how it worked out instead, at least for Zan and me anyway.”
My scenario startles a teary laugh out of her and I laugh right along with her. “Mom, I’m not sorry for how things went down between you and Dad. I know that worked out for the best. But what I am sorry for is how things went down between Dad and me. That’s the part I want to change. That’s the part I can’t change”
“It sucks living with regret, doesn’t it, sweetheart?” Mom sympathizes.
“Do you?” I wonder gloomily.
“Plenty,” she sighs, “Especially about all the things I wanted to tell my father and couldn’t. I wish he could have known what Max did for me that day in the Crashdown. I know he would have been grateful and relieved…amazed even. If only you had seen his face when he thought I had been shot…” She trails away, lost in her own sorrowful reverie. “I just wish he could have known Max the way I knew him.” She stops when she notices I’m staring at her with incredulous eyes. “What?”
“You,” I clarify vaguely, “You…You sound almost like you envied me just now…like you envied me for telling my dad the truth where you didn’t.” I can hardly entertain the notion because when I did Mom had been one of the loudest voices telling me I had screwed up.
“I guess I do,” she admits with a shrug, “I can’t say it wasn’t one of the stupidest things you’ve ever done, but I can definitely understand the sentiment.”
“It did turn out badly, didn’t it?” I muse wryly, “Sometimes I wish I had just kept my big, fat mouth shut.”
“And others?” Mom prods.
“Other times I’m glad I told him,” I whisper, “Even with all the chaos I caused by telling him I can’t regret completely that I did it.” I shrug in consideration. “I don’t know…maybe I’d feel differently if Zan had chosen not to forgive me.”
“But he did,” Mom says, “because he loves you.” She levels me with a penetrating look and I recognize that the circumventing is over. Mom is ready to get to the meat of the matter now. “I love you, too, Claudia,” she adds softly.
“I…I know that,” I reply shakily, a little leery as to where this all is leading.
“Do you?” she probes, “Because I know that I’ve probably been putting you off lately with all this talk about doctors and anti-depressants. I just thought we could talk about that, you know…openly and honestly.”
“You want me to be honest?” I query.
“100%,” she answers without hesitation.
This time I don’t waver for a second. “Okay…here goes. I feel like you expect me to go off the deep end any second,” I mutter crossly, “You’re always watching me, always hovering and asking ‘Claude, are you okay?,’ ‘Claude, do you need to lie down?,’ ‘Claude, did you go to your session?’ You make me feel like a walking bag of nuts.”
She chokes on her laughter with my bald reply. “Oh sweetheart,” she replies, lips twitching, “I never meant to make you feel that way. I guess I was afraid that dealing with your father’s death on top of everything else would just be too much for you.”
“At times it feels like it is,” I confess wearily, “but I’m muddling through, Mom, and I’d rather do it without medicating if it’s all the same to you.”
“Point taken,” she says contritely. But then she lowers her eyes and I can tell that she’s still wondering, still worrying. “What does Zan say about it?”
“Zan stands behind whatever decision I make,” I reply directly, “He doesn’t just love me…he respects me, too, Mom.”
My unspoken admonition doesn’t escape her notice. “I respect you, Claudia,” she protests quietly, “It’s just difficult for me to…to…”
“To let go?” I provide, “Or to stop atoning?”
“Maybe a little of both,” she whispers, brushing aside a stray skein of my hair, “I want to be the mother to you I should have been from the beginning.”
I nibble at the corner of my mouth. “I get that but…could you just not try so hard…please?” I plead gently, “Sometimes I just need a little room to breathe.”
“Okay…okay,” she agrees with a hefty sigh, “I can do that.” But she continues to finger my hair, her worried gaze darting all over my face. “Are you sure you’ll be alright here alone with your grandparents?” she asks anxiously.
“Mom, if this is the part where you offer to stay, please don’t,” I interrupt quietly, “I can manage…really. Zan and I are going to spend a few days here and then we’ll fly back home to Roswell, okay. Don’t worry yourself crazy over nothing.” She makes an effort to smile but doesn’t quite make it. I make another attempt to soothe her. “Grandma and Grandpa want to take Zan and I out for lunch this afternoon. There’s nothing sinister going on, Mom. Just lunch.”
“It’s not that I don’t think you can handle yourself--,”
“Then what is it?” I demand, somewhat impatiently.
She suddenly snaps her mouth closed. “Nothing,” she says, patting my hand, “I’m sure you’ll be fine.” And then she frowns, casting a glance around the room for the first time. “Where’s Zan?” she asks carefully, “He’s not trapped in the bathroom, is he?”
I have to laugh at her horrified expression. “He’s across the hall, Mom.”
“He didn’t sleep here with you?”
“No, we’re giving the grandparents some time to adjust,” I explain wryly.
Her smile wobbles again and she stares down at her hands. “That’s nice.”
I sigh, feeling that old sense of guilt creep up on me once more. “Maybe we should have given you and Max time to adjust, too,” I whisper ruefully.
“We knew you were together,” she replies but it’s interesting to note that she’s still not making eye contact with me.
“Yeah,” I agree, “But you didn’t know we were together together.”
“And uh…how long have you two been together together?” she asks carefully.
“About six months,” I whisper.
Finally she looks at me, her eyes clouded with disappointment and something else. “That’s a long time to keep a secret, Claude,” she remarks sadly, “I wish you had come to me then. We could have talked.”
“I already know about birth control, Mom,” I retort crisply only to blush ten shades of red when she flicks a glance down at my belly and says, “Evidently not enough.” Score! Liz Evans, one…Claudia McKee, zip. I’ll give her credit though; she tries to take the sting out of her reply by stroking my hand. “I’m just saying that…maybe I could have told you things that would have helped to make your first time smoother.”
I can feel myself blushing at the direction our conversation is taking. “Zan…he…uh…he made it smooth,” I assure her.
“Good,” she says and it’s pretty evident that she’s just as uncomfortable with the subject as I am. She surges to her feet. “Well I guess I should get downstairs. Max is waiting.”
I stand as well. “So I’ll see you in a few days?” I ask, folding her in an awkward hug.
“In a few days,” she agrees.
“Tell Justin I said hello,” I tell her as we walk towards the door, “And show him pictures of me. That kid’s long term memory is completely out of whack.”
Mom turns and takes me into yet another hug, this one lingering. “Take care,” she whispers in my ear, “And call if you need me or if things get too rough.” She squeezes me harder. “Just call, Claudia.”
“I will, Mom,” I vow thickly, “I’ll definitely call.”
TBC
Last edited by Deejonaise on Tue Jan 06, 2004 8:09 am, edited 1 time in total.