The End of Blame: Chapter 36 (adult)

At the end of dinner, Sister Rebecca Katherine pushed back her chair a bit.  "My goodness, I don't think I've eaten so much in my life, Todd.  What a meal, dear.  Ya spared no expense."


"No reason to, Mum."  Todd teased her.


"Tell me, how is the sleeping going?  Have you been able to sleep more, now?  Any more dreams?"


"It seems to be calming down, thanks."  He remembered the flashes he'd been having, that flickered through his mind in milliseconds, but glossed over it.


"I am glad of that.  Ya look tired, though darlin.'  I'm praying for ya."


"Thank you.  Now what was that big conversation about with you and Timothy when we got there?"


"Forgiveness.  He needed mine, I gave it.  I didn't want to wait until it was too late."


"He'll make it.  Now that you're a match, he'll make it."


"We are both a little bit gray around the edges, Todd.  This kind of surgery is a challenge to survive.  And then, the liver has to take.  We both know it's risky.  But if it weren't for you, we wouldn't have the choice.  He could never afford it."


"Well, I'm glad I could help, then."


"And Son, there's someone else waiting to be forgiven, and that's yourself."


He looked at Blair, "You put her up to this?"


She shrugged, "No, I didn't."


She continued, "If ya do, you'll see things change.  I know it's not just magic words, ya need to feel  it and mean it, both.  It's going to be a hard task for ya, but somehow, you're going to have to try.  Otherwise, you'll go on pining for your mistakes forever."


He ate his dessert quietly.  Blair took his hand under the table and rubbed his knuckle with her thumb.  "She's right."  Then she looked to the nun, "I've told him this many times, Sister.  He's having trouble doing it.  I think he knows it's part of the answer. But getting there is the problem."


"I see.  Not an easy fix.  But ya can.  It will hit ya."


He wasn't sure how she could believe it when he didn't.  He had done so much wrong, to so many.  He wondered what, if anything, could start to ease the guilt that came with those things.  He said, "Yeah, like a ton of feathers."


"A ton is still a ton.  It may take longer to get a ton of feathers, but it's still a ton after all.  You will get there,"  the nun said.  "I hate to eat and run, but I am so tired today, that flight must have taken the wind out of me."


He ate the last bite of his brownie sundae, and said, "No problem.  You ready, Blair?"


"Yep."


He paid the bill, leaving a generous tip.  The three of them went out to the taxi, the little nun in front, and he and Blair, tall and statuesque, behind, arm in arm.  In the cab, quiet set in.  The nun sat beside the driver, and instead of her usual incessant small talk, he could see her doze in the mirror.  Blair was against him in the back, her head lightly lolling against his shoulder.  He, starkly awake, looked around the city of Dublin.  He thought how all cities looked the same at night with the lights glittering and the traffic moving.


It was barely dark, but the day had been full, especially for Sister Rebecca Katherine.  He looked at Blair, who was now sleeping on his shoulder.  She was so beautiful to him, and always had been.  Even though years had passed, and they had created three children together and took in a fourth, she looked so much the same to him every time he looked at her, as she did the first time he spoke to her in Rodi's.  Time was good to her.  She moved, nestling closer to him and slid her hand across his chest.  He loved her touch.  It made him feel so good, so living.


The car slowed.  He got out, gently waking Blair, and then went to the nun's side of the car.  Opening the door, he helped her out onto the pavement in front of the Arlington.  He said, "Watch it there, George Foreman."


"Ah, you make fun, but if I really whalloped ya. . ."


"I know," and then he mocked, "ya'd be flyin' for a loop, me boy."


He put out his arm and she took it, and he helped her along as Blair took her other arm and they flanked her on either side.  Getting her to her room took a few minutes, and when she said goodnight, kissing both of them on the cheek, Blair looked at him and said, "Well.  Not a bad day, if I say so myself.  How do you feel?"


"I feel good.  I paid those bills, she's a match.  He's going to get the surgery, come home with us.  Sam has his 'grandpa' back, all's well that ends well."


"What about you Todd?  How do you feel?"


"I feel . . . lucky.  I feel good that you're with me.  I feel . . . tired."


"Well that's good, then.  I feel lucky, and good and tired, too."


"Why are you lucky?"


"You know why," she said, leaning her head onto his upper arm as they walked to the elevator, "because you're back with us.  It was hard living without you.  I have to admit now that I can, losing you has never been easy, Todd.  Not since the first time.  I figured I never deserved us to be happy, because of how it began.  I was a liar and a gold-digger."


He laughed, "Yeah, you were, weren't you?"


"I was," she laughed also, then "when you 'died' in Ireland when I was pregnant with Starr, I thought I'd die.  If I didn't have her inside me, I would have.  I blamed myself every day.  Why did I argue with you?  Why didn't I go with you?  Why did I lie to you about the first baby?  I felt like I was getting what came to me, because of what I did."


"You didn't know.  And nothing you did caused that shooting.  You know who's fault that was." He said.


"Yeah, I do.  Kind of like the death of Sommer.  You know who caused that, right?"  She looked up with both of her deep green eyes and waited.

He said, "I see where you're going with this.  You think I'm stupid?"


"No, but I think you're hard-headed sometimes.  Let's talk about that for one minute.  I could blame myself easily for her death.  You didn't want me in the courtroom.  I could have listened.  I could have put myself inside the aisle instead of needing to stretch out.  We could have been earlier and got a different seat.  We could have been later and got a seat in the back.  We could have skipped it altogether.  It didn't matter.  The truth was, Mac Hennessey killed her, motivated by an order from Carlo.  That's it."


"I don't blame myself for her death anymore, Blair."


"Well, I should hope not.  But you do blame yourself for other things," she said, turning the key in the hotel room door.


"I blame myself for stuff I did, yeah.  Of course.  I'm right up there with Peter, Carlo and Leona."


"See?  That's what I mean.  You're nothing like those men.  But, you carry guilt around like it's gold and you're a miser."


He undid his shirt collar, and she finished the buttons, still talking.  "Remember Max?"


"Of course, how could I forget the empty-headed himbo."


"I shot him.  In cold blood.  Right in the back.  You kept telling me not to feel guilty.  But I was.  It took me a while to forgive myself for it.  But you helped me do that," she moved the shirt off his shoulders, revealing his a-shirt over his broad chest.  Slipping out of her shoes, she kissed his neck from a lower vantage point.  She saw him close his eyes and relish the touch of her lips.  She whispered, "So, what's the worst thing I've ever done?"


"Probably walk away when Asa was dying."


"All right, yes, that was terrible.  He never even forgave me for it.  But I can't keep going over and over it.  It's done with.  I can only try and change how I live now.  But, I'm not going to blame myself for Asa being who he was, or the things that came after.  That's just not something I could ever control."


"I get it.  But no matter how you say it, and how much it makes sense, it just has to come from in me.  And I have trouble doing it, that's all.  You've never done something like the things I have, not really."


"I know," she said, undoing his belt, "I just wanted to tell you, once more, what I think about it.  Mostly because I want you to be okay."


"I know, I want me to be okay, too."  Flash.  Fast, unreadable, just a flash of something.


"Are you getting tired?"


"Not really.  Not yet anyway."


"What will it take?"  she stood on the tips of her toes, and put her lips to his, gently touching his tongue with hers.


He said, "Probably more of that, and a few other things."  He wanted her so much.  He wanted to forget and be with her, inside her, all over her.


"You don't have to wait, you know."  She said, softly, and he surprised her by springing into kissing her, wildly, and taking her shirt off over her head with one hand.  He undid her bra and let her breasts fall soft against him.  She could hear her own gasps as he moved his hands over her, as if for the first time.  She pulled apart from him and took his hand, leading him back toward the bed, which had become both his enemy and dearest friend throughout everything he'd endured.


She sat in front of him, demurely opening his pants.  He stood, caressing her head and face.  She said, "Have to get you good and tired, then," and a thrill went through him, one of anticipation and deep want, as he watched her emerald eyes remain focused on his while her mouth started to work his abdomen and lower, where he waited, pointing toward her, hard and eager.  She tapped the side of his leg, as if to tell him to step out of his pants and boxers, which he did.  He didn't care about being naked in front of her anymore.  He wanted to show her everything he was, to let her know she was always the one.  She ran her beautiful, long fingers across his bottom, and pulled him to her, taking him full in her mouth, and his knees buckled.  He took her head with his hands, and after a few delicious strokes, moved her gently away.  "It's too good. I'll come, and I don't want to.  Not yet.  I want to be inside you.  Just want to. . . Oh, hell, I want to fuck you, so much right now."  His voice was gravelly: a whisper.


He'd talked this only one or two times in their lives.  He was always shy about it, reserved and treating it like something forbidden, but for her, this talk tore through her like flame, and she longed to hear it again.  She felt herself flush and moisten, and her desire gave way to her moving toward him, opening her legs wide and pressing her warm wetness against his leg.   Her need to feel him, pushing inside her mouth, was driving her, and his size and hardness made her lick her lips.  He was beautiful, hard and hers.  Her lower half twitched, and he felt her pulsing against his thigh.  "Oh, you will, you can," she said, moving her mouth back toward him.  He smiled, then pushed her back, seductively teasing her, removing her body from contact with him.  


His voice, deeper than his usual speaking tone, said, "Now."  


She felt her heart race.  He was not asking for permission.  He was never forceful or demanding, and never had been.  At the same time, she could admit to herself, the few times he'd ordered her, or even physically guided her, she'd felt a pang of desire so strong, it could have made her climax.  This was one of those times.  When she heard him say he wanted her, so full of need, a tinging went through her center and she ached for release.  She simply leaned back from him, her breasts pointing slightly upward, breathing heavily and as if she could wait, said, "All right.  What are you waiting for, then?"


To her surprise, he pushed her backward onto the bed, toppling her a bit.  Nothing he did was ever crude or could make her feel anything but beautiful and his.  This was no different.  She watched as he brought his hand to touch the little forehead spot between her eyes, then ran his fingers down over her mouth, down more between her breasts, over her belly and between her legs, and rubbed, gently opening her legs with his other hand.  Careful not to say much because she knew what her words could do (and she didn't want it to end - no, not yet, not to stop the exquisite pleasure and want), she fixed her eyes on his, and watched him circle against her with his fingers, until she could not keep silent any longer and begged him for more.  


She caught the smile that flashed across his face when he realized how she was squealing at his touch, and looked at him, bigger than life, waiting to get lost in her.  Just as she was reaching her peak, he moved between her legs and shoved himself deep inside her, and taking long, firm strokes, he made her come, his name on her lips.  He was not far behind her, closing his eyes and finding her mouth with his, when she whispered, "I love you," and with a tug on his earlobe by her lips, he was done for.


She felt his sweat, tears, or both on her neck, and he rolled, whisking her to lie on top of him.  He held the back of her head with his hand and closed his eyes again.  She slipped herself to the side of him, and put her head under his chin.  It only took minutes before he was breathing, rhythmically against her, and she recognized the sound of his sleep with relief. 


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