The holidays were approaching, and this put Todd and Blair into planning mode. Wanting the celebrations to be special for their children as well as themselves and the extended family, they began to come up with ideas to make each event a success.
Thanksgiving was right around the corner, which Blair agreed would be hers, and Todd would take on Christmas. Of course, they would be lending each other help and support, but it was easier to split the work to make everything just right.
For the couple, things were still in an emotionally precarious place. Todd might have his flashes and disturbed sleep, or might snooze straight through until morning. Either way, he was determined not to let it upset her or interrupt her rest. Blair, on the other hand, was still dealing with the loss of Sommer and the prospect of never having another child. There was no predicting and no being prepared, and this put both of them more on edge in the evenings. Todd's sessions with Ray were continuing, and little by little, he noticed, as did Ray, that the more he trusted Blair with it, the less he suffered. It was as if sharing it with her, and her taking on half the knowledge, lessened the blows of the snapshots in his mind. He didn't care to analyze it or question; he just wanted to be free of it and he wanted her at peace.
She was working on the Thanksgiving menu and the guest list when Todd came into the kitchen, and hugged her from behind. She said, "Hey."
He said, "Hey. How you doing?"
"Good. Busy with this Thanksgiving thing. You're not going to balk at us having Dorian, Cassie and Kelly, are you?"
"Nope. Is that what you want?"
"Yes."
"Then how can I balk?"
"I guess you could."
"But why would I?" he turned her to him. "I want you to be happy, Babe."
"I know. I want you to be happy, too."
"Good. Then uninvite them. Well, at least Dorian."
She playfully slapped his arm, and he pulled her in for a kiss. "You too busy for me?"
"Kind of. But, what did you have in mind, Mr. Manning?"
He nuzzled her ear, and kissed her neck lightly, and she smiled. She kissed him, passionately, and said, "Maybe later? I have to finish this menu, or I'm doomed. It's only a few days away."
"Sure. I have something to tell you though. A really cool project, I think you're going to like."
"Okay, what is it?"
"Remember Jenna? I told you about her."
"Jack's new little girl?"
"Yes. I'm really bent on her having this art show, and of course, The Sun will be sponsoring. And we're doing a story on her as a lead in to it. That's my idea. I'll have to meet with her guardian, and Jenna, too, maybe those teachers. I almost have Jack agreeing to let Jenna know about our money situation and offer her the financial backing. Starr even agreed to sing at the opening of the art show, which brings me to my next question . . ."
She looked down, and her lips frowned. "I don't think I can sing, Todd. It's hard to do that in person, at least, now."
He lifted her chin, "I'm okay with that. But can you tell me why?"
"I don't think I could stand to be in front of people feeling how I feel. I still feel lost . . . you know?" He had forgotten that she had not performed in public in a long time. Grief.
He said, "Will you still sing to me?"
"Of course I will. You know that."
"I'd die without hearing that again."
"Well, you don't have to worry, since I am going to be singing at you for a long while. Back to what you said, I think the art show is a great idea, Starr singing is a great idea, you sponsoring is a great idea, and me singing is a not-so-great idea, at least right now."
"Okay. You let me know if it changes. It's going to be like, somewhere between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Like maybe December fifteenth or something."
"I think you'd better figure out that date."
"Yeah, first thing tomorrow, date."
She made a few notes. "I think the menu is done. Want to check it?"
"Sure." He read it:
Turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, stuffed mushrooms, spiced pumpkin soup, broccoli, string beans, candied sweet potatoes, dessert and . . . I want you, now.
She ignored him as he read it, and turned her back to him, facing the sink. He said, "I really like this menu. It sounds great," he said, walking up behind her, and putting his hands on her shoulders. He rubbed them, and then dragged his hands down until he had both her hands. In a move that excited him, she backed herself against his body, rubbing her bottom on his pelvis, and leaning forward a little.
She looked back at him, over her shoulder and said, "What do you like best to eat on that menu?"
He was already working his hands under her skirt, and feeling the elastic to her panties, he slid them down and touched her, gently. Since it was a school day, and the house was quiet, he went to his knees in front of her, and pushed her skirt up, which she helped by hiking it above her hips. She sighed, parting her legs a little, as he used his mouth and tongue on her, and she took a handful of his hair in her fingers. She moaned, and he closed his eyes, enjoying her pleasure. She said, "Todd?"
He stopped, looking up at her from the floor. "Yeah, Blair?"
She smiled, and he brought his mouth back to her and worked until she was barely able to stand any longer and went to her knees in front of him. She said, "I want you. It's the beauty of kids being in school nine months of the year."
He said, "I want you," and kissed her neck, opening her blouse and moving it off her shoulders, then watching it fall to the floor, he turned her away from him and entered her from behind. She cried out his name, and he wrapped his arms across her stomach, reaching down to touch her, which pushed her into release. He lifted her and turned her to him, pulling her legs on either side of him, so she was sitting over his lap, and she threw her head back and moved up and down on him, until he finished with an expressive moan. He kissed her chest and her neck, and said, breathless, "That . . . was fun."
"That was fun," she agreed. Then she said, "I love being with you."
He said, "Me too, but we'd better get out of this kitchen before Shaun stumbles in here and gets an eye full."
She said, "Bath?"
He said, "Just what I was thinking."
***
Neither one was sure how long they had actually been in the bath, but they were dozing, drifting in the water, floating in each others' arms for quite some time before they heard helicopter land, and the doors slam closed. Shortly after, they heard the kitchen door close, and then footsteps on the stairs. Todd opened an eye and said, "The boys are home."
Ray was in his pack and play that Todd had brought into the bathroom so they could see him and be with him and still enjoy the bath. He was smiling from standing at the edge, and threw his toy, which landed with a plop in the water. "How many times has he done that, six?"
"I think it's seven," she said, taking it from the water, and drying it off, she tossed it back into his play area. She said, "Look at him, Todd. He's so beautiful. He . . . looks like you."
"He'd better not."
"Oh stop, Todd. Come on. You're very handsome."
They heard Jack's door slam. Sam came into the bathroom, and Todd said, "Stand back there Buddy, we're not decent."
"Okay. Dad, Mom, Jack's pissed."
Todd snickered at the way Sam spoke, and Blair said, "What? Sam, watch your language. What happened?"
"I don't know. He just slammed the door and came in all mad. I didn't say anything to make him mad, I don't think."
"It's okay, Sam. He might have had a bad day." Todd said. He stood, grabbing a towel, and said, "I'll go see him."
Blair told Sam to go and do his homework, and he left. She got herself out of the tub, and dried off, and Baby Ray was still throwing his toys into the tub. She sighed picking up after him, and cuddled him in her arms.
Todd walked to Jack's room and knocked. "Hey, Jack. What's going on?"
"Leave me alone, Dad. Okay?"
"I can't. You're my son. Who else is going to say how badass I am, and tell people about it?"
He opened the door. "What, Dad? Please? I had a long day, all right?"
"Jack, what's up? Can't you share that long day with your old Dad?"
"I don't want to talk about it." How can I? How can I ask you these questions and how can I hear the answers? How can I . . .
"Okay." He got up, and walked to the door. "I will listen, if you just ask me to."
No, Dad. Shit.
He looked at the door long after his father was gone. It was going to be a long night.
Why did I have to butt in, and read all that? He couldn't shake the images from his mind. His father. Bound and gagged and in . . . it was too horrible to think about. Who's Mitch Laurence? Why would he do this . . . ? His mother had thought his father was a killer. That he killed Sam Rappaport. Jack thought to himself that it had to be the Sam that his brother was named after. But he knew, of all things he was, Todd was not a murderer. Not that way, anyway. Not without needing to protect his family, or himself. But the coffin. The crypt. Since he had read about it, there was no escaping it. It was in his dreams where he conjured up images of a rotting zombie next to his father, in the dark. Was he scared? It seemed like the thing he would fear worst in the world. Would that be his punishment, someday, for the Morasco thing? Would that be his personal Hell?
***
After midnight, Todd awoke, tangled in his own nightmare flashes. It had been a long time since he saw Leona's cadaverous face, but this time, his hideous smile was showing as he pulled the chain on the single bulb in some distant ceiling. Then, Leona looked at him and simply said, "You know where it is," and Todd opened his eyes.
He reminded himself where he was, and looked next to him, to see Blair, sleeping, her hair was hanging over one side of her face, and he gently brushed it back. She stirred, and said, "My love, are you okay?"
He said, "I'm fine, just sleep."
She obeyed, and he heard a sound in the hall. Quietly, he removed himself from bed, and went to the hallway. Peeking out, he saw Sam, standing at the top of the stairs. He whispered, "Buddy, what are you doing?"
"Shh."
Todd raised an eyebrow. He whispered more urgently, "Sam! What are you doing? Go to bed!"
"I can't, Dad. I'm spying!"
Todd rolled his eyes. "Spying? Come on, Sam, let's go."
"Dad, no! I'm spying on Jack."
Todd froze. "What do you mean, spying on Jack?"
"He's down there. I think he's drinking."
Todd scooped Sam up. "You can't spy anymore, Sam. You have to go to bed," he brought him to his room. "And can I trust you to be quiet about this?"
"Yep."
"I mean it, not a soul." How will I tell her this?
"Yep."
"Go to bed."
"I love you," he said, suddenly seeming afraid.
Todd took him in his arms, and said, "I love you, Buddy. So much. Now go to bed. Don't be scared, everything is okay."
Todd walked down the stairs quietly. Jack was sitting in the dark, holding a bottle of tequila in his hand. His eyes shone in the dark. Todd said, "Hey. You gonna get a glass for that?"
Jack froze. "Dad?"
"Who else would it be?"
"I . . . I dunno."
"What are you doing? Well, it's pretty obvious what you are doing, more importantly, why?"
Jack couldn't answer. Todd went into the kitchen, snapped on a light, and got a glass. He stood in front of Jack. "You know, when I was your age, I was just coming into this great football career. The anger from what happened to me worked out great on the field. My so-called father used to drink with me. He used to give us both a beer, and we'd sit there and drink it, while he pulled me apart and told me everything bad about myself and he planned his next way of humiliating me."
Jack offered the bottle to his father. Todd said, "No, that was my so-called father, not yours. I'm smart enough to know that anything he did with me was probably wrong. I strive to do everything the opposite of him and I hope it's working." He handed Jack the glass. "Have the courtesy to be neat and use manners when you steal, Jack."
Jack looked up at his father, who stood over him, tall, strong and scarred. Todd's shirt was off, and he could see the marks all over him, clearly. He swallowed hard, enough that Todd could see it in the partial darkness. Todd's outstretched hand still offered the glass.
Jack wasn't sure what to do, so he handed the bottle over to his father again, this time closing the cap.
"Oh, you want me to take this?" Todd said.
Jack nodded. There's so many of those things on him. So many.
"Now that I'm here, you want me to take this from you. But if I wasn't here, you'd be drinking it."
Jack didn't answer.
Todd said, "Answer me."
"Yeah, I'd be drinking it."
Todd handed it back. "Then drink it. That's what you came down here for."
Jack didn't take the bottle. He looked at his feet. He said, "It's late. I didn't know you'd be up."
Todd finally sat down. "I think with all that has gone on for your mother and me, you'd better count on us being up, at least one of us, every night, for a while."
He saw his son grimace, and then wear a face of disgust, as if he smelled something bad. Todd said, "What?"
"Huh?"
"What, Jack? Are you going to tell me what all this is about or do I have to guess at it?"
"I just wanted to . . . sleep."
"You can't sleep?"
"I can't really sleep. It takes long to fall asleep. I just want the voices to stop, Dad."
Todd was, for the first time in his life, alarmed to the point of panic for his son. "What do you mean by that, Son?"
"It's not like you think," he said, "I just hear words over and over. Like, I can't get it out of my head or stop remembering. I'm not hearing a dog tell me to kill someone, if that is what you're scared of."
"Hmf," he smirked, in spite of the situation. "How did you know I was scared? Because I was. I don't want you to experience anything like this, like me, or have any demons. I know that's silly, considering we all have them."
"I can't stop remembering."
"You can't stop remembering what?"
"I, can't say, really."
"I want you to tell me. It's okay, no matter what it is. Trust me. I'm not badass for nothing."
Jack was hesitant; Todd realized how much pain he was in having to talk about it, and almost relented until the teen said, "I read something. About you."
"All right. Something terrible I did? That seems to be the common article."
"No. Something . . . I can't, Dad. It's hard for me, and probably will be hard for you too, if I bring it back up."
"Shoot. Try me."
Looking at his father in the darkness, Jack realized that with all his marks, and wounds and emotional scars, he was the strongest man he had ever met. He swallowed. "I read about your disappearance. When I was little."
"Go on." Todd was emotionless, and reacted with calm and care.
"Ever since I read about it, I . . . can't sleep well. I get tired in school. I fall asleep in class. Stuff like that."
"Why didn't you tell me? And, what made you . . . oh, wait. The conversation in the car the other day. You wanted to know about this."
"Yeah. And I found out. Now I wish I didn't know." He looked up, and caught Todd's eye. Jack's face was so filled with horror and sadness, Todd was tempted to reach out and hold him, but instead, he let him talk.
He continued, "How can you do it, Dad? I mean, what else could there be? How did you . . . survive that?"
"The same way I survived everything. You want to know the truth?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I do."
"Your mother. Starr. You."
Jack looked confused. "How?"
"In here," he tapped his bare chest, "and in here." He tapped his temple.
"But, it had to be. . .it was bad, right?"
"Yeah, it was bad. But there are worse things. Being without my family was worse."
Jack was visibly having trouble with the idea. "Worse than . . . lying next to . . ."
Todd gulped and got up, sitting now next to his son. He wanted to grab him, and pull him close and hold him, but wanting to seem unscathed, and let his son get it out, he held back. "Yeah. It's worse than that to be without you guys. The thing is, you could have asked me about it. Instead of reading it. Not sure it would have helped, but you could have seen that I am okay about it now."
"I . . . I couldn't, Dad. I just was scared to bring it up . . . and I drink because it makes me stop feeling. I just want to sleep."
Todd's heart shattered for his son, and he couldn't help identify with his comments. He said, "It's okay to feel, and to hurt. If you try and be numb, you'll miss most of life. I know, I lived that when I used to go inside myself. Remember?"
"Yeah."
"But let's ask this question, is this working? When you drink, you're numb and you forget. How long?"
"A few hours."
"Right. And at the end of those hours, what happens?"
"I remember again anyway."
"Right. So, how does that work?"
Jack said, "I'm just tired, all the time, Dad. I'm angry. I want to smash something."
Todd let a small bit of air out, "Hmf, I wonder where you got that?"
"I have this feeling like . . . I can't even explain it. I just want to hurt someone because Mom's hurt, or because you're hurt or because of things I did. It happens all the time."
The kid is so much like me, and I wasn't even here to put it there. "I can relate to that. What about Ray? Did that work?"
"I guess. Not really, though. It always came back."
"He's a damn good therapist, I ought to know. If it's not working, it's because you stopped going. You keep going, or you work harder. You have to put in the work, Jack."
"I don't want to work to be normal, Dad. I just want to be normal."
"You are normal. As normal as can be in this world."
"I want to be able to sleep when I want to. I don't want to be thinking of bad stuff all the time. I don't want to have . . . these kind of dreams."
"I know. I've been there. But it happens, I guess we have to figure out how we can cope. But if you're going to go and seek answers about your mother and I, and especially me, it's not going to be all beautiful."
"I feel like I want to know, and understand so much, and then when I do . . ."
"You want to know, but you don't."
"Yep."
"What if I told you that we're both going to be all right. Mom and I. What if I promised that? Would that help?"
He thought of his dreams, the ones where he'd conjured up what the dead man looked like and what probably happened. The problem was, and he was afraid to tell his father this fact: he didn't believe him when he said they'd be okay. "No."
"What could help?"
"Take it away."
Todd swallowed, and heard himself say, "I can't."
"Figure out who's to blame and kill the bastard."
His expression of surprise made Jack laugh a little. "He's already dead, Jack. Everyone involved, one way or another. Most of them are dead."
"I guess, yeah."
"So what's next?"
"I don't know. There's been a lot, Dad. You've only been back like, well, almost two years or something? And look at all that's happened to us."
Todd agreed. There was too much for anyone to handle, let alone a sensitive kid who was pretending not to be, like Jack. Just like he did, when he was a teenager. Just like . . . was that Peter's hand on the pull chain? "I don't know what to do about that, except leave, and your mother won't let me do that. She'll chase me down and 'Tawd' me to death." Then, more seriously, "I promised her, I'd never leave her again."
"I wasn't saying it's your fault, Dad, honest. God, I don't want you to leave us. That would be . . . the worst thing. It's not that."
"It's okay, a lot of it is my fault. Not that I caused it, but I brought it. You never should have heard and seen half the things you did. And sometimes, I told you things, because you wanted to know and I think that was bad judgement on my part."
"No, Dad . . ."
"Yes, Son. It was. It's not your fault you can't handle all this, I should have known better. I guess I was thinking to what I was handling at your age and I sort of, misjudged it. Your mother did, too."
"I wanted to know, though."
"You need help handling it. You need help handling what happened to me, and your mom, and you. What you did. I think it's obvious what we have to do."
"What?"
"Get rid of all of the alcohol in this house, again, and get you to Ray Martino and try and work on making things around here less stressful for you. That's all I can do now, the rest will be up to you. You'll have to work at it."
"I'm. . . sorry Dad, for this," he said holding out the bottle.
Todd took it. "You should be apologizing to yourself. You're hurting yourself with this stuff. Ask your grandfather."
Jack flushed in his face, forgetting about Timothy's alcoholism. He said, "I forgot about that."
"Yeah, well, don't. Almost took his life. Almost took everyone he loved."
"Dad?"
"Yep?"
"Is Mom . . . is she all right, Dad? Is she going to be happy, again? I mean, really? And . . .are you?"
He put an arm on his son, "She's all right. I'm all right. We'll have tough times, but we'll be all right. All of us will. Just trust me on that. It might take time, but nothing's going to bring The Mannings down."
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