Diamond in the Rough: Chapter 29

Williams brought the limo around to the entrance of the mall, and she stepped out, taking his hand.  "It feels weird without the kids."


"Timothy's there, Jack, too.  The kids are fine."  Todd said.


"I know," she said, and she could feel him massaging her hand with his thumb as he held it.  


"Let's get Starr done first.  For some reason, she's easier," he said.  "I was thinking, a Mercedes.  A little red one, with a convertible top."


"Todd!  Now, we agreed that our kids won't be spoiled."


"We did?"


"Well, we talked about it."


"Yeah, but does that mean we can't get them gifts?"



"Todd, a Mercedes is out of control.  Seriously.  How will we match $50,000 of toys for Sam?"


"They have to match.  Okay."  He said.


"They do, remember, each kid gets the same."


"LIttle Ray is getting a Mercedes?"


She rolled her eyes, "No, Todd, I mean each kid should get a gift that's about the same amount."


"How about if they all get ten gift certificates to their ten favorite places?"


"Ten?  Why ten?"


"Okay, twenty."


"No, Todd, you're forgetting, the kids can't be bought, it's overkill."


"I don't want to buy them, I want to give them everything."


She stopped and fixed her husband's collar.  "I know you do, but slow down, My Love."


"Eight gift cards?"


She laughed, and threw her arms around his neck.  "I just love you, Todd Manning.  You're so in love with those kids."


He said, "Hey, you're giving me away here, my rep is at stake."  He looked into her eyes, and ran his fingers through her hair.  He said, "So, I'll go to the sports place over there, for Jack, and you go to wherever you women go for Starr."  

She smiled, "Hmf, you!  You'd think you never had Christmas before!"


No one can blame you for that.  For some reason, the face of Sam Rappaport, framed in his short, white hair, appeared in his mind.  He missed him.  So much.  Sam's voice kept talking, and he kept trying to ignore it.


She said, "You went somewhere.  Are you all right?  What happened?"


"Nothing, I . . . thought of something.  Someone."


"Do you want to say?"


"Sam."


"He's all right, he's with Timothy.  You just told me that yourself."


"No, Sam.  Coach."  The door is small.


She winced, and her face darkened, "Oh, Todd."


"Sometimes, I still hear him, Blair.  At weird times, like just now."


"I hear him, too."


"I don't know why he chose now to talk to me, but he did.  He's been hanging around up here for a while," he said, touching his head.



She said, "What did he say?"


"He said, 'You were fourteen.  You were a boy.'  Not sure why I remembered that right now.  But, he said it when I thought I should have been strong enough, he told me I wasn't.  He was telling me then, that I was not prepared to handle Peter.  And he's telling me now, that I'm not prepared for the rest of whatever is in my head, and that I should back off.  I think."

"Maybe.  Or he could be telling you that you aren't prepared for it alone.  And that is where I come in.  This is not going to be you against the world, Todd.  It's us.  From now on.  You have to remember that. Now, off we go.  Let's meet back here in a while."  He stood still, not moving.  She added, "No one is going to mess with my man!" and she sauntered off, hips swinging.


His eyes stung, and he said, "That's it, Babe, you're Blair.  Nobody's messing with that."


***


At Unforgettable, the boys and Timothy were set to put the tree up, and decorate the lower level of the house for Christmas.  Jack said, "Sam, take that garland off your head before I call you names."


"What names, Jack?  You're my brother."


"Never mind," Timothy said, "No name calling here."


"The tree is starting to look good," Sam said.


"It is, little one, go grab the rest of the ornaments."  Timothy instructed, and Sam went.


Jack said, "So, when do I go to these 'meetings?'  When do I start?"


"Soon.  Possibly as early as next week, if you're ready."


"I guess."


"Ya have no choice.  It's either me, or a rehab center, and ya don't want to be in one for the holidays, away from your family.  Ya don't have to talk, if ya don't want.  Ya can just listen to others.  There will be other people there, adults.  Once ya see what it's like, ya can go to the teen sessions."


"They have teen ones?  At AA?"


"Yes, there are teen groups, lots of different choices.  I suppose it says that there are a lot of folks out there needing help."


"Yeah, great."  He was less than enthusiastic.


Sam came back into the room.  "Here, Grandpa!"


"Thank ya, Sam."  He took the box and handed a few ornaments to Jack. 


***


Sister Rebecca Katherine pulled up a chair by Bea, who was drawing, again.  This time, her hair was tied back in a ponytail that went part way down her back.   The nun had a vase in one hand and the newspaper tucked under her arm.  She said, "Hello, Dear Heart."


Bea looked up.  She smiled.  She put her picture forward for the nun to see.  The sister said, "My my, it's a lovely lake, with some flowers, and . . . my goodness, what is that, Dear?"


She could not really see it clearly, it was barely sketched in, but along the lake, hunched down in the distance was a figure, it seemed to be a child.  Sister Rebecca Katherine was not certain, but that was what she surmised.  Only the outline was visible; Bea had not fleshed it out.  The nun said, "Would you like to write to me?"


Bea shook her head no, and continued to look down.  The nun studied the picture longer, and said, "The perspective is lovely, Bea.  Honestly, you're quite talented."


The woman did not look up.  She began to rock.  Sister Rebecca Katherine said, "Dear, who is this child?"  Bea did not respond, but continued rocking.  It was as if she was in a bubble and nothing could break through.  The nun slid the picture back toward her and said, "I have something of my own to share today.  My family."


Bea did not answer or look up, and her rocking continued.  She began to move the sketch pad back toward herself, but did not stop focusing on the table top.


The nun said, "Look, it's my family," and she placed the newspaper on the table, with the photo of Jenna and The Mannings, in Bea's view.  It took a few moments for the woman to change her focus and really "see" it, but when she did, Sister Rebecca Katherine regretted putting it in her sights.  Bea started to rock faster, and her breathing sped up to a dangerous rate.  The nun said, "No, Dear, it's all right," and reached to take the paper away, but Bea grabbed it and started to shake it, staring at the picture and tearing at it with her clawing hands.  Unable to calm her, Sister Rebecca Katherine had to call for assistance, and within seconds, Bea was being restrained by two orderlies, her mouth open in a silent scream, tears streaming on her face.  


"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," the nun said, crossing herself.  She began to pray under her breath, as Bea was taken from the room and she followed along, after them, distraught.


After assuring she could not hurt herself, the orderlies left Bea, who had received a sedative from the doctor, and went on their way.  The nun sat by her bed, and put her hand on Bea's arm.  "Dear Bea, I am sorry, for whatever upset ya.  Forgive me."


Bea, who was crying, turned her face to Sister Rebecca Katherine's and sighed, taking her hand and moving it to Sister Rebecca Katherine's tears.  The nun felt the woman brush a tear off her cheek, and then, Dr. Levin spoke.  "Sister, you must go."


"I would prefer to wait, Doctor."


"You must go, Sister.  She needs to rest."


The nun, whose feet felt like cement, trudged her way back to the solarium, where minutes before they were exchanging pictures.  The newspaper was all but shredded, and Sister Rebecca Katherine noticed that the photo was untouched.  The paper was shredded, but the photo was intact.  It was almost as if she was attempting to tear out the photo, instead of destroying it.  "Ya did it again, Creena," she said, "trying to read something into this, as if the woman would care about that picture.  She's not well, and you're not going to cure her.  Whatever the poor thing has faced is bigger than both of ya."


She picked up the newspaper, and tucked it, wrinkled and torn, under her arm.  The sketch pad was still there, and Bea's pencils, and she began to pick them up.  As she did, the drawing caught her eye again.  The lightly sketched-in figure was bent, over his own knees, hugging them, hair hanging down.  For some reason, she knew it was intended to be a boy, even though it could be questionable because of the lack of detail.  "The poor dear," she said, heading off to the chapel to pray.


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