Diamond in the Rough: Chapter 89

Jack walked in the house, putting his bookbag down on the table by the door, as customary.  He ambled toward the stairs, and stopping at the bottom, he looked up.  He was torn between calling to his father, who he hoped was upstairs working, or going it alone.  

After thinking it over a few moments, he decided to do what his father had asked him, time and time again:  talk to him.

"Dad?  You home?"

Quiet came back at him, and as he turned to go into the family room, he heard a noise from the second level.  It was the door to The Sun office opening, and Todd calling down, "Yeah?"

"Can I come up and talk to you?"  the teen called.

"Yeah, sure, always."

He ascended the stairs, and when he got to the top, Todd was waiting, outside the door, his arms folded over his chest.  He said, "What's on your mind, Bud?"

"I don't know how to say it."

"Just say it, however it comes out, we'll fix it or be able to make it work."

"Jenna, she . . . her mother.  She was found."

"All right, that's good, I guess.  Even if she's in trouble, at least they will be able to improve their relationship with each other."

"No, that's just it.  She's dead, Dad.  She was murdered."

Todd changed his posture, and moved his hands into his front pants pockets.  "That's tough, for her, and Lynnette, and you.  I'm sorry to hear that."  Not more, not for my kid.

"Mitch Laurence killed her, I guess.  That's what Jenna said.  He used her and killed her.  She . . . helped him get out.  He told her his name was Michael."

"Michael Lazarus.  He used it as a nickname."

"This is the same guy who put you into the crypt, right?"

"Yeah, that's him."  I know where he's going with this.

"He's the one who . . . hurt Aunt Viki?  Kidnapped Mom once?"

Todd composed himself, and was cautious about his demeanor with his son.  Knowing how sensitive Jack was, he was careful not to portray the obvious:  a deep desire to act revenge.  "Yeah."  I'd like to beat him to death, like he almost did to my mother. . . but I can't leave them. . .

"Dad, why?  I mean, I never knew there were people like this.  First, that guy that cut you, whatever his name was.  And Carlo Hesser, who planned all the bad stuff that happened to keep you from us.  And this guy, Mitch.  And one thing that really bothers me, and I'll never understand is about your father, Dad.  The things he did.  I heard you say things about him to Mitch Laurence that made me feel sick.  Why are there people like them?"

"Come in the office, Jack.  Let's sit down a minute."

Jack followed his father, who sat on the mustard-color couch, and waited until his son joined him.  He said, "It seems wrong, doesn't it?"  Todd started.

"Yeah.  I don't . . . why us?  I mean, why, you, actually, Dad.  Why?  Maybe one of these people, but all of them?  It's not fair, or right."

"Life's not fair.  At all.  It's not predictable.  It's not balanced.  You can do your best to make it that way, but the outside world can alter that in a heartbeat."

"Yeah, but why?  Is it something . . . I don't understand.  I'm sorry Dad, but I used to think that all the bad things that happened to you were because of something you did that made you deserve it."  He stopped, and caught his breath.  Todd said nothing, he just listened and waited.  Jack continued, "But then, the things that you just found out, the stuff about Peter Manning.  You were just a little boy.  You were just a puny runt, like Sam.  You didn't do anything . . ."

"It's not about that.  There's no crime and punishment in life that way.  And I lead you to believe it, through my own actions.  But I was wrong.  Sometimes, we do things, we get caught and society might punish us, but other times, we just . . .encounter things or people.  It's not about what everyone deserves.  Do you think your mother deserved to lose children?"

"No."

"All right.  I know where this is headed, and it's been bothering you a lot.  You're thinking when your punishment is going to come, for what you did, and Jack, it just doesn't work like that."

Todd saw his son swallow.  Jack said, "I guess.  Do I deserve something, though?  I did something really bad."

"It's not up to us to determine that.  I think you're paying, and I think everyone does, one way or another.  You pay every day that you let this eat you.  Your heart wasn't in it; you're not evil, Jack.  It was an accident.  You didn't mean it."  If someone only said this to me.

"Are you evil?  I mean, do you think you are, because you raped Marty Saybrooke?"

Todd thought a moment.  "No, I'm not evil.  It wasn't an accident, but I was driven by hurt and rage.  I didn't know what that hurt or rage was doing to me.  Heck, I didn't even know it existed, but I just wanted to hurt someone as badly as I had been hurt.  I saw myself as nothing, as something bad.  But no, it doesn't make me evil.  I've learned.  I've paid, in a lot of ways, but I knew what I was doing and I meant to.  But it's not about me being evil as much as me unable to cope with evil and letting it rule me.  It took me a long time to realize that and accept it."  

I said it.  I'm not evil.

Jack sighed, and Todd waited.  Then he said, "You have to see that you messed up, but it doesn't define you, unless you let it."  Todd patted Jack's shoulder.  "So, in answer to the next question, no, Jenna's mother is not dead as a way to pay her back for what she did.  She's dead because Mitch Laurence killed her."

"Is he evil?"

"Everyone has good and evil in them, Jack.  Some fight it.  Others give in to it.  Some do evil things, and some don't.  But it's there in everyone.  The ability to do good or do bad.  In everyone.  In some people, the evil consumes them forever, and no good can get through.  I believe that's what happened to Mitch."

"Dad, what happened to Grandma Bitsy?"

Todd rubbed his forehead.  "She was beaten until she had brain damage."

"Who did it, Dad?  And why?"

"It was my father, Peter.  He hated her, for whatever reason.  He was sick."

"That's why she can't talk."

"Yes, that's why."

"I'm really sorry for what I did.  I never would do it again.  I would never hurt anyone again, not that way."

"I believe you.  You're a good kid, a 'good guy.'  You must know that and if you don't, you have to learn it.  You don't want to think of yourself as a monster, and if you do, you have to tell me.  Do you understand?"

He nodded.  "I'm . . . really sorry, Dad, for what happened to you, and to Grandma Bitsy."

"Thank you, Jack."

"I'm going to go to my room now, and talk to Jenna on Skype.  Thanks, Dad, for, well, everything."

"You're welcome."  He watched his son go.  Touched by how much he had matured and grown, Todd sighed.  

Poking through the mail, he spied a familiar type of writing on a small, yellow envelope.  It was covered in scrolls and small flowers, all drawn by hand.  "Momma," he said aloud, and turned it over.  It was sealed as a typical letter, but at the point of the envelope flap, a flower was drawn softly with trailing smaller buds and leaves.  Water came to his eyes, and he ran his fingers over the paper until he came to the edge with a slight lift under the flap.  Thinking a moment as to whether he wanted to wait for Blair to read it with him, he slid his finger under the paper and tore the envelope open.  

Inside was a tiny drawing, less than the size of an index card.  It was a perfect likeness of he and Bitsy, from his most recent visit to her.  It was as if she had frozen the moment in time, and seen it in clear, intricate detail from outside herself.  He was in her arms, and she was holding him to her chest.

He sighed, and closed his eyes a moment.  No disturbing flashes came to him just then.  Instead, he was consumed with feeling and memory of his mother: sitting, watching television with him and running her fingers over the scar on her neck; running her hand over his head when he found a quarter under his pillow for his first lost tooth; brushing his hair, that was almost to his shoulders, when he was just a little boy.  Somehow, he was grateful now to have his memories.  The bad ones were excruciating, but these, like today, were priceless to him.  It was as if he could live everything over, and as he did, it became a part of him that was previously dead and untouched.

Under the drawing was a folded piece of paper, and when he unfolded it, he saw her familiar print.  He moved his eyes away, and sucked in air, when he noticed Blair, perched at the door, leaning on the frame.  For a moment, he imagined her with her long, crimped blonde tresses and her deep red Christmas dress from twenty years before.  Then, he said, "Hey, you."

The way his voice sounded, she knew immediately what he was dealing with.  She said, "Is that a letter from Bitsy?"

"Yeah."

"Do you want to be alone, or . . ."

He interrupted her.  "No, I don't want to be alone," he said, and looked at her in a way that told her to go to him.  

She did, and walking to the couch where he was sitting, she stepped beside him, placing her hand on his head and stroking his hair.  He leaned into her, his head against the place where his new child was resting, getting ready to make her way to the world.  Blair ran her hand through his locks, and said, "She wrote you."

"Yeah," he said, again.  He handed her the drawing, and she looked at it, and felt a rush of emotion come from her stomach to her throat.  "She's a very good artist.  She captures everything."

He nodded, still holding the letter in his hand, but it was folded over again.  He said, "I never thought I'd want to remember everything, but it has its good points."

"I can imagine."

"She was a good mother, Blair.  She was good to me."

Blair nodded.  She herself had been dealing with Bitsy's decisions to to leave Todd behind for years.  Now, with the truth apparent, her thoughts had taken on a different path.  "Really?  What kinds of things did she do?"

He looked up at Blair.  "She . . . she loved me."

She nodded.  "Yes."

"She loved me, and she tried to let me know, every day."

It was quiet a moment, and then Blair said, "Do you want to read the letter?  Do you want me to?"

He handed it to her.  She sat beside him, keeping her hand on his head, and then running it to his shoulder and arm.  She opened the fold, and started to read:

To my Angel,

I am doing well.  I have made a lot of paintings.  I am excited for Hope Week, and I want to see you and Blair and the children if they will come.  I want to meet Sam.  I've heard a lot about him from Sister.

I may have said this before, Todd, but don't stay too long with Peter in your memories.  From your eyes, I can tell you've already been there too long.

Blair choked up, which she had been trying so hard not to do, for his sake.  Todd took the letter from her and continued to read, aloud.

Sister calls me her Diamond in the Rough.  If that is true for me, then it's true for you, My Angel.  It's been a lot of years of polishing, but you're already shining.  Nothing can cloud you unless you let it.

Time to let go and be brilliant.  Shine in your life with your beautiful family, and share that diamond that is your heart.  

I love you, My Son.  I have loved you every moment since I first held you and touched your cheek.  I want to see you soon.

Momma 

The room fell silent, and Blair, who had been fighting tears, was now streaked with them as Todd put the letter down.  He pressed his thumb and fingers over his eyes and gently wiped.  She put her two arms around his shoulders and leaned her head on his left one.  He met her head with his, and closed his eyes.

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