Hope from the Ocean: 2

Todd wasn't able to sleep.  Lying next to Blair at Unforgettable, in his perfectly-crafted master bedroom suite, he stared at the ceiling (mostly made of glass) and looked at the stars.  It was strange to him, and still somehow new, that living on Llantano Mountain made more stars visible; the lack of light from the city of Llanview at night allowed the stars to shine more clearly, and it was almost as if he could touch them.  Turning his head to the side, his eyes rested on Blair.  Her hair was strewn over her face, and her hand was on his chest, where she had fallen asleep with him holding it hours before.    She calmed him, in a way he never understood.  Inside, he was still seething with the years of vengeful pain that had built within.  

Will I ever be able to put all this anger aside and just live?

He thought of the morning, the trip he and Jack had taken into town for the funeral, and back further, when his son had first come to him with the news of Tera Winfield's death.  He remembered how a lump formed in his gut when he realized it was at the hands of Mitch, and then the words, from his mother in the letter he opened shortly afterward.  

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.

She hadn't even seen him in years, and knew from seeing his eyes.  For a moment, in the dark, he wished that Blair would wake and hold him.  Looking back to her, he then closed his eyes and listened to her breathing, knowing she had his next child within her, and kept his light grip on her hand, moving his so slightly to massage hers.  He held back alerting her; he'd made a promise to himself to let her focus on bringing this new life into the world, not rehashing death and dread, nothing to make her upset or at risk for losing the baby.  I'll try and sleep.  Listen to her breathing, listen. . .

He felt her move, and the hand on his chest wrapped itself around his thumb.  Then he heard her:  "Todd?"

He waited a moment, and said, "Yeah?"

"You're up?"

"Yeah."

"You okay?"  He didn't answer.  She opened her eyes and looked at him.  "Do you need something?"

"You.  That's all."

"All right," she said, the grogginess of sleep still in her voice, as she moved closer, putting her head in its customary place under his shoulder, against his chest, where hearts are supposed to be in stories.  "It's all right, Todd.  It's all over."

He wished she were right.  He wished he wouldn't be interrupted, while doing simple tasks of everyday life, by the images of Peter and the secret room, and Bitsy, in various stages of total annihilation, under his control.  He swallowed.  

She felt it.  "Todd, what is it?"

"What is what?"

"I can tell something's wrong.  Your throat is working, you're tense.  I'm awake now, just tell me."

"Just . . . the same stuff, nothing new.  Talking about it won't take it away."

"Here," she said, "turn your back toward me."

He listened to her and did what she asked.  She wrapped her arms around his chest, and one hand reached up to his hair and stroked it.  One of her legs also wrapped around his, and he could feel her pressed against him.  He sighed, and let her hold him.  He said, "I haven't slept . . ."

She interrupted, "I know.  I can tell.  I've seen you restless every night since everything calmed down. It has to hurt.  It has to be on your mind, that's not abnormal, Todd, it's what anyone would be feeling after what you went through and what you uncovered."  She pulled herself closer and snuggled to him.  "You deserve love and comfort.  You deserved it then, as a little boy, and you didn't get it.  I'm just going to hold you until you don't want me to."

He wasn't sure what to say at first, and then said, "Then you'll be doing it for a long time."

"That's all right, My Love."

"Blair?"

"Yes?"

"Don't stop loving me."

"I never could, regardless.  I've tried, remember?"

"Yeah.  I've tried, too."

"Exactly.  Now try and sleep, all right?"  She stroked his hair and felt him ease more into the mattress.  Soon, his shoulders were not as tense, and he was quiet. 

Deeper in the night, she felt him jump and heard him inhale sharply through his mouth.  His hand reached behind him, as if to find her.  She said, "Shhh, it's all right.  It's just a dream."

"Where's the baby?"

"He's in his crib."

"It's dark.  Is the house . . . locked?"

"Yes, it's locked.  The alarm is on."  She waited a moment, and then said, "You're shaking, Todd.  Do you want to talk?"

He was silent for a moment, and then said, "No."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure, Blair, please!"  he said, and his voice was strained.  "I don't want this in our lives.  I want it out.  Gone.  It belongs in Ray's office, not here with us, the kids, and the new baby inside you."

She realized where his heart was.  

He doesn't want that poison to touch us.  

"All right, but it is part of us.  It's part of you, and your life.  How will we not deal with that?"

He closed his eyes, and the urge to run came into his gut.  "I just . . . I don't want it to be here, with us, Blair.  It's too much.  Can't we just . . ."

"Forget it?  In time, sure.  But, you can't right now, no one expects you to."  The room was silent.  "Now, just rest.  Just lean into me, and close your eyes.  Try and sleep some more."

She recognized everything he was going through as part of his PTSD, which had rejuvenated itself after all of the revelations and the home invasion.  Ray had assured her it was expected and would eventually fade.  These were the remnants of his childhood, and Blair knew, like it or not, it was part of his core.  Determined to have her love and the family they'd made win out, she closed her eyes and pulled him closer.

***

The morning brought the sounds of the kids up and about in the house; Blair woke first, still with her arms around her husband, and then he stirred next to her.  He said, "The kids are up."

"They are.  I think I hear Jack playing Dad and banging some pans around."

"Think they have the baby down there?"

"Probably," she got up from the bed and moved to get her robe.  He sat at the end of the bed and ran his hands through his hair.  She said, "You're tired, aren't you?"

"A little, maybe."  His face was getting the sunken look, and it was darker around his eyes than it had been in a while.

"Go back to sleep, Todd."

"Not the most appealing suggestion, Blair."

"In fact, I have an idea.  You lie down, and I'll be right back."

He put his head back against the pillow.  "I am really tired, Blair.  Really tired."  He yawned, and closed his eyes.  Within a few minutes, his bedroom was invaded with kids.  Jack, carrying a large tray with breakfast food on it, Sam carrying other breakfast items that could not fit on the tray, and Blair carrying Ray and more things in her other arm.  They set the food down in the room on the coffee table, and Jack started a fire.  Todd was dozing, and Blair shushed the kids when the voices got above a whisper.  "Dad's tired, so we want him to sleep, and if he can't, we want him to have a nice breakfast when he gets up," she whispered.

Jack put the last log on the fire.  "Why can't he sleep, Mom, is it the same stuff?"

She nodded, and eyed Sam.  "No more talk of that now."

Sam went into the other room to get his toys, Jack pulled out his Ipod.  Blair started eating some fruit, when Todd sat up quickly.  She said, "You all right?  We have breakfast.  The family is going to hang in here this morning.  It's starting to snow," she said, looking up.

He glanced at the windows.  "This is nice."

"This, is right, Mr. Manning.  You told me that yourself."

Jack, pretending not to listen, was soaking in every word his parents exchanged.  Sam came barreling back into the room and dumped his Spiderman figures on the floor.  The fire was catching on, and Todd joined them in the sitting area.  "I'll take some of that," he said, making a plate for himself.

Jack said, "So, Dad, what are we going to do today?"

"What do you want to do?"

"I don't know.  It's snowing now, I was going to say let's go visit Grandma Bitsy, but it's bad weather."

Todd was noticeably touched by his son's words, and Blair stepped in, "Yeah, the weather is not so great.  They're expecting about 6 inches on the mountain."

"I love snow!  It's so fluffy like a pillow," Sam said.  "We can make a fort!"

"Another one?"  Jack said.  "You already have a melted deformed one out there."

"How about a snowfamily, then?"  Sam said.

"Not a bad idea," Blair said.  

Todd was chewing.  "Sure, make sure the mommy snowman has a big belly."

"Okay, Dad!"  Sam said, and went back to playing with his action figures.  

Todd said, "Jack, have you heard from Jenna?"

"Not since the funeral.  Thanks again for bringing me and for staying with me, Dad."

"No problem.  Sad.  Maybe you should call her.  Maybe she needs to hear from you."

"Think so?"

"That last conversation that you had with her just as much said it."

"She was so sad.  Mom, you should have seen it.  She kept apologizing to Dad and I, like she did something wrong."

"Poor thing," Blair said.

"She was crying, she was . . ." he thought back to the scene at the funeral home, and his nightmare, and stopped.  I took Shane's mother away.  Shane must have felt the way Jenna does . . . and I did that. I . . .

"She was very upset," Todd said, and it interrupted his son's thoughts.  "You were good with her.  Give her a call, or a tweet or whatever."

"I will," he said, starting to move his thumbs across the keyboard.  He waited a moment, and then said, "She's not on, or else, she's not answering."

"She will," Todd said.  He turned his attention to his middle son, as Jack went into the headphone zone.  "What about him?" he said to Blair, nodding to Sam.

"Since that one little nightmare the other night, he's been okay since the Mitch thing.  I think he's resilient, and he has us.  I think he feels safe."

"That's good," he said, "I know what it means to feel totally in danger, all the time.  As a little kid, it . . . does something to you."

"I know," she said, looking from his eyes to her youngest.  Little Ray was engaged in chewing on a squishy toy.  "This one here, he's oblivious."

"He is.  So fortunate, and he has to stay that way.  Nothing should ever hurt him.  He's beautiful.  He's innocent."

"He's us, Todd."

"I know," he said, reaching over, "Come here, Little Guy."  He picked him up and held him over his shoulder.  The youngest pulled Todd's ear, and he said, "Ow, wait a minute," and loosened his little hand.  "That one hurts, Bud.  Kids, Blair.  You gotta give them all the love you can."

"I know.  And you're doing great."

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