Hope from the Ocean: 10

Jack and Jenna were in their special place for lunch.

She had her head on his shoulder, her eyes closed.  He was eating his sandwich quietly and listened to her small breaths.  She was asleep, and he was glad.  He knew she had been tormented with grief over her mother, and she had confided in him about her nightmares.  He chewed his lunch, looked into the courtyard, and saw the light snow beginning to fall.  Suddenly, she stirred, sitting up.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey."

"You done eating?  I must have fallen asleep."

"You were tired.  You're not sleeping well, right?"

"Right.  I can't believe she's gone."

"I'm sorry," he said, covering her hand with his.

She leaned her head back on his shoulder, and if it weren't for the pain he knew she was feeling, he would have been overjoyed with the closeness between them.  She said, "When your father was gone, how did you cope?"

"I was a little kid.  Really small.  I didn't know any better.  Someone else came along, took his place.  Literally."

"I don't get it."

"It's a long story.  Anyway, I never even realized he was gone.  But I can relate, because when he came back, he disappeared again, twice.  Once, he and my mother were kidnapped together.  I was really scared.  The second time, he traded himself for my mother and my baby brother.  We thought he was dead that time, and he almost died.  But I know, almost is not the same."

"I don't know if it is or not.  But dead is pretty bad.  And she was murdered, Jack."  She looked up from his shoulder, into his face.  He wanted to kiss her, but he knew it was not the right time.  

"I'm sorry.  The guy, Mitch, he was a piece of work."

"He is the one who took your family hostage."

"Yeah.  He was all crazy and stuff."

"Okay.  Do you think she felt it, Jack?  Do you think she felt pain?"

"I don't know.  Probably not."  He said it, though he didn't mean it.

"I always think of it.  Was she crying or begging for her life?  Or did she just die, fast, without knowing?"

"Maybe you shouldn't think about it right now?  Or ask McBain, he might know, if you really want to find out."

She sighed, and lowered her head back to his shoulder.  "Maybe.  It just feels so good to be here and be able to be quiet like this and talk.  Or not talk, either one.  Like you just let me sit here, and I can just be me."

"Feels good to me, too."

They interwove their fingers.  She said, "I don't want to go to class."

He said, "Let's ditch.  If we go outside during passing, we can come right back in here for the next period."

"You can get in trouble.  I don't want that.  Just let me skip by myself, I'll go to the nurse."

"No.  I want to be with you.  You're sad."

She looked at their hands, and then at his face.  "If that's what you want."

"It is."

She let her head drift to his shoulder again, and propped their hands on his knee.

***

Todd arrived at The Diamond Gallery, and waving off Williams, went in through the glass doors and stood in the lobby.  Hearing the soft bell arranged to alert them to customers, Dorian walked to the front, where Todd stood, hands in his front pants pockets, his long, black wool coat open.  He said, "Well, I have to hand it to you.  This place is stunning.  Really."

"Why, thank you, Todd, I'm glad it meets with your approval."

"So far."  It was minimal, with light and a high gloss floor, just as he'd directed.  But she had taken pains to include a splash of muted color here and there, but not to detract from the art.  The floor shone in high polish, and the walls along the whole front were glass windows to the street.  He hadn't mentioned that.  He said, "What made you do this," pointing to the glass front.

"Something just told me it would be something you would do."

She was right.  He wondered for a moment if she had talked with Blair.  Instead, he said, "It's pretty damn perfect."

She attempted not to show her elation at his words.  She'd done something right in his eyes.  That was a start.  Part of her had felt guilt every time she had let him have it at a family function or in conversation.  He'd been through Hell.  Yet, she couldn't let him bring that Hell to her family.  But in trying to stop it, she'd made herself feel worse; she'd separated herself from the ones she loved just to prove a point.  In the past, she'd thought he could help the things he'd done.  Now, she realized, they were part of him that he was fighting, and winning.  And she knew now that Peter Manning had put those things there, whether she liked them or not.

"I'm glad.  Is there anything else?  Something you think we need to pay attention to?"

"Blair."

"Blair?  What do you mean?"

"She's . . . going through something.  I want to tell you, up front, but I also want you to know that she's all right with me.  I know what to do for her, and I will take care of her."

"All right," she said, leaning on the marble greeting counter.  "I hear you."

"She's got this idea she is going to lose the baby.  She's terrified.  I can't say I blame her.  I was there for all three of the losses, and it's Hell.  It almost killed her the last time.  I've made it my business to help her, calm her and see this baby into the world."

She couldn't help but feel a twinge of admiration for him when he spoke of Blair this way.  Remembering her eavesdropping stint outside their bedroom before Christmas, she said, "I know you want the best for her.  Truthfully, I have no doubt she's in good hands, Todd.  Medically, is there a problem?"

"No.  She had a check up, everything's okay.  She's just getting irrationally afraid.  I can tell.  It's almost panic.  It can't be good for her or the baby."

"No, you're right.  It can't be."

"I'm telling you because I don't want to be accused of not doing so.  But I want you to let us handle it. Trust me with this," he said, leaning toward her more, "she is everything to me.  Nothing would mean a thing without her."

Dorian looked into his hazel eyes, and said, "I believe you."

"Good, then, back to business.  The place looks great," he started to amble around, "love what you've done.  When does their art come in?"

"You do know we've enlisted a few other painters.  The art will start arriving in three days or so.  That should be in plenty of time for the opening."

"Seems like it.  Good job, Auntie Dorian, really.  I'm headed home now.  We have a new dog to introduce.  Promised Blair I'd be home in time for that."

"A dog?"

"Mixie."

"Mixie?"

"Yes, mixed-up as he is.  He has a permanent confused look."

She smiled, "That's nice, a family dog.  Not a bad distraction, Todd."

"Well, I'd like to take credit but I can't.  It was Tina."

"Tina?"

"Long story.  I'll let Blair tell it someday.  I'm going to hit the road, and keep up the good work here."

"I will."

He turned to the glass wall, and finding the door handle, he said, "Good night, Auntie Dorian."

She said, "Todd?"

He stopped and looked at her.  "Yeah?"

"Todd, I think this is very hard to say.  I . . . wanted to tell you that I'm sorry for what you've gone through, as a child and a young man."  He wasn't sure he was hearing her correctly, so he waited, to give her pause to change her tone.  That didn't come.  Instead, he noted a tremor in her voice.  "What happened to you, and to your mother, those were terrible things.  You didn't deserve them."

"Thank you, Dorian.  But Blair didn't deserve the terrible things I did to her either.  I know that.  But I am determined to spend the rest of my life fixing that."  He went through the glass, and Dorian followed him with her eyes.  As he got into the back of the limo, running his hand through his hair, small snowflakes began to fall.

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