Failings of the Fathers: 77

"Doctor, as long as my son is all right, I'm perfect," Blair said, looking to the man in the teal scrubs.

"He's all right.  Nothing to worry about physically.  I am sure you'll help assure that emotionally, he has support."

"Of course."

"Nothing more than a cracked lip and some swelling here on the cheek.  Any headache?"

"No."

"Then I'd say you're fine.  Just keep an eye on head pain and any vomiting in the next few hours."

"I will," she said, standing.  She then thought about it, and said, "My husband, is he . . ."

"He's fine.  No damage caused by the bullet, except the typical.  Some scarring."

"Scarring," she said, "Hmf.  He's okay with that."

"Clearly.  I don't want to ask how he's gotten the ones I saw.  But, Mrs. Manning, I'm hoping your family can move forward.  Let's hope this will be the last scar."

"Yes, let's," she said.

***

"This one wants his mother, and now!"  Timothy said, as Ray squirmed in his arms.

"She's in there," Todd said, pointing. 

 In a flash, Timothy was gone, and then back, plopping next to Todd on the plastic waiting-room chairs.  "Son, are ya all right?"

"I'm fine.  Ray's fine, Blair's fine, Momma's alive, Peter's dead.  I'm fine."

"Are ya really fine?"  Timothy kept at it.

He paused, "Yeah.  I'm okay, Old Man."

"I . . . have something to tell ya . . ."

Todd sucked in breath.  "I know.  I figured you did.  You wouldn't have left him."

"No.  Not this time.  I wanted to be there if there was an ending.  And," he paused, as Todd looked at him out of the side of his eyes, "there was."  His voice wavered on the last two words.

Todd looked straight ahead, and his father did as well.  Both of them stared into the passageway in front of them, as a few people passed by.  Finally, Todd said, "Was he at peace?"

Timothy sniffed.  "Yes.  From what we can tell."

Todd nodded.  "Okay."

"I rushed home right away.  Wanted to be there for ya.  Y'ar very important to me, Todd.  Y'ar family and ya are my world.  Ya know that."  Todd didn't answer, but Timothy saw his Adam's apple move in his throat.  "Do ya?  Do ya know that?"

He nodded slowly.  "Yeah.  I know that."

"I figure this.  Ya know how to be a father, and really be a father to those boys.  Which means ya deserve it back.  Even now.  I hope ya never doubted that for a minute."

Todd lied.  "Nope."

"Y'ar as much my son to me as Eric was.  And I'm telling ya that from the base of my old Irish heart."

Todd finally looked back to the man, who was now looking at him.  "I am, huh?"

"Ya are.  Ask anyone.  Ask that cantankerous nun we both know.  She's got a handle on it."

"Hmf.  I almost forgot about her.  She knew this was coming."

"She didn't.  Not exactly, but did she know something?  Yes.  She did.  She had several knowings."

Todd didn't say anything for a few minutes.  Both he and Timothy sat back and somehow relaxed against the hard seats.  Then he said, "Momma."

"Is she all right?"

"I hope.  Right now, no.  But maybe she will be."  He looked right into Timothy's eyes.  "She talked."

"Did she now?"

"Yeah.  She did.  She talked after she shot Peter through the middle of his forehead.  Everyone cheered and jumped for joy."

"Ya know that's not true."

"No, but it felt like it, in here," he pointed to his chest.  "I felt like . . . the world changed just then. Like, somehow, things were changing in front of my eyes."

"It was ending.  Ya were reacting to the end of forty plus years of pain.  It's a freedom that can't be measured, eh?"

"Hmf," he nodded in agreement.  Then, "I had a brother, for a few months.  Now, I don't."

"No, ya don't."

"I'm sorry about your son, Dad."  Todd said.

Timothy's face broke, and he fought to put it back together.  "Thank ya," he croaked out, his voice raspy with intensity, "I'm just glad I don't have to say those words to ya.  There's nothing this painful.  Nothing like it in the world."

Todd reached out and hugged his father, albeit awkward at first.  He didn't often initiate embraces, except maybe with Blair or his kids.  But he did it anyway, knowing it was needed.  The older man patted Todd's back, firmly, and pulled back.  He said, "Son, let it be over and put it to rest.  The failings of that man are not your problem anymore."

They were greeted in the next moment by Ray, running toward them, and jumping up onto Timothy's lap.  "Ganpa, piggy wide?"

"Ya want a piggy-back, do ya?  Hmm, how do we ask?"

"Pwease?"

"Why I think it can be arranged, don't ya, Daddy?"

Todd said, "Yeah, I think it can.  If it's okay with Grandpa."

"Yay!  Piggy wide!"  Ray called out, as Timothy lifted him onto his shoulders and went around the sitting area and into the hallway.  Todd could hear his son's laugh floating back.

Blair sat next to her husband.  "I'm good, which means, we can go home to our kids, now.  I miss Jewel so much it hurts.  Physically."

He put his elbows on his knees and perched there, still watching Timothy and Ray.  "Glad you're okay.  Aiden's dead, Blair."

"Oh, Todd," she said, softly, "I sort of thought so, when I saw Timothy show up.  I'm . . . very sorry, My Love."  She rested her chin on his shoulder.

"Thanks," he said.  "I never really got to find out what it was like to have a brother.  I mean, really have a brother.  It was short."

"It was.  And I'm sorry for your loss.  It's very sad."

He nodded, and she reached up and petted his hair, running her hand down along his face and scar.  She thought about it, and said, "It's fading.  Or it has, so much over time, Todd."

"Yep."

"It's been a lot of years since I first saw that scar on that face of yours, Mr. Manning.  That long, beautiful hair you had."

"That long beautiful hair you have," he emphasized, touching hers gently.

"God, I love you, Todd."

"I love you, too."

"We're lucky today."

He nodded.  "One more thing to do," he said.  "Will you help me?"

"If I can, yeah, of course."

"I want to see Peter."

Her face drooped with the unexpected comment.  "I . . .  why?"

He gulped, "I've got to, Blair.  I have to see him, dead."

"He was."

"I have to," he persisted, and she could see it was what he needed.  

"All right, we'll do that, then."

"Okay.  I want to ask McKnight-in-Black to set it up for me."

"Well, here's your chance, he's coming right now," she nodded toward the policeman as he made his entrance.

***

For the last few hours, including when he was lying on the cellar floor, with the cold cement against his back, he'd thought about getting this chance.  Now, standing outside the morgue, with Blair on his good arm, he thought it over again.  He had so many things to say to Peter Manning, and he was perfectly willing to do it then.

So what he's not alive to hear me?  He's out there somewhere.  His nasty spirit is floating around, probably ready to haunt me.  

He wanted the chance to say it all, even if the asshole was dead.  He'd run it over in his head so many times.  

Put in his face what he did to Momma.  What he did to . . . me, as a child.  As a teenager.  As a man . . .

John interrupted his thoughts by coming back through the doors.  "It's arranged, Todd.  Are you sure?"

"Positive," he said, and ire was beginning to smoulder in his eyes.

Blair said, "Thank you, John."

"Blair, it's not a pretty sight."

"My husband needs me, I'm there," she said.  Todd covered her hand with his on his bicep.

When John walked off, Todd looked into Blair's deep, green eyes.  "You don't have to."

"I know.  I want to.  I want to  . . . share everything with you.  Even if it's hard."

"Okay," he said, as the tech came forward and brought them into the room.  A body was on the table, under a sheet.  The sheet was blue, not white as it was in so many television movies.  They stood, together, and waited.  

The tech said, "Are you ready?"

"Yeah," Todd said, and Blair averted her eyes for the moment of reveal.  The tech removed the sheet, and there was Peter Manning.  Aside from the hole in his forehead, he just seemed empty, still and surprisingly harmless.  

The tech said, "I'll be right out there," and pointed to a room with a window for viewing.

Both of them stood, silent, looking at the shell of Peter, lying on the gurney.  The light above them was almost piercing in its brightness.  Both stared at him, and then Blair directed her attention to Todd.  His reaction was not what she expected.  He didn't rant.  He didn't swear, curse the man to Hell. 

He just stood and stared.

She waited.

Finally, he said, "You miserable bastard."

She tightened her grip on his arm.

"Those rapes at the hospital?  You remember all that, Dad?  Well, they finally got the guy.  And guess what?  It wasn't me.  For the first time in my life, I'm innocent.  How about that, huh?  Matter of fact, I was the one who finally figured out who it was.  And now, it's over.  Now I know this must come as big news to you, that your son isn't as rotten as you thought.  But let me tell you something Dad, this isn't the first time you've been wrong about me."

He swallowed.  It seemed like yesterday; a door in his mind that opened, and he could almost walk into it and experience again.

"You've been wrong about me, plenty.  And I know, that I have screwed up, plenty.  And I figured something else out, too.  I've been screwed plenty, too.  By you.  Nothing was ever good enough for you, Dad."

I didn't remember.  None of it.  Not then.

"If I wanted to be your son, I had to be the biggest, the toughest, the strongest.  The Superstar.  The Bigshot.  That's a loser's game, Dad.  And I'm not playing anymore.  And I didn't come here to ask you if it's okay . . . I don't even care what you think."

But I did.  I wanted him to accept me.  Why?  He . . . did things . . .

"You're not hurting me anymore, and I just wanted to let you know that."

"Todd?"  Blair said, softly.  

"And from here on in, I'm not just your son, I'm me.  Just me."

"My Love?"  she whispered, "Let's go, Todd.  He can't hurt us, anymore," and she began to gently move him away from the body.  He relented, then started to follow.

"I'm me.  Just me."  

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