Chasing the Monsters: 16

The next day, Timothy was sitting at a table by the wall of windows at the penthouse, drinking tea.  He was also reading his son's newspaper, The Sun, and perusing its pages and chewing occasionally on Kimberley biscuits that Todd had shipped in for him.  If it wasn't marshmallow Kimberleys, it was Chocolate Hob Nobs.  Either way, it was a taste of home.

It was then that he thought of her, and stopped, looking out the window for a moment, to try and see the art gallery doors.  If the air was clear, and it wasn't too traffic-laden, he could see, and sometimes watched to see if Dorian would appear, outside the glass opening.  He'd never seen her, but he watched, just the same.  Today, the sky was perfect blue, and cloudless, and he stared into the city, trying to catch a speck that could be her.  

He was interrupted by the phone, ringing across the room.  He casually got up and went to it, and said, "Hello."

"Mr. Broderick, Timothy?  This is Jack Ribsky, calling."

"Mr. Ribsky," Timothy said, surprised to hear the man's voice on the other end.  "I'm guessing this involves Todd?"

"Yes, it does."  He cleared his throat, "Something . . . well, we found something that I think may clear some things up for Todd and his wife."

"Like what?"

"That series of journals belonging to my sister-in-law."

"Connie," he stated, "yes, ya mentioned."

"Yes.  I've not been able to read through them all, neither has Pamela, but there many things in them that . . . I think may be of interest to him.  She'd been with Peter for almost 30 years.  I mentioned them when you were here, and no one bit."  He paused.  "Also, there's something else."

"Go ahead."

"A trunk, in the back bedroom.  We didn't intrude, but it seems the things inside may belong to Todd."

"What kinds of things?"

"Assorted items.  A couple of football related things, a notebook or two, papers, letters, we think.  It's pretty good in size.  And, there's a little hold up with the house.  I know he doesn't want anything to do with it, but it's going to probate, and the courts require his presence."

"I was afraid of that."

"Will you let him know about all this?"

"Yes, I'll inform him."

"I . . . know he had a difficult time when he was here.  I just, wanted to pass this on."

"I thank ya for calling me," Timothy said.  "But can ya do me a favor, please?"

"Sure, if I can."

"Can ya take the trunk to y'ar house?  I'm certain he won't want to be there at Peter's house, and neither will I, if he agrees to come."

"I understand.  I can do that.  Pamela, well, it's purely selfish on her part, but she wants to talk to Todd.  Says she has something to say to him, that she should have said last time.  She asked me to ask, so . . ."

"Thank ya, and I'll possibly be seeing ya soon, then."

"Yes," he said, hanging up.

Timothy sighed, and hung up the receiver.  He pondered how this next visit would affect Todd, and whether or not they should even make the trip.  He thought back to the moment that he had come into the basement the day that Peter died, and saw his son, blood-covered on the floor, and Blair, willing him alive with her being, and Bitsy, staring off, strangely, holding Ray.  It was an eyeful, and one he wouldn't soon forget.  He was certain that Todd wouldn't ever want to go back, but wasn't certain he wouldn't end up there despite that fact.

***

"Dad says he's coming by, something to talk to us about," Todd said, helping Blair get the dishes off the table before bringing the children up to get ready for bed.  "My turn, right?"

"No, you got to do it last night."

"Well, I'll just do it again, if that's okay.  You're busy, and I want to connect with my kids as much as I can after a day's work."

He disappeared on the upper level, as she finished the kitchen and went to the family room to wait on his return, and the arrival of Timothy.  Jack sat across from her.  She said, "What's up, Jack, something on your mind?" 

"No, not really, just . . . well, what might be a good thing to give Jenna as a gift?"

"Hmm.  Not sure.  Special occasion?"

"Some anniversary, of us first talking, or something."

"I see.  A flower?"

"A flower?  No, I don't think so.  Something good."

Blair lifted an eyebrow.  "Okay, a puppy?"

"She can't have a pet in their apartment building.  And she'll be in college, too busy."

"Hmm.  I see."

"I don't know, I want it to be special, but not crazy."

"A nice card?"

"A nice card?  That's not a gift.  It's paper."

"Okay, well I'm just about fresh out of ideas."  She was tired.  Being a full-time mom and working with Todd at The Sun was wearing her down a bit, never mind the little dramas with Tina and the strange happenings regarding Sam, as well as nursing Jewel and chasing Ray. 

He said, "This is tough."

She added, "You could ask your father.  He always surprises me with just the right thing."

"Maybe I will, figured you might know, being a girl and junk."

"On a day when I've got more energy, maybe," she said, putting her head back and closing her eyes which was interrupted by Todd's arrival at the foot of the stairs. 

"Mommy, Jewel said 'night.'"

"She did, did she?"  Blair asked, not opening her eyes.

"Yeah.  She's getting a lot more words out.  Pretty soon we won't be able to shut her up, like her mom."

"Hey!" she said, acting incredulous.  He sat down beside her and put his arm around her shoulder, and her head automatically perched against his upper chest.

Jack said, "Well, here's where I take off," and stood up, and then said, "Night, Mom and Dad."

"Night Jack," Blair said, yawning.

"Paints.  And brushes."  Todd said.

"Huh?"  Jack asked.

"Paints and brushes, that's what you can get her for the anniversary.  Or, I've got a better idea.  The first time you ever spoke to her, she was crying, right?"

"Yea, I think so."

"Then what about a silver teardrop necklace?" he said, absently playing with Blair's hair.

She said, "Careful, Dad, you're losing your non-romantic facade."

"God, Dad, Mom's right.  You're worse than a girl.  But it's cool.  I like it," he smiled and bounded up the stairs.

"Todd, that was a sweet suggestion, and unique.  You always knew just what to get me."

"Yep."

"You've done so many romantic things like that for me.  Maybe you're passing it on."

The doorbell rang, and Todd jumped up, "I'll get it, it's just that leprechaun Timothy Broderick!" he said, in an Irish brogue.

"Son," Timothy said, hugging him.

"Dad," he responding, slapping his father's back gently.  "Come in."

"Hi, Dad," Blair said, and the older man bent to kiss her forehead.  

"Bridgette," he said.  "So good to see ya."

"Same here."  He and Todd both sat.

"I came to, well, there's no easy way to do this one," he said.

"Okay, what's up?"  Todd said, leaning a bit forward, and Blair, whose arms were wrapped around her husband's bicep, leaned forward with him, leaning her head on his arm.

"It might be back to Chicago for ya," he said.

She said, "What?  Oh no he's not!"

"Blair," Todd said, quietly.

"No, Todd!  Look what happened last time?  Dad, you should know, he was devastated when he got back."

"Blair, I'm all right.  Look," he touched his chest as if displaying himself.  Then to Timothy, "What's it about, Dad?"

"Well, first, the courts want ya there for the probate session regarding the house.  Also, there's a trunk, something that ya may be interested in, some things of y'ars."

Todd's expression was noticed by both his wife and his father.  He fixed his jaw.

"Those journals that belong to Connie.  The ones dating back almost 30 years?  He feels that seeing them might make ya see things more clearly."

"Is that all?"  Todd asked, not quite convinced.

"No.  A personal request.  From Pamela," Timothy said.

Todd swallowed, visibly to the other two, and said, "Pamela?"

"She requested that she get to talk to ya.  She wants to say something to ya, in person, I suppose."

"I was just there," he said.  "Maybe she could have said it then?"

"She must have decided this after seeing ya.  Anyway, you can choose just to attend court and leave.  Ya don't have to do anything.  Ya don't even have to go."

He looked down, and Blair ran her hand over his head.  "He's right, Todd."

"No, I should go.  This woman, she  . . . lost her sister at my father's hand."

"What does that mean," she asked.  

"Means I'm going,"  he said.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
Your comments are 'payment' for the work of the authors. Our writers like to hear your feedback. Please leave a comment when you read.