"She onwy says Da da. All the time!" Ray said, throwing up his hands, as if amazed.
"She's learning. It takes time to learn lots of words." Tina said, playing trucks with the boy. They had created mountains out of Viki's pillows, and placed them on the floor, so the trucks would go up and over them.
"She's my sister. She's special."
Tina smiled, and chuckled to herself, "That's very sweet. You're her big brother, you should take care of her."
"Yeah. I should." He nodded, and continued driving the truck. "She misses Daddy. And Mommy."
"She probably does," Tina said, knowing that the little boy was talking about himself.
He continued, "She wants them to come home, now."
"Well, they will be home soon. Don't you like being here at Aunt Viki's and playing with me, and Uncle Cord?"
He shrugged. "Yeah, but she wants Mommy and Daddy. Daddy cawwies us on his shoulders, and he fights the bears."
"Well, he's a good Dad."
"And he does other things. He makes us choc chip panacakes," he could barely get it out, but she knew what he meant.
"He's a good Dad. And you love him."
"Yeah. He said, 'Put me down' but the bad man wouldn't listen."
Tina cocked her head slightly to the side. "Really?"
"Yeah. He said 'put me down' but the bad man said 'no' and he gave me a wowwipop. Owange."
She couldn't help but reach out and brush the little boy's mousey-brown hair back from his face. It was long, and the curls were falling in front of his eyes. The ponytail had come slightly loose. She said, "Was the lollipop good?"
He nodded, and sighed. "Jew wants Daddy. And me, too."
"I know, and he'll be here soon. You won't have to miss him long."
"I don't wike him to go away," he said, and the first trace of sadness crossed his face, as his little mouth turned downward, and he stopped playing.
"I tell you what? Let's call Daddy on the phone."
"Okay, yeah," he said, immediately perking up. She took out her cell and dialed Todd.
He answered, "Hello?"
"It's your sister."
"Hey," he said.
"Your son is missing you, badly. He wants to talk to you."
"Sam? Is he all right?"
"No, not Sam. Ray. He's been talking about how much 'Jew' wants you home."
"Put him on." He waited. Then he heard the little boy's 'hello,' and he said, "Hey Buddy."
"Daddy, come home now."
"I will. I promise. We will be home soon."
"Daddy, bring pwesent?" He said, his voice lilting upward at the end of the question as always.
"Sure. A surprise."
"Okay, so come home now, Daddy."
"Buddy, it's okay. Mommy and I will be home really soon. You're all right with Aunt Tina . . . and . . ." he rolled his eyes, "Uncle Cord."
"Okay, Daddy."
"We'll be home soon. Take good care of your sister."
"Jew was cwying. She wants you to come home."
"I know, and we will. I will give you a big horsey ride when I get back. I love you."
"I wuv you, Daddy."
He hung up and went back to the desk. Instead of sitting down, he shut the computer, and went to the couch. He'd just spent the better part of an hour researching the rosters of the police department back many years. He was drawn to it, for some reason that he couldn't yet explain, and it tired him.
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. In one hand, a highball glass dangled, Scotch running over the ice with every movement he made. He took a sip, and closed his eyes again. And without warning, a flood of memories returned, so strong, he had to get up and walk the room to make them stop.
The door opened. It was Blair. "Todd? What are you doing?"
He found himself startled, and his heart raced. It was as if he had gotten caught doing something wrong. He said, "You know I can't be still for long."
She turned to face him, "Todd, what's this about the Chicago Police Department?"
"I . . . don't know," he said, and it was only half true. He'd just been fighting off memories of exactly what she was asking.
"You don't? Were you going to bother telling me that you had some kind of suspicions about the force? I mean, is there something I don't know?" Her voice was not accusatory. In fact, it was making him feel warm inside to the point of wanting to break down, and let out everything he just had remembered moments before, but he wouldn't. He wouldn't because he didn't want to feel it, not now. He wasn't ready. Not yet. He was sweating from working so hard to keep it all at bay.
"I don't know. No. I . . . I can't do this right now, Blair."
"Do what?" she asked tenderly, moving toward him. She noticed that he kept moving, and still had the glass in his hand.
He faltered. Then he said, "Admit what's happening. In my head. I didn't even really know what was in here until I saw that trunk and asked Ribksy those questions. I didn't want you to know . . . I want those men to pay. Somebody."
"What men, My Love?" she was almost right in front of him now.
"These cops, or whatever you want to call them." He seemed frantic, standing inches from her, but she still held back and let him talk. "It's in my mind every night, when I can't sleep. I didn't want you to see me like this again. It's supposed to be over, behind me. I'm over it. Right? Right, Blair?"
"I don't know, Todd. How long does it take someone to get over something like this? It doesn't make you weak if you're not."
"You can't say it never crossed your mind that I might be thinking about it."
"I'm not a mind reader. I don't even know what you mean, Todd." She was puzzled, because he was talking in circles. She suddenly feared for him.
"I wasn't going to tell anyone, and I never did. I kept it all in. It wasn't until, well, you know when, that it came out. What am I supposed to do? My mother, those things that happened to her, and to me, they overlooked it. They're supposed to keep us fucking safe! And I tried, I think, I tried . . ."
She waited a moment, because his last sentence resonated throughout the room, and then she went to him and held him, and he gripped her so tightly that she realized whatever was in him was dying to get out. She whispered, "Half those men aren't even policemen anymore, Todd." She gulped, and said, softly, "I'm your wife. You'd think you'd have learned by now that if something hurts you, it hurts me."
He said, "I need . . . something. I need to . . ."
"What? What do you need?" she said, pulling back from him to see his stricken face.
"I need to stop. I don't want this anymore, but it keeps coming. I just want it over."
She brushed his hair back from his face, and said, "My Love, I'm sorry. But it will be over. It will end."
"I don't know. Just . . . I don't want to do this with you. You have no idea how much I hate bringing this to you. You know everything about me, Blair, everything. And it's not pretty."
"No, it's not, but it's part of you, which means it's part of me. If you are planning a massacre of the Chicago Police Department, to avenge what happened to you as a child, I want to know that."
"I don't know what I'm planning. I don't know anything," he said, pulling her to him again. Suddenly his weight shifted, and she felt as if he were going to fall, so she turned and put her arm around his waist and walked him to the bedroom in the suite.
***
Finishing the tour of Viki and Clint's microfilm room, Jack said, "Uncle Clint, that was really cool seeing the old Banner newspapers on microfilm."
"Well, that process is a little outdated, but it's still cool, I guess."
"I like it. This stuff interests me," Jack said, looking at more papers from the year he was born. "This is pretty ingenious stuff. No technology like now, so they made it happen anyway."
"Exactly, and that's what technology is. Making things happen."
He nodded. "I want to be in this reporting world, you know? I can just feel it. I want to write, and be a media mogul, like my Dad."
"Well, that's a good goal."
"He's making me work my way up."
"I give Todd a lot of credit for that. It's the right thing."
"Not you, too?"
"Yep, me, too. You won't know until later how much having to earn this on your own will actually do for your life. He's right not to hand it to you."
"Did he talk to you first?"
"No. Your father doesn't need my input, or anyone else's, to do what's right for you."
Jack half-smiled. "He helped me through so much. But he was going through so much at the same time. I don't know how he did all that."
"He loves you, that's how."
"He helped me get over a lot. And he helped me mature and get to know him. He's not all bad."
"No, I suspect he's not."
"Well, thanks for this, Uncle Clint. Can I read some more?"
"Sure, Jack. Enjoy your time here. I'm going up to the library. I'll be back in a few."
Jack continued to read The Banner newspaper headlines from his birth year, as Clint went up the stairs.
***
She knocked, softly. She had left Todd, sleeping, after a difficult bout with emotion, and then made her way to his father's room. Within a few minutes, the door opened. "Dad?" she said, and her face was streaming with tears.
"Come in, Bridgette, and tell me what has happened." He put his arm around her shoulders, and she sat on the sofa. He followed her lead and sat beside her, offering her the box of tissues. "What's the matter?"
"It's bad, for him," she said, through tears.
"I figured as much, what else could it be?"
She laughed through her crying a minute, and then said, "He's hiding something, or he's trying to. Whatever it is, he's pushing it back. So much, it almost broke him tonight."
"Since I've known ya, I remember so much of that going on. Perhaps he's just not over all of it, as he claims, or there's more he can't face."
"He's not over it," she said, drying her eyes. "He's not. He keeps saying he is. I just . . . we promised each other to always be honest."
"Y'ar love means too much to the both of ya. But, if he didn't tell ya something, that makes him a liar?"
"Lie of omission, I guess."
He laughed, "Ah, Bridgette, men sometimes don't think to tell ya everything we're feeling."
"He has, recently. I guess. Well, most of the time."
"What's bothering ya, really?"
"The way he acted with Ribsky, a perfect stranger. He never told me he wanted revenge on the Chicago Police Department, and then, just now, he half admitted it, but couldn't express the rest. It was, almost as if he just remembered."
"Maybe he did just remember. Could it be that the trunk, and the visit, have both prompted something? New memories?"
She stood up, paced, wrung her hands. She said, "We . . . always had mistrust between us in the past. I guess you could say I caused it. I said I trusted him, and I lied, early on. But he never trusted me, not really, especially after he came back from Ireland the first time. That's a longer story, but it happened. We were apart so long because of it. He says that's over, but I just get scared when he hides things. . . I don't . . .I'm not just scared that he's not letting me in . . ." She collapsed back to the sofa, her forehead resting in her hand. "I'm scared of what he's facing next."
"I'll tell ya what I think," he said.
She looked at him, as if to accept his words. Her face was still tear-stained, and a puzzled sort of hope was there, that what he had to say might be the answer.
Timothy sat down, near her, and smoothed her hair on one side of her head and said, "Y'ar afraid to lose him. Afraid that with everything that he's learned and dealt with, ya'll be outside of him instead of inside. That he'll close ya out, and ya'll never be able to reach him. I can't think of a man alive that doesn't have some feelings that are secret from even the closest person to him. Sometimes a man has to keep some thoughts inside himself to keep from acting on them all. Or until he's ready to see them become real. Perhaps he was doing that."
She didn't answer, instead, she looked away for a moment, and her eyes squinted as if she were remembering something. She said, "He was so far away from me, then. When he first came back from Ireland. He was . . . so closed off. I never thought we would be like we are now. Ever."
"LIke ya are now, and y'ar sitting here, with me, talking about it. Like ya are now. Remember, that's what we're dealing with here. He's shared the most deepest parts of his pain with ya, things that make him feel less than a man, and what is this thing he hid from ya?"
"Well, I think he wants revenge on the police department here, for something that . . . for something."
"Oh, I see. And that was shocking to ya, ya never thought of it, did ya?"
"Yes, of course I did!" she got riled again, and stood, starting to pace in front of the couch. "Of course I thought of it. I thought of it myself, to be honest. Why didn't they help him. Why didn't they save him? Why didn't they take care of him? I've thought about it many times."
"So, then, it's not a secret, eh?"
She stopped and looked at him sharply, "Well, no, and I know where you're going with this. But what does he want revenge for? Just what happened," she said, frustrated, "or is there more?"
"I do think there's more, Bridgette, I do," he said, through a half-smile. "But he kept this idea of revenge from ya, and he's let ya into things far worse and things ya never could have imagined. And yes, he should have told ya his plans, but for goodness sake, sometimes it takes time. He would have told ya, sooner or later, and with everything he's had to go through, possibly he needed to have something that was just his, even for a while. Y'ar just reacting because y'ar afraid he'll close up to ya again. But he won't, Dear Heart, he won't. He won't because he can't live without ya, and he knows what that means."
Timothy stood up just as Blair sat down again. "Where are you going," she asked him.
"To talk to the Lad. I'll iron this one out; he may need a father's word."
"I'm going with you, then. Not saying you're right but . . ." she faded into softness, "you're, well, you're basically right."
The two of them headed to his suite, and she fixed herself, drying off the remnants of angry tears and smoothing her clothing. Timothy knocked. "Son, it's y'ar Pappy, open the door and make it snappy!" the older man said, and Blair smiled weakly.
"He's sleeping, or was. He may not hear you. He was so tired."
He knocked again, and again. No one came to the door. Blair said, "Where is he? Oh, I forgot my damn key!"
"In the shower, likely. Let's go back to my room, and we'll call him in ten, all right?"
They returned to Timothy's room, and she plopped herself back onto the couch. Timothy made tea, which she was grateful for, because after their sojourn to the suite, she had gotten quite chilled. She sipped her tea, and her father-in-law got out some Irish biscuits that he had brought in his suitcase, and she took one and ate it slowly.
After a few minutes, Timothy dialed Todd's number. He answered, and Blair could only hear Timothy's end of the conversation. "Hello, Son, are ya out of the shower, then? What?" There was a long pause where Todd was talking. Then Timothy said, "She's with me, she's all right. Don't ya worry about her. We came to talk to ya, we'll just come over now. Huh? What's that? Todd, wait, where are ya? Todd. Not a good idea, just turn y'ar car around and come back. Todd?" He brought to phone down to his side. "He's hung up, Bridgette."
She pulled her phone out of her pocketbook, and saw a missed message, and five missed calls. Reading the text, she felt her stomach tighten.
I have to do this, on my own. I'm fighting something, something in me that wants to get out. Babe, please try and understand. I don't understand myself, so someone has to. I didn't mean to keep anything from you, but I just . . . couldn't say it to you, not yet. Someone has to pay for what happened to us. Someone has to pay for looking away. I have to handle it, and if I go it alone, I do. I love you, always. ~TM
"Oh my God," she said, "He's all alone with this, and God, I'm so stupid."
Timothy took the phone from her. "But perhaps he wants to be alone with it?" He continued to read the text and sat beside her, eyes glued to the screen, and his hand on her back, gently patting.
"He can't. I . . . how can he face it by himself? He needs someone. He even almost says so in his own way. Oh, God, where is he?"
"Off to try and right a wrong? Or at least get ideas for how, I'd say."
"I'm going after him." She got up and took her purse with her. She went to the door.
"Where, Bridgette? Ya don't know where to start?"
"I think I do," she said.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
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