"And you would know this."
"Yes. I know this. When Erin died, it took me all too long, and it only made things worse."
He looked over the hillside. Then, he looked back to Timothy. "You have any plans?"
"No, my plan is to wait here for ya, if ya want. As long as ya need."
"Would you go with me, over there?" He nodded toward the hill where Timothy had told him that his wife was at rest.
"If that's what ya want, I'm willing."
He nodded, and Timothy kept walking, Ribsky trailing behind.
Finally, over the hillside, they came to her gravesite; the stone her son had chosen was rose in color, and very small, with her name etched clearly. "There's another plot here, for me," Ribsky said, still standing back. Timothy stepped to the side, as if to invite the widower closer. He gingerly stepped up and looked down. He said, "Another plot, right next to hers. We bought them that way."
"I understand," Timothy said, stepping back.
"Pam," he said, and nothing more. He lowered his head, and was quiet for a moment. He repeated, "Pam." He turned back to Timothy. "She's really gone."
"Yes."
"She left me."
"Yes."
"When she first got sick, and we made that list, we both cried all night when we were done. Then she said, 'there's no more crying after this, let's just do those things and do them well.'"
"Y'ar angry with her, for leaving before ya had the chance."
Ribsky looked back to the grave. "I guess I am."
"It's part of it. Not strange, not something to be ashamed of. Being angry is part of it, believe me. Ya don't feel guilty about it."
"I don't understand why she did this to us? She . . . we had time left."
"But, she didn't."
Timothy placed a strong hand on the man's shoulder as Ribsky broke down. The Irishman said, "Ya have to go on, ya know that."
"I can't see it. Without Pam? I can't see anything more."
"There's more. There's y'ar son, and his children. There's so much more. I felt the same, until Todd and his family gave me a reason, and then, I sobered up and found my purpose. Ya have one, ya do. If ya let it be seen."
He sniffed and went to his knee. "Pam," he said, lightly touching the disturbed ground. "I'm sorry."
Timothy continued to keep his hand on Jack's shoulder, even if just to let him know there was someone else there that he could turn to. Finally, after a while longer, Ribsky stood up. "Pam, I'm going now. I'll . . . be talking to you," he said, "every night."
***
"Hello, Dorie," Timothy said, tossing his sport coat on the couch, after removing his mud-ridden shoes. The hotel had already brought his bags down to the lobby, and his rental car was being brought around.
"Timothy." She said his name, decidedly, and he loved the way it sounded from her mouth.
"Yes, Beautiful," he said. "I'm coming home. Probably later today. My work here seems to be finished. At last."
"Will the men be prosecuted?" she asked.
He was surprised at her first question. "It's not what it seems. I'll fill ya in later. But, ah, y'ar very concerned with that, eh?"
"Well," she said, moderately embarrassed, "I do care about my niece."
"Ya care about y'ar nephew, too. Ya just can't admit that ya love the boy."
"Oh come now, Timothy, he's not a boy," she said.
"He may as well be one, since his childhood was taken from him. And this ya very well know, Dorie."
She pursed her lips, remembering Todd, at the penthouse, a few weeks back, and the words she'd overheard. "I suppose. He does behave rather childishly at times. But, is it over for him? I mean, for Blair and the children?"
"Ya need to ask him if it's over for him, Dorie. A conversation with him might not hurt, letting him know ya were pulling for him in this, and that y'ar glad it's come toward an end."
"I suppose, but that's neither here nor there right now," she said. Then she continued, "As his lawyer, I am sure you know there was an incident? I'd think you'd know about it. Blair said that his memories were triggered by some items in a trunk, and he ran off to Greece to kill Zeus."
Timothy second guessed her. "He ran off to Greece because of a trunk?" he asked, emphasizing how ridiculous she sounded.
"Well, no. He was looking through the trunk and dealing with memories, and Sam mentioned something Zeus had done to him as a child, and Todd lost his mind and ran off to murder the man."
Timothy wasn't upset by her words, in fact, he calmly said, "But he didn't."
"Well, no, how did you know that?"
"Because in my estimation, Dear Heart, Blair went after him, eh?"
"Well, yes," she began.
"And in y'ar heart, ya know he's not a violent man, not by nature, only by nurture, correct?"
She didn't answer at first. Then she said, "I suppose that's true."
"He wouldn't kill the child's father, and likely, not any man, unless to protect his family. He was chasing monsters of his own, he was, and I dare say he won." His voice showed a victorious exuberance.
And pride.
She went on, fishing, "What about the men who ignored his calls when he was a boy? Did you find them? What did you mean when you said, 'it's not what it seems?'"
"Let's just say those monsters are at rest as well," he said.
"Get home, soon," she said.
"I will be. And ya take care of that woman on the other end of the line who just wants to go and hug her nephew and tell him she loves him, but somehow can't. I love ya, Dorie." He hung up.
***
Todd went to his office and saw a pile of mail on his desk. With all the involvement in the Zeus situation, letters and advertisements had collected, and he'd not had the chance to go through them.
He began to sort through the letters and postcards, and saw a mix of junk and real mail, sorting it into two piles.
It was then that he came to a plain white envelope with a handwritten address, direct to him. Not recognizing what it was, he opened it, casually, and began to read.
Manning,
John McBain should really be more careful about what he promises to those he needs to rely on in the future, whether it be to give information or hold back from doing the things they long to do to those that wronged them.
Nevertheless, all I've wanted was one thing, and that was to see your mother, again. She's a woman, a very grown woman, who can make her own choices, and, as she has in the past, you won't hold her back from seeing me, not ultimately.
I helped save your child, your life and Barbara and Blair's by giving John McBain the information he wanted.
Should this go unrewarded?
I'm asking, once more, and this last time, cordially, that you bring your mother, Barbara, to me. I won't be speaking of what will happen if you stop her from coming to see me, because there's no need for that. In fact, I am positive she wants to see me, as I do her. I suggest you heed.
~The Messenger."Bastard," he said aloud, crumpling the letter in his palm. He tossed it into the wastebasket, missing, and continued to look through the pile.
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