He places the receiver back into its cradle and sets the phone down beside his feet. The action has him bent over his knees perched upon the bed's edge and he stays there a moment bringing his palms to his eyes. He presses tightly waiting for the ring of light that appears to come into focus and then presses harder till it breaks apart into hundreds of small scintillating pixels. Only after his eyes ache from the pressure, does he remove his hands from his face and swing his body onto the bed. He rests the side of his head onto the rigid and musty pillow and listens to the low creak the bedsprings make below the thin thread-worn mattress in response to his movement.
He takes in an enormous lungful of air and holds it a moment before letting out a ragged staggering exhale willing his shallow and erratic breathing to return to normal. His pulse feels so heavy in his chest he imagines he can hear it thudding loudly in the stale air. Unbidden, his mind returns to the conversation he's just concluded.
'It's your son. Danny.' Why did saying those simple words leave him feeing like he'd run a marathon?
His father's voice sounds both foreign and familiar. He tries to imagine a face to go with it as awkward pleasantries are exchanged and arrangements made. There is the photograph from his mother's bedside table he pretends not to know about. A young handsome face not unlike his own and remarkably similar to Richie's stares out from it smiling proudly with his arm snaked around the frame of his beaming new bride. He wonders: did she have any reservations on that bright August morning? Did she suspect the pain and betrayal waiting for her? Did he?
He's put himself out on a ledge again, something he's been doing with disturbing frequency since Mindy's become a part of his life. And for what? He imagined that he'd feel some sort of relief after the call, some release of the pressure that's been weighing on his chest since he'd landed in LA. Since they'd planned the trip. Since his father left. Truthfully he's been running from this feeling his whole life and now that he's finally stopped running and turned around he's feeling the full force of it overwhelming him. This moment feels as if he's standing in the eye of the storm, the calm stillness of this dimly lit room masking the storm front he must pass through tomorrow.
Now that he's nudged the first domino he isn't sure he's ready for them all to fall. Richie had done it and Danny knew, though he hated to admit it, that his brother was better off for it. But it was different for him. Their Dad never left because of Richie. How could he have? Richie'd only been a baby the day he and his mother had stayed up late into the night calling hospitals and police stations looking for a man who was never coming home to them.
His father hadn't left Richie, not really anyhow. But he had left Danny. Walked away from a boy he'd taken to school each morning, taught to score Yankee's games, and kissed goodnight every evening. Danny hadn't been worth staying for. He's been running from the inadequacy ever since.
He picks up his phone once more. The bright numbers on the display screen telling him that he should really get to bed and that Mindy hasn't returned his call. He knows that its reasonable that he should rank somewhat lower on her list of priorities since she's gotten together with Cliff, but it still stings a little that he literally has no one in the world that he can talk to about this right now.
And it's this feeling more than anything that steels his resolve about tomorrow. He's in the eye of the storm and there is no way out but through it. He just hopes he won't have to go it alone.