April 1990
He usually doesn't trust his gut feelings much, but Mac's sure something big's gonna happen. Maybe even tomorrow.
If Murdoc is who Thornton says he is- and these days Mac has no doubt after unexpectedly coming across a certain secret room while working on the boiler in the theatre basement- then he'll respond to the invitation tucked in that old tea tin. The cheap coffee grounds from the shop instead of Lapsang Souchong ought to grab the assassin's attention, at the very least.
Now it's a week later, and he's watching his niece as she sleeps.
Becky's on her side, lips slightly parted, her breathing deep, slow and even. Glasses dangle in one hand and a book rests open on the floor next to the bed. Must've fallen asleep while reading again.
A fond smile crosses his lips. She's never stopped being a bookworm. Or a night-owl, either.
If there's anything he's gonna regret about tomorrow it's leaving her behind to handle the aftermath. All alone with only Jack to help her face the gossip and hateful rumors that will doubtless spring up. But he knows she can handle it; the shy, quiet teenager he remembers from four years ago has been replaced by a clever, brash young woman, full of vim and fire. Becky's always been mature for her age, but now she's more than ready to deal with anything that comes her way.
Yet no matter what happens after tomorrow- if Murdoc comes through on his end or not- in his heart she'll always be his own brave little princess. He's so very proud of her, and he knows his sister would be too, if she were still alive.
I miss you, Allison. So very much. Wherever you are, look after Becky while I'm gone, would ya?
He swallows the lump forming in his throat, remembering the day when everything changed.
May 1986
Late spring in Minnesota. Welcoming warmth after an especially long, bitter winter. Steady rain, but that just makes the coffee shop seem that much more cozy and inviting.
Mac leans back in one of the booths and peruses the Mission City Star during the afternoon lull, shaking his head over the discordant ways of the world. The horrific nuclear accident in Chernobyl. Nelson Mandela still imprisoned. Montreal beat Calgary four games to one for the Stanley Cup.
The phone rings, and he goes to answer. "Hello?"
"Is this Angus MacGyver?"
He can't help but wince. "Speaking."
"I'm Officer Wilson with the Oregon State Police. You're the next of kin for Allison Grahme, correct?"
"Yeah, I'm her brother-"
"I'm afraid I have some bad news regarding her and her family."
His blood runs cold at the impersonal tone. "What happened?"
"Sir, I regret to inform you that your sister, her husband and their son died in an automobile accident earlier this morning..."
Mac listens to the news with a growing sense of shock. This can't be happening. Allison, Michael, Chris, all dead? Not possible.
Oh, god. Becky.
"Whoa, hold on. What about their daughter?"
"Your niece? Rebecca's fine, she's here beside me. Would you like to speak with her?"
"Please."
A long pause.
"Uncle Mac?" Becky's voice sounds so small over the line.
"Hey, sweetheart. How are you?"
"Fine, I guess. Unc, I don't know what to do-" She chokes up, and Mac finds his own throat closing in sympathy.
He swallows. "It's okay, Becky. Take a deep breath. You got someone looking after you?"
"Yeah. Officer Wilson, and a nice lady from Child Services. And Mr. Malinowski, he's a friend of Mom and Dad."
"Good. Stay with them, I'll be there as soon as possible. I need to talk to the officer again, okay? Love you, princess. Be brave."
"Love you too, Uncle Mac. See you soon."
After speaking to the State Trooper he hangs up the phone. Stares into space for a while.
Then Mac steels himself, flips the Open sign to Closed and scrawls a note for anyone who comes by.
He goes to his money stash, takes out what he hopes will be enough for a round-trip ticket, Minneapolis to Portland, and a rental car to Salem. Packs a suitcase and game bag for a carryon, making sure to include his best dark suit (complete with a tie, though he doesn't like wearing it).
Then he locks up the shop and heads out to the jeep parked in the garage, noting with relief there's enough gas to reach the airport and back.
He almost turns on the ignition but stops. Leans his head on the steering wheel, tears streaming down his face.
Oh, god. Allison. Michael. Chris.
Becky.
He's all she has left. What's gonna happen to her now?
The drive to the airport in the rain was long and the flight took forever, so Mac doesn't arrive at the house in Salem until almost midnight, local time. Three a.m. back in Mission City; it's raining here as much as it was there.
He's wiped out, but the day's not over yet.
There's an unfamiliar car parked in front. A lamp shines through the living room window, and the porch light is on.
The door opens to a dark-skinned man with glasses, his pressed shirt and chinos putting Mac's flannels and best blue jeans to shame. "You must be Angus," he says in a soft, deep voice. "Brian Malinowski, I'm a friend of Allison and Michael. And their attorney. My sincerest condolences for your loss."
"Thanks. Just MacGyver, please." They shake hands. "How's Becky doing?"
"As well as can be expected. She's upstairs in her room. Sleeping, I hope. Care for some coffee?"
"Sure."
The kitchen's a familiar sight, pleasantly spacious. Scene of many a heartwarming occasion. Tonight a single pendant spotlights the table, darkness gathering at the corners of the room. Only the glowing green digits displaying the time on the microwave and coffeemaker serve as additional illumination.
Malinowski pours the dark fragrant liquid- Mac's experienced nose can tell it's high quality, Allison never did skimp on the good stuff- into two mugs. They sit at the table by the bay window facing the backyard.
For a while all they can do is sip and stare out into the night, hearing the raindrops hitting the roof, each lost in their own thoughts. Mac can't think of the last time he was here when the house was so quiet. It's peaceful, but an unsettling sort of peace.
He finally breaks the silence. "Do you know how it happened?"
"They were heading to Camp Meriwether, the Boy Scout camp near the coast. Michael was going to be director for the summer, and Chris one of the counselors before heading off to join the Navy in September, I knew that much beforehand. According to Officer Wilson a logging truck on the two-lane highway was barrelling towards them when its brakes suddenly gave out; the trailer jackknifing across both lanes so Allison couldn't miss it no matter what she did. Both trailer and cab hit the car on impact. Wilson was first on the scene. No one survived, not even the driver of the truck."
"Oh, god."
"You said it. I identified the bodies. Not a pretty sight." There's a slight tremor in Malinowski's voice at the memory, then he sighs, visibly shaking the bleak mood away. "Anyway. The coroner's office still needs you to come in tomorrow, for formality's sake before releasing them for burial. Feel up to it?"
"Guess so. Not taking Becky with me, though."
"I wouldn't either, if I were you. The social worker's coming by in the morning to look after her. Did Allison ever talk to you about caring for Becky?"
"Just in a general sense. They ever draw up a will with you?"
"No. I mentioned it to them several times, but they were too busy to make an appointment, what with careers and raising two teenagers and all. The estate will have to go through probate to get everything settled, and that'll take a few months, I'm afraid." Malinowski drains his cup. "We'll talk more tomorrow. I'd better be off."
Mac finishes his and stands with him. "Thanks for being here."
"Not a problem. Mike and Allie were good friends of mine; I'll do whatever it takes to help you and Becky." They shake hands. "I'll see myself out. Nice meeting you, MacGyver."
"Same here. See you tomorrow."
When Malinowski's gone Mac stares out the window again for a while, then rouses himself and rinses the cups in the sink. Tired beyond belief he trudges upstairs, stopping at the faint glow peeking from under the doorway to his niece's bedroom.
He opens the door. Becky looks up, startled, book in one hand and flashlight in the other. "Uncle Mac?"
He gives her a weary smile. "Up past your bedtime again, huh?"
The silent tears that start rolling down her face are too much for him. He's by her side in an instant, enfolding her small, slight body in his embrace, letting her cry onto his leather jacket.
"Oh, Unc. They're gone," she sobs.
"I know, sweetheart. I'm here. I've got you."
"Always? No matter what?"
"Always. Promise."
It's a tight fit in her twin-size bed but he manages to arrange his longer frame so they're spooning. Just before he slips under he realizes he left his luggage downstairs. Not that it matters right now.
He never wants to let her go, and she doesn't want him to.
For breakfast he makes her tea to go with eggs and toast and asks about school. Her answers are monosyllabic.
Not much of a morning person, he recalls Allison saying once. Something to keep in mind.
Margaret Doyle from Child Services arrives after the dishes are washed, middle-aged and motherly. She clucks over Becky, hands Mac brochures on foster care and other legal options. When Malinowski arrives to take him to the coroner's office she's got her briefcase open, papers spread out on the dining room table.
"Be back soon as I can," he murmurs to Becky sitting nearby, kissing her on the forehead.
"Sure, Unc." She returns to her homework.
It's not them, lying there on the cold metal slabs.
Okay, it's their bodies under the white sheets. But what gave them life, vitality, intelligence, wit- that's what's gone. That's what Mac misses, looking down at them.
But he says the words anyway. Yes, that's my sister Allison. My brother-in-law Michael. My nephew Christopher.
Not his niece Rebecca, thank god.
Not his own Becky.
Small favor she'd had to stay home that day, he supposes, instead of heading to the coast with her family. Finishing middle school, preparing for semester finals in a week and a half.
Too much studying to even take a brief break to visit the coast, her most favorite place in the state. Now she never will, or at least it'll be years before she can see the Pacific again.
After the coroner tucks the bodies away there are forms to fill out, arrangements to make with a mortuary and funeral home. The usual pomp, circumstance and bureaucracy surrounding the burial of the dead.
He hates paperwork with a vengeance, but completes everything regardless. Necessary evils, Mom called them once.
Lunch with Malinowski afterwards, idle chit-chat over burgers at a fast-food joint. Then back to his sister's house to begin that other necessary evil.
Dealing with whatever's left behind.
The funeral takes place five days later. Easier to have a service and burial for all three at the same time than separately. More cost-effective, too; funds will be tight until everything goes through probate. Fortunately he has access through a local branch to his bank account back in Minnesota to cover everything, even after his latest alimony payment to Ellen.
On the whole it's a nice service, with fond memories and funny stories shared by many people- some from Allison's university and the middle school in town where Michael taught, some from the commune up in Seattle, friends of Chris (the Scout troop even presents a color guard in his honor).
Mac tries his best to be sociable under the circumstances, but Becky's a solemn and pale shadow of herself through the entire afternoon.
(In fact she's been more than usually subdued ever since he got here. She doesn't speak much, and for the most part everyone understands.)
After the brief gathering at the house she disappears without one word to Mac. He has an idea where she's headed but decides to gives her space.
He stares at the stacks of boxes scattered around him, full of all the things in the house remaining not marked either for sale or donation. So many memories in this house for him. The night he drove Allison to the hospital to deliver Becky. When she took her first steps, right towards him in front of the couch.
He'd do anything for his niece. So why doesn't he sell the shop, move away from Minnesota, take care of her here? God knows the climate's better, and there's no mortgage to worry about.
(Like Jack had suggested one movie night after the divorce was finalized. Fly off into the sunset together, and to hell with serving people coffee in crummy Mission City. That was, however, right before he got arrested and thrown into prison.)
On the other hand, what, realistically, could he do to support Becky, if he did move here? Not even a college degree, no real job prospects. All he really knows is running a coffee shop, and there are probably enough of those in this town already, to keep the wheels of state government running smoothly. Work as a mechanic? Maybe head up into the mountains, work in a logging camp or something?
Before those can be seriously considered as options the doorbell rings. It's Brian. "Sorry to call upon you so soon after the service," he apologizes.
"No problem. Come on in. Coffee's on, if you want some."
"Thanks." Once they're in the kitchen he opens his briefcase, taking out a sheaf of papers. "More paperwork, I'm afraid. Only this time it's all about Becky. You have to make a decision about what to do for her. She's still a minor, you know."
"Yeah. So, only two options, right?"
"Exactly. Adopt her, become her legal guardian or she goes into foster care. We'll try to find her a good, stable home here in the state if you don't want to look after her in Minnesota."
Mac frowns at the thought. "She won't like having to live with absolute strangers, and I gotta admit the idea doesn't sound too good to me either."
But then again, he silently wonders, how would she like the Midwest, after being accustomed all her life to a more temperate climate? The winters will be so hard for her.
"I'm glad you think that way. For Becky's sake I do hope you agree to be her guardian. I saw how she looked only to you for comfort during the service, which reflects in a way how very close a relationship you have with her. I recall Allie and Mike talking a lot about you, all of it highly favorable. They once remarked, in fact, that if they died while the kids were still young they'd want you to take care of them, especially Becky."
"Did they now."
"Then there's the question of financial security. You run a coffee shop, right?"
"Yeah. Inherited it from my mom, actually."
"Sounds like a stable enough environment to me."
Mac shrugs. "If you can call it that. Nothing really exciting about it."
"We'll try to sell Mrs. Doyle on that. Though it shouldn't be too difficult to convince her, coupled with the fact that you're her only surviving blood relative. Mike was an only child with no living family of his own, after all."
Malinowski reaches into the briefcase and hands Mac a set of documents. "These papers outline the terms of guardianship, and the responsibilities both of you will have to each other. Please read them and think about it. I know it's a big decision and a big commitment to make. It'll require at least some discussion between the two of you, so take your time. Once you decide, let me know and I'll handle all the legal filing and any court appearances, free of charge."
Mac thumbs through the second set of papers. It's true he doesn't like the idea of his niece having to stay in a foster home with people neither of them know (or trust), but the thought of subjecting her to his miserable, humdrum life if she lives with him instead is equally unsettling.
So what's the best decision for her future? Should I go ahead and choose, or allow her to make the call? His thoughts were in a turmoil.
"I'll definitely think about it," he temporizes, "and talk to Becky. Thanks for stopping by. I really appreciate all your help and support."
"Think nothing of it. It's the least I can do for Allie and Mike. They were good friends when I needed it, back in the day. Give me a call when you finally decide."
After he's gone Mac sits for a while longer then he leaves the house, heading down the tree-lined streets of the neighborhood to the large city park only a few blocks away.
Time to have a chat with Becky about her future.
It never had a name, really.
Landmarks within it had names (Darkmaze Woods, Whitefoam River, Sweetshade Forest, the Lone Watchtower, the Whispering Sea, the Ironheart Mountains), but never the kingdom itself. Mac has no idea why.
In reality it's a small corner, a hidden meadow at the edge of a city park. But to Becky it's as vast as her imagination can get.
He clearly remembers one beautiful summer day when he joined them on a picnic to that park, and she revealed to her confidant and best friend her own secret imaginary magical realm. After that they spent many hours during the remainder of his visit together, sharing special moments, and he figures that's where she'll most likely be.
Always fair and slight, Becky seems even more fragile as she sits on the old stump that had been the throne and palace of her daydreams, arms wrapped around her legs, staring into space.
She looks as isolated and lost as he feels.
"Hey, Becky. How's it going?"
She glances up towards him but makes no reply.
He sits down beside her, reaches out and starts stroking her hair ever so lightly. "It's all right, sweetheart. You know you can talk to me. C'mon."
There's a long pause, then she finally speaks. "It's all gone. There's no magic here anymore. I've been trying to imagine what everything looked like, but can't see any of it. It's just a wooded corner and a small meadow by a creek at the edge of a city park. I've lost everything."
"No, you haven't. I'm still here, your most faithful knight and consort- remember, my princess? When you first revealed your secret kingdom to me I promised I'd always be here for you. I never go back on a promise, you know that. There's still magic here, I'm sure of it."
"Why should I believe you? Nobody likes me, or cares about me. Why does everyone make fun of me? Why can't somebody just come right out and say, 'I like you'?"
He's getting worried by the querulous tone of her voice. "Hey, I like you, Becky. A lot. I always have. C'mon, why else do you think I hang around you all the time?"
"What's wrong with me? Maybe I really am a nerd, like everybody says in school. I'm not popular, I like to read and study, and I'm not good at any sport. I'm short and not pretty. Nobody pays attention to me. I might as well be invisible, for all anybody cares."
God. It may not be the same worries but she sounds just like him. Every flavor of self-doubt he's ever had.
Harry's desertion. The ill-fated marriage to Ellen. His mother's illness, and the promise she made him swear on her deathbed. The debacle with the Impeller patent. The constant struggles keeping the coffee shop afloat. The pathetic way he has to hide his relationship with the only one in Mission City who understands him. And now the loss of almost all of his family.
Except for her. Since he and Ellen never had kids he's treated his nephew and niece almost as his own children. She's so much like him it's scary. But he can't let her beat herself up over the past the same way he does.
"Becky, stop it. Stop hurting yourself over something that was an accident. It wasn't your fault, not at all."
"But Unc, it must've been, somehow! Why else did they die? Maybe I wasn't good enough...I didn't please them enough...I didn't try hard enough...I didn't..."
She collapses against Mac, sobbing uncontrollably. Eventually tears also flow freely down his face as well. He holds her tight against him as together they give voice to their shared grief and pain.
At length the tears stop. Gently he turns up her face then tenderly kisses her forehead and produces a handkerchief, carefully wiping at the remaining tears. "You're gonna be okay, Becky. I'm still here, and I love you so very much. You're not alone, and above all you're not a terrible person. They loved you because you're always kind, smart and helpful, and you made them very happy. Just like you've always made me happy. My brave princess."
"You mean all that, Unc?"
"Of course I do. You had nothing to do with it, absolutely nothing. Bad things just happen sometimes, and the best we can do is pick up the pieces and try to make the best of what's around us, so maybe it won't happen again."
"I wish I could believe you."
"You will. Maybe not now, but someday you'll understand. Believe me."
"If you say so." Mac knows she's still unconvinced (he doesn't blame her at all for feeling that way) but it's something she'll have to figure out for herself later on.
He wishes her the best of luck, as he has yet to learn that lesson himself.
"But what happens now? Where do I go from here?"
Good question.
He can't go on like this, and neither can she. Becky shouldn't be left alone, to wallow forever in grief and self-pity.
So there's only one thing he can do. Take her in himself.
Hold on now, where'd that thought come from?
He's just got clear of the divorce, the worst of the Impeller lawsuit is behind him (or so he hopes) and all that's left are the legal fees to Newberry. Keeping the shop running's a month-by-month struggle as it is. And who knows what else might happen to him financially, down the road.
Besides, what does he know about raising a teenage girl by himself? There are no ladies currently in his life since Mom died and Ellen's gone. (Okay, there's Penny, but honestly she's too scatterbrained to be relied on.) Aside from Jack- who won't get out until September as it is- there's no one else around to care for her when he gets too busy.
But on the other hand, there's Becky. Bright, clever, cheerful. The sweetest, most precious thing in his life. Maybe she'll even help fix whatever's broken inside him, just by being around.
If there's one thing he knows for certain is that if he gives her over to the care of strangers and something bad happens to her, he'll never forgive himself.
Sometimes you gotta take a chance, Bud. Harry told him that once.
Really, what other choice does he have?
He takes a deep breath. "Remember Mr. Malinowski? According to him, legally you're too young to live by yourself but there are a couple options available, until you turn eighteen. For example, you could go stay with foster parents; we'd make sure that they're trustworthy and good to you, and I'd naturally get to visit."
"I don't wanna live with complete strangers. What's the second option?"
"You could come live with me, in Minnesota. I'd become your legal guardian. It'd be tough because things will be very different for you- living in a small town in another state, leaving everything here behind. But I think you can handle it."
"You really think so, Unc?"
"Hey, have I ever lied to you? You can do anything you put your mind to, Becky, don't ever forget that."
She smiles faintly. "I remember the stories you used to tell me, about the smartest princess in the world."
His hands gently cradle her face, stroking the last of the tears away. "And she's still here, right in front of me. I promise I'll do my best to take care of you, sweetheart. I'll do anything to make sure you're happy and safe. You know how much I love you, and I honestly think we'll be good for each other. So what do you say? You wanna give it a try?"
He watches her consider his words and waits anxiously for her answer. It's a major decision for her, one that will determine the course of both their lives from that moment on.
Finally she looks up at him, eyes shining with relief and love. "Yeah, Uncle Mac. I want to live with you. I'd like you to be my guardian, no matter what happens in the future. Because I love you, and I think we'll be good for each other too."
"You mean it?" She nods, and for the first time in days- or maybe even longer than that- he feels himself grinning. On impulse he gathers her up in a warm and affectionate hug. "That's great, Becky. I love you too," he murmurs as their foreheads touch. "I'm so glad you decided to stay with me."
"So am I. But what happens now?"
"For starters, let's get back to the house. There are some forms to fill out, then I'll call Malinowski and let him do the filing and all the other legal stuff. It may take a week or so for everything to be processed so you can leave the state, and while that's going on I have to go back to Minnesota to get things ready."
She nods. "Whatever you need to do, Unc. I can stay here until then. I've got finals to take next week, anyway."
God, he's proud of her. So brave. "That's my girl. It won't be long, I promise." Becky stands on tiptoe and he bends down half way, accepting her kiss. They turn away from the meadow, leaving the secret imaginary kingdom and her childhood behind.
Ready to face whatever lies ahead, good or bad.
One week later.
Paperwork's been sorted, legal guardianship and permission for Becky to leave the state granted. Mac's consulted with Newberry, gotten his help in setting things in motion for her legal residence in Minnesota.
The hardest part's been breaking the news to Jack in prison, breaking off their illicit rendezvous and smuggling operation, as well as any future plans for leaving Mission City behind together. Hard, but necessary; he just can't draw any more unpleasant attention to himself now he's got Becky's welfare to look after. Maybe someday Jack will understand, though Mac certainly doesn't expect forgiveness for smashing his fondest wish to pieces.
Everything's ready in the apartment above the shop for her arrival. An exhaustive cleaning from top to bottom; even the towels have been folded. He grimaces at the rent in the window seat cushion and other signs of wear and tear over the years, not really fixable on such short notice.
He decides Becky should have Allison's room- the one with the dormer window and view of the woods beyond the town to the east- so he moves all his books and science magazines back into his old room, with its eclectic mix of bookcases and improvised brick-and-board shelf units for additional storage. A fairly decent place to have a library, actually.
Then for the first time in years he airs out the master bedroom. Where his mother used to sleep, which he hadn't been in since right after she died. (For some reason he couldn't bring himself to move in even after Ellen left him, preferring to sleep either in his room, on the sofa or at Jack's place.)
He changes the sheets and hangs his clothes in the closet. Puts socks, jeans and underwear in the empty dresser drawers.
After a final inspection of everything he nods in satisfaction and comes downstairs in time to see the door open, ringing in another customer.
Only it's Malinowski and Doyle the social worker. And Becky.
Mac's heart goes out to her. She's so pale, eyes bright behind her glasses with unshed tears. Standing there in jeans, white blouse and denim jacket, auburn hair in a ponytail. Three suitcases, a blue bookbag and a purse resting at her feet contain only clothes and other personal items; the books and her various sewing projects- including several unfinished quilts- are coming by UPS in a few days, or so Malinowski told him over the phone last night.
Everything else was left behind. Such a brave girl, heading into the unknown.
God, what has he done? He only hopes neither of them will come to regret this.
No one speaks. He has to make the first move.
Mac steps forward, shakes hands with Malinowski and Doyle, envelops her in a warm hug. "Hey, Becky. How was the flight?"
"Okay." She looks around the shop. "Gee, I remember this place being a lot bigger the last time I was here. Did it shrink?"
That breaks the ice, and everyone relaxes. "Nope," he chuckles, "you were just that much smaller. C'mon, I'll make you some hot chocolate."
"Coffee for me, thanks," Malinowski says.
"And for me," adds Doyle.
Soon everyone's settled in one of the booths, going over the last bit of paperwork over their drinks. Forms are signed by himself and Becky and suddenly everything's official.
Mac can tell she's getting restless. "Hey," he suggests, "why don't you go out to the backyard? A farmer just sold me a couple new chickens for the coop, since we need the eggs."
"What kind are they?"
"Orpingtons. Nice and fluffy hens, good layers. Named Priscilla and Posy- she's the darker one. You should go introduce yourself."
"Oh. Okay." She dashes off, leaving the relieved adults to their conversation.
Finally Malinowski and Doyle depart for their return flight, with handshakes and plenty of good wishes.
Leaving Mac alone. Yet no longer completely alone.
Becky comes in from the backyard, grinning. "They're terrific, Unc! I think we'll get along great together."
Here begins the rest of his life, he thinks. And hers.
"I sure hope so," he says softly.
Hours later, he closes up the shop and fixes them dinner. Afterwards they watch TV for a while, snuggled together on the couch. He has a feeling they'll be doing a lot of that from now on.
He's looking forward to it.
Then she starts yawning.
"Hey, you look tired. Ready for bed yet?"
"Why? It's not even 10 o'clock. You know I'm a night-owl." Another yawn. "I'm fine, Unc. Really."
Suddenly he realizes the full extent of the responsibility he's just taken on for the next four years. He's now her surrogate parent, instead of merely an indulgent uncle.
He doesn't know whether to be scared or excited at the idea. Maybe a little of both.
With someone as smart and perceptive as Becky it'll obviously take a light touch, he decides. "Well, why don't you go shower and change into your pajamas anyway? Then whenever you're ready all you have to do is climb into bed."
"You think I should?"
"Couldn't hurt, right? There's a set of new blue towels especially for you in the bathroom. Mine are the brown ones. I'll be right out here if you need anything."
Fifteen minutes later there's the sound of a hair dryer then the door opens, releasing a cloud of steam and Becky in her pajamas. She looks exhausted.
"Okay, you win," she sighs. "It's been a really long day. I guess it's time for bed after all."
He smiles. "C'mon, I'll tuck you in."
He almost trips over one of her suitcases in her new room. School doesn't start until September, though; there's plenty of time for unpacking and settling in.
"I'm really glad you're here, Becky. You know that?"
"I know, Unc. I'm glad to be here too. I really miss them, though. All the time."
"So do I," he admits as she climbs into bed.
He smooths the sheet and blankets over her, then tenderly kisses her forehead. "Good night, sweetheart. Love you. Sleep well."
"Love you too, Uncle Mac. See you in the morning." She smiles and closes her eyes, soon falling into deep, peaceful slumber.
He turns her light off and watches her for a while, then closes the door. It feels right having her here, though he can't explain why.
Maybe things will work out after all.
All that happened four years ago, and now here they are.
He stares for a long time, committing everything about her to memory. Then without making a sound he moves to the bed and carefully loosens her grip on the glasses, setting them on the bedside table. Bestows on her soft cheek the lightest of kisses- smiling as her own lips curl up as if in response- and leaves the room, closing the door silently behind him.
Tomorrow, everything might change in an instant. One last-ditch effort to make something of himself. He could live, or he could die. He accepts that.
But one thing won't change, and that's the bond he shares with Becky, as uncle and niece. As family.
He's leaving everything he knows behind, except for her unconditional love.
It's something he can cling to, whatever happens next.