Disclaimer: I do not own "Houdini & Doyle".
A/N: A companion one-shot to my first story, "The Moment After". Again, major spoilers are written in these words.
She stood on the dock, just staring at that ship. Down there, in the cargo hold, was a casket. Tucked away like a suitcase or travel trunk. But it wasn't simply cargo. That casket had the vessel that Houdini's mother had navigated for so many years dressed in her favorite gown, the one she'd worn the night of her birthday party. He had asked her to make sure the coroner had done it properly. He couldn't stand to see his mother's lifeless form one more time. He didn't say that, but Adelaide could see it on his face, his eyes still pinkish and swollen from hidden tears.
She remembered when her husband died, how she'd tried to hide her mourning and broken heart. But tears are such demons. They discolor your eyes, leave tracks on your face, dry out your skin where they settle in the corners of your eyes when you are lying in bed. It is as though they are against you while telling you that if only you'd shed them, they will relieve just a little of your pain.
Adelaide felt guilty that she was still going with Mr. Houdini to New York, but he absolutely refused to back out of the promise he'd made to her. After all, he said, "I still need to take Ma home." He said this with a heart-breaking half smile, as though it were only for her benefit, which, she didn't doubt for a moment, it was.
She was surprised when Houdini announced that he'd invited Doyle along too, for whatever reason. "You need a chaperone in the States," he said, "while I take care of..." he let his voice drop into nothing and left the sentence unfinished. He didn't ever say his mother was dead, or that she had passed, or anything of the sort. Instead, he talked about her in past tense, which somehow seemed sadder, training himself to remember the truth.
"Ma would've wanted..." instead of "Ma wants..."
"Ma was..." instead of "Ma is..."
Adelaide used to make such mistakes all the time. Maybe, even now, she still does. A man's voice in the crowd will remind her of his timbre, and she will turn to look for him before she catches her thoughts and shoves them back into their proper place. He is dead. He will always be dead. He is never coming back. There were qualities in both Houdini and Doyle that reminded her of him, just little things. Mr. Houdini challenged her, Mr. Doyle supported her, and sometimes, vice versa. Maybe that is why she didn't mind "keeping an eye" on them when they went on their investigations. She didn't have to be alone anymore.
Out of habit, Adelaide touched her hair to make sure it was still in place. The sea water always seemed to bring it out of place curiously. She also straightened her jacket and adjusted her hat. Little things ladies do when they are simply biding their time and must be productive all the same.
A touch of frosty ocean wind kissed her nose, and Adelaide shivered.
"Ma loved this kind of weather," Houdini said.
Adelaide startled because she hadn't known he'd come to stand beside her. Trying to recover herself, she said, "It is a good weather, I think, for traveling. Not too hot, not too cold."
"Yeah," Houdini agreed distantly.
Adelaide smiled a little. She could never get over his American accent, so prominent and proud. He absolutely refused to be influenced by his environment. And then there was his mother's accent, so beautiful and quiet, almost as though she worried people would wonder at her, strain to understand her broken English. Admittedly, the few times Adelaide had met her, she had had to listen carefully to be sure that she caught the mispronounced words and translated them in her head, but all fast enough for the dear woman not to notice.
Houdini, who'd grown up with it, never seemed to notice, even as he threw about his American slang and pronunciations.
"Doyle'll be here in just a minute," Houdini continued after a long pause. He took out his pocket watch and glanced at the hands, as though he intended to time him.
"Mr. Houdini," Adelaide said, "I know I thanked you before, but in light of everything, I want to thank you again, for what you are doing."
Houdini grins broadly, a smile Adelaide has long since learned is a mask when he does not want anyone to know that he is more than just an arrogant, cocky escape artist. "Aw, don't mention it, Adelaide. Really, it's the least I can do for a friend."
"And I am so sorry about your mother," Adelaide adds.
Houdini's smile turns stiff, but he does not let it fall, almost as if he does not remember he is wearing it. Finally, his mask chips just a little as he says, "Yeah, me too." And the smile drops and shatters as he turns quickly away as though to search the crowd for Mr. Doyle.
"She loved you very much," Adelaide continues, because, for some reason, she feels compelled to say it. If only her husband had been able to tell her one last time that he loved her, maybe the pain would not be so sharp. "She was proud of you."
Houdini pretends he does not hear her, but she knows he did. His shoulder's drop just a little, and when he turns back to her, his eyes are damp with carefully controlled tears. She lets the subject drop, but she knows he needed to hear it.
Even if it was just from her.
END