A fucking gray day
It is a gray day. The weather is not what you expect from a summer day. But it fits with what lies before him. The burial of Frank Mathison.
Quinn sighs deeply. He cannot believe that Carrie's dad is gone. Last week they had been working together assembling the baby's crib. Frank had been happy and full of anticipation. He talked about his plans after the baby's arrival. 'Now he will never hold her. That's so sad.' Quinn grabs his car keys and leaves the house.
The sudden death of Frank had been a shock to his family and friends. But Carrie has taken it worst. Burdened by the same mental illness she and her dad had been very close. Frank had been always protective and supportive. But he also took Carrie into responsibility to handle her illness and not to ignore it. It seemed that with his death she lost her will to live healthy. Her evil demons were back. She hasn't been talking and refused to eat. Maggie was concerned that she would harm the baby and herself and called Quinn for help. But when he showed up at Carrie's place she went upstairs and locked herself into her room. For few seconds he was thinking to break down her door. But instead he sat down in front of her door and began talking about the moments he had shared with her dad. A silent sobbing convinced him that Carrie's numbing has begun to dissolve.
A crowd of 50 people has gathered to give Frank Mathison the last honor. You can hear a lot of sobbing as his family and friends are listening to the priest's words. Words that should give comfort. But Carrie doesn't hear those words. She is staring at her dad's coffin. Behind her stands Quinn prepared to support her if she needs him. But she stands straight, no sobbing, no sign of weakness. When the coffin goes down she shakes her head in disbelief.
Her sister Maggie puts her arm around her. In search of comfort she bends her head on Carrie's shoulder. But Carrie isn't able to give her solace. She feels numb and empty. She doesn't even notice that the baby kicks inside her.
When the endless row of condolences is over Carrie turns towards Quinn. "Take me back home."
They don't talk on their ride back to her apartment. Carrie is thankful that Quinn doesn't try to start a conversation. And Quinn doesn't want to force her.
When the car finally stops in front of her home, he turns to her. "May I can come in and have a drink?"
He's not expecting a positive response. But to his surprise she replies: "Yes, sure. But I can offer only coffee."
"Fine with me."
Her place looks like no one's living there. It's neat and quite fashionable. 'Looks like a damn glossy magazine.' He misses the cozy disarray of the past that somehow belonged to Carrie. How often he has teased her about her way to cover her wall with colorful notepads. It has been only a josh. He truly admires her ability to sort things out until she finds the key point. 'No one is able to perceive things like her.'
He nips on his coffee while Carrie is getting changed upstairs. 'I should take a look at the nursery if everything is ready.'
The little room upstairs beside Carrie's bedroom looks sunny and very friendly. The walls have been painted in a faint pastel yellow. There is a changing table with a soft pad and the old crib which he and Frank had assembled together.
In the other corner stands a cozy rocking chair with some cushions. Frank Mathison's last project, his ultimate gift to his granddaughter. The sight of the rocking chair is too much for Quinn's composure. He hasn't shed a tear during the funeral. But now he cannot longer hold back his tears. He cries for the lost of his fatherly friend who treated him with such warmth and generosity. Quinn wonders if Frank had recognized what he feels for Carrie. He remembers their last conversation and Frank's encouraging words: "I am glad that you are there for her." He sits down the rocking chair and sobs silently.
Suddenly he feels her hand on his back. When he looks up, he sees that Carrie is crying too. Quickly he gets up and takes her in his arms. Her sobbing increases, so he pulls her as close as her huge belly allows. He comforts her by gently rubbing her back. His cheek is now resting against her head. He can smell a faint scent of lemon shampoo. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply. 'If I could only bring him back to you.'
They continue to hold each other until Quinn feels a strong kick. He releases his grip and stares down on Carrie's belly. When he looks up to her, he sees a little smile.
"The baby just kicked me, maybe I've hurt her."
"I think she likes being held." She smiles again, her face still tear stained.
"May I touch …" He stops talking, afraid to intimidate her. But Carrie takes his hand and puts it gently on her belly. It's just a little gesture, but Quinn enjoys the intimacy of the moment. And another kick gives this fucking gray day a better end.