Smoke & Mirrors
show: Young and the Restless
central character(s): Ben "Stitch" Rayburn, Abby Newman, Max Rayburn, Jenna Kieran.
summary: Boy, life comes at you first. / Or, in which the smoke clears and the mirrors break.
notes: I wrote this in 2016, and decided to tweak it just a tad and post it. It was back when Stitch and Abby had become a couple, and Max had come to GC upon Jenna's death. It starts in her POV and switches. I don't know if it's relevant in 2019 but I just thought it was something I'd tweak and post so I can get it out of my hard drive. It's been collecting dust for three years. Might as well.
disclaimer: I don't own anything. I only own the characters not on the show, meaning I created them. That is all. Enjoy. As always, feedback is appreciated.
After Brunswick High School's Class of 1998 graduated in June, Jenna Kieran and Derek Everton made a pact. They would date until the very end, until they couldn't. They would spend the last sixty days, doing everything together, be with each other. They would hold hands, cuddle, even have sex with each for the last time. During the first time, Derek stroked her face and asked if she was sure, and she answered yes. She wants to be with him, close to him. It was time.
Derek and Jenna had started out at friends in chemistry class at fifteen and soon, they were mixing chemical combinations under the heat of Bunsen burners as their romance blossomed. They remembered locking pinkies under their adjacent desks while they copied notes off of the board even when they both hated the class. Derek kissed her at her locker the next morning as she felt the warmth in her face and he threw a loose her arm around her shoulders.
"So, are we dating now?" Jenna asked, looking at him. Green eyes. Butterflies in her stomach. He laughed, and furrowed a brow.
"Yes. I'm your boyfriend," Derek answered, matter-of-factly. "If you want. If not, then that's cool because I got to kiss the coolest girl here. I do like you, though."
Jenna playfully shoved him and then pulled him to her.
"I like you too."
That was three years ago. It was three years filled with laughter, sadness, anger, a punch that Jenna threw at Tiffany Henderson so hard, her nose bled. At the time, she had no right. They were broken up, but Tiffany had cheated on Derek with his best friend, and well, the anger Jenna felt scared her. It was filled with nice words, stolen kisses when teachers and hall monitors weren't looking and sometimes, goodbyes neither meant.
Phoebe, Jenna's older identical twin sister with eight minutes separating them, had shrugged and told her that sex hurt but it was fine for the most part. Just because they were twins, it didn't mean she had to know what Jenna did with her body. So, more power to her.
Sex for the first time in Derek's bed – his parents weren't home – the moment he entered felt like she was being ripped open. It was a sharp pain that was intense, and made her feel like she had been torn open and everything she had known before this moment had spilled out. Then Jenna felt like she was floating on an open body of water until Derek stitched her back up bit by bit. Something shifted inside of her. Not Derek, for that was gentle, and rhythmic. The initial entry was a sharp sting, an ache and then it stopped, nerve endings ablaze. Jenna arched her back into Derek's touch. She didn't know. She didn't know how much she wanted to be with him until she was. Close to him.
Beads of sweat lined Derek's forehead, as he gazed at her and brushed a strand of her hair, and then kissed her. Finally, when the current of the water stopped moving, Jenna jumped over the waterfall, flew upwards until she saw stars and touched them.
Derek groaned against her body in a final thrust, and Jenna sighed content and fulfilled. Everything was she going to ever know – though she did not know what this knowledge was yet, and there was a twinge of fear mixed in with the waves of pleasure coursing through her – settled inside of her. It clicked into place and at sixteen, it was fine with her. Derek wasn't inside of her anymore, but he smiled lazily, content. Kissed her hair.
"Are you… are you okay?"
"Yeah," she whispers and placed a light kiss to his mouth and then let her arms fall across his torso, "I'm…fine. Different. But fine. Good different."
Now, as Jenna sat on this park bench, she knew difference was coming and something was shifting inside of her again. This time, she was not sure if those pieces would settle properly or that was just how it was supposed to be. Jenna shielded her eyes against the orange ball of light still high in the sky of a Maine summer. She turned her hazel eyes toward the sidewalk where she expected to the lanky form of a boy who was tall – not yet grown into his body, but she loved him anyway.
It was day 56 of their summer. College loomed and real life was going to come in, and hit them all new experiences, new people and it scared her.
Finally, Derek walked up, sat on the bench opposite of her. He looked like he carried weight on his shoulders and concrete on his feet. At least, that's what it looks like to her. Jenna just wished that she could feel the rough and rubber surface of a basketball between her hands. The dribbling was so soothing. It was comforting and winning or losing a basketball game was easier than this.
"We knew this was coming, wasn't it?"
Jenna smiled at him, in his light hoodie as the wind ruffled his dark hair and the loose hairs from her high pony tail. She nodded, "Yeah, we did. We have to rip off the band aid, Derek," her eyes earnest when Derek looked away. Jenna reached out and touched his hand to get his attention. "We have to do this. I mean," she sighed, "we're going to opposite ends of the country. We're gonna meet new people, experience new things. Change," Jenna was met with a deep frown that caused her boyfriend to furrow a brow as the space between his eyes, became creased with lines too deep for an 18-year-old.
"I won't change."
"Yes, you will. Because that's what college does to people. Life. I'm not doing the long distance thing. It's not fair to me. It's not fair to you. Bottom line is," Jenna said, firmly, meeting his softened frown with a knowing glare, "we'll resent each other if we do try."
"Better than not trying at all, Jen!" Derek softened his tone. "I knew this was coming and I took the long way to get here."
"We're only eighteen, Derek."
"I don't—"
Jenna sighed, frustrated, mostly with herself. If she could be eighteen forever, she would be. But she didn't. Phoebe had this way of ripping off band-aids and then dumping salt on the festering wound, because well, pain was pleasure and it built character or something.
She closed her eyes, and opened them again.
"I know. I don't want to either. You're going to Stanford. I'm going to NYU. You're gonna meet some California born and bred girl I'll already hate, and I don't know…" Jenna shrugged, loosely. "I'll meet a guy somewhere. But I care about you. A lot," her eyes glistened with tears until one fell and Jenna whipped it away. "I love you but I'm taking a page out of Phoebe's playbook. Be practical."
"I hate Phoebe's playbook. But she's…right."
Jenna and Derek laughed at the memory of senior three months prior. Phoebe had gone solo and was just going to leave with someone else's date. That's what Phoebe said, as she sat in purple and black dress as she put a dark red shade of lipstick across her lips. In contrast, Jenna's dress was a colour of peach and she swept a light pink gloss across her lips while Phoebe did the rest of her makeup that night.
Derek and Jenna chuckled over the memory of Phoebe Kieran being the unlikely winner of the Prom Queen of 1998 race, only to have the Prom King be the Dragons football quarterback, Warren Finch, who was granted a full scholarship. Jenna saw her sister roll her eyes and threaten the quarterback, "We will do this shitty dance. If you touch me in any way that does not pertain to this dance, you will hurt. Terribly."
Halfway through the dance, Phoebe had kicked Warren in the testicles and he groaned, cursed and doubled over in pain. Jenna watched her sister stalk away, ripping the plastic crown off of her head. She crushed it under her heel and left through the double doors as if disappearing in a black plume of smoke. Later, she was found having sex with the cheerleading, Brittany Jones, in an empty classroom who was happy to reciprocate. Jenna would hear rumors of her sister involved with several people although it was unconfirmed. She would also hear rumors of Phoebe giving Brittany hickeys that took days for the purple marks to fade.
There would be more unconfirmed stories of Phoebe behind the bleachers
The laughter was always so easy between she and Derek, conservations always free flowing. Even the angry, hurtful ones. Jenna would miss it and miss him.
"She was offended at being Prom Queen, because it's Harvard and therefore, irrelevant. At least, to her. It's vapid and shallow and she's gonna be a lawyer so it doesn't matter."
Derek laughed, and offered a half-smile. "Sounds about right," he glanced away from her for the first time since getting her and stood. "We had a good run, didn't we?"
Jenna did too, sticking her hands in the backs of her jeans. She paused, the words locked in her throat, and then replied, voice breaking, "The best."
"I'm always gonna love you, Jen."
"I'm always gonna love you, too, Derek," she replied, and let him wrap her in his arms. She rested her head on his chest, his heartbeat soothing her. So, Jenna allowed one more glance at his face – his green eyes, his dark hair, his nose, the Cupid's bow of his lip. She remembered the formation of brown freckles that look like a bunch of constellations on his back, how dark Derek's eyes darkened with angered him or made him passionate. Jenna was going to miss the way they sparkled to the colour of mint when truly happy.
She would miss how his intense kind of energy balanced her nomadic one. Maybe, she was a gypsy in a past life, always wanting to move. Always wanting to explore and never stay stationary. Maybe that's why she gravitated to sports and excelled whether it was basketball, softball, volleyball or even track. But Jenna was itching to get out of Brunswick. This journalism program with a minor in theatre allowed Jenna to travel externally but explore herself internally too.
Part of her excitement of New York came from being excited for Derek. Derek was centered. He knew that he wanted to enter Stanford, use his hands to build something and be the architect of something he could call his own – something his parents' expectations could not reach. Jenna knew Derek did not want to run the family restaurant business even it was his younger brother, Cody (read: Dakota), had a passion for it.
Jenna saw Derek wanted to ground himself out of Brunswick and it made her sad because they were going to be in opposite spectrums of the country.
Her dad, a seasoned police officer in the homicide department, always told Jenna, Phoebe, and Thomas that life came at you fast. Homicides, families torn apart, drunken partners in the throes of domestic violence was probably what Steven Kieran was referring to. He always did speak vaguely and left Jenna, or her siblings to apply it to their situations. Her dad groaned softly as he leaned back in his favourite ottoman. The end of his cigarette glowed a bright orange as the smoke billowed from his nostrils like a resting dragon. Mom stayed in the kitchen, the water of the sink running as plates collided against each other.
Thomas – who was five years older than her and Phoebe – was already a young father to a little girl, named Monique, married to the girl's mother because he thought why not? On top of that, he was training to be a cop for the Portland Police Department. Phoebe was off to Harvard to study pre law and Jenna herself, off to study at New York University. She didn't want life to overwhelm her so much Jenna was left to run so much and so hard, she couldn't breathe. Her brother was there, Phoebe was unreadable and Jenna wanted to be on balance.
Life did come at a person fast so either Jenna was going to hold on and or fell off. She was stubborn by nature so she was going to grab on for dear life when it did come speeding towards her. If she did happen to let go one day, it wasn't her choice.
Derek held her face in his hands, and lowered his face to meet her lips. She laughed against his lips because he was so much taller than her, so she raised herself on her tip toes and held on to his hoodie, the fleece soft in her hands. Jenna pulled away first slowly, and it felt like a phantom limb.
"See you on the other side?"
Jenna couldn't say goodbye. Neither could he, no matter how much he tried to hide the tears in his eyes.
Jenna nodded, slowly, the tears in her eyes and smiled softly, "See you on the other side, Derek."
Jenna hugged him again, and then watched until the hunched shoulders and the hoodie faded from her sight. When it did, Jenna turned on her heel to walk home in the other direction to walk (read: sprint until she caught a stitch in her side way too painful to think) home. Jenna sighed, taking a few steps in the direction of her house when she heard the rustle of leaves and a twig snap.
She'd watched the cases of where teenagers were snatched and found murdered off the streets only to be discovered dead in a creek, a dumpster or bent into a suitcase that seemed normal. Jenna bristled and was going to punch whoever it was in the throat, land a kick to the crotch to stun the mystery person, run for her life and if all else failed, she would scream. She would scream loud enough to save her life.
Instead, it was just Phoebe emerging like she was truly a shadow. Her brown hair was bone straight and swept to the side. She nonchalantly sucked on a large red Slurpie that stained her lips and in the inside of her mouth red. The sky was becoming blue slowly, their colours evaporating.
Phoebe wore a black shirt with spaghetti straps and torn denim short shorts, with their brother's black boots on her feet.
"You scared me!" Jenna screamed, shoving her twin's shoulder.
Phoebe slurped on her iced drink some more, before answering with a deadpan expression on her face, "I was being a decent human being. It was getting dark. I was here the whole time. Your breakup was taking too long. I wanted a Slurpie at the 7/11, got one, and then walked back and you were still here."
"Oh," Jenna pondered her sister's explanation and then frowned. "You didn't have to appear out of the shadows like that."
Phoebe shrugged, loosely.
"You can cry on me when we get home. C'mon."
Jenna and Phoebe walked in step, in silence and glancing at her sister. Jenna had questions. A person was supposed to know their twin, feel them sometimes. Her grandmother, on her mother's side, once said Phoebe's aura was dark with fringes of light on the outside. But that was her way. Maybe. She smiled at her sister, as they paused to cross a street and Phoebe narrowed her eyes.
"What?"
"You came to check on me. I kind of love you for it."
Phoebe turned her eyes to the street ahead, "Shut up and walk."
Jenna rolled her eyes, sighed and then walked as it got darker.
She glanced at her sister, and couldn't help but think that the red stain of her mouth made her look like a vampire. But hey, if Jenna believed that her sister was one of the undead, she'd be pretty damn decent one.
Jenna raised her hazel eyes to the sky, and saw stars lightly dotting it against the royal blue backdrop. They twinkled briefly so maybe, everything would be okay.
—
The night she met Ben Rayburn, Jenna was wearing a flowery dress she actually hated. It was a blind date so it was true when they did meet as perfect strangers. She did notice that he was a sweet, quite humorous guy. Rugged but with a touch of shyness.
Jenna hated this dress because if she was going on a blind date, she wanted to go as her. She would have rather been on this date in a graphic tee and jeans. The only silver lining was that the dress actually wasn't hers but she drew the line at wearing heels instead of her comfortable combat boots.
Robyn guaranteed that this was her first date fuck dress. Suddenly, Jenna shifted in her seat in this fancy restaurant and would have rather sat here naked. Jenna would not let herself imagine all of the times this very dress lay of the floor of a room that had Robyn and whoever she was having sex with in it. She wouldn't let this ruin her appetite. Not when the dry chicken, overcooked pasta, bland marinara sauce and the tragic "dessert" was enough.
As an East coast girl, Jenna couldn't help but be offended that this was what they called actual, edible cheesecake. Not in Maine, it wasn't.
The food was terrible, but Jenna was surprised to realize there was something intriguing about this man in front of her. And yes, he was cute. Really cute. The company was good so for her that was the only highlight.
Ben sighed, "I think my buddy hates me deep down."
Jenna raised an inquiring eyebrow, while taking a sip of her red wine before she got the glass down and nursed it, by holding it at the stem.
"You too, huh? Because my roomie roped me into this as well and this was terrible."
Ben blinked, confused. He did have really nice blue eyes, Jenna noted.
"Wow. You really know how to bust a guy's chops like this."
Jenna realized how that came out, and softly cursed, "Shit," and she corrected herself. "Oh God, the wine is…I'm sorry, Ben. That's not what I meant, I swear. I meant this," Jenna gestured with her hands to the air around them, "…the whole restaurant thing sucked, but the company was nice."
"Same here," Ben admitted, with a smile of his own. "But the restaurant wasn't all that bad."
"Oh," Jenna said, surveying him. "You're one of those guys."
"Excuse me?"
She folded her arms, "Yeah, you can't be honest because you have to be polite. About everything."
"Oh, really? You got me pegged this early, Jenna?"
"I took journalism in college," Jenna answered, with a satisfied smile. "I kinda have to. Sorta programmed to get the truth out of people, so tell me, Ben Rayburn," she teased, playfully, resting a cheek in one hand as she put an elbow on the table. Oh, God. She was flirting. Robyn was damn right about this flowery explosion she was wearing. Oh, God. Oh, God. "What is your truth?"
"My truth is, Jenna," he offered his hand to her, and she took it, "that I would like to see you again. I really, really like you."
Jenna felt a heat rise in her face, rather, her cheeks.
She was blushing. Actually blushing. It had been a while since. She glanced down at their joined hands. Ben's hand was bigger than hers, but there or may not have been butterflies in her stomach at this point. She tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.
"Luckily for you, I feel the same," Jenna replied, playfully, and then seriously. "I really, really like you too."
When Ben laughed – which was contagious by the way – so did she.
The dates went by fast, but Jenna remembered the sixth date she had with him. Jenna met him at a dive bar with darts and pool with good beer. She beat him at pool and he may have been slightly better at darts. Jenna remembered how surprisingly easy it was to talk to him about anything, the easy rapport between them. Maybe because Ben was running too. Ben had starting running from Missouri and never really bothered to look back, while she was running from Maine, but things and people still tethered her there.
"I guess, I was a gypsy and you were a sailor in a past life, or something."
Ben chuckled, downing a generous portion of his beer before answering.
"Nomads," he nodded, absently before offering a half-smile. "That's what we are."
Jenna sighed, playing with an onion ring. She hadn't eaten any of it. She came around and sat on the same side as him in their booth, rested her head on his shoulder.
She smiled, and laughed quietly, "The Gypsy from Maine and the Sailor from Missouri," Jenna lifted her head and gazed into his eyes, blue meeting hazel – the collision of sailing the ocean and in the sandy desert on a caravan to anywhere as long as they could do it together. Ben's hand found hers, and she liked the warmth and the way the fingers intertwined. "I like the sound of that, you know."
Jenna would in fact, admit that she kissed Ben first that night and the rest as they said was history.
—
To find and process a truth in anything, never go into a story from beginning or with any preconceived motions. Sometimes, it must be looked at from the end for things to make sense. Jenna's journalism professor told her that and it stayed with her all these years. So, it's the journalistic part of her that gripped her first because the part of her mind that held position of wife couldn't be rational. The part of her brain that held wife probably would not be able to handle whatever answered she was looking for – but the journalistic part of her that was steeled for anything, was. So, Jenna breathed in and she sipped her glass of white wine and got to digging.
Jenna had to figure out the who, the how and the why. The where was not important. She knew that. She knew Ben was from St. Louis and didn't think much of it, because really, how many other people named Ben were in St. Louis? Hell, how many were in Missouri? A lot of them.
Max was at sleepover with one of his friends. He was there partly because she wanted him to be a normal child partly because she needed the silence. She could hear the sound of water hitting tile as Ben was in the shower. Still, Jenna forced the inquisitive wheels in her head to turn as fast as they could go. Her eyes scanned the old worn newspaper articles on her tablet. She was processing. Taking in information. Gathering puzzle puzzles to put together whatever bigger scarier picture lay beneath.
Whatever deep dark thing that festered in her husband's past, but also hers to bear and engrained into Max. The thought of her sweet boy having to hear something like this and know it was part of his history, made Jenna's heart twist and her stomach heave. This was too heavy, too intense but part of her remained sad for Ben. If Ben had been carrying this on his shoulders – even ones as broad as his – how had he not buckled under the weight all these years?
Jenna sat on the stool, and drained the rest of her white wine before setting the glass on the marble counter of the kitchen. She had her favourite Beatles shirt on with torn favourite blue skinny jeans. It was rare when it just the two of them and a date night was within reach. Jenna had let her hair fall around her, ready to unwind but she felt tense than ever. The idea of a quiet dinner seemed like a mirage, something that slipped between her fingers. College was a whirlwind, and graduate school was a tornado.
Here was life coming fast at her again.
She prayed the sound of the water spray would last just a little longer. Jenna had tried to steel her nerves and she felt them turning to rust. She wished, for once, she could be like Phoebe and just breeze through life, being emotionally stunted or emotionally detach herself from situations at will. It was scary yet fascinating how Phoebe could feel nothing, when she as a person, felt everything. Was there even such a thing as a happy medium? Maybe, but maybe not.
It started with a name, news of a hit-and-run and the little boy at the center of it all. Sam Andrews. Jenna remembered how affected Ben was by it. He had walked around the house in a daze for a couple days and said nothing was wrong, only to leave the house for a couple hours and come back. Jenna was happy Ben had returned alive, with the very real possibility that he could come home to her in a box. One of the scars of war, she knew as someone who reported on it from an anchor's desk and watched her husband battle those scars at home, were nightmares and PTSD. Some nights, Jenna would be in the beginning of an unclear dream when it sounded and felt like Ben was in the throes of a nightmare.
Then he'd woken up and realized whatever was in his subconscious wasn't real.
"Hey, did I wake you?"
"No," she answered, propping herself on an arm. She could feel him shaking as she touched his bicep, gently. Jenna offered a smile. "You didn't. That little boy's hit-and-run's really gotten to you."
Ben turned to her and sighed, "I guess. I just feel awful. What if it was Max? I mean, I saw people die all the time, and I know… it's a war. People will die in them, but I saw little kids die all the time, Jenna. I'm…trying to be okay and I don't want to burden you with my baggage."
Jenna grabbed his hand, "Stop right there. We're married. Max is safe, and he's sleeping. I feel awful too. I report tragedies all the time. Some of them…you'll never understand," she grabbed his face to meet those blue eyes she'd fallen for, even with their blind date going completely wrong, "but I never want you to feel like you can't tell me anything. You came back. Our son is safe. He's asleep. You're about to be a doctor with your residency and I'm so proud of you. You married me. Your baggage is our baggage," she leaned over, pressed a kiss to his cheek and another to his lips. She felt in this moment that Ben had let her into one private moment and shut her out of others. "You can talk about it with someone in the morning if you want that."
Ben grabbed her hand, kissed the knuckle and smiled softly, "Nah. I'm good right here. With my wife."
At the time, this had been enough. Ben was doing well. They were getting back into the swing of things: being a family, juggling Ben securing a residency, her job – it was no CNN or Good Morning America, but the money was more than enough to pay for the bills and the mortgage – and Max having his daddy home. Then in something that seemed random to her, there was news of a schoolteacher's son that had died due to a hit and run. Sam Andrews. That is whom it came back to.
While Jenna knew Ben to be a warm person with a laugh that was contagious, he was the strong and silent type who locked himself in his mind. She saw something behind his eyes change and a flinch, he was trying to hide from her, or even himself. She didn't know. But something like curiosity settled underneath her skin and became an itch she couldn't help but scratch.
Sam Andrews became the key to a Pandora's Box Jenna wasn't sure she wanted to open. But she had remembered a conversation had with her journalism professor, Professor Anna Glendale. She was a small woman with nearly white hair and icy blue eyes. Her glasses fell on her beak-like nose and wrapped up in her brown pant suit looked intimidating. Jenna wondered if her professor spent weekends over a cauldron questioning why eyes of newt was always needed in a spell and its origin.
The image made the corners of Jenna's lips pull up and then she apologized, because maybe that was rude on some level. Probably.
"Ms. Kieran, your paper was not perfect. No paper is," the older woman said, causing Jenna's stomach to fall past her legs to all ten of her toes. Had she failed? Would this bring down her GPA? Jenna opened her mouth to speak, and then grew confused at Professor Glendale's statement. "However, your paper was as perfect as can be," she leaned back, legs crossed and took her glasses off. "When I started the class, I stated that 95 percent of the people in this class, would not go far. You, Ms. Kieran," Jenna then took in the rarity of her smile, "are the 5 percent that will."
"Thank you."
It was like she had reverted to form, and yes, Professor Glendale had because she was just the intimidating looking professor who made students sweat and sometimes cry.
"Journalism is not for everyone. Some people are not ready to understand the human condition and the ones that are, are not ready for what they discover beneath."
Jenna felt as if this woman's eyes looked through her, and it was equal parts rewarding because she was the 5 percent, and for the first time in months, memories of her last day with Derek wrapped themselves in her heart. She had done the right thing in Maine, Jenna was sure.
She sighed, quietly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear to mask the urge to shift her weight on this couch.
"That is what it comes down to. Readiness."
Readiness. The word ran through Jenna's mind as she reported the local news in the mornings and smiled her way through it to running to her office and closing the door to work on more stories. After all, just because the pieces in Jenna's mind were shifting, it didn't mean the world beyond hers stopped moving. Babies kept being born. People kept dying. Truths had to be told, while lies had to be unravelled. She gazed at the white board in her office, retrieved a bright red marker. Red for blood. Red for murder. Murder. Redrum.
She remembered the way her hand shook when the connections that branched out from Sam Andrews spread and twisted outward. Now, Sam was not just a name. Jenna saw the connections of DNA and circumstances of the past attach themselves to his name. The branches reached her doorstep when she wrote her own name and then Max's. Jenna stepped back and numbly dropped the marker on her desk, and with a breath that sat on her chest and almost physically hurt, it all made sense. She could not control the tears that sprang to her eyes.
Sam was Kelly's son. Kelly was Ben's sister. Sam Andrews was not just a little boy. He was the nephew Ben was estranged from and the cousin Max never got to know. Kelly was married at the time of her son's death. When Jenna read the articles, made brown by time, on her tablet, a last name jumped out at her. Russell. It was as if this name saidwhat Kelly had said in her e-mail. You have to know.
Jenna found herself back in her own kitchen again, the shower long stopped and heavy barefooted steps that hit the carpet towards her. She cursed a little, wishing she hadn't drank all of that white wine. The tablet had served its purpose so Jenna powered it down and closed the royal blue plastic case over its face. Part of her always wanted to be an actress but this kind of starring role was way too close.
She nearly jumped out of her skin, as Ben kissed her cheek from behind and then planted another in her hair. He smelled like freshly mowed grass even without the shower. Jenna was going to miss this. Jenna was going to miss him because wherever Anna Glendale was, she had been right. Journalism brought light and darkness onto something. In this case, it was darkness. She glanced discreetly at the ring set on her finger. It was beautiful, still glittering as the day she got it when Ben dropped on one knee, and proposed.
"Yes, yes… I'll marry you," Jenna barely breathed out, and kissed him on while she, herself, found herself on both knees on the front yard of their new home. She pulled away and nodded. "I will marry you, Ben Rayburn," and then raised an eyebrow, "on one condition."
"What's that?"
Jenna sniffled, and then grinned. "You have to come back safe. You have to come home to me…and your child," she laughed, as it took a moment to register and then his face lit up.
"Are you serious? Jenna, are you—?"
"Yes," she answered, with a laugh, one of happiness. She took his hand, placing it on her abdomen where their son or daughter would rest, and grow for the next nine months. "You're going to be a dad."
Journalism is about the human condition, Professor Glendale had said. Light and dark. She saw the black hole. Jenna saw the darkness. It floated around the living room like a full stop symbol. Then it floated again and her eyes followed it as it fell in the middle of her living room. It grew bigger and bigger as it sucked furniture into it, framed photos, the lamps, the light fixtures, the blinds and then got way too big as she saw the lines in her window deepen and spread. The imaginary sound of glass shattering might have caused something in Jenna to break. Was it hope? Was it rationale? Was it a sense of understanding that things weren't as they seemed? It broke her heart, shattered every thought she ever had, and closing her eyes, could see in her mind's eye herself screaming and ripping this canvas – this beautifully woven, painted life – to pieces.
Here she was, just a wife, a mother and pretty damn mad. She wasn't a journalist. She wasn't even an actress even as it felt like that dream had passed her by.
Jenna was just human.
"Jenna, are you okay? If you want to stay in, that's fine too."
She turned around on her heel and yelled out, "No!"
No to this damn dinner. No to these rose coloured glasses. No to the lies. No to the fucking carousel she stayed on so long, it made her sick.
She breathed in, then out, and calmly said, "Ben, you've been lying to me and if you love me at all—" her voice broke, and angry tears welled up in her eyes, "—if you ever loved me at all, tell me the truth. Now. Sam Andrews' death affected you because he's your nephew, isn't he?"
"I…how did you?"
"Does it matter?" Jenna answered, calmly with a fury she didn't know she had. She was shaking and couldn't stop. "I already know. Everything. Tell me the truth. Please."
—
While Jenna's heart palpitated in her chest, the colour drained from Ben's face.
Jenna folded her arms to keep her hands still to keep herself from slapping him. Besides, Jenna preferred to dig her nails into the palms of her hands. She could manage the physical pain. The emotional one about to hit her, though, was more complex than she ever wanted to admit.
Now, it was years later – years that contained a marriage, a beautiful son, the challenges, fear and pride that came from being the wife of an army veteran, coupled with a new life Jenna thought she was running with Ben and Max to build in Genoa City, Wisconsin. She was watching the waters rage as the waves tore their sailboat to numerous pieces and the sandstorm in the desert was too strong for them to weather and to be honest, survive. This was going to kill them both.
How in the hell, had Jenna missed this?
—
"How did you know?"
"The sister-in-law I never had, Ben. That's how."
"What?" Ben said, with anger that caused Jenna to roll her eyes. "Kelly—she— She told you?" he cursed under his breath, and Jenna placed her hands on her hips. Anything to keep them from slapping him. Not yet, Jenna. Not. Yet, she told herself. "Damnit! Her kid died! I tried to reach out to her and she did this?"
"Stop. Stop it right now. You don't get to be angry. Not with this! Just tell me!" she screamed, so loudly, it almost surprised both of them that something so loud had come out of someone so small. She watched Ben grimace. "All you have to do is tell me that Kelly is lying. Tell me that," Jenna laughed at this detail, because it was better than crying and perhaps, it was her losing the grips she had on her sanity, "Rayburn is your last name, and not really the name of a dead kid, you went to school with! Then you look me in the eye right now…" she paused, the imagined picture in her head probably safer than the actual situation. Jenna closed her eyes, and concentrated to pushing the bile in her throat down. "Tell me you didn't set your dad's shed on fire and leave him to burn. You didn't do that, right?"
"I…can't."
"Tell me Kelly is lying. That's it."
"I told you. I can't do that," Ben stated, looking her in the eye. For the first time, her husband became a stranger. Jenna watched her strong, sweet husband of a man transform into the scared, abused little boy she was sure he was. Jenna was sure that part of him was attached some part of him that never could quite be erased. Jenna took in Ben's shaking hands. She watched his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed. There were tears in his eyes when Jenna's own paused for the time being. "My father was as close to evil as you could get, Jenna. Kelly was away at school and thought our dad hung the moon. He beat up on my mom regularly. Every chance he got. When she didn't make food by his standards, he'd throw the food on the floor and slap her. Pull her by the hair and threaten to make her eat it. Leave bruises on her body. He put his hand around her throat and split her lip one time. The first time I intervened…he left me on the floor coughing up blood and gasping for air. I fractured a rib. I was twelve."
"The same year you picked up boxing." Jenna realized. Another puzzle piece of Ben's life. He told her bits and pieces of his life, but never everything.
"Yeah. I started boxing to defend myself…and my mom. Then it became a hobby, a way to relieve stress," Ben explained, with a nostalgic look on his face. He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Why didn't you and your mother get the police or social services?"
"Spoken like the daughter of a cop. We didn't for the sole reason that my father threatened us. I slept with a baseball bat in my bed for months on end. Actually, I didn't sleep much at all. I panicked every time I came home my mom wasn't there. My dad wasn't always abusive though. All of a sudden, he lost his job, started drinking and..."
"What happened the day he died?" Jenna found herself, asking – part wife, part journalist, she supposed. A part of her ached for him, while another part wanted to run out of their home and take Max heading for anywhere but here.
"Really?" Ben suddenly snapped at her, but Jenna let it go over her head and not affect her. It would later. It would poison her and probably make her resentful, bit by bit, but not at this moment. Not when Jenna was so close to getting answers. But she knew this hurt Ben to open up the wounds and scars, he'd tried years to heal or hide. "Kelly helped you out. The articles told you everything. The end."
"Those are pages from a newspaper article. I want to hear it from your mouth."
Ben sighed, again, "Okay. That day Mom was done with supper. It was a Saturday. She sent me to go tell him dinner was ready. He was in his shed out back, as always, drunk and angry," his voice sounded far away. "He was always drunk and angry. We fought and he came at me. There was a kerosene lamp. He said one of us was gonna die. While we fought… he, uh, hit me and I punched him. Hard. Just hard enough so he'd pass out and sleep it off. The lamp tipped over and broke in a puddle of whiskey. All of a sudden, there's smoke and flames everywhere. I left him in there, Jenna, and I ran. He said one of us was going to die and it wasn't me. That's it."
Jenna discreetly rubbed a hand over the top of her arm, rubbing the gooseflesh away. Or, trying to at least.
"I…understand," Jenna replied, nodding, whipping a tear away. "I understand what domestic violence does to families. How it can change how people see the world." There was a flash of sympathy. It felt warm in her body and it left her feeling cold again. Ben reached out to hold her hand and she let him. "I get it. I swear I do. But," she took her hand back and his face fell, "I don't understand the lie."
He glanced at the carpet, averted his eyes away from her. "Ben Rayburn – the actual one that I went to school with – was killed in a car accident. We knew the same kids and sat beside each other in math class but we were never friends. I took his identity because I wanted a clean slate. I wanted nothing to do with being Ben Russell anymore. So, I took the name 'Ben Rayburn' and that's…it."
Another realization dawned on Jenna, long after she pulled hand away like she had been scalded by flames herself. There was the space –the hole – in Jenna's heart that stretched itself and grew. It hurt. It all just hurt. Surprisingly, Jenna understood Ben's perspective, his train of thought and why domestic violence stayed in the darkest corners of the most perfect families and nice looking houses.
Jenna had to learn a moment of domestic abuse – when Tom was five, and her mother would swear it was once, just once – had a hand in her conception. Nine months later, Officer Steven Kieran and his wife, respected schoolteacher, Evelyn Allen-Kieran were the proud parents of twin baby girls. So, she knew.
Every legal document Ben ever signed was forged. This lie permeated into the legal system. She could have run upstairs and dialled Phoebe, a New York attorney, and told her everything. But where would she begin? The idea of a quiet date with Ben was real and within reach a couple hours ago. Now, it was foreign. Jenna felt a headache start as pressure in the temple. It felt like the type of headache that snuck up when after swimming after inhaling water.
Even with this emotional tornado swirling around in Jenna's head and the elephants of the Pandora's Box Jenna opened stomped around.
She looked at Ben, twisting the ring on her finger, "What are you going to do now?"
Despite everything, Jenna still loved Ben. It wasn't hard to reconcile the panicked, scared teenage kid who had fought for survival to the man she married, the father of her child and on his way to his dream. It was the primal fight or flight instinct. She couldn't fault Ben for that. That was just it: Ben was her husband, the father of her child, the man she wanted to grow old with.
Jenna combed a hand through her hair.
"We can fix this, y'know."
She laughed, sadly. Always the healer. Always the one who wanted to fix what was broken. Ben would make a great doctor.
"Don't say that when it's not absolute. I don't know that and neither do you."
Ben opened his mouth to speak, to rebut, to list all the ways this – whatever was there between them because Jenna can fell its pull, its weight settling somewhere between her sternum.
"I…I have to go home. See my mom since Dad died, and you can go to Genoa City."
"I'm assuming Max will go with you," Ben said, with a sigh. "How long with two of you be gone?"
"A couple of weeks. I've taken a leave of absence from work and you can get the ball rolling on your residency," Jenna explained, with a shrug. She stuck her hands in her pockets out of habit, out of preparation. For what? She didn't know and frankly, Jenna didn't want to know anything. She was tired of knowing, of surprises. "Go see your friend. I'm sure, it's been a while."
"Yeah…"
Jenna grew scared of the silence that started to grow between them. She felt her body tense up, her nerves like elastic band stretched too far.
The sharp, melodious ringing of a phone gave Jenna an excuse to run to the table and force her nerves to settle. Maybe it was her mom. Maybe it was Phoebe. Maybe it was even a telemarketer, a perfect stranger. She glanced at the screen and looking at the number, Jenna swiped it to answer.
"Hey, Cheryl," Jenna answered, letting out a breath she hadn't realized had sat on her chest and compressed her lungs. She felt the breath release and her lungs expand. The other voice on the phone sounded hurried but not urgent. "Oh shit," she cursed, without meaning to. She turned around to meet Ben's quizzical glance and she mouthed Chester. "Yeah, yeah… Of course, one of us will be there. Thanks. Mhm. Bye."
She was grateful because it was just the normal circumstance of her little boy wanting his favourite stuffed animal to sleep with. Chester was a stuffed beagle Ben had given Max when he got home from his first tour. Now, it was Max's stuffed security blanket and no matter where he was, Chester had to be there. In the excitement of a quiet first date, Jenna had forgotten to pack Chester.
Jenna hung up and pocketed her phone in the back of her jeans.
"We forgot Chester."
"Oh. Right, and now, he can't sleep. No Chester, no sleep," Ben chuckled. "I remember when Max crawled into the closet trying to look for that thing because he thought it was lost."
Despite her emotions, Jenna smiled.
"Yeah. He was going to follow Chester into Narnia."
Perhaps, it was old habits, nostalgia or a sense of finality, but before she went upstairs, she kissed him and pulled away. Ben held on to her waist, a little longer than usual and let go.
"I…have to go to Max."
He sighed, visibly deflated, "Okay."
Jenna looked at her husband once more before she headed upstairs to get her child's security stuffed animal, she wondered what was going to secure her? What could she hold on to now?
—
Stitch likes to think he's lucky.
He goes from being in the space of someone that drives him up the wall to someone that still drives him up the wall but with affection and love.
It's a long, twisted road that's strange, but marrying Abby is worth it.
New year. New chances. Another chance at marriage he can actually get right without the baggage. Abby's all over the place: bright, bubbly, hilarious but there's a quirky brilliance about it. It's a new chance at a relationship that doesn't leave him wondering in the back of his mind if the past will damage his present.
When Stitch rushes into the police department straight from his honeymoon and sees Max, he thinks, his eyes must be playing tricks on him. Maybe it's something to do with his retinas or perhaps even his optic nerve. It might have shifted ever so slightly in his brain. Or, Max sitting there isn't a medical thing at all. Maybe it's a father who wishes to see his son so badly, he's physically there.
He could stand there, looking at this little hunched figure on the chair and wonder if Max is actually a few feet away from him or he can be his dad and just be elated. There's a small bit of him that feels sadness but he can't figure why. Max looks too much like him as a child, a kid who stares at the ground when he sits or a kid who doesn't want to go home from school. Max looks too much like a kid who would anxiously pull at the sleeves of his shirt to hide a fresh bruise.
Maybe Jenna sees reason. Maybe something about the New Year has touched her, too. Either way, Stitch assumes she's left Max to call someone, gone to use the restroom or even stayed until she may re-appear with something to say to him. She's married too with twin infant daughters at home, last he hears.
Max looks so different. He's slightly older, lankier in his body. But in many ways, he's the same little boy with the mop of blond hair and bright blue eyes.
"Max!" Stitch calls, and his head snaps up. He touches his boy and God, he's real. When he knows Max is truly there, he crouches to his level and hugs his son. Max goes back to glancing at the floor again. He touches his shoulders with both hands and they feel way too heavy for a ten-year-old but still, Stitch is gentle with him. Jenna most likely prepares him for this – she's a great mom that way – but it's still a shock. "Oh my God, I've missed you… Where's your mom, son?"
Jenna must be here. She's never the type to leave him alone. Never not on a plane.
For the first time in what seems like an eternity, Max raises his head and his eyes aren't bright at all. They're sad, but angry more than anything.
"Mom's dead!" Max finally exclaims, and those angry eyes travel over to Abby. "Mom's dead and you killed her!"
—
It takes six minutes for someone to die. It takes Stitch six seconds to see every memory of Jenna flash before his eyes – the night they meet, that awful blind date, kissing her goodnight for the first time, their wedding and how beautiful she is, the day he comes back home to meet this little boy swaddled in blue. In all of those memories, Stitch remembers how her laugh sounds, her smile, her humour and even her sarcasm. Most of all, Stitch remembers Jenna as this amazing woman who loves him but love isn't enough. Even with his mistakes breaking them and the sting of his divorce, there's no way someone like Jenna is dead. Not someone as big-hearted as her.
Stitch glances up at Abby, who looks confused and scared herself.
"Max, I…why would you say something like that? I didn't kill your mother. I just called her so we could talk about having you at the wedding. I didn't call her to be mean or anything, I swear," Abby tries to explain, but Max only glares at her.
He wants to understand Max and his tangled headspace but Paul walks over to him, looking very solemn and pulls him aside.
"Paul, there has to be some mistake. Jenna brought him here, didn't she?"
"No. I'm sorry to say Jenna was killed in a motor vehicle accident. Authorities in Melbourne are trying to piece together what happened, but it was mostly Jenna on her phone – attempting to – when she wondered into the wrong lane and couldn't gain control of the car before the impact."
"So, if…Jenna's dead, who brought Max here?"
Stitch doesn't mean to sound angry, but it's equal parts protectiveness where Max is concerned and this sadness for Jenna. How could she dead when – although it's more of a screaming match over what's best for their son – he speaks to her, just a couple weeks ago?
Paul sighs, "The stepfather tried to bring him over but he has no legal rights to him. An Australian social worker had him brought over to you. Jenna's husband did try to reach you multiple times and called here finally. A Derek Everton."
Derek Everton. Stitch remembers that name vaguely. Max mentions him – the high sweetheart of a boyfriend Jenna married soon after. He remembers him sounding really happy because of his two baby sisters. Jenna has twin girls. Stitch remembers politely congratulating her and least being happy that there's life for both of them after the debris of their marriage.
"My son was put on a plane with a total stranger?"
"The social workers in Australia and the American social workers are doing everything—"
"He's coming home with me," Stitch blurts out. He's Max's father. "No strangers. No social workers, Paul."
He sees Paul about to object. A lot of stuff about due process and legal things, but being a parent doesn't apply. Of course, medicine is the same way and police work are the same. People die every day. Families are never built quite the same way again, and it's his job to deliver the news. It's strange being on the other side. He doesn't want to think that the last time he speaks to Jenna, they'll screaming at each other.
Stitch doesn't want to think about those six minutes at all. He just wants his son.
"I understand, Stitch – "
Abby cuts Paul off gently as she appears at his side, lightly touching his arm. Stitch looks at her and thinks, How the hell did he get so lucky? How is he the guy with this big, beautiful heart in his hands?
"Paul, please. I don't see the problem with Max coming home with us. I know when I lost my father and then Colleen, I was angry and confused. He's in a strange new place and his mother is gone. Please let Ben take him home. We'll sort of the social worker stuff later. Ben's the only parents that Max has now."
Paul glances at her and then him before he nods at the social worker and goes.
"Thank you, Paul," he says, and Paul offers a wry smile and his condolences for a loss Stitch isn't sure he is to begin with. For some reason, he feels himself about to cry. His second wife is by his side as he mourns the first. There's a small part of Stitch that remembers the Gypsy from Maine. He turns to Abby and apologizes. "I'm sorry I pulled you into this. There's Max and…" he pauses, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat. "…Jenna's gone and you've already been so amazing through this."
Stitch's hand is shaking in the grasp of hers as she smiles at him.
"I meant it when I promised for better and for worse. I love you," Abby glances at Max, and there's that bright smile he wakes up to every night, for him. She gives Stitch a reassuring kiss. "I'll give you two a moment."
—
"I don't want to be here. Not without Mom, Derek, Emma and Molly. I want my mom, Dad," Max whispers, quietly, blue eyes carrying a kind of pain he sees mirrored in himself at ten. It's vastly different in that Max doesn't have an abusive father that grows progressively worse with age, a sister who sees nothing but rose-coloured version of the family, and a mother too scared to tell anybody but strong enough to endure a bigger hand slapping her across the face or a fist to the jaw. Max is too young and a pinprick of guilt stabs him.
There's just the maybes, the what ifs, the should haves, and the tentative stalemate between he and Jenn in the end. There's just the long sound of a flatlining monitor that follows him long after the shift at the hospital is over.
Stitch sits at a chair next to him and he can't believe his son is here. He thinks time will allow Jenna to understand they're his parents and Max needs his father. He can call Derek Everton and say thanks because it's the right thing to do. Time will give Stitch a chance to have another conversation with Jenna that doesn't involve tension that spills over in a screaming match of who hurt who, and what series of events causes the most damage in a life that starts out so perfect he feels he doesn't deserve it. He's a man of science. Believes in facts and what the combination numbers and medical lingo, most can't understand. Stitch can't count the number of times he hears the sound of a patient flatline, and calls the time of death so many times the words are no comfortable on his lips. Watching loved ones fall apart after being flooded with hope is part of the job.
As Max sits there wrapped up in a kind of grief he can't understand and wishes to carry himself, Stitch realizes the last conversation with Jenna is tense, rushed and any chance for them to be civil co-parents is dead on arrival. Jenna is dead.
"Come here, son," Stitch merely says, holding Max in his arms.
"It's not fair, Dad…" Max sobs against his shoulder.
Stitch kisses Max's head and meets Abby's eyes over Max's shoulder. They carry understanding in them and he returns it with a quiet look of gratitude. Then he holds his child close to him as he does the day he meets Max as a newborn, and swears to take care of him. It's what he can do for Jenna and what she would want. He knows it in his heart, and to the marrow of his bones.
"So long, Jenna," Stitch says so quietly in this bubble of father and son, it sounds like a sacred prayer only meant for her ears.
He's not a religious man but knows it will be one of many from him.
Life is funny, quick and tragic that way.
—
fin.