Author's Note

I haven't written in a while and need to just write without all that baggage of coming up with new characters. I've always been slightly fascinated with the Potter family dynamics and felt like there could have been more development if screen time was prioritized differently. This may be marginally A/U, we'll see. I know where I'm going but don't have all the details of how I'll get there. Alas, enjoy.

Of course, I don't claim ownership to characters or settings.

Waves

Chapter 1

Twenty year old Bessie looked tiredly at the pile of dishes in the sink by the window, the tension in her shoulders sending waves of slight pain through her spine. As much as she appreciated the casseroles, she thought, it would certainly be nice if people remembered the family had a restaurant with an industrial dishwasher and didn't somehow make more work for her. And the indignation with which Joey would preach against paper plates and the three Rs was more annoying than the extra time late at night at the sink. She pulled her hair back into a bun and turned on the radio on the counter, humming quietly to herself as The Cranberries filled the kitchen, not loudly enough to disturb her sleeping mother or sister, and not so loudly that she wouldn't hear her father pull into the driveway.

After she stuck the last dish in the drying rack, she poured some bleach in the sink and filled it again with hot water. She took care to wipe down everything, a prayer to keep any germs from making her immune-compromised mother sicker than she was. As she wiped the fixtures, she saw lights flood the window and sighed heavily. He would be in a bad mood, and she really wasn't in the mood to deal with him. With how he couldn't deal with their life, so there she was. Two semesters of college under her belt and she was stuck back in Capeside doing what needed to be done because he wouldn't.

"Is there any dinner left?" Mike asked as he kicked his shoes off by the mat.

"I already cleaned the kitchen and packed the leftovers for Joey's lunch," Bessie replied, trying to walk past him so she should go to the couch and review for her econ test at the community college.

"Didn't think I'd be hungry?"

"I thought you'd eat at the restaurant. There's peanut butter and bread. Just don't leave anything in the sink. I just got the dishes done and everything bleached."

"I work there, I'd like to eat when I'm home," he grumbled. "I'm burning it at both ends, Bessie."

"We all are," Bessie said, tiredly, seeing the smudge of pink on his collar. Her mother was dying. Surely, he could wait a few months so she was gone first. "I'm going to study for a bit and get to bed."

"I need you to be at the restaurant tomorrow for lunch. I have to meet some people about some things," he said, taking a clean plate from the rack and looking for the bread.

"We need to stop being open for lunch, Dad. There isn't money in it. We're bleeding money on staff," she answered back.

"We need people in the door."

"We need to stop throwing money away when we don't have any."

"You've seen the books," he countered.

"I see the till at the end of the shifts" she replied. She didn't want to have this conversation, she didn't want to know where the extra that was showing up in the account was from. "We don't even break even most day with lunch, and dinner isn't great either. Won't be until after the regatta."

"It's coming in."

"But where?" she asked, and immediately regretted it and left the room. He didn't follow.

She peeked into her sister's room. Sure enough, she wasn't there. The first time it happened, she had called the police, certain another tragedy had befallen the family. But she was found, safe and sound and drowsy from sleep at Dawson's. How she had yelled at her little sister, who stood there and looked like a shell. When she finally piped down and got tired of reprimand, Joey had quietly told her that it felt normal there. That Gail would make dinner, and Mitch would build a fire for marshmallows, and it was happy. And in that moment, Bessie wanted to be there to. She wanted to be anywhere but where she was.

Her alarm clock sounded too soon and she considered briefly hitting snooze, but remembered her econ exam and the morning routine that had to happen if she was to get there on time. She walked to the kitchen. The plate with peanut butter and crumbs was placed in the sink with a dirty paper towel, and she could see her father asleep on the couch with a few cans of Milwaukee's Best carelessly scattered on the table, some cigarettes in an ash tray taken from the restaurant. She pressed the button on the coffee machine, and went to the cabinet for her mom's morning course of medication. She sliced a banana into a bowl and heated some water in a kettle for peppermint tea. When it whistled, she poured it into her mom's favorite cup and slowly carried the tray down the small hallway to her mother's room. She nudged the door open and saw she was still. She froze for a moment, she always did and after a few seconds saw her chest rise. She gently shook her thin shoulder.

"Mom, come on. Start to wake up, okay?" she said softly. "Here's some breakfast. I'm going to wake up Joey and then I'll help get you ready for your appointment."

She smiled at her mom as her gray eyes opened and she took in the sun through the curtains.

"Another exciting day," Lillian said, with a wry smile. "Thank you for getting me out the door."

"You're welcome. Take your pills and I'll be right back."

She walked next door, and saw her sister had returned in the night. Sometimes she spent the whole night over there. Other times, she would come home. Bessie knew she was afraid to stay gone in case something happened with their mom. She and Joey often crossed paths quietly in their mother's room at all hours of the night, the sound of her breath reassuring them that things were still, in some abstract, strange way, okay. That they still had her. She also knew that the twelve year old was exhausted from her late nights and lack of sleep, but she had just accepted that none of the Potter women were going to feel refreshed for some time.

"Kid, time to get up. I need to get you to school on time so Mom can be at the hospital on schedule," Bessie said, sitting on the quilt and rubbing the younger girl's back. Joey tried to pull the blankets around her tighter and roll into a ball. Bessie patted her harder. "Get up. Get dressed. Grab some cereal. Now."

"I hate you," said the mock petulant voice of her sister, Bessie let out a small chuckle and left the room.

"Feeling is mutual, kid. Come on."

She pulled on her favorite pair of jeans, a pair of loose denim with patches that she had gotten a couple years prior and a purple tee shirt. She smoothed the fabric before grabbing her worn flannel and sitting down to pull on her boots. She kept work clothes at the restaurant. Being able to separate herself from that mess in a physical way had helped her a lot. Plus not smelling like fried clams all the time was great.

She helped her mom into a soft linen dress and knit sweater, before gently working a bright scarf around the soft, dry skin of her head. Even with the hell her body had been through over the past nine months, Lillian still was the most beautiful woman Bessie had ever seen. She had a regal dignity about her, something that make up and clothes would never be able to replicate. Her mother pulled her in for a gentle hug, before thanking her. She knew that her mom hated that she had come home, hated that it had to be that way. She knew Lillian was disappointed in her father's behavior and grateful for everything. She didn't resent her mom. Not for even a minute on the hardest day.

Joey was in the kitchen washing her bowl, then the plate that lingered from the night before. Mike was still asleep on the sofa, unaware of the movement of his family to start their day. She put away the plates and other dishes from the rack, quietly at first as to not disturb him, but then clattering them in, louder and louder still. The desire for him to wake up, to be disturbed, to be inconvenienced growing for reasons she didn't entirely understand. She wanted him to be the one to wake her up in the morning. She wanted to actually see him awake. She wanted to see him kiss her mother on the side of her head, the way he did when it had been covered in smooth chestnut colored waves. He suddenly flung himself to a sitting position, and rubbed his eyes before looking around, his forehead creased with annoyance.

"What the hell is that noise? I'm trying to get some goddamned sleep!" he yelled, his glassy eyes finally meeting with his youngest daughter. "What the hell is your problem?"

"I'm just helping put the dishes away," she snapped back. "I assumed everyone would be awake."

"You could see I wasn't," he growled, clearly debating whether or not to move his body from

the couch.

"Guess I didn't really care," she replied, turning on heel and walking out the kitchen door towards the creek.

"Joey!" he yelled. "Get back here!"

With that, Bessie walked behind Lillian through the living room. Bessie stopped and looked at her bleary eyed father who was clearly feeling the effects of the night before.

"What's wrong?"

"That girl's attitude," he said, before throwing himself back onto the sofa.

"Mike, you need to be patient with her," Lillian said, softly.

"You need to stop babying her," he replied, placing his arm over his eyes to shield them from the light. Bessie looked at her mom, who choose to continue her slow walk to the back where the station wagon was parked. She helped her get comfortably into the seat, before walking down the dock

to retrieve her sister.

"You pissed off Dad?" she asked. Joey stopped throwing rocks and nodded. "What did you do?"

"I was putting away the dishes and might have been a bit louder than I needed to be. But I don't see why he's just in there laying around. Why he's not the one helping Mom? I just thought he needed to wake up too," Joey said, her voice occasionally high, sometimes cracking, fighting back tears.

"Thanks for getting the dishes. And it would be great if he was willing to do that stuff, Jo. But he's not. And Mom deserves someone who will do it because it is the right thing, because it is what she deserves after all this time of taking care of us. I don't want him to do it just to get you off his back," Bessie said, putting her arm around Joey. She couldn't believe that her sister was as tall as she was, coming above her shoulders. In pictures from high school graduation, eighteen months prior, Joey still looked very much the little girl. "You okay?"

"As okay as I'm going to be," Joey sighed. "What appointment is it today?"

"Chemo," Bessie said. "She will see her oncologist Friday to see where we're at. Honestly, Jo?"

"Yeah?"

"I think it is going to be good news."

"I know."

"Come on. Let's get you to school." Bessie said, and guided her back to the car. Bessie ducked in to grab Joey's backpack and lunch, and saw her father was sleeping again. They set off for their day.

Joey sat on the steps in front of Capeside Middle School, waiting for the doors to open and for Dawson and Pacey to show up. Bessie always dropped her as early as the school really allowed on appointment days in order to get to the hospital then get to school. She looked through her bag and scanned her science book. She had a feeling there would be a quiz. She couldn't seem to shake the anger that had welled up in her earlier. Both at her father and at Bessie for letting him get away with it. She knew her sister had a lot on her plate, but she also felt like she could do things differently, that if she would just speak up for them, it would get better. She thought about what her sister had said. She didn't think there would be any good news. There hadn't been any good news since last August when Lillian had told her that she was sick. That she had breast cancer. Then that it had metastasized to her bones. Then to her lungs. And most recently, that there were lisons in her brain. Lesions that sometimes made her confused, that made her angry. That made her not the mom she desperately wanted to remember. She could feel the tears welling in her eyes, and she willed them away as she saw two boys on bikes riding towards the school. They knew, of course, about her mom. The whole town did. But she didn't talk about it with them. Not often. Not when she could avoid it. With them, she escaped. With them, she could be normal. She could pretend life was like it used to be. Like it was when she was younger and her parents were bursting with pride at the opening of the Ice House. Like when they would drive up the coast to Maine and camp in state parks. Like when she caught her parents kissing and pressed against each other in the storage room of the restaurant on her tenth birthday, and her mother flushed red and her father buried his face in her hair. Like when they hugged Bessie and waved as they dropped her off at her dorm room with new everything.

They knew how it used to be. Them knowing made it easier to be real.

Bessie gulped as she looked over the pages of her test. Though she thought she knew it last night, everything looked foreign. It just didn't make sense, and dread flooded her. She was taking out loans to pay for this. If she didn't do well, it was a waste. She couldn't transfer the credit back to U Mass when...well, when her mom was dead and they didn't need her help any more. She felt a pang of guilt and pushed it back. No. Her mom had been talking to her about college, about grades, about making something of herself for as long as she could remember. Not going back as soon as she could we be disrespectful to all her mom had tried to instill. She sighed. This horrible econ course was a learning experience. It was teaching her that the wonderful world of business and economics are not for her and she should perhaps look into something else. Maybe psychology or environmental science.

Mike Potter groaned as he rolled himself off the sofa. Perhaps he shouldn't have had so much to drink the night before, but it was the only way sleep was going to find him. He walked to the kitchen and grabbed the remaining banana off the counter. His head throbbed and he took a few advil from the bottle on the window frame. He had to meet Dan in the small warehouse district near downtown for a delivery. Maybe then he could go ahead and pay off the loan that Bessie had taken for her time at U Mass. It would make it easier when she started back. He knew he had to pay the hospital some, collections had been calling non-stop. He selfishly hoped that she would fall into the lull of the small town she had grown up in. That she would stay and offer reprieve, that she would stay and he wouldn't be a single dad. That she would stay, and he would still have most of his family together, even though the one he had always held most dear would be gone. A pang of guilt. After meeting Dan, he was going by Marisa's house. They hadn't gotten the chance to have much time together the night before at the restaurant, and he had known it would be more trouble if he didn't make it home. So Dan's, Marisa's, and then he would go by the bank and the hospital's financial office and lighten the load a bit for his oldest. Maybe he'd pick Lillian up some flowers and he could help her down to the dock. Maybe they could talk and forget some of the nightmare. He poured a small splash of vodka into his orange juice and drank it quickly, grabbing his keys from the rack.

He slowed his old pick up as he drove past the yellow blinking light for the school zone in front of Capeside Middle. Some students were still out front. He scanned for Joey's dark hair and lime green backpack, but didn't see her. Not that he really knew what to say if he did see her. He knew that he'd been a jerk yelling at her this morning. If he was being perfectly honest with himself, she had ever reason to be angry at him. Hell, if she knew he was peddling drugs into the the small town, if she was messing around on her mom...no. She'd be mad, but he was furious at himself. He hadn't seen the slippery slope, but now he just had to figure out a way through it and he would deal with the guilt later.

He stopped at the red light, one of the few traffic signals in town, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw one of the sheriff department's cars behind him. The light turned green and he rolled through the intersection. He let out his breath when the car turned right. He then chuckled to himself, Dan had been at this a long time without any trouble. It was okay.

Lillian leaned back, trying to get comfortable in the reclined chair as drugs dripped slowly into the port in her chest. She was doing this for the girls. Because she wanted them to know that she had fought, that she hadn't just given up. One more treatment after today and she would be done. She wouldn't come back to the hospital. She had talked to a social worker from the hospice program. They would give her medication as needed to keep her comfortable. She could have an IV to help keep her hydrated, the was little in the world she hated more than being thirsty. They would be there for the girls. A nurse could come and help her bathe instead of Bessie. She could have a hospital bed placed in the living room near the window that looked over the creek. She could spend the time she had left looking over the water that was as much part of her as the blood in her veins. She could watch the girls do their homework at the table. And she could see Mike as he came and went with barely a word, only a forlorn glance and guilty half smile.

His distance was the deepest betrayal she could imagine. They had promised each other their lives, sickness and health. And shortly after the cancer diagnosis came, he had checked out. He stopped sleeping in their bed with the quilt she had sewn him for her wedding gift after he came home smelling of cheap perfume. The scent had lingered in her chemo sensitive nose, haunting her. She knew, knew that he had already given up on her. She knew that he wouldn't be there for her in the end, and she thanked the universe that she had her daughters. That Bessie had come home without being asked. That Joey sat with her every afternoon to tell her about her day. That even when betrayed she wasn't alone. Part of her wanted to have it out, to have an epic battles to end all battles to end what had been their epic journey of romance. But she didn't have it in her. She didn't have the energy to walk into the Ice House and quip with the woman who would have ruined their marriage had cancer not already. And she a part of her, a tiny part, hoped that Mike found comfort with her. She hoped that she kept him warm when she couldn't. Held his hand when he realized that their limited time together was over.

Mitch would be picking her up when her appointments were done. At least her friends were still there.

Mike pulled into the lot of the warehouse. Dan was using it for custom woodwork, but that was mostly a front. Jobs seldom came, and when they did were often turned away. He saw Dan's sedan, and a jeep that he was unfamiliar with. A knot formed in his stomach, but he shook it off. Dan knew what he was doing, he always had. While what they were doing was illegal, Dan wouldn't put him in a place of risk. Not with Lillian. Not with the girls. He walked in, the bell on the door chimed and he headed into the back room where he saw Dan, a lean man with a persistent dark afternoon shadow and thinning hair and sallow skin beside a short, stocky man with dreadlocks and a goatee. Both men looked up at him.

"George, this is Mike. He'll be getting the product out. He has some kitchen staff that distribute," Dan said, and Mike shook the other man's hand. "Mike, this is George. He works for some people I know getting us what we need."

"Nice to know you," Mike said, swallowing. "So, you got the stuff?"

"Yeah. Here. It isn't the greatest, but sure as hell is better than the other stuff floating around," Dan answered, opening a cabinet and pointing at the neatly packaged blocks of powder. "Let's break these down, and you'll be ready to go."

He pulled some scales out and dropped a bundle on the table. Mike pulled a box of bags from the shelf. George lingered until Dan pulled a chair out and told him to sit.

Bessie pulled the car into the small gravel lot of the Ice House. It was almost 10:30, she should have already been getting things in order, but alas, life had other plans. She saw Ester walking in. Ester had worked as a waitress since the restaurant opened, and the older woman had been the source of immense support since Lillian stopped coming in, despite the wages being less than stellar. She didn't see Bodie's bike, but it wasn't unusual for him to be late starting the day. He always pulled it together.

"Bessie, I need to talk to you," Ester said, her aged faced full of anxiety. Bessie fumbled with the keys and opened the door, flipping on the open sign. No one would be in for at least half an hour.

"What is it?" she asked as she checked the host stand to make sure that silverware had in fact been wrapped the night before.

"I'm giving notice. I accepted a new position," Ester said, her voice shaking. Bessie looked at the woman. Ester was in her late fifties with gray streaking her mousy brown hair which she always wore in a long braid down her back. She always wore her uniform, a white polo and red apron, neat and pressed, unlike a lot of the staff that tended to look like they had just rolled out of bed. "It's just...we've got bills. And Martie's disability case is dragging. The taxes have gone up on the house again, and my back...I don't have insurance and they keep nagging me about surgery. I just..."

"I understand, Ester," Bessie returned, exhaustion flooding her before the work day had even started. "You know I'd pay you more if there was the money to be had. Business has gone down the tubes since Mom stopped working. Thank you for giving notice and not just not coming in."

"I know. I don't want to leave you in a jam. None of you," the older woman said, taking Bessie's hand. "If you get someone in soon, I'll be sure to be the one to train them. That way maybe it will go better than some of those yahoos your dad has been bringing through."

"I appreciate that," Bessie smiled. "I'm going to get some coffee started. Can you be sure the tables were checked last night? I think Bodie said the special was going to be catfish today. $6.99, two sides and a drink."

"I'll write it on the board," she said, and started to work as Bessie went back to the kitchen.

There was a knock at the back entrance to the kitchen that caused Bessie to jump and spill coffee grounds onto the counter. She really didn't understand why the kitchen staff wouldn't just use the front door like everyone else. Bodie had said something about kitchen culture, but she was pretty sure he was bullshitting her. She opened the door and saw Fred, a guy that her dad had hired who Bodie said was a waste of space. But at least he was a waste of space that was on time.

"Bodie's not in yet, so if you can start setting up the line, that'd be great," Bessie told him. "Special is catfish."

"What should I do?"

"I know he's shown you how to set up," Bessie said, crossing her arms. This was not what she wanted to deal with. She had never been back of house and really did not feel up to attempting to walk him through it.

"Yeah."

"Well, do that."

"Is Mike here?" he asked, looking around the kitchen.

"No, Bodie's in the kitchen today. He should be here-" she started, just as the cook rushed through the door looking frazzled. "Nice of you to show up."

"Sorry, Bessie. I got tangled up with my landlord. Roommate apparently took my check but didn't pay the rent," Bodie said, hurriedly. He washed his hands at the sink near the dishwasher, and looked around. "Fred, what are you standing there for?"

Bessie sighed, and returned to making the coffee before leaving the kitchen for the small office where she stored some clothes. She quickly changed and set to drawing up sections, one for Ester, one for her, and one for another server.

When her parents had opened the place about six years earlier, she had been so excited at the prospect of working there. While her mom had always wanted to run a bed and breakfast, Capeside real estate for something like that was way out of the family's reach. When the previous business, an independent hardware store that Lillian had worked closed down, the bereaved widow of the owner had given the Potters a very fair deal. She had just wanted to see the property cared for and had known Lillian and Mike since childhood. Mike and Lillian had spent the summer renovating the place after work while Bessie kept an eye on Joey in the construction mess or in the park. They had their grand opening on August first, their wedding anniversary. It had been packed and for the first time she could remember, her parents were able to say yes without scrambling to pull resources from elsewhere. Yes to her trying out for field hockey. Yes when she asked for designer jeans. Yes for the ninth grade trip the advanced placement kids took to Boston. Yes to new dresses for homecoming and the winter formal. Yes, yes, yes.

Lillian leaned back in the seat of Mitch's car, slightly queasy and tired, but really no worse for the wear. The Leery family had been the source of tremendous support, not just recently, but for at least a decade. She felt Mitch looking at her, so she turned her head and smiled.

"Anywhere you want to go?" he asked, switching off the radio.

"Hmm, MOMA?" she replied. She felt wistful, a slight melancholy longing in her chest that seemed amplified by the pruned bushes in the hospital's outpatient lot. "Or the Boston library? Oh, I would love to get another visit there."

"I've got the chair in the back," Mitch replied.

His mother had died a few years back, and he hadn't gotten to getting rid of everything yet. Gail had reminded him a few months ago that he had her wheelchair in the attic and that it might come in handy while they helped their friend get to and from appointments, and maybe even out on the town. Sometimes, Lillian would have them take her to town, through a bookstore or the diner. He knew that Bessie tried, but she was stretched thinner than any young person should be. And Mike had gone from a doting husband to someone that Mitch didn't recognize. He was jumpy, elusive, and most importantly, not present. Mitch had tried cornering him, but he quickly saw that it made things worse. According to Gail, after he tried talking to him, he started sleeping on the couch.

"Actually, yes. I'd like to go by that stationary store near the market. I want to get together some letters for the girls to have. You know, birthdays, weddings, babies, all that good stuff. Make sure I'm there," Lillian said.

"You might..."

"No, Mitch. This isn't a might anymore," she cut in, her voice soft but steady. He patted her hand before putting the card in reverse and heading down the familiar roads of Capeside.

"Do they know what is happening?"

"I have an oncology consult later this week, but I'm not counting on any improvement. They said a couple weeks ago with treatment, I might see the end of the summer. But I think the treatment is making it worse. I don't want my time to be like this," Lillian answered. She tried to avoid discussing the details as much as possible with her girls. They knew to an extent. Bessie knew her meds, knew her routine and the risks. She knew she would have to tell them soon, but she wanted to get them through the end of the semester with some hope. It was funny, it felt good to sit next to someone and just tell them that she wasn't long for the world.

Joey sighed and filed in the bubbles on her answer sheet. The classroom seemed cold, despite the school not having any air conditioning and it being a picturesque spring day. She was glad that the room was quiet and that she had something to focus on. She tugged once on her ponytail that seemed to be getting looser and bit her lip.

Usually, she liked tests. She liked the ones they took at the end of the year. They would be inside all morning doing them, then they would be released early in the day. There would be a week of

not a lot of real work and class parties, maybe a video or two, then it was summer.

Two summers ago, she had finally gotten permission from her parents to row across the water to Dawson's alone, with the promise that was where she would go and she would always wear her life jacket. She loved it. But she wasn't looking forward to this summer. She wasn't looking forward to sitting on her hands and being told she was too young to help in the restaurant when she knew it wasn't doing well. She wasn't looking forward to the lump in her throat that formed whenever she would peek into her mother's room at night. She wasn't looking forward to her dad ignoring them and leaving his beer cans everywhere. She wasn't looking forward to watching her sister look longingly at the Amherst calendar that hung on the refrigerator or her short remarks about being stuck there.

For the first time she could remember, she wasn't looking forward to summer vacation. She looked up at the clock. There was another hour to go, then they would turn in their science tests. Math and english would later in the week, but today they would be allowed to leave. She glanced over to where Dawson sat. They were going to swing by the restaurant after the test and get Bessie to give them milkshakes and hush puppies.

Mike Potter tossed a duffel bag in the passenger side of the truck and glanced back at the warehouse. He heard sirens and tensed for a moment before realizing that they were coming from an ambulance. He thought about going by to see Marisa, but decided against it. He didn't want the stuff in his car any longer than it had to be. He rolled his window down and headed back towards the Ice House. He would get it there and Fred could take it from there. No longer his problem.

The parking lot was surprisingly full when he pulled in. That was a good sign. Maybe Bessie would believe him when he said it wasn't as bad as she thought. They just needed to hold on until the tourists came. He glanced in his rear view mirror. Again, he saw one of the sheriff deputy cars pull behind him.

It was lunch time. People liked lunch.

He parked and hopped out, holding the duffel bag under his arm. He noticed a small wait near the front door and stopped for a moment to greet them, shaking their hands and offering them free pie for dessert. He felt a spring in his step. Maybe it would all be okay.

Inside the door, he saw Bessie at a booth in the back. She had a tendency to talk with her hands and was gesturing wildly as she recounted something to Pete the barber. He paused for a minute when he saw Joey planted at the bar between two boys who were a few inches shorter than she was, but remembered that state testing was going on. He'd talk to her later. He made his way into the small office to stash his bag in the filing cabinet before going into the kitchen. Bodie and two younger men were talking loudly as they plated food. He walked over to the pass.

"Hey, Fred. Take a break," Mike said, banging twice on the warm metal. Bodie rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything.

Fred followed him back to the office. There wasn't space to close the door, but Fred knew the

drill. He blocked the line of site with his body.

Suddenly, a loud voice boomed, "Every body stay calm. Do not move. Just stay at your tables."

Loud foot steps. Someone pulling Fred back, then pushing him against the wall. Metal clanking.

"Michael Potter. Drop the bag. Put your hands where I can see them," said Sheriff Witter who hand his gun at the ready. "Turn around."

Mike nodded, then slowly turned. He looked around. Bessie stood in the corridor with her hand over her mouth.

"I can walk out, John. Don't do this. Not in front of the girls," Mike choked out. "I'll go."

"There's a procedure," he said, taking Mike's hands firmly and cuffing them in sunwarmed metal. "You are under arrest for possession of a controlled substance with intent to distribute. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can not afford an attorney, the court will appoint one for you."

Mike stood feeling defeated. He glanced up before looking at his feet. Fred was being walked through the dining room as customers stared. He swallowed the bile in his throat. He'd have to walk past his daughters. His eyes locked with Bessie's. She had her mother's eyes and the tears her saw welling there were a knife in his gut. One of the deputies nudged Mike roughly and they started to move forward. His eyes shifted around the familiar restaurant. He had been meaning to clean the saltwater tank. He saw women whispering behind their hands. He dared a glance at the bar where his youngest daughter, the girl they had prayed so hard to come to them, sat wide eyed. Her mouth was open in shock. Dawson Leery looked crestfallen and placed his hand in hers. Pacey Witter sat on her other side, glaring at them, his face twisted with anger. He tore his eyes away and saw Marisa.

"What's going on?" she asked. "Mikey, what's happening?"

She placed a hand on his cheek, but the deputy pushed him harder to get him to move faster. He let himself be guided into one of the cars in the parking lot with blue lights. He ducked his head and the deputy buckled him in the back. They started to drive off, a car staying behind for what he assumed was investigation. The drive only took a minute. They pulled in front of the courthouse which was situated in the middle of the small downtown. The deputy opened the door, unbuckled his seat belt, and tugged his arm to assist him out of the car. He didn't think it was possible, but his heart sank further when he saw Lillian and Mitch Leery on the sidewalk. She was in a wheelchair, hand over her mouth like Bessie's had been. They were staring at him.