Salvation
It was amazing; Ephraim stood in the rain, watching a casket lowered into the ground. He stood watching the walking dead; pale, sick people, lonely and lost, milling around the muddy, canopied cemetery, and he watched Amy sob and sob, watched her whole body hiccup and convulse with her introverted, focused sadness. And he saw his father. His father, secretly, silently shunned, standing on the far side of the group, long black coat, tearless, quiet eyes on the condemned mahogany box that had somehow stolen everything that had ever breathed warm in this never-ending winter of a town. Ephraim watched them both, and realized that he felt much more inclined toward his father.
Amy would be sad, but she would always have others. There would always be a person to hold out their arm to her, to offer their shoulder. Her sadness, though deep, was without shame. Amy was being saved, whereas Andy was drowning.
And here was Ephraim's choice. And it was nothing.
Ephraim walked over to his father slowly, eyes on the ground. He thought that perhaps cemetery dirt is all the same, everywhere. It's all got the same mysterious consistency, that dark, clean, sinister impression of having taken something exceedingly important in broad daylight and having gotten away with it.
The crowd was dispersing now, and, Ephraim was coming to stand beside his father. He turned so that they were facing the same way; father and son, faces to the wind, clothed in black, waiting for the end of the world with steady, tired eyes.
"All who are inclined are invited to join the Abbotts for a brief gathering at their home. Go in peace."
Go in peace. Go in peace.
Ephraim waited a moment, not quiet sure what to do. He watched the thieving ground and moved his fingers over the neat seem on the inside of his pants pockets. Andy didn't move.
"I'm sorry, Andy, she was fine up until the last couple of minutes ..."
Ephraim looked up to see Nina struggling toward his father, holding a motionless Delia in her arms in such a way that the little girl was looking over her shoulder with her hands not around Nina's neck but flat, palm down on her upper chest.
Andy came to life and held out his arms. He didn't apologize, he just took her into his arms and rubbed his hand over her back.
Ephraim saw only a brief flash of his sister's face, and he was glad of it. She had looked something between fright and sadness, with tears all over her face and her eyes squeezed shut. She didn't make a sound.
Andy rubbed Delia's back slowly, as if he were simply phoning in his movements from someplace far away.
Ephraim waited for a decision from his father; are we leaving? Are we staying? Are we going to the Abbott's?
Andy didn't move for a good minute or two; he watched as the working men took over the burial of Colin Hart. Their shovels, one directly after the other so that there was no break in the "pum pum pum" of the displaced, wicked dirt, flew in the air over the grave like morbid, steel wings. Finally, Ephraim gently took hold of his father's elbow. It may have been thirteen inches of movement, but it was the hardest thing Ephraim had ever done in his life.
"Dad." He said. Andy didn't look down. Ephraim applied only the slightest pressure to his father's elbow, steering him slightly to the side, trying to spur on movement. Andy turned but kept his slightly squinted eyes on the gravesite. Ephraim felt tears in his eyes.
"Dad. Please." He said, keeping his voice surprisingly steady. Andy suddenly looked down at Ephraim. The pupils of his eyes were empty and cold and far away, and his arm under the black coat was stiff and lifeless. The hair on the back of Ephraim's neck stood, and he had to remind himself that he knew this thing in front of him.
Andy frowned in confused sympathy, but said nothing.
"Delia's scared." Ephraim said softly. "We should go."
Andy blinked and the hand rubbing Delia's back stopped, but he didn't move.
"Dad, everyone is gone." Ephraim stated pathetically, looking off into the gray, tired, hopeless horizon of the mountains, and suddenly seemed very prison-like. He felt a choking lack of air, and a need to escape. A need to hear his father speak.
"Dad, you've got to stop this." He finally, said, allowing his voice to shake, hearing it become swallowed by the constant gritting "pum pum pum" of dirt hitting wood and sliding on dirt and sadness.
Andy blinked and nodded. "Yeah. I know." He said quietly.
Ephraim breathed. Delia made a sound like laughing and swallowing at once.
"Are we going home?" Ephraim asked again.
"I think so. I'm sorry." Andy muttered.
"Yeah. It's fine." Ephraim breathed, but he knew that next time it wouldn't be fine. Next time he lost his father to that world of "what might have happened". Because he knew that was where he was. Somewhere with the bleeding, innocent body of Colin Hart on an operating table, somewhere in a mass of coils and veins and skin, somewhere inside Salvation. "If only" was a terrible place to get lost in, especially in a mind as vast and critical as his father's.
As they made their way back to the car, Ephraim tried to ignore the looks they got.
You shouldn't be here. That's what they all said. Said it loud and clear.
Perhaps they shouldn't be. Perhaps the Browns were meant to eternally remain on that bloody operating table beside this town's Great White Hope as Everwood's soul flat lined, or perhaps they were even condemned to share it's grave, but whatever they deserved one way or the other, they were here.
Being in a wet, gray, half-paved parking lot with a near-comatose father, a petrified little sister, and evil-eyes all around, didn't seem like such a good place to be to Ephraim Brown.
He smiled in the face of his onlookers, despite, as he thought of what he might have expected. He had expected nothing, but nothing was not what he had gotten. He had certainly gotten something. He had gotten a father, perhaps. Something to stand next to as everybody else took a step back and wouldn't touch the good doctor with a ten and a half foot pole. In the end, he had seen where his loyalties lay, as it were.
It sure as hell wasn't Salvation, but it was somewhere. And in the end, maybe that was better. After all. Colin Hart had been Salvation.
The end
It was amazing; Ephraim stood in the rain, watching a casket lowered into the ground. He stood watching the walking dead; pale, sick people, lonely and lost, milling around the muddy, canopied cemetery, and he watched Amy sob and sob, watched her whole body hiccup and convulse with her introverted, focused sadness. And he saw his father. His father, secretly, silently shunned, standing on the far side of the group, long black coat, tearless, quiet eyes on the condemned mahogany box that had somehow stolen everything that had ever breathed warm in this never-ending winter of a town. Ephraim watched them both, and realized that he felt much more inclined toward his father.
Amy would be sad, but she would always have others. There would always be a person to hold out their arm to her, to offer their shoulder. Her sadness, though deep, was without shame. Amy was being saved, whereas Andy was drowning.
And here was Ephraim's choice. And it was nothing.
Ephraim walked over to his father slowly, eyes on the ground. He thought that perhaps cemetery dirt is all the same, everywhere. It's all got the same mysterious consistency, that dark, clean, sinister impression of having taken something exceedingly important in broad daylight and having gotten away with it.
The crowd was dispersing now, and, Ephraim was coming to stand beside his father. He turned so that they were facing the same way; father and son, faces to the wind, clothed in black, waiting for the end of the world with steady, tired eyes.
"All who are inclined are invited to join the Abbotts for a brief gathering at their home. Go in peace."
Go in peace. Go in peace.
Ephraim waited a moment, not quiet sure what to do. He watched the thieving ground and moved his fingers over the neat seem on the inside of his pants pockets. Andy didn't move.
"I'm sorry, Andy, she was fine up until the last couple of minutes ..."
Ephraim looked up to see Nina struggling toward his father, holding a motionless Delia in her arms in such a way that the little girl was looking over her shoulder with her hands not around Nina's neck but flat, palm down on her upper chest.
Andy came to life and held out his arms. He didn't apologize, he just took her into his arms and rubbed his hand over her back.
Ephraim saw only a brief flash of his sister's face, and he was glad of it. She had looked something between fright and sadness, with tears all over her face and her eyes squeezed shut. She didn't make a sound.
Andy rubbed Delia's back slowly, as if he were simply phoning in his movements from someplace far away.
Ephraim waited for a decision from his father; are we leaving? Are we staying? Are we going to the Abbott's?
Andy didn't move for a good minute or two; he watched as the working men took over the burial of Colin Hart. Their shovels, one directly after the other so that there was no break in the "pum pum pum" of the displaced, wicked dirt, flew in the air over the grave like morbid, steel wings. Finally, Ephraim gently took hold of his father's elbow. It may have been thirteen inches of movement, but it was the hardest thing Ephraim had ever done in his life.
"Dad." He said. Andy didn't look down. Ephraim applied only the slightest pressure to his father's elbow, steering him slightly to the side, trying to spur on movement. Andy turned but kept his slightly squinted eyes on the gravesite. Ephraim felt tears in his eyes.
"Dad. Please." He said, keeping his voice surprisingly steady. Andy suddenly looked down at Ephraim. The pupils of his eyes were empty and cold and far away, and his arm under the black coat was stiff and lifeless. The hair on the back of Ephraim's neck stood, and he had to remind himself that he knew this thing in front of him.
Andy frowned in confused sympathy, but said nothing.
"Delia's scared." Ephraim said softly. "We should go."
Andy blinked and the hand rubbing Delia's back stopped, but he didn't move.
"Dad, everyone is gone." Ephraim stated pathetically, looking off into the gray, tired, hopeless horizon of the mountains, and suddenly seemed very prison-like. He felt a choking lack of air, and a need to escape. A need to hear his father speak.
"Dad, you've got to stop this." He finally, said, allowing his voice to shake, hearing it become swallowed by the constant gritting "pum pum pum" of dirt hitting wood and sliding on dirt and sadness.
Andy blinked and nodded. "Yeah. I know." He said quietly.
Ephraim breathed. Delia made a sound like laughing and swallowing at once.
"Are we going home?" Ephraim asked again.
"I think so. I'm sorry." Andy muttered.
"Yeah. It's fine." Ephraim breathed, but he knew that next time it wouldn't be fine. Next time he lost his father to that world of "what might have happened". Because he knew that was where he was. Somewhere with the bleeding, innocent body of Colin Hart on an operating table, somewhere in a mass of coils and veins and skin, somewhere inside Salvation. "If only" was a terrible place to get lost in, especially in a mind as vast and critical as his father's.
As they made their way back to the car, Ephraim tried to ignore the looks they got.
You shouldn't be here. That's what they all said. Said it loud and clear.
Perhaps they shouldn't be. Perhaps the Browns were meant to eternally remain on that bloody operating table beside this town's Great White Hope as Everwood's soul flat lined, or perhaps they were even condemned to share it's grave, but whatever they deserved one way or the other, they were here.
Being in a wet, gray, half-paved parking lot with a near-comatose father, a petrified little sister, and evil-eyes all around, didn't seem like such a good place to be to Ephraim Brown.
He smiled in the face of his onlookers, despite, as he thought of what he might have expected. He had expected nothing, but nothing was not what he had gotten. He had certainly gotten something. He had gotten a father, perhaps. Something to stand next to as everybody else took a step back and wouldn't touch the good doctor with a ten and a half foot pole. In the end, he had seen where his loyalties lay, as it were.
It sure as hell wasn't Salvation, but it was somewhere. And in the end, maybe that was better. After all. Colin Hart had been Salvation.
The end