Sydney watched as her the
armed guards led her mother back to her cell. She was aware that her mother had
just given her two very precious gifts and she needed some time to ponder them.
She saw Devlin approaching her, as she headed for the exit. She really didn't
want to deal with anybody at that moment, but there was no good way to escape.
"Sydney, I thought
I'd find you here. Listen, Dr. Barnett needs to see you. She realizes you've
been a little tied up lately, but she has to submit a progress report by
tomorrow. She spoke to Kendall earlier, so she knows you're here. She's waiting
for you right now." Devlin didn't wait for her response. She was pretty
sure he hurried off so he wouldn't have to deal with her reaction to the news.
"Well, I may as
well get it over with," she thought. "I'll give Barnett the correct
answers and maybe, at the same time, come up with a plan on how to approach Dad
about my parentage."
Dr. Barnett was sitting
at her desk, obviously filling out a mountain of paperwork, when Sydney
arrived. She looked up and smiled. "I'm so glad you could make it, Sydney.
Why don't you take a seat in the recliner." Sydney looked at the Dr.
inquiringly. Normally, she would sit in the chair opposite the desk.
"I thought we'd do
a little regression therapy." Sydney tensed. Her last encounter with
regression therapy had revealed something she'd rather not have known.
Barnett apparently
noticed her reaction. "I think it will help you deal with your feelings
about both your parents a lot better if we are able to find a connection with
the past."
Sydney wasn't so sure,
but nodded her assent.
"I want you to
relax and think about before your mother left you." Barnett was obviously
using her soothing voice. "You were happy. Your parents love you."
The carousel music
danced in her head. She remembered her father lifting her up on her favorite
pony. As the ride went round and round, she would search for her parents faces,
smiling out to her, their happiness seeming to be utterly complete.
"Now we need to
move a little further in to the future. Your mother is dead. Your father is
unhappy."
It was late afternoon.
She was eleven years old. Her schoolbooks were strewn out on the dining room
table. She was working on her math when she heard the phone ring. Daddy was
home. He'd been gone for almost a month this last time. She hated it when he
had to go away.
"Can't you send
someone else. I just got back. I haven't even been home a week." Silence.
"Very well. I'll be ready to leave in the morning."
She heard her father
hang up and dial the phone again. "Mrs. Smith." There seemed
to be a weariness in her father's voice. "I just got called in, again.
No, I don't know how long I'll be gone this time, but it shouldn't be more than
a week. Thanks."
Suddenly she felt
angry. She was angry at his job. Angry that her father let them take him away
from her. Her mother had been taken from her and now they wanted her father,
too. When he came in to the dining room, she refused to look at him. He loved
her smile, but she wouldn't give him one this time. She would punish him for
going away.
"Sydney," her
father began.
"No. I hate
you." All her little girl anger welled up in her. "I want my mother.
She wouldn't be dead if you hadn't killed her." She could see the hurt in
her father's face. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. I never want to
see you again." She jumped up from her chair and raced to her bedroom,
locking the door behind. Her father followed her up and knocked gently on the
door. "Sydney, you don't mean that. You know I wouldn't leave if it wasn't
absolutely necessary."
"Go away. You
aren't my mother. You killed her. You killed her." She was sobbing in her
pillow now. Eventually, she heard her father leave for his room. She heard the
closet creak and the sound of suitcase zipper. She hated that sound. Every time
she heard it, she knew he was going away.
A week later, she heard
his car pulling in to the driveway. She had listened for it every day from the
moment he left. The slam of his car door had always been her cue to run down
and leap in his arms. Somehow, though, she couldn't bring herself to move. She
wanted things to be the same, but she remembered what she'd said before he left
and the hateful words seemed to bind her to the bed.
"Sydney, your
Daddy's home." Nanny Smith called to her. She heard her father ask a
question, then, "I think she's in her room, Mr. Bristow."
He was in her doorway
before she knew it. "Sydney?" Her father sounded worried. "Are
you ok honey?" She turned to look at him, unable to speak. "I brought
your gift, sweetie." It was wrapped it shiny paper with a huge pink bow.
She turned away and her father sighed and left her to herself.
The gift was a
beautiful doll. The clothes were hand made and very luxurious. Her father had
probably spent a fortune on it, but she didn't understand that at the time.
When she heard the shower, she picked up the doll and headed for the study. The
trash canister was next to the desk and she placed the doll there. It was the
last gift she ever received from her father.
Christmas and birthdays
had always been special. No matter where Daddy was, he always made it home for
those occasions. He had barely made it for Christmas the previous year. She had
been very anxious the night before, constantly asking the nanny when her Daddy
would be there. He still hadn't arrived by the time she went to bed. The next
morning, though, she raced to his room, sure in the knowledge that he would be
there. And she hadn't been disappointed. She plastered his face with kisses
until he woke up. Then down they would go, hand in hand, to see what Santa had
left.
Her little tirade with
the doll had made things really tense that fall. Gone was the man who would
come home from the office early and take her out for ice cream. There were no
more trips to the zoo or the circus. But Christmas was coming and somehow she
knew she needed to make things right between them. She had been taking an art
class at school. The teacher had challenged them to draw something special to
give as a gift to their parents. She knew exactly what she would draw. She had
an old picture of Daddy carrying her on her shoulders. Her teacher had been
surprised at how well she drew, but Sydney knew that it was because each stroke
was a gift of love.
Her father left on
another trip in the middle of December. It wasn't so difficult this time,
because she knew he would be home for Christmas. Nanny Smith helped her wrap
her gift. She put the tag on. To Daddy. Love, Sydney.
On Christmas Eve, she
stayed in the living room the whole day. It had the best view of the driveway.
Nanny Smith had tried to get her to eat her dinner in the kitchen, but she
refused. She wanted to know the exact moment her father arrived. Nanny Smith
finally put her to bed at 11pm. She didn't sleep very well that night. She
pulled her special doll out from her closet. The doll had become her safety
blanket. She had rescued it from the study later that night and would sleep
with it whenever her father went away.
Once, she thought she'd
heard her father in the hallway, but it was only Nanny. When morning rolled
around, she raced to his room, as she always did. He wasn't there. She ran down
the stairs, thinking that perhaps he was already up and waiting on her. She saw
Nanny Smith on the phone. "It's your father, sweetie. He's been
delayed."
Sydney remembers the
hurt she felt that morning. Nanny Smith had tried to get her to open her
presents, but she had refused. She wasn't interested in the gifts. Nanny Smith
had purchased them for her father. She wanted to cry, but the tears seemed
frozen somewhere inside of her. She just sat in her chair in the living room,
unmoving. Did she even eat that day? She couldn't remember. That night, she
took her father's gift from the tree and hid it in her closet, next to the
doll.
Her father had come
home the next day, but she still refused to open her gifts. She never knew what
had happened to them. The next birthday came and went, as did many Christmas'
days after. Each time, she would long for her father to be there. She hated the
ring of the telephone on those days. Whichever Nanny she had at the time would
answer. She knew the message by heart. "I'm sorry, Sydney. Your father's
been delayed."
"Sydney." She
heard Dr. Barnett's voice. "You need to tell me what your seeing."
Sydney shook herself, suddenly realizing she was crying.
"I'm sorry, Dr.
Barnett. I can't. Not yet." She needed to see her father. To talk to him.
All the coldness that had been between them. Her fault. Somehow she had blocked
that from her memory. She wanted to hug her father and tell him how much she
loved him. "I know you need to make a report, but ..." She took a
deep breath. "I'm sorry," she repeated. "There is something I
have to do first.
Sydney left Barnett's
office and headed for the ladies room. She wiped the tears away, then drove to
her apartment. Once there, she searched her closet. It was right where she had
left it. The present had been beautifully wrapped, thanks to Nanny Smith. She
saw the tag and the tears flowed once again.
She reached for the
phone. "Daddy?" She tried to keep her voice steady. "Are you
going to be home tonight? I need to see you."
Jack placed the phone back
on its cradle. She had called him Daddy.
Laura hadn't been
feeling well and he had been worried. She'd always been the first to wake. He preferred
hitting the alarm a few times. Or maybe it was just that he liked being kissed
awake. The past week, though, she'd spent her mornings bent over the commode.
He'd called her from
work and was relieved that she sounded better. He wanted to know if she was
feeling well enough to go out for the evening. She'd told him no, that she had
a surprise for him and he needed to be home to receive his gift. He teased her
to reveal the surprise, but she held firm. Later, she promised.
Candles were
everywhere. He was assailed with their scent each mingling together to create a
bouquet for the senses. Whatever the surprise was, he liked it already. He
could hear Laura humming in the kitchen. He removed his coat and made his way
to her. His hands slipped around her waist and he nuzzled her neck.
"Jack, stop that
right this minute." Her eyes laughed up at him. "I want this to be
perfect and ...Jack." His hands found a particularly sensitive spot. She
turned and kissed him. "Now go and put on something a little more
comfortable." He raised an eyebrow. "Jeans and a T-shirt will do
nicely. Now go."
"Ok, but I think
my idea of comfortable is better than yours." She laughed and glanced
pointedly toward the stairs. "I'm going, I'm going."
They ate their dinner
in comfortable silence. He was looking forward to the surprise. Laura seemed a
little nervous, though. When they had finished, she led him to the den. The
light from the fireplace danced around the room. It had been cool for a
September night, even in West Virginia. She led him to the couch. A box wrapped
with pink and blue paper sat on the coffee table. "Open it." Laura's
eyes were dancing. "Help me," he said. "No, this is your
surprise."
He reached for the
gift. He opened the box and pulled out a rattle, then he found the pacifier. It
took him a moment before he understood. He pulled her to him and they kissed,
long and slow. Their lovemaking lasted through the night.
Sydney's birth had been
difficult. Laura's labor had been long and intensive. She'd threatened more
than once to kill him if he ever touched her again. Jack held her first. She
was so tiny. And she was his. From that moment, he vowed to protect her, to
keep her from harm. Laura reached out for her baby and he transferred her into
her mother's arms. "Hello, Sydney," she said softly.
He still remembered the
first time she actually said 'Daddy'. Not the babyish 'dada', but the fully
formed and complete ''Daddy'. From the moment she started walking, she would
race to meet when he came home. Lifting her arms, she would demand that he lift
her up.
They had received some
intelligence of a possible assassination attempt on the President. The
information had been difficult to decipher and several days passed before he
finally cracked it. They had been in lockdown and he'd been unable to get home.
He had told Laura that he had to go out of town for a few days. He hadn't
wanted to lie, but his story was required protocol. It was late when he finally
arrived home, almost Sydney's bedtime. When he opened the door, the hurtling
ball that was his daughter threw herself into his arm. "Daddy."
Sydney had called him
Daddy for the next eleven years. Sometimes softly, sometimes laughing,
sometimes when she cried. She had only called him Daddy once since then.
Jack felt a touch of
nervousness when he heard the car pull into the drive. He was surprised to see
Sydney pull out an overnight bag from the passenger seat. He moved to the door
and let his daughter in.
"Hi, Dad."
Sydney seemed a little nervous, too. "Do you mind if I stay over? Will is
out on assignment and um, Francie is visiting her sister."
"You're always
welcome here, Sydney. This is your home." He reached for her bag.
"Let me take this to your room."
"Thanks, Dad. I,
um, there's something else in the car I need to bring in. I'll be back in a minute."
Jack carried the bag up to Sydney's room. She had moved most of her belongings
from the room shortly after she started her first job and he hadn't changed
anything since. This had been his only real connection with his daughter once
she'd graduated from college.
