In Case You Didn't Know 2
"Are you hungry? Could I fix you something? We have a ton of food in there."
Della leaned over the back of the chair and rested her hand on his shoulder. It was night after the graveside service.
"No thanks, Della." Paul sighed. "Not really hungry."
"How's the game?" She asked as she sat down across from him.
"I guess it's okay, Dodgers and the Braves. I couldn't even tell you the score. My mind is just…." Paul trailed off. "I just keep expecting him to come barreling through the door, with that big goofy grin."
Della swallowed hard before she could answer, actually glancing at the door. "So do I."
"Dad travelled that road a million times. You know what he always said, right? 'Don't ever let your attention waver coming down the mountain from Big Bear or you'll have a big bear eating what's left of you.' He was the most careful driver I know. And why was he up there anyway? Are you sure he didn't mention he was meeting someone there?"
They had discussed this repeatedly over the last four days.
"Paul, I'm sure he didn't mention anything about going to Big Bear. All I can think is that something came up last minute. Maybe something to do with the Havens case that he was working."
"I still think that the cops were too hasty to write off the crash as an accident. Maybe it wasn't an accident at all." His face was getting red and he was raising his voice. "They sure didn't let the grass grow under their feet when it came to declaring it an accident. I mean, did they even bother to investigate?"
"Paul—" She attempted stop him before he could get wound up again. He hadn't slept through the night since they'd been notified, so neither had she.
The doorbell interrupted them. Thank God, she thought.
"I'm going to lie down for a while. Do you mind if I don't…?" He gestured towards the door. "I'd like to go up to Dad's room. His shoulders sagged and his eyes were sad.
"Go," she said, shooing him with her hands. "I'll take care of whoever it is." She waited until she heard the door close behind him before crossing to the front door.
Truth be told, Della had endured all the well wishers and condolences that she could bear for a while, too, so whoever it was, maybe she could impress upon them that Paul needed some privacy, and she needed some rest. All she could see through the distorted glass window was the figure of a man with darkish hair. She steeled herself and opened the door.
"Perry?" Della stared at him, unable to breath. "You're…."
"Here?" He nodded his head gravely. "Yes, I am. Am I welcome to come in?" His voice was rough, as if he'd been yelling.
Recovering her composure, Della stepped back. "Yes, of course." As he stepped inside, she could smell the strong odor of alcohol and cigarettes.
He tentatively moved to the sofa, as if he thought she'd change her mind about inviting him in. Della sat down in what had been Paul's favorite chair. She felt defensive and anxious, and she didn't want anyone else in his place yet.
"I didn't see you at the service or the graveside." Della looked down. "I honestly didn't think you'd come."
"My plane was delayed or I would have made the church service. I was at the cemetery." The lawyer took a deep breath. "Quite a turnout. We should all be so well liked."
"Yes," murmured Della. "Would you like something to drink? I have some lemonade or coffee." His normally alert blue eyes were red and he looked like maybe he'd had enough alcohol.
"Lemonade. Thank you."
Della rose and went into the kitchen. He could hear ice clinking into a glass. As he took in the house, Perry couldn't help but notice that the place had a more masculine feel than before: a recliner (she'd always said she hated the bulky things); numerous baseball hats on the hall tree; Sports Illustrated magazines beside the chair where she'd been sitting. Perry felt anger and angst grow inside him. Maybe he shouldn't have come.
"Would you like something to eat? I have some delicious pound cake that Gertie brought," she called from the kitchen. Her sultry voice hadn't changed, he thought.
"Yes, thank you."
Perry trailed her into the kitchen and stood watching while she washed her hands at the sink. The scene was so much like he remembered, before he'd left, yet so much was different. He abruptly noticed Della's bare feet. Smiling slightly, he remembered her kicking off her heels when they'd worked long hours in the office.
After settling down in a kitchen chair, Perry realized that he felt more insecure than he had in years.
Della heard his deep sigh and stole a glance at him. The beard was new; he looked more distinguished, if that was possible. He'd gained more weight since he'd left, and he looked done in, his tie was loosened and his eyes bloodshot. His being here was disconcerting and unexpected. The circumstances of his leaving had seen to that. Yelling at her. Fighting with Paul. The two had never reconciled. Now they never could.
She placed the plate and the glass, on the table, in front of him. He looked up at the sound.
Della seated herself across the table from him, not close beside him, like they used to do. She sipped her lemonade, eyeing the glass intently as she rotated it in her hands.
"How are you doing?" Perry finally asked. His blue eyes were tender. Not an emotion she'd seen from him in quite a while. "How's Junior?"
"Paul. It's just Paul, now," Della said, pushing the glass away and lacing her fingers together. "We're…. we'll be…. just fine…. eventually."
She swallowed hard and looked up with tears in her eyes. "It's a shock. We—he joked about his heart giving out again or a jealous husband doing him in. This wasn't one of the predicted endings. Paul's taking it hard, of course. He's very hurt and angry, and he doesn't believe it was an accident."
Perry straightened his shoulders and his eyes looked somber. "And what do you think?"
"I don't know what to think. It's too soon. That's what I think, Perry."
"Look at me. Please." His voice was gentle, almost pleading.
"I can't. Not yet."
"Do you hate me that much, Della?"
"I don't hate you," she said softly. "I've wanted to hate you, and I was angry, still am, but I couldn't ever quite get over you either." Her soft hazel eyes finally met his hurt, unhappy blue ones.
A silent stalemate settled over them. Neither of them willing to give. Neither willing to give up.
"You moved in with another man and his child," Perry said, "To me that signaled the end of our…."
She cut him off, her tone hardening. "Our what, Perry? Can you define it? Even now. You left for San Francisco, and you informed me of your decision like I was an afterthought."
"You were never an afterthought! Never!" Perry declared, his eyes narrowing.
He stopped, remembering how heated and ugly those arguments had gotten. "How many times did I ask you to marry me? How many times did you say, no? I left and, within six months, I find out you're living with my best friend!"
Della leaned across the table towards him, and said, "I was never living with Paul! After his heart attack, he allowed himself to get run down again. His doctor said he was putting himself at serious risk. I insisted that he stay in my garage apartment. It saved him money when he wasn't able to work for a while, and he was nearby so I could help him get back on his feet. Paul, Jr, had to have a room, and I let him stay in the house when he wasn't at Long Beach. I enjoyed having them close. You make it sound so sordid! Do you really think-"
Perry was stunned. "Are you telling me that the two of you weren't—"
Della pushed her chair back angrily, making the legs squeal on the linoleum. "Stop it, Perry. You left us all, and for what? I never knew you were so ambitious. You wanted to be the best in your field, and you were! I didn't understand why you agreed to take Jerry's place on the bench after he died, and I still don't."
She turned her back to him to calm and steady herself, hands firmly on the counter, facing out the window. "I thought we ended this a long time ago. I'm sure you haven't spent your nights alone, pining away for me."
Perry got to his feet and reached around her, his front to her back, and lay his hands atop hers.
"Do you think anyone could ever take your place? My god, Della, but my guts were ripped out every time I thought about you playing family with Paul and Junior?" His voice was low but filled with rejection and hurt.
His touch engulfed her with flame, but his words set her on fire.
Della pushed back against him and whirled to face him, cheeks and neck red with emotion. "We weren't playing," she said fiercely. "We were a family. Not a conventional one, but, make no mistake, Perry Mason, we were a family. You left me behind. You had me pack up our lives, our careers, our purpose, like we, you and I, never loved or existed. I started a new career, and I helped create a family with the people whom I loved that stayed with me. They needed me. You made it clear that you didn't need or want any of us." She stopped speaking. Crushing emotion took her voice.
Perry pulled her to him, so close that his lips almost touched hers. His overpowering physicality made her feel vulnerable and slightly aroused. Muscle memory is a powerful thing. In a plaintive, mournful voice, he said, "In case you didn't know, Miss Street, I know I was wrong. I was bored with my perfect life. I grew to despise contentment and love because I was an ungrateful bastard. I alienated my best friend. I lost the woman I loved." His hold on her grew in intensity when he said, "The woman I still love. I let my pride stop me from coming back after I thought that you and Paul-"
Della pushed him back so she could take a breath. "You assumed that I, or Paul, would do to you what you'd done to me. Walk away or betray me?"
Perry blanched and looked ashamed.
"I knew. I always knew. Even about Laura Parrish. You held us to a standard that you crossed, and if we did, Perry, who could possibly have blamed us?"
He stared at her, abashed.
"The great orator is at a loss for words? Yes, we both knew."
The loss and sadness that she'd suffered caused by his leaving, and Paul's death came crashing down on her in an emotional tsunami. Della began sobbing, heaving, plumb-less depths of sorrow finally pushing its way out.
Perry tried desperately to comfort her. "Oh, god. Della, no. Please."
The loud sound of a slamming door startled them both.
"What the hell are you doing here," Junior demanded.
*The title is based on a country song by Brett Young. Take a listen. You may hear my inspiration. It may be a couple of days before I update. Thanks for your reviews on Chapter 1.