As much as he wanted to sleep, he couldn't. It just wouldn't come. As long as he was active, doing things, working, he didn't have to think: didn't have to face his guilt. He knew the guilt was unreasonable, he knew the situation wasn't all on him, but there was still the guilt. He wondered if Kate was feeling the same.
Finally, unable to sleep, he wandered into the kitchen. Maybe, he thought some of Espo's terrible coffee would take his mind off the swirling thought-storm. He poured a cup, liberally doctoring it with milk and sugar (at least they could get those with some ease) in an attempt to mask the oily, nasty bitterness. He sat and nursed it with tiny sips. Drinking this coffee was kind of like removing a Band-Aid, he thought – did you do it all at once at get the pain over with, or did you do it in tiny increments to minimize the pain over a longer time? He shuddered, there was no good way to drink this coffee.
He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. Maybe if he drank the coffee with his eyes closed it would help.
He was midway between sleep and wakefulness, half-dreaming miserable dreams, when Vikram came into the kitchen, jarring him to awareness.
Vikram was not a coffee lover. His sensibilities were more Asian/English; he liked his tea. Unfortunately for him, the tea available was just as anathema to his palate as the coffee was to Castle's. Undaunted, he made a cup with what was at hand and, like Castle, doctored it with milk and sugar to hide the execrable taste.
He sat across from Castle and regarded him for a good, long time. Finally, he spoke. "Shouldn't you be sleeping?"
"Can't"
"Why not?"
Castle opened one eye and looked at Vikram without favor. "I just can't."
"There's always a reason. Maybe you should talk about it."
"Don't want to."
"You might not want to, but I think you need to."
"What, are you a psychologist now?" He moved to leave.
Vikram stood up and stopped him. "Not a psychologist, just, I would hope, a friend. And a friend who gives a damn."
"I'm too tired to talk."
"Then sleep."
"I can't sleep."
"Then talk."
Castle glared, but he sat back down.
"Everyone knows, why discuss it?"
"I don't know. Tell me."
"Why?"
"Because, clearly you need to talk about it. Talking about it to me would do no harm, because who would I tell, since everyone already knows about it?"
"There is something wrong with your logic, but I can't for the life of me figure out what it is. Fine, I'll talk."
He laced his fingers together and rested them on his chest. Leaning back and closing his eyes, he began his story.
"Once upon a time, there were two people, a man and a woman, who had, once, been a boy and a girl. When they were a boy and a girl, they didn't know each other because, while privileged, they moved in completely different circles. He was the son of a prominent actress and an unknown father. She was the daughter of prominent, respected attorneys.
His biggest privilege was, that though his father was unknown, his mother never let him feel it. He had the security of always coming home to love and acceptance: of always coming home to a mother who was always there. It set the tone for life – love was always, security was always. It never had to be questioned, it just was.
Her biggest privilege was two parents, who loved her and who, she thought, would always be there.
The difference was that he kept his privilege. Hers was torn away from her. Her mother was a crusader who championed causes and people; this got her killed, violently. It left the girl in misery. It left her wondering if, somehow, the causes and people were more important than she was. She buried this treacherous thought until she thought it was gone – but it never left, it just hid. None of this would have left lasting scars if she had found support in the other important person in her life. Unfortunately, he reacted to his pain by jumping into a bottle just when his daughter needed him most. He fled from his pain, leaving her to deal with hers alone. She wondered if, somehow, the momentary oblivion he found in booze, was more important than she was. This was another treacherous thought to bury. She became the strong one, dealing with his pain and her own, growing up faster than she should have.
She coped. She fended off emotional involvement with brittle detachment. She buried herself, first in school and a feigned normalcy, then in her job. She became the best at what she did.
Then she met the boy, now a man, who had known nothing but love. He had followed his dreams. He had no hindrance put on him. He was spoiled, not in the sense of being a greedy, sociopath who felt entitlement, but because he had never known what real loss was. He was handsome, successful, wealthy, famous and, except for his mother and his wonderful, fantastic, lovable daughter, lonely.
He pursued the unattainable girl, now a woman, and somehow broke through her defenses and won her love.
They married. Together they fought through difficulties and obstacles and kept coming back to each other.
She became pregnant with a much-wanted child. Their happiness with life seemed never-ending. Then the unthinkable happened. He was away on a book-tour – which also included some political activism. She was home, alone. She miscarried – it was a high-risk pregnancy – she was in her late thirties and it was her first pregnancy. Her husband couldn't be reached. She left messages and he didn't respond. All her insecurities returned and hit her like a fist to the stomach. Once again she was abandoned. Once again the most important person in her life had found something more important than her.
When he returned, she rounded on him "You left us. You left us for your damned book and your damned causes. We needed you and you weren't there." He tried to find a way back in, but she wouldn't allow it.
The man who had known nothing but love was suddenly faced with a hatred as strong as the love once had been. The woman who had known only loss and abandonment, abandoned him." He stopped abruptly.
"Well, Vikram, do you think that will help? I don't. I lost my wife because I couldn't be there when she needed me. If I had been there, maybe she would be here now, instead of going after me, and my mother and daughter, and the people I care about, at every turn." He continued, "When I sleep, I dream. And that's what I dream about – what was, what is, what could have been. I can't stop the dreams and I can't change what happened."
Vikram was silent.
The two men sat, staring at their beverages until they turned cold, not meeting each other's eyes: not talking.
Unacknowledged tears fell for both of them.
Finally, Castle rose. "Hell, I don't know, maybe it will help. I'm going to try to sleep." He left.
Vikram sat, alone, with his cold, nasty tea.
