VII.

It had been six months—almost to the day—since Mitch died. Four years and six months—plus or minus a Sea Creature—since Jen first stumbled across the teen triumvirate Dawson-Joey-Pacey. With all the history between them, and between us, Jen Lindley knew exactly what hit her: the Joey train. Except that Joey was never the engineer in charge, my son Dawson was.

Joey said she was okay. Physically, she was. Emotionally, she had been shook up, but to be honest she had endured more catastrophic blows to her body and soul; she had learned how to survive. My son had once been part of that remedy but, as it soon became infinitely apparent, she had learned how to survive even that loss.

Her confession to Dawson that she had almost become involved with her English professor (oh, yes, I heard about that one!) convinced him otherwise. An innocent schoolgirl crush? A magical flirtation with the world of intelligentsia? The repressed inner geek finally emerging? I don't think I need to speculate any further on that one. Given the privileged scholastic world that she was now thriving in, it seemed rather harmless and perhaps even, if I dare say, healthy. Joey was really, truly moving forward with her life… experimenting, trying on new lifestyles, new clothes. In other words, she was a college student, finally expressing herself beyond the bonds of parental or familial guidance.

It made Dawson jealous as hell. And don't think Jen didn't notice! Wasn't she supposed to be the adventurous one? The one who got into trouble with scoundrel musicians and too-handsome-for-their-own-good college professors? But it was Joey who jumped on a boat and ran away for a summer…Joey who painted a mural about "Possibility", then turned around and made the possibility of escaping what seemed a predestined life a reality…Joey who played the romantic field while Jen, on the rebound, hooked up with a high school sweetheart who imagined himself on the rebound as well.

The funny thing is, I still thought my son and Jen were better suited for each other than Dawson & Joey, especially in terms of temperament. They complemented each other. Dawson thought Joey needed security when she really needed someone to challenge her; Jen needed security—and a little bit of excitement here and there. Nothing that Dawson couldn't handle if he hadn't been singularly focused on film, and unfortunately—again—Joey. Dawson didn't even realize how badly he had fallen back into that trap until poor Jen had wandered away from him.

They accepted their parting of ways bravely, as if it were completely natural to still be cohabiting the same space and not be a couple any longer. But I suppose they both learned how to do that from their parents. Damn role models. Sometimes they cooperate too much!

The Lindley model had been less than convincing as they put on a front of togetherness, not for their daughter but for their co-workers and society friends. The Leery model denied the truth of their fracture until their son was caught in the middle; evenso, both parents found reasons to reunite under a divided roof until the family was made whole again. Was Dawson hoping for the same? Normally, I might have suspected just that…until I saw the effect that a birthday present from Joey to Lily had on him.

Hooked again—or maybe he had never unsnagged himself from that barbed entanglement. Dawson began reeling himself in, following Joey to Florida during spring break (though, strangely, his friend Oliver told me she never knew about it) before pursuing her on the more familiar turf of Capeside, MA.

That summer after her first year at Worthington was the happiest I think I had ever seen Joey Potter, perhaps because, for once, her happiness wasn't contingent on anyone else's. She was happy in herself and was expressing her independence in encouraging ways. At least from my point of view.

I didn't know she was such a talented writer; I should have figured someone with secrets had something wonderful to share. About one of those secrets: "The Kiss". Joey showed me the Worthington Literary Review, the college journal which contained her suspiciously autobiographical tale of a young girl trying to find a way to say goodbye to her best friend…only to be confronted with the heartrending reality of a parting that befuddled her even more.

Reading that short story helped me to understand more about Dawson's dilemma—as well as Joey's. She was saying goodbye to a childhood fantasy; but my son, I'm afraid, was walking back toward it. He had read the signals wrong and Joey, in her confusion that first year on her own, not only didn't correct him, she started to think he was right. After shaking off the cloak of fate, weighted by three years of near gut-wrenching drama and lingering pathos, she tried on a similar garment of destiny.

It didn't suit her. When Dawson asked her to go to L.A. with him for the summer, she said no. Returning to California was a journey he needed to complete on his own, and she knew that. Her road less traveled that summer of 2002 involved her father and a tale of imperfect redemption, missed opportunities…and the time for forgiveness.

zzzzzzzzzz

"He pulled the trigger," Joey exclaimed. "I had fucking forgotten that—sorry for swearing, Gale—until I woke up screaming one morning."

Joey and I were having coffee after a particularly stressful post-Memorial Day weekend in Capeside. She had gone to see her father in Centerville and hadn't been able to share her story with anyone.

It seems the mugging had affected Joey more profoundly than any of us knew. Once again, she had put up such a brilliant front that life soon went back to its familiar routine, as well as boundaries. This time, however, she wasn't completely successful in suppressing her emotions, culminating in one frightful day with Joey alone in her dorm room, too scared to check what was outside her door, terrified of getting lost in the throng of students who barely knew her.

"It was only a couple of weeks after 'the incident', but I thought I was over it," she said, musing over a danish. "My screaming must have been pretty impressive because a couple of my dorm mates came running to the door, asking if 'Mel-O-Drama Aud' was okay—they naturally assumed she was the only one capable of causing such a scene. By then, I had broken into a cold sweat—have you ever been through that, Gale?"

I indicated no. "Well, let me tell you, it was not pretty. I muttered something about cold water in the shower and they went away. Then I started shaking." I wanted to put my arm around Joey, but knew that she needed to tell her story. "I made myself think about places I felt safe," she continued, "and the next thing I knew I was on the floor of my closet, reciting dialogue from Jaws." I smiled. Dawson would love hearing that a childhood ritual had reassured her.

All that fear, Joey told me, seemed to come down to one big fat "What If". Joey had blocked out an important detail about that evening: the man who mugged her had, in fact, pulled the trigger of his gun—the one pointed at her to stop her from calling the police—and it didn't go off because he had purposely (he claimed) neglected to load it.

What if…he had?

The answer to that question immediately paralyzed Joey with a sense of regret about bridges not crossed and ones sorely in need of repair. One, she felt, she had no right to effect changes on. That involved a former lover and a current roommate, a pairing she had virtually pushed together and given her blessing. Lusty pursuits meant that neither was there for her when she needed them most…but she never told them that.

The second precarious bridge concerned her father.

Joey's most talkative, soon-to-be expiring mugger had given her a lot to think about in terms of her errant parent and what his family had expected of him when they were at risk of being torn apart by grief and loss. His children demanded quiet strength when he couldn't comprehend anything beyond his own devastation—a loss magnified by guilt and remorse. He had resigned himself to failure as a husband and a father, seemingly without a struggle, and Joey in particular couldn't forgive that. Bessie had been more generous with her feelings, less judgmental—that is, until Mike put the entire family at risk with his criminal activities. Then she suffered the humiliation of discovering that her little sister had been more perceptive than she.

15 year-old Joey Potter blamed herself for the cynicism of being right, as if her father's backslide into illegal moneymaking ventures had been motivated by, in her words, her "avaricious need" for a solid, successful family unit. But 18 year-old Joey felt compassion and forgiveness for a wayward parent; she wanted to make amends.

To that end, she had returned to the prison in Daleman—only to discover that her father had been paroled four months earlier and had deliberately avoided informing either she or Bessie of his whereabouts. Again she blamed herself. Even if her father overlooked her "betrayal", the wounds were still deep enough to keep him from coming home; he had been afraid to face them. Luckily, Joey had been tipped where to find him (at a discount store in Centerville) and made a second attempt towards closure.

"He was working as a stock boy," she told me with some recalcitrance. "You know, the guy who makes sure there's enough eggs in bin and paper towels on the shelf. I found him in aisle 12 putting out Tuna Helper. 'Hi, Dad.' That's all I could muster up at first. He looked so surprised to see me. He started to smile, which made me happy, but then he took it back and his eyes went sad; he looked away. I knew that he was probably embarrassed, but I assured him that I just wanted to talk. I gave him a copy of the Literary Review and told him that it contained a story he might like.

"Professor Wilder read the story aloud in class but had focused on the ending, the kiss. Yet the hardest part for me to write had been the beginning: the scene outside our house when Sheriff Witter took Dad away for a second time—not one of my better moments. I struck back with a vengeance at Dawson. Well, you know, Gale. You were there."

"I remember a young girl who was hurting so bad she couldn't see straight," I said sympathetically.

"It was nearly unforgivable," Joey maintained, her eyes steady, her voice sincere, "but somehow Dawson found a way to forgive me and love again. I thought that if I could do the same with my dad, we both might find…well, I guess it would be a sort of redemption."

According to Joey, Mike met her at a nearby café and the two spent hours nursing lattes while they discussed life-altering events. "It was painful and awkward and messy," she admitted. "But, eventually, he was able to look me in the eye. I think it's the first time we've ever been truly honest with each other. You know, in the moment."

Tears gave way to laughter and, inevitably, exhaustion as hope for the future diminished regret about past transgressions. Mike drove Joey back to Capeside in the Ford truck he had purchased only a few months before Lillian's passing. That truck, with its original blue paint rusted and fading, seats worn beyond repair, front fender dented, and a decidedly temperamental transmission, had held steadfast nevertheless. Joey and Bessie had often kicked and cursed it, but it managed to get them through some of the most difficult years of their lives. Mike promised that he would fix it, yet I don't think either sister cared if he ever did.

I was especially heartened to hear that Mike had spent the night at the B&B, allowing Bessie an opportunity to find solace in closure as well. She had been so quiet about her own need for absolution—though she clearly wanted it, badly.

"So, Dad's back," Joey announced.

"He is?"

"Kind of. Not here in Capeside. He wants to continue rebuilding his life."

"One small step at a time. I think that's wise," I told her, heartened by her news.

"But at least he knows he has a home to come back to and that he is welcome anytime. We're planning on spending the holidays together. He hasn't had a real Thanksgiving turkey or a Christmas ham in years."

"That's great news, honey," I said. The cash register jingled and I looked up, quickly noting the time on the clock. "Oh my goodness. I didn't realize it was so late. I'm sorry, Joey, I have to pick Lily up from daycare. Please tell Mike I would love to hear from him whenever he gets a chance." I scooted out of the booth.

"I will," she said, adding some extra change to the tip as she rose from the booth. "Thanks, Gale."

Our girl talk session ended in another one of our familial bear hugs—and in that gesture of intimacy between a young woman and her self-appointed surrogate mom, I too found a measure of redemption…and renewal. I didn't realize how much I had missed Joey that year.

We ran into each other on and off throughout the summer. Having found a stay-at-home mom who ran a most excellent daycare (and was willing to take Lily during after hours), Joey was unfortunately relegated to backup Lily-sitter. Twice, I ran into her walking hand in hand with a rather attractive young man she'd met through work…but he soon disappeared. We also crossed paths at the trendy coffee shop around the corner from Leery's Fresh Fish. Joey often escaped there, iBook in hand, to do research on grants and special programs she might be eligible for. She tried to apologize for not stopping in at the restaurant, but I wouldn't hear of it; I liked the coffee at A Jolt of Joe, too.

Less than a wink and a nod later, Joey was back at Worthington and I was again worrying about whether local business would be enough to keep the restaurant open during hurricane season.

zzzzzzzzzz

I don't know what I expected Dawson to say. "Hey, Ma. I slept with Joey. But it didn't work out, she found out about this skank actress back in Hollywood and now we're barely speaking."

A warning would have been nice. Anything in the "things changed between me and Joey" category. Instead, thanks to a vocal treatise from one Audrey Liddell, Christmas 2002 inadvertently turned into a confessional regarding all men known to be affected by one Joey Potter.

The troubled Audrey who visited us that Christmas holiday was a stark change from the bubbly Miss Liddell who had livened up our summer scarcely two seasons earlier. From the moment she arrived at the house, our merry celebration melodramatically turned into her own private pity party. Clarity eluded her until a telling moment revealed itself: a not-so-innocent kiss under the mistletoe.

Fortified by some wicked Tom & Jerrys (mixed by Dawson's inebriated mentor and my unexpected suitor, movie director Todd Carr), Eddie Doling had been trying for the better part of the afternoon to catch Joey under the mistletoe. Despite his best efforts, all Joey's tall, handsome and rather charming new beau received was a sweet kiss when they first walked in, followed a much briefer smooch when Joey was helping me set the table.

Not that she was ignoring him. Walking into the festively-decorated family room that day, she had proudly presented Eddie to me, hanging on his arm as she playfully described their misadventures as an overly ambitious student sparring with her arch nemesis in an evil professor's discourse on 20th Century Literature in a Post-Modern Era. She scrunched up her nose in that cute bunny kind of way when he made a joke only she understood.

Just before we sat down, however, Joey accidentally bumped into Pacey, and in a rather whimsical moment pulled him in for a kiss that lasted a bit longer than either Audrey or Eddie were comfortable with. Audrey poured herself another shot; Eddie sat down and pondered. He looked neither right, where Pacey was pulling out the chair for Joey, nor left, where Natasha, Dawson's new girlfriend, surveyed the scene.

Hail Mary, full of grace…

Where do I start? Todd Carr's insufferably long and significantly off-topic attempt to say grace…Mike Potter's bristling commentary on poor Eddie's future job prospects…or Audrey's nakedly honest analysis of the eternal Capesidian triangle? This is one family event I am glad Dawson didn't record on his HandyCam—evenso, the exchange remains burned into my memory.

"Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, Audrey?"

"Can I ask you another question about prison?"

"Sure, Audrey."

"Yeah," she droned. I should've known then to divert her to a guest room before the conversation devolved into something unpleasant. But I didn't. "So…why is it that you don't think Eddie's good enough for your daughter?"

Joey glared at her roommate. "Audrey. Back off," she said with the flip of her hand.

"What is your problem, Princess? I was sticking up for Joe Dirt over there."

Joey checked for Eddie's reaction. "This isn't gonna end well," the man on her right interjected.

"Why don't you shut up, Pacey?"

"You're out of line, Audrey," he reprimanded.

"Of course I am. Anyone messes with the one that got away and you get all up on your high horse, don't you?" Zing!

"Audrey."

"Oh, excellent. Another party heard from. What's your problem, Lindley?

"I think you're the one with the problem," the guest across the table noted with sadness.

"How devilishly clever of you, Jen. Oh, honey, are you still upset that I shagged your dream boy? Because I am sorry about that."

The sting of another arrow. Joey, wide-eyed in horror, put her hand over her mouth as Eddie studied her reaction.

"What are you even doing here?" asked Jen, who seemed equally embarrassed for her grandmother, also in attendance.

"I missed my flight, bitch! Which is really terribly unfortunate because if you think that spending Christmas here on Walton Mountain is my idea of a good time, then you all are about as high as I am right now."

Now officially mortified, Joey turned away from her friend, locking her arms as if to avoid touching anyone. Looks were being exchanged around the table. I had to do something. "Audrey, why don't you go lay down?" I suggested. That didn't help.

"Oh, you know, thanks for that, Gale. Really. But I'm kind of just getting started here. Do any of you have any idea how incredibly hypocritical this whole little gathering is? I mean, I may be flying high on a pleasingly potent cocktail of vodka and painkillers—and thank you, by the way, Gale, for the painkillers, but I seem to be seeing things a little bit clearer than any of you."

H-E double…Damn, just plain damn.

Audrey turned her attention back to the triangle. "Dawson, Pacey. You guys hate each other, don't you? You're never going to be able to mend this little rift that exists between the two of you, so why do you even bother with the charade?" Zing! Dawson took on the bemused smirk of his Hollywood girlfriend, but Pacey appeared genuinely hurt.

"And Dawson and Joey?" Joey glanced guiltily at Eddie before closing her eyes for what was coming. "Here you are, both of you, all grown up and so very pleased with yourselves," Audrey taunted them, "and each with your little significant other by your side respectively. And while I will give you that it does make for a pretty picture, the truth of the matter is you guys finally slept together, and you've never really dealt with it."

Oops. NEWS FLASH! Not to mention another on-target zinger. "And neither of you are gonna be able to have a relationship with anyone else until you just finally deal with your crap once and for all." My mind was now racing, distracted by confidences never shared.

Audrey focused her final venomous tirade on the pair who had hurt her most. "And as for you, Pacey," she said bitterly. Joey, now visibly angry, stared her down. "I am really sorry that Audrey Hepburn next to you broke your heart all those years ago and it's prevented you from ever fully committing to an adult relationship, but you know what? Just grow up.

"Merry Christmas, scum suckers! Peace out."

A collective sigh of relief was evinced as Audrey stormed out of the room, everyone so caught up in the turmoil within that they failed to notice that Audrey had grabbed her ex-boyfriend's car keys. Two minutes later, she was back in the house—as was Pacey's brand-new BMW and half of our front entryway.

All parties scattered, first to make sure Audrey was okay, then to assure themselves that they were okay. While Pacey negotiated with his brother Doug about whether or not to take Audrey in on a DUI, Jen sat with Audrey hoping to use some of her counseling experience to help a friend. Todd passed out. Natasha packed her luggage and called a cab—with little protest from Dawson. And Joey sat in the midst of it all, balancing her attentions between Eddie, her family, and the man across the room who was more concerned about a former girlfriend than he was the condition of his luxury car.

Joey followed Eddie outside, making light of the spectacle that had taken place, but he was ill-equipped for good humor. The next thing I knew, Eddie drove off—leaving the Potter family stranded since he took the car they had driven to my home in. Joey seemed surprisingly unconcerned, sure that she could patch things up later; she just needed to give Eddie time. She went in search of her ride home.

zzzzzzzzzz

"Some night, huh?"

Pacey and I were standing outside assessing the damage to the Leery homestead. Once he had negotiated Audrey's release, Pacey grabbed a tape measure and pad and started making notes, clearing the rubble away as he went along so that his car could be towed out and something put up to cover the gaping hole in the wall.

"Dutch will have a truck here in a few minutes," he assured me. "He's bringing tarps to nail down for the time being. I don't see any damage to the support beams. If we close off this room, it shouldn't get too cold in the rest of the house and you'll be fine until the morning."

He closed his pad. "I'll be here bright and shiny in the AM with a crew and lumber. I won't be able to call the insurance company until…"

"It's okay, Pacey. It's not your fault. We've survived late season hurricanes, I think we'll make it through this. Besides," I said as I watched his eyes follow Joey walking down to the dock, "if anyone has anything to apologize for, it's going to be Audrey when she wakes up in the morning. That call to her parents she's been putting off is going to be a doozy to deal with on top of a killer hangover."

Pacey nodded, but I'm not sure what he was agreeing with.

"Did you know about this?" I asked, motioning toward the couple that now had his complete attention.

"Yeah," he said. "Couldn't miss it—the aftermath, that is. It was supposed to be a surprise birthday celebration for Joey. Some surprise," he noted with an obvious trace of irony.

"That must have hurt," I commiserated. I couldn't help but feel the familiar dynamics click back into place…yet perhaps not so much after all.

"I have no claim on her," he responded quickly. "I'm the one who let her go. Then I dangled my independence in front of her by sleeping with her roommate."

"Not the best of ideas."

"Decidedly not. Unless…"

"What?"

"I don't know. I think maybe it was something that had to happen. Maybe if those two had slept together earlier I would have been more sure about where I stood with her."

"You think?"

"I don't know. Yes, no." His eyes met mine, probing. "How do you­ feel about it?" I cleared my throat, not sure what I felt. "If I may be presumptuous. You don't have to say anything…I mean, it must be weird and all…"

But I had to let him off the hook. "Sad. Relieved. Hoping they can finally move on. I really thought Joey had."

"Old habits die hard."

I don't know why, but I suddenly blew Audrey-style. "You want to know the truth, Pacey? I think they've always been better friends than lovers and that we're the ones who constantly sell them on the fairytale. I think there is a possessiveness between them that is extremely unhealthy, that my son is looking for something perfect that doesn't exist—and that I've never seen Joey as happy as she was when she was with you. You, Pacey. Not Dawson. Do you know how lonely she was that summer you left? How much she cried?"

I didn't let him answer. "I think that Eddie is you, safely removed from past history and prior offenses. You are what she's always going to want."

I felt bad, but it was the truth—when would he ever recognize it?

"I'm sorry, but I have to go in and take care of what's left of my guests. You're not the only confused soul. There is a lot of alcohol-induced pining going on in there. See you tomorrow, Pacey." I kissed his cheek. "Sorry."

Pacey stood there, his mouth open as if to speak, his eyes frozen in thought as I walked back into the house.

Pot, kettle—black. Called.