Part 7—November 8
Lucas had been married three times, and had had a few weddings that didn't result in marriage to boot. If he thought about it, he could remember the dates of his various anniversaries.
He didn't have to think about it to remember that November 8 was the day Sami married Elvis DiMera and Lucas had made a decision that kept him in a cage for thirteen long years.
It was the story of his life that another man's marriage had had more of an effect on him than any of his own ever did. As a young man, he had wasted hour after hour trying to dismantle Austin and Carrie's relationship when he could have been building a future with Sami. As a middle-aged man, he never passed a November 8 with anything but regret, and it wasn't even his own actions he regretted most.
Will had all but raised himself. There had been a little help from Austin, who had been willing not to visit the sins of the father upon the son, but nothing from Lucas.
Allie and Johnny might be anywhere. They might be in pain. They might be dead. Lucas could do nothing to comfort or teach or protect them. A dozen skilled professional investigators were straining to discover the twins' whereabouts, but that team had been put together and paid for by Philip.
Sami was unconscious nine days out of ten in a long-term care facility on the other side of the world. Lucas hadn't seen her since the first days of his incarceration. He hadn't seen her at all since her illness had begun. Billie visited Sami, but Lucas didn't.
November 8, 2007. That had been the day that Lucas had given up on Will, Allie, Johnny, and Sami and had let Austin, Billie, and Philip take over his duties to his family.
It was always about someone else. It was never about Lucas. Just about the only thing that had ever been about Lucas was his relationship with alcohol.
Will didn't keep alcohol in his home. He had toyed with drinking as a teenager, around the time Sami had announced her intention to divorce Lucas and marry EJ, but as an adult he had cut it out of his life entirely. Will's earliest childhood had been colored by Lucas' battle with alcoholism, and he knew from Billie that addiction ran in their family.
Will didn't know about the bottle of red wine Lucas had hidden in his room like an errant child. Will was at the hospital, soothing some poor woman through brain surgery, and he didn't see Lucas take the wine out of his bedroom and carry it to the kitchen.
Red wine had never been Lucas' poison of choice in the old days. That had been vodka, beer, vodka, scotch, vodka, vodka, and vodka. But something about the bottle of wine had called to him, so he had taken it home and secreted it away. Now he poured it into a glass and looked at the brilliant color in the late morning sunlight.
(Why Will owned wineglasses, Lucas wasn't sure. They had probably been a gift, like most of the house's furnishings. All of Will's substantial extended family liked to dote on poor Will with the drunken incarcerated father, vegetable mother, and permanently missing siblings.)
"To you, Sami," Lucas said, and raised the glass to the window. Then he poured its contents down the sink.
He refilled the glass. "To you, Dr. Will. Best damn kid a fool like me ever had." Will's glass followed Sami's down the sink.
The third glass was for Allie. "To my smart, scheming little girl. Wherever you are, I hope you're happy even if it can't be with me." The formerly pristine sink was now coated with red liquid, and the bottle was half empty. But there was enough to fill a fourth glass for Johnny.
"Johnny, I know you're taking after your mother and taking care of your sister. I think about you even though I know you don't ever think about me." Johnny's wine went after Allie's.
There was about a glass left in the bottle, so he filled the glass a final time with a shrug.
"To me, the ex-husband and dead beat dad," he proclaimed.
Then he went to dispose of the bottle in the neighbor's garbage and to bleach the red stain out of the white sink before Will came home and jumped to the wrong conclusion.
Will had woken up that morning feeling tense and grumpy for no reason at all. It wasn't until he reached the hospital and noticed the date on his first patient's chart that he remembered what November 8 meant.
It meant his mother choosing a man who had raped her over her son and the man she sworn to love forever a scant six months before.
It meant a father in prison and siblings he didn't know.
It meant the end of his childhood and the end of the hopes he'd cherished all his life until that day. It meant that Will realized exactly where he ranked on his mother's list of priorities.
She'd worn a black dress as some kind of protest. A better protest might have been refusing to go through with the marriage at all. But that wasn't what Sami had done.
Will took a deep breath in a vain attempt to steady and center himself. The last thing he wanted to do was take out his anger and resentment on his patients.
The first three appointments went well. The fourth and fifth were more difficult, but it wasn't until they were completed that it was time to face the worst part of his day.
Cora Fein had been one of his patients ever since he'd had patients. She was grandmotherly in a sweet sort of way, as opposed to grandmotherly in his Grandma Kate's sort of way. At her last appointment, he had been forced to refer her to a specialist who had diagnosed carotid stenosis and recommended surgery to reduce the risk of a stroke. Her surgery was scheduled for today, and he had promised to visit her before the procedure began.
"Damn," he whispered as he glanced at his watch and headed for the neurology department. He had wanted to arrive before Mrs. Fein did. He had been her primary care physician for years and his was a familiar face to her. She'd only met her neurosurgeon a couple of times; they probably hadn't had a chance to develop much of a rapport.
He heard her voice as he jogged down the corridor. "It's not definite that I'd get a stroke, anyway, is it? I could have a stroke on the operating table, too. I don't want to tempt fate is all."
"Don't be stupid," retorted another voice. Stupid? Who calls names when someone is afraid to get surgery she needs?!
Will threw open the door and had sent his mother's best death glare across the room before he even realized that the object of his ire was none other than Joy Wesley.
It took all of Will's self-control not to tell Joy off then and there. He was able to do it only because obvious dissent between her usual doctor and a member of her surgical team would further upset Mrs. Fein.
"Dr. Wesley, will you be assisting Dr. Karlin with Mrs. Fein's surgery?" Will asked, making a herculean effort to sound nonchalant. He didn't think Joy was fooled, but Mrs. Fein gave him a shaky smile that didn't come close to hitting her eyes.
"Mrs. Fein tells me she doesn't want surgery," said Joy with a sneer. Each word came in a clipped staccato. "Mrs. Fein only came in to tell us that in person. After the operating room and four doctors who could have been helping other patients were reserved for her."
Mrs. Fein turned wide, furtive eyes in Will's direction. "Dr. Horton, this seems… severe for a preventative measure, doesn't it?"
Will sat down so that he and Mrs. Fein would be face to face and his back would be to Joy. "Well," he said gently, "like I told you, and like Dr. Karlin probably told you, we think that not having the surgery is more dangerous than having it. I know you decided that, too."
"I did, but… I just don't know how I can go through with it."
"Dr. Karlin and Dr. Stone and Dr. Wesley will do all the hard work. You'll sleep through everything."
Mrs. Fein cast a worried glance at Joy, who was pacing around and muttering under her breath. "Isn't she awfully young to be a doctor?"
Joy whirled around. Her face flushed nearly as red as her hair. "I graduated from Harvard Medical School. There were dozens of hospitals who wanted me—hundreds. I didn't even have to go to them, they came to—"
"Yes, she's young, but she's very skilled. She'll be assisting Dr. Karlin, not leading your team. But if you're really uncomfortable with her, we can get another doctor." He raised his hand to prevent Joy from exploding that the dynamics of scheduling surgeries were just slightly less arcane than quantum physics and they couldn't get another doctor at the last minute.
"No—no, if you have faith in her, I do."
"I have complete confidence in Dr. Wesley," Will confirmed. "Now we just have to decide if surgery is what you want after all."
Mrs. Fein was silent.
"I know it's a big deal to you, but it's a routine procedure to Dr. Karlin." Will paused to wonder where Dr. Karlin was. Had he really thought it was a good idea to send Joy in his place to a pre-operation meeting?
"You still think I should have the surgery?"
Will nodded. "I still do, and Dr. Karlin and Dr. Wesley do as well."
"A—all right, then."
Mrs. Fein was promptly hustled away, amidst promises from Will that he would see her again as soon as she awoke. Joy headed for the door as well, but Will grabbed her by the arm.
Joy shook her arm out of Will's grasp. "Yes, Dr. Horton?" she asked with a clearly discernable trace of sarcasm.
"In the future, when a patient has second thoughts about a procedure, it might be more productive to answer her questions and reassure her than to tell her she's stupid."
Joy rolled her eyes. "Baby-sitting hasn't been my job since I was twelve years old. She wasn't listening to me, anyway."
"Sometimes it's more important to listen to her than to get her to listen to you. You've done this before, but it's a big deal for her. She wasn't going to back out. She wouldn't have come in at all if she was. She just needed a little encouragement instead of a rant about how she was inconveniencing her Harvard-educated doctor who has a schedule to keep."
"I guess schedules aren't very important over on the medical side of things, but unless you want to do the surgery yourself—do you have any idea what that entails?—you're going to have to cut your lecture short and let me go."
Will did.
He reminded himself for at least the tenth time that day that it wasn't a good idea to pound his head against the wall while he was working.
The date was November 8. Allie had marked it on her calendar; it was the anniversary of the day her guardian had married her late mother.
Her guardian thought that she marked it down so she would remember to wish him a happy anniversary and give him a card she'd drawn, or a gift she'd arranged for one of the servants to purchase. It was just as well that he thought that. It was brilliant that he thought that.
Sometimes she was so clever she amazed herself.
In truth, she has marked it down out of anticipation.
When she'd been smaller—way back when her guardian's son, Johnny, had lived with them year-round and not just when he was on holiday—she had dreaded this day. She and Johnny had both dreaded it, knowing as they did that Johnny's father would be moody and short-tempered and more than a bit scary on November 8.
But now she was older and knew something very important: her guardian's distraction could be used to her advantage.
Without exception, he became progressively more frustrated and anxious as the day wore on. Eventually, he left the house and didn't return until the early hours of the next morning. She wouldn't be left alone, as there were always servants about, but no one would be watching her every move the way her guardian did.
For one day out of the year, she would be free to move around without an escort and without anyone asking why or where. London was a big, beautiful city, and all she ever seemed to see was the inside of her guardian's townhouse. When he was on holiday, Johnny visited with all sorts of stories of school and classmates. Allie knew little more than four walls.
But with her guardian gone, she could enter his bedroom, push up the window (the windows in her room opened only a crack) and crawl out onto the roof. She wasn't sure that she'd be able to get down to street level, or get back up when the day was done, but if not she could at least enjoy the view from the roof.
Operating under the assumption that the oldest tricks in the book were the oldest tricks in the book for a reason, Allie piled two pillows under her quilt. She found a doll whose hair was almost the same blonde as her own and tucked it under the quilt as well. She arranged for a few locks of blonde hair to peek out.
She stood in the doorway and looked over her work. In her opinion, it was very convincing. But she didn't think anyone was likely to open her door. The more obsequious servants were busy worrying about their master's annual dark day; the rest, like Allie, were pleased to take a break from their usual responsibilities.
Allie made it onto the roof with no trouble at all. November was a cold, dark month, so it wasn't especially pleasant to be outside, but the thrill of a new experience more than compensated for the watery non-sunlight of the season. She had quietly climbed to her feet, ready to evaluate possible routes to the ground, when she was filled with a horrible, prickling sensation that she was not alone.
Her first thought was that her guardian must pay for a guard to sit on the roof. But her second thought was that this man was far too haphazard in appearance to be in EJ DiMera's employ. His trainers were scuffed; his jeans looked dirty; and his face wasn't nearly threatening enough.
Her third thought was that he was gorgeous. He was a very young man with black hair and coffee-colored skin. He moved across the roof with grace, energy, and a complete lack of concern. Apparently, it was all the same to him whether he travelled over solid ground or a slippery roof high in the air.
He didn't see her until after she'd gotten over her surprise (and she was over her surprise, her heart always pounded like that).
"Hello," he said softly, and there was something funny about his voice.
"Hello."
"Come here often?" he asked, and then she knew what was funny about his voice. He had an American accent. Allie liked the way it sounded. Her mother had been American, after all. The accent made the man even cuter than he'd been already.
She was torn between telling him she came up here all the time because she was incredibly sophisticated and athletic and all of that, and telling him that she had run away from her horrible former stepfather and couldn't he take her wherever he was going.
She must have waited too long to make a decision. "Are you all right?" he asked.
Her eyes filled with tears. This was the only man she'd ever met without her guardian's knowledge, and he was gorgeous, and she'd made a fool of herself. Not only that, but EJ was sure to find out, and when he knew she'd been talking to a strange man without permission, it was sure to turn into one of those nights when he stood too close and touched too long and she was much too conscious of that thing between his thighs.
Allie stepped backward once, then twice.
"You're going to fall!" said the visitor with real alarm. Indeed, she had started to stumble toward the edge of the roof, and it was only the stranger's hands on her hips that kept her steady and upright. "How did you get up here?" he questioned with real gentleness.
Numbly, Allie pointed at her guardian's bedroom window. "Maybe we better get you back there?" Gently, step by step, he helped her inside. He took a curious look at the somber, drab decor as he did. "I hope this isn't your room," he said with definite teasing.
"It's my guardian's," she mumbled, finding her voice at last.
"Take it from someone who snuck out of the house a time or two when he was your age. Always go out your own window."
"My window doesn't open," she told him for no apparent reason.
"Why not?"
"I'm not supposed to leave without my guardian."
"Is your guardian a Mr. DiMera?"
Allie nodded, wondering how he'd known. But before she could ask, she heard the voices of servants beyond the closed door.
"I'm telling you, the draft is coming from—"
"Go!" Allie ordered. "If you don't work for him and he finds you, he'll—"
But the man was already gone. Allie dove under the bed just as the door opened. "If the window is open in Mr. DiMera's room, that's because Mr. DiMera wants it that way. No business of yours to change it."
"See? The window's open."
They left.
Allie shook with exhilaration, fear, and relief under the bed.
TBC
