A/N: Thanks to those who are sticking with me! I am forever in your debt! A special shout-out to ladypuercoloco for leaving me such a kind, detailed review (not that all of you aren't kind)! A new character appears in this one…
XXX
A sleepy and grey Sunday morning was preceded by a very quiet night in the Mann-Shannon household. Everyone having been up at all hours the night before meant they snoozed soundly in their beds until well after seven A.M., when Ben finally burst forth from his bunk, claiming he could be held captive no longer.
The plan was to have Mary return to the hospital after breakfast while Marshall stayed home with the kids, both of them deciding not to impose on Delia another time. Neither had heard from Brandi or Peter since leaving the evening prior, and were left to assume that no news was good news. However, they received an unexpected visitor around nine thirty, Ben and Lizzie still in their pajamas and eating bowls of fruit in front of the television. Mary and Marshall had both managed to get dressed before the fact this time, not looking quite as rumpled as they had when Delia had shown her face.
It was Marshall who went to answer the rapping knock, unsure who would come to call so early on a Sunday. Even through the frosted glass, he couldn't recognize the individual waiting for him, and when he undid the deadbolt and turned the knob, he was faced with a woman he still couldn't place.
She was wearing jeans and a dark red winter parka with faux fur lining the hood, her hands sheltered inside a pair of black driving gloves. Her hair was the color of honey, a gorgeous amber hue shining far brighter than anything in the surrounding winter bleakness that was Albuquerque. Although not appreciably cold outside, given the fact that it was December, she was shivering on the spot and rubbing her arms for warmth.
"Hi…" Marshall greeted her first, thinking it was likely her teeth might start chattering if she tried to talk. "Can I help you?"
"Yeah…" she was breathless, even if her pearly whites weren't clicking together. "Are you um…Marshall?" it took her a moment to come up with the name.
"I am," he nodded soundly. "And you are…?"
"Oh, sorry…" she gave a flighty chuckle, working a gloved hand out from beneath her clamped arms. "My name's Rachel – Rachel Alpert." Marshall looked blank for a mere moment until she continued, "I'm Peter's sister?"
The question on the tail end convinced the man she was still afraid she'd come to the wrong place, and he suddenly realized he ought to invite her in out of the cold, especially now that he knew who she was.
"Oh, of course!" he almost boomed in trying to cover up his error. "I apologize; we haven't met. I remember you were out of the country when Brandi and Peter got married…"
"Right…"
Stepping aside, "Well, come in; come in. It is brisk out there."
"Thank-you," Rachel reciprocated with a giggle, moving onto the doormat and stamping her feet even though she likely had not trailed through mud because they hadn't had rain in a week or two; it was probably a habit. "I'm…I'm sorry to stop by unannounced like this…"
"Well, I admit it's a surprise, but no matter," Marshall was as gentlemanly as ever, Mary catching snatches of voices from where she'd been perusing the Sunday paper in the kitchen. "What brings you to our humble abode?"
It was a moment before Rachel dove into details, first asking Marshall if she could take her coat off, which he took care to hang on a hook. Once that was accomplished, she stuffed her gloves in the pocket and got on with his inquest. Mary stayed where she was, having been unable to discern who Marshall was speaking to, deciding she could wait and see if the woman stayed before bothering with introductions. She was too far into the kitchen to see that Marshall had already allowed their guest admittance.
"Well…I drove in from Raton early this morning…"
"That's a hefty trip," Marshall asserted. "You must have left before dawn's early light."
"Pretty much," Rachel gave a nervous laugh. "Peter gave me directions to the hospital, but I got kind of turned around coming off the freeway – I'm such a dope; he said it's practically impossible to get lost and I still managed it." Marshall gave an understanding nod, inviting her to go on, "But, he'd also given me your address, just in case, and I was able to track you down."
"I see," Marshall offered.
"Peter said on the phone that one of you might be going over to the hospital this morning. Is there any chance I could follow you? I'm sure I sound so inept…"
"No, of course not," the man swore with his trademark politeness. "We'd be happy to lead the way. Can I get you something hot to drink before we head out though? We have coffee…" he gestured in the direction of the pot on the counter.
"That would be great," Rachel accepted. "Thanks so much."
"No problem…"
But, just as Marshall was about to step off and start brewing a mug, Mary came into view at last. She was sliding her own cup back and forth between her fingers to keep her hands warm; looking mildly bemused at all the activity happening in her entryway with a woman she did not know. Marshall almost bumped into her turning around, but was quick to begin pleasantries.
"Oh, Mary…" he said with a certain degree of surprise, catching himself on her forearm.
"What's going on?" she wanted to know, shaking him off with her radar buzzing because she never liked having unknown folk in her house, no matter how seemingly harmless.
"This is Rachel – this is Peter's sister," he clarified. "She came in – I assume to see Holly?" he glanced at their guest quickly because they hadn't actually made it that far in their discussion, but there was no other reason she would've taken a road trip to Albuquerque. "She was hoping she could follow you over to the hospital since she doesn't know the area too well."
"Oh…" Mary articulated somewhat flatly, instinct causing her to glance over her shoulder to see to it that the kids were still occupied with the TV. "Okay. Where'd you drive from?"
"Raton," she replied, repeating herself. "I tried to get here as soon as I could, but my job is kind of a mess at the moment…"
Uninterested in excuses, Mary realized she hadn't established her presence yet, "Right. Well, I'm Mary –Brandi's sister," although it was likely she'd already put two and two together on this front.
"Yeah," Rachel nodded slowly. "I was looking forward to meeting you both at the wedding a few years back, but I'm something of a jet-setter; work takes me everywhere and I was stuck in Europe."
Given that Brandi and Peter had gotten married upwards of six years ago now, Mary had hardly registered that they'd missed meeting Rachel on that occasion. She wasn't sure why she was feeling any ill-will toward Peter's sibling, and she wasn't even sure that was the way to describe the emotion. It was simply difficult to allow someone else into their circle; she was used to it being Marshall, the twins, Jinx, Peter, Brandi, and Holly. Hal and Dora, Peter's parents, had retired to Arizona and were rarely around; Rachel showing up threw Mary for a loop – no more, no less.
And yet, the newcomer must've sensed some iciness because she backed down slightly, "It really…it's crazy we haven't met before now," she shrugged.
"Better late than never," Marshall decided, giving Mary a sharp nudge with his elbow. "I'll grab you that coffee; come on in."
Mary had the unwavering belief that Marshall had left her alone with Rachel on purpose so she'd learn to play nice, and she didn't appreciate it. Nonetheless, she could be cordial when she had to and motioned with her hand for the other woman to follow them further into the house, stopping short where Ben and Lizzie were still glued to the television set.
"Hey, you two!" Mary called in order to avoid making small talk with Rachel. "Did you get enough to eat?"
This tore Lizzie away, at least, and she clambered down off the couch, slap-patting on her bare feet across the hardwood. This morning, she wore sunny yellow pajamas with buttons and flannel, little blue polka dots spattered across the fabric. They were a bit long in the cuffs, and Lizzie had to be careful not to trip.
"Can I have more strawberries, mama?" she asked, holding out her empty bowl, her huge round eyes falling briefly onto the stranger in the room. "No more raspberries…"
"Yeah, I'm sorry I forgot you don't like raspberries…" Mary apologized and took the bowl, registering for the second time that it was vacant. "Did you eat them anyway?"
"Ben did," she whispered, like she might be in trouble, gaze still straying toward Rachel. "Is it okay I shared?"
"Yes, it's fine," Mary shoved this out of the way. "Hey, can you say hello?" jerking her thumb over her shoulder at the curious lady looking out of place in their unit of four. "This is Rachel. She's Uncle Peter's sister – Holly's aunt."
Predictably, Lizzie wiggled into the curve of Mary's figure, not at all partial to new arrivals, "You're Holly's aunt," she murmured under her breath to her mother.
It was possible this might be confusing, "Well, Rachel is Holly's aunt too – we both are." Addressing the woman in question this time, "This is Elizabeth – Liz, or Lizzie, whichever you prefer. She answers to any of the above."
Rachel chuckled, stooping down to meet the little girl's suspicious gaze, "Hi Lizzie. Your Uncle Peter's told me about you. It's so nice to finally see you in person."
Lizzie said absolutely nothing, not even a peep, instead choosing to rummage further behind Mary's back. In the attendance of the unknown, it only highlighted just how shy and introverted she could be, but Mary was used to this and didn't intend to be embarrassed by it. In lieu of pushing her daughter, she rerouted to the next logical topic.
"That boy resembling a vegetable over there is Ben," Mary referred to her son's glazed eyes, paying rapt attention to the show blaring on the television. "You'll never see him sitting that still again, so take a picture while it lasts."
Rachel gave another polite laugh and stood up once more, seeing that Lizzie wasn't going to bite.
"They're twins, right?"
"Yeah," Mary confirmed.
"That's what I thought – Peter's mentioned them several times, and how much Holly enjoys playing with them."
'Playing' was an interesting way to put it, Mary thought, not to mention including it with a word like 'enjoy.' Yes, Holly let herself have fun once she got going, usually with Lizzie, but she was a very serious child; much more so than the twins. It distressed Mary when she thought about it too hard, because she knew it was likely a result of the turmoil Brandi and Peter experienced in their marriage. She realized at once that Rachel might not know that there was any 'turmoil' to speak of – not yet, anyway.
"Yeah, we have Holly over quite a bit," the inspector decided to say. Turning back to the floor to get rid of Lizzie, "Ask daddy for some more strawberries, all right? I'll be there in a minute."
Her daughter scooted off without another word, glad to be relieved of engaging with Rachel. Feeling some measure of resentment toward Marshall for asking her to stay for a few minutes when they had nothing to say, Mary redirected her to the couch, lifting Ben into her lap, but he scarcely seemed to notice.
"So…um…" Rachel made the attempt at beginning conversation this time. "Have you guys; um…have you seen Holly? Peter didn't really give me an update the last time we talked…"
"Marshall and I were at the hospital all day yesterday," Mary replied. "But, Holly didn't wake up until late afternoon. She seems okay – confused as hell, but I figure that's par for the course."
"Of course," Rachel reiterated, bobbing her head and crossing her legs where she sat at the opposite end of the sofa. "I really don't see much of her, living three hours away and being so busy with work…"
Why did she keep saying that? Didn't she think Mary and Marshall were busy? Did she not know what they did for a living?
"But, I wanted to come and see how Peter was holding up. I'm worried about him."
While this was a perfectly understandable reason for wanting to make the trip into Albuquerque, Mary couldn't help cataloging in her brain how Rachel's tone had altered upon telling Mary this. She'd arched her eyebrows and her timbre rose slightly higher, like she wanted Mary to pick up on some kind of subliminal messages. Was she looking for clues about Peter's behavior? To tell her what, exactly?
"What are you worried about?" Mary posed perceptively. "I mean, anything other than the obvious?" she wasn't going to pretend she hadn't picked up on this shift in dialogue.
Now only one eyebrow remained bent, as though Mary was being dim. Here Rachel had only been in the house ten minutes and she was already concluding that Brandi's sister was far from insightful.
"Peter's very fragile."
It was Mary's turn to balk, wrinkling her brows rather than elevating them. She shifted Ben on her lap, and he took it upon himself to crawl off her knees and into the space between her and Rachel. By looking at him, you'd never know there was one extra person in the house; he became robotic when attached to his superhero cartoons, which was why Mary and Marshall tried to limit his intake, but it wasn't always possible.
Regardless, she forgot Ben and got back to Rachel.
"He is," Mary stated plainly, refusing to sound at all dense, but also making sure she did not appear to agree.
"Of course he is," Rachel insisted, still with that sense of superiority which irked Mary. "He doesn't react well when his life doesn't turn out the way he thinks it's supposed to. He doesn't deal with adversity well."
This off-putting view of her brother-in-law was obnoxious to Mary. She didn't consider her and Peter overly close, but they were certainly closer than they'd used to be given how long he and Brandi had been together. But, no matter how tight or how far apart they were, she'd always felt a certain level of loyalty toward him, mostly because she didn't want Brandi to screw him up or deceive him somehow. With a jolt, she realized that Rachel's opinion about her sibling wasn't that different than Mary's about her own sister. Funny, how it could look so negative from the other side of the fence.
But, she had good reason to be suspicious of Brandi, the elder sister reminded herself. Rachel had no justifications for doubting Peter. It was completely different.
"I think…maybe you'd change your tune if you saw how he's dealing with what's happened to Holly," Mary settled on something diplomatic, but knew she still looked bewildered. "He's been fantastic – as devoted as they come."
This account didn't sway Rachel, "He'll crack. I know my brother. When the pressure builds up, he can't handle it."
Now Mary couldn't help scoffing, not wanting to look unbecoming in front of Ben, but it came without warning.
"Why would you say that? What's he done that would make you think he'll fall apart?"
She made the judgment sound blatantly obvious, "He's an alcoholic."
Mary had to admit that she was fairly nonplussed by this as an explanation, but it was clear that Rachel expected the light to dawn with her revelation. Frankly, it was a surprise even to herself that Mary didn't look at Holly's circumstances as a trigger for Peter to relapse. If it had been someone else in her family, she'd probably have been as cynical as Rachel, but not this time.
"I don't see what being an alcoholic has to do with it," Mary knew she came off snide, but a part of her meant to. "Peter's been sober as long as I've known him."
"Well, he hasn't as long as I've known him," Rachel was flippant, not entirely picking up on Mary's signals. "You weren't around when he tried going to rehab four different times…"
"It was Alcoholics Anonymous that worked for Peter," Mary knew this much was true, because that was how he and Brandi had met, although wasn't entirely sure if it was the same thing as rehab. "And, it's not like…"
But Rachel interrupted, "I just don't want him to get hurt, or make this harder for himself than it already is," there was a kind of pseudo virtuousness about this woman; Mary was sure she meant well, but she was going about it the wrong way. "He needs someone here that will keep him from slipping."
Mary opened her mouth to fire back that Peter had her and Marshall, not to mention Jinx even if he didn't have Brandi, but realized before she got anything out that Rachel wouldn't take this to heart. But, the longer she laid out all the 'facts' the more irritated Mary became. It didn't sound like Rachel and Peter saw all that much of each other, that Rachel immersed herself in her work and didn't make allowances for her family outside of emergencies. How much could she know about Peter's mind set anyway?
"Well, I'm sure he'll appreciate you coming, but just because he's an alcoholic it doesn't mean he's fragile," to use the stranger's words.
"It doesn't sound like you have experience with alcoholics."
Now Mary laughed out loud, a robust guffaw that was definitely designed to put Rachel off the mark. A perfectly nice person, she might be, but her skewed viewpoint on things needed to be nipped in the bud.
Still chortling, "My mother is an alcoholic, and I watched her self-destruct until the time I was thirty-seven years old. So, something tells me your experience has nothing on mine."
This shut Rachel up quickly, clamping down on her lips in embarrassment. Though she knew she shouldn't be, Mary was cruelly fulfilled by having trumped her. She also knew she was being an awful hypocrite, acting like she had been so magnanimous with Jinx, never giving a second thought to whether or not she'd hit the bottle again. Even so, it was true that Jinx hadn't touched a drink – or even seemed to want to – since coming home from rehab eight years before. Perhaps the daughter's confidence really was building, however unintentionally.
"I'm sorry…" Rachel finally murmured, Mary beginning to wonder what was keeping Marshall and the coffee. "Peter's just…important to me. I wasn't a lot of help to him when he was recovering in the past, and I'm trying to do my best now," it was surprising that she didn't make the 'job' excuse this time.
"Well, you'll be a bigger help to him if you haven't decided he's going to tank before you even get through hello hugs."
At this, Rachel produced a shy smile, like she knew Mary was right. The other woman wasn't even trying to sound condescending, just direct. It didn't thrill her that she'd started out on a bad foot, not if they were going to be spending more time together, and was nervous about how Rachel was going to take to Brandi. She didn't know if they'd met or not, but Brandi's current brand of neglect wouldn't go over well with Rachel, especially if she thought it was hurting Peter.
"Look, I'm sure you're stressed after the drive and everything," Mary grumbled at her hands folded in her lap. "You'll figure out soon that I'm not half this bad most days. I'm worse."
Rachel grinned at the joke just as Marshall returned into their midst bearing a freshly brewed mug of coffee, Lizzie practically clinging to the back of his jeans so she wouldn't have to look Rachel in the eye.
"Here you are…" he announced, bending down to hand the beverage over. "There's sugar and cream in the kitchen if you're so inclined."
"Thank-you…" Rachel said. After taking a sip, "No, it's just right. Thanks so much."
"My pleasure," Marshall maintained. "Hey, spark…" he addressed Ben, still sitting cross-legged between the two women. "Do you want anything else for breakfast?" since he hadn't answered when Mary had asked.
Ben shook his head, "No. Dad?"
"What?"
"What's an alcoholic?"
The innocent curiosity would've been funny if not for the fact that Mary had-had no idea that Ben had been listening to them. It was stupid, of course, to assume that he hadn't heard because he'd been sitting right there, but she'd figured he was zoned in to his program – that the adult discussion was white noise. This proved he could hear out of both ears and two sides of his brain.
Marshall gaped, "What?" and glanced at Mary for enlightenment.
"What's an alcoholic?" Ben repeated before Mary could give details. "Her and mom were talking about it," his head flipped between the two bodies. "What is it? She said Uncle Peter's one," he indicated Rachel.
Marshall's mouth was still hanging open, unable to believe he'd missed so much in such a short time frame. His eyes were still with Mary, begging for some kind of clarification of how this had come up in front of their son. His wife simply shrugged and even though she didn't relish doing this in front of Rachel, when her kids came to her, she didn't hold back.
"Why don't you take Liz to get dressed?" Mary suggested before beginning, knowing that speaking about such a condition would only worry her. "I'll send him back when I'm finished."
"All right…" Marshall agreed, appreciating that she was sensible enough not to let Lizzie in on the secret. "Let's go, Lizzie Lou; find you some clothes…"
Not at all sorry to leave with her father, the daughter grasped his fingers and allowed him to guide her back to the bedroom, stumbling over her too-long pants the entire way. Once Mary was certain the door was shut, she turned back to Ben. Rachel was looking guilty again, shifting uncomfortably in her spot against the throw pillows.
"Sorry about this…" she murmured. "I didn't mean to…"
"Forget it," Mary broke into her babble, going to elucidate alcoholism the same way she would if there wasn't a guest among them. "Listen, Ben…" for posterity, his mother heaved him back onto her lap, liking it better when they were squeezed together. "There are certain drinks out there – beer, wine, champagne – you've seen me drink those, right?"
"Yeah," he nodded.
"Well, they're different from normal drinks. They have something called alcohol in them, and if you don't have too much it won't hurt you, but if you drink a whole lot it can make you sick – it can even make you act weird, in ways you wouldn't act if you hadn't been drinking."
Ben's eyes suddenly lit up, "Can I have some and see?"
"No," Mary snapped, trying to ignore Rachel, who had so clearly bit down on a laugh. "When I say 'act weird' what I really mean is 'dangerous.' You should never drive a car if you've had something to drink, because when you're being strange, chances are you really don't know how to work the car, and you could hit somebody else."
Fortunately, it seemed like Ben was getting this, "But, you can have a little bit and it won't do that to you, right?"
"Yeah, but not until you're a lot older," Mary sidetracked. "Anyway Ben, the thing is, there are some people who really shouldn't drink at all because they like beer and wine and champagne so much that they don't really know how to stop drinking…"
This was the best way she could think of to describe it, but she still didn't like the way it had come out. It was devoid of specifics, which didn't really matter because Ben wouldn't understand anyway, but she'd wanted to appear more literate in the subject. Nonetheless, she powered on in hopes that they could wrap up quickly.
"Those people who can't help themselves from drinking so much that they get sick are called alcoholics – and that's what Uncle Peter is. So is Grandma."
"Grandma too?" Ben proposed, wide-eyed.
"Yes," Mary reaffirmed. "They both had to go and get help. They learned how they can keep from drinking so they don't do anything dangerous. Does that make sense?"
Ben shrugged, unconcerned, "I guess. So, they can't drink any of those special drinks at all?"
"That's where it gets tricky," Mary conceded, staring down into his gorgeous, twinkling blue eyes; so untainted and full of wonder. "They really shouldn't drink them at all, because they just keep going and going when they do. They become what's called 'addicted' which means it's really hard for them to give up," this was getting long-winded. "After awhile, they might start getting into trouble just to get some of those drinks, like spending a lot of money; things like that."
"Hmm…" Ben hummed thoughtfully. "That's weird. So, Uncle Peter and Grandma don't ever drink anything, even though they want to?"
"That's right," Mary nodded. "They're very strong. It took them a long time to give it up, but they did it."
"Well, that's good," the boy decided. "But, how come they're alcoholics and you're not? Or dad's not?"
The right answer to this question wasn't one Mary could've given years before; she wouldn't have had enough faith in AA or, indeed, in her mother, not to believe it came from weakness. She'd spent too much time pretending that Jinx being a black-out-drunk was a sole result of her father's abandonment when in reality, it probably would've happened no matter what.
And so, she shook her head at Ben and hunched her shoulders.
"No reason. Some people are and some people aren't. I was lucky."
And she looked specifically to Rachel when she articulated this, willing her with her steely US Marshal glare to buy into what she was saying. Given all the drama they already had going on, they didn't need her adding to it with preconceived notions about Peter and his drinking habits, or lack thereof.
Meanwhile, in the twins' room, Marshall was trying to keep things light by flipping through various outfits of Lizzie's hanging in the closet. It seemed he could do no wrong in his little girl's eyes most days; she would giggle and grin at his antics, but today nothing he said seemed to be working. Although he had his back to her while she rummaged in her bed, no happy sounds echoed from over his shoulder.
"How about something Christmassy, my dear?" he advised. "You have these delightful red leggings; I think I could scrounge up a green top for a very festive holiday look. What do you say?"
Lizzie had nothing to say at all, but Marshall spent a few minutes trying to make good on his word, flipping through hangers trying to find something emerald. Indeed, there was a long sleeved shirt – dark green with shimmering, sequined stars patterned on the upper chest. He would venture a guess this garment was Aunt Brandi's doing, as Mary would never buy something so girly.
"Now, you would be quite glitzy in this…" he declared, unhooking it from the hanger and holding it up against the crimson pants he'd already pulled. "And you have those black boots. Yes-yes, the fashion police will be calling and wanting your picture, missy…"
Still nothing. There was no reason to delay turning around, and yet Marshall still held off, pondering what might be on his daughter's mind. He and Mary were used to her being prone to tears, but lately it seemed she'd had more reason to fret, and Marshall hated that. She was just a child; she shouldn't be looking for danger behind every corner.
"I think we should give this a whirl, ma'am…"
And whirl he did, holding up the outfit with gusto, like a salesman in a department store. His wife would've been mortified had she seen him acting so cheesy, but he often keyed up his more playful side when she wasn't around, though he knew she secretly enjoyed it.
However, Marshall's games didn't get him very far. He wilted upon seeing Lizzie looking downcast, hugging something to her chest from where she stood next to her bottom bunk. A scrutinized glance told him it was Pretzel the bear.
Marshall placed the clothes on top of the dresser beside the closet and strode over to his daughter, gazing gently down at her, eyes shiny already. It wasn't even ten in the morning; she really was quite the little worrywart.
"What's the matter, my Lizzie Lou?" he wanted to know, speaking softly. He decided he would make a guess, "Are you upset because there's someone you don't know here in the house? You know that mama and I would never let anybody near you and Ben that we thought was trouble – Rachel is Uncle Peter's sister; she's perfectly safe…"
"I know…" Lizzie intoned softly, orbs on the carpet. "I was just thinking about something you said last night."
"Oh?" Marshall bent his knees so they were face-to-face and he was struck by how similar her features were to his; the angularities in her bones, the azure eyes. "What's that?"
But, then the shuddering started, "Y-you…you said…if B-Ben and I…thought of s-something to get Holly…" and then the heaving of her chest. "That we should t-tell you…"
"I did…" Marshall agreed, not wanting to show how perplexed he was by this demeanor.
"I could only think of one thing…" Lizzie's voice climbed shrilly as she tried to keep from crying.
"One thing is fine," her father swore. "More than fine. Tell me what you thought of; I bet it's a great idea."
But, his complimentary nature, meant to help rather than hinder, did just the latter. Two fat tears rolled down Lizzie's cheeks, her lower lip quivering out of pure confusion and sadness.
"The…the only thing I could think of that m-makes me f-feel better when I-I'm sick is…is P-Pretzel…" she squeezed her bear tighter.
"And?"
"D-do you th-think Holly would w-want to…to…"
Marshall was still a little bit lost, but something was clicking in the back of his mind, "To what?"
"Sh-should she keep Pretzel?"
And to Marshall's utter astonishment, she relinquished her grip on the stuffed animal and held it out, the most painful olive branch she could bestow. He was truly stunned, beneath being so gravely moved. His little girl getting the notion that she had to give up one of her own toys – not to mention her very favorite – just for Holly was extraordinary. More unprecedented was the fact that she was willing to do it, no matter what sort of torment it caused her. This explained the weepiness.
Staring into her beautiful, tear-tracked face, Marshall couldn't fight voicing just how touched he was, laying a hand on her shoulder.
"Oh…Lizzie…" shaking his head. "Pretzel is yours, you keep him, okay?"
"Are you sure?" but she was daring to hope.
"Yes, absolutely," he promised. "Pretzel might make Holly feel better for awhile, but she would not want you to be sad and missing him. He's your sleeping buddy," the man couldn't fathom the sort of nightmares they'd have on their hands without the bear. He had to know, "What made you think that Pretzel was who Holly needed?"
Lizzie shrugged, but calmed significantly upon hearing she would not be asked to surrender her best toy.
"'Cause mama told me once that when her and Aunt Brandi were little that she gave Aunt Brandi a special bear to keep the monsters away – a bear from her daddy."
"That is true," Marshall confirmed.
"I just thought…mama always knows how to make everything better. I thought if I did what mama did…" a pause, and then the free-of-fault five-year-old conclusion. "Then Holly would be all better."
Marshall couldn't be entirely sure where Lizzie had connected these dots, but mention of Biscuit – long gone though he was – made him glance to the sleeved photos still posted on the mint bedroom wall. Several had been replaced with shots of the twins growing up, even cut-outs from Ben's superhero comics, but a few of the originals remained from before the twins had been born, including one of young Mary and her father. When Marshall looked close enough, he saw James in his children's faces; the softness and carefree attributes.
And he couldn't help wondering, even as so many years had passed, if Brandi's inability to settle down still came from an ingrained gene to run. Whatever he was thinking though, Lizzie was going to provide a surefire way to make him smile.
"I just wanted to do what mama would do. 'Cause mama's never wrong. Mama knows everything."
XXX
A/N: I don't know what it is about me and "R" names. I don't really have an affinity for them, but it occurred to me after I named Rachel that I invented two other characters in this series – forgettable ones, granted – also with "R" names, which would be Rebecca and Robbie (Mark's fiancée and step-son, briefly mentioned in "Twin Tailspins"). Anyway, I figured it was time for Peter's sister to make an appearance since she was mentioned a few times on the show, but never seen. She's supposed to rub you the wrong way a little bit, but I hope you'll hold out on her!
