A million and one thank you's go out to Tumblin' Downton, aka SaraPellow, for doing another fabulous beta read for me. It amazes me how she often understands what I'm trying to say better than I do. If this chapter flows well, it's only thanks to her.
I'm not really sure how the rating with these chapters is suppose to go, but fair warning, an F-bomb is dropped in this chapter.
I also want to take this time and say thank you to all of you that have favorite(d), alert(ed), or left a review for this story. I often respond to reviews and express my gratitude/answer questions (though I really dropped the ball on doing this for the last chapter). However, some of you review anonymously, so I just want to say that I read each and every comment, and words can do little to aid me in my attempt to express to you how much your encouragement/praise means to me. So…thank you.
My only aim in writing this story is for you, the reader, to experience the thrilling sensation of having the warm reminder of your own humanity flowing through your veins. I only want to open you up, and make you feel human.
I hope I accomplish that goal.
…
Mary loved the sound of her heels clicking on the pavement. She loved the give and take—the sharp scratch and the loud strike.
Mary loved her heels but she hated the bag on her right shoulder. It was heavy and the summer had made her weak.
She had become accustomed to carrying only juice boxes, animal crackers, crayons, loose sheets of construction paper, and the occasional plastic horse. The summer had made her weak, or at least forgetful.
Mary forgot what it felt like to carry notebooks, binders, biographies, manuscripts, her laptop, and thick books with stiff, cracking spines and yellowing pages.
The summer had made her weak and forgetful, but the past two weeks had made her quickly remember.
Mary was leaning heavily to her left as she walked, trying to compensate for the weight of her school bag. She normally loved early September days like this, when summer heat and autumn chill stopped arguing for the day and both agreed on a cool breeze and a warm sun, but her day had been ruined by the unavoidable task of research. It was a perfect day and Mary was slightly bitter about having spent much of it inside DePaul's library. She hadn't even been able to find a table by the window so she could at least pretend to enjoy the day, so she had to resign herself to a dimly lit corner of the stacks. Mary had started her last year of postgraduate work two weeks ago and was already feeling the stress of balancing a flexible but demanding school and research schedule, her time with Quinn, and a deeply struggling relationship.
But she was away from the library now, out in the sun and walking the streets of the neighborhood she loved, trying to ignore the weight of the bag as it beat a rhythm against her hip.
The streets were busy with students, professionals, and young families, most going in separate directions but some stopping to exchange pleasantries. The streets were bordered with large leafy trees, wrought iron fences, and telephone poles, covered in flyers for art shows and open mikes. Mary's ears were filled with the sounds of passing cars, friendly chatter, a collage of music coming from open windows, and the ever-present distant rumbling and screeching of the train. The sidewalks were wide but they were crowded with dog-walkers, babies in strollers, teens on skateboards, men and women in business suits, and the occasional runner trying to dodge them all. The streets that Mary walked were lined with townhomes, boutiques, restaurants and bars with patio settings, and mid-level apartment buildings; there were no skyscrapers like The Pearl anywhere in sight.
The sun was yellow and warm and the sky was a blanket of flawless blue. It was days and moments like this, as she passed friends and families, co-workers and strangers, that reminded Mary why she loved the Lincoln Park so much; it had that unique and familiar neighborhood feel while still managing to maintain a distinctly urban make up.
Mary moved passed a determined businesswoman trying to hail a taxi before rounding a corner filled with student houses, and having her eyes land on her destination—Bean and Book.
In Mary's opinion this small café, which was located almost exactly halfway between her apartment and the heart of campus, was the single greatest place on earth. She frequented the spot for their espresso and steamed milk, but stayed for the ambience of used books and good conversation. The café was fairly large, with wide windows and red brick interiors, but its over-stuffed chairs and couches, textured rugs, scratched tables, and vintage artwork made it feel cozy and warm. Books were a part of the framework and the foundation of the café; the ones that lined the walls and the groups that were stacked into collapsing piles in corners and next to chairs were meant to be thumbed through and read, and others, like the stack that was underneath the cash register, the ones above the restroom sink, and the several that were placed under wobbly table legs, were not meant to be disturbed. The placed smelled of ink stained paper, coffee, and Chicago.
The door softly chimed a familiar tune when Mary pushed it open, and after taking a moment to survey the small crowd inside, Mary eventually spotted Sybil at a small table in the front corner of the room. Sybil's head was bowed over an especially large book in her lap and she had not seen Mary enter. Open books and papers were several layers deep and they covered every surface of the table in front of Sybil, and even at the small distance, Mary could see the look of deep concentration on her youngest sister's face.
Mary crossed the café towards her sister, manoeuvring around several large stacks of books as she walked, and sighed silently as she lifted the heavy bag from her shoulder, enjoying the tingling sensation of blood returning to her arm and fingertips.
Mary stopped beside the empty chair in front of Sybil and still her sister had not looked up from the enormous book in her lap. Mary was impressed with Sybil's focus and determination; she had always considered herself to be a better than average student but never possessed the drive and work ethic her sister invested in everything she did..
Mary finally spoke, "Is that just some light afternoon reading?"
Sybil jumped slightly at Mary's greeting and lifted her tired eyes to meet Mary's before the sisters exchanged small, warm smiles, "Oh, hi. Sorry I didn't see you come in."
Mary laughed lightly and sat down in the empty seat opposite Sybil, "I can see that." Mary indicated the large medical book that was still open in her sister's lap, "Enjoying that?"
Sybil rolled her eyes and closed the book with a thump, "No one enjoys reading this, just like no one enjoys taking 21 credit hours and trying to study for the MCAT."
Sybil's was slumped in her seat: defeated by sleeplessness and endless worry.
"When do you test?"
"October 14." Sybil said the words as if in a trance, staring blankly at a spot on the floor, as if the date were her judgment day.
"I don't envy you."
Her sister's words were lifeless and hollow, "No one envies me."
Mary matched her tone to Sybil's, "Sorry, darling." The words could do nothing but they were all Mary had to give to her.
Sybil looked up and met Mary's concerned eyes before the younger sister smiled tiredly and sat up taller in the wooden chair. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be moping. I haven't seen you since classes picked back up. How are you?"
"Well, honestly, I'm a little concerned about you. We've only been back in school for two weeks and you look exhausted already."
"No, I'm fine really. I'm stressed but who isn't?"
"I don't know darling…the pressure seems to be eating you alive."
Sybil laughed hoarsely, "You sound like mom. I'm fine. Trust me." Sybil picked up the oversized mug in front of her and took a quick sip of its contents before speaking again, "Honestly, talking about the exam with some of my classmates has made me realize that I'm actually in a pretty good place."
"Is that 'place' suppose to be teetering on the edge of a mental breakdown, because I feel like that's what's in store for you."
She took another sip of her coffee, "You're so dramatic, Mary."
"Are you enjoying any part of school?"
"I am. My classes are challenging but I find most of them to be incredibly interesting—the human body is magnificent in its complexities. There's also this gorgeous guy in my Organic Chemistry class…I'm enjoying him quite a lot."
Mary was unconvinced but laughed despite herself, "If you say so, but please try to get some sleep at night."
Sybil rolled her eyes and placed her mug back on the table, "I will, I will. Now, will you please turn off the mommy switch and talk to me like you're my sister."
Mary smiled at her youngest sister, unable to remain worried about her, "All right."
Sybil returned her smile, "Now, how are your classes going?"
Mary looked back over her shoulder at the café's counter and took note that her favorite barista was working the bronze espresso press. She turned and bent to open her bag, searching for her wallet, "I'm going to get a drink first."
Mary's fingers continued to grope in the vastness of her bag, tripping over book spines, loose papers, and index cards, but Sybil's reply ended her searching.
"Oh, I already got you one." Sybil reached down to the floor at her right and retrieved an insulated paper cup with a lid and handed it to Mary, "Here. I got it just a couple of minutes ago so it's probably still really hot."
Mary took it greedily in both of her hands, feeling the warmth of the liquid through the waxy, thick paper walls of the cup.
"Thank you, darling. Did you get me a…"
"Medium non-fat white chocolate mocha with an extra shot and no whip?...Yes I did."
"You know me well."
"Please Mary. You once memorized everyone else's lines in a school play just so you could help me practice my part…the least I could do is remember your coffee order."
"Well, thanks anyway."
"It's fine. It's fine. Now, tell me about your classes."
"Well I technically only have two formal classes because I took an Independent Study course with Doctor Fullop in hopes of getting a head start on my dissertation. It's given me a lot of time outside of class but now I'm conducting my own research as well as assisting Fullop with his."
"What is he researching?" Sybil seemed to genuinely be interested.
"Actually, it's how medical practices, specifically emergency situations, improved between World War I and II. So, after I no doubt read hundreds of different books and articles on the subject, maybe I'll be able to understand half of the words you're saying when you discuss your own studies." Mary smiled at her youngest sister and took a tentative sip of her coffee and was pleased to find that it did not burn her tongue. She licked her lips, appreciating the sweetness of the white chocolate and the bitterness of the robust espresso, "Honestly, when I hear you talking to some of your classmates, it's like you're speaking a different language."
Sybil laughed several times, "And that language is what we call Latin."
"Haven't you heard that Latin is a dead language?"
"Yes, but it's universally dead so everyone in medicine understands it."
"Whatever," Mary took another drink, "it's still stupid."
Sybil lifted a single brow in her direction and said through her laughter, "Really well reasoned Mary."
They laughed together for several moments, enjoying the easiness of their relationship and the simplicity of the present.
Sybil picked up her mug again and curled her legs underneath her body, settling in for a long conversation.
"So, how is Quinn? How is she adjusting to school?"
Mary's laughing subsided and she sighed heavily. She sat her drink down on an impressive pile of Sybil's medical books before reaching behind her and stretching her spine, trying to pull her own exhaustion from her body. No matter how much the child had grown in recent months, the subject of Quinn was always draining. Mary fluffed her hair with her hands before picking her cup back up and settling deeper into her chair.
"All right I guess, especially considering how far she's come in the past month or two, but the first couple days were hell."
Mary's eyes glazed over as her mind wandered back in time, "I dropped her off with Matthew for her first day and it was horrible."
Mary saw that day three weeks ago. She had held the child's hand as they walked her to the classroom. The girl's grip was vice-like and Mary knew what was coming. She felt it building on the surface of her soft skin, building to a breaking point. She could sense the fear in the child's grasp, and taste the dry worry in her own mouth. They had tried to say goodbye outside the room, wishing her well and giving her smiles that would do nothing against the storm that would soon break free above their heads. Mary had twisted her fingers free from Quinn's hold all while the child fought against the loss of contact. She stood small before them, her hands empty and shaking, her uniform clean and pressed, and her pink backpack filled with new school supplies that would offer her no comfort when they left her there alone. Quinn's angel face turned red, contorting with hurt and terror, unable to grasp why the two adults before her would leave her in such an awful place. Her mouth was wide and her eyes were shut. The echo of her screams was muted by the children that passed by them in the crowded hall, but Mary knew the anguish that spread from her lungs. Quinn had managed to re-attach herself to Mary, though this time she choose one of her legs, burying herself in her hip, hiding herself from others, trying to blend into Mary's flesh so that she too could go with them when they left. In that moment Mary hated herself and everything about this situation, and she began to convince herself that Quinn could start school next year; there was always next year. It was Matthew that pried Quinn from her body, his hands strong but gentle, and it was Matthew that had been able to calm his daughter to the point where her breathing was no longer strangled by her terrors, and it was Matthew's hand that Quinn had grasped as all three of them entered the room and found Quinn's seat in the back corner. They were not the only set of adults that started the day with a certain child, but they were the set that stayed the longest. They made their escape around eleven, while Quinn was busy in her natural element of arts and crafts, and found themselves in a quite café. He bought her lunch and coffee and they stayed there for a long time, not saying much, both silently praying that Quinn would eventually settle into the routine of school. They returned to the Belle Academy several hours later and found, to their great relief, that Quinn didn't have another breakdown in their absence.
Sybil spoke, dragging Mary out of her memories, "Was it that really that bad?"
Mary rubbed the back of her neck with a free hand, trying to press the tension from the knots that permanently resided there, "That first day, I felt so hopeless. The second day was a little better and the third was a little better than the second. Hopefully, things will settle down completely soon."
"Has she made any friends?"
Mary laughed once, humorlessly, "I don't think she's even spoken to anyone yet, but…" she sighed and her breath carried her troubles, "…we are trying to take it one step at a time. Step one was no more blow-ups, breakdowns, or crying, and I think we can cross that one off the list, because she hasn't cried at all in nearly a week."
"Well that's something."
"Yeah it is. Step two will be for her to get comfortable with the process of going to school and being separated from me. And step three…"
Sybil cut her off, "Wait a minute…there is a whole step that just involves the process of Quinn being away from your side?"
Sybil paused and her words hung in the air above them. Sybil looked at Mary with wide eyes and a parted mouth and it was obvious that she was implying something that was lost on Mary.
"Yes?"
"A whole step that only involves her being away from you—you don't see how this situation could be a bit problematic?"
Understanding was beginning to dawn on her but Mary's voice remained small in her mouth, "What do you mean?"
Sybil's tone was soft and kind and it was obvious that she took no pleasure in her next words, "Don't you think Quinn is getting a little too attached to you?"
Mary found that she could no longer look her sister in the eye.
Sybil continued, speaking quickly, "You know how pleased I am that Quinn is improving by leaps and bounds, and you should be rewarded for your tireless efforts. Every day that passes she heals more and more and I'm so happy that you've discovered that a child that we all once thought was emotionally damaged beyond repair, could be happy again and love again, but…I'm worried about what is going to happen to her when you leave in…" Sybil paused and counted the passage of time, "…eight months time. I fear that she's too dependent on you and that she'll revert to old habits when you go your separate ways."
It was like Sybil had managed to discover and read the darkest corners of Mary's mind. Mary felt assaulted, bruised, and slightly nauseous under the weight of her own deepest fears. Of course Mary too had read the signs—they had been staring her in the face for weeks and weeks. Mary knew that while they had managed to dig themselves out of one enormous hole concerning Quinn's emotional issues, they had, unknowingly, landed up to their ears in another one, and it was hard to see a way out. She knew Quinn was becoming too attached to her, and she knew, in turn, that she was becoming too attached to the girl. It was hard to avoid the reality of the dangerous situation, but Mary was managing. She chased it away with the pressure of Quinn's hugs and replaced them with the image of her peacefully sleeping in her arms. She had tried to burry the truth of the matter, tried to hide it underneath the child's smiles, and smear it away in her laughter, but it was creeping to the surface of Mary's conscious mind more and more.
The date would come. It was unavoidable. It was marked in bold red ink in her mind. One day Mary would have to let her go and say her goodbyes.
Mary sat still, slumped over in her chair.
Sybil continued, speaking only loud enough for Mary to hear, "I'm sorry if I've upset you, I'm just concerned that's all. I mean, you're going to leave eventually, right? …You're…" Mary heard her baby sister swallow thickly, "…you're not her mother, Mary."
Sybil's words made her heart skip several beats and made her mouth sour with a bitter reality. Mary looked up at her sister and she wanted, so desperately, to be angry with her. She wanted to scream at her until she was red in the face. She wanted to point out all of her flaws and she wanted to dig up old ghosts. She wanted to make her as uncomfortable and as frightened as she had made her. She wanted to be angry with her youngest sister, but seeing how Sybil looked across the table at her with only sincerity and concern, Mary just couldn't manage it. Sybil's words painted a perfect picture of the hardships that Mary would face when it came the time to leave Quinn, but it wasn't her fault that they had wounded her so badly.
Mary tried to conceal her pain in a half smile that didn't reach her eyes, "I know that." She tried to chain together a string of laughter but it sounded unnatural and dry, "You know that I always get attached to the kids I watch."
Sybil smiled sadly along with her, but Mary heard the words her sister wanted to say. If it was Edith that she was sitting across from, Ed would have told Mary that she had never got this attached to a child and she needed to start finding ways to distance herself. But Sybil was not Edith, and therefore, she remained silent.
Mary continued on, desperate to get away from this sensitive topic, "Anyway, Quinn's getting better and better. I think she's accepted her fate and realizes that she's not getting out of going to school, so she's decided to muddle through it as best as she can."
Sybil saw how Mary was running from their previous conversation and she decided to run along with her.
"Well, I'm sure that every day will get easier and easier for her."
"I hope so too…" Mary paused remembering, "but I gave her Grey for luck."
Sybil's eyes widened with her shock, "You did? That's saying something. I never thought you'd part from that thing. Is it working?"
"I think so. Children want to believe in magic and fortune so they accept the possibility of it. When I told her that Grey would protect her and give her luck when she needed it, she believed me without question, and she's become more courageous ever since…I haven't seen her cry since I gave him to her."
Grey was the name Mary had given to the small gray stuffed dog that her grandfather had given to her when she was just a baby. She had had the small toy for as long as she could remember and Mary had always fancied it a good luck charm. As she got older, her childhood things slowly left her, most got passed down to Edith and then to Sybil, and others were sold at yard sales or given to church drives, but Grey always remained solely in Mary's care. It was one of the few childhood possessions Mary took to the city six years ago and now it was the only one that remained. She couldn't really explain why she kept it for so long, perhaps it was the things that she and the dog had seen together, or perhaps it was the way his insides had always perfectly absorbed her tears, or perhaps it was because its dark, shining eyes always reminded her of her grandfather's warm gaze.
Therefore, Mary felt there was some meaning in how freely she had given the dog to Quinn. It had been an easy decision, something that had popped into her mind the evening before, and was decided on in nearly the same moment.
The wind had been gusting that day in front of the large brick school, sending tufts of Quinn's curled hair into her eyes, and Mary had to continuously move the red and gold strands away so she could see the girl clearly. Mary had bent down to Quinn's eye level, kneeling uncomfortably on concrete, as she reached in her bag and retrieved the small dog.
She pressed Grey into Quinn's outstretched palm and Mary felt no pain as the toy's worn fabric passed over her fingertips, only a new acceptance that the trinket was no longer hers.
Mary explained to her, "I wanted to give you this, Quinn."
The girl curled a pink fist around the animal and looked at the toy with a mixture of curiosity and gratefulness.
Mary continued, "His name is Grey and he's my oldest friend." The girl then looked up at her with her father's blue eyes, and Mary had to take a moment to gather herself before she continued, "You see, he was my lucky charm and I've had him always, so you must promise to take good care of him for me."
Ever thoughtful, the child asked Mary in a whispered voice, "Don't you need him?"
"Not as much as you." Mary moved a red curl from the girl's eyes, gently tucking it behind her right ear. "I've told him that you are going through a big change, with starting school and leaving home and meeting new people, and he told me that he wanted to help you."
The wind blew coolly against her face, and the child's curiosity turned to wonder in a flash and Mary saw, in the clear blue depths of Quinn's wide eyes, that the child accepted her words as the absolute truth.
Mary spoke on, a warm pressure weighing on her heart, "He'll keep you safe and sound as long as you look out for him too, so bring him home every day without a scratch."
"OK." The child's voice was still soft but it carried a new belief and a new confidence, and Mary felt as if she could have wept with relief.
The morning bell rang, loud and clear in the distance, and Mary pulled the girl in for a quick embrace.
"Have a good day, my darling. I'll be back for you at 2:30." Quinn's father's eyes shone beautifully back at her. "Goodbye then…" Mary leaned in and planted a lingering kiss on one of the girl's soft, pink cheeks, before pulling back to meet her gaze and managing a smile that she hoped would mask the tears in her own eyes, "And such good luck."
The girl slowly walked towards the school, Grey cradled softy but securely in both of her hands and her hair blowing softly in the breeze, and Mary had to fight the burning in her lungs as her emotions threatened to undo her on the busy street.
Sybil's voice once again brought Mary back from her memories, "Well I'm sorry that you had be parted from Grey but I'm glad that he's comforting her while she's on her own every day."
"Yeah…I am too."
The café door's bell rang in the background and Sybil took another drink from her mug before shifting in her seat and asking, "And how is her relationship with Matthew coming along? Still progressing positively I hope?"
It's a horrible thing to have your free will taken away from you; to have your mind shut down and stolen away, and to be forced to endlessly chase darkness and delusion. It's numbing to have divine forces dictate the direction of your dreams and judgments, and it's crippling to be influenced against your own resolve. It's a magnificent catastrophe to feel your own free will slip away into nothingness at the simple mentioning of a name, but Mary was becoming accustomed to the regular occurrence of it.
Her heart beat out a new rhythm when he was on her mind and Mary relaxed into her chair, reveling in the persistent drumming against her ribs.
There's been a shift in him; a change that has altered the pattern of him. He's different but familiar, modified but recognizable. There's a different weight to his eyes, a different bend to his body, and different tone to his words. Their shared and loaded moments hold a new flavor, and he is bearing a fresh resolve. His eyes are the same shade of flawless blue, but they feel different against her skin. They make tracks and bleed through the surface. They demand her attention and call to her across the room. They hold the familiar trap but a different determination lies beneath their shine.
His bright eyes are now patient. His gaze is fixed and waiting, biding its time, active in its inactivity.
There's been a small shift in him, but Mary knew that even small shifts had the potential to cause earth-shattering quakes.
Mary could no longer look at her sister across the small table, knowing that her eyes would shine with the thought of him, "Things are going really well. It's slow, but steady. Some days great oceans are crossed, but other days…puddles can't seem to be jumped."
Mary has kept both of her sisters well informed on the positive progressions of Quinn and her father, even when they don't want to hear about it. It's become her new favorite talking point and discussion topic. Mary boasts of Matthew and Quinn's growing relationship proudly, radiating joy and pride when she speaks of their simple words, thoughtful gestures, and full-lipped smiles. For the most part, her sisters listen with open hearts and minds and are genuinely pleased to hear about their growing relationship, but on some nights, when Mary endlessly rattles on about the two of them, leaving little to no room for other conservation, Sybil has tried to politely change the subject or Ed has told her to 'shut-up about it' in the unique way that Edith is able to bluntly speak her mind with an air that is humorous rather than offensive.
Mary continued on, "I can't stomp out my fear that he'll collapse in on himself again, dragging Quinn down with him, but he hasn't yet. He's persistent, pushing against her hostility with patience and love, graciously giving her what he can and not expecting anything in return."
"I'm really happy to hear it, Mary."
She could hear the smile on her sister's face and Mary looked back at her with a matching smile, "Me too. It's been wonderful to watch and be a part of." She laughed once and confessed, "It's healed a part of me that I didn't even know was broken."
Mary has watched them slowly heal; truthfulness and openness stitching them back together. They patched each other up with tape and glue, with words and gestures, with scraps of paper and quiet moments. They were still broken, parts of them hanging by the thinnest strand, but they were discovering an unknown strength and a newly acquired will.
Mary spoke on, her thoughts chasing a new train of thought, "He's been great with her, opening up to Quinn bit by bit, and rediscovering her in the process, but I fear that he can only take it so far."
"What do you mean?"
Sybil assumed that Mary was speaking to her, but in truth, the woman spoke aloud for her own benefit, desperate to shuffle through, sort out, and solve the mystery surrounding her employer.
Mary spoke softly, leaning forward in her chair, and balancing her drink in both hands as her eyes fixed on a specific ray of sunlight, "He's still holding something back, still afraid to be fully exposed. I see it when he looks at her…so much love, masking so much pain. I don't know what it is exactly, but he'll never be able to really connect with her, or anyone for that matter, until he learns to let go of whatever haunts him and forgive himself."
Sybil spoke, reminding Mary that she was not alone, "Forgive himself for what?"
"For whatever it is that happened to his wife. He blames himself for her death."
Mary heard her sister's sympathy in her quiet, breathless voice, "What a weight to bear."
Her voice was just as breathless, "I know." Mary paused, gathering her emotions before continuing on, "It's one thing to grieve for a loss, it's natural, understandable, but to actually hold yourself responsible for it…well, lets just say it explains the state I found the two of them in early this summer."
Sybil moved forward in her chair, matching Mary's posture on the edge of her seat, and her soft, raspy voice was encouraging, "But, they are moving forward."
"But how much further can you go when your still being dragged down by the past?" Mary thought of him, the sun in his hair, his tongue on his lips, a cool breeze breaking around his body, "… I fear that he'll never be able to move on…to love someone again."
Mary stopped at her spoken confession, internally chastising herself for being so selfish.
"Well, it's still better than nothing. Think of how far they've come in just the past two months. He's behaving like a father should and there's hope they can both make a full recovery in the future."
Mary heard how ardently her sister defended a man she'd never met, a man that, until slightly over a month ago, she had ridiculed for being a coward and chastised for being a deadbeat.
"You're very forgiving, Sybil. It's a lovely quality that I wish I had more of."
Sybil gave her a crooked smile, "Well you have more of a forgiving heart than Ed does…I think she still blames dad for destroying her chances with Patrick."
Mary laughed loudly, the memory of how angry Edith had been with their father when he refused to let her go to the senior prom with their neighbor Patrick when Edith was only 15, pulling her out of her misery.
"Well that's true, she'll probably hold that against him until the day he dies." Mary took another sip of her coffee, "How's Ed doing? I haven't seen her since classes have started back up."
"Oh you know Edith—kicking ass and taking names. She's been working a ton, putting in 14-hour days and living off coffee and Cliff Bars. But, every time I get a chance to talk to her, all she talks about is how excited she is to go out for your birthday."
Mary sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes, "Good Lord, I know! She's been bugging me about it constantly. It's still three weeks away but she wants to know the exact itinerary for the evening, including all of the places we're going, so she can, and I quote, 'dress accordingly and figure out how hungover I'll be'."
Sybil laughed along with her, "Well, we all look forward to it."
"I know, I know and I do too, but honestly, she needs to get a life outside of work." Both sisters fell back deeper into their seats laughing, "And she desperately needs a shag. Is she seeing anyone?"
"Please! Ed's personal life is more depressing than mine, but tell me, how is your love life going?"
Mary froze. Her free will was seized and the rhythm of him picked up in her chest again.
Mary knew of whom Sybil was speaking—the man she shared a bed with, the one that she kissed goodnight in the evening and good morning at daybreak, the one whose sweaters hung next to her's in their closet, the one she bought toothbrushes for and wholewheat cereal, the one that she carried on with, desperately wanting to believe that all was well. Sybil asked her about Rick, but Mary's mind gravitated towards another.
Mary was running out of reasons to fight her attraction to him, especially now that he was behaving as a father should. At first he was only a nagging sensation, something she was always cognizant of but could still be easily brushed aside and buried. But she buried him too deep, in too fertile a place, with too much of her to feed on. So he grew. At first it was slow, the simple sprouting of a seed, but now, with the aid of his cultivating hands, Mary was in full bloom. His roots ran alongside her veins and wove around her bones. He became a glorious weight and a set of welcome chains. He infected and spread, claiming and conquering in the most rapturous way. He was unavoidable. He was yesterday, today, and tomorrow. He was the present but still she hid him, tucked deep, but always threatening to spill over. He was a precious secret that she held in the softest parts of her mouth, not to be whispered allowed, though he ceaselessly screamed in her mind.
The change in Matthew has been wonderful for Quinn, but it's been a source of trouble for Mary.
Matthew has implanted himself into many facets of Quinn's life— dinner time, movie time, play time, and has become his daughter's newest artistic inspiration. He crept up and slowly bled into nearly everything, the latest being their bedtime stories, which he started to frequent just over a week ago.
Mary felt her eyes glaze over again. The world, including the sunlight and the people around her, fell away into a hazy mist and a muted shadow.
And suddenly it was two nights ago…
…
The sun had just set. The sky was a deep velvet blue, slowly giving way to blackness.
Matthew was in front of her, sitting up in the girl's bed, his back propped up by pillows, stretched comfortably in a tailored suit. His daughter was dressed in satin and lace, her hair as soft as freshly picked cotton, and she was perched on the man's lap, losing a hard-fought battle against sleep.
Mary sat on the edge of the bed to their left, close enough that she could smell the sweetness of the child's soap, close enough that she could taste the oak and green mint of his aftershave, close enough that if she were do as her heart desired she could easily stretch out her fingers and touch the silver watch around his wrist.
A familiar book was clutched in Mary's hands, her eyes tracing over and her lips molding around the words that her mind had memorized years ago.
Mary tried not to get caught up in how the father and daughter were positioned together, but the sight of the girl curled in his lap was something she was still astonished by. The past two months had been life affirming. It had been her suggestion for Quinn to sit on Matthew's lap while she read to her in the evenings, and though their shared reluctance was evident at first, neither unwilling but both frightened to take the first step, eventually, the two adjusted and slowly fell into the shape of it.
Mary spoke aloud from her favorite childhood book, her voice clear and resonant in the quickly darkening room, and the words dripped from her mouth, filling the gaps in between them.
"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"
Quinn too had taken a liking to The Velveteen Rabbit and she had requested in on numerous occasions, but this was the first time Mary had read it aloud while in Matthew's company.
"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."
Suddenly, the printed words held a new meaning; a different translation in light of the man that sat by her side.
"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.
"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "But when you are Real you don't mind being hurt."
Mary paused and looked up. The child was asleep against her father's chest, peacefully rising and falling along with his breath, but he was awake, and his bright eyes were pealing her apart in the shadows. He was entranced by her words, left hanging, and frightfully exposed by the truthfulness of them.
She lowered her head and continued reading the love story to him.
"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"
"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time…"
Mary heard him breathing.
"…That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept…"
Matthew had been kept, holding his own amongst darkness and pain, but she was helping him slowly unravel.
"…Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all…
His eyes called to her in the darkness, and she answered him as she always would. His exhale brushed against her cheek, and she read the rest of the words from memory, his gaze draining her of everything...
Of everything but him.
"…because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."
Mary stopped, unable to go on, seeing the realness of the man beside her.
He was real.
Something had crept into his eyes while she read, and though he clearly wore it for her to see, she was too frightened to accept what he offered.
He was too real.
But she stayed with him. She stayed in the depths of his burning eyes. The glowing heat that radiated from him bubbled her skin and burned her past the point of numbness.
His eyes melted her down to her simplest form.
Blood and water.
"Mary…" he confessed her name.
She was only blood and water.
"Mary…" he professed it again, and she sensed how good it was to be on his lips.
Once more he called to her in the shadows of the night, and she moved so that she could be nearer to the realness of him.
…
"Mary…"
The tenor of his voice had shifted and it assaulted her ears.
"Mary?"
She was back in the café, her senses returning to her in a barrage of sights and sounds, and it was her sister that was calling her name.
"Mary? Are you all right?"
Mary shook her head, shaking the dust of him from her eyes, "Yes, I'm fine…sorry about that. I was just remembering…something. What were you saying?"
" I was asking how things were going with Rick?"
"Oh." Mary couldn't even hide from herself how defeated the simple word tasted in her mouth, but she recovered, forcing a half smile that soon fell apart, "We're…doing ok."
Mary wondered if her lips were bleeding from the lie.
Rick was everything that she once wanted—he was smart, successful, hardworking, handsome, and driven. He was loyal and loving and for the past two years when she thought of her plans for the future, they always included him. She planned her life, step by step, and she always intended on taking each and every one of those steps with him by her side.
They had committed so much to one another, their presents and their futures, and it was difficult to go back on that type of promise. She once held his hand and told him that she would love him forever, and at the time, she could not possibly have spoken a set of truer words.
For years, she and Rick had been building something of great worth, but the foundation they had constructed together, brick by brick and beam by beam, was starting to crumble into ruin. The dust of their love clung to Mary's clothes and the rubble of her own broken promises stuck to the soles of her feet, tripping her and slowing her with every step.
Of course, he had his flaws. He was capable of being sharp and selfish, arrogant and haughty. But she too was flawed; Mary knew she had the capacity to be both proud and cruel. He wasn't perfect, but neither was she, and for so long, they were going to be imperfect creatures together.
But that was before.
Before another had tempted her. Before she truly knew longing or addiction. Before she understood the difference between want and need, affection and devotion.
But those truths could not change the promises she had made to Rick, and Mary's guilt over harboring such strong passions for another man was an immovable force, permanently residing somewhere between her heart and her gut.
Sybil spoke, "We'll that doesn't sound very convincing…are you sure you two are ok?"
Desperate to save face Mary lied again, "Yeah, we're ok. I mean, we have our troubles, but what couple doesn't?"
Mary was still clinging to the hope that she could talk herself out of her feelings for Matthew, hoping that he was only a temporary temptation. But Matthew was nowhere in sight, and it was easier to convince herself of the lie when his eyes were not unmaking her.
The café's door opened with the light chime of a clear bell again and Sybil was still unconvinced, "You know, Mary, no one would think any less of you if you were to end things with Rick."
Mary looked away and bit the warm flesh of her cheek, her ever-present guilt making her feverish.
Sybil continued, her voice soft and kind, revealing her worry for her sister, "There is no shame in walking away, and sometimes…it's better to end things before they get any worse."
Sybil's words had hit a chord and Mary's response was soft, her pain making her whisper, "We've made each other a lot of promises, and I think…I hope, that it's just a rough patch."
"But is that all it is? A rough patch?"
Mary was fighting a losing battle but she continued to struggle on, her mind not believing what her lips were saying, "We're fine. Relationships take a lot of work."
"I know that, but sometimes things just don't fit and no amount of tape and glue can hold them together."
The past few months with Rick had been ugly. They fought constantly about nothing specific. A simple statement would be taken out of context, and then, 20 minutes later, they would be shouting things at one another that had nothing to do with where they started.
The battled with one another, matching up punch for punch, word for word.
His tongue cut her; her statements poisoned him.
But still they fought on. They fought passionately and desperately. Perhaps they were fighting to cling to whatever was left of them. She fought to maintain all of her promises. He fought to actualize their once rosy future. They fought to maintain their shape.
But he was broken. And she was broken. They were irregular pieces of something that resembled only a delusion of what they once were. It was a thankless task, but they soldiered on, both continuously searching for a place to put themselves back together again.
So much effort had been expended on both sides, but they were running out of road.
He was trying…but he knew. She was trying…but she knew.
Mary spoke on, giving a final push, "…I've made a commitment. And I don't take it lightly."
"You can't blame yourself for feelings beyond your control."
Mary had found some strength and her words begged for reason, "But we're so perfect together. We are so similar."
"There is more to relationships than just having similar personalities. You always say how smart, hardworking, and successful Rick is, and those are admirable qualities, but you never talk about how he makes you feel."
Sybil paused, and suddenly their roles were reversed. Mary had always been the wise voice of reason in her younger sister's life but Mary suddenly saw a lot of wisdom in her sister's eyes and she listened intently to what she had to say.
Sybil continued, speaking with emphasis and simplicity, "I have no doubt that you love him, but do you love him passionately?...Do you love him frantically and unconditionally?"
Mary thought: I once did.
"Does he make you forget your own name and how to breathe? Does he make you laugh? And I mean really laugh?"
No…
"Does he make your pulse race and your stomach drop?"
No…
"Is he the best part of your day?"
No…
… Someone else is.
"I guess the real question that you should ask yourself is: Does he make you hope that a tomorrow never comes without him being at the center of it?"
In the crowded café, Mary suddenly felt very lonely. She was small, insignificant, and her chair swallowed her.
Sybil's pause did not last long. Eventually, she spoke on and her voice bore a new lightheartedness and her words carried a carefree resolve.
"Besides Mary, the best thing in the world is to just be smashed drunk off someone else." Sybil picked up her mug and said with one raised eyebrow, "And you know that the best kind of sex…is drunk sex."
Sybil exploded into a fit of laughter, her own joke bringing tears to her eyes.
Mary laughed softly, her spirits lifting in spite of herself, "Good Lord Sybil! I was just about to praise you for how eloquently you spoke of love, and then you unload that gem of advice on me. "
Sybil only laughed harder.
"And I really don't want to know what type of sex you think is best. You now sit before me a grown woman, but part of me will always remember you in a Minnie Mouse nightgown, clutching a worse-for-wear Barbie."
Sybil laughed for a moment longer, before eventually calming down to a point where she could speak again.
"Ok, well honestly, you should expect someone great for yourself Mary…Don't be happy with someone that doesn't light you on fire and constantly make you feel a little inebriated."
Sybil unloaded a full-watt smile on her, and Mary couldn't help smiling back.
Sybil spoke on and Mary watched as she continued to rattle off advice.
"You need someone who will treat you as an equal, someone who leans on you as you lean on him. Someone that knows your passions and gives you new reasons to be passionate…Someone who redefines certainties, only for you."
Sybil did not know it, but she was perfectly describing the feelings Mary already harbored for another man; the man that now consumed her every moment.
Mary didn't know when it happened, but somewhere in her recent past she started counting the passage of time not by the weeks on a calendar, or by sunsets, or by revolutions on a clock, or even by the slow crawl of earthly shadows, but only by the base of him. Mary divided her life into two parts—when she was with him, and when she was not with him.
It was a dangerous way to live; she either floated in the heavens, or she sank in the deep.
Sybil spoke on, "You need someone who will value you, really value you. You need someone who knows the worst parts of you but only highlights the best of you."
Mary laughed again, "I feel like I should be taking notes, Sybil."
The door to the café chimed in the background again, but Sybil remained undeterred, "You need someone who makes muddling through this life worth the struggle. You need someone who buys you good books and makes you strong coffee."
"I think I get the point, darling."
"You need someone who loves you to the point where it makes everyone else around you a little sick. But most of all you need to be sick. Sick on him. Your shared love needs to be incurable. Inoperable. Permanent."
Suddenly, Sybil's concentration was drawn away. Mary watched as her sister's eyes slowly vacated hers, floating slightly away, locking on something else. Her sister's gaze was still wide and focused, though her attention was now directed towards something directly behind Mary.
Sybil spoke again, though she was now in a slight trance, "You need someone younger, Mary…Someone with an innocent face…and perhaps with a business…or law background…"
"Well that's oddly specific."
But Sybil didn't hear her. Mary's sister was leaning slightly to her right, her eyes moving in response to whatever was holding her in its thrall. And it was clear from the vacant look in her eyes that Sybil was only thinking aloud as she continued to speak.
Her voice was slow and deep, "You need someone with pull-able, dirty blond hair…someone with blue eyes that could ravage you with only a glance…and someone that really does justice to a well-tailored suit."
Sybil stopped talking and leaned further to the right, her eyes shining with curiosity and admiration, and suddenly Mary knew what or, more to the point, who was behind her.
The new rhythm picked up in her chest again and Mary's breathing became very shallow, her lungs struggling to maintain their normal pattern. The blood had drained from her face, but her ears and neck suddenly became very warm.
Mary's eyes remained fixed on her sister's face, and Mary knew with an absolute certainty who it was that Sybil was studying. Chicago was a city of about 2.7 million people, but Mary knew he was standing somewhere behind her.
Now that she knew he was with her, Mary was sure she could sense him in the atmosphere. The air suddenly tasted like the red wine he would pour for her, she could smell the sweet oak of his aftershave, and she was certain she could hear his steady heartbeat.
Mary breathed deeply; sure that she could distinguish his essences from the rest of the room. She dragged him from the air, keeping him all to herself, and smiled at the sensation of him filling up and coating every part of her lungs.
She considered it a great tragedy when she had to push him out, but it was a blessing to breathe him in again.
Mary sat up very straight in her chair, all of her senses on high alert. She followed the line of Sybil's eyes, slowly turning in her seat towards the entrance of the café, her whole body tightening in the wonderful anticipation of seeing him.
Her stomach was in knots. Her chest was hammering. Her mind was focused.
And he was there.
Matthew stood by the bar waiting, one hand resting on the counter, the other in his pocket. His worn messenger bag was slung across his body, and his dark blue suit jacket was open, revealing a long, scarlet necktie.
He looked carefree; the simplicity of it made Mary happy.
He had not seen her. He stared at a spot on the ground, seeing through it and into something else. He was chasing something in his mind, and after a moment or two, he finally caught it. His unfocused eyes focused on the image and, ever so slowly, his face broke into a small, private smile. It formed on his perfect lips but it lived in his dancing blue eyes.
The sight of his small, brilliant smile softened Mary even more. She felt her bones dissolve and her muscles disappear, and though she knew that her innermost workings had completely vanished she could only sigh with the sweetest relief.
The barista drew Matthew from his happy memory, handing him a paper cup exactly like the one Mary held in her own, now trembling, hands. He thanked the man with a friendly smile.
Matthew turned to the open room, taking an experimental sip from the cup, and then pursed his lips in an appreciative fashion. He scanned the room, not looking for anyone or anything, just observing the buzzing life around him.
He eventually discovered her.
Their eyes did what they were designed exclusively to do—interlock. Entwine. Fuse.
All other expression fell from his face, and Mary knew that they shared the same look of wonder.
They were each only human, only a man, and only a woman, stripped down and raw, portraying only their most basic human needs—nourishment. Hydration. Shelter.
She fed off him. He drank her deeply. They were cloaked only in the other.
It was all they needed.
Eventually, he smiled. The gesture was pure and full, and it looked very similar to the one he had in the quiet confinement of his own thoughts only moments ago. She smiled too because she couldn't help it.
She felt easy. She felt light. She divided the time—she was now floating.
He started moving towards her, still smiling, still entwined.
Faintly, as if from the end of a wire or a distant echo across the room, Mary heard Sybil speak, "I saw him first Mary."
He was at the halfway point of the room, and as he nimbly moved around stacks of books, his full smile turned a little crooked, revealing his happiness and his slight embarrassment.
Mary responded to her sister, just as breathless as she always was when trapped in his gaze.
"Trust me, darling…"
The edge of his shadow was nearly on her.
"…I saw him first."
She only got to breathe once more before he was upon her.
He stood beside her, gazing down, his tousled hair falling across his forehead, slightly occluding his dancing, brilliant blue eyes.
Mary felt the strong desire to reach up and push the rogue blades of his hair across his brow, putting them in their rightful place by burying them deep into curve of his scalp, only desiring the unobscured window to his soul that his gaze provided her with. She yearned to clearly see the shape of his eyes, but she knew that if her fingertips were to find themselves entangled in the thick forest of his golden hair, their hungry pursuit would linger longer than they should, and they would eventually only succeed in pulling him closer to her.
Thankfully, Matthew relieved her of the temptation, running his free hand against his brow before speaking.
"Good afternoon, Mary."
His voice was sex warmed up, and she felt the deep tenor of it rattle her ribs.
"Good afternoon, Matthew."
Her voice was a little shaky, but he didn't seem to notice.
"Matthew?"
Sybil's questioning exclamation, brought both of them out of their dream-like state, and they quickly looked away from one another.
Mary turned towards her sister, blinking rapidly, trying to hide her flushed skin from Sybil's examining eyes.
Sybil looked between Mary and Matthew quickly, bouncing from Mary's embarrassed look of horror, to Matthew's shy smirk, and Mary internally chastised herself for wearing her emotions for Matthew so blatantly while in the presence of her all-too-perceptive sister.
Mary could actually hear Sybil's mind working. It sounded like the furious typing on a keyboard or the quick scratching of a sharp pencil on paper.
Her sister processed the information quickly, taking into account everything she knew about the situation before her. She knew about Mary and Matthew's professional relationship and their quick growing friendship. She also knew the necessities concerning Mary's failing relationship with Rick and she knew about the unfounded guilt Mary harbored because of it. And then she had the evidence of what had just enfolded before her eyes, witnessing the intense greeting that Mary and Matthew had just shared, knowing that it carried with it so much more than friendship.
Mary cursed herself once again.
Sybil's eyes were as fast as her mind, and every time they touched her, Mary felt more and more uncomfortable.
Then, with a loud and resonating click, Mary knew that Sybil had realized the truth before her.
And they were found out.
Mary saw the realization dawn on her youngest sister, and she could only use her eyes to plead with Sybil, silently begging her to not speak of it aloud.
It was Matthew that recovered first, and he extending a hand to Sybil and said with a polite smile, "I'm sorry. I should have introduced myself. I'm Matthew Crawley."
There was an uncomfortable pause between them, and Mary knew that her sister was still trying to fully comprehend her new understanding. Sybil was in a trance, her lips slightly parted in her shock.
The sisters were still locked in a knowing stare and Mary pleaded with her once more.
Please.
Please act normal.
Thankfully, Sybil soon collected herself. She blinked several times, shedding her eyes of all remnants of her surprise, and she took Matthew's hand firmly, bestowing on him a confident and radiant smile, "It's a pleasure to meet you Matthew. I'm Sybil, Mary's youngest and most favorite sister."
Mary made no attempt to hide her sigh of relief, and both Matthew and Sybil turned to look at her.
Mary met Sybil's eye again, and she could almost hear her sister say— I've got this. Try to hold yourself together.
Mary recovered quickly, smiling brightly and indicating Matthew, "Yes, Sybil, this is my boss."
Matthew turned back to her, "You know I hate it when you call me that."
"I do, but the fact remains that you employ me."
"I know, but it sounds so formal, so stiff."
"Well, what would you like for me to call you?" She smiled.
"…I haven't figured that out yet…but I'm working on it." He smiled.
Sybil looked like she was going to combust.
Mary laughed, "What are you doing in my part of the city anyway?"
Matthew indicated the busy city street outside the window behind Sybil, "Oh, you know me…business as usual. I have some real estate nearby, and I was just checking up on it, making sure everything was up to standard."
Sybil then spoke, "Don't take this the wrong way but, surely you have someone who does that sort of thing for you."
"Yes, I usually do, but this particular property is…special, and I wanted check it myself."
Mary then spoke again, her tone indicating her surprise, "I didn't know you had any property in the area. Is it anywhere that I'm familiar with?"
Matthew looked down at her, and his eyes again shone with something that his words left unsaid, "Yes, I believe you are familiar with it."
He left it there, and Mary was just about to push him further on the matter, when Sybil cut her off, "And you've discovered our favorite hangout. " She indicated the café around them, "So, tell me, what do you think of it?"
"It's great. I love the atmosphere of old books, old wood, and old friends." He indicated the paper cups in his hand, "And it's got killer espresso."
He lifted the cup to his lips momentarily before asking Sybil how her studies were going. Their conversation was friendly and easy, to Mary's great relief. After several minutes, Matthew pulled up a nearby chair, and the three of them talked of pleasant, albeit somewhat trivial, topics, ranging from the Chicago's changing weather to a Bon Iver concert that Sybil was going to tomorrow night.
Eventually, Mary caught a glance of Matthew's silver wristwatch and she saw that the time was nearing for her to pick Quinn up from school.
"Well," Mary stood, picking up her empty cup and heavy bag, "I've got to get going. The train is a little irregular this time of day and Quinn will be expecting me in about 20 minutes."
Matthew stood too, "I wish you'd let me lease you a car. I hate the thought of you riding the train all over the city just because you care for my daughter."
"I've always taken the train all over the city. I truly don't mind."
"I just don't want it to be an inconvenience for you." Matthew glanced quickly at Sybil, who sat quietly watching them, before leaning in closer to Mary and speaking in a hushed tone, "And you know that leasing you a car wouldn't be an inconvenience for me."
Mary understood that Matthew was subtly indicating his vast wealth. Mary knew that Matthew's incredibly comfortable financial state would allow him to easily purchase her a new car as easily as Mary brushed off buying a four-dollar latté.
She too spoke with a soft tone, "I'd really prefer it if you wouldn't…It's just too…"
She didn't finish the sentence but she hoped Matthew would see her discomfort with the idea.
Matthew again glanced at Sybil before turning back to Mary, "Let's just discuss it later. Agreed?"
Mary sighed, foreseeing the inevitable argument in the near future, "Yes. If you'd like."
Matthew stood straight again and turned on the spot to gaze down at Sybil, "Well, I too must be going. They were expecting me back at the office over 20 minutes ago." He extended another hand to Sybil, who shook it warmly, "It was a true pleasure meeting you Sybil. Mary has told me wonderful things about both you and Edith and I now know they're true."
"It was nice to meet you too, Matthew." Sybil met Mary's eye with a knowing look before looking back at him. "I hope to see much more of you in the future."
Perhaps Matthew understood Sybil's meaning because his answer was a little too sincere, "Yes…I hope so too."
Matthew turned back to Mary, about to make his goodbyes to her as well before Sybil stood to speak to him again, "Well, if that's the case, you should come out with us for Mary's birthday in a couple of weeks."
Matthew and Mary froze, both surprised by Sybil's invitation.
Mary glared at Sybil, hoping her sister could feel the heat and fury coming from her eyes.
Matthew looked uncomfortably between Mary and Sybil for several moments only eventually managing an incoherent response, "uh…I'm…uh"
But Sybil pressed on, undeterred by Mary's obvious rage and Matthew's hesitance, "It's so much fun every year. A small group of us go out for a casual dinner and then spend the rest of the night at different bars drinking and dancing."
Matthew eventually managed a coherent sentence, "…I'm…I don't…I'm not really a club kind of guy."
"Trust me, Mary isn't either but it's the one time every year when she lets us take her to a couple."
Matthew looked briefly at Mary, who still stood unmoving, glaring daggers at Sybil, before speaking again, "…I don't know."
Sybil was nearly begging him, "Oh please, you must come. It's so much fun and we are only treated with a drunk Mary two or three times a year and her birthday never disappoints."
Mary's fury now doubled and she internally screamed at Sybil—I'll kill you.
However, the promise of seeing an inebriated Mary intrigued Matthew whose voice suddenly became very strong, "Really?"
Sybil spoke on excitedly, not bothered by the hate spilling from Mary, "Yes. She's in very rare form and it's so wonderful. Last year she got on the bar and danced Coyote Ugly style and the year before that from she spent most of evening speaking to everyone she met in a surprisingly good British accent…She was a hot mess. It. Was. Fabulous."
Mary thought—I'll kill you in your sleep.
Matthew turned back to Mary, his eyes shining with his interest and excitement, "You don't say?...Well, I wouldn't want to miss the opportunity to see you both drunk AND dancing."
With this Mary finally unfroze, "I only dance ironically."
Matthew corrected himself, "Well, I wouldn't want to miss the opportunity to see you both drunk AND ironically dancing."
Mary spoke to him again, with a fake smile plastered on her face and hoping that her shaking voice wouldn't betray her panic and anger, "Oh you don't have to Matthew. It's not that much fun. Sybil is GREATLY exaggerating it."
"No I'm not!" Sybil spoke quickly, defending herself, "Mary, last year Ed and I had to talk you out of 'Bedazzling' all of your jeans when you got home."
At hearing that Matthew laughed out loud and then said, "Well, now I'm definitely coming."
"And for your 23rd birthday you asked me if I wanted anything from the bar and when I told you I only wanted a water, you asked me what 'kind of water' I wanted."
Mary tasted red.
"And then the next morning we found you asleep in the bathtub wearing a cape and a top hat and, to this day, no one knows where you got them."
Tears were forming in Matthew's eyes as he continued to laugh loudly.
Sybil continued on, fighting through her own fits of laughter, "And the year before that, Edith told me that you were doing drunken cartwheels on the sideswalks of Michigan Avenue at three in the morning."
Matthew was now clutching his gut, unsuccessful in his attempt to speak through his hysterics.
"She also said that Napier had to physically stop you from crawling over the counter at Don Taco because you wanted to make your own nachos, insisting that they always 'fuck them up'."
Mathew finally found his voice and he begged Sybil, "Oh my God! Please! Please stop." He wiped away a tear before continuing, "I can't take any more."
Sybil was smiling along with Matthew and, for the first time in her life, Mary wanted to physically attack her little sister. Mary knew she was an entertaining drunk and she often enjoyed reminiscing over the few times in her life when she cut loose and had a night to remember, but she never wanted Matthew to know of her embarrassing exploits.
Mary saw that her case was lost on Sybil so she turned to Matthew again, hoping she could talk him out of going, "But you said yourself that you're not really a club kind of guy and you aren't going to know anyone besides me and Sybil."
However, Mary could see that Matthew had already made up his mind and he only responded to her by asking, "What's the matter, Mary…" he laughed once more before turning the full weight of his eyes on her, "…Don't you want me?"
Hooked and sunk under the brilliance of his eyes, Mary spoke honestly without thinking, "Of course I want you…very much."
There was no way that the truth of her words escaped Matthew, but he was kind enough not to bring any more attention to them. He smiled at her and said, "Well then, it's decided. I'll come out with you and celebrate the magnificent day that God brought you into this world."
Mary shook her head at him again, but it was hard to tell him 'no' when he looked at her in this way.
Matthew leaned a little closer to her and made a suggestion, "How about, this year, I'll help you have a fabulous birthday but I'll also stop you from doing any thing too embarrassing that you sisters can use against you in future?"
He offered her a small smile that undid her on the spot and she was consenting before another moment passed.
His smile widened and his eyes sparkled brighter than before, driving the oxygen from her lungs in the most heavenly way.
He looked at his watch again, "Now, I've really got to be going." He turned towards Sybil, "It was lovely to meet you and I look forward to seeing you again in a couple of weeks. Please let me know if there is anything that I can do to help with the arrangements."
He then turned back to Mary, "And I'll see you tonight around six."
Mary bid him goodbye and Matthew turned to leave but before he got more than a few feet away, he turned back to Mary and said with a small smirk on his lips, "And, Mary, don't be too mad at your sister…I think a night out will really do us both some good."
He smiled at her once more before turning and walking away, the door chiming clearly as he walked out the café's door.
…
The deep amber sun came through the walls of The Pearl at a slanting angle, giving everything in its path an elongated and soot-colored shadow. Mary's own shadow extended down the hall nearly ten feet behind her as she moved soundlessly on bare tip-toes.
Her anger at her sister had been quelled hours ago, having decided there was no one else in the world she would rather spend her birthday with than Matthew. Of course, she gave Sybil a good chewing out for revealing her not-so-finest moments, but she couldn't be mad at her for the outcome. The thought of spending a carefree night with Matthew, out in the city she loved, was a mouth-watering prospect. She dwelled on the idea the entire time on the train and it wasn't until she caught herself smiling widely at the idea of dancing with him on a darkened dance floor that she felt her shame resurge. She remembered Rick and the hot stone of guilt that permanently lived inside her grew warmer and larger.
But now her guilt was quieted, contained, and she carelessly danced barefoot on the creaking floorboards. The only sounds in the penthouse were that of the ticking grandfather clock and her own breathing, as she prowled the vastness around her in search of the girl. Their games of hide and seek were becoming so frequent that they were starting to run out of hiding places, forcing both of them to become more and more creative.
Mary had just left Matthew's office, having been unsuccessful in finding Quinn there, and she now stood outside the closed door of the second guest bedroom.
Mary paused, unsure about whether or not she should open its always-closed door. Mary knew the room was innocent enough. She had been in it numerous times looking for Quinn, and had discovered her there more than several times, but there always seemed to be a bit of an ominous feeling about the room.
Eventually, she decided on quietly turning the door's curved handle, and entering the seldom-seen room.
It was bright and warm, just like all the rooms in the penthouse, and it was decorated in mostly pure whites and deep grays. It was slightly smaller than Quinn's bedroom, around the same size as Matthew's office next door, and its walls were a pleasing shade of blue; the color fell between Royal and Persian, making it both playful and soothing. The room was eerily quiet and, despite the fact that it was spotless, it bore a strange scent; it had the taint of being closed up and unlived in, like plastic and dust and new paint. Mary thought that perhaps it was the undisturbed smell that bothered her the most about the room. A space this bright and pleasant and warm should be lived in, not kept permanently shut and ignored as if it bore an infectious disease.
Mary checked underneath the bed, behind the shower curtain, and inside both the vanity and wardrobe but Quinn was not to be found. She left the room, closing the door silently behind her and turned in the direction of the kitchen and living room. She had already thoroughly looked through both areas, so she passed by them, heading in the circular direction of Quinn's room, her mind on the upstairs of the child's playhouse.
Mary stood at the cusp of the child's doorway, about to enter into it, when she saw, about 30 feet further down the hall, the slightly cracked door leading to Matthew's bedroom.
Her curiosity was piqued by the allure of the unknown. Matthew's door, just like the second guest bedroom, always remained closed. In fact, in her four months of caring for Quinn, including the hours and days she had spent in the penthouse, Mary had never seen the inside of Matthew's bedroom.
Mary started walking towards his open door, her mind empty of everything but her desire to know where he tried to conquer sleep each night.
She paused outside his door and tried to quell the pounding of her heart. Mary knew that Matthew was not yet home; she had been walking about the penthouse for the last ten minutes, opening doors and cabinets and looking under beds and around corners, and was certain that, if he had been home, she would have discovered him. Therefore, there was only one reason for his door to be cracked as it was. It was an unspoken rule that Matthew's bedroom was off limits for their hide-and-seek purposes, but perhaps Quinn decided to break the rule, desperate to find a new hiding spot.
Mary placed an open palm on the door's smooth surface, the coolness of the polished wood transferring to her skin and making her flesh pimple with chills. She held her breath as she pressed against it, and silently walked over the threshold of his bedroom.
Her first thought was that Matthew had been holding out on her. The rest of his home was the very essence of luxury and class, but he had spared no expense in the outfitting of his own personal sanctuary.
Mary's immediate impression was that the room felt very comfortable and warm while still being very luxurious. It blended rustic themes, deep mahogany wood and dark blues and grays, with modern angles and cuts.
The focus of the dimly lit room before her was an enormous bed that was placed on a high platform against the wall to Mary's right. A set of carved, wooden steps surrounded the bed on three sides, and the bed's headboard was made of the same polished wood, its shape straight and angular. It was the wall behind Matthew's large bed that emitted the room's soft glow. The wall had been designed in a three-dimensional fashion, with different flat planks of wood jutting out at varying depths, the foremost of them all being backlit with a warm light.
Mary estimated that the glass wall in front of her was the southern side of The Pearl leaving Matthew with an unobstructed view of the South suburbs and leaving Mary with a clear picture of the small balcony that his bedroom projected out into the sky. The balcony held an enormous hot tub, a large all-weather couch, and a woven canvas hammock that looked slightly out of place.
The wall to Mary's left and the wall behind her were adorned with a variety of large black and white panoramic photos, printed on stretched canvases, of city skylines from around the world. She recognized Paris, London, and Los Angeles but others she was unfamiliar with.
There was a sitting area in the space to her left that held a large television, a gas fireplace, an oversized navy couch, an elegantly shaped chaise lounge, and matching mahogany coffee table and bookshelf. Her intrigue was heightened by the sight of Matthew's private library and Mary found that she had an overwhelming desire to search through his books and curl up with the most weathered-looking one.
However, her interest was pulled away by the promise of seeing more of his personal dwelling space. The wall that Matthew's bed was placed against had a large opening in it, and Mary walked through it, finding herself in the master bathroom.
Matthew's bathroom was almost as large as his bedroom, and it sat on the southwestern corner of the penthouse. Mary's bare feet were chilled by the speckled grey tile, but she paid little attention to them as she took in the room around her. It too was decorated mostly in dark brown furnishings, but it was also designed in ivory marbles and stainless steel accents. A large double sink vanity was to her immediate left and to her right there was a small walkway that led to two closed doors. Mary tried the door to her right and discovered a room approximately the size of her childhood bedroom that served as a walk-in closet for Matthew's clothes. He had enough clothes to last a dozen men a lifetime and they all hung in pristine fashion around her. The other door to her left matched the same layout of Matthew's closet, but it had been converted into a small, albeit well-equipped, gym complete with a treadmill, free-weights, a bench, yoga mat, and a variety of other equipment.
She exited the closet and found herself deeper into Matthew's bathroom. She discovered a steam room, an all glass two-person shower, and a small, enclosed room with a toilet, bidet, and small hand sink. At the very back of the room there was another fireplace and a large infinity tub that was built into the floor, so that a person could step right into its overflowing water and gaze at the city below.
Mary wandered back into Matthew's bedroom, wanting to discover more of the finer details there, and found herself at one of his bedside tables. The table held a small reading light, a pair of his glasses, a bent and yellowing copy of A Farewell to Arms, and a single picture frame the color of bright sunlight.
Mary picked up the golden frame and was treated to a view of what Quinn would look like as a grown woman. Mary had never seen a picture of Matthew's late wife, and, as she stood studying the woman's subtle beauty and warm smile, her heart broke for the world's loss. How young she was. How lovely she was. How tragic it was. The woman looked to be about the age Mary was now, and the knowledge of her short life was a terrifying reminder of Mary's own mortality. It made her want to live the life she had always dreamed of; she wanted to dance in the streets, write a book, rescue an animal, give away everything she owned, and most of all, kiss a certain man while she still had a chance to. Mary gazed at the woman's smile, it was beautiful but chilling, and the longer she stared at it, the sicker Mary felt, her emotions warring between shame and envy. However, she could not let the frame out of her grasp. Mary held it tight in both hands, imprinting into memory the woman's no longer shining eyes.
"Hello."
Mary gasped and nearly dropped the frame, but thankfully her reflexes were quick, and she caught it before it crashed to the floor.
She knew he stood behind her, but her shame at invading his privacy was too great to face him just yet. Mary closed her eyes and held her breath, wishing herself into oblivion, prolonging the inevitable moment when she would have to look into his beautiful and betrayed eyes.
Mary slowly replaced the photograph, feeling her erratic heart in her fingertips, before finally turning towards him, an apology already forming on her lips in anticipation of seeing his fury and disappointment.
But his eyes revealed nothing of the sort.
Matthew stood just a few feet inside of his own door, his body relaxed and his face serene. His lips were parted and his soft gaze was focused only on the small frame that had just left Mary's hands.
His chest rose and fell evenly.
Matthew started slowly walking towards her, his eyes still absorbed by the photograph. He traversed the great expanse of the room in only a few paces and a moment later Mary felt the waves of his sweet breath breaking effortlessly around her body. He physically stood three feet in front of her but Mary knew, from the distant look in his eyes, that he was far away.
And she saw that something violent was building inside of him.
Matthew bent slightly and reached across her body, making for the golden frame that contained physical proof that his wife had once been real.
His eyes were turning dark and heavy with unsaid things and he gazed at the picture with both wonder and sorrow.
His voice was soft; the quiet before the storm.
"I met her through a mutual friend when I was 23. I fell in love with her slowly… but once I fell…I fell hard, and I never looked back."
Mary tried to hide her surprise that Matthew was speaking to her about his late wife, but her attempts were pointless; Matthew never raised his clouding eyes to look at her.
"We married a year later. Some people thought that it was too soon, but…I knew…I knew. I knew she was the one and while it was terrifying, it was mostly freeing. Everything synced up. Everything worked. Perhaps it was harder for some people, but it wasn't for us."
The storm in him grew. The wind picked up. The leaves turned over. The air felt heavy.
A blackening cloud formed over his body.
He paused, and Mary heard him swallow thickly, his eyes still on the frame.
"She died from the complications of a minor car crash…the doctors called it an epidural hematoma…bleeding on the brain."
The sky outside his window was a flawless blue, but Mary heard a crack of thunder issue from somewhere deep behind his ribs.
She was frozen in shock. After months and months of wanting to know the demons that haunted him, she found herself unsure whether or not she wanted him to continue.
But continue he did.
"It really was my fault that she died..."
Matthew reached up and lightly touched the glass barrier that kept him from her.
"We had been hit by another car but we both seemed to be unscathed. There were no cuts, perhaps some bruises would form the next day, but we both seemed fine…she seemed fine."
Bright lightning broke around his body but Matthew remained in the dark.
Mary was unsure why he spoke so freely to her. Perhaps, after years of torture and years of choking it back, he simply couldn't hold it in any longer.
He softly stroked the curve of his late wife's flat cheek.
"The police came and the ambulance came, and they suggested that we go to the hospital for further testing. I knew we should probably go but we were already running late for the auction, so I told her we could go to the hospital afterwards. She was a bit reluctant at first, but she eventually agreed and we hailed a cab."
Emotion now laced its way into his voice and Matthew spoke through his strangling grief, "We eventually made it to the hospital, but she arrived in the back of an ambulance. She had already passed out…" the first rain drop hit the framed picture, "…and she never opened her eyes again."
And the storm inside him broke.
His voice grew loud and mad, and his body quaked.
"I traded by wife's life, for the chance to bid on a Monet."
Matthew finally looked away from the frame in his grasp and Mary met his rain-rimmed eyes.
He was not himself. He was the storm. He was mad with his torment. Plagued by his guilt. He wore his grief clearly for her to see, and it hung from his body at every point, weighing him down, anchoring him to the hurricane.
There was no warmth left in him.
She longed to cut him free, but, as he looked at her with his dark, haunted eyes, Mary felt as if she finally understood his pain. And he was not to be helped. His remorse was a part of him, blending in and inseparable from the rest.
Mary wanted to look away, to run away, to be sheltered from the storm.
But she stayed and witnessed its destruction, her affection for him tying her safely to the shifting ground.
"But that's not the worst of it, Mary. There's more. Something that no one else knows."
Raindrops continued to fall from him, coursing down his cheeks.
Now Mary was truly frightened and her imagination formed endless possibilities for what his next secret held.
Matthew held out his shaking hands towards her, his beautiful face contorting into a mask of self loathing.
His voice grew even louder, battling against the elements around them.
"You see, I have the blood of two people on my hands."
He shook. She shook.
"The blood of my wife…the blood of my unborn child."
She was numb… She was numb… She was numb…
She was numb but she had never felt such pain.
He shouted over the wind and thunder, "My wife was three months pregnant with our second child."
Matthew paused momentarily, so overcome with sadness and anger that he was nearly sick.
But he swallowed the bile in his throat and pressed on.
"No one knew yet. We were just about to tell everyone, but then there was the accident. Then there was my selfishness. Then she was gone…taking our child with her."
The world inside of his bedroom shook and Matthew was sobbing, heavy cries breaking through his strong chest, and Mary broke along with him.
She had never in her life felt so incredibly helpless. What was she to say to this man that had lost so much? What could possibly comfort him amongst his darkness? Amongst this neverending storm?
"We had only known that we were pregnant for about seven weeks…but we both knew, without proof or reason, that it was going to be a boy…That's why the walls in the second guest room are blue…blue for my little boy."
Matthew strangled her with his eyes and Mary felt the burning tracks of her tears fall silently down her face.
She desperately wanted him to stop. She wanted to unlearn everything she had just heard. She longed for the sweet relief of ignorance.
But the storm in him would not be stopped.
"And it turns out we were right...We were going to have a son…But I killed him. I killed him with my arrogance and selfishness."
His eyes were no longer blue, they were thunder and lightning and the sickness of grief.
Matthew moved closer to her, standing only inches away and he lost what remained of sanity as he pleaded with her, reaching towards her with urgent trembling hands, "So you see now, Mary. You understand why I hate myself. I am cursed. I am damaged beyond repair."
He was drenched. Soaked to the skin in his grief. It dripped off him and pooled about their feet.
But the tears would not stop falling down either of their faces.
"You now know why my daughter will hate me when she discovers the truth. And you now know why you should stay away from me…"
Suddenly the storm within him turned over and quieted. The evidence of its destruction was still around them, her wind swept hair and his red-rimmed eyes, but the clouds had parted above.
The wind stopped howling, Mary felt the warm sun return to the room, and Matthew suddenly found himself amongst the madness of his warring mind.
Mary saw sanity return to his eyes as he repeated his final words to her, his voice no louder than a whisper, "…stay away from me Mary."
He stopped then, the world was quiet, and they breathed the humid air in unison.
Matthew was himself again but he was stripped of all his protective layers. He stood exposed before her eyes, and for the first time in their relationship, Mary felt shamed enough by the raw passion outlining his essence to look away, the nakedness of his soul almost too much to bear.
But she didn't. Mary met his gaze, looking past the dirt and grime of what he wore for her, and saw the brightness underneath.
Words. Words. Words.
Letters and words.
Mary knew all of the letters and she knew thousands of words but she was unable to recall any of them. Her lips could not scramble, combine, and build the letters, and her mind could not string them together in any combination of sounds or iterations that would bring him any kind of peace.
Words failed her. Sentences failed her. Language failed her under the burden of his lost eyes.
But then, what good would even the wisest of words do him?
Perhaps a day would come when someone could try to talk him out of the unfair burden of responsibility he had placed on himself, but, seeing the helplessness in Matthew's eyes, Mary knew today was not that day.
She saw Matthew's knees falter under the weight of his broken soul and Mary knew that the ground was about to swallow him whole.
Words could do nothing, but her arms could tether him to the earth.
Mary moved forward, keeping him locked in the deepest parts of her eyes, and she closed the small gap in between their broken bodies.
Matthew watched her slow progression, mesmerized and willing, and Mary felt the sweet caress of relief that left his red lips.
As Mary lifted her arms, gliding around the broad expanse of his shoulders, she felt Matthew's fingertips lightly touch her back. He was questioning her, testing her, and she gave him her assent.
His hands grew courageous; they danced along her spine, before flattening out and becoming strong, pressing deep and making prints, pulling her ever closer to him.
And they fell in together.
They wrapped each other up, holding one another as lovers did, heads on shoulders, faces in hair, chests pressed together so that the movement of his lungs was the movement of her lungs, and his arms, tightly holding the blood in her body, was the same as the anchor of her hands, sinking into the space between his shoulder blades and burying into the golden sand of his hair.
They sewed themselves together.
They were pressed, secure, and unmoving but for their breathing and the small explorations of their hands. He discovered the bow of her back and molded his fingertips to fit perfectly in between the gaps of her ribs. She memorized the shape of his shoulders and the texture of his hair.
They held each other so tightly and so completely that Mary lost track of where she ended and Matthew began.
She breathed him in and he gave her lungs a higher purpose. Her inspirations were deep, measured, and controlled, mastering the way he filled her.
And suddenly, Mary understood Sybil's words from earlier in the day.
Her sister had urged her to be drunk off another and, while standing in the cage of his embrace, breathing the intoxicating fumes of him, Mary found that she was hopelessly inebriated. He made her suggestible and light. He clouded her mind and blurred her vision. He burned her throat and thinned her blood. He would cause her to slur her speech and lose the delicate filter that kept him off her lips.
He affected every aspect of her mind and body in the most exposing and breathtaking way, and Mary knew that to be intoxicated by him was the sweetest oblivion this world had to offer her.
Her lips were close to the skin of his neck. His lips were near the bud of her ear and never had the simple sound of slow, even breathing been so ensnaring.
Matthew's hands continued to roam, brushing over and pressing against, loving her body in the simplest and purest way.
She felt his deep intake of breath and his whisper brushed softly against her face, his softly spoken words saying the exact opposite of his adoring hands, "…You should stay away from me Mary."
Mary quivered involuntarily and responded by pulling him closer and holding him tighter.
So close they stood together that his warm heart was inside of her chest.
So close they stood together that her exhale fell from his lips.
She cradled his head in her trembling hand and spoke, her words holding an undeniable truth that neither one of them fully grasped in the dimness of the setting sun.
"I can't stay away from you Matthew."
And the simple contraction of his arms wrote out their futures.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
OK, now for some author notes. My husband is a last year medical student, so any misinformation concerning Lavina's death, is only his fault
I've also had several people ask about some of the other characters in ATM (like how did Anna and Bates's meeting go? or am I ever going to write in Carson?) and my only response is that ALL of the other characters in this story are only plot devises surrounding the arc of Mary and Matthew. I'm sorry if that upsets some of you, but I have a hard enough time wrapping my head around Chicago Mary and Matthew, and I don't trust myself to spend a lot of time on other characters. Other characters most certainly will come up over and over again, but their function will only be for the purposes of the progression of the Mary and Matthew arc. So, will we learn more about Anna and Bates? Will Isobel's death and involvement in Quinn's life ever be brought up again? What about Mary's parent's? I'm simply not sure yet. Only time will tell
I know a lot of you wanted to see an uncomfortable moment between Mary and Matthew when Quinn's teacher mistook them for husband and wife, and I tried to write that bit of humor in, but I simply couldn't make it fit. Every time I tried to put it in somewhere, it felt unnatural and I didn't want to disrupt the story line by trying to force something. So lets all just assume together that there was some confusion, and imagine that both and Mary and Matthew enjoyed the idea more than they should have. Mary would have fidgeted in her seat, and Matthew would have turned a lovely shade of red, and it would have been extremely difficult for them not to look at one another.
I'll get to work on the next chapter in a couple days. I've had this Birthday chapter planned ever since I stared writing this story, and I'm very excited/nervous to try to tackle it. Matthew and Rick will met, Matthew will give Mary a very sentimental gift, less than virtuous dancing will commence, and a drunken confession will be made in the early morning hours.
My aim is to open you up. Did I succeed? Let me know.
