10. For Where Thou Art

Saturday, October 8, 2011

MacKenzie awoke to light streaming in the bedroom window and the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. She leaned across the bed to see the clock: 7:45. She was shocked that Will was awake and out of bed. She was also surprised that she felt rejuvenated after only five hours of sleep.

She stretched and then climbed temporarily out of bed to retrieve her phone before snuggling back into her new blanket. She was half-way through her voice and text messages from the night before when Will strolled out of the bathroom, clean shaven and dressed in Bermuda shorts and a t-shirt. His hair was damp and slightly mussed, and his feet were bare. The last time she saw him like this was during their last weekend together in 2007. Suddenly she felt tongue-tied and overly sensitive about her own unkept appearance. He smiled, but he, too, looked unsure of where to begin.

"Good morning. Did you sleep okay?" he asked somewhat tentatively.

She smiled. "I was completely out."

"So, you don't remember curling up next to me most of the night?"

"Did I really?"

"Just a little. Though I think you were more interested in your new blanket than me."

"I was?"

"Just a little," he teased. "What are you looking at?"

"Messages from last night—mostly from Sloan. Can I just ignore her?"

"If only," he guffawed.

"Is it wrong that I don't want to talk to anyone yet?"

"No," he assured her. "Provided you've learned how not to send an email to 170,000 people."

"I'm never going to live that down," she protested.

"Nope."

"I get the irony given everything our team has seen and heard the past seventeen months. But what can I say when I don't understand myself exactly what is happening?"

He put his shaving kit on the dresser and sat down on the edge of the bed. "You don't owe anybody an explanation—even me," he told her with earnest sincerity. "Tell Sloan that you are out of town for the weekend, that your cell phone availability is limited, and you will be back on Tuesday."

"Tuesday?"

He nodded. "Tuesday. You've earned a day-off birthday girl."

"And you?" she asked, wondering what else he had up his proverbial sleeve.

"That's completely up to you," he replied. "I'm yours to command."

"Being the executive producer tougher than you thought, Billy?"

"I didn't say that—only that you get to decide whether I'm invited to your birthday party."

"My party?"

"Don't worry. It's a very exclusive, intimate affair."

"Sometimes you terrify me."

"Good. Now what would you like for breakfast? And you can't have cake. That's for later."

"Surprise me," she told him.

While Will left the room to place their breakfast order, she continued to scroll through her messages and came across two YouTube links from Neal. She clicked on the first one to find a recording of Will's performance last night with Gary and Jenna. She laughed and imagined Will's reaction to this latest foray into the realm of social media. However, within seconds she was completely captivated. She turned up the volume and strained to see all the detail without her reading glasses.

"What's that?" Will asked from the doorway.

She pushed pause on her phone. "You and 'sorority girl' on YouTube. I think you've got another hit on your hands."

"Lucky me," he said dryly, leaning up against the door frame.

"Did you bring your laptop?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Because I want to relive this concert on a bigger screen."

Without a word he retrieved his computer and as he handed it to her, he asked, "Okay if I join you?"

"Are you really asking for permission?"

He ducked his head into his left shoulder and said, "Yeah."

She patted the bed in an invitation.

He settled next to her and they rested the laptop between them. He entered the passcode and she pulled up the video. Throughout the song she could feel his eyes on her rather than on the screen. As he frequently did this in their past, it wasn't too unsettling. Besides, she was more interested in watching him perform last night than in watching him watch her this morning. At the end of the song, she turned to him. He was still looking at her intently. "You have such a gift," she told him.

He brushed off her compliment with a shrug.

"One of our people made the video."

He nodded. "I know."

"That doesn't bother you?"

"No," he replied with a shake of the head.

"Wait a minute… Did you ask Neal to do it?"

"No. But I figured that he or someone else would."

"Figured or counted on?"

"The latter."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "For Jenna. She should be known as who she is rather than by my punch line for her at Northwestern. You did your part in bringing her to News Night—for her and for me, too. It was my turn to make it up to her."

"Yeah," she agreed. "How did you know she could sing?"

"I didn't. But when I asked her to find out who among our team does, the look on her face told me everything I needed."

"She's really good. So is Gary. It was perfect."

"You do understand that your opinion is the only one I care about."

She nodded. "Being here with you seems so normal."

"We know each other too well for it to be otherwise."

"It's also unsettling. I'm confused, Will, about how things could change so drastically since Wednesday. And I'm afraid that I will say the wrong thing as I have so often, and it will change back just as quick."

He closed the laptop and put it on the bedside table. Resting a hand on her thigh, he told her, "It's okay. I've done nothing to deserve your faith or trust, particularly lately. You can say anything, and it won't change how I feel about you."

"How can you be sure?"

"I realize it's only been two days, but a lot has happened for me in that time. My world shifted on its axis." With more conviction he added, "I'm not the same person."

As she studied his face, she remembered something he said last night at the Lincoln Memorial. "What did you mean when you said you were 'found somewhere between Mudville and Damascus'?"

"Can we go in the other room? It will be easier to talk."

"I'm still in my pajamas."

"Yes, you are," he answered with a wolfish grin as he scooted off the bed.

"You have me at a distinct disadvantage," she protested. "Can I at least brush my teeth?"

"Mac, you are fierce in the best way possible. Nobody could ever have you at a disadvantage. That's one of a million things I love about you. But you can shower and dress—whatever you want. I'm not going anywhere."

"Brushing my teeth will suffice. And why were you up so early anyway?"

Hands on his hips, he said, "Things to do. It's a big day."

"Still playing the role of the Pimpernel?" she asked, climbing out of bed.

"It's your birthday. What do you expect?"

She shook her head in mild exasperation, walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. She brushed her teeth and her hair, and then found an old t-shirt at the bottom of her "go" bag which she threw on over her tank top. She wouldn't give him any excuse to look at anything but her face during this conversation.

When she joined him in the living room, she found him staring out the southside windows. He was deep in thought and failed to hear her. "Mudville and Damascus, Billy," she said to him. He turned around and nodded as she sat down on one end of the sofa.

He sat down next to her, took a deep breath, and then told her, "Your absence and radio silence on Wednesday shook me up. And then before the show, Sloan came in to my office, asked where you were, and then let me have it. She told me about the movie Tuesday night and that your instinctive reaction to seeing me with Nina was to recite from Casey at the Bat. She didn't say that, of course. All she heard was something about a favored land and shouting children. She has no idea of the significance of those words. But I know. I spent months after our breakup quoting that same last stanza and thinking about the day Marshall Williams died, our trip to Lincoln, and a million other things about our relationship and how we ended. I wasn't the only one though, was I?"

"No," she admitted. "I did, too. And when I saw you with Nina the hopelessness and heart break came back. I wasn't even conscious that I was speaking aloud." Talking about what happened stirred up the same intense emotions that hit her so hard Tuesday night upon seeing Will with the gossip queen.

MacKenzie picked up one of the decorative sofa pillows and hit him with it as she got truly worked-up. "Dammit, Will! She helped hijack my phone and stole your message. You punished me for three months because of it. She landed you in the hospital. She tried to ruin you. Then she lied to me about the message—I'm assuming she lied—and you did, too. She was probably with you when I called. And you immediately forgave her for all of that and you kept hating me. You asked her out when you talked to her about the 9/11 coverage, didn't you? Were you with her every night afterward? Did she fall asleep in your arms? Did you sing to her and play the piano for her?"

Even as the words spilled out and she ran out of steam, she recognized that she had no desire to learn the answers to her questions. It would only cause her more pain and anger. Hadn't she reached some level of reconciliation about Nina? And now with her tirade she had opened a proverbial can of worms—or in this case, snakes. She flew off the couch and fled to the back corner of the suite. Swallowed up again by the soul-crushing humiliation, hurt and regret of their past and present, of Brian and Nina, and of the life they should have had together had she not been so stupid, she fell to her knees as her body shuddered, and tears came.

In an instant, however, she found herself held tight as Will joined her on the floor, kneeling in front of her. He said nothing, only engulfed her in his strong arms with no intention of letting her go. After a time, his embrace softened, and he gently stroked her back. Eventually, her body quieted, and she sighed deeply. Her head still against his chest, she told him, "I'm sorry that I freaked out. I have no right to question you about Nina. You owe me no explanation."

He released her before brushing away the last of her tears with his fingers and gently cupping her face in his hands. "You have every right. You are the one person who is owed an explanation. But you are not allowed to take responsibility for my screwups and shortcomings. You have carried that burden far too long. I only hope that in time you can forgive me for putting that responsibility on you."

"Why her, Will? Why now?"

He stood up and led her back to the sofa. He sat on the coffee table in front of her, took both of her hands in his and said, "This doesn't change anything, but I saw her three times. And yes, I had sex with her one time—the first time I saw her—after my inexcusable tirade at you about the voice mail. She did not stay the night." As he caressed the backs of her hands, he continued, "You are the only woman to whom I have ever sung, and until last night, nobody heard me play the piano. The only reason I played it publicly last night was for you. I didn't know she lied, or even that you asked her about the message, until the other night."

He sighed and then continued, "When I heard nothing from you after the Bin Laden broadcast, all of the walls that were coming down, rebuilt themselves into a fortress of pain, resentment and confusion. I couldn't find my way out, even after we learned that your phone was hacked. I reacted like I learned to do as a boy. I grew increasingly defensive and sanctimonious, and I kicked against the pricks. And none of this justifies what I did and how I hurt you. And you can hold her against me until the end of time."

"I don't want her between us. But I..." she told him.

He responded immediately. "I know you don't. That is the beauty of your warm and generous spirit, though you have every right to hate me and resent me." He paused a moment to gather his thoughts and then said with a tender gaze, "MacKenzie, you know me better than anyone else ever has, and in spite of that, you've always found the good in me while seeing past my countless flaws. That is the greatest miracle in my life—my saving grace. I never want to lose that, and I will work day and night to become that man."

"Hold me again?" she asked. Despite everything, she needed the reassurance and comfort of his touch as she tried to take in what he told her.

"Always. Never again will there be that invisible barrier between us." He moved to the couch and opened his arms. "Come here."

She scooted into his arms and readily accepted the warmth and security of his embrace. Softly he told her, "I will not hurt you like I have. I hope never to hurt you, period. But we both know I'm an idiot. I will try to be a lovable idiot though."

She laughed.

"That's better," he said. "I've missed the sound of your laughter."

She pulled back and looked at him. "When was the last time you laughed? Genuinely laughed."

"I don't know. It's been a while," he agreed. "For where thou art, there is the world itself, With every pleasure in the world, And where thou art not, desolation."

"Shakespeare?"

He nodded. "Henry VI."

"I always knew you had the heart of an Englishman."

"It's what we Nebraska farm boys aspire to—that and to attend Oxford."

"Idiot."

"I truly am." The look in his eyes turned earnest and serious. "I lied to you Monday night."

Her breath caught and momentary panic hit as she tried to figure out exactly what he would say. Instinctively she backed away from him, even as he reached into the right pocket of his shorts and pulled out a diamond ring. She was stunned at the similarities. "That looks like…"

"I didn't take it back last April. I ripped up the receipt right after I showed it to you. Until last night, it was locked in the top drawer of my office desk."

Flabbergasted, she asked, "Why? It was a prop."

"I know I said that, and on some level that was true. But I'm the one who chose it—because I didn't get the chance before. And when I saw your face and realized I got it right, I tore up the receipt."

"But why?"

"Because I love you. I always have and always will."

"How Will? You were so angry."

"When did I leave the voice mail?"

"May 2."

"Exactly. Less than three weeks after I bought the ring. And did you see me with, or hear me brag about, any other woman after Valentine's Day, except for my boneheaded and inexcusable Nina decision?"

"No," she admitted, after giving his question a little thought. Her perception about the shift in their relationship after that night was not off base. "I thought things were changing between us, but then—"

"You were right, Mac," he confirmed. "About all of it, including the voice mail. I remember every word of that message: 'Hey, it's me—Will. Listen, I swear I'm not saying this because I'm high. If the answer is no, then just do me a favor and don't call me back or bring it up or anything. But I have to tell you… I mean, after tonight, I really want to tell you that I've never stopped loving you."

By the time he finished, her hands covered her mouth. "Oh, Billy," she exclaimed, her voice barely audible. Then louder she proclaimed, "I want to kill that woman—and Reese. And how could you be so stupid to think that my answer would be 'no' and that I wouldn't be on your doorstep in a heartbeat?"

"Because I don't deserve you."

"Will, real love is not that way. It's the opposite. Never think that again."

"I'm working on it," he agreed.

"Promise me," she insisted.

"Just keep showing me the way."

"It's a two-way street. You have to guide me, too. You can't shut me out."

He nodded, sighed and then said, "I know that telling you what I did on Monday night about the ring took something precious that you can't get back. I will never forgive myself for it. But I have a new ring in my other pocket and if you—"

"Wait a minute," she said. "Are you proposing?"

"I want to, but I won't. Not until you decide it's what you want. And I know that will take time—maybe a long time. Whatever time it takes, I'll wait."

She sighed, too. This new Will would take some getting used to…. No, she reminded herself, before she told him about Brian, he was far more like the man in front of her. Even the past seventeen months, he showed glimpses of this part of himself. He experienced so much trauma as a child, it paralyzed him at times. Yet, beneath it all, he desperately yearned to please those he loved and whose approval he needed. "Let me guess… the new ring is bigger than the one in your hand?"

"Yeah."

"Dammit, Will!" She almost picked up another sofa pillow to hit him with again. "What are you doing carrying hundreds of thousands of dollars in your pockets?"

"I don't care about the money."

"I know," she practically shouted. "Do you know how many ways you need protecting from yourself?"

"Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi. You're the only one who can.'"

In spite of yourself, she laughed and then playfully pushed him. "That is the worst movie line you've ever thrown at me."

He laughed, even as he caught her around the waist. "It just came out."

"You're crazy."

"Seriously, MacKenzie, I love you. And I want to marry you whenever you are ready."

"Please tell me you still have the receipt from the new ring."

"I do. I want to make sure that you like it first. Why?"

"Because it is going back to Tiffany's. I assume that's where this one came from, too."

"You can't mean?"

"I want the one in your hand—when it's time, and I have no idea when that will be. But we are returning the new one today. First thing."

"Don't you want to see it before deciding?" He was genuinely surprised and confused.

"If none of this happened—if there wasn't all this baggage between us—and you were picking out a ring, which one would you choose?"

"This one," he replied again, showing her the ring in his hand.

"Then you are returning the one in your pocket."

He remained adorably bewildered by her response. "Are you sure?" he questioned again.

"Yes."

He put the ring back in his pocket and once again, she was enveloped in his arms. He kissed her on the forehead before resting her head against him and hugging her tight. She hugged him back just as fierce. "You are so beautiful," he told her.

She longed to kiss him. However, there was something sweet and wonderfully healing about simply holding each other, too. She could feel the same desire in him. He, too, was holding back. He would not go further with her until she gave him express permission. She was reminded of the early days of their relationship—and of Valentine's Day.

Perhaps they needed to rebuild that foundation of intimacy together again before adding more to the physical aspects of their relationship. There was still so much to sort out before she could be certain that they could work in the future, because there would be no going back from that decision. She doubted either of them could recover from a second breakup. Besides, it had really only been eight hours. Moreover, she had not come to terms yet with Nina. She would not make love with Will until she did. And had Will once and for all put the ghost of Brian to rest? That question, too, was an important consideration in how their future relationship would be shaped.

"How do we stop hurting each other?" she asked him, her head still resting against the curve between the base of his neck and shoulder blade, though their hold on each other was gentler. This thought had been on her mind since she stepped into the car last night at Hang Chew's.

He stood and walked over to the suite's dining table. For the first time, she noticed there were several gifts in the middle of it. He returned and handed her a flat package.

"What's this?"

"A non-birthday, birthday present. Open it," he told her.

"That is something I would say."

"For where thou art, there is the world…"

She laughed and then told him, "I'm not opening anything until you put those two simple diamonds you are carrying someplace other than your pockets. One of us has to be practical."

"Says the daughter of an English Lord," he threw back. But he immediately did what she asked.