Disclaimer: I don't own IPS or any of the characters.
Warning: Rated M for character death, adult themes, and angst. If those will upset you, don't read.
Author's Note: After this, only the epilogue remains. Thanks for reading!
10.
Marshall sat on the hood of his SUV, feet resting on the front bumper. He let his arms rest loosely on his knees as he watched a breath of wind stir dust on the ground before settling back into stillness. The arroyo split the ground perhaps ten yards away, a gaping chasm of separation that seemed incredibly fitting even now. He was back here again, at the place where they'd said goodbye to Mary.
No, that wasn't accurate.
The truth was, he'd never said goodbye to Mary. Even now, a year later, he still half-expected her to come walking into the office at the ding of the elevator. The job was a constant reminder, but it was his duty, and one he was not allowed to abandon.
You cannot quit.
At home, the strangest things reminded him. While considering what to make for dinner, he'd sometimes recall the things she loved to eat that he hated, forgetting for just a moment that there was no longer any need to consider those options. The things he liked that she hated only left him feeling guilty, and he avoided those when he was in such moods.
Four months back, the dryer had broken, and when he had pulled it away from the wall, he'd found one of her socks. It was from the pair of thick green ones that she'd liked to wear under her boots in the winter. She'd looked for that sock off and on for weeks, as though it had become a point of pride.
There's nothing like a pair of great socks. You just can't beat that, she'd said, agitated as she pawed through her sock drawer for what had to be the twentieth time.
He'd cried for an hour that time, barely able to collect himself before the new dryer was delivered. Like all the other times, and all the others that would come, he had picked himself up and forced himself to go on.
You cannot quit.
It had been a year. It was time.
He wasn't ready for anything big. He didn't know when he'd be ready to cast her ashes to the desert wind. But this first step had to be done.
He had to talk to her.
He had to begin to say goodbye.
"Hey, Mare," he whispered, fighting against the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat.
"Shannon had her first birthday yesterday. She's gotten so big, Mary. She was so tiny when she came into the world, so it's pretty hard to believe."
He paused, thinking over the memories of the day before; how Stan had brought the cake, how Marshall had cut a piece for Shannon, how she'd played with it and gotten it all over herself. His father had at least had the sense to spread a trash bag on the floor under her high chair first.
Brandi and Peter had been there, too. Brandi had taken pictures.
Marshall couldn't help but imagine what it would have been like if Mary had been there. She would have complained, probably, that it was silly to have a party for a baby who wouldn't even remember it, but she would have enjoyed herself. She would have laughed and smiled and played with Shannon. Maybe it would have been she who gave Shannon the cake.
"I'll never be able to tell you how hard it's been without you here," he continued. "There aren't the words for the hole you left inside of me when you went away, but… I hope you know. I hope you know from wherever you are how much I love you…"
He couldn't do it. Tears fell through his fingers as he hid his face in his hands. He wasn't ready yet, even a year later. Saying goodbye to Mary was a concept that still seemed completely foreign to him. Even a year after her death, he still saw her in his mind's eye, living, strong, immortal, the Mary Shannon no knife or bullet could kill.
You cannot quit.
"I'm still here, Mare," he whispered quietly as her words spoke from the depths of memory, those three words that drove him on when nothing else could.
There was no answer but the still silence of the desert, but somehow, Marshall knew that it was enough. He didn't have to say goodbye; he only had to carry on. That was all Mary wanted of him.
"I'm still here."