Disclaimer: Still not mine!
March Madness
By Ryeloza
Chapter Eleven: Thirty-Six Hours Part Two
9:00am (still)
Initially, Lynette can't comprehend much more than the way her stomach tightens at the sight of Kayla standing before her. It's a horrible reaction—cruel almost in its inevitability—but the first thing she thinks is that this is the last thing she needs right now. Maybe it's not fair. Whatever Kayla's doing here (what is she doing here?) isn't about her, it's about Tom, but when she looks at her stepdaughter, she still immediately raises her defenses like she's about to go to war.
For her part, Kayla looks immensely uncomfortable. She's standing with her arms crossed over her chest, frowning (almost scowling), but the meanness that used to constantly hide in her eyes seems to be absent. She's grown up nicely—tall and lean like her mother, but her curves are more muscular, her arms and legs more defined. Somewhere from the back of her mind, Lynette recalls Tom saying that Kayla got into softball during high school, and it shows; she looks like an athlete.
In the matter of seconds it takes Lynette to assess all of this, she finally finds the sense to speak, though her voice has that distant, hollow sound that she knows gives away her unease. Kayla has always been able to read her like a book, and it puts her on edge to think that she's showing any weakness.
"Kayla. Hi. What…What are you doing here?"
It's an inane question. The reason can only be because of what's happened to Tom, though Lynette can't fathom how Kayla knows; that, of course, is what she really means to ask. She only called Tom's parents an hour ago, and they wouldn't…Even if they did, the timing doesn't add up. How does she know?
"I came to see Dad," says Kayla. Her voice still has that even, unworried quality to it—never betraying emotion, never letting anything show. Lynette hates how uncomfortable that still makes her feel.
"How—"
"Preston called. Last night." Kayla shifts her backpack where it's slung over one shoulder and peers past Lynette into the house. She's a good three inches taller than Lynette is now. "Can I come in?"
"Uh, sure," she says, reluctantly repressing her impulse to refuse. She steps aside and let's Kayla into the house, and this strange horror runs through her veins. Three years—God only knows what has changed. She really shouldn't have these visceral reactions any more. "I—I was just about to leave for the hospital."
"Is Dad okay? What happened? Preston said there was an accident."
His heart stopped, he almost died—didn't die—almost.
"He was working with the wiring at work and got electrocuted," she says, the story falling from her lips now without the draining emotion; she's said it too many times. Any pain now is in the memory, in the worry of what's still to come, in the strain and exhaustion. The facts are the only thing grounding her at the moment. "His heart stopped, but someone at the restaurant administered CPR until the ambulance arrived, and the doctor says that he's stable."
Kayla has her back turned, and Lynette can't gauge her reaction. She sounds listless, though, almost cold, though that's always been her defense mechanism. "And he's going to be okay?"
"They're monitoring him…They're still trying to assess if there was any damage."
Kayla nods, her ponytail swaying for a second, before she finally turns around. "I just thought—I didn't think you guys would bother to call unless there was something really wrong."
Guilt tightens in her stomach for a second. The truth is that she hadn't even thought of Kayla until now, and she has absolutely no idea what prompted Preston to call her. As far as she's aware, none of the kids have talked to their half-sister since she left, and if Lynette is honest, she's happy about that.
If Lynette is honest, she really doesn't want Kayla back in their lives.
She's a horrible person.
"So he's not dying?"
"No."
"Okay." Kayla rubs her hands over her eyes, and for the first time, Lynette realizes that she must have driven all night to get here. It's unbelievable. Everything about this is unbelievable. That Preston would call—that Kayla would even come. Tom has spent more sleepless nights worrying about her and crying over her than Lynette will ever admit; he thinks that he failed her, and there's no way Lynette has ever been able to soothe that pain for him. It's something he's lived with day in and day out for three years now, Kayla growing more distant and inaccessible with each passing year and Tom barely able to hear her name without wincing, and yet here she is.
She should be happy, for Tom's sake, but the most she can manage is a cautious understanding of what this will mean to him.
"Do you think I could just crash here a couple of hours before I drive back?"
"What?" says Lynette, aghast. "You're not—Didn't you come to see your dad?"
Kayla shrugs. "I promised my grandparents I'd be back by seven. It's a long drive."
"Kayla," she says firmly. It feels like slipping back into a shoe that never quite fit. "I know you didn't drive four hours just to talk to me."
"It's none of your business." Her eyes narrow, fists tightening. "Nevermind, I'm just going to find a motel or something. Just forget I was even here."
"Kayla!"
The door slams. Lynette thinks that she should go after her.
She doesn't.
10:00am
Porter already knows that his mother is going to flip out when she finds out what he's done—and she will find out; it's inevitable—but he doesn't care. Even if she yells in public or makes a scene or embarrasses him until he wants to die, he thinks that it is worth it to ditch school.
Although, it's really not as great as he thought it would be.
At first, it had been exhilarating. He'd just gotten off of the bus and hung back until his siblings wandered into the school, and then he simply turned and walked in the other direction. And though his heart had been pounding, by the time he looked at his watch and realized that homeroom had ended ten minutes ago, the excitement kicked in. He wasn't in school. His brothers and sister, his classmates, his friends—they were all sitting in the classroom, and he was free to walk around and do whatever he wanted. It was beyond freedom; it was amazing.
But for the past hour, he's been aimlessly wandering around this bookstore about four blocks from the school, and it's really starting to get kind of boring. Part of him wishes that he'd asked Preston to come with him, even though at the time, knowing that his brother wasn't there was part of why it was so cool. Of course, it'll still be pretty awesome when he gets to see Preston all jealous and in awe of him when he gets home.
He's hiding out in the children's section because no one is really around. He got a couple of dirty looks from the salespeople when he walked in, but they aren't lurking around to keep their eyes on Lemony Snicket or R. L. Stein, so Porter's pretty sure he's in the clear. And if he's going to be stuck around books all day, he'd rather be re-reading Holes than plodding along through Call of the Wild like he would be if he was in school.
He should be in English right now. He wonders if Preston has noticed he's gone yet.
Absently, he pulls Diary of a Wimpy Kid off of one of the shelves and sits down on the floor. His dad was reading this same book to Penny the other night, doing those same stupid voices that he used to do when he used to read to Porter. And he'd been sitting there, trying to watch TV, and it all seemed so obnoxious at the time. He'd turned and said, "God, Dad, you're so lame. Can't you guys go read that somewhere else?"
Why had he said that?
This is stupid, he thinks. Those voices are lame, and his dad is a big dork, and that doesn't change just because he's in the hospital now.
It's just that Porter kind of wishes he was here now, reading to him, dumb voices and all.
11:00am
"Hey," says Tom softly as Lynette enters the room. He's been up for an hour now being poked and prodded by a series of doctors, and they've only just wheeled him back to the room, but he's already half-asleep again. Even smiling at his wife takes more energy than he really has, but Lynette has that brittle look on her face like she's about to break into a million pieces, and he can't stand to see her that way.
"Hi." She crosses the room, bending to kiss his forehead, and then to his displeasure, pulls away to sit down on a chair. "How are you feeling?"
"Great."
"Liar."
"And how are you?"
"I'm okay." She nods, as though this is a fair assessment, though Tom doesn't believe her for a second. She looks tired; he knows she's been crying. "Your parents want to fly up."
"Ooh, nooo," he whines. It's impossible to keep the annoyance out of his voice. Lately, his parents have been trying his last nerve, one always complaining about the other, and he's already tired and sick and the last thing he wants to deal with is that.
"I know," sighs Lynette, and he has no doubt that she's thinking the same things that he is. "I tried to talk them out of it, but you know how your mother is. The best I could do was convince her to wait a couple of days."
"And by then I'll be out of here?"
She gives this tiny shrug, trying to smile and failing to make it even the littlest bit convincing. "Maybe. We have to see what the doctors say."
"I want to go home."
"Tom…"
He shuts his eyes. He really wants to argue with her, but he's just too tired. Deep down he knows, though, that sitting in a bed in the hospital isn't going to make him feel better more quickly than being at home and seeing his kids and holding his wife as he sleeps at night. No one is going to make him think otherwise.
"I was so scared," he says. The words don't sound like he's really saying them. Maybe he's just thinking them. "I was so scared I was never going to see you again."
He hears the chair scrape the linoleum, and a second later, Lynette's lips are on his cheek, light and soft and warm. "I know," she says, and the last thing he thinks before he drifts off again is that she sounds scared too.
12:00pm
Kayla is pretty sure that someone else took over her body and made her stop the truck, because there is no way in hell that she would ever consciously stop at the sight of her brother, even if it is noon on a Friday and he's supposed to be in school, not walking down the street sticking out like a sore thumb in his uniform. And yet, it's she who turns and shouts out the window, "Hey! Porter!" and it's she who waves for him to get into the truck and it's she who is sitting next to him now, thinking that this was a horrible idea.
"What are you doing here?" asks Porter, dropping his backpack on the floor and giving her this completely distrustful look. It dawns on her that she was about to make a clean exit, and she's blown it; she can't explain what compelled her to stop. Of course, she can't even really explain why the hell she even drove down here in the first place.
"Why aren't you in school?" she asks, ignoring Porter's question.
"I ditched. Why aren't you in school?"
"I ditched too."
"And drove to Fairview."
"I guess."
Porter shakes his head. "Did you see Dad?"
"No."
He snorts, turning and looking out the window, and she fights the urge to lean over and smack him. "Figures," he mutters, like he has some innate right to judge her. He's exactly like Lynette, staring at her, condemning her. For the thousandth time, she wonders what the hell she's doing.
"Look," he says, but it comes out like he's lowering himself to even dare ask this, "can you just drop me off at home? Then we can both forget this ever even happened."
"You could walk."
Porter sighs, shutting his eyes like he's in pain. "Please," he adds sullenly.
"Fine."
For the second time that day, she heads back in the direction of her old home. It's worse than she expected, being back here. Nothing has changed. The houses look the same. The lawns are still neatly trimmed and the flowers look as impeccable as always. It makes Kayla ill. Everything just went on without her like she might have never even existed at all.
Even her so-called family.
Okay, so maybe it's a little ridiculous to think that Lynette will ever look at her like more than some horrible plague brought down upon her house, and maybe Kayla can even almost admit that she might deserve it. But there isn't even one picture left of her that she could see in that house, not even one tiny reminder that she's still alive and she has a father and brothers and a sister. And it makes her mad.
It cost her grandparents over a thousand dollars in therapy bills just to get her to be able to admit that.
She is mad.
Mad at her mother for ever contacting her dad. Mad at her for dragging them to Fairview in the first place. Mad at her for trying to keep her away from her father. Mad at her for going into that damn grocery store. Mad at her for dying.
And she's mad at Lynette. Mad at her for being the reason her mother was in that store and mad at her for trying to be her mother and mad at her for not being her mother.
Mad at herself for sometimes kind of looking at Lynette and wishing that she was her mother because sometimes she just got so tired of hating her all the time. Mad at herself for not being able to handle those mixed up feelings and lashing out. Mad at herself for completely fucking up her life.
And mad at her dad. Mad at him for leaving her. Mad at him because it wasn't even a hard choice.
And even after three years in therapy, she still can't get past the anger.
She can't stop being mad at him.
Her therapist keeps saying she needs to communicate with her father. She says that if she doesn't tell him how she feels that it'll never get better, but Kayla has never been able to bring herself to say the words. And all night, all she'd been thinking was too late, too late, too late.
But it's not.
It's not.
She makes a u-turn, ignoring Porter as he groans, "What are you doing?"
She still honestly doesn't know.
1:00pm
"You're insane, you know that right?" Porter lengthens his steps to try to keep up with Kayla, but she's been pretending he's not even there, so he's not sure why he's making the effort. Instead of taking him home and disappearing, hopefully forever, Kayla has dragged him to the hospital like she suddenly has some unquenchable desire to see their dad. And it pisses Porter off. He almost can't see straight, he's so angry, and it's a reason like this that he didn't want to call her in the first place. "No one wants you here. No one. All you ever do is screw everything up and make everyone's lives miserable. Why don't you just go away?"
Kayla just keeps going, unflappable, and in a sudden desperation, he reaches out and tries to grab her arm. She stops abruptly, turning and shoving him away. "Leave me alone," she growls. "I didn't do anything to you."
They glare at one another, Porter bubbling with a million injustices from over the years and unable to speak of even one of them. Mostly, though, he's afraid. Afraid that Kayla is going to go in there and weasel her way back into their lives. Make everyone forget what she's done. And then it'll be the same thing all over again—fighting and crying and lies and anger—and he can't understand why his father ever even brought her into their lives in the first place.
"I hate you," he says finally. It is everything. "Do you know how long I've wanted to tell you that?"
"Yeah," she says quietly, but she doesn't sound upset, just like she understands, and Porter is so surprised that he doesn't immediately follow her when she storms away.
2:00pm
Lynette is in the waiting room listening to her voicemail when Kayla bursts into the area and charges toward the nurse's station. She looks irate, and immediately, Lynette feels panic bloom harsh and unforgiving in her stomach. Before she can even gather enough sense to walk over to Kayla, though, Porter charges in looking every bit as angry as his sister.
"Porter?" she gasps. Her son turns, spotting her, and immediately the anger turns to defiance and guilt. Kayla turns to look as well, and Lynette manages to address them both with her next question. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm here to see Dad. He ditched school. I found him wandering on the side of the road."
"Shut up!"
"Porter Ryan Scavo!"
Porter crosses his arms, glaring, and Kayla tosses her hair haughtily. Now, more than ever, Lynette sees the resemblance to the girl she remembers. "What room is Dad in?" she demands. "I want to see him."
"No way," says Lynette. "Both of you get over here right now. We need to talk."
Both teenagers huff over, arms crossed with identical scowls on their faces, and Lynette feels the last of her patience unwind. It's too much. Just…
Too much.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" she growls in this low, deadly voice. In her entire life, she's never addressed any of her children this way, and she feels unrecognizable to herself. "Your father almost died last night. Do you understand that? Do you understand how damn lucky we are that we aren't planning a funeral today? You two should be grateful that he's still here, not ditching school and storming around and acting like you have the right to be furious about anything today. For God's sake—they don't even know what's going on yet! They've been running tests and monitoring him all day because for all we know, there could be permanent damage. Your father could be dealing with a heart condition for the rest of his life. Do you get that? Huh? Answer me, right now!"
Porter shakes his head, an acknowledgement more than an answer, but Kayla looks close to tears. "So what?" she says angrily. "I'm just supposed to go in there and act like everything is fine? It's not fine!"
"So what? You want to go in there and yell at him? I swear to God, Kayla, it will be over my dead body."
"I have a right to see my father! You can't just keep him away from me!"
"I can do whatever the hell I want if that means protecting your dad. And trust me, I care a lot more about him right now than whatever demons you need to get off your chest. I get that you're pissed. I do. But now is not the time or place. If you want to go in there, it will be to hug him and apologize and try to get back some kind of relationship and that's all. Do you understand me?"
Kayla glowers, her tears finally overflowing and trailing down her cheeks. "Fine," she says tightly. "What room is he in?"
Lynette stares at Kayla for a long moment, trying to appraise whether her stepdaughter is going to keep her word. Seeing her standing there, crying, for once not hiding behind a mask of anger and self-righteousness, Lynette has no choice but to acquiesce. "He's in four forty-four," she says, and Kayla turns and flees without another word.
"So what?" says Porter. "You're just going to trust her?"
"I have to."
"Why?"
"Because she's right—I can't keep her away from Dad. It's not fair." Porter frowns, skeptically, and Lynette shrugs. "But that doesn't mean we're not going to go stand outside the door and make sure."
3:00pm
Kayla swallows the lump in her throat and wipes the tears from her eyes before she opens the door. She knows that she probably still looks a mess, but if she doesn't do this now, she'll chicken out and run away. Lynette has never yelled at her that way. She always used to talk in that calm, soothing voice, like she was dealing with someone she needed to be talked off of a ledge, and Kayla hated it. The yelling is more honest, like for the first time, Lynette isn't pretending that everything is going to be okay in the end.
As she opens the door, Kayla feels her heart thumping in her chest like a drum because she really doesn't know what to expect. Even though she lives with her grandparents, they're in good health, and she's never seen someone in the hospital before. It's kind of depressing: her dad lies in bed looking pale and sick, and for a second she wants to turn around and run away, but then his eyes open—widen in surprise—and he smiles.
"Kayla?"
"Hi," she says quietly, shutting the door and then leaning back against it. She doesn't want to come closer. She's still mad. She still has things to say. "How are you feeling?"
"Okay. I—What are you doing here?"
"I heard what happened," she says, leaving it at that for now. She's finding it a lot harder to hold on to her anger when he looks so small and unwell. She tries to concentrate on the way he's smiling at her, tired but happy (such a lie when she knows he doesn't really care), but even that doesn't help. "I wanted to talk to you."
"I'm so glad you came. I've missed you."
Liar. Liar, liar, liar.
It's on the tip of her tongue to call him out. She wants to so badly. But in this moment, facing him, it's impossible. Lynette is right. This isn't the time.
"I missed you too," she finally says, and maybe it's even true.
What scares her, though, is the thought that she'll never get the chance to say everything she needs to, and she'll just have to live with this anger forever.
4:00pm
Kayla ends up staying over an hour, and though Lynette is tempted to interrupt, she can't find any justification to burst into that room. Whatever they're saying it probably long overdue, though when Kayla finally leaves the room, she just looks kind of defeated. She glances at Lynette and Porter, as though she's not at all surprised to find them sitting right outside the door, and sighs. "It's fine," she says. "You don't have to worry."
"I'm not."
Kayla shrugs as though she couldn't care one way or the other what Lynette thinks or feels. "I have to go," she says. "My grandparents are going to kill me."
Lynette nods. "I'm glad you came." She's surprised to find that it's actually true.
A look of confusion furrows Kayla's brow for the briefest moment, and then disappears as quickly as it came. Finally, awkwardly, she says, "Okay, well…Bye." And then she's gone.
Porter, who has been terribly silent since she lambasted him for skipping school, turns now and looks at her wearily. "Why do you put up with her?"
Lynette stares at him, overwhelmed with the strange compulsion to tell him the whole truth: that she has to, for Tom, because she loves him; because deep down, some part of her understands why Kayla is who she is; because sometimes you have to give someone a second chance; because she's learned the hard way that you can't hold onto anger or eventually it will never leave you, just eating you alive. But none of this comes out.
"She's just going to go back to ignoring Dad as soon as this is all over."
"Maybe."
"I hate her."
She frowns, reaching out and running a hand over the back of Porter's head. "What is going on with you lately, bud? Huh?"
"I'm just upset about Kayla. And Dad."
"This has been going on a lot longer than that."
Porter shrugs, looking down the hall and not responding. For a minute, Lynette stares at him, and then she leans down and kisses the top of his head. It's impossibly frustrating to have him shut her out like this, doubly so because she knows that he gets this all from her, but she knows better than anyone that she can't force him to talk. She just has to wait until he's ready.
"You want to go in and see your dad for a couple minutes?"
Porter glances back at the door, and then shakes his head. "No. Can we just go home? Please."
"Sure," she agrees, but the worry edges in. "Let me just tell Dad we're going. I'll be right back."
5:00pm
Parker and Penny are both asleep when she gets home, her son passed out on the couch and her daughter curled up in a ball on the floor. She and Porter stopped and got take-out on the way home, but she's reluctant to wake up the kids.
"They won't sleep at all tonight," Karen warns her, but Lynette can't find the heart to do it.
"It's okay," she says. "It's been a long day."
6:00pm
Bree stops over. She has enough food to feed them for a week, and Lynette has never been so grateful. The last thing she wants to think about is cooking.
"Are you okay?" asks Bree as Lynette steps out into the cool night air and shuts the door behind her. "You look exhausted."
She knows that's the polite word for how awful she must look, and she smiles at Bree gratefully. "I am exhausted," she admits. "And every other minute I feel like crying or screaming. I just don't know how to deal with all of this."
"I try to focus on the little things I can do," says Bree quietly, and Lynette is suddenly struck all over again by the fact that she's been through this too. Only she lost her husband. In one brief moment of selfishness, Lynette is glad that it was Bree and not her—and immediately she hates herself for even thinking it. "It helps."
Lynette nods, but it's impossible to focus on anything but the fact that Tom is still in the hospital.
She still feels like her life is never going to be the same.
7:00pm
When Lynette walks into the room that night, Tom doesn't give her the choice of sitting in the chair. The second he sees her, he sits up in bed a little (ignoring how it drains him), opens his arms and says, "Come here." For a second, it looks like she's going to refuse, but then she drops her purse on the floor and carefully crawls into bed with him, laying her head on his chest and sighing.
"Hi."
"Hi." He smiles and presses a kiss to the top of her head. For the first time all day, he feels relaxed, like he can finally breathe. In times like this it actually hurts not to hold her, and he knows she feels the same way. "Thank you for calling Kayla."
"I didn't. It was Preston. Actually, I think the kids were in on it together."
"Really? Why?"
"I don't know. Porter said it was Parker's idea. I guess they thought she should know."
Tom nods, not particularly concerned by the why—he's just so grateful that it actually happened. It wasn't perfect, by any means. Kayla was holding back, closed off and hesitant and raw, but it was the first time he's seen her since last summer, and all he can really focus on is the fact that she actually came. It feels like a step forward, finally, after moving backward for so long.
"I'm going to fall asleep," Lynette murmurs. "I should sit up."
"Don't." His hold on her tightens, though she doesn't even attempt to move. She just sighs a little, nuzzling her cheek against his chest, and says, "Okay."
8:00pm
By eight o'clock, all four of the Scavo children are asleep.
Porter's sleep is restless. His mind is too active, replaying the events of the day again and again. Every time he drifts off, inevitably some vision of the hospital room door jolts him from his sleep.
Penny doesn't dream at all. She's so tired that no image can invade her mind, good or bad, and when she wakes up in the morning, it will seem like a normal Saturday.
Preston's dreams shift constantly throughout the night. Visions of Kristi in a purple gown, laughing and holding his hand mix with strange moments where he stands in front of his own grave while Porter fills in the hole. He can't make sense of it, but it doesn't really matter. It's just a dream.
Parker dreams he's lost. He's on a little boat in the sea, and all around him is a thick white fog. He can't see anything. He's all alone. And yet, for some reason, he isn't scared.
9:00pm
Lynette is almost but not quite asleep, a nightmare tugging at the corners of her mind persistently, trying to draw her back to a place of worry and fear and pain. It all lurks inside of her now, waiting for an outlet that can only be found when she completely lets down her defenses, and that is why she won't let herself pass out completely.
She wonders if she'll ever be able to sleep again without bad dreams.
She's so tired.
She can hear Tom's heartbeat beneath her ear—comforting; constant. He's okay.
It's impossible to stay awake.
10:00pm
The dream comes in odd flashes.
She's at a funeral, but she's dressed in white, not black, and Gaby sits next to her wearing a clown's costume. "Smile," she says, honking her red nose. And Lynette thinks she should because Gaby looks ridiculous—huge shoes and an oversized bow tie and a crazy red wig—but it's not a smile painted on her clown face, but a frown, and it makes her want to cry.
Bree is giving the eulogy.
They're not in a church; they're sitting in pews on the shore of a lake, and Bree is standing in the water as she speaks. She's dressed like an angel in all white robes and there's a halo above her head, one like for a child's costume, made out of gold pipe cleaners and just a little crooked. "We're here today to say goodbye to our dear friend," she says.
"She's doing it wrong."
Lynette turns. Her mother sits where Gaby was a second ago, arms folded, a smirk on her face. "You need to go up there."
"No. I'm not supposed to."
"Yes you are."
Lynette crosses her arms petulantly, but her mother reaches out and slaps the side of her head. "Get up there!" she shouts. "Now!"
Trembling, Lynette stands up and heads out of the pew, the sand squishing uncomfortably beneath her toes. Carlos flies by in a miniature plane, smiling and waving as he does loop-de-loops in the sky. Little white clouds puff out of the back of the plane, spelling out her name in elaborate script as he flies away. She smiles for a moment, but when she looks again, it's all changed: "Surrender, Lynette," it says, like she's in The Wizard of Oz. But it's not a demand from the Wicked Witch, it's a command to give up.
She looks back at Bree.
"We're here today to say goodbye to our dear friend."
"She already said that part."
It's Susan. She's riding a tricycle.
"She's doing it wrong," Lynette says again because she thinks Susan will understand.
"It's because she's waiting for you."
"No she's not."
"Yep. Come on! It's not so scary."
Lynette takes a few steps forward, following Susan as she peddles down the beach, but then she catches a glimpse of something in the sand and bends down to investigate. It's a ring—her wedding ring—glinting in the moonlight.
"Don't lose it," warns Gaby. She does a cartwheel past Lynette.
Susan is still shouting. "Come on!"
Lynette picks up the ring and grasps it in her fist, but there's a sharp pain as she closes her hand and when she opens it up, she sees she's bleeding. Absently, she wipes it on her dress, and tries to put the ring back on her finger, but the pain is too intense. The bleeding won't stop.
"You should wash that. It'll get infected," warns Susan.
Lynette thinks that she's right. She hurries toward the water now, wading in and disturbing the calmness of the lake. Bree frowns unhappily, but Lynette ignores her. The water isn't helping—in fact, the bleeding is getting worse. It's all over her dress now, the front completely stained with tracks of blood.
"That won't come off," says Bree in her most Bree-like tone.
"I'm not supposed to be here," Lynette points out. "This is all wrong."
Bree reaches out and grasps her hand, forcing it open and taking the ring from her. Lynette tries to steal it back, but she can't, and, horrified, she watches as Bree throws it into the lake.
"We're here today to say goodbye to our dear friend."
But Lynette isn't listening. She dives into the water, desperate to get her ring back, swimming, swimming, swimming deeper and the water is turning red…
She can't see anything, can't breathe, can't think…
And above her she can still hear Bree.
"We're here today to say goodbye to our dear friend."
11:00pm
Tom wakes first as Lynette very suddenly smacks his shoulder. He looks down in surprise—she's a pretty sound sleeper—and then realizes that something isn't right. She's frowning, her brow furrowed deeply, and making the softest little whining sounds. She's having a nightmare, he realizes, and dimly, he starts to shake her.
"Lynette!" He wiggles her more insistently, and abruptly she wakes, gasping and wrenching up and away from him. "Lynette!" he says again, reaching out to catch her by the arm before she falls out of the bed. "Lynette, it's okay. It was just a dream."
She stills, slowly, her breathing heavy and shallow. She's staring at him almost as if she doesn't recognize him. For a moment, he wonders if she still dreaming somehow, but then she takes a deep, gasping breath and bursts into tears.
"I almost lost you!"
She wraps her arms around him, hugging him so tightly that it almost hurts, but he just pats her back and shushes her with quiet whispers; platitudes that don't really mean much.
"I'm here," he says. "It was just a dream."
"No it wasn't!" She's barely comprehensible, sobs so thick and choking; she sounds like she can barely breathe. "It wasn't! I wasn't!"
"Shh," he soothes, but it doesn't help. She just continues to cry.
February 11, 2012 - 12:00am
Tom has no idea how long he holds his wife while she bawls. He's never seen her so distraught, and that scares him more than anything. All day, all he has been able to think of is how this is a second chance—a new start; a new opportunity. He's still here for a reason, and that overshadows all the fear.
He realizes now that it's not the same for Lynette.
"I almost lost you," she keeps saying. She's calm now, tears still slipping down her cheeks, but the hysterics gone. "I almost lost you."
He doesn't know what to say. It's true, and that seems to be the only thing she can concentrate on. Not that he's still here. Not that he's okay. Just that she almost lost him.
The problem is that it's the most impossible pain to soothe—a fear that can't be quelled. These are facts Tom knows all too well.
Because he's almost lost her too.
1:00am
Lynette can't even hold her head up. She has no physical strength left. Nothing to give. She's drained, and she's never felt worse in her life.
Tom rocks her back and forth like she's a child, every so often pressing a kiss into her hair or murmuring something like, "It's okay. I'm here."
She wants to apologize. It's not fair to him. Right now it's her job to be the strong one. It's her job to hold him if he needs to cry. It's her job to comfort him and make him feel better. And right now, she can't do any of that.
"Honey?" says Tom. She's so quiet he probably thinks she's asleep. She swallows hard, trying to find some way to speak, but it's impossible.
Tom just continues to hold her.
2:00am
"Tom? Are you awake?"
Her husband clears his throat, starting just a little, and, guiltily, she thinks she woke him. "What is it? What's wrong?" he mumbles quickly.
"I need you to promise me something."
For a minute, she only focuses on the rise and fall of Tom's chest: the way it feels beneath her cheek; the steadiness of it; the strength. She needs that.
"Promise me that I can go first."
"What?"
"I need you to promise me that you won't die before me. Okay? Please, promise."
It's irrational, she knows. An impossible vow. But she needs it all the same. She knows what everyone thinks—that's she's the strong one; that she doesn't need Tom; that she can survive. But it's not the truth. Not really.
"I know it sounds crazy," she says, pulling back a little so she can look into his eyes. Immediately, he reaches out to brush the hair from her eyes. "But I can't—I need you. I don't think you know how much."
Tom's eyes soften. Slowly, he leans forward and kisses her. It's brief—soft and gentle and sweet—and she thinks that it may be the only sort of promise he can give her. She nods once and sinks back down, laying her head against his chest again.
His heart is still beating.
A/n: Wow! I can't believe I got through this one (because there were seriously a few times where I thought I wouldn't make it). This is something I've been meaning to write forever (I've had a few of the sections with Kayla written for months), but I never could find the best way to get it all out of me. I'm so glad that I finally managed to complete it.
Thank you to everyone who managed to read all 32 pages of this fic. I really hope you enjoyed it.
If you have a minute, please let me know what you think. It's the first time I've written the kids at these ages, and I'd be interested to hear if the characterization worked.
Thank you so much!
-Ryeloza