Week 26:
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Seated in the art studio, slightly behind and to the left of Darien, Claire watched him put the finishing touches on a painting, and held back tears only with effort. A few days earlier she had obtained several blank canvases at his request, never dreaming that he planned to use them the way he had.
When Eberts had informed them of Bobby's temporary defection, Claire had believed it the worst moment she had ever known, bar none. She'd had to watch Darien's face go slack with shock, then harden into a mask of repressed fury and anguish and prayed she'd never have to see anyone look like that again, but her worst moments were yet to come. The paintings her charge had created in the days since his partner's disappearance, paintings full of nothing but darkness, pain, rage and hopelessness, were sometimes hard for Claire to even look at, despite the obvious skill in the hand of the artist.
He had told her that creating the paintings released a great deal of the negative emotions within him, but she saw no outward evidence of the truth of his statement. Over the previous two days he had eaten only sporadically and, if confronted on the subject, refused to eat anything at all. He had lost weight, Claire was certain, but he also refused to allow her to examine him, so she had no proof.
"This one.... it's different from the others. A little brighter. It still worries me, though. I hate to see you like this."
"Stop feeling guilty. It isn't your fault. None of this is."
"I know that. I just.... I want to help. You can turn to me as well as the canvas if you need an outlet..."
Darien frowned faintly and added a stroke to the swirling, pulsing nebula of tiny words he'd created in the center of a black square.
"The paintings help me not feel like shit. I told you that. If it bugs you that much.... don't look at it."
For a moment, Claire's guilt trebled, as if she'd been accused of unfairly criticizing his work, but when a closer look at the words revealed one of them to be death, she knew that expressing her concern was far more important than soothing her own ego.
"It's not the paintings I'm questioning, sweetheart. It's what's driving you to paint them. Please stop, just for a little while. Let's try an alternative."
"Like?"
The lack of emotion or depth in Darien's voice chilled Claire to the bone, but she pressed on.
"A while back I offered to lead some yoga classes for you, remember? Well yoga isn't only good for aches and pains, it can be a tremendous help in lifting the spirit."
"I'm not ready to be.... lifted yet."
"Well your child is ready for some nourishment. It's been two days since you've eaten anything substantial. That isn't healthy for either one of you. I know you too well, Darien. It may take weeks for you to completely work this out, and until then the everyday, normal things, including regular meals, won't even enter your mind. Your little girl can't wait weeks. You have to eat, which means you need to *want* to eat, which means you need a better way to purge the pain. I won't stop you making your paintings... but I think you need more."
Abruptly, Darien threw his brush into the container containg the cleaning solution and rounded on Claire angrily.
"Look, damn it! What I *need* is for you to stop assuming you know what's best for me or know what I'm feeling! Bobby didn't walk out on *you*! He didn't *bail* on *you*!"
Immediately Claire took Darien's face into her hands and cradled it, relieved when he didn't push her away.
"I know, I know. All I'm asking for is a chance. Let me try and help you through this awful, terrible time. Let me do what I can to help...."
Eventually Darien nodded within the comforting grasp of Claire's fingers. She assisted him in getting to his feet and they moved to a part of the house he hadn't been in before; the small exercise room on the second floor, directly across from Claire's bedroom.
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"How did you expect them to react, Robert? Did you think they'd leap and dance for joy when you abandoned your child and your partner in one fell swoop?"
"I didn't wanna go like that.... I wanted to say somethin' to him, but.... it woulda just hurt him worse to explain it."
"Noble intentions will never justify ignoble actions, Robert. The point is you chose to leave, to walk away..."
"Hey, I didn't abandon anybody, okay? I'm comin' back.... next week."
"Yes, well don't look for a brass band and a cheering crowd to welcome you home. All you're likely to get is me waiting at the airport for you.... and then only if the Official forces me to."
"I get it, I get it! I'm off everybody's Christmas list."
"Add New Years Eve, Valentine's Day and Easter and you might begin to truly understand the magnitude of the impact your actions have had. Darien hasn't eaten in two days. Everything he paints lately is dark and melancholy. If you could have seen his face when I told him you'd left..."
"He's not eatin'? Why would he do that to the baby? How could he...."
"How could you? The assignment means nothing in the face of this, Robert. Leave there right now and come home. It's not too late to make things right."
"I can't. I just.... I'm not done yet. I got more work.... an' more thinkin' to do. I can't come home now. Next week..."
"Next week? Next week might as well be next year. Any time you willingly surrender right now is time you can't get back. By next week you could lose all hope of ever reconciling with Darien.... or ever seeing your child."
"Don't you think I know that?! I know.... I know what could happen.... but I just can't come back yet. I'm not ready. Seein' as you feel....the way you feel, I won't bother to call again and don't send anybody to the airport. I'll get a cab back."
"Robert... Robert?"
Eberts listened to the dial tone for a few surprised seconds then terminated the connection on his end as well. "Please change your mind, Robert. Please. Things are bad enough as they are. In another seven days.... only God knows what you'll come home to."
The screech of the Official's voice over the intercom broke rudely into his assistant's thoughts.
"Eberts? In my office and make it snappy!"
"Yes, sir. On my way."
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At Claire's, Darien lay on his left side on a thick exercise mat while Claire sat close to him massaging his back and leading him through a simple stress meditation. For the first few minutes she had been afraid her idea wouldn't work, as his hands remained clenched into fists and the crease in his brow seemed determined to hold its place, but eventually, his body and mind began to respond to her soft words, his muscles unknotting and smoothing out under her hands.
"Excellent. Breathe with my count. In, two, three. Hold, two, three. Out, two, three. Keep breathing slowly and evenly. Wonderful. Now, visualize a blank movie screen in your mind. There's nothing else but that endless expanse of white. No color, no movement, no thought. Just the white screen. Clear your mind completely. Relax. Focus on your breathing, on the sensation of your breath going in.... and out. That's right. In... and out. Your body is surrounded by a golden glow, Darien. It encases you like a cocoon made of love, peace and joy. Every pore in your body opens wide, welcoming this golden light, drawing it in even as the darkness of stress, anxiety and fear are expelled. Tranquility is absorbed with every breath, every inhalation. Each time you exhale, worry and apprehension flow out. Tranquility in, worry out. Tranquility in, worry out.... good. Keep breathing with the count. Slowly."
"Claire?"
"Yes. I'm right here."
"Thanks."
"You're very welcome. Focus on your breathing."
"I am."
"But?"
"I'm hungry."
"You don't know how much I needed to hear that. Shall we stop and go find something to make an early dinner out of?"
"Not yet. A little while longer?"
"Alright. Breathe slowly in.... release it just as slowly.... feel the golden light, the peace and joy it carries lighting you up from the inside. Feel the pure love spread through and to every corner of your being....."
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"I understand, Eberts. Relax. I'm handling it from this end. You just remember what I said. The strength has to come from inside you. You have to be willing to do what has to be done, even...."
"No! Not that. I could never.... no."
"I agree it should be a last resort, but it may come to that. If your hand is forced and you have no other options, use it. You still have it, don't you?"
"Yes. I've come close to destroying it so many times.... but I know you're right. I may hate knowing it... but I do."
"I don't like it any better. You know that. It may never become necessary. For now, stick to the plan we've come up with. Alright?"
"Yes. The plan. Everything depends on this. I'm trusting you, someone I hardly know, with the safety of this child. If..."
"Don't doubt me and don't doubt yourself, Albert. I promise everything will be fine."
"If I can discover where my spinal column went so long ago.... perhaps it will, at that."
"Maybe it went to live with all the socks that get lost in the dryer. Check there first."
In spite of his tension the joke made Eberts laugh.
"Sometimes I have to question where your sense of humor came from."
"So do I, Albert. So do I."
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TBC.....
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Seated in the art studio, slightly behind and to the left of Darien, Claire watched him put the finishing touches on a painting, and held back tears only with effort. A few days earlier she had obtained several blank canvases at his request, never dreaming that he planned to use them the way he had.
When Eberts had informed them of Bobby's temporary defection, Claire had believed it the worst moment she had ever known, bar none. She'd had to watch Darien's face go slack with shock, then harden into a mask of repressed fury and anguish and prayed she'd never have to see anyone look like that again, but her worst moments were yet to come. The paintings her charge had created in the days since his partner's disappearance, paintings full of nothing but darkness, pain, rage and hopelessness, were sometimes hard for Claire to even look at, despite the obvious skill in the hand of the artist.
He had told her that creating the paintings released a great deal of the negative emotions within him, but she saw no outward evidence of the truth of his statement. Over the previous two days he had eaten only sporadically and, if confronted on the subject, refused to eat anything at all. He had lost weight, Claire was certain, but he also refused to allow her to examine him, so she had no proof.
"This one.... it's different from the others. A little brighter. It still worries me, though. I hate to see you like this."
"Stop feeling guilty. It isn't your fault. None of this is."
"I know that. I just.... I want to help. You can turn to me as well as the canvas if you need an outlet..."
Darien frowned faintly and added a stroke to the swirling, pulsing nebula of tiny words he'd created in the center of a black square.
"The paintings help me not feel like shit. I told you that. If it bugs you that much.... don't look at it."
For a moment, Claire's guilt trebled, as if she'd been accused of unfairly criticizing his work, but when a closer look at the words revealed one of them to be death, she knew that expressing her concern was far more important than soothing her own ego.
"It's not the paintings I'm questioning, sweetheart. It's what's driving you to paint them. Please stop, just for a little while. Let's try an alternative."
"Like?"
The lack of emotion or depth in Darien's voice chilled Claire to the bone, but she pressed on.
"A while back I offered to lead some yoga classes for you, remember? Well yoga isn't only good for aches and pains, it can be a tremendous help in lifting the spirit."
"I'm not ready to be.... lifted yet."
"Well your child is ready for some nourishment. It's been two days since you've eaten anything substantial. That isn't healthy for either one of you. I know you too well, Darien. It may take weeks for you to completely work this out, and until then the everyday, normal things, including regular meals, won't even enter your mind. Your little girl can't wait weeks. You have to eat, which means you need to *want* to eat, which means you need a better way to purge the pain. I won't stop you making your paintings... but I think you need more."
Abruptly, Darien threw his brush into the container containg the cleaning solution and rounded on Claire angrily.
"Look, damn it! What I *need* is for you to stop assuming you know what's best for me or know what I'm feeling! Bobby didn't walk out on *you*! He didn't *bail* on *you*!"
Immediately Claire took Darien's face into her hands and cradled it, relieved when he didn't push her away.
"I know, I know. All I'm asking for is a chance. Let me try and help you through this awful, terrible time. Let me do what I can to help...."
Eventually Darien nodded within the comforting grasp of Claire's fingers. She assisted him in getting to his feet and they moved to a part of the house he hadn't been in before; the small exercise room on the second floor, directly across from Claire's bedroom.
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"How did you expect them to react, Robert? Did you think they'd leap and dance for joy when you abandoned your child and your partner in one fell swoop?"
"I didn't wanna go like that.... I wanted to say somethin' to him, but.... it woulda just hurt him worse to explain it."
"Noble intentions will never justify ignoble actions, Robert. The point is you chose to leave, to walk away..."
"Hey, I didn't abandon anybody, okay? I'm comin' back.... next week."
"Yes, well don't look for a brass band and a cheering crowd to welcome you home. All you're likely to get is me waiting at the airport for you.... and then only if the Official forces me to."
"I get it, I get it! I'm off everybody's Christmas list."
"Add New Years Eve, Valentine's Day and Easter and you might begin to truly understand the magnitude of the impact your actions have had. Darien hasn't eaten in two days. Everything he paints lately is dark and melancholy. If you could have seen his face when I told him you'd left..."
"He's not eatin'? Why would he do that to the baby? How could he...."
"How could you? The assignment means nothing in the face of this, Robert. Leave there right now and come home. It's not too late to make things right."
"I can't. I just.... I'm not done yet. I got more work.... an' more thinkin' to do. I can't come home now. Next week..."
"Next week? Next week might as well be next year. Any time you willingly surrender right now is time you can't get back. By next week you could lose all hope of ever reconciling with Darien.... or ever seeing your child."
"Don't you think I know that?! I know.... I know what could happen.... but I just can't come back yet. I'm not ready. Seein' as you feel....the way you feel, I won't bother to call again and don't send anybody to the airport. I'll get a cab back."
"Robert... Robert?"
Eberts listened to the dial tone for a few surprised seconds then terminated the connection on his end as well. "Please change your mind, Robert. Please. Things are bad enough as they are. In another seven days.... only God knows what you'll come home to."
The screech of the Official's voice over the intercom broke rudely into his assistant's thoughts.
"Eberts? In my office and make it snappy!"
"Yes, sir. On my way."
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At Claire's, Darien lay on his left side on a thick exercise mat while Claire sat close to him massaging his back and leading him through a simple stress meditation. For the first few minutes she had been afraid her idea wouldn't work, as his hands remained clenched into fists and the crease in his brow seemed determined to hold its place, but eventually, his body and mind began to respond to her soft words, his muscles unknotting and smoothing out under her hands.
"Excellent. Breathe with my count. In, two, three. Hold, two, three. Out, two, three. Keep breathing slowly and evenly. Wonderful. Now, visualize a blank movie screen in your mind. There's nothing else but that endless expanse of white. No color, no movement, no thought. Just the white screen. Clear your mind completely. Relax. Focus on your breathing, on the sensation of your breath going in.... and out. That's right. In... and out. Your body is surrounded by a golden glow, Darien. It encases you like a cocoon made of love, peace and joy. Every pore in your body opens wide, welcoming this golden light, drawing it in even as the darkness of stress, anxiety and fear are expelled. Tranquility is absorbed with every breath, every inhalation. Each time you exhale, worry and apprehension flow out. Tranquility in, worry out. Tranquility in, worry out.... good. Keep breathing with the count. Slowly."
"Claire?"
"Yes. I'm right here."
"Thanks."
"You're very welcome. Focus on your breathing."
"I am."
"But?"
"I'm hungry."
"You don't know how much I needed to hear that. Shall we stop and go find something to make an early dinner out of?"
"Not yet. A little while longer?"
"Alright. Breathe slowly in.... release it just as slowly.... feel the golden light, the peace and joy it carries lighting you up from the inside. Feel the pure love spread through and to every corner of your being....."
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"I understand, Eberts. Relax. I'm handling it from this end. You just remember what I said. The strength has to come from inside you. You have to be willing to do what has to be done, even...."
"No! Not that. I could never.... no."
"I agree it should be a last resort, but it may come to that. If your hand is forced and you have no other options, use it. You still have it, don't you?"
"Yes. I've come close to destroying it so many times.... but I know you're right. I may hate knowing it... but I do."
"I don't like it any better. You know that. It may never become necessary. For now, stick to the plan we've come up with. Alright?"
"Yes. The plan. Everything depends on this. I'm trusting you, someone I hardly know, with the safety of this child. If..."
"Don't doubt me and don't doubt yourself, Albert. I promise everything will be fine."
"If I can discover where my spinal column went so long ago.... perhaps it will, at that."
"Maybe it went to live with all the socks that get lost in the dryer. Check there first."
In spite of his tension the joke made Eberts laugh.
"Sometimes I have to question where your sense of humor came from."
"So do I, Albert. So do I."
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TBC.....