Breakaway
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!
Chapter Twenty
A cool breeze blew, shaking the remaining raindrops from the leaves of the trees. The clouds had thinned out and dispersed, allowing the tiniest bit of blue sky to shine through. Small fingers of pearly pink and peach sunlight broke through, another sign that the storm was well and truly finished. Unnoticing the amazing about-face in nature, Trixie came to a stop at the edge of the path. She surveyed the house in front of her, her mind intent on one thing. What was the best possible route to enter it? Reddy's series of delighted barks as he ran through mud puddles in the backyard, sounding more like a puppy than a middle-aged dog, didn't break her concentration. The debate warred within. Back door or front? The back door led to the kitchen, the heartbeat of their house. The front door provided the quickest route to the stairs, to her room, and to safety. Sneakered feet stepped over and around large and small puddles. Deliberately making her steps as quiet as she could, Trixie climbed up the front steps and pulled back the screen door. Normally she would have let it slam behind her with a resounding thud, announcing her arrival better than if she had taken out a billboard. Not tonight. She caught it before it had a chance to close, carefully eased it back, and then latched it.
Somehow, she had managed to pick the right door to enter the farmhouse. Her wounded eyes searched through the large and charming living room. Unbelievably, there was not one member of her family in attendance. She scanned the hallway that led to the kitchen and the other rooms on the first floor. Muted voices could be heard coming from the direction. There were a few people in the kitchen; maybe even a Belden or two in the den. Taking a deep breath to steady herself as well as strengthen her voice, Trixie called out, "I'm back, Moms, Dad! The storm's finally over. I'm going upstairs to take a shower!" It was hard to talk but the effort it took to sound casual was excruciating. She didn't wait to hear any response but hurried up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and flew towards the shelter of her room. She threw open her bedroom door, hurried over to her dresser, and opened drawers at random. She blindly grabbed the first set of clothes that she could find and then practically sprinted down the hallway to the bathroom, hoping and praying that she wouldn't run into any of her family.
Luck, that intangible and fickle thing, was with her once again. She didn't run into a single soul upstairs. When she was successfully closed off from the others in the bright yellow bathroom, Trixie leaned against the back of the bathroom door, stared up at the ceiling, and worked on her breathing skills. In and out, nice and slow. When it felt like her heart was beginning to resemble its normal pace and didn't feel like it wanted to pound out of her chest any longer, she resolutely turned the lock on the door. Deciding she had better get it over with, she bravely stepped up to the mirror to survey the damages.
And felt even more defeated, even more heartbroken. She took a quiet second to damn her overly expressive face, wished she hadn't been gifted with being so open and easy to read. The eyes that stared back at her were haunted and hollow, without a single ounce of joy sparkling within their sapphire depths. Her face was abnormally pale underneath her summer tan. It was better than good that she hadn't seen anyone on her wild rush upstairs. No one in the inquisitive and astute Belden family would have let her brush aside their questions or would have settled for the short answers she would have given them. The look of devastation and pain was written clearly across her face as if she and Jim had taken the time to pen it out for all to see, was seen in the hopelessness and hurt of her eyes. It was blatantly obvious that something terrible had happened to her.
She tore her gaze from her own eyes, which she would have found ironically amusing if she was feeling like herself. Fingers touched her wet curls, which were plastered to her head in a damp halo. Normally vivacious and bouncy, the curls were now limp and listless. Her skin felt chilled, beyond the bones and all the way through to the depths of the marrow. Her clothes hung wetly against her body. Her sneakers had to be the most uncomfortable articles of clothing she was wearing. She kicked one off first, then the other, and tossed the balled-up socks in the direction of the hamper. She whipped off her shirt. It pooled on the gleaming tiled floor, an ocean of blue that mocked her with its cheery brilliance. She stared at it, scowled down at it, and came to the conclusion that it was going to be an extremely long time before she would ever wear that color again. The rest of her clothes followed next. Shivering, and not from the sudden coolness of the air, Trixie pulled back the shower curtain and stepped over into the tub. The first blast of water hit her hard. It was cold, hadn't had a chance to warm up yet. She didn't care. Trixie lifted her face to it, met the full force of the spray head-on, let the water run over her. As it warmed, her skin began to feel better. But not her heart and certainly not her soul.
She had no clue how long she stood under the showerhead, doing nothing but standing there. She didn't think. She didn't contemplate. She didn't remember or try to piece together where it had gone so wrong. All she did was stand there and let the water course over her. She even forgot the soap and the shampoo, a requisite for most of the human population when they showered. Instead, she was content to stand under the warmth of the water. Steam rose, covered her, and fogged up the mirrors and the lone window. When someone knocked discreetly on the door and brought her back to awareness, Trixie jerked her head and reached to turn off the water.
"Don't forget, Trixie, others may want some hot water, too," Brian's voice, easy and normal, reminded her from the other side of the door.
Biting back a groan, Trixie realized that she had been in the shower much longer than normal, especially with the amount of people who lived in her house. With a longing glance back into the tub, she stepped onto the merry bright green bathmat that had two jovial little ducks splashing around in a puddle. She automatically grabbed a towel and worked on getting herself dried off.
It was easier not to think, to concentrate on the routine. Focusing on one step at a time, she picked up the clothes she had grabbed from her room, and was defeated before she had a chance to begin. Her hands froze when she saw the T-shirt bunched up in her hands. It was gray. It was large, too large for her. NYU was emblazoned across it. And it belonged to Jim. Trixie actually felt her heart stutter when she stared at it. It took a force of will to pull it up and over her head. Normally, the wearing of it made her feel safe, secure and comforted. Not tonight. Not after that ugly scene. She finished dressing, brushed her teeth despite the fact that it was still too early to turn into bed, and did an extremely haphazard job on making the bathroom presentable for the next person to use it, and then turned to face the door.
The door seemed to be a mile away instead of the usual five steps. Her feet brought her to it slowly while she smoothed a hand over her face, hoping to take away any lingering evidence with her swipe. She had to order her hand to touch the handle and indulged herself in one last minute to compose herself. She did not want to open the door or see anyone and sent up a small prayer that the hallway was as empty as it had been when she had first entered it, that she would be able to make the short distance to her room without running into a single Belden. Cautiously, she turned the handle. Just as cautiously, she put a brave foot out into the hallway.
Empty. Her sigh of relief was huge. The other foot followed. A woman on a mission, she began to stride as swiftly as she could towards the salvation and solitude her bedroom promised her, where she could lick her wounds in private and not have to converse with anyone. She had only made it halfway to her destination when a door popped open a short way down the hall.
"Trixie." Brian interrupted the purposefulness of her trek, stopped her with the one word and his presence. Whistling, he left his room and came towards her, his hands in the pockets of his dark green shorts. "I'm glad you're back."
She was not the best at schooling her emotions. To put it plainly, she sucked at it. Worse, she knew it. But still Trixie attempted it. Luckily the overly warm and overly long shower had brought a pink flush to her cheeks to counteract the paleness that would show again once her body temperature returned to normal. Although it was difficult to do, nearly bordered on the impossible, she pinned a small smile on her lips and turned around to face him with deceptive ease. "Brian," she greeted him, pathetically grateful her voice didn't shake or wobble.
He came to a halt beside her and leaned up against the wall, in-between two framed watercolor paintings their mother had completed when she was younger, when she still had free time on her hands. One was a still-life; a vase filled with pretty white lilies. The other was one of his favorites. It showed their orchard in its full springtime glory. He smirked when he saw the T-shirt that swam on her smaller frame and nearly hid the black cotton shorts she wore underneath. "Nice shirt," he complimented her, well aware of who it actually belonged to. "Good school, too."
He always said that to her when he caught her wearing it. Trixie's fingers caught the edge of the large shirt and began to play with it nervously. Normally she would joke back to him, either about the true ownership of the shirt or the university that three-fourths of the Belden children would be attending in the fall, but not tonight. She didn't have it in her tonight, especially when the shirt she was wearing was akin to pouring salt on a gaping, throbbing wound. "It's quiet downstairs," she remarked instead, wanting to distract him.
She succeeded. "Mart's still up at Regan's. He hasn't come back yet. I'll bet that the three of them decided to watch another movie. I also wouldn't be surprised if they had to calm the horses down during the storm. I can't remember having such a powerful one hit our neck of the woods for the longest time." The remaining Beldens had gathered to watch it from their porch. All had cringed when they had heard the sound of creaking branches from their orchard every so often. They would check out the damage later, under the bright light of day. "Bobby is curled up on the sofa downstairs in the den, playing his Nintendo DS. Dad is in the kitchen, reading the Sunday newspaper for the third time. Moms was putting the finishing touches on her latest masterpiece. She made cinnamon rolls, if you're interested in having a dessert. They should be ready soon."
The thought of food didn't appeal to her in the least. She doubted if she would ever feel the urge to eat ever again. Masking her unusual distaste for one of her mother's fabulous desserts with yet another feigned smile, Trixie politely declined, "No, I don't think I want to eat a cinnamon roll tonight. I don't know about you but I'm still feeling kind of tired from the weekend. It wasn't a very good one." For her, it had only gotten worse. She slipped a damp curl behind her ear.
He didn't look into the flimsy excuse she offered him. His exhaustion hadn't completely fled after a dreamless nap, either, although his body had become more equipped at handling a lack of sleep from the hectic pace he carried during his junior year. "I can't wait to sink my teeth into one. I'll make certain to hide one or two for you since you don't want to claim one tonight. Once Mart gets a sniff of them, he's going to want to devour as many as he can. To tell you the truth, I think that's why Moms waited until after he left to make the rolls," he added with a broad wink that would normally have had her giggling back at him.
Trixie forced a half-hearted chuckle out of her dry throat because he expected it from her. It sounded rusty and made her feel like razors had taken up residence in her throat. "That's Mart for you," she responded at an attempt at her normal humor.
Brian's forehead furrowed in concentration at her lackluster response before it smoothed out after closely examining her. She didn't look anything but tired to him. Deciding that was all it was, he covered up what he really wanted to talk about with yet another question, "Have you called that scholarship committee yet? Dad brought it up to us when we were on the porch. Neither Moms or I could answer him, though. You got that letter at the beginning of the week. If you want it, you have to call them sometime this week. They gave you a two-week window of opportunity. You don't want to lose it, Trix."
What scholarship letter? Brief confusion; then she remembered after plodding through the muddled mess that was her brain. "No, I haven't gotten around to calling the scholarship committee yet. It slipped my mind." She shrugged her shoulder. Honestly, she couldn't even remember where she had put the letter. The last time she had seen it had been in the kitchen, when she had watched Bobby and Larry with…Jim. The sweetness of that night came back to her, brought with it a pang that wasn't merely painful. It was agonizing. It was only eight days in the past. How on earth had they managed to make such a mess of things? No answers were forthcoming.
Ever the helpful, older brother, totally unaware of the path of her true thoughts, he tapped her on the shoulder and insisted strongly, "You need to call them, Trixie. Don't let it slide. The money will come in handy for you this school year. It will help you buy a few textbooks."
It would most definitely come in handy, especially since she didn't have a summer job anymore to help with the upcoming cost of her freshman year. Her family had been properly stunned and horrified when she had shared that tidbit with them at the dinner table. She had never seen her father turn such a brilliant shade of angry before. He had decreed then and there that no Belden was to ever set foot in that store, a decree which was ratified immediately by all members of their family, even Bobby. Trixie didn't bring up about her lost job, as well as her lost wages, not wanting to keep the conversation going any longer than it already was. Instead, she nodded her head and replied dutifully, "I'll take care of it this week, Brian. I promise."
He started to nonchalantly inch his way towards the topic that he really wanted to talk about. "So, you made it up to the Manor House tonight. Did you get there before the storm hit?" He didn't look directly at her and suddenly found the hardwood floorboards very interesting.
Lying was not her forte. It was not something she liked to do and was definitely something she was not very good at. But there was no way that she was going to tell her brother about her nasty fight with Jim. Walking an extremely fine line where she hoped she didn't have to actually lie to him, she didn't confirm or deny his statement about if she had made it to Honey's house. "I got drenched on the way up," Trixie said instead, using most of the truth as she saw fit. "That's why I wanted to get a shower as soon as I could. I was soaked straight through."
"I'm surprised that you didn't stay and grab a shower up there. The Wheelers wouldn't have minded." Brian frowned at her, his doctor instincts in full swing. Calculating the time from when she had left to the time she had come home, he realized she would have spent at least an hour and a half in wet clothes. "I also hope you don't catch a cold or a fever from it."
She had more than a cold, more than a fever, more than any other sickness her brother or any other respected doctor could come up with. Dodging the question the best that she could without actually answering it, she chided gently, "Brian, it was storming. You can't take a shower in a storm."
His teeth flashed in a humorous grin, aimed entirely at himself. She was right. No water usage during a storm. "Well, then I'll say that I'm even more surprised that Jim didn't offer to give you a ride home instead of having you walk back yourself."
She swore in her mind. He had a valid point. Jim would have done more than simply offer her a ride home, had they not participated in such a horrendous disagreement. He would have insisted upon it. Trixie hastily scrambled for an acceptable excuse. "I left when the storm was over. Everyone was still tired at the Manor House. I didn't need a ride. I didn't mind walking home. The return of the cooler air felt good." The first part was true. She hadn't left her position by that tree until the storm had lost its steam and started to pull away from their small corner of the globe. The second…well, it wasn't a total lie. She was certain everyone in the Wheeler family was still tired. And she only insinuated that a ride had been offered.
With no reason to suspect anything less, Brian accepted it at face value. Jim had looked the most fatigued out of all of them. He brought out the big question, the one he wanted to know the answer to, and the most important one to him. "So, you got to see Honey. How is she doing?"
Trixie dropped her eyes to the floor and began shifting from one foot to the other. From somewhere within her overworked brain, she recalled what Jim had said about Honey when they had first met at the clubhouse. She chose her words carefully. "She's doing fine. She's doing great. She wanted to sit on the front porch with her family to watch the storm roll in."
The information pleased him. He could see it in his mind, Honey and her family reclining on their porch the same way that he and his family had done. There had to a fateful symmetry in that fact, he thought with a hopeful flash to his dark eyes. One family watching it from the hill; the other from the hollow. He posed the next question casually. "Did anyone else stop in to see her today?"
Again, she relied on the information Jim had given her. She doubted if she would ever be able to forget one word that had been exchanged between the two of them, no matter how much she wished that she could. "Dan had already been by to visit before he went over to Regan's apartment for the movie. Di wasn't able to come and visit. She called instead." Trixie kept her answers short and brief and braced herself for the next one. So far, she hadn't had to actually lie to him but she didn't think her luck would hold out much longer.
"I wanted to make it up to see her but then the storm came. It's probably too late to go up there now. Dr. Ferris was pretty adamant about Honey needing her rest. Her parents supported him completely." He glanced musingly up at the ceiling, his nerves practically eating him alive. If he had looked at Trixie, he would have realized that she wasn't being completely truthful with him but he was too consumed with his own thoughts about Honey. "Is she asleep yet?"
Trixie swallowed her own disappointment. It tasted bitter. There was no help for it. She was going to have to lie to her older brother. "Not when I left but I'm certain she was going to be getting ready to turn in soon. Her parents don't want her to stay up late." She didn't know that, could only hazard a guess. She hid behind it, not wanting Brian to call Honey up and find out that she had never actually made it to the Manor House.
Brian flicked his wrist up, noted the time on his watch, and thought he could try it, anyway. It wasn't that late and Trixie had said that she wasn't in bed yet. If she was, then he supposed he would have to settle for talking to his best friend, instead. Not a bad deal, all around. Decision made, he started towards the stairs and the telephone and called back over his shoulder, missing the flash of guilt in her eyes, "Are you certain you don't want to come down and have one of those cinnamon rolls? Moms makes the best."
And face her father, who had eyes like an eagle? Or her mother, who knew her inside and out? "No," burst past her lips with more force than was necessary. Before he could ask her about her forceful response, Trixie turned and quickly entered her bedroom. She barely refrained from slamming it and settled for closing it with a smart snap instead. Brian was left staring at the closed door.
He waved his hands in the air, came to the mistaken belief that Trixie had to be more tired than he had originally thought, and continued down the stairs, taking then two at a time the same way that Trixie had a short time earlier. Only his feet weren't pounding to get to the privacy of his room. His were eagerly bringing him towards a cinnamon roll and, even better, a means of communication to the Manor House. He accepted his dessert from his mother with a thankful nod, smiled at his youngest brother and father, and picked up the cordless and retreated to the front porch where he could hopefully have some cherished solitude, something that didn't happen often in his overly crowded house. He didn't have to think as he dialed the number by rote to the Manor House, having already mentally prepared himself to ask for Jim if anyone other than Honey answered the phone. Even though it was juvenile thing to do, he crossed his fingers.
His grin grew wider when her sweet voice greeted him on the other end. "Hello, Honey," he said in response and sat back on the wooden glider, gently rocking back and forth with his dessert on a small table, lying forgotten, while he wondered at his good fortune. He truly hadn't believed that Honey would still be up, let alone answering the telephone, and had expected to spend a few minutes conversing with Jim.
Having been gently reminded by her parents that she needed to take it easy and to not put any undue amount of stress on herself, Honey had been in the process of heading upstairs to her bedroom to turn in for the night when the phone rang. She waved an airy farewell to her parents, who left the room with twin looks of amusement on their faces, and settled back on the comfortable sofa in the large living room. She slipped off her shoes, tucked her legs underneath her, and felt a secret smile curve her lips. "Hello, Brian. It's very nice to hear from you."
Being Brian Belden, the first thing he did was apologize to her. Sucking in a deep breath, he began, "Honey, I'm so sorry that I wasn't able to come up and visit you tonight."
"Don't worry about it," she hastened to assure him, well aware that the storm had kept everyone away. While it had disappointed her, she had come to grips a while ago with the fact that she wouldn't be able to see any of her friends. It would have been dangerous to move about in a storm of that magnitude. "It's not a big deal. As much as I want to see all of the Bob-Whites, I completely understand. The storm was a bad one. I watched it with my parents and Miss Trask from the front porch."
It fit with the image Trixie had given him, made him smile in response. "Yeah, my family and I watched it come in and attack, too. I'm afraid that some of our apple trees didn't fare all that well." He looked in the direction of the orchard. "We heard some interesting noises coming from out there. No one has wanted to go out and inspect the damages, though. It's going to be dark soon. Tomorrow will be soon enough to check it out."
"I'm sorry to hear that." Honey fell back into a memory of a bad storm, a hurricane, that had damaged their clubhouse, a few years earlier. It had been a tough clean-up but they had pulled together and had managed to do fix up their special place. "I think everything survived just fine up here. We didn't hear any crashes or anything like that. The horses let out a few whinnies but that was about it."
"So, how many Bob-Whites were able to visit you before the storm started?" Brian took a small bite of his cinnamon roll, prepared to enjoy the delicacy as well as the conversation with one of his all-time favorite people.
Honey pulled down the dove-gray cotton throw that adorned the back of the sofa and smoothed it around her. Her ring-less fingers played with the ends of it as she admitted, trying her best to keep the disappointment out of her voice, "Only Dan, I'm afraid. Di couldn't come over. I know Mart was coming up to Regan's but he probably went straight over there in order to get out of the rain. I saw Jim, of course, but that doesn't count, does it? He's my brother and he lives here. You are actually the first Belden I've heard from all evening."
He nearly choked on his bite. Sitting up quickly, sneakers squeaking on the floorboards, he exclaimed, shocked, "What?"
Honey frowned, slightly taken aback by Brian's abrupt response. Giving a small shake to her head, she wondered if her fatigue was keeping her from holding up her end of the conversation. Was she reading him right? Was he surprised? If he was, what had he expected her to say? Nervously, she bit her bottom lip and inquired cautiously, "Why, Brian? Why are you so shocked that you are the first of your family to call me?"
He looked back into the house, thought about his sister, and began to rapidly see her behavior in a much different light. He began to methodically catalogue what he knew. She wanted to be alone. She hadn't wanted to be with their family. She hadn't wanted to answer his questions. In fact, the entire time they had spent together upstairs, he had been the one to instigate every section of their talk. She had only responded because she had to. Something was wrong but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. Honey would be a good ally. She would help him figure it out. "It's…odd, Honey," he finally remarked. "I talked to Trixie a few minutes ago and she led me to believe that she was at your house tonight. She started to walk up right after dinner to visit you. She should have made it to the Manor House before the storm started."
"No. She wasn't here tonight." Honey leaned forward and wrinkled her forehead until the throbbing at her temple reminded her that it wasn't a smart move. "She didn't visit me tonight, Brian. I haven't seen her since we left the hospital."
"She told me she had visited you." Then he caught himself, dissected what he could remember from their conversation, and amended quickly, "No, she didn't exactly tell me that. She implied it but…why on earth would she have tried to cover it up? It doesn't make any sense to me." He pushed himself up from the glider and paced over to the porch railing. A finger absently rubbed off the leftover moisture from the rain while he watched a tired, wet, and very muddy Reddy climb up the porch steps and flop onto the floor.
"I can't answer your question." Honey's pleasure at Brian's phone call was fading rapidly, caught up in concern for her friend. She stood up and walked over to the fireplace. She absently traced the polished mahogany mantel. She started to piece together what could have happened and hesitated only for a second before softly sharing, "Jim left right before the storm. He was going down to your house. He wanted to see Trixie. Did you see him tonight?" She nervously gritted her teeth while she waited for his answer.
Brian shook his head even though she couldn't see it. "No, he didn't. Jim didn't visit us tonight, either." He drummed a beat on the post. "Trixie was gone for a long time. She didn't come home until after the storm ended."
She was close to a conclusion, one that she didn't want to make. She picked up a framed picture of the seven Bob-Whites on the mantel, taking after her high school graduation, and studied the beaming faces of Trixie and Jim. Jim had an arm around her shoulder while Trixie stood as close to him as she could possibly get. Worried, Honey reluctantly started the next phase of the interrogation. "How was Trixie, Brian? Did she look any different to you?"
"No, she didn't. She…" wouldn't look him in the eyes, gave him short, abrupt answers, and had actually lied to him, one outright and a few by omission. Sighing, he ran a hand through his dark, wavy hair. "Yeah, she wasn't herself. I didn't realize it at the time. She was actually pretty good at hiding it. Normally I can see through her when she's trying to cover up her feelings. I thought she was still tired from yesterday."
"Hmm." She tapped her finger against her chin, digested the information, and felt a wave of sympathy for both her friend and her brother. "We're all probably still tired from yesterday. However, we can't overlook the fact that Trixie never made it to my house and that Jim never made it to yours. They were gone for the entire length of the storm. I think there is only one logical conclusion that we can come to, don't you?"
"Most likely," he muttered under his breath. "But, before we jump to that conclusion, no matter how logical it may be, we still haven't covered everything yet. We know about Trixie. What about Jim? How does he look? Is he acting any different?"
"He's not home…No, wait. I hear someone at the door now. It's got to be him." The front door opened, then closed with a quiet, almost eerie precision. Honey cradled the phone to her ear. She crossed the room and stood in the doorway, mumbling quietly into the phone, "Give me a minute, Brian. I'll be able to answer it then." Watching her brother stalk his way towards the staircase, she greeted him with the largest amount of cheerfulness that she could muster, "Hey, Jim!"
His hand rested on smooth, polished railing of the staircase while he barely resisted the urge to groan in disappointment. Hoping that his face didn't give anything away, he half-turned and nodded curtly at Honey. "Honey." Then, because he knew he couldn't uphold any kind of a conversation right now, he started up the staircase. The sanctuary of his room was calling to him.
"Brian," she sighed into the phone, ignoring the soft ache behind her forehead. Gentle fingers attempted to massage it away. "Jim completely blew me off. He's soaked through, too. He must have been out in the rain. From the one short look he gave me, I could tell that something is seriously wrong with him."
"They ran into each other. Most likely somewhere along the path," Brian surmised quietly. He could almost picture it in his minds. Two stubborn and hot-tempered people, exhausted and emotionally drained from a shared ordeal. While he couldn't put his finger on the contents of the fight, he wasn't overly surprised. To his way of thinking, they would simply have to make up for it afterwards. All they would need to do was talk it out, smooth it over, settle it and move on. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that it would be the exact road that the two took.
"And they had a fight." Honey exhaled slowly, her mind on the same wavelength as Brian's. "From the looks of Jim and what you told me about Trixie, it must have been a big one." She leaned against the doorframe, crossed her ankles, and pondered what the fight could have been about.
His cinnamon roll had cooled. He eyed it, decided he didn't want to finish it, and started to pace the entire length of the front porch. He didn't like the fact that his sister and his best friend were both unhappy. What a terrible weekend, he thought wearily, and dragged his hand through his hair again. He didn't know if getting involved would be a help or a hindrance. "What should we do, Honey?"
"We can't do a thing," she responded despairingly, despising the truth of her words. She smoothed a hand over her hair. "You know we can't, Brian. Trixie and Jim would absolutely hate it if any of us tried to get involved. They both have too much pride for that. They would only end up getting mad at us. Plus, we would probably only make matters worse. They're going to have to solve this one on their own."
"And they are both too stubborn for their own good." Brian came to the corner of the porch, wrapped a hand around the post and stared out into the large front yard. He contemplated what had happened and realized that he couldn't do much. Trixie would only yell at him or, worse, ignore him. He didn't quite know what Jim would do if he tried to play peacemaker. "You're right, Honey. We can't. They'll have to figure it out for themselves."
Honey closed her eyes and rested her hand on the doorknob. Then she tossed her head carefully, with deference to her wound. "While we can't do much, I am going to talk to him, though. There's no harm in knocking on his door, is there?" she questioned slyly.
Brian chuckled and made his way to the front door. "That's not a crime, Honey. Good luck with that." He looked into his house, up the stairs that led to Trixie's room, and recalled how her eyes hadn't sparkled with their normal shine. She wouldn't want company; had made it clear with her actions that she wanted to be alone. He was left with no other action but to honor it. "I don't think I'm going to try the same thing with Trixie, though. I have a strong feeling she's talked about as much as she is going to. I'll see how she is in the morning."
"That's a good idea. Maybe she'll have slept off any residual effects from their fight." Deciding it was time to end the call, Honey took a deep breath and then added into the phone, her voice whisper-soft and full of gratitude, "Thank you very much for calling me, Brian. I really appreciate it."
"I'll miss you at work tomorrow," Brian remarked without thinking and then found his face immediately turning the cursed shade of red that generally only affected the blonde Beldens. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, was one he could have definitely gone without. Stuttering, he tried to smooth it over, "I mean…I…"
Honey swallowed the small bubble of merry laughter and replied, "I'll miss seeing you at the office, too. I'll let you know when I've been cleared to go back. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for Wednesday." It was interesting to have her heart suddenly start to take wings when they were concerned about two of their best friends but there it was. She repressed another girlish giggle and said breathlessly, "Have a good night, Brian. Thanks for calling."
He repeated the farewell, a look of contentment on his face, "Good night, Honey."
She studied the inanimate object for a minute after disconnecting it, a secret smile of pure feminine delight curving her lips. Then Honey carefully placed it back onto its stand and walked up the large staircase, on her way to her unsuspecting prey. Along the way she wished that her head didn't have the dull throb to it any longer. If it hadn't, she would have been able to plan out something to say to Jim. As it was, she didn't have a clue about how to begin their conversation or what she intended to say to him. All she had was a fist to knock on the door and a greeting on her shaky lips. The thick carpeting muffled her footsteps. She stood in front of his door, squared her shoulders, and then quickly rapped on the door.
Jim dropped his head back, feeling physically drained and emotionally spent. During the trudge up from the clubhouse to his home, he had prayed that he would be able to get to his room without seeing anyone. In the spirit of the rotten luck that fate seemed to delight in throwing his way, he shouldn't have expected anything less than being spotted by Honey. So he had then hoped, really and truly hoped, that he would be able to stew in his room, alone, and without anyone visiting him. Of course, he wasn't going to be able to have that luxury, either. Attempting to make his expression as controlled as possible, unable to do anything about the strange mixture of unhappiness and anger glowing within the emerald of his eyes, he gave a weary sigh of resignation and pulled open the door. "Honey," he repeated again, unsurprised by her presence.
Her own need for sleep was no longer there. She took it all in, the damp hair, the damp shirt, the almost lost expression that he was trying hard to hide with a haunted ghost of a grin. Whatever had happened between the two had not been calm or civilized, of that she was sure. "Hi, Jim," she responded with forced cheer, pretending not to notice that he looked devastated and extremely unhappy. She pointed to his shirt. "Did you get caught in the storm?"
He felt the wet cotton material of his shirt, slightly shocked that he hadn't thought to take off his clothes yet. Now that she had mentioned it, he realized how truly cold he was. He was smart enough to know that he couldn't blame the rain for the chill. A shower would help warm him up. He turned and started rummaging through his drawers, rudely giving her his back. "Yeah. Something like that."
Normally, his blatant rudeness would have fired her up and she wouldn't have let him get away with it. Tonight was different. She somehow knew that she would have to accept it. Honey didn't enter the room, stayed on the threshold of the door, and mentioned idly, "I talked to Brian a few minutes ago. He was sorry that he wasn't able to make it up to the house tonight. The storm kept him away."
It was on the tip of his tongue to say that he wished it had kept all of the Beldens away before he shut his eyes tight. That wasn't the complete truth. He wished that it had kept everyone at home, including him. If that had happened, he wouldn't have run into Trixie on the path by the clubhouse. "I'm certain it kept others away, too," he remarked neutrally, his voice carefully controlled.
"Mart made it to Regan's apartment. Di wasn't able to come and I already saw Dan." With forced cheer and ultra sharp eyes, Honey added pointedly, "That only leaves Trixie. I haven't heard from her yet."
His back went ramrod straight. He slammed the drawer shut with more force than necessary and took his time turning around, with fresh clothes in his grip. He worked extra hard to pitch his voice low, to keep from letting her know that even the simple sound of her name had the power to hurt him right then. "You haven't? That's a surprise."
Sore spot. Quite a sore spot. Honey felt an overwhelming amount of sympathy well up within her again, both for her brother and her best friend, and debated on whether or not to push it any further. Her tender heart told her to stop but her instincts urged her on. And her instincts won out. "Brian also said that Trixie started up for our house well before the arrival of the storm. I remember that you were heading down to her house at around the same time. Did you happen to run into her?"
He considered lying, figured it would be the perfect way to cap off a totally horrendous evening. The words were ready to form when he answered with the truth instead, "Yeah. I saw her."
When he didn't elaborate, Honey blew out a small breath. He wouldn't give anymore, not without more pushing or prodding on her part. She didn't have it in her to do that to him, not when he was looking so down and her head was still pounding. She didn't need to go for the jugular, not when she already knew. Haltingly, she declared, "Brian and I have already figured it out, Jim. You two must have had one heck of a fight."
He whipped his head up, stared her straight in the eyes. The temptation to talk it out, to share it with her, was close to the surface. He almost wanted to do it, to give in and have someone he considered a sane person listen to his side of the story. But he couldn't. Not when he had recently finished blasting Trixie for talking to someone else about them. He wasn't that miserable that he was willing to turn himself into a hypocrite. "I'm not going to talk to you about it, Honey. It wouldn't be fair, to you or to Trixie. It's between us."
She pursed her lips, stared him up and down, and saw the rigidity in his stance. She could poke all she wanted but she wasn't going to make him back down. He was going to stand firm. "All right," she proclaimed after a moment. "I'll give you that one. But you need to know that I'm here for you…and for Trixie, should either one of you need me. We're friends, family, and Bob-Whites above all else."
He smiled tightly. "Give us some time, Honey." He wanted to add that they would work it out but the pain of the argument was much too fresh, much too new. In the few fights that they had partaken in over the years, he couldn't ever remember one leaving him feeling so raw and exposed. And, even worse, so at odds.
"I'll be satisfied with that, too." She wanted to go to him, to give him a hug if nothing else, but he didn't want that. He wanted to be left alone right now. Respecting his wishes, she drew back into the hallway. "Have a good night, Jim." When he didn't answer, she closed the door behind her.
In serious need of a distraction, Jim found himself in front of his laptop. Firing it up, he waited the necessary moments until it was ready with a blank expression on his face. He checked his email first, was surprised to note a message from his advisor for his summer internship to call him back at his earliest convenience. Judging from the small digital numbers in the corner of his screen, he knew it was too late to try to call back now. Pitifully thankful to have something constructive to do, he typed in a quick response, letting his advisor know that he would get in touch with him early in the morning.
Finished with the small task, Jim shut down the computer and then tore off his shirt. Generally more meticulous with his clothes, he threw it into the corner of his room. Shoes and socks were next. The shoes landed with a satisfying thud. Clad only in his shorts, Jim crossed the wide expanse of his bedroom and leaned against the window, his forehead touching the smoothness of the glass. The glass felt cool and refreshing against his skin. He stared down in the direction of her house, ignorant of the encroaching darkness as it lazily spread its way across the front lawn. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't shut off his mind. It kept replaying the fight, over and over again. Some of his points were just plain stupid, as were some of hers. Others were….right. Emitting a loud groan, he wished that they had waited until later to have attempted for explanations and clarifications of their misunderstandings. With two individuals who shared both stubbornness and a quick temper, he couldn't help but see the folly of it now. "We should have waited," he grumbled to himself, rubbing a tired hand across his eyes.
With nothing else to keep him occupied from his thoughts and his memories, he ended up sitting on his bed, with the items he had collected for his shower next to him, forgotten. While he was tired and sleep would have been really useful, he found himself looking ahead and thinking about her. If only he had shown a little more patience or a little more control. But he hadn't…and, he thought with a trace of bitterness, neither had she. They had both pushed each other to the edge and then had been unable to stop themselves from tumbling headlong over it. The only certainty he owned now was the fact that he loved her. That hadn't changed; would never change, as far as he was concerned. But it didn't help him figure out what the next step should be. "What the hell are we going to do now?" His voice cut through the stillness of the room. Not surprisingly, he didn't get an answer. Standing up, he grabbed his things and moved towards the door. He was going to start small. A shower was needed, both to warm him up and to help clear his mind. Then he would try to sleep. Maybe, just maybe, the morning would bring the answers that they needed.