Chapter 41. Footfalls

My dad. The thought comes to Addison before she is fully awake. Heaviness and disorientation ripple through her, grief and sleep inertia anchored together. Her eyes scan upward to discover Mark seated beside her. She cannot remember how she got from the floor of the dressing room to the bed, but he must have brought her in here.

She makes observations about her husband to distract herself from thinking about everything else. Mark is propped against the headboard, two pillows and a smaller decorative one wedged behind him. One of his hands is holding one of hers. He is no longer wearing his black-tie clothes. He is watching TV, but really, he is probably just waiting for her to wake up.

"Mark?" Addison grimaces in discomfort upon speaking. Her throat feels dry.

"Hey," he whispers, looking away from a SportsCenter segment he wasn't truly watching. Addison is looking at him, but her eyes are blinking tiredly. She needs more sleep, but she also needs to stay hydrated, so Mark takes the opportunity to pull her into a sitting position. She yields to his maneuvering, reminding him of Kate's baby dolls.

"Thank you," she rasps, taking long gulps from the uncapped water bottle he has handed her. She gives it back when her thirst feels quenched. "How long…how long was I asleep?"

"About two hours." Mark sets the bottle back on his nightstand and curls his arm around her, drawing her into his side. "I'm sure food is the last thing on your mind, but do you want to try to eat something?"

It definitely is the last thing. Addison's stomach already hurts as nausea gurgles through her, sorrow ravaging her insides. But at the moment, her body doesn't just belong to her. "Yeah. Maybe…maybe in a few minutes…" she looks up at him, eyes shiny and vulnerable. "I don't know what to do now," she admits.

"You're just going to take it one step at a time. And you're going to remember you have a husband, family, and friends who love you and are here for you."

"When did you become so wise?"

Mark kisses the top of her head. "Probably a side-effect of marrying someone way smarter than me."

"Do you…do you want to know something funny?" Addison asks. And then she hesitates. "Am I being weird?"

"I'm trying to follow…are those questions tied together or are they separate?"

"Separate."

"Okay. Then, yes, I want to hear something funny. And no, you're not being weird, Addison. Grief is weird, not you. Now tell me something funny."

She nods. "Okay. You mentioned 'marriage' and it made me remember, since it'll be our anniversary in like a month…I went to look up what the traditional fifth year anniversary present is." She googles this each year and always tells Mark, because it is exactly the kind of thing he finds amusing. "And it's…" Addison trails off, as my dad is dead snakes its way through her brain again. I can't even remember the last thing we talked about. Did I tell him that I loved him before we hung up?

"Addie?" Mark touches her elbow and she shifts her focus back to him.

"Sorry. It's wood. I'm sure you're delighted to know that."

He chuckles in response. "We could have some fun with that one. Or at the very least, I'll be making a lot of terrible jokes that day."

"I know you will. And the fact that it's just conveniently something that could be interpreted as sexual…I almost looked at the history on the Wikipedia page to see if someone named Mark Sloan recently made any edits."

"Nope. You know I just wait for you to tell me what the traditional gift is. I do remember moonstone though. We looked up the list on our Honeymoon, and we were laughing because I thought you said 'moon rock' was the gift for an eighty-fifth wedding anniversary. I can't forget that one."

A tear slips down Addison's cheek. "We'll never have an eighty-fifth wedding anniversary."

"Addison…" Mark cradles her closer when she starts to cry, feeling bad that he almost laughed at this observation from her. "Realistically I don't think anyone has an eighty-fifth anniversary…not anyone born in the last two centuries, at least. But I love you and we're going to have a lot more anniversaries together, okay?" He runs his hand up and down the ridges of her spine, comforting her as she works through a few more grief-wracked sobs.

"We have to tell Kate about…about…"

"I know." He has been thinking about that a lot, how to explain this loss and the basic concepts of death to their daughter, and how to help her work through her feelings. Tears filled his eyes at the very thought while his wife slept fitfully next to him. "We'll tell her tomorrow after we pick her up from Lauren's."

"And I'll call my mom in the morning," Addison continues. "She's probably already called my dad's brother. I'm sure he'll do the eulogy. And we need to let Savvy and Weiss know and maybe…maybe Derek? Maybe you can let him know? He should probably know. And I know my mother probably won't want much help with planning the service and everything, but I can still…she'll probably want to do it before Thanksgiving…am I talking too much?"

Mark shakes his head dutifully. "You're fine. We'll make a list of all the things we need to do, Addie."

"Okay. I think now…I just want to sleep more. Can I eat later? I'm…I'm so tired, Mark…" she feels her head lolling against his chest, exhaustion settling deep in her bones. "Can you…can you just hold me while I sleep?"

"Yeah." Mark helps her get settled on the pillow again, and then folds an arm over her waist. "Sleep now, food later."

"I don't know if you remember…" she mumbles as another unexpected thought comes to her. "The first night I slept over at your apartment…I asked you if you could stay with me and hold me while I slept. And you did."

"I remember," he says, a swirl of breath warm against the curve of her neck. "I was sorry for how much pain you were in, but I was hoping you would ask me to stay. And I'm sorry for how much pain you're in now, too. But just for the record…you're gonna be okay, Addison. You'll get through this." Not over, past, beyond. Just through.

Her chin lifts in the tiniest acknowledgement before she tumbles back to sleep.

-

"How did it go?" Mark asks as Addison comes back into their bedroom after tucking Kate in, and begins the process of getting herself ready for bed (at this point really just changing from one pajama-ish outfit to another pajama-ish outfit). Their daughter is handling grief in a way typical of a five year-old. She will be upset about Grandpa Henry and have questions in one moment, but then resume playing with her Polly Pocket Mega Mall set and pleading for cookies in the next.

Most of her questions come at night though, which leaves it up to Addison. Mark still participates in the bedtime routine, but he has definitely taken a backseat recently, recognizing how much Addison needs this extra time with their daughter. For the first few days following Henry's death, she would check on Kate multiple times a night, hovering in the doorway long enough to verify the steady movement of her daughter's chest rising and falling. The dizzying hum of anxiety has continued beyond the first few days, but the nightly checkups have started to drop off, if for no other reason than Addison is just too tired to keep startling awake at all hours. She still stays with Kate until she falls asleep though, more for herself than for her daughter at this point.

"Good. I talked to her a little more again about what the funeral will be like…what she can expect to see and hear. And the, um, ashes part. She had some questions about that. Then she asked when my eyes are 'going to go back to regular,'" Addison says. She is currently in the bathroom slipping on a robe and nightgown, but leans around the door at the last part so Mark can see her throw bunny ears around her daughter's words. The area around Addison's eyes is not as puffy today, but she still has the wan-faced, runny-nosed look of someone who has been crying a lot. "Which is a valid question. Oh, and holiday stuff. Kate asked if she, Emily, and Andrew can each have their own pumpkin pies for Thanksgiving. Because, you know…" she grins and comes back into the bedroom. "Priorities."

Mark laughs, stretching his legs out and patting the bed, indicating that a shoulder rub is available for her if she wants. Addison eases herself onto the bed and scoots into the open "v" of space, returning Mark's smile with a grateful one of her own. It hasn't reached days yet; it's more like good hours and bad hours and okay hours. There have been longer stretches of "okay" lately, but the next few days will be hard, so anything that can help her relax and maybe fall asleep a bit easier is appreciated. They leave tomorrow morning for Greenwich. The funeral service is on Friday.

"I like her food priorities," Mark says, maneuvering his hands under her floral robe and whatever maternity top is underneath the robe in order to massage her shoulders. He did this last night too, and he feels a little sad at how hard and knotted her trapezius muscle still feels. "Hey, about next Thursday…did you want me to get anything ahead of time? Pie is a given, but if you just want to do takeout and have it be the three of us…" Mark pauses to let her process the rest. Ever since Kate and the twins were born, they have spent each Thanksgiving as a "god-family," alternating years hosting. It's easy and fun, and the logistics aren't emotional, at least. Christmas, he knows, will be rough; they always drive up to Greenwich on the twenty-sixth and spend a few days with Addison's parents.

"It's okay. We can do the usual. I want to keep things consistent for Kate. At least it's Sav and Weiss's turn to host. We should probably bring a more-expensive-than-usual bottle of wine though. Both for them hosting, and for just…being them." Not that Addison expected anything less, but her friends really have gone above and beyond recently to check up on her and offer to help keep her kid entertained.And, she contemplates while sinking a little lower in Mark's embrace, Savvy knows what it's like to lose a parent this time of year.

Mark wraps his arms around her stomach. She's quiet now. Her neck and shoulders are still stiff, but she feels almost peaceful in his arms as she rests against his chest. She takes one of his hands, and gently holds it for a few minutes, before easing it between her legs. It takes Mark by surprise. He hadn't really made the connection earlier while working on her shoulders, but the robe Addison is wearing is a slightly more attractive, suggestive choice than the uniform of baggy comfort-wear she has been embracing lately. And when she uses her other hand to pull open her robe, he notices that what he assumed was some sort of short pajama set is actually a silky nightgown with lace trim. And she's not wearing anything under the nightgown. Addison fights back a sneaky giggle when he discovers this.

Mark lingers over her longer than he means to, so it is her turn to be surprised when he rotates his hand to the outside of her thigh. "Addison," he says hesitantly. She makes some sort of eight days joke that he only half-hears. She leans to the side so she can tilt her head up towards him. She finds his hand again, and stubbornly presses the smooth pads of his fingers back against her.

"I want you, Mark. Don't you want me?" Her voice is husky, and her mouth is as warm as her words when she runs her tongue along the bottom of his chin and jawline. Yes, this is a distraction, an attempt to heal what feels so broken, a non-green-juice-way to numb the pain and feel good, but there is something more to it too. Addison desires this connection again. "It's not escapism. I want this, Mark. I…I want you. So please want me back," her lower lip trembles over the last sentence.

Mark angles his head down and kisses her softly, reassuringly. The hand of his that was spanning her hip joins the hand she was so insistent with, and though he is not touching exactly where she wants or moving his fingers inside her yet, his hands are soothing over her thighs and stomach with clear intentions. Addison sighs happily, and Mark continues to give her the attention she is craving. He knows what she is like when she is hurting as much as he knows what she is like when she isn't hurting, and grief is a harder area to read and define with her – it is messy and gray and sometimes full of contradictions and Stepford-ish mannerisms. There is certainly some desire for escapism on her part, and he understands that. But she is weightless in his arms right now, breathing heavier, warm and slick with need. And this is real, she is real, they're real and they're here, so Mark deepens their kiss and parts her lips with his tongue. His hand drifts back down to tease her, and she arches hard against his fingers when he strokes her.

"Easy," he whispers against her mouth, concealing a chuckle. He keeps his hand where she needs it though. "I always want you. Let's go slow though, okay? I love you, Addison."

"I love you, too…" she whispers with a satisfied sigh, relaxing in his arms as his fingers begin to relax the tension between her legs.

-

"Mommy said she will be down in one minute," Kate announces as she comes into the kitchen, moving a little slower than usual (walking rather than running) because of the box she is holding. "I want to put a rock from outside in my box," she adds when her father turns to face her. Mommy and Daddy gave her a "Memory Box" yesterday, and Mommy helped her put a few pictures of Kate and Grandpa Henry in it.

"Okay," Mark takes the box from her hands and sets it on the kitchen island. "Why don't you sit down and eat your breakfast first…then you can go and pick out a rock." He pushes a bowl of Cap'n Crunch Crunch Berries towards her. He does not question why an unidentified rock reminds Kate of her grandpa.

"Mommy!" Kate calls out when Addison comes into the kitchen, freshly showered and wearing a loose-fitting sweater and slacks. "You're wearing pants that are not jammies."

"Yes, I'm wearing fancy grownup pants today. And you…" Addison manages to keep the smile on her face when she spies the faux fur gold glitter boots her daughter is currently wearing. "You are wearing fancy shoes."

"Can I wear these instead of my black ones?" Kate asks. She talked her dad into buying these shoes for her a few weeks ago. She loves how sparkly they are and she loves the furry trim on both sides, but she loves them mainly because of the extra-special feature: whenever she runs or stomps her feet, the soles of the shoes flash in colorful lights just like a Christmas tree. Kate loves them so much, but her school has a rule against light-up shoes, so she does not get to wear them often. This week is different though; she is missing school today, tomorrow, and Friday since she will be in Connecticut, which means she can wear these.

"Yes, that's fine." Addison says. She hates the light-up feature and the cheap sequins on the boots tremendously, but she can appreciate why a five-year-old would love them and would not find them tacky. "But…your black boots are still in your suitcase, right? For Grandpa's funeral you need to wear the black ones."

Kate frowns. "But you said I could wear these ones."

"You can, but you can't wear them to the funeral."

"Why?"

"Because I said so," Addison draws in a sharp breath. She does not have the patience or energy for this. Not right now. And she knows it is a silly battle to pick (and she has a strong-willed child, so there are lots of battles to choose from) because what does funeral footwear ultimately matter, especially when the wearer is a child, but she cannot help it.

Kate's frown transitions into an accusatory glare. "You are being mean."

Addison glances at Mark and shakes her head, giving him a look that plainly reads, I need you to handle this because I can't right now. She walks over to the other side of the island, facing away from them both as she works on taking a few calming breaths. My dad is dead, she thinks, eyes filling with tears. All I am asking is for you not to wear the ugliest fucking shoes I have ever seen.

"Kate, don't be rude." Mark sets his elbows down on the island and leans forward so he is eye-level with his daughter. She quickly looks away, which surprises him; usually when she is angry with either parent, she will maintain eye contact, sort of like a challenge. "Your mom is telling you to wear the black shoes to Grandpa Henry's funeral, and now I'm telling you, too. You can wear the glittery ones today and tomorrow, but not Friday, okay?" He lightly pokes her shoulder when she does not acknowledge him.

"Daddy?" Kate looks at him now, blue eyes bright and wet. Her voice is delicate when she speaks. "I don't want you to die. Or Mommy." (Admittedly, the "Mommy" part is said as an afterthought this time, because she is not too happy with her right now.)

"Buddy…" Mark sighs, reaching out to squeeze her hands. He can hear Addison's shaky breath from the other side of the island. It is not the first time they have had this discussion with Kate recently, and he knows it will not be the last. Each time sucks though. And doing it without Addison fully present sucks worse.

"You said everybody's bodies stop working one day and then you die. And then when you die…I won't see you anymore."

"Remember where Grandpa Henry is right now?"

"In the stars," Kate answers. This is her personal belief. Mark and Addison approached the first conversation about "What happens after…" as openly as they could, trying not to steer their daughter in any specific direction, especially since between the two of them, they don't really have a specific direction themselves. And this is where Kate landed. Sometimes you are a star, and sometimes you live inside a star. And it's not scary and it doesn't hurt.

"And where else did we talk about?" Mark taps a finger below her collarbone.

"In my heart?"

"That's right. And I'll be in those places for you too. If it's just a memory, you can keep it in your heart, but if it's something you can touch and it's small enough, you can put it in your special box. But I'm not going to die right now, Kate. Not when you're little. I will die when I'm very, very old. And that's not anytime soon, okay? Same with Mommy. Not for a very long time. Mommy and I both take good care of ourselves, so you can expect us to be with you for a long time. I don't want you to be worried or scared about that. I'm not going anywhere yet."

"Okay," Kate replies simply, apparently satisfied with this answer for now.

"Kate," Addison says. She turns back around, wiping at her eyes. She waves the white flag on this battle. "You can wear your light-up boots to the funeral. Your grandpa would want you to wear whatever makes you happiest. I'm sorry for getting mad – you weren't being rude. I was." She walks back over and once she had determined that her daughter's body language is indicating no signs of protest, Addison wraps her arms around her. She feels Kate squeeze her back. "Sorry, little one."

"It's okay, Mommy," Kate says into her shoulder. "You are not mean. I know you are sad because you miss Grandpa. And I know you are also sad because don't have any shoes that make lights when you walk."

Addison smiles into her daughter's hair. "Yes. Exactly that."

-

"Mom…" Addison breathes out gently, watching as Kate sets her box down on the coffee table and follows Mark outside to play catch, glove in hand. "If Kate put anything in there that you actually want back…" she joins her mother on the sofa.

Isabelle Montgomery waves a hand of dismissal. "It's not that big of a box, darling. I don't think she'll be absconding with the paintings and crystal vases."

Addison nudges her shoulder. "I was thinking more along the line of things that might have sentimental value."

"She just took a few pictures of Henry when he was a young boy, and a pair of his cufflinks." Isabelle sighs wistfully. "Kate is such a lovely girl, Addison. I know I wasn't always the best mother to you, but -"

"You're a wonderful 'Bebe' to Kate. She loves you much. And you were – are – a good mother to me," Addison gives her mother a tight hug. Physical affection has never really been their "thing," but grandbabies and grief change a lot of things. "And thank you. I agree Kate is a lovely girl…aside from questionable taste in shoes at times."

Isabelle smirks. "Your father would have gotten such a kick out of those though. He adored her, you know. And he adored you too."

"Will you be okay here by yourself, Mom?" Today will be their second night staying over at Addison's childhood home, but they are planning to head back to New York tomorrow after the funeral reception.

"I will eventually be okay here. I have friends, DAR and board meetings, gallery things, things at the clubhouse…and I have my daughter and her family not too far away if I ever need to get out of Greenwich for a few days. I bet I have more of a social life than you do, actually."

Addison laughs. "I don't doubt that for a second."

"I got a really nice email from your ex-husband a few days ago, by the way. Expressing his condolences."

"Yeah, Mark let him know. He emailed me as well."

"He was always a very nice man." Isabelle glances out the window, where Mark and Kate have given up on baseball and are playing some sort of game of chase. Mark catches Kate around the waist, hoisting her over one of his shoulders and making her squeal in delight. "But he's not that man. No matter how inappropriate it was when things between you two started…"

Addison smiles. "You're never really going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Absolutely not."

-

"Does it get easier?" Addison weeps into her best friend's shoulder when they are standing outside after the service has ended. The church has a small playground next to it, and since the weather is not too frigid at the moment and the reports of projected snowfall are ringing false, they are letting Kate, Emily, and Andrew get some energy and wiggles out before they walk up the street to a banquet hall for the funeral reception. All three children shriek at various volumes when Mark and Weiss get the Merry-Go-Round started for them.

"God, don't look at the playground right now," Savvy holds Addison tighter when she starts to lift her head up. "You'll seriously barf if you see how fast they're spinning. But to answer your question: it gets…it gets more bearable. That's what I can tell you. There are peaks and valleys, and you just keep living with it and through it, Addie. At some point, the hurt won't be as strong though. Hey…" she pulls back and gives her friend a warm smile. "Do you want us to take Kate back with us after the reception? She could spend the night."

"You want to take my kid out of the house so I can have grief sex with my husband?"

"I'm sure you manage just fine having sex while she's in the house, grief or otherwise…I didn't mean specifically for that. I meant just taking her so you guys can have a break. Five year-olds are exhausting, and you're also housing a human right now. How you want to spend that time apart is not necessarily something I need to know about, but if you want to spend it having steamy grief sex with your husband, I support that. That's actually kind of a common response to losing someone. Get after that dopamine, girl."

"Didn't you have lots of grief sex?" Addison rubs at her eyes. "It feels like a very Savvy thing to do."

"Ah, but you're forgetting that my mom died not too long after you and Mark operated on me, so I was stuck in can't-have-sex-yet land. Try losing a parent while going through that."

"Today is about me, not you," Addison manages to joke, and Savvy laughs. "But yeah, if you do take Kate for the night, in between crying that's probably exactly what will happen because I'm feeling really…like…you know…"

"Oh, you're being so Connecticut right now. Just say 'horny' or 'aroused,' Addison."

-

"The irony of having sex in Connecticut," Addison pecks lightly at Mark's lower lip. Savvy and Weiss had taken Kate back to Manhattan with them, and although the drive back wouldn't be long, Addison and Mark ended up getting a room at a nearby hotel. It just seemed easier.

Mark grins and laughs, but continues stroking her hair. He is patient. There is more to come. She made it tear-free through the back half of the reception, their quiet dinner at the hotel, and everything that followed dinner (a lot of physical activity followed), but collapse just feels inevitable.

"Today was so hard," she finally whimpers, burying her face in his chest.

"I know," he murmurs, hugging her tighter. "But you got through it," he adds when her sobs begin to diminish.

"I got through it," she repeats, thinly smiling her appreciation when his thumbs dab at her lingering tears. "I survived it. Because we…you and I. We survive everything."

"Yeah, we do. Hey, Addison? I was thinking about…what if we named him Henry?" Mark asks, moving his hand down to rest on her stomach. "I know David is the current front-runner, but I don't think we're entirely sold on that one."

Addison considers this. It has definitely crossed her mind recently, but she wasn't sure if or when she would bring it up. "I do really love the name Henry," she admits. "It's good. Strong. Ages well. You're okay with that though? I don't want you to feel like we have to honor my dad."

"More than okay. Henry Sloan. I like it. And Kate and Henry sound good together."

"I think so, too. And what about Everett as his middle name?"

Mark tries not to frown at her suggestion. "We don't need to include my dad in the naming process. I mean, your dad might have been a quintessential WASP kind of dad in some ways while you were growing up, but he was a good man and he loved you deeply. My dad wasn't…isn't really that way."

"Mark, I was thinking Everett for you," she replies, voice so soft and sweet that Mark smiles, and he wonders how and why that wasn't his first thought. Addison cups his cheek in her hand, warmth radiating from her palm. "Your son could share a middle name with you, if you want. Whatever your dad might be…that's not the kind of man you are. I know I've made a lot of jabs about a Mark Junior, but I'd love for our son to share something special with you, and I just like the sound of Henry Everett more than Henry Mark. If you're not comfortable with it though -"

"No, I am. I…I like it. Henry. Henry Everett," Mark says, rubbing circles on her stomach. He glances up when Addison removes her hand from his face and props up on an elbow distractedly, eyes looking past him and out the window. "You okay, Red?"

She nods, leaning into his knuckles when he strokes her cheek to get her attention. "Yeah, I just…look, Mark. I think it's snowing."

Mark follows her gaze, taking in the first snowfall of the season. When he looks back at Addison, her smile has reached her eyes. It feels dreamlike. "It's snowing," he murmurs, cradling the back of her head and pulling her in for a kiss.