Chapter Four

Joey quietly let herself into the house. It was eerily silent. A box of unfinished pizza was sitting on the island countertop, and no one was in the living room. She walked down the hall to the den. Pacey was sitting on the couch, watching Rugrats, L.J.'s favorite show. They always used to watch it together, Pacey and L.J. The sound was on low, and L.J.'s blue ball was on the couch next to him.

"Pace?" Joey said quietly.

Pacey looked up at her dispassionately. He looked horrible. He hadn't shaved in the past two days, nor had he combed his hair or showered. He was still wearing the gray sweatpants and white t-shirt he'd been wearing since the night before. His eyes had a hard, cold look in them, but Joey had grown used to seeing it there. It'd been there for the past ten weeks, since the accident.

"I see you didn't go to work today." She said slowly. In the weeks that followed L.J.'s death, Pacey changed. He sat in the den or in their bedroom, watching television; he only got up to eat, shower, go to the bathroom, and change rooms. He never left the house unless they'd gotten into an argument, and then he would storm out and stay out for hours. Whenever he left the den or the bedroom, he said only a few monosyllabic words to her, Casey, and Aliya, but refused to talk to anyone else who visited, wrote or phoned. That was how he dealt with his grief.

Joey on the other hand, kept busy. During the week, she woke up early in the morning, took the kids to their Monday thru Saturday Day-Camp, and went to work. She stayed there until six, and made it to pick up the kids at seven. She fed and bathed them while working on the extra workload she'd taken on and brought home with her.

She spent the weekends cleaning the whole house. Once the house was spotless, she began cleaning out closets, repainting walls, and rearranging furniture, basically doing or fixing or cleaning anything she could find. She ate just enough to keep from starving, and drank only to keep from getting dehydrated. She did everything in her power to keep the girls amused, fed, and well rested. She refused to have any spare time to think of her son or her marriage, which was suddenly in limbo. But at night, when she climbed into bed next to Pacey, who kept his back to her, all she had was time. So she squeezed her eyes shut, and thought of the things she needed to do the next day, until she fell into a restless, dreamless sleep.

As a result of their new lifestyles, Casey and Aliya both became withdrawn and quiet, Joey lost weight and was constantly pale and tired, and when they weren't arguing, Pacey's life was divided into three things, sleeping, eating, and watching television.

"...Did you go to work?" Joey asked after a long silence.

"What do you think?" He asked dryly, keeping his eyes on television.

Joey closed her eyes briefly, trying to think of another way to approach him without being on the receiving end of one of the dry, mean-spirited comments he was starting to throw around regularly. He was always either sarcastic and snappish towards her, or unresponsive, dull and apathetic.

"Pacey, it's been weeks," she said hesitantly. "We can't afford for you to lose your job."

Pacey kept his eyes on the T.V. "I told you I spoke to my boss already," he said slowly, as if she were an idiot.

"Yes, but how long ago was that?"

"I'll go soon, damn it, I'm handling it," he said in irritation, tossing her a glare.

Joey struggled to keep her temper in check, trying not to say anything that would cause another one of their arguments. Every little thing seemed to turn into an argument lately. "Don't bite my head off, Pacey."

"Look, don't worry your pretty little head about it. If you were home instead of acting like L.J. never existed, you—"

"I can't believe what you just said!" Joey exclaimed angrily. "I'm trying to keep us from starving! I work my butt off all day, I cook, I clean, and you haven't been to work in weeks! You can't expect met to clothe, feed, and house all four of us!"

"Jeez, Joey, do you ever shut up?"

Ignoring her hurt, she sighed in exasperation. "Are you or are you not going to work tomorrow Pacey?"

"Don't worry about what I'm gonna do tomorrow. You want to know, then you stay home for a change." He said. He picked up the remote and turned the volume up on the television.

"You're being completely irrational, Pacey. Why don't you just tell me when you're planning on going back to work so I don't have to worry about finding a pink slip in the mail one day."

"Joey! Stop nagging me!" Pacey exploded.

"Stop yelling!"

"I'll stop when you do!" He shouted childishly.

Joey took a deep breath and said nothing for a moment, trying to keep calm. She hesitated before trying to make amends. "I know you miss L.J., Pace. I miss him too, but we can't go on living like this. It's been months, and letting yourself waste away won't bring L.J. back." She said softly.

"What's the point in going on, Joey?" Pacey asked, his voice threaded with something akin to loathing when he said her name, and Joey winced when she heard it. "No one needs me here."

"The girls need you, Pacey . . . I need you!" Joey admitted desperately.

He snorted. "There's more to life than fucking, Joey." He said, his voice filled with disgust.

"You know damn well that wasn't all I meant!" She shouted. She took a moment to calm herself again. "Why don't you get up, shave, take a hot shower, and we can all have dinner together like a family." She suggested gently.

"We aren't a goddamn family without my son!"

"He was my son too!" Joey said angrily. "You're not the only one who lost him, Pacey! Casey, Aliya and I lost him too, and we all miss him just as much as you do! We all need each other now. If you truly loved us Pacey—and I know you do—then our love and support should get us through this... together..." She trailed off as she saw what he began doing.

"Why are you acting like this?" Joey hissed, her eyes glittering dangerously.

Pacey stopped clapping and lifted his shoulders in another dismissive gesture. "Acting like what? That was beautiful, Jo. You should be on stage, it was so beautiful. I'm crying. Tears are just pouring out of my eyes," he said sarcastically. Joey's mouth dropped open.

"How dare you even suggest…" she began furiously.

"Shut! Up!" Chris shouted, jumping up. "Just shut the fuck up for once, J—"

Before Joey even realized what was happening, an old, familiar burst of emotion shot through her limbs, gathering all of her strength, cocking her right fist back, and then slamming it, knuckles first, across Pacey's face.

...

Upstairs, Casey closed her door and turned up the volume on the Disney movie. "Mommy and Daddy are not fighting," Casey said to Aliya, who was staring at her in alarm. "They're just talking loud because Daddy has the T.V. up real loud like we do."

Aliya looked at her sister dubiously but returned her gaze to the movie. Casey swallowed hard and stood up. "Come on, Liya," she said cheerfully, holding out her hands to her. "Let's dance! I love this song!"

Loudly, Casey began singing, "Hakuna matata, what a won-der-ful phrase..." Laughing, her sister took her hands and joined in. "Sing louder, Liya!" Casey encouraged, spinning Aliya in a circle. "L.J. can hear you in Heaven if you sing louder. Sing up to the sky!"

Aliya laughed breathlessly, and though she was getting dizzy, she did as she was told. Over the music, Casey heard a weird sound, like a real bad belly-flop, and, amazingly, the yelling immediately stopped. After a moment, she heard someone slam the front door. She knew it was her Daddy. He always left after they argued.

Casey kept dancing with her little sister, trying to ignore the sound of her father's car starting up and then peeling away from the curb. "It's our problem-free philosophy, hakuna matata…"

...

Melanie Parker sat in front of the cash register, watching the door, wondering if The Man would come in again that night. He'd come in every couple of nights around the same time, order a cup of coffee, and sit there for hours. He just sat there. Something about him made her want to get to know him—to stroke his dark hair and soften his cold, beautiful blue eyes and open his shuttered face.

She heard a car pulling up to the diner. It was he. She knew it was he and she automatically glanced down at herself to make sure there were no stains on her uniform before smoothing her dark red hair and feeling to make sure her bun was secure. A few moments later he entered wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a dirty-looking white t-shirt. The usual tense, preoccupied look was on his handsome face, but she was horrified to see it marred as well. He took a seat at the end of the counter and she rushed over to him and asked if he wanted the usual cup of coffee, swallowing the urge to lean over to get a closer look at the extent of his injury.

He was sporting a puffy bruise high on his left cheekbone, which swelled his left eye nearly shut. Blood was beginning to clot in the center of the nasty welt, and faint streaks of it were already drying along his face and neck where he'd wiped his face with his hand. She looked at his hands as he rubbed his good eye and gingerly wiped his face again. The knuckles were smooth, and save for the dried blood on the fingertips of his left hand, which she assumed was his own, his own hands didn't look bruised or scratched or skinned. He nodded in answer to her query and as she hurried over to pour him a cup of the freshly brewed coffee, she wondered what happened. It looked as if someone got in a lucky punch, and for some reason, he hadn't retaliated. That didn't fit with the image of The Man she built up in her head at all. Her Man would have deftly deflected the punch and destroyed his attacker. There was no way he was robbed and knocked out or anything, Melanie refused to believe that, and he looked much more weary than angry. Maybe it was a friend of his, she speculated, maybe they got into an argument and he was noble enough to let his friend lose his temper without beating the crap out of him. It would explain his lack of indignant anger, and it would explain why he hadn't pounded the imaginary aggressor into the pavement. That was much better, Melanie thought, nodding to herself as she placed the mug on a saucer.

Pacey dropped his aching head in his hands, trying to ignore the feeling that he was completely ruining his life. He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the fact that he didn't really care. The waitress came over and placed his cup of coffee on his plate. He thanked her and wrapped his hands around the cup, absorbing its warmth, staring absently down into the dark liquid.

Pacey sighed and thought about the last fight he had with his wife. Things between them have never been so bad, and it all began when L.J. died. His hands tightened on the cup and he struggled not to think of his son's death, knowing he wouldn't be able to stop himself. He doted on his little boy, proud because he was a smart kid, because he looked like him, because he had a good heart. He missed him but what could he do? Nothing. There was absolutely nothing he could do about it, and that made him furious. The man who hit L.J. and fled the scene was caught after he confessed to his wife and his appalled wife hit him hard enough with a pan to knock him out and called the police. The trial hadn't started yet but their lawyer assured them that there was no way he was going to get off. Pacey wanted to kill the man, but the bastard hadn't made bail and was sitting in a jail cell where Pacey couldn't rip him apart. And Pacey wouldn't kill himself, although he'd definitely entertained the thought in one of his more depressed states.

So instead Pacey took out his anger on everything else, hating others and hating himself for various reasons with different levels of rationale. Although he didn't show it—because of course Bessie blamed herself—he hated her for not watching L.J. more carefully, for not checking up on him every few minutes. He hated himself for hating Bessie. He hated himself for buying L.J. that ball, for wanting to send the kids away that weekend, for not being able to resist Joey. And although he knew it was wrong, he couldn't help but hate Joey for being so damn irresistible, for going along with their 'weekend alone' plan, even for having a sweet tooth that L.J. inherited.

Pacey knew he was being a complete asshole to his wife and he knew he was pushing it. After having their children Joey became more patient than he'd ever known her to be, but she wasn't going to continue putting up with him, as evidenced by the throbbing pain across the whole left half of his face. The spitfire he loved remained inside her, and no amount of understanding, even after such a tragedy, would allow her to permit him to continue his caustic taunting and sarcastic indifference. But he couldn't stop himself. He'd wanted to pierce that armor she put up, and it felt good in a way when she punched him; he was surprised she hadn't done it sooner. But now he was back to hating himself. He hated himself the most. And his hatred ran deep.

...

Joey sat on the couch Pacey vacated. Another fight. Hitting Pacey made her feel better for a moment… admittedly a very long moment, but she was still angry with herself for doing such a thing.

Even though he damn well deserved it, the bastard.

Still, she was tired of fighting with him and furious that he was being so difficult. She sat there for a long time, staring into space, waiting for her anger to be replaced with numbness. A half hour later, she was still fuming. It was taking too long.

Joey climbed the stairs and checked on the girls, something she should've done the moment she walked in or the moment Pacey left, but she honestly and shamefully hadn't thought of it. Aliya was sleeping against the wall on Casey's bed, Casey's body blocking her from the edge of the bed. They were curled together, Casey holding her sister tightly, sleeping soundly. Joey didn't have the heart to move Aliya from Casey's bed and into her own.

After watching them for a moment, Joey flipped off the lights and went down to her studio, but paused before going in. She hadn't been in there in months, she realized and she sighed. Her friend and boss Troy Morgan had been calling her recently, eager about showing her work in the gallery. They'd been talking about it before L.J. died, but he'd wisely stopped after learning about his death. Now that ten weeks had passed since the funeral, he was dropping hints about it again. But for some reason, she just couldn't. Art used to help her deal with stress but it couldn't help with this. She had to find something that would.

Standing by the door, Joey thought about what else could help her achieve her numb state; she was getting desperate. Arts and crafts weren't going to help, Pacey sure as hell wasn't helping, and annoyingly, her own ability to shove her emotions down wasn't working. She had to try something different. So she headed down to the kitchen.

She and Pacey didn't drink much, unless they were going out, but they had at least one bottle of the usual available for company, vodka, rum, whisky, bourbon, cognac, gin and scotch. Not knowing which would give her the numbness she craved, not realizing how stupid it was to mix the liquor, Joey pulled out a glass and dribbled a little of each into it until the glass was half-full. Closed her eyes, she downed the mixture, surprised that it didn't burn her throat the way a regular shot of vodka would. She barely winced. Deciding that the liquor was just weak, she poured herself two more drinks like that and drank them down.

Her throat felt heavy. She went into the refrigerator and drank some apple juice from the container. Feeling better, she went back to the den and sat down. Quickly, Joey was taken to another place. She wanted to dance, but she didn't feel like getting up. She leaned her head back against the couch and let her mind do all the floating, the dancing. The room tilted and shifted, and then began to slowly spin, and Joey didn't care. She was numb again.

...

Joey had just dragged herself from the living room and settled into bed when Pacey finally showed himself. Tilting her head to the side, she focused on the glowing red numbers on the digital clock beside the bed. Three thirty-seven. She wondered where he'd been, but she didn't care to ask. She didn't want to start another fight, and she also didn't want him to know she'd been drinking. If he knew, not only would he start preaching to her, he would know that he drove her to drink, and that was the last thing her pride would want him to know.

Turning on her side, facing away from the bedroom doorway, Joey mutely ignored Pacey when he came in. She listened to the sound of him taking off his shoes, the rustling as he pulled the covers back, and then creak the springs made when he climbed into bed beside her.

Her head swam, and then suddenly felt heavy. She squeezed her eyes shut until it began swimming again with dizziness and nausea. She swallowed hard and tried to will herself to sleep. But she couldn't sleep, she was becoming too sick, and the tension was so heavy, and it hung over them like a thick blanket. Joey sighed sadly, suddenly feeling a wave of deep misery. Life was precious. So precious that in an instant, a horrible tragedy can completely throw everything off balance, everything that was so perfect, so complete, and so wonderful.

Then there was nothing but incredible emptiness and sadness. The kind of unbearable sadness could completely consume you if you weren't careful. That's where numbness came in. Feel nothing, lose nothing, and gain nothing. Subsequently, another kind of equilibrium was obtained. And Joey, whose life was filled with ups and downs, had relied on her family for that stability. Now that her family was suddenly going down the tubes, Joey planned to cling to her newfound equilibrium for dear life.

...

Casey sat quietly at the table, staring down at her cereal. She was thinking about the bad dream she had. There had been a huge truck honking in the street while she was riding her bike on the sidewalk. When she glanced behind her to see what the driver was honking at, the windows suddenly turned into big, angry red eyes, the front turning into a gigantic mouth filled with sharp teeth the size of tires. And it swerved off of the street and began coming after her, snarling and roaring. So she screamed and rode as fast as she could, calling for help. In the blink of an eye, someone grabbed on to her and they flew into the air, just as the truck ran over her bike.

She looked up at her hero and gasped when she saw it was her brother L.J. However, she was unable to say anything before the truck began to fly, soaring up to get them. L.J. tried to fly faster, but the wheels of the car turned into long, stretching arms that grabbed her brother.

She began falling.

Screaming, she awoke. Her little sister was still asleep, and so were her mommy and daddy, because they didn't check and see if she was okay. Sweating and shivering, Casey laid back down. She really, really wished her brother would come back from Heaven. She couldn't see why God would want him if He knew that Casey needed him so badly. Still shaken from her dream, feeling sorry for herself, and deeply missing her brother, Casey had cried herself to sleep once again.

"Finish eating your cereal, baby." Her mother said quietly, interrupting her thoughts.

Casey picked up the spoon and idly poked at the cereal. It was soggy. She looked up at her mommy and daddy. They were mad at each other still, Casey knew. They didn't say sorry for yelling at each other last night. Instead of talking and laughing and doing gross things like kissing each other on the mouth or neck, like they always used to do, her mommy didn't even look at her daddy, and her daddy was reading the newspaper. He never did that while they were eating before—he used to talk and make them all laugh. She guessed he was even madder because he must have fell and banged his face on his knee. L.J. did that once, while he was flipping, but the tiny reddish color that was left on her brother didn't look nearly as bad as the big red bruise on her daddy's face. Daddy even cut his skin when he hit himself, and Casey was still trying to figure out what kind of flip he was trying to do to manage to hurt himself like that. He'd done back-flips and cartwheels and all kinds of flips for them before so, earlier, when she insisted on knowing what happened to tell him not to try that kind of flip again, he just told her to stop worrying about him and go get ready for breakfast.

Casey glanced at her sister. Even Aliya knew something was wrong. She wasn't talking as much as she usually did, or smiling and giggling. She was just eating a bowl of Cheerios without milk, picking up the O's one by one.

Sighing, Casey looked at the empty chair beside her. Maybe if she could imagine L.J. sitting there, she could pretend everything was okay.

It wasn't hard picturing him sitting there. Yellow hair, gray eyes, looked like Daddy. It was breakfast, and Saturday too, so he would be wearing his pajamas, still. The blue and white ones that looked like the clothes the Yankees baseball players wore. Casey smiled a little as she imagined L.J. sitting there, chowing down on his cereal like a pig. It was so real when he looked up and grinned at her, that she smiled back.

Suddenly, Aliya said something that caught everyone's attention. "Where's my bruddah?"

Casey looked down and focused on her cereal again. She asked the question a lot, and always out of the blue, which caught everyone off-guard. "He's in Heaven with God." Her mommy told her for the thousandth time.

"Heb-den? Make him come back Mommy, back now." Aliya demanded. She always said that after their mom told her he was in Heaven.

"I can't do that, honey," her mother said. "He can't come back now that God took him with Him to Heaven. We have to see L.J. later."

"When?"

"Much, much later. When you're an old lady and God wants you to be with them in Heaven too. It won't be for a very long time though, so just keep talking to L.J. in your prayers, he hears you."

Aliya looked like she accepted the explanation, and Casey glanced at the chair next to her again. L.J. was gone, but he was slowly reappearing. "We're missin' cartoons," pretend L.J. said. "Come on, Case."

Smiling, Casey looked up at her parents. "I'm not hungry. Can I go watch cartoons?" She asked.

"No." Her mommy said.

"Yes." Her daddy said at the same time. No one said anything for a moment.

Her mommy spoke first. "Casey, you haven't touched your food. Don't waste it."

"She's not hungry." Her daddy said. Her mommy gave her daddy a long, angry look. Her daddy just glanced at her mommy and nodded to her. "Go and watch your cartoons, Casey."

Her mommy was mad, but she didn't say anything as she left, or when Aliya slid off of her chair and followed her. Casey could hear her mommy whispering angrily to her daddy as she followed pretend L.J. into the den. "They're gonna start yelling at each other again, L.J. They do it a lot since you went to Heaven." Casey told her brother shakily.

"They're just both in bad moods 'cause they miss me," she imagined L.J. saying. "Don't worry about it. Everything will be okay, I promise."

Comforted, she, Aliya, and her pretend brother watched Saturday morning cartoons, like everything was normal.

...

Pacey and Joey moved their argument to the bedroom, where it would be harder for the girls to hear. They stood across from each other, both trying to keep from shouting.

"Look," Joey said with quiet firmness. "I don't want to argue with you. Just don't undermine my authority in front of Casey. Not only does it make me look like the bad guy, how do you expect her to take me seriously?"

"Come on, Joey," Pacey said in frustration. "The girl wanted to watched some cartoons, big deal. She wasn't hungry."

"Pacey, that's not the point!" Joey said loudly.

"I know your point—"

"No you don't, you don't understand me." Joey interrupted.

Pacey smirked. "Oh you're talking."

Joey was taken aback. Her eyes widened. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Pacey stared at her, and then looked away, crossing his arms. "Forget it, Joey."

"Maybe I don't want to forget it, Pacey. Maybe—"

"Just forget it!" He shouted.

"What were you trying to say?" she shouted back. "That I don't understand you? What about you don't I understand? The way you've become so pissy and short-tempered? The way you're so distant to me? The way you turn every little comment or simple conversation or minor disagreement into a full-fledged war? Well I admit it, Pacey. You've got me there. You're the one causing problems in this marriage, and I'm the one to blame. And I have no clue how the hell you figured that one out."

"Problems?" He asked incredulously.

Joey rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me you're too far gone in your own little world that you don't realize that we're having problems. We argue, we don't laugh together, we don't make love. I can't remember the last time you kissed me with any real passion. And you're gone have the half the night," Joey threw her hands up in exasperation. "Where the hell do you go?"

"That's not what I meant," he said bitterly, not answering her question. "It's just pretty damn convenient that you're the one talking about problems and 'own little worlds'. It seems like nothing's bothering you. You just work and work and never say anything to Casey or me or Aliya. You're turned into this automaton with no emotions, no strong feelings whatsoever, no nothing. How do you expect me to make love to a goddamn Ice Queen?"

Joey crossed arms and glared steadily at him. "Where . . . do you go . . . every single night?" She said with slow and quiet deliberation, making sure he understood her question.

Pacey bristled at her tone and assumed she thought he was sleeping around. "Where do you think I go? Straight into the arms of another woman?" He asked, insulted.

Joey looked at him in disbelief. "Who said anything about that? I think the question now is should I be disturbed by your little Freudian slip?"

Pacey returned her glare. "There's nothing Freudian about it. You're the one implying some stupid shit about me."

"Don't call me stupid, Pacey." She said, trembling with anger. "Don't ever call me stupid."

Suppressing the impulse to scream, Pacey clenched his hands into fists. "I didn't call you stupid!" He yelled.

Joey shook her head to herself and rubbed her temples before replying, "You know what? I know how this little scenario is going to end. Why don't you just stomp off like you always do, and just save your breath?"

"Fine. Whatever you want, lady." He said. He stormed out of the bedroom and left the house.