The characters?  Property of the WB.  The story? Copyrighted by Ishafel 4/29/2002.

Rated R for violence (mostly implied), drug use (ditto) and adult themes (okay 1/3—not bad).  Oh, and I forgot to say it before, but apologies to Simon & Garfunkel for borrowing their song titles for my story and chapter titles, and thereby associating them with both the awful show and my awful story.

SILENT NIGHT, HOLY NIGHT

Chapter Three

December 24, Late Morning

            Simon woke to sunlight, streaming in, and wondered why.  The house was quiet, not ominously so, but peaceful, with all the morning noises of a family.  It had the feel of a great rough beast at rest at last.  It must be Eric's absence that made it so.  The dinner last night—Mary's welcome home party—had gone on forever, Matt sitting in their father's chair and trying to fill it.  And Annie hadn't seemed to care that it was her oldest son and not her husband sitting across from her.  The look on her face had been one Simon had not seen in a long time.  He had almost forgotten she could wear it.  At that table, at the meal that felt like a wake for their world, Annie had been happy.  She was far too thin, her hair brittle, her skin pale.  She was glowing, and Mary, at her right hand, glowed as well.

            She was three months pregnant—Mary—and she had never been prettier.  She had gained weight and her face and body were pleasantly rounded.  For once she wore a plain, baggy man's shirt and loose jeans.  Simon and Lucy and Matt had all stared at her, jealous.  It was plain to them that Mary was in love, and loved.  For once, nothing they did or said could hurt her.  Not even her father's absence fazed her, and she had looked through Robbie as if he wasn't there.  Mary, whatever else she was, whatever she had done, had found happiness.  She wouldn't be back, Simon thought cynically, but he didn't mind.  He had never liked her, partly because of the way she looked down on him, partly for Lucy's sake.  Though he wasn't sorry to see her go, he found that he wished her well, his simple, beautiful sister who had never wanted anything but approval, and who had finally found it.

            Simon stood up and pulled on his jeans.  He needed to go out to the garage and check on his secret, and he was dying for a cigarette.  If Eric weren't back, then he would have only Matt and Lucy to avoid.  Ruthie knew he smoked and Annie was too far gone to care.  Smoking had begun as a cover, a vice that was bad enough in its own right to provide him with a reason to hide.  If they ever knew what he was really hiding… he would never use it, of course; that would be wrong.  Just knowing that it was there was enough.

            Sullenly, Lucy washed another plate and handed it to Robbie to dry.  She hated doing dishes, particularly dishes from Mary's welcome home parties.  She hated her family; she hated Robbie, cheerful as he was.  She hated her father, who hadn't bothered to come home at all.  She hated herself most of all.  She never cut herself two days in succession; she seldom did it twice in one week.  Today she thought she might break all those rules, especially if Robbie didn't stop whistling soon.  All her life she'd competed with Mary, and last night she'd lost.  Game, set, and match.  Battle and war.

            When Robbie stopped, she glanced over at him.  He seemed to think that was a good sign, that maybe now she would be amenable to reason.  "We need to do something about Annie, Luce.  She can't go on like this."  He took the last plate carefully from her hands, dried it, and added it to the stack.  Lucy hoped Mary had appreciated the good china.  They probably wouldn't be using it again any time soon.  She sighed, and answered Robbie.

            "I think it mostly comes down to where Dad is.  It's not like him to stay out all night, but I can't imagine he'd just turn away from us, with no word.  And of course it's not only up to me.  The others should have a say in it, too.  But Dad and I talked about this when he first found Mom's test results, as soon as we knew it was too late for anything medical to help.  I think that even he realized that prayer wasn't going to solve this.  There's a hospice outside Glenoak, and it's pretty nice.  A church runs it, too; the minister there is a friend of Dad's.  They promised they'd make room for whenever she needed to come.  But, Robbie, can't she be home for Christmas, at least?  She was so happy last night; I want the twins to be able to remember her like that.  This is all they'll ever have of her."

            Robbie smiled at her, warm but sad.  For him, this was like losing his mother all over again.  She couldn't imagine having to go through it twice.  She wasn't so sure she'd make it once.  "This hasn't been said enough, Robbie, and maybe it can't be said enough.  Thank you.  For everything you've done for us.  You've been like a brother, better than a brother, even.  I know that you and Matt between you have been covering the expenses.  We never would have survived without you."  For a second, Robbie's control slipped and he looked as if he'd been slapped.  She reached out to touch his face and he jerked away.  She started to ask what was wrong but just then Simon blew through the kitchen, Robbie turned to watch him pass, and the moment was gone as if it had never been.  Lucy was left feeling that something vast and momentous had happened and that somehow she'd missed it.  Biting her lip, she too turned away.  

            In the garage apartment Simon lit a cigarette with fingers that trembled.  It was gone, the gun he'd carefully hidden beneath a loose floorboard.  Looking back, he remembered that he hadn't had time to check it the day before; it might have been missing for days or hours. He doubted Annie had it; she hadn't been out here in nearly a year. Lucy, Matt, and Robbie all seemed unlikely. Ruthie would have attempted blackmail immediately. The only one missing was his father. Simon dismissed the thought as if it had never been. Time enough to worry when they questioned him. Silence had always been his favorite way of dealing with his family and he thought it might well be successful here. Let Ruthie take the blame, or Lucy; his sisters had less to lose at any rate.

          That morning no one tried to wake Ruthie up. She lay on the floor behind the couch in the living room, in the dark little cave that had become her favorite hiding place, and for once there was no yelling and no tears. No one came looking for Ruthie, not to make her dress the twins, or vacuum or dust or entertain her oldest sister. No one worried that she hadn't brushed her teeth, or that she was ruining her eyes reading by flashlight, or wondered if she'd like pancakes for breakfast. No one asked her if she knew why their father wasn't home. 

That gave Ruthie plenty of time to think. She hoped that when her parents died they'd all stay together but what if they didn't? What if Lucy and Robbie got married and didn't want her around anymore? What if she and Simon were sent to foster homes? What if they all learned what she'd done, and hated her for it? She sniffled, feeling sorry for herself
and knowing it was all her own fault. Now, when it was probably too late, she remembered visiting Disneyland, and how her father had carried her on his shoulders when she was tired. She remembered overhearing him tell the Colonel that little Ruthie had was smart as well as sensible. She remembered him tucking her in, singing to her, smiling down at her as she
struggled to keep her eyes open. For the first time she wondered if what she'd done had been right.

         Matt unfolded the papers his boss had given to him the night before and stared at them for the thousandth time. The construction business he worked for wanted to pay him to train as a contractor. It was a fantastic opportunity; it would more than double his salary, and give him a chance to use his education. It was absolutely terrifying, because it meant selling out on his dreams. A small part of him wondered if it was giving up on his future he really feared—or the thought that in giving up medical school forever he was losing Sarah forever.  She had never been meant to be a contractor's wife, to live in Glenoak and help him raise his parents' children.  He didn't think she would stand it for long.

Shoving the papers back in his pocket, Matt wondered downstairs.  Mary was standing in the hall, staring blankly at the Christmas tree.  Matt had to admit it bore staring at.  Clearly Annie had spent an enormous amount of time arranging it, but there seemed to be something missing.  He missed the trees of the past, the ones that listed slightly to one side, that were too tall or too bushy, the ones that looked like they'd been decorated by a battalion of midgets in hurricane-force winds.  Even the ornaments on this tree were new, as if Annie had carefully replaced their family's troubled history one ornament at a time.

Passing Mary, he went into the kitchen.  Lucy and Robbie were standing by the sink, obviously not looking at each other.  Matt sighed.  "Where's Dad?" he asked.

"Gone, I think." Lucy said softly.  "Gone."

"Where?  What do you mean?"

"He told me once—a long time ago, just after his heart attack—that he hated things that drag on—long illnesses, broken marriages.  He said that when things are over, when God means them to be over, they should just end.  No fanfare, or tears, or time lost.  I think he knows that this is over, and he's moved on."


            Even Robbie looked startled.  "Luce, what do you mean by moved on?"

Lucy blinked, clearly far away and not only in time.  "For him, it would be like waking from a dream, Matt.  All he's ever had is his faith, really.  His faith and Mom, because I think he loved her in his way.  Take those away, and…some people are strong in themselves.  They can get past these things.  Dad's never been strong; he's like me, he gives way under pressure, lets go of what he believes in.  He woke up and the world had changed without him.  I think he's done something to himself."

"Suicide?" Matt snapped, incredulous.  "Dad wouldn't do something like that.  People who "do things" to themselves go to hell, Lucy.  Dad would never do anything to risk that.  He's having a crisis, is all.  He'll get past this."

His sister blinked back at him, her eyes full of tears.  She pulled off the loose sweater she was wearing over a tank top, and turned the underside of her arms up to the light.  Matt gasped and Robbie, behind him, gagged a little.  Her arms were striped with scars and raw cuts.  They were too evenly done to be anything but self-inflicted, too plainly what they were to be anything else.  There was something of Annie in Lucy after all; Matt wondered giddily if she had found the instructions for cutting in a textbook. 

"Lucy," he said numbly.  "Lucy, why?"

"It's easy to get lost," said the little sister he loved but had never understood.  "And we all have our own ways of marking paths.  But I think that maybe Dad gave up hope as well as faith, and that way lies destruction."

"I can't talk to you now," Matt told her.  "I need time to think, and I'm going for a drive.  I'll be home at dinnertime, and so will Dad, and we'll find a way to help you.  I love you, Lucy, but right now I can't even look at you."

"Matt, wait…" Lucy started.  And to his back, finished.  "Wait for me.  Please."  But Matt was gone.  Lately they all walked away, just so.  As if answers were their greatest fear.  As if the truth were a weapon.