If you haven't read her fic yet (and I highly doubt it because everyone here seems to have read it...it's that good), I highly recommend that you do! Please consider that while there will be another common thread weaving its way through our chapters, our individual work will remain our own. Her stories won't exactly parallel mine, and vice versa.
The song playing in the background is "Landslide," first made famous by Fleetwood Mac and recently reprised by The Dixie Chicks.
As usual, special thanks to Pemberley, the carby songmeistress extraordinaire, for her thoughtful musings and creative input.
Spoilers: Everything during Season 9 up to and including "No Good Deed Goes Unpunished." Please read and review. And enjoy. If you do, let me know. If you don't, let me know, too.* * * * *
I took my love, I took it down
Climbed a mountain and I turned around
And I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills
'Til the landslide brought it down
* * * * *
"Sir, what can I get you to drink?"
For the third time in as many months, a voice of Southern hospitality, seemingly sent from the central casting department of the friendly skies, leaned in to take my drink order.
"Bottled water, please."
Still, a teetotaler in first class.
I gazed out the window as the plane soared high above the gray skies of Chicago.
I was on my way to Belize to join four Sigma Nu frat buddies in what had gradually become an annual scuba diving getaway. Flying in from far flung corners of the country, each year we rented a villa at a place called Cayo Espanto, a five-star world class resort, where we did nothing for a solid week but eat, drink (well, everyone but me that is) and dive. George, my former roommate, and his brother Jared flew down together from Greenwich, Connecticut while our friends Cole and Griffin arrived from Atlanta and LA respectively. I would be the last one to join the party this year as the rest of them had arrived yesterday.
Abby had been surprisingly supportive of the excursion. Coming so closely on the heels of the debacle with McNulty, she seemed to think the change of scenery would do me good. Probably because she'd rather see me engage in a familiar ritual of my privileged upbringing rather than head off on a spur-of-the-moment odyssey to the deep dark African jungle.
I contemplated how much I'd reveal to my friends about her, recalling the wanton tales of doomed relationships I carried down with me like soiled laundry during each one of our annual pilgrimages. Over the years, my friends, all happily married, or at least pretending to be, had given me more than enough unsolicited armchair psychoanalysis on what had gone wrong with everyone from Harper Tracey to Rena Trujillo. Somehow I wanted to spare Abby from the hot seat. All they had to do was take one look at me to realize that somehow she was different.
She had certainly been different this afternoon. I could feel the corners of my mouth turn upwards at the thought.
Reaching under the seat into my carry on bag, I extracted my portable CD player and popped in a CD.
I still preferred the throaty catch in Stevie Nicks' voice to the sweet harmony of the Dixie Chicks.
In what had become a habit-forming ritual, I leaned back in my seat, covered my ears with the headphones and dialed up the Abby channel.
Another song from the '70s took me back to an afternoon of rhythmic deliberations, fits of giggles and hushed ruminations.
Utterly delightful.
* * * * *
Oh, mirror in the sky
What is love?
Can the child within my heart rise above?
* * * * *
We walked the short distance from the el station to her apartment in perfect lockstep, our arms wrapped tightly around one another's waists in an uncharacteristic display of public affection. It had been her idea actually. I had felt her reach around my jacket as soon as we had descended the last step, her body leaning into mine as though she wanted to crawl inside of me. I chuckled silently to myself, at her reaction to the prospect of my leaving taking.
Though it was still more than five hours until my plane took off, we quickly entered her apartment, giddy over the prospect of what was coming next.
We both found out soon enough.
I couldn't get enough of her. She consumed me like a lit match to gasoline, like someone had reached deep inside of me to trip the switch of the aurora borealis. Our lovemaking was punctuated by moments of reckless abandon and unadulterated passion intertwined with moments of quiet exploration and pure joy.
Afterwards, we lay side-by-side on our backs, spent and reflective, staring at the ceiling. The glow of the lamp on the bookcase bathed the room in soft light.
I took the plunge and broke the delicious silence, turning my face toward hers. "You still OK with me going?"
Her gaze met mine. "Yeah, I said I was."
"And you meant it?"
She smiled demurely though she didn't respond.
I sighed, folding my hands across my chest. "What are you thinking?"
She turned her head away, giggling. "Nothing."
"Work?"
"Nope."
"Your mom?"
"God, no."
"Come on, tell me."
"It's a song." She faced front again, her eyes returning to the ceiling.
"Oh yeah?"
"Mm hmm." She chuckled softly. "From the '70s." She pushed her head back against the pillow, smiled and turned once again to face me.
I wagged my fingers at her. "Which one?"
"It's goofy."
I propped myself up on my side. "Blinded By the Light? Love Will Keep Us Together?"
"No."
"What?"
Out of the blue, she began to sing, a loopy grin I had never seen before sliding from one end of her mouth to the other.
"Rubbing sticks and stones together makes the sparks ignite…"
I shook my head and crinkled my eyes, startled by her serenade. "No…"
She nodded, giggling some more. "And the thought of…something…something…"
I covered my head with a pillow.
The gesture seemed to egg her on even more. "…is getting so exciting…" Looking at me, she let loose a slow, throaty cackle.
I peered out from under the pillow. I tried to picture how she had looked in the '70s. She would have been about 8 years old when the Starland Vocal Band had earned its place in the one-hit wonder bubblegum pop hall of fame.
"Are you done?"
"Sky…"
I threw the pillow back across my face in mocked disgust.
"…rockets in flight…" Her words punctuated the air as she leaned in towards me.
I peeked out again at her. Her eyes matched the sparkle of the diamond studs in her ears.
"Afternoon…"
The pillow and I once again assumed the position.
"Delight!"
I uncovered my face as the two of us burst into fits of husky laughter.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaa…" She closed her eyes lost in the chorus.
I pressed my hand together in a gesture of mock prayer.
"aaaaaaaaaaaaa…" Undeterred, she continued to wail.
"Please, don't."
"aaaaaaaaaa…"
I attempted to ward her off the best way I knew how, with a slow, easy kiss. She giggled into my mouth.
Suddenly the phone rang.
"Are you going to get that?"
"No."
My lips continued in the role of musical roadblocks as she fumbled to unplug the cord from the phone.
Almost time for me to fly.
* * * * *
Can I sail through the changin' ocean tides?
Can I handle the seasons of my life?
I don't know…
* * * * *
As I stood in the customs line at Belize International Airport, an American airline ticket agent tapped me on the shoulder and handed me a small, neatly folded piece of paper. A hastily scrawled message informed me that a Miss Abby Lockhart had unsuccessfully tried to have me paged in Miami after my flight had already boarded.
After clearing customs, I pulled out my cell phone to check the voice mailbox, expecting to find a clever message from her.
Instead, it was empty.
I stood there momentarily perplexed, wondering why she just hadn't left a message. My heart beating a little faster than it should, I punched in the familiar number of the ER front desk. Frank put me on hold while he went to inquire as to her whereabouts.
I heard the sound of someone picking up the line.
"Hey. I got a message that you had me paged in Miami. Everything OK?"
"So, you're flight was all right, then?" Her voice sounded strained. Maybe it was the connection.
There was an uneasy pause. This is what she had to tell me?
"Yeah, I got here safe and sound. Abby, what's wrong?"
Another moment of uneasy silence. "Umm, Eric's plane disappeared. It went off radar or something."
Oh God.
I tried to keep my voice strong although inwardly, I cringed. "How long ago did this happen?"
"I don't know." Suddenly with a forced cheeriness, she changed the subject though the fear was still palpable in her voice. "Have you been in the water yet?"
"I'll catch the first flight back to Miami. I'll be home tomorrow morning."
"No, Carter, you don't have to do that…"
"Abby, I don't want you to go through this alone…"
"Carter…I…he…could show up in an hour. I just want to wait and see what happens."
I sighed, oddly deflated over her reluctance to take advantage of my noble gesture.
"Your call. I'll hang tight until you know more."
"OK."
"OK."
"All right, I have to go."
"Call me the minute you hear something. I don't care what time it is."
"I'll call you later." With a faint click, the line went dead.
I stood there helplessly overcome with a feeling of paralyzing fear.
I thought of her going home alone to an empty apartment, sick with worry as she awaited word on Eric's fate, the scent of our midday tête-à-tête still punctuating the air.
I thought of all the nights she had spent alone during her hardscrabble upbringing, nights she had carried around with her like some clinking leg iron buried deep within her soul.
There was only one real choice.
I left a message for George with the concierge at Cayo Espanto, briefly explaining that a family emergency necessitated that I turn around and head back to Chicago and that I'd call him once I got home.
Then, slinging my bag over my shoulder, I headed toward the American Airlines ticket counter in search of the last flight back to Miami.
* * * * *
Well, I've been afraid of changing'
'cause I've built my life around you
But time makes you bolder
Even children get older
And I'm getting older too
* * * * *
I sat slumped in my seat in the Miami airport waiting for the boarding call that would take me back to Chicago when I heard the jingling sound of my cell phone.
I picked it up on the second ring.
"Hey." I tried to sound groggy and nonchalant, so that she'd think she had awoken me out of a peaceful deep slumber.
"Hi."
"What's wrong? Did you hear?" My voice trailed off, leaving the question dangling.
"No. I just wanted to hear your voice."
I sighed, knowing the waiting was the hardest part. "Abby…"
"Did I wake you?"
I paused for a second, sitting up and arching my aching back against the back of the rubbery chair. I smiled ruefully to myself. She'd know soon enough.
"No."
"Really? It's five-thirty in the morning…"
"I was up."
"I bet the weather is beautiful there…" I looked out the window across the tarmac that stretched flat and forever against the sleepy skyline.
"Yeah. I suppose it is." It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep up the charade.
"You got big plans for today?"
"Abby…"
"Yeah?"
"Stop." I heard a soft sigh on the other end of the line.
"Do you want me to come home?" For some reason, I wanted to hear her say it.
"No." Damnit, she could be stubborn.
"Are you sure?"
"I…I'm sure it's nothing."
"That's not what I asked, Abby."
"Yes, I'm sure."
The line fell silent except for the faint sound of our breathing.
"Okay."
"Go. Have fun."
"Call me if you hear anything."
"I will."
"Good. And try and get some sleep, okay?"
"Yes, doctor."
In the distance, I heard the first boarding call for American Airlines Flight 568 to Chicago/O'Hare. I picked up my bag and strode quickly to the check-in line.
"I have to go."
"I know."
"Sleep."
"I'll try. Bye."
I paused briefly and handed my boarding pass to the attendant.
"Abby, I love you. Bye."
I glanced at my watch as I walked down the tunnel
to the airplane hatch, trying to calculate how long it would be before I could
take her in my arms and wipe all her tears away.
* * * * *
Oh, take my love, take it down
Climb a mountain and turn around
And if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills
Well the landslide will bring it down
* * * * *
I made my way back to the very last row in coach, to the middle seat over the right engine. Hardly my usual perch, but beggars couldn't be choosers. I was lucky I had gotten a seat at all.
I settled into my seat, wedged between a middle-aged man and a teenage girl, both of whom appeared to be in search of additional sleep.
I closed my eyes and thought of her, wondering if sleep had found her last night. I pictured her scrunched up in a tight ball in a corner of the couch, her lips pursed, waiting, praying for the phone to ring with happy news.
After an uneventful take-off, I glanced out the window at the brilliant morning settling over the sun-drenched eastern coast of Florida and marveled at the invisible strings that always, no matter how far I roamed, pulled me back toward her orbit.
Somewhere, deep in my gut, I knew he was still alive, that it was much too early for him to have been swallowed up into the sky before his days on earth were through.
I considered the impact he had had on her life, in a way that had been far different than if it had just been her and Maggie all those years.
I thought about his greatest gift to her – the fact that his mere presence as her baby brother had kindled the embers of love in both of them, despite the harrowing experiences of their childhoods.
So that someday she could love me.
Suddenly, a thought clicked into place. What was it about airplane rides and moments of epiphany? I rubbed my hand across my jaw, momentarily crushed.
"And the thought of something…something…is getting so exciting…"Since yesterday, I had racked my brains trying to recall the words she had forgotten – or at least pretended to – in her butchered rendition of "Afternoon Delight."
Now I remembered.
"And the thought of loving you is so exciting…"
She still hadn't told me.
At least not in so many words.
But we were working on it.
I reached under the seat, digging into my bag until I found what I was looking for. I pulled out a slim, spiral bound notebook, identical to the one I had left in her drawer. I opened it to the first page and stared at the line I had scrawled at the top.
Pivotal Moment #1: Valentine's Day, 2000. The rooftop of County General Hospital.
Had it really been three years ago?
Though my life was about to change forever then in just a few, short minutes, the tragedy had been preceded by a moment of startling clarity that comforted me as I drifted in and out of consciousness over the next few days.
What had drawn me to her in the first place?
I remembered buying the two cups of coffee after I heard Mrs. Connelly had died, knowing I'd find her up on the roof.
I still could picture the way she took slow drags off her cigarette through clenched, freezing fingers as she mourned the loss through tired eyes.
The way she had playfully teased about wanting to see me warmed up in an incubator in the NICU.
The way she had waxed nostalgic about the subtle nuances between the life and death situations found in the ER and OB departments.
The way she had asked for the bad news first.
Since then, nothing had been quite the same.
The words, which had eluded me for so long, now sat poised in my pen, ready to tumble onto the page.
And so I began to write, trying to explain to her in the best clumsy eloquence that I could muster, about how, thanks to her, the night my life had almost ended, it had also only just begun.
* * * * *
And if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills
Well the landslide will bring it down
The landslide will bring it down
But time makes you bolder
Even children get older
And I'm getting older too
* * * * *
