Reflections on the Water - Chapter Seven

"Tell me what happened with your brother."

They sat on a park bench on the upper deck at Navy Pier. It was a quiet alcove, removed from the crowds, surrounded by flower beds and trees.

Abby cradles her empty ice cream dish and watched the ferris wheel go around. "A few days before you left, Carter's grandmother died. It had been a really hectic shift, and I hadn't seen him for a while. So I hadn't heard about it yet when Eric called."

She shook her head as she glanced at him. "He calls me out of the blue, telling me he's at some diner, and can I come get him? He didn't even know where he was; I had to have Frank trace the number of the phone booth he called from." She leaned her head back and looked up at the sky. "So I finally find Carter, and I tell him about Eric at the same time he tells me about his grandmother. I wanted to stay, to be there for him, but I knew Eric was probably off his meds, and I couldn't just let him disappear again."

"So did you go get him?" Luka asked, already sure he had. No matter how much her family drained her emotions, she always went after them.

"Yeah, I did. And he was off his meds, manic, and broke. He'd left his program in Minnesota, and I couldn't get ahold of Maggie, so I decided to bring him back with me and get him in a program here. I had a flight scheduled that night, but we missed it, so I checked us into a motel and got a flight back the next morning."

"Is that why Carter was mad at you?"

She looked up at him, her laugh watery, her smile fading as fast as it came. "Oh, it gets much worse. Trust me."

She shook her head and stared down at the people moving around below them. She remembered the day of the funeral. She'd been running late, unable to decide how to do her hair and makeup. She hadn't wanted to embarrass Carter by looking foolish in front of his grandmother's society friends.

A few seconds after fear had washed over her at the sound of someone entering her apartment unexpectedly, she'd realized it was Eric, and she'd been filled with helpless desperation. It was never going to stop. Something was always going to go wrong. Whether it was Eric or Maggie, something was always going to happen, and she was going to have to pick up the pieces.

Luka's hand settled on her back, rubbing absently, infusing her with warmth. He didn't try to force her words. But suddenly she found them coming again. "I was getting ready to leave for the funeral when Eric broke into my apartment. He'd gone off his meds again, picked a fight with one of the other patients, and left the program."

"So soon?"

"He keeps saying he can't do anything on his meds, that they give him too much. So anyway, I'm late for the funeral, the car that Carter sent for me was waiting, and here's Eric. I was scared to leave him alone, so I took him with me. I made him promise to stay in the car and keep quiet."

"And he didn't," Luka guessed, feeling for her.

"Oh, he did," Abby said, "long enough to drink the vodka out of the minibar." She cut her eyes up at him, but couldn't hold his gaze. She went back to watching the ferris wheel. "The minister was in the middle of his sermon when Eric climbed out of the car and took a leak next to one of the other graves."

She dropped her head, remembering the dread she'd felt at seeing Eric stumbling across the lawn toward them. She'd wanted to crawl under a rock and die. "I tried to keep him quiet and get him back in the car, but he was drunk, and he was loud, and he didn't shut up until he fell into the open grave."

She leaned her head against Luka's shoulder and squeezed her eyes shut. They burned against the force of embarrassed tears trying to escape. "I gave him some depakote, but the damage had already been done. Carter wanted nothing to do with me at that point, so I took Eric to the hospital and got Myers to see him."

Luka wrapped an arm around her shoulder and gave her a few minutes to calm down. He'd known her long enough to realize that if he tried to force her to talk while she was emotional, it would only lead to trouble. He believed that had been their biggest problem when they'd been together before; they'd never learned how to communicate with each other, to read each other's moods and know the best way to respond.

"How is he doing now?" Luka asked when he sensed her calming down.

"Myers helped me get him into a new program. Apparently he doesn't like it much, but he's lasted over three weeks now, so hopefully..." She shrugged, a smile sliding across her face.

The look didn't fool Luka. "What do you mean, apparently?"

She gave a little head shake. "I haven't actually talked to him since he went in. But I've been calling the program director every couple of days. He did the same thing the first time we got him in a program-stopped talking to me. Tell you the truth I think the only reason he agreed to go into the program in the first place was because he felt guilty for ruining the funeral. I just hope he felt guilty enough to stay until he's ready for it to start doing some real good."

"What does your mom think about all this?"

"I haven't told her."

"Why not?"

She sighed, weary of the whole mess. "Because I don't want her to come and pull him out again. The first program I got him in, he didn't like, and she pulled him out after a day. I want him to have a chance."

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and sad. He gathered her close and held her against his side. He wanted to do whatever he could to protect her, and to make her happy. Maybe that was most important right now, he thought. Give her a few hours without having to worry about her family. "You know what I think?"

"What?"

"I think we should take a ride."

Abby followed his gaze to the ferris wheel. A smile curved her lips. "I haven't ridden that in years."

Luka stood up and extended his hand to her. "Then it's the perfect time to do it again."

* * * * *

"You don't have to buy my anything."

After their trip around the ferris wheel, they found themselves wandering in and out of the many shops dotting the pier. Though she kept trying to deter him, Luka seemed insistent on buying her a gift.

"I want to," he said with a shrug, lifting a delicate silver necklace to examine the charm dangling from it. "You deserve something nice." He held the necklace up for her to see. It was a thin silver chain, and a small, antique key-shaped charm hung from it.

Key to my heart, she thought with a little smile. "It's beautiful." Smiling back at her, Luka took the necklace to the counter and paid for it. Once they were back out in the sun, Luka turned her to face him and clasped the chain around her neck. He stood back and admired the way it glinted in the sun, the way the charm dangled just below the hollow of her throat.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, his lips gently touching hers.

They explored the shops side by side, Luka's arm resting across her shoulders. Abby leaned into him, feeling at peace for the first time in an eternity. It was strange, how she'd been able to talk about her family once she stopped feeling pressure to do so. She'd always hated that, people insisting that she talk about everything, then telling her how she should handle her own family's problems. But now, with Luka, it seemed to be coming easier. Maybe because she was finally ready to take the risk of exposing herself, her family, and all of their faults. She was no longer afraid that he would leave her because of her problems.

A few minutes later she stopped walking, realizing Luka was no longer beside her. She turned and saw him standing in front of a store a few yards back, staring at the display window. She approached him again, her brows creased in curiosity. "Something wrong?" she asked.

It was a long moment before he spoke. "There was this old woman," he started, his eyes fixed on the window. "She lived on the ground floor of our building. She had no family. She made wooden dolls to fill up her time; she would carve the faces and hands herself, and sew their clothes. She gave one to Jasna every year on her birthday and Christmas."

Abby looked down at the ground before her gaze slid to the window, where a hand-painted wooden doll rested on a miniature wicker chair. She looked up at him, not quite sure what to say. She laid a hand on his arm. "Are you all right?" she asked after a minute.

He nodded, wrapping an arm around her and drawing her against his side. "They don't make many dolls like this anymore," he said. "Now they're all plastic with lots of toys to go with them. Not like before. But Jasna loved her dolls. She carried one with her everywhere."

Abby leaned into him, wishing she was better at this comfort stuff. She'd helped the families of countless dead or dying relatives, but when the person hurting was someone you loved, it was different. When you knew something of the person's history, and when you cared deeply for them, it wasn't so easy to find the right words. Empty platitudes just didn't work.

She looked at the doll, then at Luka's face. "I'll be right back," she said quietly. She left him in front of the window and slipped inside the store. It only took her a minute to find what she was looking for. A shelf near the register held several dolls like the one in the window. She selected one with long dark hair and paid for it, looking back at Luka as the clerk placed it in a box and wrapped it with tissue paper.

Back outside, she looped her arm through his and looked up at him. "Come on."

"What's this?" he asked, nodding toward the box.

She glanced down at it, then back at him. With a slight shrug she said, "It makes you remember good things....you deserve to remember the good things about them."

He turned her to face him. Lightly gripping her elbows, he leaned down and rested his forehead against hers. "Thank you," he whispered.

She leaned into him as he wrapped his arms around her. For some time they stood there, in their own world, as the crowd parted around them. "Will you tell me about them some time?" she asked after a moment.

He met her eyes, and his were filled with old pain and new hope. "Yes. I'll tell you." And, side by side, they walked away from the pier.