Written in the River
A Carby Reunion Saga (Post-Season 10)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of these characters.
Author's Note: Thanks very much to all those who review this work. I wish I could send a personal comment to each of you. To answer a couple of questions: 1. Yes, I think printing the chapters and reading them slowly in a big, comfortable chair is best. 2. Are the patients anvils? Well, we'll just have to see now, won't we? . . . Have fun. Only Chapter 5 and the Epilogue to go.
CHAPTER FOUR: BIG TALKERS
YOUNG JOHN CARTER was a lonely boy. The death of his brother at an early age left him an only child. His grieving and self-absorbed mother and father essentially abdicated their roles as parents, leaving it to grandparents and servants.
Finding love was not easy for Carter. He sexual initiation came at the tender age of 11 at the hands of a woman of 25. More than once as an adult he mistook attraction, infatuation, and sex for love. So when he met Abby, he was not prepared for the tide of feelings he would experience. Issues of worthiness and control as well as conflicting priorities made their first year together difficult. By the end of that year, things were falling apart around Carter: His grandmother passed away, leaving the burden of his privileged heritage at his feet. And Abby, the person he needed most to help him, was in his bed but out of his reach emotionally, so he thought.
Africa and the Alliance du Medecin seemed like the answer—simple goals, worthy cause, desperate people. Every day a success in some way, since just his presence in the war-torn Congo was a blessing to the suffering.
Kem Likasu was welcome companionship for him in that lonely country. She was beautiful, happy, fulfilled, dynamic, and optimistic—but mostly, she was emotionally accessible in ways Abby was not. And then there was the physical: Kem was aggressive, strong, and wiry in bed—catlike, if you will. He had to admit, it was exciting.
However, while Kem filled his days in the Congo, Abby filled his thoughts at night. After the first few times he was intimate with Kem, he would slip away and look out his window onto the exotic African landscape and imagine himself making love to Abby. Sex with her was entirely different than with Kem. Abby's touches were slow and achingly tender; together their movements were deep and close, steadily building until they exhausted themselves. And even then he couldn't pull himself away from her, and they'd fall asleep entwined—body and mind.
But Kem would inevitably wake up, break into his thoughts, and pull him back to bed. And he'd manage to put Abby out of his mind again. Here, across oceans and continents, he was learning to accept that Abby did not love him the way he loved her, and he was tired of pretending.
Carter and Kem were careless, true. But when she announced she was pregnant, Carter thought his prayers were answered. His despair gave way to optimism, his loneliness to fulfillment. He had a purpose, and that was to be a father—to create life and nurture it the way he never was. He built a dream around Kem and the baby and pushed all else aside—friends, family, his career, and Abby.
However, when the baby died, he took the dream with him. Oh yes, Carter fought to keep Kem close enough that she'd want to try again. But the baby's death was a sign to wake up, a sign that he needed to nurture his own soul before he could nurture an infant's, and slowly Carter began to deal with the uncertainties that plagued him before he left for Africa the year before.
Over the last few months, Carter learned to see his parents as grief-stricken and lost, and he came to forgive them for their transgressions. He began to forgive himself for having expectations of others that were out of his control. He mourned his grandmother properly and found new meaning in his work in Chicago. He started growing into his responsibilities to the Foundation and reconnecting with his friends. Whereas when he left Chicago he was lost, he realized he was never found in Africa, though he was temporarily saved by Kem. But now he knew he wanted true love and a family, and he wanted them both with someone who shared his ideals and goals.
WHEN KEM CALLED his cell phone that Thanksgiving evening to say she was at the airport and on her way over, he realized it had been months since he had seen her—and even longer since they'd had a meaningful conversation. She had been in Los Angeles for a meeting of the World Health Organization's subcommittee on AIDS. She had a stopover of several hours in Chicago before catching the red-eye to London. She wanted to see him and "talk over a few things," her cell phone message said.
She certainly did. They sat together on his couch politely lamenting what could have been. But clearly she was no longer under the spell of the handsome American doctor. And, like Carter, she no longer idealized what their life would have been like. Not only had they grown apart, but Kem said she'd moved on and that she wanted him to hear it from her in person. Carter assured her that he was happy she was doing well—just as he was. But there was something else she was trying to say.
"John—"
"Kem, you're welcome to stay over. It's Thanksgiving weekend here in the U.S. I have an early shift tomorrow, but afterward we can go to the cemetery to visit the ba-"
"No, John. I can't," she said sharply. She sighed and got up from his sofa.
"John, you're not understanding me. I'm not here alone. I am with Peter—you remember Peter, don't you? From the Congolese Ministry of Finance? We are going to London—together."
Carter was silent. He was not upset, just surprised.
"John, there are people in our lives with whom we share a history. And it's hard to let go of them. We're the same, Peter and I. You and I . . . we want different things."
In a way he was happy for her, but hearing her say this was confirmation that his escape was truly over and he'd have to make his own way in the real world.
"I loved being with you, John. I loved being pregnant and imagining myself as a mom. And I miss our son." She sat down next to him again. "But John, I don't really want to be a mom. I want to make my program a success. I want to help my country. That's all I thought about before I met you, and that's all I think about now. Peter and I, we're the same that way."
"I get it, Kem. If you're happy, that's good." He meant it.
"Thank you, John."
"Can I ask how long you've been together?"
"A long time."
"Even while we were together . . . ?"
"He'd visit me when I was in Kisangani and you were here."
"Often?"
"Yes."
"I see," Carter said. He slapped his hands on his lap and stood quickly, indicating he'd heard enough.
"I wasn't unfaithful to you, John. I want you to know that. Peter had a wife, and things were complicated at the time. When you came along, things were just . . . easier."
He was starting to see things more clearly now.
"John, haven't you ever shared a history with someone?"
". . . haven't you ever shared a history with someone?" His mind drifted to Abby earlier that evening. He shouldn't have kissed her that way in the ambulance bay. There was so much he needed to say to her. Of course, she was uneasy. But being that close to her again, he just couldn't help himself.
"Peter's waiting for me," Kem said, interrupting his thoughts. "I'm just going to ring his cell phone and tell him I am on my way back to the airport. I hope you understand, John."
He did. He really did. He was not angry—in fact he was happy that both of them were getting on with their lives.
IT WAS JUST at that time that the doorbell rang. Kem had excused herself to call Peter, and Carter went to the door. He peeked and saw Abby outside. Before he could explain that Kem was visiting on her layover, Abby started talking, and the next thing he knew, they were kissing.
He was lost in their kiss when Abby saw Kem over his shoulder. He felt her body stiffen. She slid her hands between them and shoved him away with her palms.
Carter looked over his shoulder to see what Abby was a staring at—Kem was in the distance sitting on his couch and using his telephone. He looked back at Abby, then at Kem, and back at Abby. He felt panic.
"Abby, wait, you don't understand."
Abby walked slowly backward down the walkway, shaking her head the whole time. "I'm so stupid," she kept saying. "I'm so stupid."
"Abby." He followed her, but the closer he came, the faster she moved away.
"Leave me alone, Carter. I don't know why I came here." She finally turned and ran down the block toward the train.
"Abby, wait—"
"John, please, I don't have much time," Kem called from the doorway.
He looked at Kem and back at Abby, who was halfway down the block now. He threw his head back in frustration, ran his hands through his hair, and prayed for the earth to open up and swallow him.
"I'm sorry to interrupt all that, but I guess it's time for me to go. Peter's waiting," Kem said.
He hugged her. "You know, the last time I saw you, I thought I'd be spending the rest of my life with you."
"And if you had the chance now?" she asked.
He said nothing, but they both knew the answer was no.
"Me neither," she said out loud for the both of them.
She kissed him on the cheek.
"I'd better go and meet Peter."
"I guess I have something to do, too."
"You sure do. Good luck, John." You're going to need it, she thought.
IF CARTER HAD a limited understanding of love, Abby had even less. Raised by a mentally ill mother and without a father, Abby's impressions of romantic love came from teen magazines and television soap operas. She cultivated a taste for handsome boys and thought that as long as she was dating a "cute one" she was lucky in love. Luka was proof of that; it was Luka's striking good looks that drew her to him, whether they were right for each other or not.
Abby didn't understand why she cared so much about what happened to Carter from the time they met. She didn't understand why she sought him out when times were rough as well as when things went well. She didn't see the signs that she was falling in love, and once she did, she didn't know what to do about it. Handsome as he was, when Carter had fallen in love with her, she was the last to realize it. And when he withdrew, she didn't see it coming either.
It took his letter to make her see she didn't hold up her end of their relationship. So when he returned from Africa with Kem and a baby on the way, she could do nothing but accept the hand that fate dealt her.
After the loss of their baby, Carter and Kem were estranged, but Abby was careful not to interfere. It was not very difficult—her internship kept her busy and she was loving every minute of it. But before long, she and Carter were spending every break together, and though she tried to resist, she began to need him again. But seeing Kem at his townhouse this evening only proved to her that his kiss tonight was the kiss of a lonely man. And it hurt her.
THE NIGHT AIR was cold on her face. Abby walked toward her apartment building with an angry, forceful gait, her arms folded across her chest. From down the block she could see the figure of a man sitting on the steps of her building. As she got closer, she could tell who it was. She wasn't interested in a dramatic scene, she wasn't in the mood for confrontation or hysteria. All she knew was she didn't want him there, not tonight, not right now.
"What are you doing here, Eric?" she asked as soon as she was within earshot of him.
"That's a nice greeting for your brother on Thanksgiving."
"Most brothers would call—and they wouldn't show up at 10:00 at night."
"Wow, somebody's got a bug up her a-s-s," he spelled it out, pretending to be considerate of her neighbors.
"Look at me," she ordered, grabbing his chin in her hand and staring into his eyes. They were the eyes of instability. "You're off your meds." She sniffed. "And you've been drinking."
"Don't forget the pills. You didn't ask me if I've taken any drugs."
Even in his inebriated state, Eric could see that she'd been crying. "Something wrong, Abby?"
Her head was flooded with emotion.
"Yes, you," she fibbed.
"Oh yeah? You looked like you were crying before you even saw me. You're not psychic now are you, Madame Abigail?" he said in his best séance voice.
"Nothing's wrong—but look, you can't just show up here. We talked about this. Does Maggie know where you are?"
"Does Maggie know where you are?" He mimicked her in a girly voice. "I don't have to tell my Mommy wherever I go, do I?"
"Eric, please, you can't stay here. Not tonight. I have too much on my mind. You have to help yourself. I can't keep doing this." Her eyes were getting wetter.
Seeing her tears sobered Eric a bit.
"What's up?"
"Eric you were doing so well—I don't need this tonight." Her voice was trembling.
"What's going on?"
"Nothing, OK? I had an argument with Carter, that's all. Now let's see if we can get you a hotel—"
"I don't need a hotel. I'm staying with a friend. I just came because I needed to talk you, that's all. What do you mean an argument with Carter? Did he hurt you?"
"He didn't touch me, if that's what you mean," she said, wiping a tear from her face. "What friend do you have in Chicago?"
"A girl I met on the bus. Her name is Patsy or Patty something. Why are you crying? Tell me."
"I did something stupid. We were spending a lot of time together lately. I went to his house . . . he got this new place on the north side of Cattlemen's Row. When I got there—"
Why was she telling him all this? "You're going to stay in Chicago with a girl you just met on the bus?"
"She's friendly. She's from St. Paul, but she got a place here last year. We just came from the fireworks show. It was a blast—get it? Blast. I got this there."
He held up a noisemaker in the shape of a pumpkin. He shook it, and it made a loud ringing sound.
"Put that down. I have neighbors, you know." She slapped it out of his hands.
"Patty liked it. Patsy. Patty. Whatever. What happened when you got to Carter's?"
Abby rolled her eyes and kicked at the ground with her shoe. Her chin quivering, she reluctantly told him: "His girlfriend was there. The baby's mother. The one he met in Africa." Almost to herself, she added, "Why would he do that to me? He kissed me first."
Even in his state, he was moved by her sadness and troubled by her vulnerability.
"Eric, do me a favor and pull yourself together, OK? You can stay here for tonight—but for tonight only. I have some cold cuts."
"I told you, I've got a place—"
"Then come back tomorrow, and we'll talk. I'm going upstairs."
"OK, OK."
"And don't make any more friends!" she yelled after him.
Eric watched her until she disappeared into her building and then headed for the El on unsteady feet.
ONCE INSIDE, ABBY changed into her drawstring pants and cuddled up on her couch with the beige throw blanket Maggie sent her—the same one she used to cover Carter the night he came over and cried in her arms. She felt lonely—and sorry for herself. She was angry and embarrassed, but mostly she was surprised at how much she really wanted to kiss Carter tonight, and that frightened her.
Outside her door, she heard the chimes of the pumpkin noisemaker, and she grew angry. She was hoping she would not have to deal with Eric tonight, but that seemed too good to be true. There was a knock. "Make up your mind, are you sleeping here or not!" she ranted as she flung open the door.
"If I have a choice, I'll pick yes," Carter said matter-of-factly.
She didn't expect to see him and instinctively wiped her face to erase any sign of tears.
"Drop this?" he asked, holding up the pumpkin noisemaker.
She reached for it. "My brother's. He's in town."
"Is he OK?"
"Off his meds and drunk."
"I'm sorry. I thought he was doing better than that. Where's he now?"
"Staying with a friend."
"May I come in?"
"I'd rather you didn't."
"Abby, please, I want to talk to you," he said stepping inside.
She closed the door behind him and said, "Carter, you don't have to explain why Kem was there. In fact, I'm sorry I was rude to her and ran off. What I don't understand is what happened today. All I know is, it won't happen again."
"Abby, you don't understand. I haven't seen or spoken to Kem in months—"
"I get it. You miss her. You're lonely. Find another substitute, will you? Not me."
"Kem is gone, Abby. That was her on my cell phone this evening telling me she was at the airport." He followed her around her apartment from corner to corner as she pretended to straighten up but was really just expending nervous energy.
"She had a stopover on her way to London, and she wanted to talk. She's back with her boyfriend—a guy she was with when we met. Abby, she was here to say good-bye."
Abby stopped dead and was quiet for a moment. "I'm sorry, Carter. You don't deserve to have your heart broken—but neither do I."
"Abby, you're not getting me." He was frustrated now. He grabbed her shoulders and turned her toward him. "It's been over between me and Kem for a long time. It never really even began."
"I'm not crazy, Carter," she said, insulted that he thought she would believe such a statement. "I've seen you together. You couldn't take your hands off her. You two were going to have a baby, for goodness' sake. What do you mean, 'It never really began?'"
He sat down on her couch. "The baby was an accident. But you're right, if he had lived, maybe she and I would be together right now—still pretending we were right for each other, the exotic African beauty and the idealistic American doctor."
Abby was confused and losing patience. This was more than she should have to hear.
"Abby, before I went to Africa, everything felt wrong. Gamma died, and she left me in charge of the Foundation—something I was dreading since I was a kid. My parents were off in their own hell somewhere. You and I weren't . . . connecting."
He was rubbing his face in frustration, but he didn't look at her.
"The thing is, I never stopped . . . wanting you there. I wanted you to understand what I was going through, help me out a little—nothing big. Just stand by me, for God's sake. I did that for you, you know? Whenever you needed me I was there."
"I know, I felt awful about how I acted when you're grandmother died, but—"
She plopped down on the far corner of the couch.
"—you told me to leave you alone, John. And then you went away with hardly a word."
"I needed to figure things out. That's how I do things."
"I was upset," Abby explained. "I was angry. You left me—and you broke your promise."
She looked genuinely hurt, he thought.
"You said right over there at that table that you weren't going anywhere," she pointed to her round, wooden dinette set. "And I believed you."
"I didn't want to leave, Abby. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. You know that. But I didn't want to do it as a bystander." He banged his fist on the arm of the sofa. "You never let me in, Abby, not about your drinking, not with your family. I never felt part of your life."
She was surprised. Why would he want to be involved in the crap my family gives me?
"And despite that, I came back from Africa the first time convinced everything would be OK. I missed you. But when you asked for the key back, what was I supposed to think?"
"But later I begged you to stay—"
"So, you didn't want me to get killed."
She stood up. "Then you broke up with me in a letter!"
He sighed and looked away from her. "I'm sorry. I was afraid if I called and heard your voice, I wouldn't say . . . what I had to say."
"What? That I wasn't good enough for you and that you met someone who was?"
"That's not what I meant, and I didn't meet Kem until months later."
"That letter . . . it hurt me, Carter." She went to the kitchen.
He hated the look on her face, mostly because he caused it.
He followed her. "But you're happy now—and a doctor. The letter was the best thing that ever happened to you, I heard you say it."
She was stunned. She turned around to him: "You heard that?"
"Yes."
"You told me you didn't get to that AA meeting on time."
"I got there just in time to hear that."
"So you didn't hear before that . . . when I said how good things were with you?"
"No, I didn't hear that." His heart started to ache.
They were silent for a while. She ran the water, intending to wash a dish. "Carter, everybody in the ER read the letter, " she said softly. "Were you trying to hurt me?"
"No, I wasn't—" He sighed. "OK, maybe a little. I was angry. I . . . I was in love with you, Abby. And I guess I was mad that . . . you didn't love me back."
"I never said I didn't—"
She moved into her bedroom, and he followed.
"It was a tough time for me," Carter explained. "I just needed somebody. That's when I met Kem. The baby—that just happened."
He reached for her arm. "Before I went to Africa, I was sure that if I ever had kids, it would be with you—"
"I told you . . ." She jerked her arm away. "I told you, you don't want me t-to . . . love you." She started to cry.
"Oh no? What if I told you it was just about the only thing I ever wanted?"
"You want to be a father, John, I can't do that for you."
"Why?"
"You know why. You saw what happened to my mother and now my brother. I can't take a chance."
"Abby, you don't know what you're talking about. You'd feel differently if you were pregnant. Once a baby is inside you—"
"I do know Carter. I was pregnant!" she shouted, surprising even herself.
Carter stopped breathing for a moment. His mouth formed the words "When? Who?" but no sound came out.
"Not yours, Richard's," she said lowering her eyes.
He sat down on her bed. "What happened?" he asked softly.
She just stared at him for a long moment, her chin quivering. And then he realized: She had ended it. She'd had an abortion.
Abby saw the look of realization on his face. He finally knew her secret. All barriers were broken, and she was terrified. How must he feel about me?
"I had a baby inside me—my baby. I was so scared, but how could I—"
He didn't know what to say.
"I wasn't a teenager afraid to tell her parents. I wasn't poor. I wasn't raped, and the baby wasn't sick—as far as I knew. I was a married woman, and that child had a father."
"What did Richard say?"
Again, she just looked at him, hoping he could see the answer in her eyes without her having to say out loud what she did—or didn't—do.
"You never told him," he surmised.
"You see what kind of person I am?" she cried. "I deserved every bad thing that ever happened to me from that moment on. I sure as hell didn't deserve you."
Things were getting clearer to him.
"Abby, don't say that." This was an Abby he never saw before—frightened and trembling with emotion. He stood, put his arms around her, and pressed his lips against the top of her head. "You were scared. You couldn't depend on Richard. You did what you thought you had to do," he comforted her.
She curled her arms around his waist and leaned against him.
"Have you ever talked about this with anyone?" he asked.
"I told Maggie."
"You told your mother?"
"Yes, and for the first time in my life, she hugged me . . . like a real mom."
Carter was overcome with sadness for her . . . for him . . . for them. All the pain she went through alone, he thought. All those wasted years of not understanding each other.
"Are you, OK?" he whispered to her.
It would have been easier to dry her eyes, say "yes, I'm fine," and make this horrible evening just go away. But she was tired of hiding from him. Look where it got them: They were in a never-ending cycle of misunderstanding, miscommunication, and missed opportunities.
"Abby—?"
She shook her head no. Her sniffles turned to a hard cry.
Carter dropped down on her bed and gently pulled her down with him. He wrapped himself around her and wound his legs in hers, and let her cry.
Abby lay against him for a long time. His arms were wrapped tightly around her, and his fingertips stroked her neck as he whispered in her ear, "Ssssshhhhhh baby, it's OK now." But she could hardly hear him over her whimpers. Her body jerked with sobs, and she struggled to catch her breath. Her face and the hair around it were soaked with her tears. She wasn't a pretty picture, but at that moment, she never looked more beautiful to him because, finally, he saw her inside as clearly as outside. He knew her through and through. He understood her completely. And he never loved her more.
Next . . .
Chapter Five: Avenging Angel