Chapter Eight
Reggie, blurry-eyed, opened the door to the loft. The incessant pounding had woken him from a deep sleep. He didn't know what time it was. He was even too disorientated to wonder why Jack hadn't answered the door. Still half asleep, he padded over to the door. As soon as the deadbolt clicked off, even before he could open the door, the person on the other side pulled open the door and shoved him aside.
"Where is my father?" Greenlee demanded.
"What?" Reggie asked, dazed, stumbling backwards.
"My father!" Greenlee said louder and with even more irritation, "I need my father. Where is he?"
Reggie rubbed his eyes and looked around the loft, "Ummm, not here?" he answered sarcastically.
Greenlee huffed and walked towards Jack's bedroom, "Dad," she called out, "Dad? Are you in there?" After briefly knocking, she entered the room. Within seconds, she was back. "Where is he?" she demanded.
Exasperation flooded over Reggie's face. "How should I know?" Reggie countered, "I've clearly just been woken up by a very rude visitor. Do I look like I've been keeping track of Jack's every move?"
Greenlee flopped on the couch, drawing a frown from Reggie, "He's got to do something," Greenlee said, more to herself than to Reggie, "What am I supposed to do about this?"
"About what?" Reggie said, instantly hating himself for asking.
"About Ryan," Greenlee huffed out, as if the answer was obvious. "Yesterday, he disappeared for practically the whole day. And when I woke up this morning he was gone. I'm worried about him, Reggie. Today … Bianca's funeral … it's going to be very hard on him."
Reggie bit his tongue … literally.
The extended silence caused Greenlee to finally turn and face him. "What?" she snapped as she paused to study him. She shook her head derisively. "It's people like you," she began, pointing at Reggie, "People like you are the reason he's acting like this." Greenlee stood, inviting, even daring, a confrontation, "It is not Ryan's fault. It's not our fault," Greenlee insisted, clutching at her own chest, "We're just trying to live our lives together. It's not our fault that Bianca is dead."
Reggie's eyes narrowed, "Of course not," he said with exaggerated sympathy, "But then, nothing is ever your fault, is it?"
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Greenlee sniped back.
If Greenlee was looking for a confrontation, she was going to get one. Not awake enough to really control his temper or consider the consequences of his actions, the raw emotions took over Reggie. It was everything. He missed Bianca so much. And he couldn't stop thinking that maybe … just maybe … if he had figured it out sooner, done something different or something more … maybe he could have stopped Jonathan. And it was Maggie, just laying there day after day, not waking up. And Jack looked so old to him suddenly, and worse yet, so unsure of what to do next. But mostly, it was the fear – the cold, lurking fear that he was going to lose another family.
Reggie walked away from her in a last ditch effort to control himself, but the truth was that he didn't want to. The anger, looking so long for an outlet, came pouring out. He spun back towards her, eyes blazing, "Me, me, me, me, me. Us, us, us, us, us. Don't you ever stop? Don't you ever shut up? Everyone around here is hurting and trying to deal with Bianca's death, but we should all drop everything to worry about her murder's brother? Are you kidding me?" He paused, but started up again before Greenlee could respond, "But it's not even really about that, is it? It's really all about you," he pointed at her angrily. "It's always got to be all about you. Jack's wedding … all about you. Kendall's trial ... all about you. The Cambius fortune … all about you. And now even Bianca's death … ALL … ABOUT … YOU. You are unbelievable." Reggie took a deep breath. For the first time in days, he actually felt a little better.
Fury overcame Greenlee. She advanced on Reggie, flinging a new accusation with each step. What about Maggie? She's the one who chose to be with Jonathan." Closer. "What about Kendall and Aidan? They were the ones that investigated Jonathan, unnerving him." Closer. "What about you? You were the one who suspected Jonathan was hitting Maggie" Even Closer, he could practically reach out and touch her. "What about Lily? She was the one who set Jonathan off in the first place."
Reggie staggered back, finally hitting the kitchen countertop with his back. He was completely flabbergasted, "Will you listen to yourself. You still don't get it?" He had a few more choice words ready to go when he heard a soft bump from the back of the apartment. He looked back over his shoulder and a look of panic crossed his face. "Get out of here," he suddenly screeched at Greenlee, "Just … please … get out!"
Greenlee watched him suspiciously. What was with this kid? She guessed the truth hurt. "You don't tell me when I can and cannot be in my father's house," she snarled back at him.
"Well, Jack's not here," Reggie countered, his words coming fast and nervously, "And it's my house too." He looked around in a last ditch effort to come up with another idea. When he couldn't, he shrugged his shoulders, grabbed Greenlee by the arm and pulled her over to the door.
Indignation burst from Greenlee's every pore, "You cannot do this to me," she insisted.
Reggie shoved her out the door, "This isn't about you!" he yelled. Hearing the loft door slam and the oversized bolt click into position calmed the boy somewhat. But he was still very clearly rattled. He put both of his palms on the closed door and took a long, slow deep breath. He tried to think of what he would say.
When he turned around, she was already there, "Is it my fault Bianca is dead?" Lily asked quietly.
…
He pushed the door open a crack and watched her. It had taken him several hours to find her, but he finally had. She was telling Miranda how pretty she looked and how proud her mother would be of her. She was telling her how they were going to say goodbye to her mother today, but that she would never be gone from them, not really. It was breaking his heart. He was just about to reveal himself when someone knocked on the front door.
Kendall put Miranda in her playpen and opened the front door to Ethan.
"How are you two doing?" he asked, looking around Kendall towards Miranda.
"Okay," Kendall responded, as if she were trying to convince herself. "It's better here," she nodded, "I think it is better here."
Ethan turned to Kendall, who was watching Miranda, "Why didn't you tell me you were moving, Kendall?"
Her eyes never left Miranda, "I don't know," she admitted softly, "I needed to get out of there, away from everything in that life … my old life."
Ethan's face fell, "Am I part of your 'old life'?" he asked quietly.
She turned to him then, her eyes filling with tears, "I can't do this … not today. I don't want to hurt you. You're part of Miranda's family, and that's never going to change. But I just feel … I just feel so lost."
Ethan closed the distance between them, "Kendall, honey, that's perfectly natural. But maybe you're making it worse by isolating yourself out here. I really want to help," he looked defeated, "I wish you'd let me help."
She looked up at him, eyes wide. She looked overwhelmed. She tried to speak, but no words came out. He reached out to her.
"Are you ready to go?" the watching man was as shocked as Ramsey to hear the other man's voice. J.R. Chandler, dressed in a black suit and holding his son, stood in the doorway.
Kendall, looking relieved, took a step backwards, away from Ethan, and then another. "Yes," she said, looking only at J.R., "Just one minute." She then turned and headed into the bathroom.
Ethan watched her, then turned to the other man, "What are you doing here, Chandler?" His voice was harsh, suspicious.
J.R. walked around him, depositing his son in the playpen with Miranda. "I'm giving Kendall a ride to Bianca's funeral."
"Kendall's in a very fragile state right now," Ethan said, glaring at the other man's back.
J.R., reaching down into the playpen to pat Miranda, and then Ace, on the head, ignored him.
"Did you hear me?" Ethan asked loudly, irritated.
J.R. stood slowly, then turned to Ethan, "I know you want to help Kendall," he said, not unkindly, "But this isn't the way to do it."
"What do you mean?" Ethan shot back.
J.R. shrugged, "I'm not the enemy here. I want to help Kendall too."
"Help her how?" Ethan asked, eyes narrowing.
J.R. shook his head, as if humoring the other man, "Kendall asked me to come," he stated flatly. His next words were softer, almost kind, "I don't know why Kendall is acting the way she is." He caught himself, "I mean … of course I know the reason … but … well … it just happened. Maybe we shouldn't read too much in what she's doing or saying now." He watched Ramsey, who was listening to him intently, "Maybe you go … for now. We'll see you at the funeral."
Ethan studied the other man. He didn't trust him, but he sounded sincere. And what if he was making things worse for Kendall. That's the last thing he wanted. "Okay," he said, nodding. At the door, he turned back, "I'm sorry I went off on you, Chandler. I just … I just don't know what to do."
J.R. nodded back, "I don't think any of us do." He watched the other man go. Still staring at the door, he called out, "You can come out now."
Kendall emerged sheepishly from the bathroom.
J.R. looked at her, a worried expression on his face, "What was that all about?" When she didn't answer, he continued, "I thought everything was going really well between you two … before …," he trailed off.
"Before Bianca died," she finished for him.
He looked her straight in the eye, "Yes. Before Bianca died." He looked over at the door and then back at Kendall, "He just wants to help. He might even need to."
"I know," Kendall admitted quietly.
"Then what's the problem?" J.R. asked.
Kendall paced around the room, getting more and more agitated. "Ethan is a great guy. I care about him very much." Her pacing quickened, "It's just … just … right now … I made promises … to Bianca …"
J.R. could see Kendall reaching a breaking point. He intercepted her pacing, grabbing both of her arms and turning her to face him, "It's okay," he said gently, "Calm down. It's okay. I promise." He smiled at her and, eventually she smiled back.
Calmer, she took a step back. "He's her family, J.R." She walked over and reached down to pat Miranda's head, "I have such a bad track record. I just can't … I just can't do anything that might drive Ethan out of Miranda's life. Without Bianca, she is going to need every family member she has." After a pause, Kendall continued, "And I promised Bianca. I promised her that I'd be a good mother to Miranda. That means I have to put Miranda first … no matter what."
J.R. said nothing, and Kendall eventually turned back towards him.
"You think I'm crazy," Kendall said as she studied J.R. She flopped down on the couch and buried her head in her hands. "Maybe I am crazy."
He shook his head, as he sat down next to her. As he spoke, he rubbed her back. "Not at all. Not even a little." She raised her head and looked at him skeptically, "I get it. I do." He looked over at the playpen. "It's overwhelming to be someone's parent. To always be so worried about doing the wrong thing. I know that. Believe me. I've already done the wrong thing … plenty. But … I don't know … maybe you should talk to Ethan … really talk to him. It's only fair … for both of you."
"I will," she said, though J.R. wasn't quite sure he believed her. "Just not right now … not today."
He nodded. Her eyes were red, and she was practically shaking. "Kendall, listen," he began, "Why don't I take the kids over to the funeral home? You wash your face, rest a little and then come over." He looked at his watch, "There's plenty of time."
Kendall felt relief course through her at the suggestion. "Would you?" she asked gratefully.
"Of course." He walked over to the playpen, and Kendall watched both children reach out to him. In an instant, he had them in his arms and was at the door. He looked back, but Kendall spoke before he could say anything.
"Thank you." The door closed, and for once, Kendall welcomed the silence. But it lasted only for a moment.
"Kendall?"
She thought it was J.R., and yet she realized that couldn't be right, since the voice had come from behind her. A whisper. Someone must have come through the back door, she realized. And yet she wasn't afraid. She turned around slowly and saw the man enter the room. "Ryan."
…
No one would be here today. Today was Bianca's funeral. She hadn't told David or Jamie or her mother that she was coming. They would have told her to do whatever she thought was best … whatever she wanted. Was that all they ever told her – what she wanted to hear. Was that love?
She entered the room slowly, reverentially. It never ceased to shock her … how still Maggie was, how quiet. She never talked to Maggie. She knew Erica did. But she couldn't. She didn't know what to say. She thought maybe she'd try today. She sat down in the chair, Erica's chair. That was a first as well. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and readied herself.
The noise, though almost inaudible, caused Babe to jump. She looked back down at Maggie. Had she made a noise? "Maggie?" she whispered. Nothing. Undeterred, Babe leaned her ear down close to Maggie's mouth. "Maggie?" she said again. After a moment, she bolted upright. She hadn't heard anything, but she had felt something … something on her cheek. She looked down and watched the girl. Sure enough, he eyelids flickered.
She sprang up, "Maggie," she said a little louder, "Maggie was that you?"
Her cell phone rang. She looked down at the display screen … 'David.' Not 'Dad,' she realized.
She shut the phone off and ran out of the room calling, "Maria!"
