Holy Crap you guys are so freaking awesome! You need to keep your reviews going. Cause I write this for all of you!
A.D.I.D.A.R – Adopt this policy.
All. Day. I. Dream. About. Reviewing.
You all rock my socks. The poem is from A.H Auden - you all can give a shoutout to Bronte for suggesting it. Hopefully you like this one, and yes there will be a chapter 5. lol. Anyway, read and review.
XxXxX
"Nothing's perfect. Sometimes things just happen."
"Yeah, but never to someone like you, right?"
Kirsten & Theresa, the O.C
XxXxX
"BECAUSE IF I DON'T DO IT – THEN SOMETHING WILL HAPPEN KIRSTEN!" his words echo in her inconsolable thoughts as she gingerly sits down on the cold patio furniture, in which many nights were spent alone together enjoying each others unfaltering company. The waves crashed below and her chilled body shivered in the cool California air.
She's lost so much weight already, even she is surprised.
It could have been snowing out and she wouldn't have cared any less.
It didn't really matter if the sun shined, or the stars glimmered. She didn't care if the moon decided to rise or the birds sang their sweet morning song.
Nothing mattered anymore.
Nothing.
Hailey had gone to bed after their walk, the jet lag evident on her face, stealing Seth's room and leaving Seth to bunk with Ryan again.
Her boys – they weren't back yet and it worried her…
1:43 a.m. Blue Wednesday. Sandy's funeral. The day she thought would never come, or if it did, they would have lived a long, happy life.
The day that she swore she would never see because secretly she always prayed that she would go first.
But it came too soon.
And she didn't go first.
Not like she had envisioned, or hoped for.
Not like she wanted.
She looks warily at her watch, noting the time again and shifts her gaze to the amber liquid swirling in the crystal depths of the glass.
She sighs, "BECAUSE IF I DON'T DO IT – THEN SOMETHING WILL HAPPEN KIRSTEN!"
SOMETHING WILL HAPPEN!
Not something might happen, or may happen. Something would happen. Indefinitely.
To them.
To her.
To their sons.
To his family.
And Sandy knew it.
Now she knew it too. It was the self-sacrifice he made in order to protect them.
In minds eye she could see what interesting conversation that John Riggotti held over Sandy's head.
"If you don't work on my case, I'll kill them."
She could visualize her husbands head snapping up, the terrified gleam in his rousing blue eyes as he digested the words spoken by a madman. She knew his response.
"If you do anything to them, ANYTHING, you won't need my help, because I'll be the one rotting in jail and you'll be six feet underground."
It wasn't a threat – it was the truth.
But then the Thursday before the Friday that she hated so much, the Friday that changed her life forever – she remembers coming home to a serious and joyless Sandy. Her husband never looked so weary or nervous even.
He looked downright haggard and gaunt.
He hadn't shaved, he had the start of raccoon rings under his eyes, barely visible – but she noticed them.
His normally expressional, loving blue-green eyes were dark and cloudy and she could tell his thoughts were heavy. His shoulders were slumped and even his tie was wrinkled.
She realizes now that the signs were there.
Signs she should have interpreted and known – signs that spelled out the words,
W.R.O.N.G. T.E R.R.I.B.L.Y. W.R.O.N.G.
She realizes that the threat that Sandy had told her about was a minor part of the conversation, the tip of the iceberg. He let her know that something wasn't exactly right, he just didn't go into depth.
"You had better pray I don't land in jail."
"Or?"
"Or I'll kill them."
"If you do anything to them, ANYTHING, you won't need my help, because I'll be the one in jail and you'll be six feet underground."
"Then I'll kill you."
Silence.
The air was heavy. The words were true.
If that was the case, then so be it.
As long as he didn't touch his family.
He swallowed and looked up at the man. Attempted a pitiful negotiation.
"Nothing is impossible Mr. Cohen. NOTHING."
"AND I'M TELLING YOU THIS IS!" His hand slams on the desk, rattling them both, his emotions striped down to nothing on the date his fate was decided.
John Riggotti swallowed, his long, shaggy hair falling into his ruthless eyes. He ran a hand over his five-day unshaven face. He knew it was true. He knew that Sandy Cohen was a family man and would do anything to protect his family. His threats were leaving a burdening impression on the man in front of him.
A man pressured works better, finds solutions quicker, faster, more precise.
"This is it, this is the best I can do! I can plead you down to a misdemeanor and you will spend six months in a minimal security prison. Which if you ask me, is a hell of a lot better then six years."
John Riggotti nods, digests the harsh truth of his altered reality.
"Then I guess that will do."
Maybe.
"And you won't touch my family?"
He shook his head. "Not a hair."
The words were unspoken and quivered in the air.
'But, that doesn't mean you won't take their place.'
Sandy could read his thoughts and his expression shown with the words of, 'If that is what has to be done, then so be it.'
She was jostled from her thoughts as The Nana eased into the chilled chair beside her and lit up a cigarette.
Kirsten looked at her numbly.
The Nana glared back, "What? I'm dying anyway."
No real reason to stick around now.
Kirsten shook her head and reached over, grabbing a cigarette herself.
"Why not."
The Nana raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Maybe, just maybe the rush of nicotine would soothe her already buzzed and weary soul.
Maybe not.
As she inhaled her first cigarette in years, Kirsten knew her husband was probably rolling in his grave right about now.
XxXxX
"No, no, no, we need to pull over. I need a cigarette! FUCK! I FUCKING KILLED HIM! WHAT DO YOU MEAN NOTHING HAPPENED!"
Ryan, who was more of the quiet type, was shouting his response as Tom drove speedily away from the crime scene.
"RYAN! Calm down, nothing happened," he spoke in an authoritative tone. He calmly pulled into a gas station, paid for a pack of Newports - fittingly enough, and a bag of ice.
The rest of the group was silent and stony as if their drunken minds couldn't handle the overload.
First they were rushed out of the club.
The next thing they knew Tom was yelling something about a drug deal gone wrong, shots were fired, it had been total chaos. Or it sounded like gunshots?
People yelling, Tom yelling, Ryan and Seth yelling, Tom ushering all of them this way and that. Pulling them in front of other people, dunking their heads in the limo like a cop does with a suspect, rushing around the other side, slamming the door and peeling off.
Yes, Tom squealed wheels.
And now Ryan was talking about killing someone.
"Dude, Ryan, chill," Luke offered.
Ryan scoffed.
Easy for Luke to say.
Luke didn't kill anyone with his fist.
Luke didn't kill a drug lord's son.
Not Luke with those piercing blue curious eyes.
Him.
The Atwood Luck.
"Fuck!" he whispers raggedly this time, Tom takes a hold of his hand and stuck it in the bag full of ice.
Seth's brown eyes met his in a ghastly gaze.
"Don't even think about taking your hand out from that bag. If there's no swelling, there are no traces, right? Cause nothing happened Ryan, if anything it was self defense…."
Tom's eyes probed Ryan's the inward green's yelling at the boys blue depths, 'think Ryan, think!'
Ryan nods his neurotic blue eyes, taking in this depth of new information, letting it swirl in his not-nearly-drunk-enough thoughts.
Tom's a knowledgeable son of a bitch.
Ryan turns his head sideways, like a dog that has heard a high pitch noise and can't figure out where it is coming from.
"No traces, right?"He knows.
This isn't the first time Tom's done something like this.
XxXxX
Tom drops the other kids off at the appropriate houses tonight before heading to the Cohen home. Marissa's Mom waited at the door of the McMansion, worry evident upon her steely, but beautiful features. Arms crossed, tight sweatpants suit, Julie looks more like a model, then a Mom.
Seth is silent, stony, his light colored features are paler than normal. His curly hair is matted down, stiff with sweat in some places.
His shoulders physically ached from helping Tom pull furious Ryan off of the drug lord's kid, Johnny the fourth. He could feel the knots of tension high upon his lanky shoulders and back.
'Physical labor sucks,' Seth thought as he slowly trudged up to his house, through the backyard.
His head hurt from the loud music and the rush of emotions that have been reeking havoc in his body the past few days. He really missed his goofy, caring Dad. The buzzy alcohol that had been rushing through his system had made sure that it rushed through his emotions too, slamming that fact in his face time and time again.
Like the sympathetic looks weren't enough.
Seth slowly slumbered up through the yard, lost in his own thoughts and flinched visibly when his mother spoke in her best-are-you-trying-to-worry-me-out-of-my-mind voice.
"Where have you been?" Startlingly her voice was quiet and soft, yet surprisingly firm.
He blinked a few times quickly and gestured with his hands, "Uh, mom, okay? Wow, you're up late aren't you? Nice night isn't it," he moved his hands about towards the night sky and cool California air.
"Seth? Where have you been? And where's Ryan?" She raised an eyebrow and let her dark blue eyes scan for any signs of him.
"We, you know Mom, all of us, we just uh, went out, cause it's such a nice night out. And he's back there somewhere, helping Tom with something. Some sort of limo mechanics 101 or something."
He prayed she was drunk.
And that she couldn't read the wary and shell-shocked gaze that he undoubtedly carried upon his face.
Her eyes met his and even though the dark bluish rings drew his gaze he could tell she wasn't.
"I can see you went out, Seth. My question is to where?"
"We just went to a club, I'm going to bed," he scoffed quietly.
But his Mom was quicker than he bargained for and she rose quickly pulling him close. She leaned back and brushed the unruly hair off his forehead before running it through the rest of his damp hair.
He looked at her blankly for a few moments, before grinning at her sheepishly, his eyes dancing as he remembers the tender motion from the years of growing up with his affectionate parents.
Parents. Parent. One now.
"Thanks," he murmured quietly, giving her the shy smile that he could always use against her when it came to replaceable items like Ipod's, and Playstation's, and get anything he wanted, whenever he wanted it.
Murder. 'Mom? By the way, Ryan killed John Riggotti's son. Yeah! Totally awkward, I know! No, I don't know how what we're going to do now that Dad's not here…'
"No problem sweetie," she whispers to him in the comforting motherly tone he is used to hearing. But she's not the mother he remembers. She's not even the same person.
"You okay?" She indicates now quickly with her hands, before clasping them and he can see the concerned look, the one that was held deep in her eyes along with the questionable, perfectly arching eyebrow.
'I should be asking you that.'
He nods softly, watches as she fiddles with the wedding bands on her left hand. "Yeah, it's just so weird. It's kind of almost too minty for words," he smiles again because he knows it's what she wants to see.
Even though it's not the entire truth.
Today. Today was the day when everything hit the fan. Blue Wednesday.
It was easy to hide his emotions when he was with people, kissing Summer, catching up with Luke, talking to Ryan…. When he wasn't killing people.
'Stop.'
He shook his head and gave her an apologetic look. "Mom, I'm beat, I'm going to bed, night."
"Night Seth…"
He slowly trudged into the castle of a mansion, giving her his little wave as he closes the patio door, acknowledging his own, 'Goodnight.'
Her gaze is steely as she waits for Ryan and Tom.
She wasn't born yesterday, and Seth, like Sandy, is a horrible liar when it comes to facial expressions.
XxXxX
Ryan is taking the last drag of his cigarette and puts it out while Tom waits with an open hand for the rest of the pack.
He knows he can't let Kirsten find out that her kid has been smoking.
Or killing the drug lord's son's whose father killed their father.
That's a brain teaser.
This kid is an original chain smoker.
He's stone sober now, Tom can see it in his hooded blue eyes, eyes that hold fear and nervousness. Fear because Sandy isn't there to bail him out if something bad comes from this. Fear because it's the loss of the fatherly figure that caused him to come to blows. Fear that he doesn't even know if he is in control of his own anger anymore.
But no resentment, no trace of regret graces those soft, young features. A jaw muscle twitches, the only indication that he is thinking of what just happened.
If anything, Tom guesses, he would do it all over again.
"Are you okay now?"
The kid looks at him as if to say, 'Is anything in this household look OKAY to you right now?"
He blinks a few times and Tom swears that his chilly blue eyes turn a lighter, a more tender blue.
A blue that no one would guess as to what just happened at the club.
"I'm fine."
His voice wavers in the beginning, but only slightly.
XxXxX
He's so tired.
His buzz is gone, the adrenaline rush is gone. The nicotine rush has left him feeling drowsy.
All he wants to do is sleep.
His hand throbs softly and he looks at it, its not swollen but there are small bruises forming, and that's to be expected.
But it's not swollen.
No traces right?Right.
Ryan was more than shocked when Tom snapped on gloves faster than you can say, "Whoa," and pulled out the pills and then a roll of cash, before he made it look like a set up.
A drug deal gone bad.
Tom is prepared. Tom is prepared way more than the average human being should be…
Ryan watched as he placed a few pills in the dead kids pants pocket, scattering the rest on the ground and then placed the rouge wad of cash in his other, throwing a few bills in the wind.
Ryan understood.
His Daddy is a drug lord.
This is a drug bust gone wrong.
And No One will be none the wiser.
It's perfect, almost flawless, and for a second Ryan wonders about Tom. Wonders how he thought of this so quickly…
He managed to glance up at Seth's paled, nervous-looking face, glancing into those dark chocolate depths and for the first time, Ryan saw that Seth was afraid of him.
Scared of his brother.
He shivers as he continues his walk, his head looking down at his feet, his blond shaggy bangs hanging down obstructing his view.
He doesn't need to see, he can walk this place in his sleep.
This is home. Even though it feels dead and empty without Sandy's liveliness, soft smiles and love for the underdog.
"Ryan?" Kirsten's voice in unusually soft and he freezes in mid stride.
"Hey," he speaks quietly, knowing that this is the one person he does not want to see tonight. He tilts his head a little, the blond hair falling into his eyes, "You're up late."
"So are you."
Yep. 'Oh, Kirsten, by the way, I killed John Riggotti's son. Oops.'
"Seth's idea," he shrugged.
"Mmm," she murmurs nodding her head and staring at him, eyes dark in wonderment. He knows that "Mmm," he's heard her use it on Sandy many times.
It's the I-don't-believe-you-but-I'll-let-it-go-for-now Mmm.
Her blue eyes are like X-Ray vision, he swears she can see what he did, smell the death on his fists. The dark rings underneath her tired eyes stand out, even in the dark. Even from where she is sitting those bluish rings haunt him because he knows that he is failing her.
He swears at that instant Kirsten knows that he did something terribly wrong. She just can't place what it is yet.
At the very least he knows that she can tell he has been fighting. Her glance was meant to be casual but it lingered on his fist and he knows she can see the makings of a bruise.
It was a Mom thing.
She says nothing but gets up from her sitting position in the patio chair, her hand reached out and brushed the hair out of his eyes and he looks patiently at her. Waiting.
Waiting for her to yell at him.
"Kirsten you need to sleep."
"And you need a haircut," her voice is soft and caring as she runs her hand through his hair again and smiles. He can't help but think that his own mother's voice was never that soft.
Of course she would never yell at him.
Unless she finds out what he just did.
Despite the fact that Sandy is dead she can't help but think of the little things, like haircuts.
She gives him a hug and bids him goodnight, watching him as he goes.
When he looks into her sober eyes he can't help but notice how different they look since Sandy has left them. He can't help but notice that all the makeup in the world can't hide her emotions that play constantly in her blue depths.
He can't help but notice that even though she looks like she's fine, the slump in her shoulders is getting worse, the way she walks is different, and the way she looks at people… it's like she can stare right at you, and never see you at all. Her mind is blank as her thoughts beg for the one thing she can't have.
Sandy.
He knows deep down she's screaming inside.
He knows this because he's yelling with all his might too.
But he doesn't know how to help her.
He can't even help himself.
XxXxX
She trudges up the steps and through the foyer of empty spiritless foyer into her forlornly bedroom.
Her hearts heavy and she realizes how much more alcohol she should have drunk before attempting this somber feat.
Her eyes well up with tears at the simply thought of sleeping alone in the vast bed.
Everything she does, she does in slow motion.
She changes clothes in slow motion. The tight fabric falling away to the floor in a lifeless heap.
She pulls back the covers in slow motion. Listens as the soft 'whoosh,' of air gets underneath the expensive sheets and watches as they fall playfully back down to the bed, as if nothing ever happened and they're waiting for life to continue.
She breathes in slow motion. As every breath aches.
She cries in slow motion. Tears leave silent, stony trails down her colorless cheeks.
Because it's Wednesday.
It's her husband's funeral.
He's been gone for one hundred thirty five hours, with forty-two lonely minutes and an unbearable amount of aching seconds.
It's everything she's never wanted.
It's everything she's dreaded… and it's only the beginning.
Time stops again, like it has been doing, since last Friday.
XxXxX
"Mom? We don't have to do this, I mean, do we...? The rich and famous will understand if we're not there… we will just have to deal with the rumors… We can like you know, escape or make a cameo appearance, stuff like that?" He tugs at his tie, pulling it away from his neck. He looks like Sandy at that instant. Curly dark hair, wild eyes, a nervous grin, a tinge of pink rushes to his cheeks almost as if he's embarrassed by his own idea.
She glances at him, amused, the dark rings underneath her eyes glare despite being covered by makeup and dark sunglasses.
Ryan smirks. Amazingly none of them have a hangover.
Tylenol before, headache no more.
'Killer,' Seth's mind flashes as the involuntary thought passes quickly.
At least they all feel the same way… about the funeral.
It's too hot.
Too suffocating.
Was it like a hundred degrees in this heated hell that was driving him to where he didn't want to go, or was it just him overreacting?
A cautious glance told the tale.
His Mom was nervous too, and when he had knocked on her bedroom door this morning to see if she was ready, he heard her throwing up in the bathroom.
He knew it most likely wasn't from the liquor either.
He sighed and looked out the dark tinted window. 12:34 p.m. Blue Wednesday. Tick tock, tick, tock, time mocks him and reminds him that his father is dead.
The closer they get, the more his heart pounds in his chest, the more the bile rises in his throat and the hotter it gets in the air conditioned black and chrome stretch limousine.
XxXxX
Pastor Joseph McQuend greets them at the door, the sympathy in his soft gray eyes are astounding. His nearly white hair blows with the slight breeze as he waits to greet them by the door.
"Kirsten, hello," his voice is soft and soothing as he embraces her and nods to the boys and Sandy's mother. She introduces her boys and Ryan's hooded blue eyes watch the Pastor's cautiously.
Her sunglasses are still on, despite the darkness of the church.
His voice is so soft and soothing and for the first time since Friday Kirsten feels at ease. "You don't look so well Kirsten, Sandy wouldn't have this," he made a motion with his hand, "You're not taking care of yourself." His weathered gray eyes look upon her too thin features and her too pale face, with those dark uncaring eyes and beneath them, dark unrelenting circles that show everything he doesn't want to see, but understands.
Living isn't living without him.
Waking up in the morning is a struggle.
Falling asleep at night without a prescription or the massive intake of alcohol is nearly impossible.
These things he can tell in a single glance. Most people have the signs at a loss, and some people recover. Some never will. He wishes that he could tell that it would all be okay, but he knows she won't believe him.
She watches as the boys depart, talking amongst each other and Sophie Cohen has settled for looking around the church and at the various pictures of her son.
She pulls the sunglasses off her pale face and looks at the Pastor with icy, dark blue eyes. "I don't really care much about anything, anymore," her voice is distant even though she is standing right beside him.
The sad part is he can see that it's true.
She looks away, and shivers uncontrollably, even though the church isn't cold.
It's cool, but not enough to warrant shivering.
It's nearing 1 p.m. Joseph looks at her with the same sympathetic eyes that everyone has.
He's so sorry.
And it's almost time to start.
Tick tock.
He can hear her teeth chatter together and knows that it's not the cold that's doing it.
Her heart falls down into her stomach and pounds while the goosebumps rise along her arms as her conscious mind has come to one smacking realization.
'This is it. You will be alone, now, forever.'
XxXxX
The massive church held nearly everyone in Newport Beach. The parking lot held the other rest of the public that couldn't fit and wasn't literally screened by police to get in. It was if you had to have an invitation to go to this funeral.
The press are like hawks, waiting for scenes to feed on but they did have some respect - they were all dressed in black.
Julie must have went on a shopping spree because she is wearing a different black but sexier and shorter outfit. RED hair abounds down in a mess of curls and her normally hard, steely blue eyes were soft as she gazed into Kirsten's with a small smile of sympathy.
Julie is stunning.
Jimmy sits with his hands folded beside her his dark suit making him look handsome, regal, and years older then what he should be. His tan stands out and it makes his sad brown eyes sparkle. The wrinkles around his eyes are more apparent then ever and he looks tired.
Caleb sits next to Kirsten, dressed smartly in his solid black on black Armani suit. She can't read his blue eyes and doesn't even know if she wants too. Maybe he's happy Sandy's dead.
Maybe not.
Both Jimmy and Caleb are going to speak.
Hailey, who looks worn bare to the bone, sits on the other side of her father, squashing Jimmy and Julie together.
They don't seem to mind.
She might get up and speak. If she has the strength to stand up and walk. If she thought for sure that she wouldn't collapse up there on the podium in solid tears and sobs. She doesn't want another tranquilizer that will surely follow. She needs to though, she needs to get this off her chest, maybe it will offer her closure.
Maybe not.
Jimmy, Luke, Seth, Ryan, Caleb, and surprisingly Tom, will now carry the coffin to the hurst waiting outside and to its final resting place, the cemetery.
The pastor cleared his throat as he stood up at the head of beautiful, elegant church.
A soft ruffle of people shifting in their seats, the soft whispers, the thin sound of papers being used as fans echo barely through the vast space. It seats over thirty-five hundred people, and its completely filled with the doors opened as many people stand up in the back because there is no more room to sit.
Kirsten can feel her throat constrict before he even begins.
"It has been devastating what has happened to Sandy Cohen and their family. I had the pleasure of meeting him, when Kirsten would drag him here against his will at times, and he was such a pleasure to meet, to interact with and we held many interesting conversations over the years that we met," he smiles at her.
Sophie Cohen looks almost horrified at the thought. But she then relaxes and knows her boy would do anything for that Kirsten.
A small giggle erupted through the massive body of people and even she felt like cracking a smile at the memories. Even Ryan and her father smiled lightly at that. She's positive they can picture the protests that Sandy used.
"Sandy was always the underdog, always trying to help those who needed it. And no matter what was done against Sandy, whether you yelled in his face, he would help you. Sandy made that his mission in life, and he left behind two wonderful sons and a beautiful wife, who feel the loss of his absence everyday."
He looked at Kirsten and gave her a soft smile. She returned it, the ball of emotions stuck in her throat. Her haunted blue eyes are beginning to cloud with tears. Her bluish rings stand out against her pale features. She is shaking.
He will pray for her tonight.
"Let us pray."
She bows her head but she can't feel anything. Her body is numb, her thoughts are numb and if she can feel anything other than the cold that has evaded her body - it's the cold thought of being alone.
Alone.
He says more about Sandy. How Sandy was a great husband, a great father. How Sandy always wanted to help.
Mindless things that don't matter. Nothing matters right now.
The tears start, she tried holding them back but they couldn't anymore.
She starts to lose it after Joseph says the words, "He loved Kirsten more than anything on this earth….He loved his family…."
Because she knows it's true.
And she knows she won't ever have that again.
She doesn't even want it with someone else.
She won't ever hear him say those words, "I love you."
Her father's arm comes down across her shoulders and she lets a small sob escape.
Barely, it's enough to catch her breath before her bottom lip starts trembling again.
Pastor Joseph McQuend finishes the beginning of his epitaph. Jimmy rises with a nervous glance to Kirsten and then to Caleb who nods.
It's the she's-okay-go-ahead nod.
Because Jimmy knows it's his arms that she's going into next.
Jimmy walks slowly, a nervous twitch in his stride as if he's thinking of backing out. His tanned forehead is damp, his brown eyes alight with sorrow. It shows that he never thought he would be doing this in a million years.
Who did?
Tick tock, tick tock, 1:59 p.m.
Strangers watched him, thousands of them. In the church, sitting in their black tux's and black dresses, with their black masks of grief. They watched with dark, black eyes, hauntingly, waiting for him to falter, to say something, to say anything that would give them a better perspective on the life that had been lived.
He shifted from foot to foot and with a gentle raise of his eyebrows began.
"Well, I'm sure most of you know me. I'm Jimmy Cooper, and if you don't that doesn't really matter now. Sandy was… Sandy was one of a kind. And I really don't know what to say. You see I was going to write this long speech about what a great life he lived and everything he did. But I can't. There just aren't enough words to say what I want to say about him."
His hands moved nervously in front of him, and he shifted from right to left, his eyes skipping over the strangers randomly.
Kristen watched him with silent tears streaming down her tinged pink cheeks.
"Sandy, he was the kind of person who could always bring a smile to your face, you know? We all turned to him, and even though Caleb, Sandy's father-in-law would go round and round, if Kirsten asked him to help her Dad, he would do it. If Caleb asked him for help, he helped him. It was just who he was. Um, man, I used to be so jealous of Sandy and Kirsten, because they had that kind of relationship that always made you wonder, the kind where they never fought. Sandy he would always do anything for her. Always. His family was his priority. It was just a given."
Jimmy's eyes met hers and he smiled softly as if thinking of his own memory. Julie glares.
"I was glad when Kirsten found him, because I know that he was a better man than I can ever hope to be. And he saved me, if it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be standing here right now…. We will… miss you, Sandy Cohen."
Jimmy used the back of his hand to wipe away the few tears that formed and had begun to fall and he stepped down quickly.
'WeWill
Miss
You,
Sandy
Cohen.'
His words echoed in her ears and it brought down a new river of tears. Her hands are shaking, her body trembles no matter whose arms are around her. She can see Seth's shoulders shaking and even Ryan is caught sweeping away fallen tears.
Ms. Kirsten Cohen.
Someone whispers too loudly, "Oh, I wouldn't want to be her right now."
Her father strides up to the front of the church, the business man attitude much in with his attire.
He looks weary and worn. He doesn't want to do this either.
Could it be? The Great Caleb Nichol, saying a eulogy for his son-in-law? The son in law that he reputably hated…
People shifted in their seats and they could be heard whispering to each other, small sobs and sniffles echoed throughout the church. Shuffling, the soft whirring noise of fans moves the stiff air around.
Sandy's smiling face looks back at them from the pictures placed around the church.
Caleb cleared his regal throat. His daring blue eyes took in what was before him. People. Thousands of people. Waiting. People Waiting. People listening. It's like the worst business meeting he's ever had.
'Waiting for what? What the hell are you waiting for now!' He wants to shout.
Instead he looks down, and sighs, a small piece of paper magically flutters out from his pocket and his face is grim as he prepares to read what he was written.
"I was going through my bible, at home and I came across a small passage that speaks from the heart. Job 16:6. Though I speak, my grief is not relieved. And though I remain silent, how am I eased."
He let the silence ripple through the church before continuing.
His voice, softer, more shallow, "Sandy, was a great man, and I loved him for the way he took care of my family. He had no fear of me, even arguing openly, our bickering often bringing smiles to my grandsons. I think they enjoyed it more than we did."
He smiles softly.
"My daughter especially. Losing Sandy is the worst thing that could have possibly happened to us. He kept us together, on edge, he would sometimes rattle my daughter and myself to no end, but that was just Sandy. He brought my daughter Ryan and gave someone else a chance for a better life, because it's what he did," he paused, swallowed and then continued, "There is a need for people like him, in this world, I'll miss him."
He stepped down. He was going to say more, but there was no need.
Kirsten sighs.
She trembles uncontrollably.
But she rose and walked up to where her father had been standing. Her hands shook as she took the small piece of paper from her pocket.
Her hair is cooperating, but her eyes refuse too, and unshed tears that well in her eyes rush down her cheeks.
She doesn't bother sweeping them away anymore.
Her eyes cast to Seth's and her gives her a weak smile and a small thumbs up.
She clears her throat, and then realizes, like wiping away the tears it's pointless.
Her voice is hoarse. "I was going to try to say something, and then I realized that I couldn't," she clears her throat softly, " I was going to tell you all of my husband's accomplishments and how wonderful he is, but from the two men in front of me you already know that. I realize that I can't put everything into words, but someone else can. W.H Auden can describe exactly everything, and please bear with me," she motions with her hands towards her tears and everyone knows.
They understand.
She clears her throat again. Everyone's eyes focus on her, sorrow and sympathy more evident then ever before. Her face is pale, the rings are so blatantly obvious a few people whisper. Her cheeks are flushed and tinged pink from crying and her eyes are dark, deep blue.
"Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone. Prevent the dog from barking with the juicy bone."
She swallows. Shivers. Wills her heart to stop pounding so hard against her.
"Silence the pianos and with muffled drum, bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. Let the airplanes circle moaning overhead. Scribbling in the sky the message: 'He is dead!'"
Her voice trembles, and her hands shake visibly and she clears her throat again, her eyes casting to the dark colored gloves of a police officer in the back. He looks down at his gloves as well.
Tremble.
"Put crepe bows around the white necks of the public doves. Let the traffic policemen wear the black cotton gloves."
She's struggling and everyone can see it. Maybe this is what they're waiting for.
Deep breath.
"He was my North… my South… my East… and West, my working week and… Sunday rest, my noon, my… midnight, my talk,… my song. I thought that… love… would last forever; I was wrong..."
Her voice breaks and she cries for a few moments, her body trembles uncontrollably, and the tears run down her cheeks like the rain pours.
The stars are not wanted now: put out everyone… pack up the moon and dismantle the sun… Pour away the ocean… and sweep up the wood, …for nothing now… can come to any good."
She sighs shakily and looks out amongst her gathers and is surprised at the amount of tears that are flowing for a stranger. She wants to say more, but she can't. She has no more feeling left in her loudly thudding heart. She is shocked that she can even feel that. She wants to sit down, she wants to close her eyes and forget that she ever read a poem at her husband's funeral.
She wants to forget this day ever happened.
Somehow she makes it back to her seat while the Pastor takes over. Her family is in tears and she feels more empty and alone then ever.
XxXxX
The ride to the cemetery was total silence other then small sighs, sniffs and shifting. The amount of people that were there was amazing. Police had actually taped off the gravesite and it was just family listening to the Pastor continue his epitaph at the site.
Seth and Ryan both had RED roses and they placed them along the black casket. She too had a RED rose, but a white one as well.
One for 'I love and miss you.'
One for, 'Forgive me? And I'm sorry.'
It was something that only Sandy would get. He used to give her eleven RED roses and one white one in the center when things went AWOL and he didn't know how to fix it other than with flowers.
She misses him.
Her father supports her as Pastor Joseph McQuend reads from the bible and she cries harder into her father's black expensive jacket.
This day was never supposed to happen.
XxXxX
The rest of Blue Wednesday is a blur. Swear-word Thursday, as Seth now calls it came upon them as Caleb Nichol came out of his mothers bedroom. It's after midnight and the Nana had given her a sedative because Blue Wednesday had turned out to be another collapsible incident, but instead of Jimmy it was her father.
He looked around helpless and The Nana came back with the sedative and told him to take her up to her bedroom.
Seth and Ryan stood there, awestruck.
Everything that happened last night the funeral, the news, the people, was nothing compared to watching his mother break down again.
1:01 a.m. S-Colored Thursday.
Seth didn't know if he was happy or sad. Because now everyone expected them to pick up and move on like nothing ever happened.
He knew he couldn't do that.
He didn't even know where to begin.
XxXxX
While Blue Wednesday's headlines had been 'RED-Friday Victim SANDY COHEN'S Funeral…'
Today's had a different twist.
RIGGOTTI AND SON MURDERED.
POLICE SAY GANG & DRUG RELATED.
John Riggotti, the third, was killed last night in a prison attack where inmates….his son was killed in what looks to be a drug deal….
Seth sighed.
Ryan sighed.
Tom sighed. He made a mental note to throw away the cigarettes that were hiding out in the dash of his limousine.
They were in the clear.
Seth vowed to never bring up the subject again.
Ryan vowed that it never happened.
It was just easier that way.
XxXxX
A knock at the door roused Ryan and he answered it and was shoved a vase of flowers and a clipboard, while being ordered to sign here.
Eleven RED Roses.
One White, in the middle.
Eleven "I love you's and miss you's."
One, "I'm sorry, please forgive me."
He brought them into the kitchen and sat them on the island, looking around nervously, his thoughts dancing with ideas.
Kirsten sucked in her breath and felt like throwing up. It had to be a late delivery. He must have ordered these last week and they just got here today.
She cries when reading the card,
Kirsten,
Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself, is not puffed up;
Love does not behave rudely, does not seek its is not provoked, thinks no evil;
Love does not rejoice in iniquity but rejoices in the truth;
Love bears all things believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
Love never fails.
And now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.
1 Corinthians 13:4 – 13.
I'll love you forever, you know that right? I'll never leave you.
Sandy
She looks at Seth and Ryan confused. Her pale features flush with color and her eyes spark with a beautiful blue. Hearing long lost words revives Kirsten from the sluggish hell she was fading into.
They looked back at her equally confused. The air is bristled with emotions.
Emotions they had all been trying to control around each other.
It was like walking on eggshells the past several hours and finally the house had emptied to where it was just the three of them again, for the time being.
Everyone else had gone out, or gone somewhere and they just didn't feel like it.
They look nervous around each other.
They act nervous around each other.
The doorbell rings.
Kirsten shakes her head in disbelief while her eyes widen, and for a moment she is unsteady on her feet as she goes to answer it. Ryan who is a second behind her, his hand near her elbow, just in case, the puzzlement drenching his eyes and face like wildfire.
He doesn't understand what's going on.
None of them do.
As Kirsten swings open the heavy door to face a fidgeting, mid-forties, a FBI agent who introduces himself as, "Dave Harding," with a badge to prove it.
Seth, still in the kitchen studying the letter, hears the glass door slide open softly as a ghost shuffles through it, a little shakily, slightly unsteady on the feet, a little scruffier than the last time they had seen him. But it was him.
Oh this is impossible.
Downright fucking James Bond, Holy shit, raise the dead, impossible.
"Dad?"
Two heads turn in the direction of the kitchen, hearing his words, and hearing the way he said them.
The other head in the room stares at the family.
Waits for a reaction, a outburst. But there are none.
Ryan looks at Kirsten.
Kirsten looks at Dave Harding.
Dave Harding looks at both of them, an apologetic grin upon his face.
"Oh my God," she trembles as she hears her son and the utter disbelief in his voice.
"Kirsten?" Dave Harding takes her elbow, "Let's talk in the kitchen."
XxXxX
