Fairytale of New York – The Fall of the Empire State Building

'What? Kirsten I…' Carter's head jerked up at her words.

'Of course it wasn't just to do with you; it was a typically unbelievable end to a crazy year, but you were part of it, one of the reasons, one in a long line of factors.'

The man next to her appeared speechless. She could see his eyes flitting back and forwards as he processed her words.

Kirsten Cohen, in rehab?

He'd known the outwardly together woman was secretly struggling, but rehab?

'I know what you're thinking. Me, rehab, how? That I would never agree to it. But when your husband has staged an intervention, your sister has compared you to your mother, you've lashed out at your son and he still doesn't turn away, it gets hard. When you try to leave and your other son blocks the way, begging you to go…I couldn't say no.'

Carter ran a hand through his hair, 'I…had no idea it was that serious.'

'A-after you left…things got worse. They were bad before; the boys leaving; that empty summer, fighting with Sandy every minute of every blessed day. Lindsay, Rebecca Bloom…you. But once you left things started to snowball.'

'I'm sorry.'

She shook her head. 'God knows what would have happened if you hadn't. I guess it was for the best but…'

'It hurt? If it's any consolation I didn't want to leave.'

'I know,' she smiled at him sadly. 'It's not your fault. If Sandy and I had been…how we used to be, we wouldn't have derailed. You…kept me going for a while; delayed the inevitable. I have to thank you; you were someone to turn to, someone who made me feel less alone. That used to be Sandy; it was us against the world. Living in a mail truck, pissing off our parents…' she trailed off as she reminisced and Carter shifted uncomfortably.

'And then we ended up back in Newport and I could never fit back in there because of Sandy but I couldn't be someone else because of where I was from. And I couldn't leave. He always made it ok; correlated my double life. And when Sandy and I stopped communicating, you did it instead.'

'So I was your replacement?'

'No…yes, oh I don't know. On the one hand you're so like Sandy and on the other…you're not…and you were there, he wasn't. But it wasn't just because you were there. It couldn't have been just anyone Carter. It was you.'

'You sure about that?'

'I don't often let people get to me Carter, and the night you left I drank half a bottle of vodka. I finished it the next day. It just seemed easier to cope that way. The following morning I added it to my tomato juice, it sounds crazy now I know but at the time I didn't think about it. That afternoon I called you and then went straight for the vodka…that night ended with me passed out on the sofa. Although I did wake up in bed; another day, another argument with Sandy, another bottle. Even Julie Cooper-Nichol was concerned but I thought I could handle it. Sandy and I argued again that night, about you.' Kirsten realised she was doing it again; telling Carter everything, pouring out her soul. He just had that effect on her; she couldn't help it.

'I'm sorry. I feel like I caused all this; the tension between you and Sandy, I…weakened your resistance to alcohol the amount of drinking we did. I left so suddenly; it can't have been easy at work, it must have made Sandy suspicious…'

'Don't. I'm tired of people apologising for things that were my fault. It was my choice to drink. Your leaving was just one more thing, one thing too many, kinda knocked me sideways into drinking more but that's all. It was the stuff that followed that tipped the scale.' She paused, staring at, but not seeing, Carter's hand over hers, his thumb stroking soothing circles. 'Part of it was the fighting with Sandy; him not listening, not understanding me. I took off, ended up in a bar, throwing back vodka martinis like James Bond. That's why I missed Seth's launch; I was too busy getting drunk.' The self-loathing in her tone was obvious. Carter knew she'd always worried about being a working mother and to know she'd become worse would completely crush her.

Kirsten sighed, 'I left your necklace at that bar after hours of deliberation. It was beautiful but…it was that or my rings and I knew I wasn't ready to take them off again just yet. That was probably my last lucid thought, getting into the car and driving certainly wasn't. Nor was talking on the cell phone but I needed to hear his voice. I had to apologise.'

'Oh God, what happened?'

'I dropped my cell, ran a red light while fumbling for it, had a near miss with and SUV only to find a two tonne truck barrelling straight at me. Kinda ironic.'

'Christ.'

'It was worse for Sandy; he heard it all; the phone was still connected. I was knocked unconscious on impact, missed the squealing brakes, the crunch, the sound of the car flipping over a couple of times. You know what else was ironic? Those rings I didn't want to take off…they had to be cut off by the paramedics.'

'You were damn lucky.'

'Concussion and sprained fingers. By the state of the car I shouldn't be here.'

His fingers tightened over hers imaging alternative outcomes. He wondered if the worst had happened whether he would have found out. Would anyone have thought to let him know? Unlikely. And he would never have known, he'd have been in NYC, thinking of her, missing her, never knowing.

'And that should have scared me out of drinking shouldn't it? Really? It should have made me mean it when I said I was done, made me get rid of all the alcohol. '

'It's not that easy.'

'That's what Sandy said. I chose to find out the hard way. He was so supportive but I pushed him away, my dad on the other hand, was furious. He lashed out; said the words I couldn't bear to contemplate, that I was an alcoholic. He compared me to my mother. I snapped; I couldn't bear the disappointment in his eyes. There was a yelling match concluding with 'I may like my chardonnay but I won't die alone which is more than I can say for you'.'

'Good line; you do have a taste for chardonnay.'

'No…I mean, yes I did. I guess I still do. But no, it was a terrible, terrible line. I should never have said it but I was so rattled.'

'I'm sure it was justified; you both were in your own ways.'

'The next night Sandy found my spare bottle, just in case you know, he knew I'd lied to him. We were arguing about it when the phone rang. My dad had suffered another heart attack, a fatal one.' Her eyes were cold, her face tense. Carter could hardly believe what he was hearing.

'He's dead? Caleb Nichol?'

She nodded, 'And the last thing I said to him was that he'd die alone. What kind of daughter does that? He forgave me but I never got to tell him I was sorry. I was angry, I was scared, in denial, still under the influence. But they are no excuses. I shouldn't have said those things. I basically blamed him for everything that was wrong with our family. I am never going to forgive myself for that. I'm sorry and he doesn't know, he'll never know.'

Her voice was choked with tears, her eyes glistening. It was natural to slide one arm comfortingly around her, the other found her hand and clasped it, gently steering her to a nearby bench. She sat down gratefully, leaning against him slightly as he sat by her side.

'And almost as awful is the fact I ignored Sandy, refused to let him comfort me; I took the bottle of vodka we'd been quarrelling over and went to bed. I think I spent the next few days there. I don't even really remember. Alcohol has a great way of blanking things out and that's what I wanted.'

'You were grieving.'

'I was a mess. The memory of the funeral is a fog of black and vodka. I said some bitter things to Sandy, horribly vicious things, ended the night by screaming at him publicly, smashing a vodka bottle. I'm surprised he forgave me.'

'He loves you.'

'I don't know why.'

'I do.'

Kirsten pretended she hadn't heard that, didn't want to think about it. 'So there was an intervention. It was the most humiliating event of my life. A stranger acting as though he knew me, my family pleading with me, my children watching me be driven away to a clinic.'

'But you were doing it for them.' Carter wasn't sure where these consoling comments were coming from; his mind was still reeling from the revelations.

'It doesn't matter. I still let them down.'

'You got help, that's the important thing.'

'Last year I thought 'next summer will be better' but no, it was worse. The boys didn't leave, I left them and that was a thousand times worse. Rehab is a challenge in so many ways, it's frightening, lonely. Don't ever go.'

He smiled sadly. He wasn't planning to; alcohol was too big a part of his life, what would he do without it?

'Letting Sandy leave me there was the hardest thing I've ever done. I had to watch him walk away and try and believe he didn't hate me, that he'd come back, for me. His alcoholic wife.' She was gripping his hand now but he didn't object. It occurred to him that despite the therapy Kirsten hadn't really come to terms with any of it. She hadn't talked about her experience, what it had felt like and she obviously needed to.

'Detox was hell in so many ways, but it was the not being able to contact my boys for seventy-two hour that really got to me. And then, finding out later that they were going through the most hellish seventy-two hours of their life at that time and I wasn't there for them. Ryan fighting with his brother, Marissa shooting Trey, Seth and Summer witnessing the aftermath. Trey ending up in a coma, Marissa being charged, the police suspecting Ryan, Sandy was trying to deal with the fallout and the legal implications, alone. I wasn't there all summer while they struggled with it. I can't forgive myself for that either.'

'You have to think about the positives; they coped, you beat it, you got home.'

'I guess. There were a couple of blips along the way. I was too scared to go home; too scared I'd relapse. I'm still afraid of that but at least now it's just always in the back of my mind rather than constantly haunting me. And I know I don't want alcohol like I used to; I spent the night in a sleazy motel room with a bottle of vodka, but I didn't drink.'

'Perhaps you should market the strategy to rehab centres.'

'Not funny.'

'I know. I think it's the lack of sunshine; it's done nothing for my sense of humour.'

It was hard to be funny when you were depressed, apart from bitter sarcasm; that seemed to come easily for some reason.

'The major problem was this woman I met; Charlotte, we seemed to have a lot in common. She really helped me in rehab, offered to let me stay with her up at Lake Arrowhead after I checked out; peace and quiet, collect my thoughts you know. After I went home we kept in touch, organised a big charity event…turned out to be all a big scam. The friendship, the alcoholism, the event, everything. She was a con. She lied and she left. Another person who lied to me, another person who left. Now I know how Ryan feels.' Kirsten narrowed her eyes, that were flashing protective anger for her son, as she thought about the woman she'd trusted.

'She made me doubt myself,' she spat. 'I didn't realise at the time but she was playing on my insecurities about relapsing, my father, going home. And she thought I was vulnerable. She targeted me because she thought I was.'

Carter almost laughed at the disgusted look on her face. 'She got that wrong.'

'Yeah…well, sometimes I'm not sure. I hate the idea but perhaps I am…she was half right about so many things; I was afraid about going home although I still wanted to go, the reading of my dad's will had some surprises like she predicted, but the letter for me wasn't the bad part.'

'You were out of rehab by this time?'

'Yeah; it took a long time to deal with my dad's affairs; off shore accounts, hidden transfers, that kind of thing. He was always…dubious with his finances but whatever happened, at the end of the summer we didn't expect him to be broke.'

'Broke?'

'As in bankrupt, yes. I don't care about the money, it's the fact that there was nothing to show for all that hard work, all those late nights, all those missed ballet recitals, cotillions, my wedding, Seth's birth. Everything he worked for was ruined; the Newport Group about to default on its loans.'

'Oh, I'm sorry.'

'Don't apologise; you sound like I've just told you I'm divorced.'

Believe me, Carter thought, smiling at the way she'd turned his joke back on him, believe me, if you were divorced I wouldn't be apologising.

'But what mattered was the letter,' she continued. 'It was an apology and all the things I wanted him to say but he never did. And I never got to tell him how much it meant to me.' She gave a long sigh and shook the thought from her head. 'I don't think I've really answered your question. I ended up talking about the summer rather than what I…uh, felt.'

'It needed to be said, more than figuring out something that never really…'

'I'm sorry.'

'Kirsten you don't have to apologise.'

'I do. I should have been clearer about…our relationship but…I couldn't. I didn't know what it was exactly. What I wanted it to be. At Featherbrook…'

'It's ok. You had to get home.'

'And yet…part of me didn't want to.' The eyes that had been nervously meeting his hurriedly shifted away. He hesitated, wanting to ask but worried about pressing the beautiful, delicate woman next to him. 'What were you going to say that night? Before you told me about the car? He could hear her cautious voice in his head.

Carter…

That pause had haunted him for months. He could still feel the weight of that silence, the tension between them.

'I-' she began and then faltered but not because she couldn't remember. She remembered the night.

The way the wine made her feel.

The way Carter made her feel.

Carter…

Her hesitation as she looked into the eyes that were dilated into darkness by the amount of wine they'd drunk, knowing that if she didn't speak soon she might do something she wanted but would regret.

Tick. Tock.

She took a breath and made a choice, feeling sick at the waves of disappointment, and immediately following, those of guilt. 'I'm not sure if I was gonna say anything.'

And Carter knew she'd been a lot closer to stepping over the line than he'd thought.

'But I couldn't…'

'So when I left…?'

'That was different. You were leaving; it seemed…safe?'

'I just couldn't leave without…'

'Knowing how it felt?'

'That sounds so…base, but yeah. We had this intangible relationship built on looks and expressions, feelings and half finished sentences and I needed to know…'

'To see what was really there; what it meant.'

'You finish my sentences better than I could.'

'So did it mean anything to you?'

'I could ask you the same question.'

'It meant something…I just couldn't again…I guess it didn't to you; you still left.'

'I had to but that doesn't mean it didn't mean anything. God Kirsten, I don't know how you can think that. You know what I did when I left? I got into my car, put my head on the steering wheel and swore. Loudly and repeatedly. Because I didn't want to leave ok? Not without you.'

'Carter-'

'I know, I know I shouldn't have but I did, because I cared, too much. So I went home, cue the tequila and noisy music. And then I flew to New York and spent the summer thinking about you.'

'I thought about you,' she gave him a sideways glance and her eyes caught his.

'You did? I guess we both had sucky summers.'

'It wasn't like I just forgot because you were gone, because I was in rehab, focussing on getting home to my husband and my boys.'

'But you tried to? Moved on.'

She sighed, at a loss for what to say.

'I couldn't forget you Kirsten.'

'Same here but rehab taught me to compartmentalise; you're in a little box in my head now.'

'Oh really?'

The mood had lifted with the honesty between them and they sat in companionable, contemplative silence for a while.

He still had hold of her hand.

-----

Let me know what you think!