Captn-jacks-bonnie-lass: First – so sorry to hear about your phone! How absolutely awful. I'm glad I could be of some service to make your day a little better after something that. As for Alison – I knew she wouldn't come off as a terribly sympathetic character… but I just kept thinking about what it would be like growing up with a guy like Sheldon Sands for a big brother… honestly, I imagine Alison has spent the last few years in therapy. (LOL) And about their mother's death – I touch on it a little in this chapter (with his assessment that by then she was a grown up and shouldn't have needed him) – but the "real truth" can be found somewhere in between her version of what happened and his… pretty much like in real life when you come to those "he said/she said" moments.

Chapter Seventeen:

The Apple Doesn't Fall Far…

All right.

I have a daughter. I knew that.

But now she's here.

Here.

In this house.

Probably less than a hundred feet from where I sit trying to digest this particularly unexpected turn of events… trying to figure out just what the hell do about it… about her…(Hell, she's probably wondering the same damn thing…)

And why is Emma here, I ask myself – she's here because instead of living happily after like she was supposed to, Holly had to go and die – leaving me the only person Emma has. Other than my sister and Sheriff Roscoe, there – and they want to ship her off to some state run home because they can't fucking handle her. A fifteen year old. They're adults. With two children of their own – and oh, I just can't wait until those kids hit puberty. I hope I'm around to "see" how well Ally and Roscoe do when they don't have the option of just shipping the problem off to someone else – when they have to actually deal with something more pressing than whether they should paint the living room ecru or eggshell…

Christ. My sister is a suburban housewife… well, I don't know that for sure. She might still be working – or planning on going back when the baby is a little older… I can't see her turning into June Cleaver… but maybe I don't know my little sister as well as I thought I did. I certainly didn't think my request was too much.

All I asked for is six months – six months, just to get my shit together. I gave Alison my entire childhood – but of course, she's still sore because I wasn't around when Mom was dying. Christ on a crutch. Alison was a grown up – she was old enough to fend for herself. She shouldn't have needed me anymore. She should have just fucking handled the situation. Apparently, she hasn't gotten good at handling anything… not if she can't handle one fifteen year old. Maybe she really has turned into June Cleaver…

Fuck me, but I don't know how I'm going to handle this – but – but there is no way I'm going to just sign my own kid away to the state. How can Al even think I would? How can she… how can she think I'd run out on Emma the way our old man ran out on us? (Does she really think so little of me…? I admit it, that stings, just a little… I know I'm… I'm me, ok? But – my Christ, I gave Alison everything I had for almost fifteen years. I mean – ok, so I used her too – involved her in a few adolescent schemes, usually without her knowledge – but she never got hurt. Even now – well, you saw, she's not afraid of me. Do you really think I'd let anyone else talk to me like that?)

I need a drink – but the only thing around here, it would seem, is whisky. I hate fucking whisky, I really do… and Alison knows it. I stamp out my cigarette. I have to… to what?

Emma is mine… but oh fuck me… I'm not ready for this. I might have been a little ready for this if Holly had ever even hinted at her – illness. Lupus – fucking lupus? She had no right to keep something that big from me – I'm the father of her child, for crying out loud. That entitles me to – to something. Some kind of warning that she might up and die, leaving me solely responsible for a daughter I never expected to even meet.

Pissed? Oh, I'm a lot more than just pissed. Holly fucking knew I hated being caught off guard by major shit… and this, ladies and gentleman is some major fucking shit! If she'd told me, I could have at least tried to prepare myself… right. How the Hell do you prepare yourself for the sudden onset of parenthood…

Parenthood? Me? I'm a fucking menace. I don't know how to be a parent. Just look at the fine examples I had. Greta – well, she did her best under the circumstances. I've never faulted my mother for never being there. But the old man – he had no fucking excuse – except that he couldn't keep his dick in his pants. If you can't refrain from cheating, you shouldn't fucking get married. It's just that simple, folks.

I light up another cigarette. This has to be the third or fourth one since Alison left me… I imagine Beth would be pissed at me for chain smoking – for just sitting here on my ass when I should be doing something. Only I just don't know what to do…

I suppose I should go talk to her…

But I don't know what to say to Emma – and I'm not real sure I want to hear what she as to say to me – not after that whiz-bang first impression I made… Damn. If I'd been just the least bit prepared… hmph. Talk about your fucking 'really didn't see it coming' moments. This one almost out does the first one. I take a long drag off my smoke. It's not helping.

Beth said that having Cicily to love – having Cicily there to love her – that that's what got her through the darkest part of her life… somehow I don't think Emma will ever real warm and fuzzy about me…

Beth… what was I thinking… I should never have told her I'd come back. I should have known that… that something would happen. It always does, right? Fuck… it's like there's a knife twisting around in my gut just thinking about her… that kiss… my Christ, that kiss… I can almost still taste her… still feel her incredible warmth… what I wouldn't give to have been able to continue… to be able to kiss her again… just kiss her. That kiss held such promise… but guys like me… guys like me don't deserve promises like that. There are no happy endings.

Not for me.

Oh, come on, we both know it's true. At best there would have been a couple of months of – pretending… just like that summer by the lake with Holly… then it would have been back to hard, cold reality.

Every other thought I was trying so hard not to have about Beth – those were just part of the little fantasy I'd created for myself, just something to get me through… women like her don't fall for guys like me – and guys like me – we just don't fall for anybody. We take what we can, when we can and then… then we move on.

In the end, I'll wind up in a shallow grave or at the bottom of some lake somewhere. Just like Belini and a hundred others like him… guy's whose lives I ended. No regret. No remorse. No apologizes.

"Christ, Holly – what were you thinking, sending Emma to me?" I say into the darkness… even if she didn't know the details of my life… she knew who I worked for. That's the whole reason she left me. And now she expects me to raise our daughter? I mean – let's be real here, what kind of fucking good example could I possible set for a fifteen year old? What could I teach Emma about life – that it sucks and then you die? I'm pretty sure she's figured that one out already…

I stamp out my cigarette. I've been sitting here for a whole lot longer than five minutes… "Time to face the music, I guess," I say to Spencer as I stand up…

I manage to navigate the room I'm in and the hallway beyond – the house seems oddly quiet… no not quite completely. I hear music coming from upstairs (although it is at least recognizable as music) – and clattering in what I must presume is the kitchen, because it sounds like the sort of clattering I associate with kitchens.

Under my feet, I feel the plush carpet of my sister's living room – but – no voices… wonder where El Senor Hubby has vanished off to…

"Al?" I call out.

A moment later, I hear her footsteps on hardwood – that other hall – then the footsteps cease as she hits the carpet of the living room.

"Could you do your big brother a little favour?" I ask, entirely too sweetly.

"What?"

I just smile in response to her sour tone. "There's something in the pocket of my overcoat – be a dear and grab it for me, would you?"

"Why – what is it?"

"Just a little something to help the sight impaired maneuver around this charming home of yours. Where's the husband?"

"He needed some fresh air, so he took the girls for a walk," she tells me – I hear her moving towards the front door – and the coat closet.

"Guess my unexpected arrival put a wee bit of a kink in the ol' holiday plans, huh?"

"You could say that."

I just smirk. Yeah, I could probably navigate just fine without the cane – but this is the best way I can think of at the moment to rub my 'handicap' in her face. It's little more than petty revenge for her not giving me the time I need to put my life back together, before taking on the responsibility of a teenager. So – I stand and wait for Alison to come to me. She puts the cane in my hands and I snap it together.

"Um – and the stairs?" I ask as she starts to leave – even though I know perfectly well where they are. I'm also doing my best Ray Charles impersonation by not actually turning to 'face' the sound of her voice.

"This way –" Alison begins – her tone betrays her uncertainty. She really doesn't know how seriously she should take my 'handicap'…

I mean, I am me, and she of all people knows just exactly what that means… Ok, so maybe it's slightly better than petty revenge… Alison is clearly very uncomfortable. Good. I drop Spencer's lead and put one arm on her elbow, "Now don't go walking me into any walls, Sis."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Uh-huh. Sure she wouldn't… but she gets me to the stairs without incident and I tell her that I should probably take it from here on my own.

"Her room's the last one on the left."

I just nod and urge Spence up the steps…

Even without Alison's directions, I would have found my darling little girl's room with my ears, just fine. The music isn't resonating through out the house as it was earlier – in fact, I suspect Emma had it turned up that loud before because she assumed I was the dreaded in-laws… Looks like I was right about certain of my more nasty personality traits being hereditary… How peachy.

And… I still don't know what I'm going to say to her. Of all the things running through my head, none of them sounds right… I'm just standing there trying to figure something out when I realize that Em has had the same song on repeat. She must have picked that up from her mother… every time we fought, Holly would play Yaz's Nobody's Diary over and over and over… of course that was back in the days of vinyl… I think she wore that record out that summer… God, I suddenly feel very, very old…

I stand listen for a while… Soft piano… a backdrop of – hmm, something electronic, probably – long, even tones, reminiscent of string instruments… it resonates with… things I don't want to think about... (it still brings to mind Barber's Adagio – didn't know I was a connoisseur of classical music, did you? Well, let me tell you, Barber's Adagio is simply… simply the saddest piece of music ever written for strings…)

Out of sight – out of mind – out of time – to decide

Do we run? – should I hide? – for the rest – of my life

Can we fly? – do I stay? – we could lose – we could fail

In the moment – it takes – to make plans – or mistakes

30 minutes, a blink of an eye

30 minutes to alter our lives

30 minutes to make up my mind

30 minutes to finally decide

30 minutes to whisper your name

30 minutes to shoulder the blame

30 minutes of bliss, thirty lies

30 minutes to finally decide

Carousels – in the sky – that we shape – with our eyes

Under shade – silhouettes – casting shame – crying rain

Can we fly? – do I stay? – we could lose – we could fail

Either way – options change – chances fail – trains derail

30 minutes, a blink of an eye

30 minutes to alter our lives

30 minutes to make up my mind

30 minutes to finally decide

30 minutes to whisper your name

30 minutes to shoulder the blame

30 minutes of bliss, thirty lies

30 minutes to finally decide

To decide

To decide – to decide – to decide

To decide…

Finally, I knock.

Nothing.

I knock again, just a little louder this time. The volume decreases. But – no response. I tap on the door.

"Who is it?" her tone isn't quite neutral – but – but I don't want to try interpreting it… because if I was hard pressed to identify what I think I'm hearing… I'm already feeling like shit.

"Can I come in?"

More silence.

Ok, it's not as if I deserve a warm reception… but she could throw me some kind of a bone here. "Emma?"

"What – you're actually waiting for an invitation?" He tone has become scathing (although there's still that underlying... hurt.) "Ally and Poncho just barge on in."

Poncho – cute. Not very original, but cute. "Yes, I'm waiting for an invitation."

More silence – no – not quite silence. She's moving around – I wait.

Finally I hear the door open, just a crack. I smell patchouli and sandalwood incense (easily identifiable because of those two months I lived with Holly) and the sweetness of freesia oil on human skin…

I have never thought about this day – I have never imagined what I'd say to my daughter if we ever met – it was never supposed to happen... and for all that standing and listening and thinking – I'm still at a loss for words. Me – at a loss for words – mark it on your calendar…

"Yeah?" she asks. Her tone is carefully controlled. I imagine in the few minutes she was moving around she was touching up her make up – that's the sort of thing a woman would do… especially if she doesn't realize that the guy on the other side of the door can't see…

And I try to imagine what she's thinking – but I just don't know. "Could – would it be all right if I came in?" Because at the very least, I don't want to have this conversation in the hallway. Why now… why with my life in the state it's in… why couldn't Holly have live happily ever after like she was supposed to…? Yeah, I know – I'm sure it was never her plan to – to die and leave me with our daughter… that's the last thing she would have wanted…

"Just don't let the cats out – Poncho will freak," Emma tells me, pulling the door open enough for me to get through.

Bearing in mind the abundance of wild life, I tell Spencer to sit and stay – then I follow her inside, securing the door behind me.

"What's with the dog and cane?"

"Take an educated guess," I suggest, although I'm making every effort to keep my tone gentle.

"No one mentioned that part."

"No one knew. It's – a recent development."

"Ah. Guess that must suck."

I almost smile. "Yeah – yeah it does."

From across the room I hear the rustling of feathers… El… I wonder what it really is (and I hope to God it's in a cage – but so far nothing is dive bombing my head…) I follow her across the room… Emma makes no attempt to offer assistance – and I don't ask for any. I sweep the cane in front of me slowly… no major obstacles in the way.

Bedsprings creek as she sits.

"Mind if I sit down?" I ask.

"Knock yourself out." Her tone is tepid.

Ok, this is going swimmingly – I think my first conversation with the Mariachi went better… of course there I had the upper hand. Here – here I think we're probably on equally unsure footing. And I just don't do well when I'm in uncertain territory… I maneuver around to the side of the bed – and sit what I hope is a courteous distance from her. It's as much for my comfort as for hers… I fold up the cane and set it next to me. "So – um – I take it you know who I am –?"

"I know your name. And I know it's the name on my birth certificate – in that spot where they usually list 'father.' So my best educated guess is that you're the sperm donor."

Ouch – but no worse than I deserve… I'd do the same thing… "Anything else?" I ask, keeping my own tone carefully neutral as well.

"Your hair is longer than in any of the photos I've seen."

I wonder who showed her pictures, Alison or Holly… I suppose it's moot. "Last photo I saw of you, you were twelve, I think."

"That was three years ago."

"I – sort of – lost touch."

"I know Mom sent you letters. I – had to write the last couple for her. I mailed them myself."

I hear a twinge of what I am very sure is deep-seated pain in Emma's voice, despite her best effort to control it. I can only imagine that Holly must have been pretty sick when she had to have Emma help her write those last few letters… I'm almost afraid to know what was in them… and what impact it had on Emma…

"I – I haven't checked that P.O. box in a while," I tell her honestly. No sense denying it.

"Three years?"

"It's complicated."

I hear her cold hard laugh. "Yeah. That's what Alison says every time Poncho wants to know where you are."

"Look – I'm sorry. I – I just didn't – get around to having my mail forwarded. I can't change that now." Yeah – it's starting to get to me – only – it's not that I'm angry at her – I'm angry at myself for not getting around to it. Every time I'd think about having my mail forwarded – I'd put if off. Tomorrow. Next week. Next month… it wasn't like the photos and letters wouldn't be there when I finally got around to them… I had all the time in the world. Only now… now it just doesn't matter, does it? It's not like I can see the photos – read the letters… not like I'll ever see a fucking thing, ever again…

"So you really didn't know – about any of it, did you?" Emma asks me in a very carefully guarded tone.

"No. I really didn't." I tell her – I wish I could – could see her eyes – her body language – I wish I had some clue what she was thinking… how much she really hates me…

"I guess it doesn't matter – even if you had come – she'd still be dead."

Oh Christ – Holly, you didn't… "She – asked me to – ?" to come back?

"That was last year. When things got really bad – when – we knew she wasn't – she didn't have much longer. We – wrote you twice asking you to – be there. Mom never stopped believing you'd show up."

"I – I'm sorry." I don't know what else to say… I just know how – hollow – 'sorry' sounds. Sorry is what you say when you bump into someone in the subway – it's what you say when you step on someone's foot – or spill… coffee… why is everything reminding me how unfit I am to be a – a father? She's right – all I ever was, was a sperm donor… I tried to make myself feel better by setting up some money for her… but… "Look – Em –"

"Save it, ok. Mom never gave up on you. I did. I know you don't want me – I'm nothing to you – you or your sister. And – frankly, I'd already figured out by your initial reaction that you weren't really here for me – I just wanted to hear you say it." Her tone is cold – hard – and – sharp enough to cut right through to the bone. "Your being here will just make it easier for Alison and Poncho to get rid of me."

"Emma –"

"I over heard she and Poncho arguing about it. If it makes any difference to you – it was his idea not hers. He had to work at her to get her to give in."

Now I know I should have shot him…

"Besides – even if you can't see me, I'm pretty sure Alison has filled you in on the – little details. I'm not exactly Little Orphan Annie over here, you know," Emma tells me. Her tone hasn't lost it's edge.

"Yeah. So – ah – you wanna tell me why you won't go to school?" I ask.

"You wanna tell me why you care?"

"Call it curiosity."

"School sucks."

"Any particular aspect – or is it just the entire educational process?"

"The school they're sending me to bites. They wouldn't let me into any of the classes I wanted – drama – band – choir – they're too uptight to let me in – like I said, I'm no Little Orphan Annie – Poncho calls me an embarrassment."

I just snort – he should get to know me…

"The art teacher at the school is a moron – so there's no point to going to his class – they stuck me in remedial English – and they don't even offer Russian."

"Russian?"

There's a long pause. Then, "We – Mom and me – were talking about going – before – she just got too sick. We still talked about it – but we both knew it was never going to happen. I'm going to go someday, though."

"It's a beautiful country," I tell her.

"You've been to Russia?" she doesn't sound like she believes me – but some of the anger seems to have finally bled away.

"Six years ago – I wasn't there long – just – passing through on my way to somewhere else."

"Alison says you travel a lot."

I just shrug. What can I really say… about anything. After a very long moment, I find my voice again… "Emma – would you mind if – I've heard my sister's description of you – but –?" But I really just want to touch her. I never thought – never thought I'd ever be this close to my daughter – my Christ… I am really right her, right next to her… I so never planned for this…

"Guess paternity comes with some rights," there's a bitterness in her tone that – hurts…

… and I'm sorry I asked… but – I guess it's too late to back down now. I shift so that I'm 'facing' her – and raise my hand slowly towards the sound her voice.

"Are you – completely blind – or – "

"Completely," I assure her. Yes, it is all black…

And I'm taken utterly by surprise when I feel the feather-lightness of Emma's hand on mine (I wonder if she's as uncertain about this as I am... I wonder just exactly what that bitterness stems from…) She guides my hand to her face, leaning over, into my touch… and I just let my hand rest on her cheek for a second. It is so strange – I have never been what you would call touchy-feely sort of person, but – but I guess when you loose your sight, everything else just becomes that much more important. "I'm not going to smudge that eyeliner am I?" I ask with a smile.

She actually laughs, "No one would notice anyway."

"I'm still not very good at this," I warn her – but… I let my hand wander gently over her face and… I can almost begin to piece together a picture… I remember what she looked like in that last photo I saw… a lot seems to have happened in three years… Two rings in her left eyebrow… three hoops in her left ear – two studs in the cartilage – something long and dangly in the right ear – one, two, three studs above it – a small hoop in the cartilage. I feel her hair. There is a lot of hair spray in it… I can begin to imagine what it looks like… so much for those long blond pig-tails… Emma's jaw line is similar to mine – firm chin – that piercing just below her lip…

"Lipstick," she warns as my fingers come to her lips.

"Right – what colour?"

"Black."

"Alison tells me you a lot of your wardrobe is black."

"Maybe it's hereditary."

I smile, just a little… I let fingers wander up to her cheeks – they're high, like Holly's – she has Holly's nose, too… while I can't say I'm thrilled with her sense of 'self expression' – she is beautiful. I rest my hand on her cheek for another moment – but she doesn't seem to object. "You – you look a lot like your mother, don't you?"

"That's what people say. She always told me I had your eyes, though."

Oh Christ… I don't really mean to pull back, but… but yeah, she had my eyes… I just nod. At least this time I'm pretty sure she wasn't trying to hit a nerve…

"So what happened?" Emma asks… I feel her fingertips on my temple – oh please no – but she just touches the arm of my shades.

I think – I think I can breathe again… even so, I pull her hand away, very gently – I hold it for just a second and then release her… we don't know one another nearly well enough for – any kind of familiarity. "I'd – rather not – talk about it." Not with you… Christ not with you.

"Guess it doesn't matter."

The finality in her tone is like a knife twisting around inside of me… "Emma – I know I didn't show up here for you – but I would have come home if I'd known what was going on."

Her laugh is full of cold irony, "And here we were making such progress – having ourselves a real father-daughter moment – and you just had to go and screw it up by lying to me." I feel her settle back on her side of the bed – I think she's scooted a little further away. "You know – the most I'd ever hoped for was – maybe – maybe some sort of vague friendship with you – but it's hardly the end of my world if you don't want to know me. I don't care if you don't like me – like the way I look. I don't care what you think of me. I don't even care that you don't care – just – don't fucking lie to me."

"Em –"

"I know your sister has been trying to reach you through work since I got here. Don't try to tell me it actually took you three months to get around to checking in with your boss, too."

"I wasn't getting my messages." Because if I'd known… if I'd known, I would have come home. And that would have ruined their little set-up… so I didn't get my messages, because Collins needed me right where I was… fuck me. But good.

"Oh come off it. For three months? How stupid do you really think I am?"

"I know how it sounds – but – it's true. I can't prove it – " Christ – I don't even know if I can prove I was set up… I think I need a drink. A really big one. )And I am becoming increasingly aware of a dull throbbing that seems to start right about where I used to have eyes. Dr. Answan hazarded a guess that I would get these kinds of headaches from time to time – something about the body's general objection to having parts of it drilled out…) "Didn't your mother tell you anything about me?" Come on, Holly – don't tell me you left all the details to me… you had to know I'd be no good at this…

"Just – that you two had a fling – that it was over before she realized she was pregnant. She told me it was her idea for you not to be in my life – she didn't want me to blame you – or to be angry with you. She – she said you were a complicated man – and that – I'd – have to be more patient with you than she was. Not that it matters. We both know you don't want me, right?"

Is that really hope underlying the angry hurt in her voice – or is that me doing the hoping… wanting her to – to want me to want her… Christ. Somebody just shoot me… please. "Emma – I have never said I didn't want you."

"You didn't have to – I figured it out on my own. I knew Mom was covering for something – covering for you. I'm a big girl, now, though. I can handle the truth. I just want you to say the words – out loud – to my face. Then – I guess it'll all be over."

Oh my Christ. She sounds fucking just like me… "I'm not sure you'd understand the truth," I tell her. I can't believe Holly didn't tell her anything…

"I'm not a little kid – I get it, ok. I get it that you don't want me, that you never wanted me – just – just tell me. Please – just tell me. I'll go away – I'll never bother you again!"

I think my head is going to explode, "Fine," I growl at her a little more savagely than I really think I mean to (because I am slowly beginning to realize how much pain there is behind the anger in her tone…) "If you really want the truth, I'll tell you the truth – in fact I'll show it to you." Settle down, gang – my temper is flaring – but no way would I do that to my own kid. No – I reach into my other jacket pocket and pull out that other ID that I'm still toting around (because I am still very much in the employ of the CIA.) And I do it in such a way that she'd have to be as blind as I am not to see the heat I'm packing… yes, yes that is just a little bit of a startled gasp I hear coming from her. I toss my ID squarely into her lap and light a cigarette while she's looking at it. "This is who I am. This is why your mother left me – and – I don't know if it'll prove anything – but – when I say I wasn't getting my messages – well – sometimes things just get a little hairy in the field. I'm sorry about that, I really am – but there just isn't anything I can do to change what's already happened." Because if there were… I can think of any number of things I'd go back and change…

"I don't – you're – but – you're –"

"Blind as a bat," I assure her. "Before the – incident – that –" ok, Sands, settle down, I tell myself, taking a long drag off my smoke – settle down before you say something you're really going to regret... "Before I lost my sight, I ran covert ops in Mexico. Hell, I was covert ops in Mexico."

"You're still carrying a gun."

She hands the ID back to me, carefully touching my arm with it – I take it from her (gently, because she seems pretty spooked) and return it to the inner pocket of my jacket. "Yes. I'm still carrying a gun. And I still know how to use it, too."

"But – you said – you were completely blind."

"A good officer learns to use all five senses – if you happen to loose one – trust me, there's still plenty you can do with the other four," I toss some classroom rhetoric at her. "So I don't want you to think that living with a blind guy is going to be some kind of walk in the park." For either of us… "I won't tell you how to dress or wear your hair – but we're going to talk about those long dangly earrings and I'm going to tell you exactly why you're going to stop wearing them. We will find a school that offers Russian – and has an art teacher that isn't a moron and a drama teacher who isn't too uptight to let you into his class – and you will go to school. Every day. Because I don't think my new boss really wants me hanging out in the office anyway – so if I have to, I'll sit with you in every single class. And really don't want that."

"What –?"

"You're right, Em – you're not little Orphan Annie. And I'm no Daddy Warbucks – but I am not going to sign you over to anyone. So – just start packing." And… I wait for the explosion. But I hear – absolutely nothing. Which is a whole lot worse… "I will cart you out of here with nothing but the cloths on your back," I warn her.

Still nothing, "Ok – you've got five minutes to start – I need to make a call anyway." Because I'd better warn Milo… he answers his cell in two rings… looks like Mother Hen was just waiting for trouble…

"Jeff?"

"No, I'm Jeff – you're Milo." Although I'd be willing to trade places for the next twenty four or so hours… "You remember that promise I made earlier about an evening you weren't going to forget…" I give him the low down in less than a hundred words.

"Holy Crap. What are you going to do?"

"I guess that kinda depends on how that beau of yours feels about having extra house guests. Emma comes with two cats and a bird."

"Under the circumstances – give me five minutes to find the keys to his truck and I'll be on my way. Should I dress for dinner?"

I grin – oh it is tempting, but... "No – no I'm afraid if we did that, Sugar Butt, I might just have to break that other promise I made to you – and I'll just bet you anything my sister has white carpeting." Blood stains are such a bitch to get out of anything white…

Milo laughs – my meaning is of course completely understood. "All right – I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Swell – hey – there's a bottle of Vicodin in my bag – could you bring it?"

"You ok?"

"Just a headache. I promise not to do anything drastic before you get here."

"And after I arrive?"

"Guess we'll play that by ear."

He laughs again – we say our good byes and…

"I still don't hear the sound of packing," I tell Emma.

"Do you really want me to live with you – or is this just some weird guilt thing?" her tone is – cool. Flat. But I'm beginning to understand it. She doesn't want pity, especially from me.

"I have never said that I didn't want you, Emma. I didn't expect you to – to be a part of my life – ever. I might have – if I'd know about your mother being sick. But – I can't change what's already happened. You're mine – and that's not guilt. That's just – just the way it is." And if I'd ever had any doubt that you were mine, meeting you would have removed it – because my Christ, the apple didn't fall far from the tree on this one. "I want you to live with me – I just want you to understand – I'm in the middle of something right now. I would have preferred not to drag you into it – but – that's moot. Our ride will be here in –" hmm… I know how Milo drives. "Twenty minutes / half an hour tops. Think you can be packed up by then?"

"So – what do I call you?"

Hmmm… good question. "Whatever you want – within reason." I add… yeah, I'm sure she can think of lots of things she might like to call me, especially right now…

"Mom always called you Shelly."

Christ – I hate that name, "If it makes you happy – come on – how can I help you get your stuff together?" Because I really may end up shooting someone if I have to sit through dinner with the family…

------------------------------------------------

If I wait for just a second more

I know I'll forget what I came here for

My head was so full of things to say

But as I open my lips, all my words slip away
Ah-ha

And anyway

I can't believe you want to turn the page

And move your life into another stage

You can change the chapter you can change the book

But the story remains the same, if you take a look

Ah-ha

Ah-ha

For the time we've had, I don't want to be

A page in your diary, babe

For the good the bad, I don't want to see

A page in your diary, babe

For the happy the sad, I don't want to be

A page in your diary, babe

Just another page in your diary

Perhaps if I held you, I could win again

I could take your hand, we'd talk and maybe babe

That look in your eyes I always recognize

Would tell me everything is gonna be fine

You're gonna be mine

For a long time

For the time we've a had I don't want to be

A page in your diary, babe

For the good, the bad, I don't want to see

A page in your diary, babe

For the happy, the sad, I don't want to be

Another page

In your diary

For the time we've had, I don't want to be

A page in your diary, babe

For the good the bad I don't want to be

A page in your diary, babe

For the happy the sad, I don't want to be

Just another page

In your history

- Yaz -

PS – not to worry, Sands will eventually get his head out of his butt and figure out that women like Beth DO fall for guys like him – and guys like him do indeed fall back… he's just being a boy.

30 Minutes is by t.A.T.u.