Just a quiet little chapter… but I think after the last couple even Sands needs a breather!

Chapter Thirty One

Bridges…

We're barely in the door when Cicily comes bounding down the stairs and straight into me – and I am very aware of how hard Beth is trying not to laugh. I'm not even sure what she finds so amusing. I mean, I know how I'd feel if my kid was hugging a man packing as much heat as I happen to be packing, a man with my general temperament and oh so charming personality. (Hey, at least I can admit it, I am an asshole.)

I'm also aware that my kid is nowhere around.

"Emma's up in her room listening to music," Cicily supplies the answer to my unasked question… like mother like daughter…

(Just the same, it's good to be back 'home' – although that thought brings a whole slew of other thoughts that I'm not quite ready to have yet. After all, I've only got the use of this place until the New Year and it is a wee bit small for the number of bodies that are currently packed into it, especially when you consider my daughter's menagerie. And… eventually I'd like to share a bed with Beth, which isn't likely to happen here, given our current sleeping arrangements. But that's another one of those thoughts I'm not real ready to have yet. Now, I don't want you to misunderstand. I want to make love to every inch of her body – I want to fill every hurt little place inside her with pleasure. I want to seduce her into ever forgetting she's ever known the touch of any other man. But… but I don't want to push her into something she's not ready for, either. I have no idea how much damage this Neal guy really did to her, and – there is something very – good – about just what we're doing. I like knowing she's sleeping safe and sound just above me. I truly loved every minute of this morning, just having coffee together – just – being normal. Being happy. I'm not going to admit it too loudly, but I'm more than just a little bit glad she's stubborn enough not to balk at my balking and that she didn't run away when I pushed her to. I don't know why she's still here – but – she is.)

I finally manage to get my boots off and wiggle my toes, just to make sure I still can – I honestly stopped being able to feel my feet a while ago – but then I stopped noticing that I couldn't feel them.

"You ok?" Beth asks me.

"Just – joints ache a little in the cold, that's all," I tell her. Near as I can figure, everything still moves just the way it's supposed to. I'm not quite ready to tell her why the joints in my toes ache when it gets cold or just before it rains (you know, that whole having every toe broken thing), but I know she's seen my feet and has to have some kind of clue that something happened and it wasn't pleasant. Milo really doesn't know how to set a broken bone for shit – although it probably didn't help that I had all ten toes broken at more or less the same time (same 'session' anyway) and he really didn't have anything to use to bind them up when I got back to him.

I feel Beth's hand on my arm, drawing me back to the present, drawing me into her warmth.

"And yet you say you love winter," she teases me gently. I still think she has a clue where my mind was, though; it's the way she's touching my arm that gives her away. It reminds me of the way she held onto me that first time, when we were talking about the real extent of the damage to my – face. I feel her grip tighten, just a little, and I smile over at her. Mon Ange. (I think might even get used to being read 'like an open book' – although it amuses me to think of her doing it to that damned mariachi. What I wouldn't have given to be a fly on that wall, just to watch him squirm under her scrutiny… ) "What can I say – this is my favourite time of year," I shrug.

"I hope it snows soon," Cicily tells me, "I only got to see snow once before – it never snowed in Alabama."

"Well you're probably going to see a lot of it here," I tell her. I'm glad she's stopped tip-toeing around the subject of 'seeing' with me… although the subject of Alabama brings up another question…

I listen a minute while Cicily and Spencer head into the other room – it sounds like they're playing. I turn to Beth, "Can I ask you something?" I say quietly.

"Cicily barely remembers her father," she tells me, just as quietly. (Yes, that is what I was going to ask – she really is just plain freaky some times.) "What little she does remember isn't good. The fights – the – abuse. He left me so black and blue that most of the time I was ashamed to leave the house. Maybe that was point, I don't know."

I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her close. "I really can fix it for you," I say very quietly, almost right into her ear… I love having her against me like this. She's so warm – so – so fucking amazing. "Widows get benefits, and you know I don't want you to ever have to deal with him again."

"I know. Once upon a time I really might have let you to fix it your way," Beth admits. "But – that was a long time ago. I'm over that part – I just want my life."

"And it really doesn't bother you that I could put a bullet in this guy's skull without a second thought? It doesn't bug you, even a little, that sooner or later some fuckmook is going to get in my way and end up dead because of it?"

"I can't explain it, Cowboy. All I can tell you is that you are who you are and I can live with that. I can live with you."

"I'm really not a nice guy – but I can promise you that I'll never do what he did. I will never – ever – raise a hand to you – or Cicily. A lot of what I told you my sister said about me is true – but I don't get my kicks beating up on kids – or animals – and I've never lain a hand on someone I was involved with."

"Sheldon – I trust you."

"How can you be so sure?" I ask – because the conviction in her voice right then – it really was enough to make even me believe.

"Because I feel safe around you. Comfortable. And just like you said I might not get it that for you feeling 'normal' is just this really great feeling – well for me it's feeling comfortable, especially around a man."

"You started off a little twitchy around me."

"You started off being a bit of an ass."

I know she's teasing – but it still stings. I really could have hurt her that day and I know it. I remember wanting to hurt her, just to prove that even wounded – blinded – I could still hurt someone. I remember being very pleased with myself when I knew she was scared, that I'd put her on the defensive. And yet – she's been nothing but good to me…

"Hey – Cowboy – it's ok. I know you were hurting – I knew it then. I knew you were frightened," she says that last very, very gently, like she knows I really don't admit to fear real well… but…

"I was more afraid than I'd ever been in my life," I manage to pry the words out – it's not easy, but it's something I want her to hear. "I've been in some pretty unpleasant places – but – I'd never been left feeling so helpless – so – vulnerable and uncertain. My own instincts let me down – and that was – it was worse than being betrayed by someone I thought I could trust."

"You really did trust her, didn't you?" And there is truly nothing accusatory or angry in her tone – it's just a question.

"Yes," but not like I trust you… "I never let her in – it was never supposed to be 'happily ever after' – just a couple of months of – of fucking on a beach. But it's really not that betrayal that gets me. It's not even her sitting over me, fucking watching while Guevara – " I just shake my head because some words just refuse to come out. "What bothers me is that I really thought I knew how to read people. I though I had a handle on the whole situation. I've never been so wrong about anything and – and it cost me more than any other mistake I've ever made." I lost my sight. My eyes. I lost my confidence in myself. "Sometimes, when I know I'm standing in front of a mirror, I feel like I can almost see myself in it. I see what they did to me – the kind of freak they turned me into. I still – get sick. I don't think the nightmares will ever go away. And I will never understand how you can look at me the way you do – how you can get so fucking close to me without – without hurling. Even Milo recoiled the first time he saw my face – and – my Christ I know the kinds of shit he's seen."

Beth doesn't say anything. She doesn't lie to me by saying that it'll all be 'ok,' she just holds me close and I remember when I was fevered – scared out of my mind – she promised me that she wouldn't leave me alone in the dark. And here she is, still holding me in a way that no one else ever has.

"No one has ever sat with me the way you did," I tell her. "The closest was – was me and Milo in a cold damp cell in Eastern Europe, but that was two guys trying to get through – just trying to – to make it out of Hell alive. We needed each other. You had no reason to help me – no reason to care. And I really was an ass."

"You have your moments," Beth agrees; I know she's smiling and I really can't help but smile back. "But you're really not such a bad guy – but ah – I promise not to let your secret out."

I just laugh, "I don't think anyone would believe you anyway."

Beth chuckles with me; I run my fingers along her cheek and brush a stray lock of hair out of her face – she must be so beautiful with those green eyes and that blond hair. What I wouldn't give to be able to see her smile.

"You – should really go talk to Emma," Beth tells me – hesitantly? Does she know how close I am to kissing her… probably. But Cicily is just in the next room… and I really do need to talk to Em about what happened earlier. I lean in and brush my lips against Beth's cheek, very lightly. I really could make love to every inch of her right here and now… but there is something to be said for anticipation…

…Although it's not on loud enough to make me want to shoot something, I can hear Emma's music well before I get to her door. It's that same CD she was listening to at my sister's (the one that's recognizable as music, that is.) I feel for the door – closed. No real shocker there. So, I knock.

Nothing.

I knock again.

More nothing.

"I'm not going away, you know," I say loud enough to be heard over the music. "I'm a very patient man, I'll wait here all night if I have to."

"Yeah right," Emma replies – the music's volume decreases. "The day you turn into a patient man is the day a guy Harrison nominates me for prom queen."

Like father like daughter… "So – can I come in?" I ask – now that the music is lower, I can hear what sounds like the light clacking of computer keys – so she's doing something on that laptop of hers.

"Free country."

Biting back an acerbic comment that would likely get me into trouble anyway, I go in and make my way to her bed. No sooner is my ass parked, than a cat jumps into my lap insisting that I pay attention to it; I think it's Iggy. Whichever one it is, it starts to purr. It's so fucking nice to be loved. (Sarcasm…)

In the corner, Mr. Bird rustles its feathers at me and lets out a deep throaty squawk. I still haven't figured out if it likes me or finds me as irritating as I find it – but as long as it doesn't start dive bombing my head, I won't start with the target practice. (Emma has told me that Mr. Bird – whose name is Erasmus, if you can believe that – can't actually fly. Bum wing. Know what else she told me? The ravens in the Tower of London are reputed to live as long as fifty years – and he is a raven, not a crow. According to my little muffin, Mr. Erasmus is right around two feet tall – I declined to verify that information personally. I just don't want to get that close to it. She's had it for five years – and some vet told her it was probably less than two when she found it – isn't that just swell? That damned bird will probably outlive me. Oh yeah – and it spends very little time actually in it's cage – but Em does assure me that it's preferred hang out is a perch she mounted to the top… she also assures me that it's completely tame and very friendly. Like I said, I have yet to get that close to it and as long as it doesn't get any bright ideas, I won't start target practice.)

"So what are you working on?" I inquire of my darling little offspring – you know the one that seems content to just ignore me right now.

"Talking to someone – online. I'm – assuming that's ok with you?" Her tone is down right sardonic.

"I guess that depends on what you're saying," I try to keep everything in check – you know, paranoia, temper, general surly-ness…

"Well I'm not going to tell Jay that my father is a spy, if that's what you're asking."

"Jay?" That sounds like a boy's name… unless it's some hip slang for Jenny or – or – Jane – or – hmmm… what other girl names start with 'J'? Jessica, Juanita, Jasmine…? Joon?

"Jay's my best friend."

"Ah." And still no pronoun – I wonder if she's doing that on purpose? "Where does this Jay live?"

"New York."

"Ah."

"Yeah – ah," Emma mimics me; I hear her go back to typing.

"So – what are you two talking about?"

"Just stuff."

Stuff. Right. "I don't suppose you could make a couple of minutes to talk to your old man, here?" I ask her.

"I was just saying good bye," Emma tells in a dry tone – I hear a little more typing – then she it feels like she turns back in my direction. "So?"

"So – look – about earlier –"

"Why don't you just cut the small talk and tell me if you're shipping me off to the Dawsons or not?"

Anger? Sure sounds like it… "Well – I suppose that depends on what you really want," I begin tentatively. Because – I mean, she is fifteen that should be old enough to make up her mind if she wants to live with an asshole like me – or assholes like Holly's folks. Not that I want her to leave and go live with them, but… well, she's fifteen. She's really not a kid so I guess I should at least ask…

"Nothing is up to me – it never has been – and it probably never will be. So why don't you just tell me what you've decided would be 'best.'"

Hmmm… why do I get the feeling this hostility is about a whole lot more than just Holly's parents… ? "Em – if you want to live with your mother's parents –"

"Why would I want to live with them," she cuts me off. "I don't even know them."

"You don't exactly know me either," it's taking everything I have to stay calm here…

"So that's your decision? You don't want me any more?"

"I didn't say that. I'm just pointing out the facts." Just the facts, Ma'am, just the facts… Christ, I need a cigarette – and I haven't even been up here five minutes.

"Well the fact is that they showed up for the first time when I was twelve and Mom was in the hospital. I didn't even know I had grandparents – at least not those grandparents."

"Um – think you could elaborate?" Because she sure as Hell didn't have any contact with my parents…

"When we lived in Millhaven – in Arkansas – there was this older couple who lived kitty corner to us – behind and over. I grew up calling them Grandma Jo and Grandpa Ern. They're my 'grandparents' – not that snooty couple from Yuppy-ville who showed up out of nowhere and made Mom freak. I didn't see Barbie and Ken again until her funeral when they came in and tried to wreck everything by taking over. So – if you really want to ship me off to my grandparents – they live in fucking Arkansas. Last name's Plummer – and they're really great people. Even you might like them."

Well I guess that settles that, "I thought we had a discussion about language," I tell her in what I hope is a stern paternal voice. (I don't think I'm doing such a great job of it.)

I hear what I think is a snort of laughter, "I'll work on it. But you have to work on it too – you're a terrible example."

Well at least she doesn't sound quite so pissed at me. I feel the bed moving as Emma re-arranges herself. It doesn't seem so much as if she's pulling away so much as just getting comfortable, which I'm hoping is a good sign. (I swear, Beth makes this parent thing seem a whole lot fucking easier than it really is.) "I don't suppose you have any idea what you're mother's beef was with her folks," I ask, because the last I heard they were at least speaking – not that Holly ever told me anything about her life, just Emma's.

"No idea – but it sounded more like it was their beef with her. When Jim couldn't calm her down, he just took me home – the last I heard was them screaming at Mom about being reckless and irresponsible. She pretty much refused to talk to me about them – even – you know – when things got bad – with her health."

"Jim? The nudist?"

"Yes, Shelly, Jim the nudist. They'd already split up by then – but – he was always around to help – he's a good guy," (I really don't like her tone, all warm and fuzzy like.) "He might know what the issue was – if it really matters."

"So – um – now that we've got that cleared up – there was something you wanted to talk to me about?" Because no, I don't want to discuss Holly's ex boyfriend with my daughter.

"I know it's none of my business – but – you and Beth –?"

"It's your business because it affects you," I tell her, hoping she'll believe me. (What did she really think, that because I have Beth and Cicily in my life now, I was just going to ship her off to live with someone else?)

"I was just wondering – I mean – this is really a permanent sort of thing, right?"

"I – I don't honestly know if anything is ever permanent, there kiddo. But she says she plans to stick around – and I really dig having her here." And I wonder just how big of a problem this really is going to be…

"Do you love her?"

Oh Christ. "I – don't know."

"How can you not know? Either you love someone or you don't."

"Not everything is that black and white, Em." …you don't even know what love is… I wonder if that's true…

"So can I ask you something about you and Mom?"

I just nod. What else can I do – say 'no'?

"Why'd you two really break up?"

Break up? Well there's an understatement… "Your mother wanted something I couldn't give her. So – we split up." Although as far as I'm concerned, she did the splitting…but I guess it's a moot point.

"What did she want?"

"I – I don't know exactly. I just know she wanted a different life than I did – and I guess to be fair, I didn't want the kind of life she wanted either." And why didn't Holly ever explain any of this…

"But – if you loved her – and I know she loved you – why wasn't that enough? Why couldn't the two of you just – compromise or something?"

"I am not exactly a compromising individual – and frankly, neither was your mother."

"What about Beth – would you compromise for her?"

And here I thought I'd already dealt with the fucking Spanish Inquisition… I count to ten. It doesn't work. So let's just try the direct approach: "I don't know whatyou want to hear from me, Em – so if you could maybe just give me some kind of clue what this is really all about, that would just be awfully swell." (And I suppose I don't mean for my tone to be quite so scathing, but fuck me, I'm lost here. I can't address the issue if I don't know what it is – and I won't know what it is unless she tells me...)

"I know that no matter what Mom would still be – gone," Emma's voice catches (it was kinda shaky to begin with, there), "But – what makes Beth so special when Mom wasn't?"

"What?" it's not that I don't understand the question, it's just that – that I'd like to know where the fuck it came from. "Em – your mother – Christ, she just knocked me right over, just by walking into the room. I spent nine months working up enough nerve to ask her out – and I was still pretty shocked when she said yes."

"So – what happened?"

"I took her to dinner and a play – something by Oscar Wilde, I think." (We didn't quite see the whole thing, not that I have any intention of telling my little girl that on our first date, her mother and I spent the entire second half of the play in a closet in the basement of the theatre…)

"No – I mean – what happened?"

Ah. The proverbial what. "We went out for a few months – it was the end of my last semester at Virginia State. She was wrapping up her bachelor's in Fine Art – I think she had a couple more classes to take before she graduated, then she was talking about going to Europe for a year or two. I don't suppose she ever told you any of this?"

"No."

Terrific. "We decided to spend the summer together in the Ozarks – well, I think she decided and I went along with it. I'm not exactly into nature the way your mother was."

"I never would have guessed."

I just smile, "At the end of the summer we – we just broke up and went our separate ways. Mine was into the CIA. I have no idea if your mother really went to Europe or not, but I always assumed she did. I honestly didn't think about her again until the day she called me, out of the blue, four years later, to tell me I was a father." And I suppose that maybe I could have said that just a wee bit more gently…

"Were we really that easy to forget?" Emma sounds – hmmm. Yeah. Hurt.

"First off, there was no 'we' – I didn't know she was pregnant, remember? And secondly – secondly forgetting about her was easier than trying to figure out what really went wrong." Because maybe I knew all along that Holly wasn't the type of girl who would want to be married to a spy. Maybe that's why I waited until the end of that summer to tell her what my plans really were even though she was completely up front with me about hers.

"Would it have made any difference to either of you if she'd told you she was pregnant?"

Either of us? Near as I could tell, Holly held all the cards on that deal… "I really don't know."

"You really don't know anything, do you?"

"Never said I did."

"I just want you to level with me, Shelly – that's all."

"About?" Because as near as I can figure, I have been leveling with her…

I hear – a long sigh – movement – maybe a shrug. "I don't know. I'm just trying to figure out – everything. I don't even know where to start any more. I know Mom loved you – I could hear it in her voice, see it on her face – but I could never get her to really talk about you, not the way I wanted her to. She just said that – that she didn't know where my father was, but that I shouldn't ever think he didn't love me."

"Well she was right about that."

"Do you really mean that?"

"Of course I do."

And I hear – a sniffle? I slide back so that I'm sitting next to Emma – she leans over into me and I drape my arm around her shoulders and she just holds onto me for a couple of minutes before speaking again (and I really don't know what I'm doing, but it seems to be the right thing for a change.)

"I ah – I was six or seven the first time I asked Mom about you – the first time I realized that I didn't seem to have a father at all. I mean – I had friends who had 'weekend dads,' friends whose parents were divorced or who had never been married – at least not to each other. I had a few friends whose fathers never came around – but – I was the only one who didn't know anything at all about my father, not even his name."

"What did she tell you?" Although I'm almost afraid of the answer…

"Mom dug out an old photo of you and put it in a frame for me. She told me that you guys had had a fling – and I was the end result, but that she never regretted having me, and that even if you weren't around, she knew you loved me. She never told me she was sending you letters and pictures, though, not until – until she needed my help to write to you."

"I'm sorry – I really am. I would have been there if I'd known."

"I know. I just wish she would have told me more about you. All she ever said was that your life was really complicated, and I remember wondering if that meant you were married or something, but when I asked, Mom said she doubted you'd ever get married – in just that tone, too. So I figured you must never have loved her. But – the way you talk about her – it sounds like – like maybe you did and I don't get it. I don't understand how if two people really love each other, why they don't just find a way to make it work. Why is that so hard?"

"There are no easy answers, Em. Me and your mother – even if we did love each other, there's just no way it ever would've worked. We're just too different." And what does that mean for Beth and me, I wonder… Just take it on faith… Right. That is a fuck of a lot easier said than done… but maybe I really will just wake up some day and realize that she's still here… Emma is speaking again:

"I was eight when Mom started seeing Jim."

Swell, here we go with Jim again. "And?"

"They were together for almost four years, and then – they just weren't together any more. And neither of them would tell me or David why."

"David?"

"Jim's son – he's a couple years younger than me."

"The nudist has a son?"

"Yes, Shelly. The nudist has a son."

"And – you guys lived together?"

"No – Mom and Jim never actually moved in together – but we lived barely two blocks from each other. Me and David walked to school together – I looked out for him just like – like a big sister would. We always ate dinner together, all four of us. Jim cooked," she adds with what I think is a smile. "They never fought – they had everything in common – but – one day Mom just told me that she and Jim weren't going to be spending so much time together anymore, only what she really meant was that they weren't going to be spending any time together anymore. After a while – they started sort of seeing each other once in a while, but it was never the same. They really were 'just friends.' We never had dinner all together like we used to – but Jim would sometimes take me out to lunch or take me and David to a movie – I think a lot of it was to cover for how many doctors' appointments Mom was having that she didn't want me to know about."

"Ah." Right. Peachy. "So – ?" So what exactly does this have to do with the price of tea in China… other than this Jim had better not have had any ulterior motives for wanting to hang out with my little girl.

"I know you probably think I'd don't like Beth – but I told you last night, she's really ok. I just don't want to bother getting to know her if – if she's just not going to be around any more in a few weeks, or even a few months. And – it would really be tough on Cicily. She really likes you."

"She said that?"

"Yeah."

Wow. I guess I shouldn't be surprised – I know what she's like around me – and what Beth says – but Emma seems a whole lot less biased… "Look – Em – nothing – nothing is written in stone. I like Beth – a lot. I don't know of any other woman who would even consider putting up with me and my shit, but – I can't just promise you that someday she won't wise up and high tail it out of here. All I can say is I hope she doesn't."

"So you do love her."

"I – I really don't know," and I really don't want to talk about it, either. "So – um, look about this Jim – "

"It's going to bug you if I tell you we still keep in touch, isn't it?" Emma asks me.

"No."

"Liar." (I can hear the smile in her voice, though.)

"Maybe," I quip back at her with half a grin.

Emma's tone, however, becomes more serious, "He was the only person who was there for me when Mom died. He would have let me come live with him and David – but Hodges – Mom's lawyer – he said I had to go live with your sister until he could find you."

"Yeah – sorry about that." I can't imagine what living with Alison must've been like for her.

"It worked out – that's all that really matters."

Yeah, but not because I came looking for her…

"I'm thinking about going to school in New York – and – Jim said I could live with him when I do, you know so I don't have to spend money on a dorm or an apartment because everything is so expensive there. He's got a really nice place – small, but nice. There's an attic he said he'd fix up for me – right now it just has books and junk."

Uh-huh…

"He said that – that I could come out and visit any time I wanted – just as long as it's ok with you. He'd like to meet you."

Oh that could be fun… "So other than not wearing cloths – this Jim is ok? I mean – you know he's a stand up kinda guy?"

"Why are you so uncomfortable with nudity?"

"I'm not uncomfortable with nudity – I'm uncomfortable with a grown man prancing around naked in front of my kid. There's a difference."

"It would probably wound your male ego if I told you what my first thought about the naked male body really was."

Christ. Skip the cigarette, I think I need a drink.

Emma just sighs at me, "It's not like you seem to think it is, Shelly. A nudist is just someone who likes the feel of the open air on their skin – who likes to go swimming without a suit. It's not about sex – or even sexuality. It's about – freedom. And it really isn't like he walks around wearing nothing."

"I don't care. It's weird."

And there is a lot of fucking silence on her end.

"Fine. You give me his full name. As soon as I'm satisfied that this nudist is really an ok sorta guy, we'll talk about where you're going to college – just don't expect me to go all warm and fuzzy over him."

And I don't think I've ever been so happy to hear the sound of my phone ringing as I am at just this very instant…