The Untruth Told
(5/5)
No man chooses evil because it is evil; he only mistakes it for happiness, the good he seeks.
Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley
- San Francisco, California
Sam could feel his cheeks aching. He didn't realize that smiling so much, whether sincerely or out of obligation, could cause so much discomfort. And he still had to get through the wedding, reception, and Sunday brunch!
He glanced over the top of his future grandmother-in-law's head to see Jenn across the lobby. Her smile was radiant and warm as she greeted family and friends entering the hotel. She looked up and noticed his attention, gave him a wink, and returned to her duties. That was really all it took to keep Sam smiling for the rest of the afternoon.
And, when he couldn't locate Jenn for reassurance, he just thought back to his bachelor party from the night before. True to his word, his brother had planned a modest evening of poker (with cards that Sam would rather Jenn not see – ever), cigars (David stopped him halfway through the one and only cigar he recieved, telling him he would pass out if he smoked the rest – and he was probably right), and drinks (all with names that made Sam blush when ordering). The best part, though, was all the drunken marriage advice Sam got. He had never laughed so hard in his life.
After hugging countless guests and making polite small talk, Sam realized that having the rehearsal at 10:00 that morning was possibly the smartest thing Jenn's mother had come up with. As it was, he didn't know whether he would last much longer and, as soon as he was able, he was planning to get a bite to eat and then sleep until the wedding.
With the hotel's check-in time at 1:00 pm, Sam and Jenn had grabbed a quick lunch and then stationed themselves at opposite sides of the lobby at 12:30. Their guests began arriving shortly before 1:00 and continued trickling in all afternoon. Regina had been kind enough to bring the couple bottles of water and anything else they found they needed.
By 4:00, Sam was exhausted. Faces were blurred together and he felt like he had told the same stories hundreds of times. At 4:30, Jenn walked over to him and told him that she way taking a short break and would be back to relieve him of his post as soon as she could.
At 4:50, Sam was startled when Jenn walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around his middle. She couldn't help but giggle a little at his flinch.
"Hey," he said with mock-irritation, "are you laughing at me?"
"Why, yes," she told him as she slid under his arm and turned to hug him face to face. "Yes I am."
"Well, as long as we have that cleared up."
"Sutro's doesn't really open for dinner for another ten minutes but they let me in early – a little wedding gift, I guess. Why don't you go over and get a little something to eat and drink? Tide you over until our shift ends at 6:00."
"6:00?" Sam muttered incredulously and slouched his shoulders.
"Yes 6:00," she laughed at him. "We're almost there, Sweetie. And I promise – I'll make it all up to you." She gave him a saucy little smirk that sent a shiver up his back.
"Yes ma'am," he said standing up straight. He could hear her laughing as he turned and headed for the bar.
Jenn was right. The bar was empty save for a waiter or two. As soon as the bartender hung up the phone and sent in a pick up order, he turned and faced Sam.
"Ah, the happy groom," he said light-heartedly. "What can I get you?"
Sam asked for something quick, easy, and filling. And a beer.
"Quick, easy, and filling?" the bartender laughed. "I suggest the clam chowder. I don't think there's much here that you can get quicker."
By the time the hostess began seating patrons, Sam was halfway finished with his chowder and nearly finished with his beer. The bartender walked over to him.
"Would you like another, sir?" he asked, indicating the bottle in front of Sam.
"No, I better not."
"Let me know if there's anything else I can get you," he told Sam, who nodded his reply. The bartender then looked around Sam at another customer walking towards the bar.
"Good evening, sir. What can I get for you?"
"Hmm… that smells good," a strangely familiar voice said from behind Sam. "I'll have what he's having."
"Very good," the bartender say and walked toward the kitchen.
Sam, from the corner of his eye, saw the man take a seat to Sam's left, leaving an empty stool between them. The two men looked towards each other at the same moment and stared, neither one believing his eyes.
-----
- Lawrence, Kansas
As it turned out, there were plane tickets available. However, the prices were not particularly affordable. Nor were they practical – as the only seat that Mark could possibly be able to sit in due to his very long casted leg was one next to the emergency exit, and there was only one such seat available for a flight four days before the wedding.
None of Mark's nearby friends were attending the wedding, Shane was too busy to take the time off from his internship, and Drew would not leave Cassidy behind with two newborns. Maria, who was spending the days helping Cassidy while Drew was at work, suggested that John chauffer his son. And, honestly, John couldn't come up with a single reason why he couldn't and an awful lot of reasons why he wanted to.
So, there they were, more than halfway through their 1900 mile trip and they had suddenly run out of things to talk about. Mark reached behind his father's seat and pulled his backpack into his lap. Due to his little mobility problem, Mark had missed quite a bit of school. Charlotte had been kind enough to explain his situation to his professors and even brought some of his work to him. Because of her, he had nearly caught himself up. Nearly.
"What's the matter?" John asked after his son gave a growl of frustration.
"I hate gen-ed classes," his son grumbled.
"Hey," John said with mock-disappointment, "auto shop is a general education class."
"No, auto shop is an elective – a class that you take because you want to. These gen-ed classes are things I have to take whether I want to or not."
"OK, so what's the problem? Other than your aversion to this class."
"I had to take a language class," Mark told him. "And because I wasn't prepared and didn't have many openings in my schedule, I got stuck with Latin. Now, I have a bunch of phrases to translate and I forgot my dictionary. I know a couple of the words, but I can't quite figure out what fere libenter homines id quod volunt credunt means."
"As a rule, men willingly believe that which they wish to," John said off-handedly and without looking at his son.
Mark looked at the foreign words again and realized that his father was correct. He turned his head slowly and looked at the man, mouth slightly open.
It took John a moment, but he finally felt his son's gaze, glanced over, and gave him a shrug and a mumbled 'what?'
"Since when do you know Latin?" Mark asked him. John laughed a little and looked at him like he just made a joke.
"I don't."
The rest of the drive went by with little complications. The one exception being the rest stop with slippery floors and narrow doorways; but they managed.
"What's this place called again?" John asked.
"Cliff House," Mark told him and gave further driving instructions. They arrived at the hotel just before 5:00. John helped Mark out of the car and into the lobby, telling his son that he would go back for their bags when they had settled in.
"Mark!" Both of them looked around and saw a head full of blonde curls parting the crowd. When she stepped in front of them, she was breathless and radiated hyper-tension.
"Stacey," Mark said simply and gave his friend a quick hug.
"I am so glad you made it. And thank you, thank you, thank you Mr. Winchester for bringing him. Listen, my family's about to go to the Bistro to get some dinner. You're both welcome to join us."
Mark's stomach rumbled before he could answer.
"I'll take that as a 'yes'?" Stacey asked and he nodded.
"Why don't you go ahead," John told his son. "I'm pretty tired from the drive. I think I'll just get a quick bite, then go out and grab the bags, and turn in for the night."
He watched as Mark made his way across the lobby with Stacey leading him and making sure his path was clear, almost running over a couple of people in the process. John smiled to himself, then stifled a yawn. Yes, there was no way he would have been able to tolerate that girl's enthusiasm while he was this exhausted.
Heading the opposite direction his son had just gone, John walked into Sutro's. The hostess offered to seat him, but he opted for a place at the bar instead. There was only one other person there – perfect.
"Let me know if there's anything else I can get you," he heard the bartender say to the young man. "Good evening, sir," he directed at John. "What can I get for you?"
John hadn't realized how hungry he was until he got close enough to smell the clam chowder coming from the bowl in front of the young man.
"Hmm… that smells good. I'll have what he's having."
"Very good," the bartender say and walked toward the kitchen.
John walked up to a stool at the young man's left, but as soon as he sat down he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He looked to his right just as the young man looked to his left. He felt his chin drop and watched as the young man's eyes grew wide. Before either of them could speak, the bartender interupted their thoughts and placed a beer before John.
"Hi, I'm here to pick up an order," said another young man who had just walked in.
-----
- Cape Girardeau, Missouri
Dean had, of course, waited until the last possible moment to pack for the trip. Not that it really mattered. Carrie packed her own clothes and their shared toiletries. All he really had to do was grab his own clothes, razor, and deodorant and he was set. The only difficulty he found was picking out a 'nice' outfit. That's where Abby came in.
"What about this?" he asked the 4-year-old. He was holding up a pair of khaki slacks and a grey button-down shirt.
"Daddy!" Abby said and rolled her eyes at him. "Those don't even match."
Dean looked at the selection again. He really didn't see anything wrong with it other than the fact that the pants were not denim. He picked up another shirt, this time it was navy blue.
"What about this one?"
"No," she told him with another roll of her eyes. She hopped off the bed with a huff and walked around him to his closet. She reached in and found a pair of light tan slacks. "Take these…" she said without turning to him. "And…" she searched until she found the correct shirt, "that one," she pointed up at an olive light-knit sweater with slightly lighter olive trim on the V-neck and wrists.
"This?" he asked, reaching over her for the shirt.
"Yep," she said proudly, "that's the one that Mommy says puts out your eyes."
Dean gave his daughter a quick look. She had made the statement so matter-of-factly that he didn't want to laugh. It took him a moment before realizing that Carrie must have told her the shirt 'brings' out his eyes.
"Daddy!"
"What'd I do now?" he turned to find Abby looking through the clothes he had set aside to pack. "Now you can't tell me that those other shirts don't match. Everything goes with jeans."
"But, they're all long pants. Mommy packed some shorts. I saw her."
"Oh, sweetheart, I don't do shorts," he told her, and was suddenly hit with that familiar feeling of late. He was really starting to get unnerved with all the experiences with déjà vu. But, he didn't have much time to dwell on it as Carrie walked into the room.
"And it's a shame, too," she whispered in his ear from behind him as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Because you have some damn fine legs."
"Hey, babe," Carrie said with concern. "Are you all right now?" He had never said a word, never told her that flying didn't agree with him. Dean hadn't told her that he had never flown before and was quite (uncharacteristically) nervous about the particular form of travel.
Not that he needed to – she was able to see the signs soon enough. She offered him the window seat and he declined a little too quickly and a little too firmly. Once seated, he began breathing deeply, as if he couldn't get enough air. And his knee was bouncing so rapidly that she thought the whole plane would begin vibrating.
Then, when the plane actually started moving… Carrie had never seen Dean so pale. He looked like he would either pass out or be sick at any moment. Luckily, the flight attendant came by and offered him a set of earphones, telling him that a little music might be a good distraction. It did seem to calm him a bit, but Carrie was surprised he didn't change the station – after all, she couldn't see how anyone could relax while listening to the likes of Black Sabbath, Motorhead, and Metallica.
"Dean?" she asked again.
"Yeah," he told her unconvincingly. "Let's just get to the hotel. I think I just want to lie down."
They caught a taxi outside of the airport and were at Cliff House in a half an hour. After weaving around a wedding party (Carrie noticed the bride-to-be showing a very beautiful diamond ring to Aunt so-and-so), they went straight up to their room.
Carrie unlocked the door to let Dean in and then wandered down the hall to find a soda machine with some ginger ale. When she got back, she found her husband lying on his back with one arm over his eyes and the other across his stomach. She poured the soda into a glass to let some of the carbonation die down and then offered it to him.
"Thanks," he muttered, and Carrie left it at that knowing that he was embarrassed at feeling ill. She gave him some space by busying herself with unloading their suitcases.
About fifteen minutes later, Dean took a deep breath and sat up slowly.
"Feeling better?" Carrie asked.
"Yeah," he smiled weakly. "Thanks."
"Are you hungry? I can call down and have some food sent up."
"That sounds good. I don't want to sit in a loud crowded restaurant right now," he told her while picking up his boots and putting them on. "But, I can go down and get it. I think I need to walk a little."
He came out of the bathroom just as she was hanging up the phone.
"There are two restaurants down stairs. I placed the order at the one called Sutro's."
Dean opted for the stairs over the elevator and was feeling a lot better by the time he got to the lobby. He was nearly run into by a short blonde girl leading a tall kid on crutches, but managed to move out of her way just in time. He also heard her mention the Bistro and realized that he had headed to the wrong restaurant.
When he made his way over to the hostess of Sutro's, he asked where he would pick up an order. She pointed him in the direction of the bar. Luckily, the bar only had three (quiet) people in it. There were two men sitting there, one older and one younger than him. As he walked up, he noticed they were staring at one another.
"Hi," he said to the bartender who had just placed a beer in front of the older man, then looked up at him and smiled, "I'm here to pick up an order."
The words were barely out of his mouth before the two men turned and looked at him. Suddenly, he understood why they had been staring at one another.