Language fails at the most inopportune moments, in those times when words could serve as some cushion against the horrors behind them, when, with their subjective connotations and reliable definitions, or even just by striking the right cadence, they could distract the listener from being forced to comprehend the unthinkable. Language fails, for instance, when you're telling a loved one that you're going to die, and there's no comforting but at the end, no maybe, no if … only death.

Weaving words had always been Jen's strong suit. She could talk herself out of any given situation, talk circles around her audience until they were so mesmerized by her speech that they completely lost sight of the underlying point but were charmed in spite of themselves. Language was her constant. What are you supposed to do when the one thing that's never failed you—does?

Grams sat across from Jen clutching her teacup, the china rattling delicately on its saucer, her lips pursed into a thin unreadable line. Watching her grandmother grasp for the inner peace that was her strong suit, Jen wondered if that's when you just give up. When you lose your constant. When words refuse to flow easily from your tongue and fill the yawning gaps that threaten to swallow everything in the room. Or when you desperately reach for a God you've depended on your entire life, and come up empty-handed.

It could have been worse, of course. There was no wailing or gnashing of teeth, no hand-wringing or overwrought melodrama that might have pushed Jen across the dividing line that had become her life, into a world of shadows, and heartache, and fearfearfear. Here, in this room, there was just that thin chattering of china on china, and beneath it a weighty silence that spoke more than Jen had managed with the halting jumble of words that had passed as her confession.

After an eternity, time renewed its steady pace. Grams set her teacup oh so confidently down on the edge of the coffee table, reached for Jen's hands -- youth's soft skin so vulnerable -- and caught her granddaughter's helpless gaze.

Her tone was commanding, resolute despite the separate truth her eyes hinted at. "It is not over, Jennifer."

Words wouldn't work their magic here, Jen knew, so instead of trying to force them to cooperate, she simply squeezed the rough but tender hands that encased her own, reached for an encouraging smile, and found one.

"I'm telling you, Jen, it's over."

Her lips quirked as she shifted Amy to her other arm so the baby couldn't grab the phone out of her hand. "Lay it on me, Jackers," she said. "What has your own personal representative of Capeside's finest done now?"

"Are you scoffing?"

Jen's smile widened. "That depends. Did you just use the word 'scoffing' in an actual conversation?"

"Well don't. Scoff. This is serious."

"I know it is. Of course it is. What going on with Dougie?"

"Nothing. Nothing. That's what."

"Oh. Still?"

"He's turning me into a pariah."

"I'm sure you're exaggerating."

"No. I'm a pariah. And I'm not going to take it. I need more than this; I need to be with someone who isn't afraid to be with me. I … I'm breaking it off."

Jen sighed, conjured her serious tone. "How long are you going to let this go on, Jack?"

"What?" Jack asked, alarmed. "You really think I should break it off?"

"I wish you were here so I could smack you."

"I'm not following."

"Then listen to yourself. You're so very much in love with this man, Jack, it's practically oozing from your pores. And yet every time I talk to you, it's 'I need more,' 'He's ashamed to be with me,' 'We're going to have to build an extra closet to make room for his issues.' You need to figure out what's going to happen, my friend. It's not up to Doug anymore. If he won't make a decision, you're going to have to make one for him."

"An ultimatum? I thought you were opposed to those."

"Depends on the situation."

"And what makes this an ultimatum-friendly situation?"

Jen smiled slightly, nuzzling her cheek against Amy's silky-soft chubby one. "Time constraints."

"What? What does that mean?"

"Only that life's too short for you to waste time in a stagnant relationship, Jack. So, you find one that lets you grow, or you take the path of self-absorption and enjoy the silence. You don't do both."

"How's that solitude working out for you?"

"Just fine, thanks. And before you push the issue further and start inquiring about my lack of a sex life, I'm going to hang up on you and get this child to bed. I want her to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for her Uncle Jacky tomorrow."

"I can't wait to see her."

"Hm. Just her?"

"No, of course not -- Grams too."

"Ah, yes. Grams. Coolest senior citizen this side of the Mississippi. Night, Jack."

"Good night. Kiss my girl for me. And drive safe tomorrow."

"Tsk, tsk, English teacher. That's safely."

Jen stared contemplatively at the phone after setting it back on the charger. The thought of returning – once more – to Capeside stirred so many feelings in her. No matter how many times she left, or how many times she returned, there was that dizzying mix of emotions. This time it seemed heavier, stronger, stranger, and she wasn't entirely sure she was ready to see them. Would they look at her and know, somehow, the way she could look at Pacey and see his unfettered devotion to their dark-haired beauty plain as day -- or at Dawson, and see same? Would Joey have a flash of insight about the real reason Jen had been finding excuse after excuse to avoid her? Would Jack figure it out before she was ready to tell him, and would he be able to forgive her for all the lies and secrets?

"Would you like me to put Amy to bed?"

Jen started from her reverie and looked at Grams, who seemed to have aged considerably in the last couple of weeks, a worried frown knitting her brow, her eyes tired and occasionally bloodshot these days. Jen bit back a concerned comment as she handed the baby over. "Thanks," she said tightly, instead. "I still have some packing to do."

"You should try to get to bed early yourself. Busy weekend ahead."

Jen nodded and kissed Amy's dimpled hand as Grams turned her back and started for the nursery. When they were gone, Jen sagged onto the sofa and dug her nails into her legs, a sometimes-helpful tactic to ease that too-familiar stinging sensation behind her eyes. No time for tears. (Especially when they might not stop, and everyone will know, they'll know.) That worked. She straightened up and arranged her features into a calm, capable mask of self-assurance. Practice makes perfect.

She couldn't control very much about her life these days, including but not limited to the ending of it. But she could – and would -- control how she went out. She'd always been strong for them; she knew that now that it almost didn't matter any longer. She'd stay that way as long as it did. She felt something in her bones, and it was a knowledge that both saddened and terrified her, and at the same time strengthened her resolve that no one, ever, would see her crack.

This would be her last trip home.

To be continued...