Authors Note: I own nothing. No ownership rights to Beverly Hills 90210. None to Fix You written by Coldplay and produced by Ken Nelson and Coldplay. None to Hands written by and performed by Jewel Kilcher and produced by Patrick Leonard.
Chapter Twenty: Hands
Jack never mentioned our conversation or what I suspected he knew for the rest of the day. Though I did take his advice, subtilely throwing Howard's card in the fire on the way back to my seat. Later as I was having my nightly tea with Iris I raised it with her. Dylan was obsessively reading his new first edition in our bed, and Jack was taking a shower, it was the first time we had a moment alone.
"Brenda you don't amass nearly half a billion dollars of personal wealth, even through questionable methods by being an idiot. What do you think drew me to him? The man is also brilliant at reading people, he knows exactly how to get what he wants or exactly where to stick the knife to cause the most damage. He would pick up on your half answers and your avoidance within seconds. He is the one who taught me to spot it in others." She takes a sip of tea. "Then there is the other thing he taught me… McKay any idea where the surname comes from?"
"Scotland?"
"Or Ireland, and in Jack's case from what is now the Republic of Ireland. A country denied the right to their language until they fought and won back their freedom. His grandfather was very adamant that his grandson even being raised in the United States learn the traditional language to honour their homeland." Shit. I ask the question I already suspect I know the answer to.
"He speaks Gaelic?"
"Fluently."
This all makes sense. "My evasiveness, the note, the story of her mystery, the fact that I know her, my friends know her, that I just received a fifty thousand dollar watch, and was asked to go on a long business trip."
"And that your name Brenda literally means little Raven. Yes my darling it's safe to say my ex husband is in the know."
A few seconds later he walks out of the bathroom and gives us a warm smile. "Everything okay in here?"
"Yes Jack, I'm just telling Brenda some of the McKay Irish history." He beams.
"Oh have you told her about the time I took you to County Cork, that little village Kinsale?" He turns his attention to me. "Brenda we were this close to giving it all up and moving there." He holds two of his fingers up almost touching.
"What are you all talking about?"
"Nice to see your face out of your book son, I was just talking about the place you were conceived."
"Jack Michael McKay, our son does not need to know that." Dylan's face scrunches and sarcastically responds.
"Thanks Dad, like I don't already have enough to discuss in therapy." I giggle and then bring the conversation back to the point.
"Jack what was it about the village you loved?"
"It's on the coast it's a little fishing village. Seemed like the perfect life. On the water all day, good food and friendly people."
"So a love of water is in the bloodline then?"
"Absolutely, there is nothing more soothing, though I prefer sailing over surfing. What about you?"
"I haven't been sailing, and I'm still learning to surf, but I grew up in Minnesota- the land of over ten thousand lakes. To live there you have to love water in all of its forms, in winter it was ice skating on the lakes and in summer swimming or fishing with Grandpa Walsh."
He gives me a surprised look. "You like fishing?"
I smile and nod. "Yeah, I know not very Beverly Hills."
"Dylan do they still rent rods on the pier?"
Dylan a little taken a back by the question, tentatively answers. "Last time I checked."
"Do you think we could all head down there tomorrow and go for a morning fish? I'd like to be near the water for a bit before I have to go back in tomorrow."
Breaking into a smile, I imagine because Jack is interested in having more family time, he answers. "Absolutely Dad."
The next morning we all go down to the pier to fish, but after an hour of not catching anything we give up and drive down the beach to a secluded spot. Dylan having put his board in the back of the Jeep takes the opportunity to go for a quick surf, and Iris having missed her morning swim since arriving in LA decides to take a dip. It leaves Jack and I sitting on the beach watching the waves together. After a long but not uncomfortable silence, he quietly speaks.
"I could live in this moment forever. After I became… I guess the closest thing would be to say addicted to the money and power, these moments stopped." He takes a deep breath, by the looks of it buying time to decide if and how to continue. "You know I was a bastard for a long time, not just to Iris and Dylan, I was ruthless? I made a lot of enemies. You both will… well I'm going to do my best to make sure my mistakes won't hurt my family anymore." He taps my hand. "I'm glad he has you, that Iris has you." He looks for his ex-wife in the water. "We always wanted a daughter, but by the time we would have been ready to add to our family I had destroyed our relationship in that way." He smiles at me and gives me a cheeky grin very similar to his sons. "Will you sing for me?" I look around checking there is no one on this section of the beach and then take notice of Dylan still out riding the waves.
"What would you like to hear?"
"What's your next release?"
"Fix You. It's being released on MTV's New Year's Eve Countdown. I wrote it after I had just figured out how unwell Dylan was. I made a promise to him to help fix it. Lyrically it's probably the most simplistic of my songs but the composition is complex. Took me weeks till I was happy with the sound, the guys had to suffer through a lot of different versions."
"Well then let's hear it."
I focus on Dylan in the ocean as I allow my voice to sing out across the empty beach. Once I finish Jack throws his arm around me. "My son is an idiot if he doesn't embrace the magic you weave." I sigh and rest my head on his shoulder. "If he doesn't realise, as far as I can tell, your songs are all love letters to him."
I clarify. "There are a couple of fuck you's to him as well."
"Serves him right, he was a fucking idiot." He squeezes me tighter. "Sorry Darlin, that he gets from me."
Dylan drops Jack off that afternoon, and as we wait for him to return Iris and I note that the house is a little more quiet without the older McKay.
On Dylan's return we sit by the fire listening to classical music, while Iris is meditating in her room for the night. All evening he plays with my hand, kissing each finger and rubbing them against his cheek. He eventually builds the courage to ask the dreaded question.
"What time tomorrow are you leaving?"
I had packed when he was gone, and had already put my bags in the back of the Jeep- I didn't want Dylan to see them. As agreed, I had left my white jumper in my draw, and impulsively I had thrown in my silk pyjamas to sit next to it.
"I don't know, what will make it easier? Would you like me to slip away or say goodbye?"
"If you say goodbye I don't think I could let you leave. Even now I'm fighting every instinct I have not to lock you in this house forever or take you far away." His voice carries a mix of sadness and guilt. "Baby I'm going to try and work really hard to make this separation as short as possible, to get better quickly."
He picks up my left hand and kisses my ring finger. "When this is over we won't be separated again right? That's it, you'll be officially my girl and I'll never have to go through this torture again?"
"I'd like that but -"
He cuts me off and is stronger in his tone, demanding an answer. "No but's, you want your future with me or you don't. Which is it?" I turn away from the fire and face him.
"I want you, I'll always want you. We do have to discuss our boundaries and other things, and well I worry that we may struggle to figure it all out."
He sighs giving in, understanding since yesterday that his sheer will his needs alone can't be the sole driving force in this relationship. "What happens if we can't? Do you go back to not speaking to me? Do I lose you, our family and our friends?"
"No. Want to make another promise?" I hold out my pinky. He smiles at me.
"The last one worked out pretty good so I'm in." He holds out his pinky.
"Whatever happens we stay friends, family for life, we'll always have the other's back- we stick it out till the end, even if it gets hard?" He wraps his finger around mine and makes the promise.
"Family till the end." He leans down and kisses me, and for the rest of the waking night that is how we remain, wrapped around each other. He sleeps peacefully as I rest on his chest, watching over him for one last night.
Sunday, exactly six weeks to the day that I walked into this house to help him, I walk out to do the same. Though this time it's with the morning dawn just beginning to poke through.
I make it to my house, unpack, call my message service and advise them to let anyone who rings know that I will be unavailable for the remainder of the year. I send a similar message from my home office via fax to my Dad, Lawyer and the label, and then I turn off the intercom to the front gate. I create a cocoon for myself blocking out everything. Trying to stop the magnetic pull to return back to his side.
On the first day of the New Year, I arrange flowers to be sent to my Mother and Iris. I ring my Lawyer and confirm the world is still ticking. I call Dylan's Doctor. I don't ask if he is okay, but instead ask if I can see him yet. She says no.
The first Monday of the new year I start the volunteering program. It's the first time I have seen AJ and Chris since they went home for the holidays, it's the first time I've seen my Mum, Paul, Ray since Christmas, and the first time I've seen Iris since Boxing Day. I set one rule. I don't want to know.
I think they can see the separation isn't going well for me. I'm pale from being locked away in my house for too long, I'm wearing no makeup and am in a flannel shirt. The day passes and the kids each make me smile. Sam remembers me, he is enrolled in both programs. He makes me smile the biggest, especially as he has taken to calling me Ms Jem. I call him Sam the Hulk in return.
The rest of the week I work a little though without the guys, and I don't write or play anything. Friday a week from my last phone call I try his Doctor. Again I don't ask if he's okay, but only if I can see him yet. She still says no.
The next week is a repeat of the previous one. Though I do meet with the guys for a broad strokes agreement on the tour, based on the information packages the label have put together. We decide the continents we would go to, the big cities, and a general tone of the tour. The information is written up by my lawyer and is sent to Howard, with a note that more specifics are to come. It's enough though for the label to put a hold on some major venues and start the promotion. It buys me more time while I wait for Dylan.
By the start of week four I freak out, and begin calling his Doctor daily. I still avoid everyone including my parents in fear that they will tell me, let it slip how he is doing. I don't trust myself not to go if I know he is in pain, if he needs me. It's this week I start noticing my hands more. Sam the Hulk pointed out on Monday that I rub my hands a lot together. He asked if that's why I play the piano to stop doing that. I laughed and said maybe. The rest of the week I take note of them more. I wake on Friday with a restored hope, faith that it will all work out, that it's nearly over. I feel confident for the first time that Dylan will be okay and he will be open to this life, a life with me.
It's the first time I've written in a month. It's the first piece I create on my new grand piano, sitting in my lounge room overlooking the beach. As I'm toying with the idea of going downstairs to the studio to record it, my phone rings. Dylan's Doctor tells me I should go see him, that he's just left his session and that it would be best to go now. Within minutes I'm in my car.
As I pull up to his house I'm excited, and take note that only Dylan's car is out the front. Bless Iris, I love her but I just need Dylan. As I walk up the steps I hear a familiar tune and make out Ray's voice. As I get to the door I notice Dylan is sitting on the couch, he must feel me because he looks up. His aura- that's what Iris would call it appears different, he looks stronger like he has found his balance again, though his lack of smile tells me it must have been a difficult fight. I point to the door handle, he nods. It's funny a month away and I'm now feeling awkward to enter his home. I'm sure he'll tease me about that later and remind me that it's ours.
As I walk in I smile but notice he doesn't get up. He instead picks up the stereo remote and turns it off, making my voice come to an abrupt end. He then speaks very calmly but without any affection.
"I'm guessing that one was written about The Pit that night, when I begged you to hear me out and told you how lost I was without you. Were you proud that Ray captured my pain so well? Really sold it to your fans? Or do you only get off on the weeks it's been number one, and the money it's made you?"
I don't even notice my hands automatically coming together and begin twisting against each other.