When Frank walked in the house Monday night after a long day of meetings and putting out fires between the mayor and his department, his dad and his daughter-in-law were bustling about the kitchen making dinner.
Danny was sitting at the kitchen table, holding a bottle of ginger ale. He looked…broken.
"Hey, Pops. Danny, Linda."
"Hey, Dad," Danny whispered. "Doc said you called him?"
O boy.
On one hand, he should have told Danny earlier. Except Danny had been asleep the night before, and still asleep when Frank left for work at 0630.
On the other hand, he had hoped to put this conversation off a bit longer, give himself time to collect his thoughts.
That wasn't going to happen now.
He gestured with his head into the living room. "Let's let Pops and Linda finish dinner." He shrugged his coat off and walked into the living room, sat down.
After a couple minutes, Danny walked in, sat down on the couch, facing him. He put his ginger ale on the table, leaned his chin in his hands. He looked like he was facing his own executioner.
Frank looked at his son. "Dr. Dawson made it very clear from the start of our conversation that he would not violate confidentiality. The only reason I called him was to get his advice on how to help you—what to say and what not to say. That's all we talked about. I promise you." His son nodded, and Frank said gently, "How you doing?"
Danny shrugged. "Rough session with Doc." He looked at the floor. "After Doc left, I…went to bed and hoped I would fall asleep and not wake up."
Frank flinched. "I'm sorry, son." He took a sip of his ginger ale. "Have you eaten today?"
Danny shook his head. "Breakfast didn't stay down—thanks to Doc making me talk—and I slept through lunch."
"What's Pops cooking?"
"Soup and bread."
"Good, that'll warm the boys up when they come in from the snow."
Danny looked up at him. "It snowed today?"
"Yes, started about 11:30. They're having a good time. They'd like you to come see their… creation." He wasn't sure it could be called a snowman.
He stood up.
After a minute, Danny followed him outside.
"Dad!" Sean yelled, and threw a snowball at him. Danny didn't even try to duck. It hit him smack in the chest. Frank winced. That had to have hurt.
Jack and Sean plowed into him, and Danny brought his arms around them. "Hey, boys."
Frank shook his head. Danny wasn't present. Physically, yes. But mentally and emotionally…he was far, far away.
The boys ran off again.
Danny looked the "snowman" up and down, shrugged, adjusted one of its arms.
Frank put a hand on his shoulder. "Make a snowball, throw it at 'em. Make an effort, Dan. For their sakes."
Danny shook his head, turned, and went back inside.
Jack came up to him. "Is Dad gonna be okay, Grandpa? He looks so sad."
Frank forced himself to smile at his grandson. "Yeah, yeah, Jack, of course your dad's gonna be okay. He just…you know he doesn't like the cold. Get your brother and come inside, dinner's almost ready."
The boys beat him to the house.
His dad was just taking the bread out of the oven. "How you doing, Pops?"
"Fine, Francis. Could you call the boys, tell them to set the table?"
"Sure. Where's Danny?"
His dad turned to him, shook his head sadly. "Came in, went upstairs without a word. Linda went after him. He looks like crap. He needs a good meal. And a few other things."
"Go easy on him, Pops. It hasn't even been four days. This didn't happen overnight; he's not going to heal overnight, either."
His dad nodded.
During dinner, Jack and Sean kept up a non-stop chatter about the snow and whether school would be cancelled if it kept snowing.
Danny tore his bread into shreds.
After dinner, the boys went upstairs to finish their homework. "Come on, Danny, join an old man in a game of chess," Henry said.
"I'm tired, Gramps. I think I'm just going to go to bed."
"Daniel, you spent practically the whole day in bed. That's not going to help you fight the depression."
"Henry…" Linda said quietly.
"Dammit, Gramps!" Danny shouted. "Do you think I want to feel like this? Because I don't! Four days ago, I was one step away from ending it all! I…I just wanna be happy again!"
"Then stop wallowing in self-pity and come play a game of chess with me, Daniel."
Danny stood up, trembling with rage. "'Self-pity'? Do you think I want to feel like this? Because I sure as hell don't! Go to hell, Gramps!"
He shoved his chair back, knocking it over, and stalked out of the room.
Frank started to follow him, but his dad held up his hand. "No, Francis, this is my mess, let me clean it up."
Henry found his grandson in the backyard, throwing snowballs at a tree with the accuracy of a sharp-shooter. He'd gone outside without his hat, coat, or gloves.
"Danny."
"Leave me alone, Gramps."
"For what it's worth, I'm sorry, Danny."
Danny turned to face him. "'For what it's worth,' Gramps? Dammitall, a game of chess isn't going to make me all better!"
"No, but maybe it'll distract you from the pain for a few minutes!"
"Leave me alone, Gramps."
"I'm sorry," Henry said again, and headed back inside.
Linda was standing in the kitchen, her hands on her hips. "Where the hell did you get the idea that Danny's wallowing in self-pity? He's in pain, Pops! He's in so much pain he almost took his own life!"
She stormed out of the house—presumably to Danny's side—and Henry went into the living room, poured himself a shot of whiskey, and sat down in his chair. "You know my thoughts on the field of psychology, Francis; but why did no one ever teach us in the Corps, what to say to a family member in Danny's shoes? I thought a game of chess would help him, draw him out a bit. He only got up thirty minutes before his shrink came, and he went back to bed right after the doctor left. I didn't think he would come down for dinner."
His son took a sip of his drink. "Pops…you need to tread very lightly with Danny. Like Linda said the other day, he's fragile. Encourage him to get out of himself a bit, yes; but don't nag him—you saw what that'll do."
"How do I fix this?" Henry asked. It felt strange to be asking his son for advice.
Francis shook his head. "I don't know, Pops."
Henry nodded, and turned to his crossword puzzle.
Twenty minutes later, Danny walked in, holding Linda's hand. "If you make it a short game, I'll play chess with you, Gramps."
Henry resisted the urge to cheer. "Okay, but don't expect me to go easy on you, Danny."
The game was over in an hour; Danny lost. "Goodnight Dad, Pops," he said, and went upstairs with Linda.