I do not own Bates Motel.
But, in some ways, I do own a Dylan. And I love him so much.
Yeah, Whatever
The Telltale Earring Part 2
Caleb, the screwed up, leeching, mother raping bastard, was gone.
Left. In the middle of the night.
Again.
"At least he left a note this time."
You were here, you said you would be here.
You wanted to be here.
". . . think it was a good idea even though he'd love to be near us."
What the hell, man? Is it pathological or something?
The coffee and bagels weren't good enough?
The couch wasn't comfortable enough?
Katie snuggled too much?
We were too nice?
"Yeah, I talked to him."
What?
"What did you say?"
He really couldn't imagine sweet, gentle Emma telling his mother-raping, screwed-up bastard uncle-father to get the hell out of her house and never come back.
That was more of a Norma thing.
But not Emma.
She was calm, relaxed.
Maybe a touch anxious that she had taken the situation in her own CF-free hands without consulting him first.
"Just basically the stuff we talked about."
Which part?
"How much pressure it would put on your relationship with Katie."
Oh. Yeah.
"He knows you love him."
Love's a strong word. How about feel like I should love him?
He fills an uncle-father, weirdass void.
"And he gets it."
Of course he does, how could he not? It's repulsive.
He's repulsive.
Dylan felt overwhelmed, opposing emotions whirling inside him.
Like something making him sick inside.
"I feel terrible," he admitted.
What kind of person rejects someone who doesn't have anyone else?
"And relieved."
Shit, I'm a horrible person.
"And I feel terrible that I feel relieved."
Of course, so is he.
"It's not your fault, Dylan."
Emma's expression was gentle, compassionate.
"You can't fix something that happened before you born."
As if she truly believed what she was saying.
"And you've done the best you possibly could."
Then why does it keep getting screwed up?
"Look,we're trying to live a life in the sun here."
Sun, yeah, sun.
"No secrets."
Ummm . . .
"It's a good path, let's just try and stay on it."
Yeah, except I've never exactly been on it, Emma.
See, there's this big secret-
". . . hard it is. I feel the same way about my mom."
Yep, that's the one.
"I wish Katie could know her . . ."
Yeah, about that . . .
". . . and Caleb."
Why? I don't want her to know Caleb.
"But I just don't think it would be in anyone's best interests."
Plus, Norman might have done something to her.
"Katie will be short on grandparents but at least she'll live in an open, honest world."
I wish keeping your dreams alive didn't have to involve me lying to you, Emma.
"Especially between us."
And he could barely look into those dark, warm, trusting eyes anymore.
"I hope so."
His guilt and shame were too great.
I'm sorry, Emma. I'm-
And he just couldn't.
A few days passed.
Almost a week.
Things normalised out. Life moved on.
Because life, with or without an infant, moves on.
On and on and on and on.
Over and over and over and over.
Laundry.
Bills.
Work.
Meals.
Diapers.
More laundry.
More laundry.
Always laundry.
Dylan helped of his own accord.
He helped with everything.
One or two of his buddies had tried to tease him . . .
". . . special brand of fabric softener, Dylan?"
But he remained unaffected.
"Whatever, man. We work together."
So he wasn't really thinking about much of anything . . .
Mmm, Downy smells good.
Not as good as Emma's hair.
Or Katie's baby breath.
. . . as he traversed the foyer carrying the most recently washed basket of . . .
. . . bath later. I love the way she looks at me when I hold her safe in the tub.
. . . laundered towels.
Emma had been digging around in the secretary's desk her dad had found to . . .
"Not very modern but it's a sturdy piece and I got it for a good price-"
"It's great, Dad, thanks."
"Yeah, thanks, Will."
. . . furnish their place with.
And for once he had . . .
. . . walk later. Just up and down the block. Katie'd like that, I think.
. . . forgotten to remember to worry that Emma would find Audrey's gypsy earring hidden away.
. . . takeout for dinner. It's in the budget.
But all of a sudden . . .
"I was looking for stamps and found this."
. . . out of nowhere . . .
"It's your mom's, right?"
. . . there it was.
Audrey's earring.
Laying there.
In Emma's outstretched palm.
Smeared with Norman'a DNA.
Norma's.
His.
Just like Keith Summers' belt.
And now Emma's DNA as well.
"Yeah."
Shitshitshitshit-
Emma's entire aura was kind and accepting . . .
"It's okay, I get why you kept it-"
Really 'cause I don't.
. . . and completely misunderstanding . . .
"Do you want me to put it back-"
Burn it.
. . . of the entire situation.
Compassionate and loving and all the things he did not deserve.
"No, it's okay . . ."
Ever.
". . . it's not a big deal."
Lie.
"Stamps are in the bedside table."
'Cause that's where we keep stamps apparently.
"Here, I'll . . ."
Go on now. So I can continue to obstruct justice.
". . . clean this stuff up."
And she did.
She smiled and patted his arm.
And went on to find the stamps before she forgot what it was she had been looking for.
Never suspecting that her loving, gentle, trustworthy husband.
Was actually a lying conniving, manipulative, piece of shit that was keeping a big, dark, ugly secret from her.
By stowing it carefully away back in a different part of the slightly worn hunk of pine wood.
While numbly still holding on to the plastic laundry basket . . .
Hurry up, hurry up, got towels to roll.
. . . trying to appear nonchalant . . .
There, safe out of the way, out of sight, out of mind . . .
. . . and calm the sick stone of lead that had suddenly formed in the pit of his stomach.
I am such a bastard.
That night, as they lay in bed, when Emma touched him with teasing . . .
"Katie's sleeping."
. . . trailing her lips along his neck just how he liked . . .
"I was thinking we could . . ."
. . . and her fingers trailed along his flesh . . .
". . . If you're interested . . ."
. . . he turned her . . .
"I'm sorry. I'm a little tired."
. . . away.
It was the first in two years he had ever turned her down.
Because it was Emma.
Emma.
And she was all he ever wanted, ever needed, ever desired.
But he just . . .
Shitshitshitshit . . .
. . . couldn't have a thought like that at all at the time.
Which was obviously . . .
"Oh. Alright. You okay?"
. . . not usually . . .
"Yeah, just tired."
. . . like him.
"Okay."
But he just couldn't . . .
"Can I stay close though?"
. . . violate her trust like that . . .
"Yeah, of course. Come here."
. . . not with the vision of her holding her dead . . .
I don't know that.
. . . mother's earring in her hand . . .
I have no proof.
. . . so clear and close in his mind.
"Good night, Dylan."
"Good night, Emma."
"I love you."
"I love you too."
And I always will.
But you won't.
One day you won't.
"How much I want to be a part of it and never am ."
"You too?"
"Yeah."
He had thought about that alot.
Weird. Emma has a dad that loves her.
A good dad.
Why would she want that?
He knew why he did.
He just wanted a family.
People he could turn to if things got dark and heavy and bad.
He never had any one who cared for him an iota of what Norma cared for Norman .
Someone who would do anything for you.
Love you, no matter what.
And then he realized, that's what Emma missed too.
A mom who was always there for you.
Loved you more than anything in the world.
Worshipped the ground you walked on.
Dylan and Emma would never have that for themselves.
That unconditional parental love.
Well, Will.
And he was pretty great.
But the rest would never be theirs.
But they did have each other, for as long as Emma's new lungs held out anyway.
And now little Katie.
They could truly be a family.
Not in the sick, messed up way that Norma and Norman had.
But good. Healthy.
Happy.
And even when they weren't happy, together.
Supportive.. loving .
Sticking through it.
Always there for each other.
If only Dylan didn't have to lie.
Honestly, people. Why didn't Dylan just throw it away?
grrrr . . .
Thank you, Lana Brown for still being out there and reviewing!