A/N: I give up! Once again, I talk about what chapters I'm writing next, and what happens? Some new idea comes along and insists on being written first.
A/N2: I asked InSilva if she had any ideas about a two-edged epitaph for Luke, and once again she came up with wonders. As always, thank you.
Timeline
1. 'In the beginning' Parts 1 and 2 (Chapters 13 and 14) Rusty is seven, Danny is nine.
2. 'Neverending Conversation' Parts 1 and 2 (Chapters 15 and 16) Rusty is seven, Danny is nine.
3. 'Something more than it should be' (Chapter 10) Rusty is ten, Danny is twelve
4. 'The humiliation of Norris Carrol' (Chapter 20) Rusty is ten, Danny is thirteen
5. 'Four Day Interlude' (Chapter 5) Rusty is ten, Danny is thirteen
6. 'Remember the first time' (Chapter 4) Rusty is ten, Danny is thirteen
7. 'Sunshine, smiles and sweet, sweet words' (Chapter 17) Rusty is ten, Danny is thirteen.
8. 'View from the outside' (Chapter 12) Rusty is eleven, Danny is fourteen
9. 'Walk before you can crawl' (Chapter 2) Rusty is twelve, Danny is fifteen
10. 'Other Nightmares Parts 1 and 2 (Chapters 8 and 9) Rusty is twelve, Danny is fifteen
11. 'The more things change' (Chapter 1) Rusty is thirteen, Danny is fifteen
12. 'Words and Silence' (Chapter 22) Rusty is thireen, Danny is sixteen
13. 'Six months of roses' (Chapter 18) Rusty is thirteen/fourteen, Danny is sixteen
14. 'Two stories with some understanding' (Chapter 21) Rusty is thirteen, Danny is sixteen. Falls within time of 'Six months of roses'
15. 'Life Lessons' (Chapter 7) Rusty is fourteen, Danny is sixteen - falls within time of 'Six months of roses'
16. 'The lies we live' (Chapter 3) Rusty is fourteen, Danny is sixteen
17. 'If the fates allow' (Chapter 19) Rusty is fourteen, Danny is seventeen
18. 'This is our decision (to live fast and die young)' (Chapter 6) Rusty is fourteen, Danny is seventeen
19. 'Such a perfect day' (Chapter 11) Rusty is fourteen, Danny is seventeen
Danny sank down onto the ground and looked at the headstone, almost nervously. It was too dark to make out the lettering; not that he had to. Might as well be engraved on his brain.
Luke Ocean.
24th February 1934 - 16th November 1978
Husband and Father
May you find the peace that you deserve
"Hi Dad," he said quietly and winced. His voice carried uncomfortably in the silent cemetery and he felt like an idiot. "So, it's been a year, huh? Well, it was a year yesterday. Sorry I didn't come by then. I wanted to. I meant to. I just . . stuff came up." The bitter smile strained his face. "Now I sound like you."
He took a long look round. "Sorry that it's so late too. Wanted some privacy. You know, the padlock on the gate was surprisingly easy. Guess we don't have many problems with body snatchers. Or the undead." He sighed, picturing the frown and the long string of explanations that would have followed that kind of comment a year ago. "You didn't know I could pick locks. Or maybe you do now." He considered. "Not like I'm thinking that you're out there, somewhere, looking down on me. And if you were out there somewhere, you wouldn't be watching me."
"This isn't me blaming you," he said, eyes downcast. "I'm not what you wanted. I know that. And I'm sorry. I should have tried harder. Should have been the son you wanted." He looked up sharply at the headstone. "But I could never figure out what you did want. And there are some things . . . " He shook his head and his thoughts trailed off.
"I brought flowers," he added awkwardly, after a second, and he laid them gently on the ground. "Don't know why. Not like I'd have ever given you flowers before, you know? Can't imagine what you'd have said if I did." He smiled. "The second bunch is for Emma. I would have given them to her direct, but I don't know where she's buried. Her family flew in and took her away and that's the last I heard about her. Not like I could ask Mom. Sorry." He paused. "There's a teddy bear too," he added in a rush. "It's for . . . I wanted to . . . and Rusty suggested . . . " He shrugged. "There's a teddy bear."
He studied the backs of his hands for a long moment. "You never told me. Were you going to? Did you know?" There was no one to hear. "Did you want him?" he finished in a whisper, and immediately wished he'd kept his mouth shut, because even if there'd never be an answer, he hated that there was a question. "Sorry. Guess that's not my business."
"I didn't hate you," he said quietly. "I know I tell you that every time, but I really didn't. It's just . . . I could have been better. I accept that. I'm going to have to live with that. But couldn't you have done just a little more? I never wanted much from you, I swear it. Just one promise kept, Dad. That's all I ever wanted. Couldn't you have turned up to one parents' evening? Couldn't you have taken me golfing, or bowling, or anything you said? Couldn't you have listened to me, just once?"
He closed his eyes and tried to get his breathing under control. Tried to stop shouting. "Couldn't you have supported me against Mom, just once, when she tried to get rid of Rusty? I know you didn't always agree with her. Remember when you took us fishing and we fell in slightly? You saw. And I saw your face. You think just because I was a kid I didn't understand what you were thinking? What you were feeling? He was nine years old. You knew it was wrong. You knew it."
"God, Dad, that was him after nearly a week of healing. You want to imagine what I saw? You want to imagine what I felt? He was nine years old. He was nine years old and I love him. You never taught me that."
He sighed and leaned back on his hands and stared up at the stars. "But you were nice in the restaurant, afterwards. When Rus' was looking for the cheapest thing on the menu. You insisted he got a proper meal. Stopped it from being awkward. Guess you understood more than I thought. And I never thanked you for that." He swallowed. "Thank you," he whispered, low and sincere.
"You did that, but you never stopped Mom from sneering. Never stopped her from chasing him home every time she was in a bad mood. Never stopped her from trying to split us up. Never said that Rusty could stay whenever he needed to. I mean, I know that you were never going to help us directly. You were never going to go to the police, or whatever, and tell them. And I don't understand that, but I can accept it, I guess. You had more important things in your life than us – me. I get that. But just in the house. Just in the family, where no-one else would see, or judge, or whatever. Couldn't you have supported us? Couldn't you have decided that my friend, my happiness, meant something?" Didn't it mean something?
"And last summer, when I was staying with you and Emma. When you took us to the zoo – and incidentally," he added with a frown. "Why the hell did you take us to the zoo? But when I was going to get Rusty. You asked me not to bring him unless he was presentable. You have any idea how much I wanted to make you say what you really meant?" He dropped his head back down and looked intently at the stone. "You wanted to make sure that Emma wasn't exposed to the real world, I know. You loved her and you wanted to protect her. But didn't me and Rus' deserve just a little bit of protection?"
Pondering for a moment, he scowled. "Well, we don't need protecting now. We don't need help. Because we're never going to get it."
"Rusty's waiting for me outside," he said, in a softer voice. "I was going to tell him I wanted some privacy, but he already understood. Just helped me carry the flowers round and settled down under the street lamp with a pack of cigarettes and a deck of cards. Really hoping no one comes by." He smiled. "Do you have any idea what it's like to not have to explain yourself? To be completely understood? To not have to put the difficult stuff into words? It's wonderful. Shouldn't keep him waiting too long. Though he said it was fine. Said I could take as long as I needed and he'd wait. He meant forever. Squeezed my hand and let me go."
He hesitated and his smile faded. "If you'd have seen that, would you have . . . . " He shook his head. "No. You wouldn't," he said, and his voice was decisive even as he felt unsure. Because he couldn't bear for it to be otherwise. "You were nothing like that bastard."
For a while he looked up at the stars. The wind picked up a little, and he shivered, and he was glad that he'd made Rusty take his gloves.
"Sometimes I'm glad that it never actually came to a divorce, you know that?" he said, absently, and quickly looked down, the shiver of horror in the pit of his stomach. "I don't mean I wanted you to . . . I never wanted that. But Mom never wanted me either. We all know that. Guess when you split up, well, I just came with the house. And I don't know if I could have taken sitting in a courtroom while you guys argued over who had to take me."
"Oh, I know you loved me," he added quickly. "But at a distance, right? Sometimes I want to ask what I did." He laughed shortly. "Rusty says I didn't do anything. Believe me, there are reasons why that's funny."
He sighed and leaned forwards. "So, anyway, what's new? Think I told you that Mom split up with Richard. He hasn't been back. That's good. That's very good."
"What else? Oh yeah, science fair last month. I didn't enter, but we were running a book on it. Made quite a bit of money, too. Well, right up until the point where Julian's model biplane made a beeline for Mr. Costanza. Chased him right across the hall. It was all a little 'North by Northwest'. Right up to the point where he fell head first into Cameron's volcano. Then it was a little more 'East of Java'. Anyway, we had nothing to do with it. But we had to scrap the betting anyway. Wouldn't be fair."
He ran his hands through his hair and fidgeted angrily. "And that's not what I wanted to talk to you about. It's just that I don't want to talk to you about what I want to talk to you about. Not like you'd understand, even if you could hear me." He took a deep breath. "So I turned sixteen two weeks ago. I know you know that. You remembered last year. And I understood why you couldn't be at the party. Mom was organising it. Would have been awkward. I should have told you I understood. But you sent me a card and fifty dollars. I've still got it. And you phoned me too . . ." He was silent for a moment. "I really didn't hate you. I should never have said that."
"Anyway," he went on determinedly. "I didn't want any sort of fuss this year, so Mom just organised a party for the family. Hers, not yours. And she said I could invite anyone I wanted from school, but I just wanted Rusty. And it was okay. I was still thinking about you a lot, but it was okay. We coped."
"So, I was feeling almost good about life. And Mom got me enrolled in a Driver's Ed program, and I was excited about that, and I was doing really well. You might have been proud of me. Then, yesterday . . . "
He paused and stared down at the ground. "Yesterday. And I was trying not to think. Trying to forget about the date altogether. And I was out for a driving lesson with Mr. Grey, and . . . it was stupid. I just started feeling nervous, and he was talking about emergency stops and when to . . . and we passed by the turning for the freeway. The freeway. Maybe a mile away. Maybe not. And I just . .. " He shook his head. "I think 'freaked out' is the phrase we're looking for here. Slammed on the brakes. Leapt out the car. Ran. Could hear Mr. Grey yelling behind me. Can't blame him. I could have . . . could have caused an accident. Could have killed someone. Someone's father."
"Anyway, I just ran and hid. Don't even know why, not really. Guess Mr. Grey told Mom. Guess she was worried. Really worried. She went round to Rusty's. To see if I was there, I guess, and to ask for help when I wasn't. Rusty found me. Rusty always finds me. Though I think maybe I wanted to be found this time. Because I wound up exactly where I was the last time I ran." He clenched his fists tightly. "Least I knew I hadn't actually hurt anyone this time."
"So Rus' found me." He frowned. "I wonder what you'd have made of that? You were never very comfortable with emotion. Rusty held me and I cried and we're not wrong. Think I scared him though. A lot. We talked afterwards. I talked. And he understood that I had to talk to you. But I couldn't face it then. Sorry."
"Mom was pissed when we went back to the house. Apparently Mr. Grey had been talking. She got phone calls. She hates those phone calls. She was yelling. Demanding to know what I'd been thinking. I couldn't explain. Really couldn't. I wanted to, and I just couldn't find the words. And she was yelling. Rusty stepped in front of me, and you can't imagine how much I hated that. But he got her calmed down. Explained everything. She listens to him sometimes, you know. She knows he knows me better. Think that's part of the reason why she hates him."
He smiled wonderingly. "You know what though? She was really great about it. When she understood. When she stopped yelling. She hugged me, which was . . . nice. Least she tries. And she said that I didn't have to learn to drive right now, if I didn't want to. She said it could wait. And she ordered us pizza and just assumed Rusty was staying over, and she even made us popcorn and she gave me money for today, told me we should do whatever I wanted."
He stood up slowly and his legs were a little stiff. "So, I guess I just wanted to tell you. I still miss you. It hurts. And I'm sorry." He glanced over his shoulder, towards the gate. "Got to go now. Rusty's waiting."
For a moment, he bowed his head and he thought of a careful smile and an easy laugh, of shiny shoes and the smell of cologne, of learning to ride a bike and being told once and for all that it wasn't his fault. He smiled and wiped away his tears. "Goodnight, Dad."
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