Chapter 3

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Sleeping really didn't help me much. I felt like a truck had hit me.

I had a dream about Portman. We were younger, we looked around high school age, and we were skating. Just skating. He was in front of me, but every time I tried to touch him, he got further away. It was so weird. I haven't had a dream about Portman in years. Sure, his memory still haunts me while I'm awake, but he hasn't invaded my dreams since Jack and Chase were seven.

I go wake the boys up for school, then fall back into bed, making a mental list of what I have to do today to prepare for tomorrow…and Portman's phone call tonight.

I have to call Fulton. Straight up, I have to call Fulton. Fulton has to be there, or I might die on the spot. I can't take this. I'm not strong enough for this. I'm not smart enough for this. I'm not a good enough mother for this.

"Mom, we're leaving!" I hear Chase call to me, half an hour later.

"Alright!" I call back, sitting up and deciding to take my shower, eat something, and then call Fulton.

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My shower was warm, my cereal cold, and my phone call was waiting--well, my intended phone call. I called in sick for work; I can't take going today. But I still have to call Fulton. What can I tell him? Fulton may go crazy and kill Portman in a fit of psychotic rage. I wouldn't blame him. I wasn't the only one Portman crashed an emotional train into when he disappeared. Fulton got hit, too. He just didn't show it like I did. He was strong. He had to be, or I wouldn't have made it.

I could lie to him. But what would I lie about? I guess I could tell him the truth--that I need him to come, because I can't face Portman by myself. I could tell him that I might die on the spot, or even kill Portman on the spot. That ass…

Stop. Stop. I can't go into a Portman rant right now. I must call Fulton.

I pick up the phone and dial Fulton's work number, as that's most likely where he is. I don't know what I'm going to say or how I'm going to ease this on. I guess I'll make it up on the fly--like Connie and I used to do in high school. We bullshitted our way through an entire philosophy class that way.

"Hello, Fulton Reed speaking," says a brisk, business-like, but familiar voice.

"Hey, Fulton," I smile. Fulton's voice is comforting, even if it is stern.

The sternness melts away when he knows it's me. "Hey Julie, what's going on?"

"Nothing really. Are you busy this afternoon?" I ask, realizing I should do this in person, not over the phone. Fulton deserves to hear this face-to-face, not now, when the phone hides me, like a plastic mask.

"Well, I have a lunch with someone I really don't like, but other than that, sure, I'm free."

"Can you blow off your lunch with that not-so-special someone, and eat here with me instead?" I ask, hoping with my whole heart that he can do this.

"I don't see why not. It's not really an important thing, and I'll just tell him my mom got sick and I had to buy her groceries," he laughs.

"Are you sure you can?" I ask. I don't want him to get fired because of me.

"Yeah, I'm positive," he says.

"Good. I'll see you at around noon, then?"

"Sure…hey Julie?"

"Yeah?"

"Why aren't you at work?"

"You'll find out this afternoon, I promise. Talk to you soon?"

"Talk to you soon, bye Julie."

"Bye Fulton."

I hear the click as he hangs up the phone, and I hang up mine as well. Hmm…I guess the question now is what I should make for lunch.

I've settled on an Italian hero sandwich for lunch (I bought it, I didn't make it). Fulton likes those sandwiches, so maybe this will help soften the blow. Or maybe it won't. Who knows, at this point?

At 12:05 the doorbell buzzes, and I don't even bother to ask who it is before I open it.

"Hey Fulton," I smile, wrapping my arms around his neck.

"Hey Julie," he says, hugging me back.

"Come on in," I say, taking his coat and hanging it on the wall. A few years back Fulton made me something to hang coats on--it's a long, rectangular piece of finished pine with brass hooks--because, living in an apartment, we don't have much closet space.

"So why the sudden necessity to have lunch together?" Fulton jokes, following me into the kitchen where I have two pieces of the sandwich on a plate. He takes a seat at the kitchen table.

"You're my friend, Fulton, do I really need a reason to call you and have you over for lunch?" I joke back, placing a plate down in front of him and taking a seat on the other side of the table.

"So you don't have a reason other than you wanted me to visit?" he says, taking a bite of his wedge.

I bite my lip. "I actually do have a reason…but we'll get to that. Let's eat first. How's work?"

"I have a new boss."

"Really?"

"Yeah. He's the same as the old one except he screams louder."

"He yells at you?" I ask as I pour him and myself some Coca-Cola.

"He yells at everyone, not just me. Me, my assistant, janitors, my superiors, visitors, guests, the cafeteria ladies, and he was even screaming at the vending machine the other day for eating his quarter," Fulton says, good-naturedly.

I snort into my Coke. What was said wasn't particularly funny, but Fulton says it in such a way that it's hysterical.

We continue to eat and make talk for a while, mostly about how horrible our jobs are and my kids. When we're finished, I get up to make some coffee.

"Screw the coffee, Julie, let's go for some hot chocolate," Fulton says, watching me pull out the beans.

"Hot chocolate? I thought you didn't drink that anymore since you spilled it all over your new white carpet and damned the stuff to hell?"

"I've slowly let it back into my life. It wasn't easy, but we're becoming friends again."

I smile and pull out the Swiss Miss packets.

When it's ready, I put the mug in front of him, and he takes a slug, swallowing slowly to savor the first taste. "Hot chocolate," he says in a romantic voice, "sweet, smooth hot luscious liquid. How I've missed you."

I giggle and take a sip of my own. It is good. Normally, I think Fulton would have had a beer with lunch instead of Coke and coffee with liqueur instead of hot chocolate, but he doesn't drink around me. In his ongoing effort to keep me from ever drinking again, he doesn't drink alcohol in my presence so that way I'm not tempted. I think that's rather sweet of him. I think I can control my drinking now. It's been twelve years, and I'm not even sure I had a problem back then. But I have a funny feeling that Fulton knows better than I think I do, his mother being a former alcoholic.

"So, Julie," he says jovially, after taking another slug, "what's the reason you called me over here today?"

"I got a phone call last night."

"Cool. So did I. My mom called telling me she needs her vacuum fixed. Who's was yours from?"

My stomach suddenly twisted in a knot. I really, really, really don't want to tell him just because I don't want to spoil a good mood…and because I'm afraid. I'm not sure what I'm afraid of, but the feeling I have is definitely fear. But he has to know about it, because I won't be able to go with my boys to meet Portman tomorrow if Fulton doesn't come with us.

"The phone call was from Portman," I say slowly as he's taking another swig from his mug. Fulton, in his bout of surprise, spits hot chocolate all over the table.

"Portman?" he asks in a very strained voice.

"Yes, Portman," I answer timidly. For the first time in quite a few years, I remember how big Fulton is. Or maybe he's not so big. Maybe I just feel tiny.

"What did he want?" Fulton asks in the same strained voice.

I take a minute to gather my thoughts and think about how to say this. "He asked if Jack, Chase, and I would meet up with him some place. He wanted to see us."

"That ass!" Fulton bangs his mug on the table. Here comes the explosion. "He disappears off the face of the fucking earth for twelve years and now he wants to fucking see you!?"

Fulton doesn't swear much anymore. When he was younger he did, but since he became like a father to the boys, he keeps his mouth under control. He doesn't swear unless he's angry. He must be very angry right now.

"He asked to see you. What did you say?" he asks, venom in his voice.

"I said I'd see and told him to call tomorrow. He's calling tonight. I talked to the boys, and they want to go," I quickly answer.

Fulton swears again, and a few more seconds of angry muttering later, he calms down enough to ask, "What has this got to do with me?"

"He said I could bring a friend, if I wanted. I was…" I trail off. He's so angry. What if he says no? What will I do?

"You were…?" he presses.

"I was sort of hoping you'd come with me. Actually, I need you to come," I say, rather breathlessly.

"Why do you need me?" he asks. For the first time he doesn't looks angry, but perplexed.

"Well, I…" I start, but stop. How exactly do you tell someone how much you depend on them for everything? How much you love them for everything they've done for you? How much your children love them? How much you appreciate everything they've done for you? How much you mean to them? How much you believe they deserve to have their questions answered along with your own? How do you tell someone how much you owe them for getting you through the hardest twelve years of your life?

You don't. They already know.

He smiles, and the anger seems to be completely gone. "Of course I'll come with you, Julie."

I sigh with relief. "Thanks, Fulton."

"Sure, just call me when you know when you're going, alright?"

"Tomorrow, until 4:00, because Jack and Chase have a game."

"First game of the season, is it?"

"Yes, do you want to come?"

"I'd love to."

I have hardly noticed, but we've left the kitchen and moved to the front door. I hand Fulton his coat.

"I'll call you when you need to come by so we can go," I tell him.

"Sure. If you call before 6:00, call my office, ok?"

"Yeah, I will."

"Well, I'm off to my office and my lovely boss. I hope he choked on his lunch. Bye Julie," Fulton smiles, opening the door.

I grin. "Bye Fulton. Talk to you later."

I clean up the kitchen, and flop down on to the couch. I'm already drained, and I still have to mentally prepare myself for Portman's phone call tonight. We'll see him tomorrow, until four, because Jack and Chase have a game. I hope Portman doesn't want to meet before two. Any more than two hours with him might result in his death, because anymore than that, and I might kill him. Or Fulton might kill him. Whichever, it still results in his death.

Fulton's coming with me tomorrow. I'm saved. Well, not saved. I'd still rather not go, but it's much easier to go with my best friend than to go by myself.