Chapter Twenty-eight: Aftermath

A timid knock on the door interrupted our reverie.

"Come in," Blue Eyes said.

Daddy walked in hesitantly. I pulled away from Blue Eyes, but he remained on the bed, his left arm draped across my legs with his hand clasping my waist.

"Daddy," I said with profound sadness. "I'm so sorry I wasn't at Mama's funeral."

He sat in the chair beside Blue Eyes. "I know what happened, Audra. You have nothing to apologize for." He stopped; his eyes, red and tired, skirted my eyes. "How are you?"

"She has eight stitches along her hairline," Blue Eyes answered. "She needs to rest."

Daddy turned to Blue Eyes. "Thank you, Dr. House, for protecting Audra. I had no idea . . ."

"No offense, Dan, but neither you nor your wife were ever concerned about protecting Tiger. In fact," he continued sternly. Pent-up, unexpressed anger seized control of his facial expressions as well as his verbal expressions. Blue Eyes stood, towering over my seated father, and clenched his hands into hard balls of fists. He talked quickly in an escalating tone. "In fact, Dan, I'd even suggest you contributed to her vulnerability, allowing that sick bastard to prey on her need for male approval."

"You're making assumptions about situations beyond your possible comprehension, Dr. House," Daddy, tight-lipped, commented in a small and defensive voice. "I will reiterate my appreciation for your intervention on Audra's behalf, but I came here, Dr. House, to address her. Not you."

Blue Eyes refused to relent. If anything, his stance became more menacing as my father, older and frailer, appeared to recede. "I know more about your daughter than you ever could," he said in a confident voice. "I've talked with her, Dan, and I've listened to her. And I've heard her. I will not excuse your responsibility in her endangerment."

"Stop," I said. I stretched forward to place my hand on Blue Eyes' arm, but he ignored me and refused to turn. "Please. Blue Eyes," I begged.

He shrugged his head, shaking the arm I was grasping, although it only made me tighten my hold.

"Daddy," I said while scrutinizing Blue Eyes, "I know you're tired. I'm fine here. Really. Why don't you go spend the night at Mary Dell's? We can talk tomorrow."

Daddy massaged his brow. "I am tired. I would like for us talk tomorrow, Audra." He rose from his chair, coming nose-to-nose with Blue Eyes. "Dr. House, for the third time, thank you for coming to my daughter's aid." He squeezed my shoulder and, slowly, headed for the door. Just as his hand touched the doorknob, he glanced back at me, his impenetrable mask of arrogance slipping fleetingly as his weary eyes reached out to mine. He reclaimed his protective demeanor immediately, then turned and proceeded to exit. One quick glimpse of him, naked with all of his insecurities, anguish, and guilt displayed, was all I was allowed.

Blue Eyes' shoulders slumped as he sank into the vacated chair.

"You needed to start a pissing contest with my father?" I asked.

"I didn't need to, but the timing seemed right."

"He just buried his wife."

He looked straight at me with not one iota of remorse. "That's what kept me from talking to her. Although it didn't stop Michaels."

"He really was psychotic?" I asked.

"Of course. How else could he hold both sides of a complete conversation with a dead woman? And, of course, he did commit suicide."

"Wasn't that what you wanted?"

"I wanted you to be safe from him."

"You look tired," I observed.

"I am," he answered in a pensive tone.

"Why don't you go back to the house and get some sleep? Greg will be there."

"So will your father. I think I'll take my chances in this chair."

"Come on," I said, patting the bed beside me. "Crawl up."

The bed was a regulation hospital bed, too narrow for a couple; nevertheless, Blue Eyes curled next to me, his head cradled on my breast, my arms encircling him. He fell asleep long before I did.

Monday morning found me sleepily awake, cramped and cramping with Blue Eyes flung across me humming contentedly. I needed to pee, so I eased out from under him and made my way to the restroom. When I finished cleaning up, I heard a timid knock on the hospital room door. I opened it myself to find Dinah, nervous but smiling, holding out a bag of donuts.

"Hey," I whispered. "Blue Eyes is asleep; why don't we find somewhere else to eat these?"

She nodded.

I tied my gown securely around me to avoid any undue exposure, and we walked to the elevators in silence. As soon as we found the cafeteria, we got coffee for both of us and sat at a table in a corner. Dinah appeared to relax.

"What brings you out so early?" I asked her.

"I wanted to see you before I go open the store," she answered. "I gather Greg already told you about the, uh, the incident with Dr. Michaels."

I nodded. I wanted to hear her version, so I remained quiet to encourage her."Are you okay with my talking about it?" she asked anxiously.

"Yes."

"When we saw he was at his office, I rooted around in back trying to find a way in. I missed most of the negotiations, but when I did go in the front behind Greg, I just wanted to knock that cocksucker down and start wailing on him with your daddy's prized bat. You know?"

I had to smile – Dinah was so enthusiastically protective.

"But I was stunned when I heard Dr. House. Shocked. I couldn't f#cking believe what he was saying."

"What do you mean?"

She sipped her coffee. "Michaels was obviously hallucinating. I mean, he was talking to Imogene and answering her as if she were asking him questions. Now, that was freaky enough. But Dr. House, he was a little freaky, too."

"Dinah, I'm not understanding what you mean," I said in a hushed voice.

"It was like Dr. House became whoever Michaels thought he was talking to. He started answering Michaels with the things Imogene would say. Like he was pretending to be her. And Michaels seemed to buy it. Then, well, Michaels started talking and listening to someone else. I think, maybe, he thought his father was talking to him." Dinah paused, running her hands through her hair.

This was a bit of the story I hadn't heard. I waited for her to continue.

"Dr. House listened, then he started talking to Michaels like he was his father. He answered when Michaels asked questions. And he was not pretending to be an approving father-figure, either. He was criticizing Michaels, telling him what a disappointing son he had been. Telling him he had fucked up. He was pushing him, Cissy. It's almost like he was goading him."

"Goading him?" I repeated.

"I know he did what needed to be done. I know that. But it was frightening, watching and listening. Dr. House talked Michaels into killing himself. At least, that's the way it looked and sounded to me."

"Dinah," I began, "are you saying Blue Eyes did something he shouldn't have?"

"Oh, no, Cissy. Not at all. It was just that," she stopped and gazed past me, considering, before she finished, "that he was controlling Michaels exactly like he was a puppet. Dr. House knew precisely what to say to put the idea in his head. He intended for Michaels to commit suicide. He wanted it. He manipulated it. And he was happy when it ended. He smiled, Cissy, when he took his pulse and knew the guy was dead. Granted, I wanted him dead, too, but I wasn't happy to witness the bstard blowing the brains he had all over the office wall. Dr. House was happy."

I felt an unease creeping up my spine. "Why do you think he wanted him to do that?"

Dinah's expression remained contemplative. "Cissy, he loves you. He must. Greg and I were ready to beat the living daylights out of that psycho because of what he'd done to you. Dr. House wanted him dead for the same reason. He wanted you protected. And, it seems to me, he wanted revenge. Besides, if Michaels killed himself, there was no reason to publicize his attacking you or his being Zelda's father. Dr. House didn't want to put your business on the streets. He!!, enough of us now know as it is. But you know whether or not he loves you?"

She asked a question I was unable to answer. "I don't know, Dinah."

"Surely he's told you?"

"He hasn't even told me anything about what happened to Aaron. He's not a revealing sort of guy."

Dinah reached out and covered my hand with hers. "You're in love with him?"

I didn't know how to answer. I had been so preoccupied for so long with Zelda and Mother and work, I had just taken Blue Eyes' intrusion in my life as a frequently pleasant annoyance. I knew I didn't want him to disappear from my life, but did I feel the heart-stopping intensity of movie love? Did anyone?

"Cissy," she said. "There's something else I didn't tell you, but maybe I should."

My stomach lurched; there was something in her voice . . .

"Michaels didn't have his gun out when they got there. Greg told me. Dr. House asked him if he had one. He suggested he needed to get it. He suggested it was the answer to his problems."

"Blue Eyes did what?"

"That's not all, Cissy. Dr. House got Michaels to agree to a suicide pact with him."

"A what?"

She nodded. "He told Michaels the best way to hurt you would be for both of them to die – to leave you totally alone. No mother, no daughter, no men. He scared the bejesus out of us. We thought he was serious. To tell the truth, I'm not sure he wouldn't have followed through with it if he'd thought it was the only way to get rid of Michaels."

"What?" I gasped, horrified. "Are you saying Blue Eyes has a death wish? That he's self-destructive?"

"No, Cissy. I'm saying he was willing to do anything to make sure that lunatic would never be able to get near you again."

"No," I said, shaking my head. "He wouldn't have done anything to hurt himself."

"You don't believe he cares enough about you to be willing to sacrifice himself for your safety?"

"No," I said flatly.

"You're wrong, Cissy. Call it love, call it codependency, call it a god complex, but he was only concerned with your safety."

I couldn't comprehend what she was telling me. The implications. Would Blue Eyes have really gone to such lengths for me? It didn't make sense.

"Dinah, I appreciate what you've told me. I don't mean to be rude, but I need to go speak to Blue Eyes."

"Let me give you a little advice, Cissy. He was bargaining with the devil yesterday. He's not used to that. You might want to give him some time to think about his actions before you grill him. I mean, isn't it enough you know how he feels?"

"Dinah, I don't know how he feels."

She patted my arm as we rose and walked out. "Cissy, you know very well how he feels. You just aren't used to the idea. You'll come around. And so will he."

I slipped quietly into the room. Blue Eyes was sitting up in bed, sleep still crusting the corners of his eyes. He managed a weak smile.

"Where've you been?" he asked.

"Dinah came by to talk with me about yesterday." I watched him to detect any change in his demeanor, but there was none.

"Is she okay? Still carrying around that bat?"

I smiled at him as I hopped up between his legs, my back resting against his chest. "She was on her way to open her comic book shop, so I guess she's okay. She probably stowed the bat under her car seat."

I felt his laughter rumble against my lower back as he wrapped his arms around me. "She had a death grip on that damn bat. She made me nervous."

"You made her nervous."

"Why? I love women. I was never going to take that bat out of her hands and use it on her. She's the one who looks for an excuse to beat up a man."

"She wasn't worried for her own welfare. She was worried about you."

His arms, while still around me, tensed. I could feel his biceps flexing around my shoulders. "I had everything under control."

"Did you want him to kill himself?"

"Do you regret that he did?"

"I wish Dinah, Greg, and you hadn't had to witness it, or be involved in it."

He relaxed. "I know, Tiger. They had no business being there."

"And you did?" I asked.

"Yes," he answered flatly.

And that was all he'd say about the "incident," except to assure me he had given the police a complete and satisfactory account and that there would be no further investigation. "Zelda is yours," he said. "That worry is over."

Resting in his embrace, as comforting as it was and as much as I needed the comfort, I had a nagging sensation of dread.

We left the hospital and went home. Our flight was scheduled to leave at three-fourteen that afternoon.

"Aren't you going to drive the Mercedes back?" Daddy asked me.

We were milling around, packing and killing time. "I really need to get back to Zelda and to work."

Blue Eyes stopped eating the leftover Brunswick stew I had heated for him. "You need to find out if that Ph.D. guy has stolen your stuff. I don't trust him," he interjected. "Why don't you fly back today, and I'll drive the car back for you? Cuddy can live without me for another few days."

I stopped sorting through the sympathy cards and looked at him. "You want to drive in this winter weather?"

He shrugged. "I'm used to it, Tiger. I do live in New Jersey."

I considered, briefly, going with him, but between my cracked coccyx and my need to both see Zelda and check on my program, I felt compelled to fly back. I wanted Blue Eyes with me; however, I thought a few days apart might be good. I still needed time to grieve for my mother, and, I knew, he needed time to process Aaron's suicide. After much consideration, we decided Blue Eyes would drive me to the airport before heading north on his trek. He called Jim, who agreed to meet me that evening when my flight arrived.

Saying goodbye to Daddy was hard. Of course, since he was now an eligible bachelor, he was surprisingly popular. That morning alone, he had received two phone calls from single church women inviting him to a Wednesday night dinner and a Saturday supper club. Bethanne Murphy, the boldest of the lot, stopped by the house Monday morning to drop off a coffee cake and an invitation to dinner "just to make sure you're not starving yourself." Daddy was uneasy with this new attention, but I told him he should accept every offer and make use of female talents all he could.

Before I could get teary, Greg rolled in. He spied Blue Eyes' stew.

"Cissy," he whined, "please make me some Brunswick stew."

"Where have you been?" I asked him.

"Dinah's store."

"Oh, he!!. How much money did you leave there?"

He shook his head and refused to answer.

"I'll make you a deal, Greg. I want to go to the cemetery. Ride with me to see Mama's grave, and I'll heat your some stew when we get back," I bargained.

Blue Eyes said, "I'll go with you."

"No, Blue Eyes. You finish packing 'cause we'll need to leave for the airport as soon as we get back. Greg, let's take Daddy's truck."

Greg, reluctantly, went with me. He wasn't leaving for Washington until Tuesday evening.

As soon as we pulled out of the driveway, I questioned him. "Why didn't you tell me everything about Aaron's suicide?"

"Okay, Cissy," he began, "I know Dinah ran her mouth to you. And I'm not saying she lied. But, Cissy, the situation with Michaels was intense. He was fucking dangerous. And not just to you and Zelda, but to all of us. House did what he needed to do to keep all of us alive and safe. Safe. I have no problems with anything he said or did."

Greg spoke earnestly, and I new he spoke sincerely. But . . . "If everything my dear doctor did was acceptable, then why did you not tell me everything Dinah told me?"

"Because I knew you'd get upset. You weren't there. You couldn't understand without experiencing the fear in that office. Even Dinah wasn't there the whole time. I know she was afraid; he!!, Cissy, I told you I was afraid. And House is, admittedly, a master manipulator. No doubt. But we needed him. Cissy, without him, we might all have died. I'm not shitting you."

Greg was trying his best to persuade me. He swung the truck onto the paved path through the old cemetery and stopped adjacent to our family plot. We got out and walked together, slowly, to the freshly covered grave. I knelt down and touched the blocks of sod; I don't know why I felt the need to touch it. I wanted to be near her.

"She picked out a flat stone. Dark marble. She wanted a bible verse on it. Daddy knows which one if you're interested," Greg said quietly.

He stood beside me. Awkwardly. Flowers were clustered at the head of the space. I walked a few yards to the left where my maternal grandmother was buried. Florine Gunn Gregory. Her stone was flat. Dark marble. On it was this verse: "If we live, we live to the Lord; and if we die, we die to the Lord. So, whether we live or die, we belong to the Lord." Romans 14:8.

"She'll have the same verse as her mother," I said. "That's enough. Let's go."

Without a word, we returned to the truck and drove back home. After putting some stew on to heat for Greg (as I had promised), I told him and Daddy goodbye. Blue Eyes already had the convertible loaded with my luggage and his mess. We left for the airport in more silence.

He stayed by my side through the check-in procedure. I asked him again, "Are you sure you're going to be all right driving alone?"

"Of course, Miss Daisy," he answered me. He hadn't called me by a fictional name in quite a while. I couldn't help but smile at him.

"Thank you," I told him.

He kissed me lightly and hugged me before hurrying me onto my plane. I left Alabama with the picture of him, leaning heavily on his cane, solemn-faced and alone at the departure desk.