Chapter 9
Bob and Linda were sat side by side in a fair sized office, on the second floor of the Bog Harbour Law Firm. The restaurant had been closed early, and Teddy was watching the kids.
Across the mahogany desk was a rather large man in a neat, grey suit by name of Jim Radcliffe.
"Nice to meet you, Mr and Mrs Belcher," he shook their hands, before sitting down. He had a thick file in front of him, containing all of the details about Louise's ordeal; photos, statements, police reports, her autopsy report, even a USB stick with footage of her in the well. It was definitely the most unique case he'd ever taken on, but he was determined to do the best job he could.
"Will you do your best to put Logan in jail?" asked Linda.
"I will do my best," Radcliffe assured them.
"I want him punished properly," muttered Bob. "A life for a life. Isn't that what they say?"
"Well, he won't get life," said Radcliffe, and Bob and Linda's faces fell. "He's been charged with unlawful act manslaughter, which doesn't warrant a life sentence, I'm afraid."
"He should be charged with cold-blooded murder." Bob pushed the sleeves of his suit up, and balled his hands into fists.
"What's unlawful act manslaughter? What does that mean?" asked Linda.
"It basically means that someone commits a crime that accidentally and unintentionally results in the death of another person. Usually, this type of crime comes from people who have committed assaults, and Logan did intentionally physically assault Louise. I'm going to push for the highest punishment possible, though. Now, as we've only got a couple of months, I just want to run through some things you can expect to see and hear during the trial, as I don't want you to be taken by surprise." When Bob and Linda had nodded, he continued. "Firstly, the trial has been moved to another city, so there's no chance of bias."
"What do you mean, bias?" asked Linda.
"Well, this was a pretty high-profile story. Nobody involved in the courtroom should have any personal ties to you or your family, and since you live in a small town, it's quite hard to ensure that. Also, it means that nobody can accuse the jury or judge of giving anyone any kind of special treatment. It's been moved to Trenton; about an hour and forty-five minutes drive from here."
Bob and Linda nodded once again, and Radcliffe pushed on. "Their lawyer is going to downplay everything Logan has done; which is natural, it's their job, but they are going to make out like him pushing her, and the bullying, was no big deal. I don't want to tell you how to act, and I know it's going to be hard, but try to remain calm. If you get angry, they may find a way to use it against you."
"Okay." Linda's hand reached out and found Bob's, holding it tightly. She felt queasy.
"This is the hard part," Radcliffe said slowly. "I'm going to have to go into detail about what she went through. I'm going to have to show her autopsy photos, and read the autopsy report, but you can both step out if it gets too much. You don't even have to be there on that day. The doctor who was looking after her is going to be there, so he will answer all the hard questions."
Swallowing hard, Linda only nodded. Much as she wanted Logan to be jailed, she really wished she didn't have to hear this. She already knew she wasn't going to be able to handle it.
"Okay," she said again, choking the word out, while Bob's grip on her hand tightened as he stared at the desk.
"There is a chance that both of you could be called to the stand, so be prepared for that. I do know that Logan is still in prison; he has to stay there until the trial starts."
"Why?" Bob asked, genuinely curious.
"For his own safety; his house has been vandalised several times, and he was beaten up at school."
Bob ground his teeth, willing himself to keep quiet. 'So, Logan the child killer got beat up? Aw. Cry me a river.'
"His parents are in a kind of safe house, just to ensure their safety. They'll be attending the trial, too."
Even though Bob and Linda had known that would happen, the knowledge of it angered them. They had to be in the same room as that family, and not murder them? How were they supposed to do that?
"I don't wanna see them," said Bob quietly.
"You don't have to; neither of you have to attend," said Radcliffe.
"No, we have to go," Linda insisted. "We have to do this." Even though she didn't just want to wring Cynthia's neck, she wanted to tear her limb from limb; she had to do something to try and make that stuck-up snob understand what her son had done. Logically, she knew she couldn't make a scene in court, but Linda truthfully had no idea what what happen when she came face to face with the Bushes.
"All right," said Radcliffe. "That's no problem. There will be one or two reporters in there, but no cameras, so there won't be any photos of Louise that will be published. And if you don't want them to, they won't publish anything upsetting. There will be a small, private room where you can go during the breaks, so no one will bother you. Well, I think that's about everything. Do either of you have any questions?"
"Don't think so," said Bob, after thinking. Well, he had questions, like where was the police station where Logan was being held, and could he have five minutes alone with him? But, no, he didn't have any questions about the upcoming trial.
"Okay. Well, thank you both for coming down." Radcliffe stood, and Bob and Linda followed suite. He shook their hands once again. "I'll be keeping in touch, okay? Have a safe drive home."
The first thing Linda did when they arrived home, was head straight to the living-room and hug her children; she didn't like being away from them any more than she had to. Tina and Gene, along with Teddy, were on the sofa, watching a movie, a bowl of untouched popcorn on the coffee table.
"Thanks for watching 'em, Teddy," said, grabbing the bowl, and desperately cramming the popcorn into her mouth.
"No problem, Linda." Teddy eyed her nervously. Like Gene, he spoke far less than he used to, still frightened of saying something he shouldn't. "I'll get going, then, if everything's all right."
"No; stay for dinner." Linda didn't really register what she had said until after it had left her mouth. She actually didn't want Teddy to stay, but she couldn't very well take it back. Besides, didn't their counsellor say it was good to be around people? It didn't make her feel good, but Linda felt that she ought to try; she owed it to her family.
"If you're sure..." Teddy trailed off, a tone of uncertainty in his voice.
"Sure," was all Linda said, still eating the popcorn. She stared at the television, not really seeing it, but she pretended to watch anyway, just to have something to do.
She was just as quiet when dinner was ready, and drank several glasses of water.
"Thanks for inviting me to dinner," said Teddy when he could no longer stand the silence, shifting on the camp chair.
"S'no problem," Bob replied, not making eye contact. "Thanks for watching the kids." He had to force himself to talk.
"That's all right; they're great kids." Teddy fell quiet himself, not wanting to speak too much. He tapped his fingers, and poured himself another glass of water.
"How.. was school today, kids?" asked Linda, wrenching her eyes from the table to gaze upon her children.
"It was okay," said Tina. "We had a math test, and it was hard, but we got to watch a movie in English."
"What movie?" Bob hated himself for not wanting to talk, but he knew he had to do this. He was a parent; he was supposed to take care of his children, and he would not allow Tina or Gene to take on that role again.
"Uh, it was 'Oliver Twist', and then we had to write a short story about working in one of those workhouses. I did the same thing last year, so it was easy."
Though nobody showed it, they all waited for Gene to make some kind of comment – about Dodger, about Fagin, lamenting that it wasn't the musical version, or how he was born to play Nancy, but they never came.
They continued to eat, the conversation becoming strained, but they didn't stop talking. They didn't talk about Louise, although many a glance was spared towards her empty chair.
The food portions had become significantly larger, though only Linda, Tina, and Gene cleared their plates; Bob just pushed his food around, eating only as an afterthought.
The deliberately mindless chatter continued into desert, and Linda continued to eat, even after she was full, even after she had to undo the button on her jeans, only Gene matching her mouthful for mouthful, with Tina close behind.
After Teddy had left, the family went back into the living-room. As Bob went to sit down, he noticed something next to the side table, and he bent down.
"Huh? Why's the phone unplugged?" Bob stood up holding the cord to the burger phone.
"Oh, I had to unplug it," said Tina.
"Oh. Okay, um, why?" Bob looked at Tina, and then down at the cord.
"Um, because reporters wouldn't stop calling. They want to talk to us, but I don't want to talk to them."
"Oh." Bob put the cord back on the floor, before sitting down. "What do we do about that?"
"What can we do?" said Linda, the bowl of leftover popcorn on her lap. "We saw what they were like, and we can't tell 'em to stop."
"We'll just have to change our number," said Bob after a while. "If they can't reach us, then they'll stop calling, right? We'll only give it out to certain people."
"Okay," said Linda, and silence fell upon the room.
"Shall we watch another movie?" asked Bob, not caring either way what the answer would be. He picked up the remote, and turned the television on.
"I don't mind," said Tina honestly, and so they ended up watching whatever was playing at that particular moment.
None of them spoke, but it didn't matter. Bob and Linda knew how important it was for them to just be together.
As they half watched a programme they had never seen, each were consumed in their own thoughts.
Bob felt like his insides were shaking. He and Linda knew just how lucky they were that Big Bob had not further pressed the matter of them not realising their children had gone. Yes, Bob and Linda had been incredibly stupid, but Big Bob didn't see the point in pursuing it further. All it would do would make all parties involved feel even worse. And as Bob and Linda hadn't touched a drop of anything stronger than coffee since that day, Big Bob felt safe in the knowledge that it wouldn't happen again.
Tina, meanwhile, was thinking about how good it felt to be warm, clean, and fed; she never realised how much she'd taken it for granted. Now, it seemed with every bite she took, every time she brushed her teeth, washed her face, brushed her hair, it brought back memories of that awful period of time. Now, of course, she realised how silly it had been to suffer in silence, but back then, it had seemed like the only option. She never did find out who sent the care package; Tina supposed that if they wanted her to know, they would have revealed themselves by now, therefore, she made no attempt to pry.
It was hard for them to imagine just how bad things had gotten, even thought it hadn't happened that long ago. Now that they were out of it, it was clear that none of them ever wanted to be in that place again.
As the days turned into weeks, the Belchers muddled along, trying to take it one day at a time. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't.
They had gone back to their old routine; working in the restaurant everyday, the kids went to school, and they had dinner and watched TV every night. They went grocery shopping, and ordered food and supplies for the restaurant. Most nights, they would be joined by Teddy or Mort, or Gretchen, Marshmallow, or Big Bob, to give them some company for the evening.
Although they had long gone back to Florida, Al and Gloria phoned them at least once a week, and Gayle dropped by every so often.
But there was no joy in anything for any of them any more. Often, when he thought no one was looking, Bob could be found pulling at his moustache, and Linda's eyes would cloud over suddenly.
Gene's keyboard was covered in two inches of dust, and Tina had stopped writing her erotic friend fiction, though she still wrote in her new diary every day. She kept this diary hidden, as she did not want anyone reading it. If they did, they would probably send her away for being a hard hearted, uncaring robot.
At least three times a week, they would go to the cemetery, to talk to Louise, and tell her what they had been up to. They made sure the graveside was neat and tidy, the flowers arranged nicely, and they brought fresh bouquets.
They still had heaps of money left over from the funeral fundraiser, but Bob didn't want to touch it. He knew it could either be many, many months of rent, or perhaps something to treat his family with, but it didn't feel right touching it. Perhaps it was best to save it for a rainy day, anyway, even though it was always raining in his head now.
One evening, he was sat the kitchen table, the laptop open in front of him.
"Whatcha doing?" Linda shuffled in and sat down next to him, pausing to grab some crackers on the way.
"I'm just putting some money into Gene and Tina's college funds, and.. refilling Tina's savings," said Bob, his gaze focused on the screen.
"Oh, okay." Linda paused. "She'll be glad to hear that. I think."
"Yeah," was all Bob said, gently tapping at the keys. He looked at the amount on the screen. He'd never seen so much money in his life; it could set them up very comfortably for the future, but he didn't care about that. Gene and Tina would get better use out of it. "I just.. feel so bad that she had to do that, you know? Least I can do is pay her back."
"Yeah," said Linda, munching on the crackers.
"I put a bit extra in for her, too. When Gene decides he wants to start saving, then I can help him with that, too." He hesitated. "We're gonna have to use some of this to pay that lawyer."
"Right. That makes sense... I don't want Gene and Tina going to that."
Bob nodded in agreement. "They should stay here; I don't want them hearing about.. I don't want them to get upset," she finished, and Bob nodded again. He gripped the hem of his shirt in his hands.
"How are we going to do it?" he asked, and Linda looked at him properly for the first time since she sat down.
"I don't know," she said honestly. "Sometimes, I think we should go and sit through it, and sometimes I think we shouldn't. I don't know what to do."
"I don't know, either." Bob twisted the hem of his shirt, squeezing the excess material. "I think we should go, though. I think we owe it to... to Louise."
"Right. You're right." Linda continued to eat the crackers, more quickly now. "We need to do this for her. We can at least do that."
"Okay, so, we'll go to.. that, and maybe ask if Teddy will watch the kids?"
"I'm sure he will," said Linda. Her hand clenched a little bit, and she got up and poured herself a glass of water, drinking it quickly. "He's good to us like that." She refilled her glass and downed it, leaning against the sink. "I mean, Gene and Tina will want to know what happens, and we can tell them; I just don't want them going there and – they're too young for that."
"We're too young for that," said Bob so quietly that she couldn't hear him.
"... Is this gonna be as good as it gets?" Linda asked after an extremely long pause, her eyes on her glass. "I can't see things getting much better."
"I don't know," said Bob truthfully. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see."
"Okay, I'm going to bed. You comin'?" Linda walked over to Bob, and placed her hand on his shoulder.
"I'll be there in a minute; just got some things to do."
"All right." She bent down and kissed his temple. "See you soon," she said, before leaving the room.
Bob continued to stare at the laptop screen; one tab was open on the fund, and the others were Gene and Tina's college funds, and Tina's savings. He hoped she would be pleased to see the little bit extra he'd put in for her. To him, it wasn't enough. She'd been through a lot, as they all had, but it was Tina who had effectively organised her sister's funeral; how could he have let her do that? Not to mention she had run the house and cared for Gene for almost three months. He was determined to do something to show his appreciation for her and everything she had done. Of course, he wasn't going to leave Gene out; he was suffering, too, but Tina had taken on a lot.
Bob rested his chin in his hand, pausing to pull his shirt sleeve out from under his elbow. What could he do for Tina, or get her, to make up for his actions? It had to be something that proved how sorry he was, but he couldn't seem to think of anything that could make it up to her.
He stared and stared at the screen, wracking his brain. He couldn't give her what she wanted the most, what they all wanted the most, so he was at a loss.
Then, he tilted his head as a thought came to him, and he opened a new tab and began typing.
Pushing the trolley through the grocery store, Linda mindlessly scanned the shelves. Her forearms rested heavily on the handlebar, and she paid no mind to neither the staff nor the other customers. Her feet dragging, she sluggishly placed some cereal into the trolley, her eyes blinking tiredly behind her glasses.
Reaching up to grab a few tins of spaghetti, Linda tugged at the waistband of her jeans. They'd gotten so uncomfortable; maybe they needed replacing? Maybe she'd get some more later on in the week, when she could get up the strength to go back out. As she walked through the aisle, she passed another shopper, who caught her eye and smiled. Linda averted her gaze and stared straight ahead, putting some pasta into her trolley. When was that going to stop, the constant pitying stares? She couldn't exactly tell people to not look at her, tempting though it was. She would probably get some catty remark about how they were only being nice, or something like that.
When it came to pay, Linda waited patiently as the cashier scanned her items.
"Did you find everything you needed okay?" smiled the young lady.
"Yes. Thank you," said Linda, standing at the end of the till, and packing her groceries.
"Wonderful. Oh, these are delicious, aren't they?" She held up the box of chocolate Shim-Shams before scanning it.
"Mm-hm," Linda muttered, wishing she hadn't brushed her hair or teeth before going out; looking unkempt made people less likely to talk to her. But getting dressed – properly dressed; bra and everything – made her feel more motivated, and motivation was what she needed.
"Okay, your total is $35.15, do you have a reward card?"
"Nope." Linda handed the money over.
"No problem. Well, here's your change. Have a nice day."
Linda opened her mouth, then closed it, and hurriedly took her change and walked away. It wasn't the cashier's fault, she reminded herself; it was all part of the retail script. She meant no harm.
When Linda got home, she began unpacking the groceries. Any moment now, the restaurant would close, and Bob and the kids would come up, and then it would be time for dinner.
Pulling a pot out of the cupboard, Linda placed it on the stove, and began to boil some water. When it was hot enough, she put the spaghetti in the pot, and continued unpacking. Yoghurt covered peanut butter mini doughnuts for Gene, a box of mini unicorn cupcakes for Tina, fudge pretzels for Bob, and chewy gummy shark sweets for Louise.
Halfway between pulling the shark sweets out of the bag, Linda froze. She stared at the plastic bag, at the happy cartoon sharks with their mouths wide open in an enticing grin. Her face fell.
Gene was the first one to enter the apartment when the restaurant had closed, and he came into the kitchen to see Linda on the floor, one hand over her face, crying.
"Mom?" In a flash, he was by her side, but Linda was crying too heavily to answer. "Mama?" He knelt down beside her. "What's wrong?"
"Gene, Mommy's fine, baby, don't worry," she lied, wiping her face on her sleeves. She sniffed, wiped her nose on the back of her hand, and looked up her son. She tried to smile reassuringly, but her lip wobbled dangerously, and so she ducked her head. "I'm fine," she repeated.
Gene only surveyed her.
"No, you're not," was all he said.
"No, really; I'm fine, Genie Beanie." Linda wiped her eyes again, and swept Gene up in a tight hug, which he returned.
"Linda?"
She heard footsteps, and soon felt Bob by her side. "Lin?"
"I'm all right," she said. "It was nothing."
"Lin." Bob got into a more comfortable position, and put his arm around her, while Tina remained in the doorway, watching. "Remember what the therapist said? We need to stick together and talk to each other."
Linda's grip on Gene tightened, but she raised her head.
"I bought some candy sharks," she said quietly. She didn't have to explain further.
"I see," said Bob after a while.
"I'm keeping them," Linda muttered, not looking at him, but Bob nodded understandingly. He would keep them, too.
"Tell you what, you just sit down, and I'll make dinner."
"No, I'll do it." Linda stumbled to her feet, but sat down at the kitchen table, with Gene and Tina.
"It's okay; I don't mind." Bob turned his attention to the spaghetti, wiping his eyes. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and kept his back to them. A small part of him felt hypocritical for not sharing his tears, but Bob felt that he should at least try to be strong for once.
After dinner, Bob locked up the apartment, and drove them to the Nurture Centre for their weekly counselling session. For the time being, they went there once a week. It was okay; they weren't pressured to talk if they didn't want to, and it was nice to have someone to vent to, who wouldn't judge them on anything.
They walked in and took their seats, and waited for the session to start. The room was bright and cheery, with several posters and potted plants decorating the area. There was a small coffee table covered with books, magazines, and small childrens toys.
"Good evening," smiled their counsellor, Nadia, as they sat down. She adjusted her position in her leather armchair, and waited for them to settle. When they had, she continued, "I thought we'd start by going over what we discussed in our last session; about each of you doing a daily task. Do you feel up to that?"
"Sure," muttered Bob.
"Okay, Bob, what task did you do?"
"I hung up my clothes in the wardrobe," said Bob, and Nadia nodded approvingly, writing it down in her notepad.
"Great. And, Linda, what about you?"
"I went grocery shopping."
"Wonderful. And how about you two?" Nadia looked over at Gene and Tina.
"I, uh, did some homework," said Tina, unable to think of anything else.
"Restaurant work," Gene muttered, his eyes on the table, as they had been throughout the session.
"Okay, that's great." Nadia finished writing and looked up. "It may not seem like much, but doing small, simple tasks like that is a good stepping stone. Today, I thought we could talk about Louise; I'd like you to try and mention her name, if you can," said Nadia. "I know it can be hard," she continued, when they remained quiet, "and I know it's painful, but it's a very important first step, and it will become easier to talk about her over time."
Although the Belcher family seriously doubted that, they gave it a go.
"She... Louise... was so great," said Bob after a while. "She's so kind to everyone, and she really loves us."
"Louise was the best nine year old in the world!" Linda declared, while Nadia nodded, writing in her notepad. "She was such a little angel. I remember once how she wanted to climb up onto the roof like Spiderman when she was five. She screamed the place down when we said no; it was great." Linda managed a fond smile.
"That sounds lovely," Nadia smiled.
"She was just so funny, you know?" Bob muttered, staring at the desk. "Like when she was annoyed that we gave her room to Teddy, and she covered his face in bugs, and hired a bunch of costumed characters to scare him. And when she turned the basement into an underground casino, and almost lost $5,000 playing rock-paper-scissors with our landlord. That was so hilarious."
"She certainly seemed like she was mischievous," said Nadia, and Bob and Linda nodded.
"That's her, you know?" said Linda. "She just – she was always just so happy and sweet and everything."
"I'm sure she was. Other than talking about her, what other ways do you remember Louise? As a family, or individually?" asked Nadia. "I know you've been struggling to talk about her, which is perfectly fine, and completely normal, but I'd like to try and help you find some other ways."
"Well, uh," Bob shifted uncomfortably, "I don't know what else to do. I mean, we visit her.. grave, but that's it, really." He lowered his head. "Does that make us bad people?" he whispered.
"No, of course not," Nadia assured him. "There's no right or wrong way; everybody is different."
"So, what else can we do?" he asked.
"Well, one thing that people try is talking to them, as though Louise is sitting right next to you. Some people may find that easier than talking about their loved one. Another thing is writing letters, and looking at photos -"
"We look at photos," Bob cut in. "Sometimes. I didn't realise that was a way of – I mean, I never thought about it."
"That's really good," Nadia told him. "Looking at photos is a great way to remember her. You mentioned that you visit her grave?"
"Yeah," said Linda, and she began to bite on her thumbnail. "We don't really talk to her there, though, but we keep it neat and clean."
"That's a really sweet way of remembering her."
"We go there all the time," said Linda through her nail. "I can't imagine not going."
"Do you all go together?"
"Yeah, we do."
"That's good; it's a good way for you to be together."
Bob nodded. He couldn't remember exactly how many of these sessions they had gone to, but they didn't seem to be helping. He thought the whole idea of bereavement counselling was to help them deal with their loss. It was all pointless anyway, because there was no way they could come to terms with this.
He kept his head down as Nadia continued to talk, though he made sure to listen to what she had to say.
"Okay, well that was another good session," said Nadia, when their hour was up. "I would like you all to work on another daily task, in addition the ones you're already doing. Of course, Linda, no one would expect you to grocery shop every day, so can you try and think of another one?" she asked, and Linda nodded. "Great. You're all making very good progress, and just remember to take baby steps. Okay? I'll see you next week."
"Bye, then," they said as they left the room.
The Belchers left the room and walked down the hallway together, silently. Bob and Linda held hands as the kids walked in front of them, wanting nothing except to get to the car and go home.
They reached the small but cosy lobby, where, as always, the receptionist gave them a polite but cheery smile. They reached the lobby at the same time another family did. The Belchers had to make eye contact in order to pass them, and Bob and Linda couldn't help but notice their eyes. The parents had the same, haunted look in their eyes as they did. The little girl, who was in her mother's arms, had the same look, though not as pronounced. Bob and Linda knew that look well; it was the same one that adorned their own and their family's faces 24/7. Both Bob and Linda felt their hearts go out to this family who were obviously going through the same thing they were.
Only having the strength to exchange polite nods, the two families left the building and walked across the car park.
Bob couldn't help but notice a little pink beaded bracelet on the father's right wrist, and he couldn't stop staring at it. He still had Louise's old pink beanie in his nightstand drawer, but if she had made him a bracelet or a necklace, he would have worn it non stop. As if on reflex, he reached up to gently touch the locket around his neck.
"How was yours?"
Bob and Linda looked over to see the mother looking at them. Just one look at her face told them it this was one of her tasks to help her heal.
"We had to talk about her, and decide on another daily task," said Linda after the slightest hesitation.
"Same for us," said the mother, adjusting the little girl on her hip. "She was only four. Six weeks ago. How old was yours?"
"Nine," said Bob. "Four months on the 27th."
Had it really been four months since they had lost Louise? Somehow it seemed like ten minutes, ten days, and ten years all at the same time. He now hated the very number 27; every time he saw it, it brought back those awful memories of the worst day of his life.
"Sorry to hear it," the dad nodded.
"Thanks. And sorry, as well, about your daughter," said Linda.
"Thanks," the mother said. For a moment, they all stood there in silence.
"Well, we better get going," said Bob. "Need to go home and get an early night, you know?"
"All right," said the mother. "Nice talking to you."
Linda mumbled something in reply, before the Belchers headed to their car.
While driving home, Bob felt terrible. Because, selfish though it may seem, at least they weren't alone with what they were going through. He would never wish this on anyone, but at least that family understood the pain. Okay, yes, his friends were well-meaning and only wanted to help, but they would never get it. But that was good, because in order to understand, they would have to experience this terrible loss, and they would have to feel this huge hole in his heart, and Bob thought no one should have to feel the way he felt.
"Lin?" he whispered, as they lay in bed later that night.
"Yeah?"
"I – don't know how to say it." He rolled over to face her, and she looked at him, waiting patiently. "I feel bad and not bad," he said. "I feel bad because, on the way home, I was thinking about that family. I was thinking about how they understand, and no one else can. I guess it's... kind of a relief to know that we're not alone, but then, the reason for that is terrible." He paused. "Does that make me a bad person?"
"Of course it doesn't, Bobby. She wriggled closer to him, and took his hand. "I get what you mean. I feel the same way," she admitted. "It's awful, but they get it, and that's why." She felt Bob nod next to her.
"We're not so good at the whole 'talking to each other' thing, huh?" he muttered.
"Maybe we just need to work on it more." Linda wrapped her arm around him, and he did the same.
A few days later, Bob was back behind the grill, half listening to the happy chattering that came from the diner, half lost in his own thoughts. He flipped a patty, closing his eyes as it sizzled, and pressing the spatula down on the meat. He looked up and saw Linda out front behind the counter, pouring drinks and answering whatever inane questions the customers had.
Bob placed a slice of cheese on the burger, and then reached over to his left for some buns. Picking one up, he stopped and stared at it, suddenly overcome with self loathing.
'Listen, we're almost out of buns. Why don't you do me a favour and go and get a couple of packets?' He heard it clearly, as though he was listening to a recording, and he scrunched up his face.
'Your poor planning isn't my problem, Dad.'
Bob remembered the conversation as though it had happened that day. He could remember her high-pitched screaming, her chasing Gene around the restaurant, and he picked up a bun, crushing it into crumbs.
How could he have let her go out all by herself? Why did he do it? Just because she was being noisy? She was always noisy; that was Louise! He should have just let her play. She was only a little kid, his precious baby; of course she wanted to play. If he didn't have this stupid, crappy restaurant, she could have played in the garden after school like a normal kid, and not have been made to go on an errand – an errand which led to her death – all because her selfish father wanted to get her out of his hair. If he hadn't sent her out, she would still be here. She would still be here with them.
In time, he realised the burger had burnt, and he took it off the grill, in no real hurry. Bob gave himself a little shake in an attempt to clear his head, and looked at the burger. It was practically black, but Bob plated it up and put it in the window anyway, ringing the bell. He then busied himself with sweeping up the breadcrumbs when he caught sight of Louise's step stool, tucked up in the back corner. It had been at least a year since she'd used it – she insisted she no longer needed it, but Bob had kept it around, because it had made work easier for her. Well, it did when she could be persuaded to use it.
He was still staring at it when Linda called him after less than a minute, just as he knew she would.
"Bob?" She peered through the window, not seeing him. "Bob?"
Bob stood up, dustpan in hand, and looked at her. "This customer wants his burger remade; he says it's too burnt."
"Really?" Rather than place another patty under the grill, Bob left the kitchen and stood behind the counter next to his wife. Sitting one stool over from Teddy was an extremely irritated looking man. The burger was still in front of him, the top bun removed. "What seems to be the problem?" Bob asked as politely as he could.
"I want a new burger; this one's burnt to hell, so I want a fresh one on the house," the man demanded.
"You asked for it well done," said Bob after a while, causing both Linda and Teddy to look at him in surprise.
"Yeah, I said well done; that means just a minute or two longer than usual. Do you even know how to cook a simple burger? This is a hockey puck. It's burnt to a crisp; it's disgusting."
"Who do you think you are? Gordon freaking Ramsay, or something?" Even Bob was shocked at that; he had no idea where this was coming from. Gene and Tina had stopped cleaning menus and were watching, and Teddy's jaw was practically on the floor.
"Excuse me?" The man drew himself up indignantly. "You can't talk to me like that; I'm a paying customer!"
"Well, technically, you haven't paid for your meal yet, so, no, you're not," said Bob, as Linda's gaze flitted from him to the man and back again. He looked the man coldly in the eye, "so, either eat it and shut up, or get out."
The man's mouth opened and closed like a fish for a few seconds, before he stood up.
"Fine! I'll be complaining about this, you mark by words. I'll give you a one star review."
"Go ahead, I dare you," said Bob. "This is only a crappy little place anyway; no one will read it."
The man stormed out of the restaurant, leaving a stunned silence behind him.
"Bobby..." Linda was at a loss for words.
"Maybe I shouldn't have done that." Bob looked at the front door. He couldn't deny that it was a nice release from years, or perhaps even decades of having to be nice to rude, impatient, and clueless customers.
"I'd say he deserved it. He was a jerk, anyway," said Linda. "You know, he grabbed my arm when he wanted to order; didn't even speak. I wanted to hit him!"
Bob had to chuckle a tiny bit.
"Okay, I don't feel so bad, now."
"He was a Karen," said Tina, and a look of confusion crossed Bob's face.
"What's a Karen?"
"You know; someone's who's really rude and entitled, and always wants to speak to the manager, and try to pay with old coupons, and then gets mad and screams when they don't get what they want," Tina clarified.
"Oh, yeah." Bob knew exactly the kind of person he meant. Like everyone in the food or retail industry, he had dealt with a Karen or two in his lifetime.
At that moment, a few customers came in, and Bob headed back into the kitchen. As he put more patties on the grill, he couldn't help but think that Louise would have been proud of him. There had been many a time when she had insisted that they needed one day a week where the family could say anything they liked to the customers. It wasn't as though they had rude customers; most of them were perfectly pleasant and lovely, but there were a few bad eggs. Sometimes, even Bob wanted to talk back to them, just a little bit, but it had been drilled into him from a very young age to treat the customers with respect. Sure he'd lost his temper a few times before, but Bob liked to think that more often than not, he gave his guests a great experience, along with a great meal.
Witnessing that exchange probably would have made Louise's day, Bob thought, the small smile slipping off of his face.
His movements became sluggish and his eyes watered. He wondered what she would have said. 'Great job, you finally grew a spine'? Or, 'about time'? What would she have said to the customer? Bob knew he would have been upset at whatever Louise would have said, but he would give anything to hear it.
"Lin, I'm going out for a bit," Bob said that evening after they had closed up.
"Huh? Where ya goin'?" Linda looked up to see Bob pocketing his car keys.
"I'm going to see my dad," he told her. "I just wanna ask him a few things," he added, noting her look. "I'll be back soon. Maybe a few hours. Love you," he kissed her on the cheek, followed by Gene and Tina, before leaving the apartment.
His car was parked down the street and across the road, and Bob walked over to it, not even bothering to look before he crossed the street.
During the drive there, Bob was oblivious to the angry horns and shouts he got from other drivers; he kept his gaze solely focused ahead of him.
Once he'd arrived at his father's, and had settled down on the sofa with a cup of hot coffee, Bob suddenly felt lost for words.
"How are things at home? Better?" asked Big Bob.
"I don't know," Bob mumbled, his eyes on his cup. "It's still awful, you know? But we're working on talking to each other, and stuff."
"Are you still okay with me coming over to help out once a week?"
"It's fine. I just wanted to ask you something."
"Sure, what?" Big Bob turned to face his son.
"Well," Bob hesitated, lifting his eyes from his cup. "I don't know if it's a question or not."
Big Bob waited, occasionally sipping his own coffee. He could see that Bob was struggling to get the words out. "I just want to know about my mom," said Bob eventually, catching his dad by surprise.
"Know what?"
"Well, anything. I -" Bob once again lowered his eyes. "I can't really remember her, not very much."
"Really?"
To Bob's surprise, his father's eyes were full of tears. "I'm so sorry; this is all my fault."
Bob placed his cup on the side, and turned to face his father. "I wasn't prepared for it, just like you weren't. I didn't know how to deal with her dying and leaving us, and I didn't have any support, and I just didn't know what to do."
"You just went back to normal," Bob realised, and his father nodded.
"I know now that it was a mistake. I didn't want to upset you by talking about her."
"I don't blame you," said Bob. "I just wish you would have talked about her. I remember some things about my mom, but not a whole lot. I was just thinking today, about Louise," Bob hung his head. "I don't want Gene and Tina to forget her, and I want to start talking about her, but it's hard."
Big Bob nodded, feeling ashamed.
"What do you want to know?" he asked eventually, and Bob thought for a moment. "What do you remember?"
That was easier, Bob thought.
"I remember making gingerbread houses with her," he began. That was something he'd never done with his own children; a small (some would say selfish) part of him wanted that to be kept between him and his mother. "And I remember we used to play bad karaoke. We'd take it in turns to choose a song, and whoever sung it the worst would win." Bob could remember that his father had never participated in that, and he had never minded; it had been precious mother-son time, just like the Burn Unit had been precious father-daughter time. "She used to draw little smiley faces and hearts inside my lunch bag." A small smile crossed his face. He'd loved opening up his lunch at school to see that.
"Yeah, she did," said Big Bob quietly.
"We used to have little picnics in the living-room, and she would bring in those little injured birds and look after them until they were better. I remember.." his smile grew slightly larger, "she, and you, would make me wait outside my bedroom door every Christmas morning to check if Santa had been. It seemed like it took forever, but I was always so excited I could hardly keep still." Bob could now remember his childhood self literally squirming with anticipation, while his parents plugged in the tree lights, and made sure everything looked right.
He knew he would never forget her smile; the smile that seemed to light up her whole face, he and he would never forget her heart. Her twinkling eyes, and her sense of humour and kindness, and he said all this.
"She was really fun," said Big Bob. "When you were little and it was bedtime, she would always ask you, 'do you want to go to Bedfordshire?' And you'd say 'yes!', and she'd race you upstairs. It took you, like, a couple of years to catch on."
Bob chuckled a little bit.
"I don't remember that," he admitted.
"And she had a little tradition to leave a small present on the end of your bed on your birthday. One thing she always did, was she would always play with you in the restaurant. When it was quiet, she would pretend you were a VIP and sit you in a booth, and make a huge fuss of you."
"I don't remember that either," said Bob. Big Bob sighed again.
"It tears me up that you can't remember this stuff. You were only eleven when she passed away; you should remember. I should have talked about her more; I should have let you talk about her."
"... Well, it's not like we can change it," said Bob after a long pause. Both of them sat quietly together for a while, lost for words, until Big Bob broke the silence.
"You know, you don't know how happy I was when you named your daughter after your mother. I thought it was a great tribute."
"I just looked at her, and it was the only name that came to me. She just looked like a Louise, you know?" Bob was shocked when his father grabbed his hand. It was awkward and rough; Big Bob wasn't really a touchy-feely kind of guy, but at least he was making an effort, and Bob definitely appreciated it.
"She would have been so proud of you, of what you've achieved," Big Bob said, blinking rapidly. "Your mom would have loved Linda, and she would have loved the kids; she would have been so excited to be a grandma."
"I haven't achieved anything," Bob mumbled to his lap, and Big Bob took his son's chin and lifted his head.
"Listen to me; you've done great things. You've got an amazing wife, and great kids. You've got a loving family, and you're doing your dream job; how many people can say that? And," he paused, "I'm so proud of you for quitting drinking, just like that. I started drinking after my wife died. I wasn't dependent on it, but I never really stopped, and I don't want that for you. So, promise me if you ever feel like you might go back to it, come to me, okay?"
"Okay," Bob said.
"I know you can do this," said Big Bob sincerely, and Bob wanted to either scream or hug him. "You and the family, you've got this."
"But I just want my baby back," Bob whispered. "If it wasn't for me, she'd still be here."
"That isn't true. What do you mean?"
"I sent her out that day. It's – she wouldn't stop screaming, and she was splattering ketchup on the walls, and she was driving customers away, and I told her to go out and get something that I didn't even need!" Bob bunched his hands into fists as tears started to fall. "She's dead because of me! It's all my fault!"
"Louise is dead because that punk-ass kid pushed her. He's the only one to blame," said Big Bob, the tiniest hint of firmness in his voice. Bob looked up, and saw that his father was crying, too.
"Look, I'd give anything to take away the pain you're feeling, but I can't, and it kills me."
"I don't know what to do, Pop," Bob admitted.
"I don't, either," said Big Bob, and he hugged his son, shocking Bob even more. "But I do know that you can't bury your emotions. It's not good for you, and it's not good for your family. Please, don't make the same mistakes I did." He made no attempt to dry his tears. "I promise I'll do my best to talk more about your mother, okay?"
But Bob was crying too hard to answer, and Big Bob gently rocked him, more tears pouring down his cheeks, both of them embracing tightly.
When Bob got home a few hours later, his eyes were still red and puffy. Gene and Tina were in bed, and Linda was sat on the sofa, looking tense.
"Bobby! What happened?" She got up and approached him, looking worried.
"I'm fine." Bob wiped his face, and they both sat down. "I went to talk to my dad. I wanted to ask him about my mom."
"Yeah?"
"I've been wanting to do this for a while; I can't really remember her, and... I don't want the kids to forget Louise."
"Oh, Bobby." Linda wrapped her arms around him. "No one could ever forget Louise," she said, her voice thick.
"Well, that's what I thought about my mom, but because I never talked about her, I don't remember everything." Bob hesitated, his head buried in Linda's neck. "We need to start talking about Louise."
"We do. I know we do," Linda agreed. "It's gonna be hard, but we can do it, right?"
Bob didn't answer, and instead hugged her tighter. "Right, how about this? We each do our best to say one thing about Louise every day. It could be something like, this was her favourite movie, or something like that. Start small?"
"What about Gene and Tina?" was all Bob said.
"Well, we won't force them, but we should try and encourage them, right? I mean, didn't the therapist say it's good to talk?"
Bob nodded, and the two of them remained locked in their embrace.
~ X ~
And done. At long last, the Belchers are having therapy, and trying to deal with their loss. Only time will tell how it goes.
What did you think? I'd love to know!