Boone's birthday came and went. With their money they could have bought him a "Pied a Terre" in the city, but all he wanted was to be home with his family. They could have gotten him a fancy sports car like Shannon's, she thought he'd look particularly hot in a nice sleek black one, but he would have groused about the environment and still driven his diesel sedan or motorcycle. An expensive wardrobe would have hung in his closet while he pulled on a worn t-shirt and jeans. He was so much more about gestures than material possessions that, rather than getting him a gift, Andrew and Shannon banished him from the kitchen and made dinner for him instead. Shannon was proud that she'd only had to get Kevin on the phone three times during the preparations.
Boone sat at the table, forking up a tender morsel of catfish and remembered back to another birthday dinner spent at the same table.
Heather had made shepherds' pie, a comfort food that he'd certainly never had as a child; Sabrina would have shuddered at the very idea of a casserole made from such plebeian ingredients, but which had become one of his favourites. For his birthdays growing up they'd always gone out to eat in some fancy, upscale, overpriced restaurant where they could be seen, by all the right people. He'd still eaten beef in those days, though spearing up a slice of fillet mignon and carefully placing it in his mouth even then had given him a bit of a pause, like he'd known he was destined to completely overhaul the way he ate. Boone tucked into the ground chicken, vegetable and potato casserole with gusto, and glanced again at the leaves beside his plate.
Heather had decided that, at five, Andrew was old enough to select Boones' birthday gift himself and had bundled him into the car for a trip to the mall. Partway there, however, he'd asked her to stop beside a forested area. She'd watched while he'd ventured into the stand of trees and spent the next twenty minutes carefully combing through the forest floor, pausing now and then to rifle thought the fallen leaves, selecting some then discarding them before running back towards her on his sturdy legs, his prizes securely clenched in his fist. He hadn't done anything to embellish his gift, there was no glue, Bristol board or scrapbook, with his innate childish intuition, he'd simply held them behind his back, in their natural state, and then presented them to his dad. Boone had been speechless as he fought back the tears, managing to choke out a thank you.
When she'd tapped on his door later to bid him goodnight he'd been sitting bare-chested in bed, gazing at Andrew's gift of six unique leaves spread out on the coverlet before him.
"Did you…?" He'd asked the half question, without raising his head, picking one of the treasured items up and gently tracing a finger over its' delicate surface.
"No, Boone, I didn't have anything to do with it. He decided on the leaves and then picked them out himself." Heather had told him, crossing to the bed and sitting on the edge.
Boone had shaken his head, on the verge of tears, "I don't deserve him. He's so amazing. I love him so much."
Heather had picked his hand up and held it, stroking over the back, glancing at his other hand, lying palm up on the comforter, the leaf he'd been examining resting in the nest it formed, she could see the tattoo and the scars on his exposed wrist. She'd glanced at his nightstand; his silver bracelet was beside his glass of water. "He loves you too, dear." She'd leaned forward and kissed his brow, then stood and carefully gathered the leaves, placing them beside the embossed half circle of his bracelet, so he could still see them, then lifted the top of his covers, the gesture clearly indicating that he was to slide under them.
As he'd worked his way down, pulling his pillow with him, he'd thanked her. She'd kissed him again and turned off the light. "Happy Birthday, Boone."
Boone shook himself out of his memories, he knew exactly where the leaves were, of course. He'd had them pressed between two pieces of glass, the same size as the top of his dresser, and there he'd placed the finished product, just so he could see the first gift his son had ever chosen for him, every day. He smiled at his family. 'Thanks, guys, this is delicious.'
They both beamed happily back at him.
Andrew returned to regular school in the fall only a week after summer school wound to a close. Boone still couldn't believe that it was going to be the boys' last year of grade school. He fretted about the kind of hazing and harassment the then eleven-year-old might face in grade nine next year, but the decision had already been made, there was no going back now, and no point in worrying himself into a frazzle about it either. He would have in the past, but he was forcing himself, to the best of his ability, to abandon his old weak ways, determined to get on with his life. While it was still a fight, he found that it was actually becoming easier every day, though he knew with a sinking certainty in the pit of his stomach that he would probably never actually shake it completely.
Their ten-year wedding anniversary was still a few weeks away when Shannon entered Boone's office mid-day intending to put a file on the table he used as a desk, assuming that he was in the kitchen, where he belonged. However seeing his ball cap in the middle of the dark wooden surface, she suddenly realized that she could hear ragged breathing coming from his private bathroom, though the small room off the main office was in darkness.
"Boone?" she crossed the carpet and flicked the light switch on.
He was sitting on the floor, his knees drawn up, his back against the cabinet, his head was tipped back and, while there weren't any actual tears on his face, she could sense that their appearance was imminent. Her shoulders fell, he hadn't had a relapse in months, she'd thought, hoped, that it was behind him. She'd been out at a client meeting and, after dropping her coat in her office, had come directly here with the file, that was probably why she hadn't sensed his distress.
"What happened?" Shannon asked as he pushed himself to his feet and brushed past her, shaking off her hand as she rested it on his arm. He went to stand in front of the aquarium staring sightlessly down at Scott and Steve.
"I fired Stacey." He choked out shakily; one lone tear traced its way down his left cheek.
"Oh, Boone, I'm sorry baby." She frowned slightly however, thinking there must be more to it, firing an employee who so was so deserving of dismissal certainly shouldn't have broken him. This time when she touched his arm he let it stay, though the presence of her hand triggered a few more fat tears. "You knew it was inevitable, honey. We discussed this." She led him to the couch and then closed his office door firmly.
Seating herself beside him, she asked again, silently this time, the closed door giving them privacy. 'Tell me what happened, Boone.'
'I don't understand, I gave her every chance Shan; she could have had a place here. Why did she throw it all away?' He pleaded with her for an answer.
'The beginning, Boone, tell me from the beginning.' Shannon urged soothingly, still puzzled.
He replayed the scene in his mind, sharing the memories with her as he related the events.
He'd been at his station concentrating when the sound of a forbidden cell phone jarred him. There was a strict rule in the kitchen, no cells, not even on vibrate, even Boones' own was turned off, if there was any emergency, the caller could phone the business number and get Margie to page. It was, of course, Stacey's phone, and not only hadn't she turned it off, or apologized, to his utter amazement she'd actually taken the call and then prattled on about what shoes she was going to wear to a party. The rest of his group shuffled their feet nervously and tried to pretend not to notice while he became increasingly angrier. Then with a "poof" a pot had caught fire on the stove, the one that Stacey was supposed to be watching, the one with the roux in it for the reduced fat béchamel, the one that just happened to be Boone's favourite sauce pot. He'd reacted quickly, snatching up a pan and smothering the flames, while bellowing her name and cursing like a dockworker.
'I snatched the phone out of her hand and threw it against the wall, while she just stared at the stove. I lost it on her completely and fired her on the spot, Shan. I didn't even bring her in here to do it privately. I just screamed at her right in front of everyone, while she pleaded with me not to make her go. I'm so ashamed, and I feel so betrayed. I reacted like a spoiled child but I'd just had enough of her. I warned her time and again, I tried so hard with her, why didn't she listen? I gave her five minutes to get her stuff and then escorted her out the back door while she cried. Then I just started shaking and came here, you were only a couple of minutes behind me. Why did she let me down so badly? Was it my fault? I'm usually such a good judge of people, and I tried, god knows I tried. Maybe I just didn't try hard enough?' His shoulders trembled as he rode out the aftermath of the resurgence of adrenaline the retelling had kindled, crying freely now. "Fuck." He swore loudly, annoyed with himself at getting so upset.
'You don't honestly believe that, do you? You're too smart for that. You know very well it wasn't you, it was her; she's a slacker. She hid it from you well enough at the beginning that your usually excellent assessment of people didn't pick up on it. She's probably practiced concealing it so often that it comes second nature to her. Once she was in the door, she started backsliding and reverting to type. Everyone else has succeeded so beautifully Boone, you chose almost every single one of them wisely, but even you can't be perfect all of the time. She wanted to be president of GM without ever earning the right, without working for it, for some reason she thought the world owed her a living. This has been coming for a while; even a blind man could have seen it, stop beating yourself up about it.' Shannon assured him.
As if to underscore her point there was a tapping at the door, accompanied by Lucy calling his name, "Boone?"
"We're busy Lucy," Shannon answered for him.
"Oh, Shannon, you're there, good, we were worried. Is Boone okay?" Lucy called through the door, ignoring Shannon's words.
"He's fine, but we're busy just now, come back later." Shannon repeated.
"Yeah, okay." Lucy still pressed on, her concern for Boone overriding Shannon's instructions. "We all just wanted him to know that he did the right thing, I mean, not that he needs our permission or anything, but he was right to let Stacey go. Anyway, umm, Terry's trying to salvage his pot, and I'm just going to go restart that béchamel for him, okay?"
"Thanks Luce," Boone answered, trying to keep his voice level. "Thank everyone for me, I'll be back shortly."
They heard her retreat down the hall.
'See? You were right, even your staff thinks so. I think you're more upset that you lost control, than that you had to fire Stacey. You held things inside for far too long Boone, letting them build up, refusing to face the truth about her, and then you erupted. It's not good, just look at you.' Shannon told him gently.
'I know. I've been doing so well lately too. It hasn't been easy, but I've really been trying. Damn it that I let that girl make me lose it when I thought I almost had it beaten. I acted so badly, so unprofessionally.' He admitted, though still taking responsibility for his actions, typically not placing the blame on Stacey.
His words told her she was right in her assumption; he was more upset with himself than Stacey. 'You're an artist Boone everybody expects a little temper tantrum from an artist every now and then. You've seen the shows on the Food Network; you know what a pissy bastard Gordon Ramsay can be.'
'Shit, you don't think that all my people consider this Hell's Kitchen do you?' Boone wiped his forearm across his eyes, followed by his palm, clearing away all his tears, and attempting a smile.
'If it's hell working with you then it can't be too bad a place at all.' Shannon chided.
'I need to get back, I guess. I should apologize to everyone, I acted like an ass.' His face wrinkled up a bit again.
Shannon stood and placed a hand firmly on his shoulder. 'Half an hour, Boone; give yourself half an hour first, and then go back. Your face is all puffy and you look like shit, you're still a little worked up too. Just have a cup of tea first and give yourself time to think and get your composure back. You want me to sit with you, you want to talk some more?' She offered, amazed and pleased that he was pulling himself back together so quickly. He really was doing better; even just six months ago he would have been moping for days.
Boone shook his head, and then changed it to a nod instead. 'I'd appreciate the company, if I'm not keeping you from something important.' He looked hopeful.
'There's nothing more important than you.' Shannon assured him as he rose to fill the kettle he kept in the bathroom, and she resumed her seat. 'Make two cups, okay?'