Chapter 3: Look Out Kid, You're Gonna Get Hit
Lisa Cuddy knew who it was before she got up from the couch and moved to stand beside her sister and mother. Just as she walked across the room, there was a break in the rain, allowing her to see quite clearly the slightly stooped figure of a man standing across the street. The man was leaning on a cane and holding a sign.
The sign read:
Cuddy?
She stood there, rooted to the spot.
But not her mother and sister. They both turned simultaneously and made a mad dash for the front door. Arlene, slowed by her cane and bad hip, made it to the door just as her youngest daughter threw it open.
The rain had turned to a light drizzle as the two women stepped out onto the landing.
The first sign was tossed unceremoniously to the ground to reveal another sign behind it.
LISA Cuddy?
"I'm calling the cops," Julie said as she turned to go inside.
Arlene grabbed her by the arm. "You'll do nothing of the sort! Wait. Just . . . wait."
Yet another sign:
Cuddy!
Lisa moved slowly as if in a dream, emerging from the house to stand on the other side of her mother. But she didn't look at Arlene. She saw nothing and no one but him, only him.
He changed signs again.
Don't be afraid Cuddy
I didn't bring my car
Like a sleepwalker, Cuddy put one foot delicately in front of the other, moving forward once more.
"Lise, no!" Julie said as she took a step toward her sister. She was stopped by Arlene's increased pressure on her arm.
Cuddy had crossed the entire length of the yard, never taking her eyes off him.
House seemed somehow taller than she remembered but definitely the worse for wear, at least around the edges. Could it be that he had suffered too? That what had happened between them had tortured his soul as much as it had her own?
She reached the sidewalk. But just as she was about to step into the street, House drew out his next sign.
STOP!
Cuddy withdrew her foot and stood looking at him from the curb.
If you stay on your side
Another sign: And I stay on mine
Then neither of us will be violating court orders
Or the conditions of my parole
So what Wilson had told her was true. House had spent time, a lot of time in prison. He'd felt some remorse for what had happened, what he'd done.
Okay?
Cuddy slowly nodded her head.
You look good by the way.
Cuddy smiled in spite of herself.
Although your ass is still exerting
Its own powerful gravitational field on everything
Within a 50-mile radius
Time to cut down on the extra helpings of frozen yogurt
Cuddy was still smiling. Her mouth and cheeks felt tight and foreign from the lack of use of those particular facial muscles.
She continued to gaze at him, an almost spectral figure in the rapidly diminishing rain and just as rapidly increasing evening mists. God! Even though he looked tired, a bit more bedraggled than even the last time she'd seen him, House still looked good. Of the many times she'd dreamt of this meeting, for she knew one day that it would come, she never thought she would feel like this.
Truth be told, once she had irrevocably purged House from her life, she never thought she would feel this way again. She could feel the blood rushing through her veins to her cheeks, her nipples and somewhere below her navel. Her breathing was becoming shallower as her heart was ferociously beating within her chest.
Yes, beating again for the first time in nearly two years.
House had not lost that magnetism that had always so wholly possessed her either. She felt sucked in and drawn to him like a twig in a tornado. Cuddy needed to stabilize herself before her lust, her need and perhaps even her love for him made her run across the street, throw her arms around him and never let go.
Cuddy? What are you thinking?
"I'm wondering why you're here," she said loudly enough so that he could hear her from where he stood.
I needed to see you.
"Why?"
Okay, I wanted to see you.
"Same question, why?"
Because I needed to tell you
House had stopped. He still held the sign in his hand seemingly unable to move to the next.
"What House? What did you need to tell me?"
God. It's good to hear you say my name again
Cuddy smiled once more. She'd known him for such a long time. Perhaps that was part of the problem between them. Perhaps because she'd known him, she thought she truly knew him, understood him and therefore took him and the idea that she could ever really know such a complex man as Gregory House for granted.
But once she'd gotten away from him and was no longer in his orbit, she'd found that her heart could do nothing but compare every other man to him . . . and find them lacking. Not only his physical presence, his height, his scent, the masculine sound of his voice, his haunting blue eyes but also his sense of humor, his intelligence, his genius.
Cuddy shook herself. It was taking every last ounce of strength she possessed to stay on her side of the curb and not run headlong into his arms.
"What is it House?"
I just want you to know
It's not your fault
"What? What's not my fault?"
Anything. Everything
So stop beating yourself up about it
Cuddy felt her face flush with anger. "I am NOT beating . . ."
Then why haven't you moved on?
"How do you know I haven't?" she fairly shrieked at him.
C'mon Cuddy. Don't lie to me
You still have your tell, you know
Cuddy's mouth gaped open but no words came out.
I came here to tell you
I never meant to hurt you
But that doesn't matter I guess
Because that's what I ended up doing
I'm sorry
Cuddy blinked back her tears, her shock still making her unable to speak.
And I came here to tell you
You deserve better
You always did
Better than this
Better than
Me
I loved you
I still love you
But I have to let you go
And YOU have to let go
Of the past
Of your anger
Your pain
Your guilt
Even let go of me
You deserve to be happy
I WANT you to be happy
I need to know
That wherever you are in this world
Even if we're not together
You are happy
So I'm letting you go
So you can let go too
And be happy
House stood there. And even in the fading light, Cuddy thought she saw the moisture on his cheeks that had nothing to do with the now completely subsided rain.
Be happy Cuddy
Please
House dropped his last sign to the ground and then bent forward to pick them all up. When he stood back up, he placed the stack under his left arm while gripping his cane in his right.
"And how do I let go . . . of you House? How do I let go of loving you?"
House turned to look steadily at the now openly weeping Cuddy across the street.
"By saying . . . goodbye." His voice sounded hoarse.
A casual observer may have credited the sound to the damp weather, or a sore throat or not having spoken in quite some time.
But Cuddy knew. House's voice was choked with his overwhelming emotions.
She could stand it no longer. She had to go to him.
But just as she placed her right foot forward, a joyful shout filled her ears. It came from the direction of her mother's front door.
"House!"
It was Rachel. The girl stood poised at the open doorway of Arlene's house but a moment. And then she ran forward across the yard.
Both Arlene and Julie yelled, "No!" as they reached for her, both of their grasps falling far short of the hurtling, dodging child.
Cuddy watched in horror as Rachel rushed headlong out into the street. The little girl never saw the headlights of the oncoming car, the car that would never stop in time.
She felt as if she was standing at the edge of a long, dark tunnel. Through it she could see her daughter and everything around her moving as if in slow motion. Cuddy stood paralyzed, rooted to the spot. She was unable to move, unable even to think.
She was powerless to stop the sounds that assailed her ears as she closed her eyes in terror: of the tires screeching on wet pavement, of the inexorable thud, the sickening noise that metal and fiberglass makes at it strikes human flesh, crushing bone and tearing tissue.
And finally, the last sound she heard: the echo of her own scream breaking long and shrill against the still evening air as if it was never, ever going to stop.