A/N: I am much happier with this revised version. Anyone who has comments but is unable to review is certainly welcome to send me a PM. Sorry for the delay. My daughter was readmitted to the hospital for another five hours in surgery and a ten-day stay. She is finally feeling better but will return for more surgery in two weeks. At that point we hope to be able to finally start dialysis and stabilize her health in time for school to start. She's a trooper.
Maggie walked toward the car in silence, holding tightly to her father's fingers where they extended past the limits of his cast. Every few seconds she would glance up at him and the baby in his other arm, and then over at her mother, who held Tommy. The little boy's head was resting on her shoulder, the bruise on his eye darkening and spreading. This was worse than when he fell from the tree. He had been hurt by a person, someone they loved, and she was at a loss to explain how that could happen. But she sensed that now was not the time for questions. Waiting patiently for Daddy to set the baby in her carseat and buckle her in, she rested her hand against his leg, unwilling to break contact any sooner than she had to. Maggie needed reassurance and, like her dad, she sought it through physical contact.
Pulling out of the car and straightening to his full height, he looked down at the little girl waiting at his side. He understood what she needed and squatted in front of her, tipping his head to the side when she glanced away. She let him catch her eyes and felt the sting of unshed tears. He placed a gentle finger under her chin and guided her face around so he could look at her. She returned his scrutiny, reaching out to touch a bruise on his cheek similar to the one she had received. He was not aware it was even there. "Is that how Gramma's brain is sick, Daddy?" she whispered.
"Yes."
"Why did she hurt Tommy if she thinked he was you? Mommies aren' s'posta hurt their kids. I..." She huffed in frustration, her young mind reeling from all the implications. "I don' unnerstand, Daddy."
His own frustration matched hers and he dropped his knee to the cold ground, gathering her onto his lap and hugging her. His mind was made up. He would not have his mother doing to them what she had done to him. His children would grow up safe and secure. He had a feeling deep in his gut that Alex would forbid any more visits, and she would get no argument from him, but it was still a painful decision to make. Gently, he rubbed Maggie's back and placed a gentle kiss on her temple. He had no idea what to say to her. The explanation had escaped him his entire life. How could he explain it to her? Should he even try? "It won't happen again, baby."
She brightened a little, though a glimmer of suspicion shone in her eyes. "Gramma's gonna get better?"
"No."
She studied him with dark, intelligent eyes, her suspicions confirmed. "Are you gonna not let us see her no more?"
He wouldn't look at her. He shifted his weight in preparation for setting her on the ground.
"Come on, mouse. Let's go home."
It wasn't often he refused to answer one of her questions, but in his avoidance, she had her answer, although she had no intention of accepting it as final. She was quickly learning the art of negotiation. She also recognized his withdrawal but sensed this was a time to let him go...for the moment. She would only allow him to retreat so far, though. As he started to ease her to the ground, she twisted her body and threw her arms around him. He stopped, returning her hug. When he set her down, she stepped back and sought his eyes. "Gramma hurt you again, too."
Her perceptiveness disturbed him. "Get in the car now, Maggie. We need to get going."
She frowned, but did as he told her and climbed into the car. Making sure she was properly buckled into her booster seat, he looked over at his son, who was watching him quietly. "How are you now, little man?"
"Gotta owie, Dada."
"I know you do."
"Wanna 'ug."
He nodded, kissed Maggie and walked around the car to give Tom a hug. The little boy held tight to his neck and he waited for Tom to release him. "Gamma mad?"
"No, buddy. Gramma wasn't mad at you. She was confused." He kissed the boy's forehead and pulled out of the car.
As he slid behind the wheel, he heard Maggie talking to her brother. "No, it wasn' you, Tommy. Gramma thinked that you was Daddy. Sometimes her brain gets jumbled."
She still couldn't understand why thinking Tommy was Daddy would make Gramma want to hurt him, no matter how hard she thought about it. She looked toward her father, confused and wondering if he was going to discuss this with her. She wanted to understand. Daddy didn't seem to think that was important, but to her, it was. She turned her attention back to Tommy.
Bobby looked into the rearview mirror and saw that Maggie was holding Tom's hand across Molly's seat as she comforted him. Their arms were resting lightly on their baby sister. His children were very close to each other, and that was something he had, so far, done right. He wished it had been the same with Frank, but it never was. Once their mother got sick, Frank, too, began slipping away from him.
He started the car and, finally, hazarded a glance at the seat beside him. Alex was looking out the window, arms crossed, tense. She was frowning and he thought better of saying anything to her. One of two things was going to happen, and he had the ride home to prepare himself. Either she would avoid discussing it and ignore him for the rest of the night, or she was going to lay into him, looking for an outlet for her anger. Whichever it would be, he was in for a difficult time.
His thoughts strayed as he drove. Gramma thinked that you was Daddy...Why did she hurt Tommy if she thinked he was you? She was not going to let this one go. She needed to understand, but he wasn't sure anything he could say would sate her curiosity. His gut was churning and he struggled mightily with overpowering emotions. He had wanted to keep that part of his life from touching his children, but he should have known better. In finally agreeing to allow his children to visit his mother, he was taking a big chance. But with combined pressure from his mother and his wife, he had relented and let the children visit Carmel Ridge. He knew better. He knew that he was tempting fate. Now, he had to deal with the consequences of his poor judgment, and he prayed the damage could be undone. Glancing again in the rearview mirror, he saw that Maggie and Tom still held hands, even though Tom was now sleeping. Concerned and confused, Maggie was looking toward the front seat, watching him. He could see by her expression that she was trying to figure out what was going on, but she was unable to do it on her own. She would need his help to get past this, and he was not sure he would be able to give her what she needed. He had never let her down before, and it killed him that he might have to now. He returned his attention to the road, wishing there was some way he could avoid going home; he knew there was not.
He heard movement on the seat beside him and he looked at Alex, but she had turned in her seat to look at the children. He looked away.
By the time he parked the car outside the apartment, he was nauseous from a combination of stress and the unrelenting throbbing in his arm, which was worsening. He looked down the street. Several blocks away, there was a bar that he used to visit much more frequently than he had lately, and the desire to head there now hit him hard. With difficulty, he chased it away, struggling also against the urge to withdraw, to avoid the conflict he felt brewing on the horizon. He had to go inside, whether he wanted to or not. There was no avoiding the fallout of the day's events and postponing it would only make matters much worse.
He slid out from behind the wheel and opened the back door, helping Maggie to the ground. She trotted in front of him, standing on the sidewalk, patiently waiting. He opened the door and gently lifted Tom from his carseat.
Alex leaned against the passenger door, waiting for him to step away so she could get the baby. As well as she knew him, she could not even imagine what was going through his head, guilt aside. He always felt guilty about something and this, she knew, would eat at him as nothing had before. He stepped away, refusing to even glance in her direction and she swallowed a surge of irritation. She was torn between a powerful desire to be angry with him and an equally powerful need to reassure him. She could not predict which would win out once they got the children settled and they had to deal with each other.
Maggie watched Bobby step back from the car, deliberately avoiding Alex. He settled Tommy on his shoulder and held out his hand to her. She grabbed it and held on tightly as she walked at his side. She never had to scurry to remain beside him. Always, he altered his stride so she could easily keep up with him. It had become an unconscious adjustment for him.
Once inside the apartment, Maggie slid out of her coat and hung it on the bright red hook that Daddy had put in the wall behind the door for her. Tommy's was blue and, a couple of weeks ago, he'd added a yellow one for Molly. Right now, she was the one who usually hung up Molly's snowsuit, until the baby got big enough to do it for herself.
Bobby laid Tom on the couch and shrugged off his coat, hanging it up before returning to his son. Maggie helped him remove Tom's coat. She was hanging it up as her mother came into the apartment.
Alex looked toward the couch as Bobby lifted their sleeping son and sat down, settling the little boy on his chest. She wasn't surprised; he needed the reassurance that holding Tommy close would provide. He did not look her way, even though she hesitated, hoping he would. With a deep, silent sigh, she carried the baby to the bedroom.
Maggie looked from one parent to the other. She was worried about Daddy, but this was a big person thing and she knew there was nothing she could do to make him better. Only Mommy could do that. Determined, she followed her mother.
Watching from the doorway as Alex laid the baby on the bed and began to remove her snowsuit, Maggie waited. Once Molly was in her crib, she walked over to stand beside her mother and look through the crib's slats at the sleeping infant, the only family member who had been untouched by the events of the day. "Are you mad at Daddy?" she asked softly, instinctively zeroing in on her father's deepest concern.
Such a simple question and yet so complicated... Alex sighed. They struggled not to burden Maggie with the darker side of their relationship, with limited success. Bobby's profiling ability was born of his natural observational skills coupled with a deep understanding of human nature and a driven need to understand. Maggie was following in her father's footsteps, which did not surprise Alex one bit. One day, she was going to be every bit the profiler her father was. She had an uncanny ability to read them, and she was especially tuned in to Bobby. Still, Alex felt obligated to deflect Maggie's concern, to reassure without addressing the things that worried her, hoping she would let them go, even if she knew that would never happen. "Don't worry about Daddy and me, sweetheart."
Maggie did not have the ability to not worry about her father. "He didn' do nothin' wrong, Mommy. He doesn' tell Gramma how to be. He can' control her."
"I know he can't." Reaching out, she touched the bruise on Maggie's cheek and the same impotent rage she'd been feeling all along flared again. She knew it was irrational, but her children had been hurt and there was nothing she could do about it. She took Maggie's hand and led her away from the crib. She sat on the edge of the bed, drawing her daughter onto her lap, where she hugged her. "Are you all right, Maggie?"
"Yes, Mommy."
"That was a very brave thing you did when you took Tommy away from Gramma."
"I take care-a my baby," she said simply.
"I know you do."
She looked thoughtful. "Daddy said that's how Gramma's brain is sick," she said.
"Yes, it is."
Maggie hesitated a moment longer, trying to grasp something she could not understand, no matter how hard she tried. "Why does she hate Daddy?"
Slowly, Alex shook her head. "She doesn't hate Daddy."
"But...she thinked Tommy was him, and she hurt him. An'...she hurt Daddy. She hurt him b'fore, too."
Alex frowned darkly. "Before when?"
"Jus' b'fore. I seed him hurt, and I know Gramma did it."
"How do you know that?"
"B'cause he went to see her, and he was hurt when he comed back."
She couldn't imagine Bobby showing any injuries at all to Maggie...or to anyone for that matter. Even now, he was deeply private about the things that transpired at Carmel Ridge. She had seen the injuries, too, but she knew enough to let it go and not address the issue with him. She had no idea what to tell Maggie, and she felt it was best to let Bobby deal with her concerns. Her anger agreed with her. She cuddled Maggie for a few more minutes, then said, "Come on, baby. Let's see if Tommy is awake yet."
They went out into the living room, where Tommy was sitting in the middle of the floor, looking at a book. Bobby wasn't in the room. Maggie looked around briefly, then she looked at her mother. Alex motioned to Tom. "Go play with him. I'll talk to Daddy."
Maggie nodded and went to her brother, dropping to the floor beside him. She pointed to a picture and asked, "What's that, Tommy?"
"Effilent!"
"Ve'y good! That is a elephant!"
Alex found her husband in the kitchen, leaning heavily against the sink and looking out the window above it. She saw the glass on the counter beside his hand, and her anger faded. Concern won the battle for dominance inside her. "Bobby?"
He dropped his chin to his chest and closed his eyes. Here it comes...
She approached him and gently laid a hand over his. "Did you get hurt today?"
Out of reflex, he looked at her, his face a mask of confusion. That was definitely not what he expected. "What?"
"I asked you if you got hurt today, when you had to subdue your mother."
"I, uh, I'm okay." He looked away again, struggling. "I...I've seen her do this before. The signs are subtle and her break can be fast, almost without warning. But the signs were there, Alex. I-I knew, but I didn't...see them for what they were, and that's my fault. This is all...my fault."
She couldn't ignore the despair in his voice, and that struck a chord deep inside her. "I know it's your tendency to take the blame for everything, but this was not your fault."
Turning from the sink, he leaned back, crossed his arms and studied her with a pain-filled expression. His tie, undone, was still draped around his neck and his shirt was open, untucked from his pants. "Are you saying you don't blame me?" he asked, doubt in his tone.
His doubt annoyed her, but she fought it down before he picked up on it. She kept her voice reassuring. "That's exactly what I'm saying. Haven't you been telling me for years that schizophrenia is unpredictable?"
"She..." He stopped when his voice broke and closed his eyes for a moment, then he shook his head, changing course in his mind. He took a drink from his glass to distract himself and when he spoke again, his voice was steady. "I...have decided not to take the kids out there any more."
That surprised her, and yet it didn't. "Wait a minute," she said, this time unable to keep her tone neutral or reassuring. Her irritation was escalating and she couldn't keep it hidden any longer. "How can you..." She paused, unwilling to allow irritation to progress to anger. "How can you make that kind of decision without talking to me about it?"
Her aggravation made him uneasy, but his mind was made up. "Very easily. All I have to do is look at their bruises."
Alex continued to struggle for control of her temper. "It's not fair to punish everyone for something no one, least of all your mother, can control."
She was catching him off guard left and right, leaving him unsettled and floundering. He refused to waver from his decision, but he was curious about what she was thinking. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying if the nurses couldn't see it coming, how could you? They deal with her all the time and they are professionals, trained to see the signs and interpret them."
She had not lived his life and she would never understand, but he did not blame her for that. "I know my mother and I know what happens when she's on the verge of a breakdown. It's something I learned to read and predict at a very early age. While other kids my age looked for ways to get out of their chores, I was looking for ways to predict..." He stopped before finishing his sentence. He was going to say 'my next beating.' Instead, he said, "...When she was getting sick."
"Those nurses deal with her every day," she insisted. "If everyone else missed it, how can you blame yourself for that?" She watched his face closely. "I don't want to punish anyone for this, Bobby, especially not your mother."
He shook his head. "You're thinking I'm out of practice in reading her?" She didn't like his tone. "That's not something you ever forget how to do. Alex, you have no idea what it was like, and I am not going to take the chance that her schizophrenia is going to damage my children. It's not worth it. I'll continue to visit; that's my responsibility. But I am going alone. I was doing that long before I ever met you. It's just the way it has to be."
"No, not the way it has to be," she snapped. "The way you want it to be."
He stared at her for a moment. "Want it? You think I want this? Alex..." He ran a hand over his hair, struggling not to raise his voice. "No...this isn't the way I want it. If I could have things they way I want them to be, she would not have schizophrenia to start with. She would be the good mother she was before the disease robbed her of that ability. My brother wouldn't be a drug addict and my father would have been..." He trailed off. All he was doing was increasing his agitation and making himself angry.
"Your father would have been the kind of father you are."
He looked away, not answering. He was struggling to control overpowering emotion and it was getting the better of him. He finished the remaining amber liquid in his glass and focused on his breathing, forcing himself to calm enough to speak. "Yes. But it can't be the way I want it. It is what it is and that's what we're stuck dealing with. I am not going to risk letting them visit any more and that's all there is to it. She could really hurt them. When I was eight, she beat me so badly I was in a coma for three days. She broke my arm and bruised my liver. Dad told the doctors I'd been beaten by a gang of kids on the street and that was what had triggered my mother's breakdown. I...didn't remember what happened at the time, so that was what went into the records. Do you want to know what really triggered her breakdown? I was helping her with breakfast and I burned the toast. I am not subjecting them to that. I will not take that risk."
She hid her reaction to his memory. Only eight... He was right about one thing. In her wildest imaginings, she had no idea how horrible his childhood had been. A loving, involved father could have made a huge difference in his upbringing, offering some protection from his mother's illness, but he didn't even have that. She couldn't help wondering if there had been anyone in his childhood who had loved him, deciding there must have been, because he had, somewhere along the way, learned to love. She wanted to reach out to him, but she knew he would read it the wrong way, so she remained withdrawn, focusing on the topic of their conversation while struggling to keep it from disintegrating into a fight. "You don't trust yourself any more, do you?"
"No. I don't." He waved a hand toward the living room. "Look at those bruises, Alex!" he growled, angry. He grasped his white t-shirt and yanked it up toward his chin, revealing several nasty bruises still developing on his own chest and abdomen. "They could look like this! Any one of these hits could have caused critical damage to one of those children!"
A small gasp from the doorway drew their attention and Maggie came forward, followed by Tommy, who pointed at his father's chest as Bobby quickly pulled down his shirt, too late. Tommy reached up and tapped Bobby's thigh gently. "Owie, Dada. Gamma do't?"
"Yes, Tommy, Gramma did it," Maggie answered for her father, knowing that her grandmother had injured him, just as she'd feared, as she'd seen in the past.
Alex laid a hand on Maggie's head and continued the conversation they'd begun in the bedroom.. "When did you see that before, baby?"
"A coupla times. But Daddy didn' mean for me to see it. When you was inna hopsital with Molly was when it happen last. I seed the blood on his shirt when he comed home from visitin' Gramma. Uncle Mike was inna kitchen an' I went to see if Daddy was okay. That was when I seed what Gramma did."
Bobby quietly said, "I was trying to change my shirt before anyone saw the blood. It was my fault for not closing the door." He studied the children, their bruises bringing a new wave of pain to a conscience already heavy with guilt. "You won't have to visit Gramma any more," he said softly.
Immediately, Tommy shook his head. "No, Gamma," he said emphatically.
Bobby's eyes shifted toward his wife. "It's settled," he said with an air of finality.
Maggie looked from one parent to the other before settling her dark eyes on Bobby. "Daddy?"
"Yes, mouse?"
"I still wanna visit Gramma."
With a dark frown, he studied his oldest child. "Why, Maggie?"
"Because I still love her. You don' stop lovin' somebody 'cause she's sick. Her brain gets confused, but it's not her fault it does. Tommy's scared because he doesn' unnerstand that she's sick. I don' unnerstand how she's sick, but I know she is." She searched for a comparison. "You didn' stop lovin' me when I hadda flu, did you?"
"Of course not," Alex assured her.
"Then we shouldn' stop lovin' Gramma."
Alex leaned down and hugged her. Like her father, Maggie had a good heart. "No one has stopped loving Gramma, Maggie. Daddy just wants to protect you, that's all."
"But who's gonna p'tect Daddy?"
Bobby leaned back against the counter, looking toward the ceiling. He closed his eyes. He needed no protection, not from his mother nor from the demons that haunted him. He asked for no help to deal with his problems and he refused to become a burden to those he loved. So how did he go about convincing a five-year-old that it was not her place to worry about him when it seemed that was all she had ever done? Something brushed against his pants and he looked down when a little fist pounded into his thigh. Tommy held his arms up to him. "Uppy, pees, Dada."
Leaning down, he lifted the little boy and settled him on his left arm. Tommy pulled out the neck of his father's shirt and looked down at his chest. Letting go of the shirt, he leaned forward and placed a kiss over his shirt. "Aw bedder."
Bobby smiled at his son. "Yes, all better." He returned the favor, placing a light kiss over Tom's bruised eye. "There," he said softly.
Tommy smiled at him. "Aw bedder."
Snaking his arms around his father's neck, he squeezed. Bobby patted his back and sighed. If only a kiss could make all the pain go away. Life would be so much better. But some hurts just never got well and no amount of love could chase them away. Gently, he set Tom back on the floor. "Go play, both of you."
Tommy ran out of the kitchen, called, "'Mon, Maga. Pay in my yoom!"
Maggie studied her parents for a moment, finally focusing on Bobby. She knew something was not right with him, and that made her hesitate, even when Tommy called her again. She was afraid to leave him.
Bobby met her eyes and saw her concern; he understood her hesitation. A fresh surge of regret and guilt washed over him. "Go play with your brother, Maggie. Please."
Still, she hesitated until Tommy called her again. Finally, she turned and walked off after her brother. "I'm comin', Tommy."
Alex watched Bobby with concern as he refilled his glass with a hand that trembled. He grabbed a towel and wiped the counter. She suddenly felt reluctant to let him go to Carmel Ridge alone. When she spoke, her voice was soft, though what she said was not something she decided lightly. "At the very least, consider taking her with you. She has a connection with your mother, and you can protect one child more easily than three."
"Like I protected her when Nicole came calling?"
"Dammit, Bobby. Can't you ever let anything go?"
He gave her a weary look. "Don't you know me by now?"
He grabbed his glass and the bottle and walked out of the kitchen; he was done talking. As he walked down the hall toward the bedroom, he heard Maggie and Tom playing. The sound of their laughter reassured him more than anything else. Alex was right. He found it next to impossible to let go of the things that troubled him. His mother's illness had troubled him all his life...and now...that nightmare had touched the innocence of his children. That was something he would never be able to let go.