Chapter Nine

Sorry

Well, Happy freaking Thanksgiving to me. If I hadn't withdrawn almost completely from my parents, it would have been quite nice. My grandparents on my father's side came up from Bend, Oregon, where they'd retired, my grandfather on my mother's side (her and Uncle Leonard's father) came with Uncle Leonard, who'd gotten him from the airport. My grandma on my mother's side passed away when I was nine (though I don't remember her much), but we said a prayer for her during grace. After that, an awkward silence followed, me watching my family members one by one, and I couldn't help but wonder if the rest of them knew about the Institute. If they did, I wouldn't have known what to think or how to feel. I looked over at Uncle Leonard, who watched me. Come to think of it, they all watched me, thinking something along the lines of 'What happened to the happy sunshine girl we all know so well?'. At least, that was Grandma Andrews' thought. "Happy Sunshine Girl's gone bye-bye," I muttered.

"What was that, Gabby?" My father was staring at me as he waited for me to reply.

Thining quickly, I said, "Oh, I siad 'Hope I can save room for the pie'."

I'm such a crappy liar.

"Yes, this food is very good, Linda," my dad replied. At this, an echo of 'Very Good', and 'mmhmm', and 'you've outdone yourself' came from around the table, which started a conversation, although forced, about recipes that lasted a good half an hour. I was relieved that no one had heard what I'd truly said, or saw that I'd barely eaten much at all, let alone enough to have to remind myself to save room for pie.

A little while later, after the pumpkin pie was served and eaten, and after the table was cleared and the kitchen was cleaned using teamwork on the Andrews's side, my mother and Uncle Leonard sat at the table with a couple of cups of coffee while the rest of us sat in the living room. The TV was on the local news, and there were three women on the screen. "... if you have any information on these missing women, please call the number on the screen. As of this point in the investigation, police are unable to confirm or deniy if these disappearances are related." A couple of other things were in the news that didn't interest me, stock reports, a win for the New Gotham Knights, 'ooh, chance of rain on tuesday', but that was it. On the floor by the couch where I was sitting, I watched the news, but didn't listen to much after the weather. My eyelids drew heavy thanks to the turkey I ate.

I sit next to my wife of thirty one years as she speaks of the serman our preacher gave this morning, and how it has made her feel this week. We'd just dropped our only granddaughter, Gabrielle, back at her house. She for some reason wanted to go to church today but her parents had both come down with a cold and they couldn't take her. Being in town to care for the six year old while they were in bed, we went to the church we had attended before we moved a few cities away last year. they'd insisted that they were well enough to go back to caring for Gabby, so we were on our way back to our home further out of the city. Going to church was like bringing back some good memories, and I know Maureen thought so too. As she tells me about seeing various people and the year's worth of gossip they had to share, I listen and incert the appropriate 'hm', 'ah', and 'I see' when and wherever was needed, but then she ways something that makes me glance over at her.

"Gabby, that child. You know what she asked me after the service, Ben?" She doesn't wait for my reply, as I knew she wouldn't. "She asked me why the preacher wanted to die. I swear- I looked at her and I said, 'Sweety, he doesn't want to die', but she insisted that he does. She's going to grow up queerer than a three dollar bill, Ben- She's going to be either a man hating lesbian or a freak like her father-"

"Enough." I say loudly to her. "Now what happened last year was an accident. That little girl has already been through enough, and I doubt after Jason and Gabby goin' to that so called 'doctor', it'll get any better before it's all said and done. So you just play nice, Maureen, for the child. She doesn't remember anything, and for some reason they want to keep it that way."

"To keep her as daddy's little girl. He's only doing it so she doesn't hate him the rest of her life."

"I said 'enough'. This didn't happen."

"Must be the Andrews' family motto," she shot back. I only sigh and pray silently for Gabby's happiness-

The scene fades white, then slowly a newspaper headline screams up at me:

'Local preacher commits suicide after sevices; Community baffled'. I gasp as the scene fades white again. I am standing right in front of the closed door. I can almost see what is behind it, but the people and objects in it are all blurry, then all I see is the door itself. I reach out for the doorknob. I am shocked to find it wet, slippery. I don't get a firm grip on it. A name is called from beyond the door, a name I know, but don't. Then someone screams as a child starts to cry. As I... start to cry.

A couple of fingers gently touched my right cheek and I opened my eyes almost in panic. "Shh-shh-shh!" I saw my father's left hand then, his index and middle fingers glistening. I felt a droplet run down both sides sides of my face, and one drop went into my ear. I had dropped my head back and it rested on the cushion next to where my grandmother had sat. My mouth was open, and I hoped I hadn't drooled ot snored. I raised my head and felt a pain in my neck as the tears changed direction and ran their proper course down my cheeks. All eyes were on me, but I didn't care. I was confused by these tears as much as I almost welcomed them. It was almost as if I needed to cry as a release.

My father, who was knelt beside me, held me then in a hug. I almost recoiled at his touch, but didn't. I wanted him to protect me, but felt he couldn't. Like I knew he'd fail me if I let him try. "I'm sorry-" I started to say.

"No, I'm sorry, Gabby," he said in a way that only I could hear him, "I'm so sorry." It seemed as if that was exactly what I needed to hear, but what exactly was he sorry for? Bringing me to the Institute? I'd like an apology for that too, but it wasn't why I was crying. These were tears of grief, complete and utter loss that I had never known, not even when Grandma Cook died. Grandma Cook was right. I did grow up to be queerer than a three dollar bill. And she was right on both occasions, except for the man hating portion. I knew that my father had some idea of why I was crying... I knew that he was also truly sorry for it as well. Now, if only could figure out what it was all about.