Patrick sat alone at the back table of Kelly's diner so that his back was to the front door. He had yet to pick up and drink the large black coffee he had ordered. Besides, he was certain that, by now, it had gone ice-cold anyway. What did it matter? He doubted he'd be able to taste it. He had listened to Logan's message again and again, trying to find something in his little brother's voice that came off as the least bit sincere. A day later, and he was still pissed off about his brother's complete disregard for familial obligation. It was one day out of the year, and Logan couldn't even manage that. What had come up probably had more to do with some girl than any actual emergency or work-related situation. He was disgusted by his brother's behavior, and he wondered for the millionth time that morning if maybe he was the cause for Logan's lack of respect for their mother. It wasn't as though they had been babies when she was taken from them, so Logan couldn't use the excuse that he had barely known her. He had loved her just as much as Patrick had, or at least he had always thought so. What could have been more important than the tenth anniversary of their mother's death? Patrick would have expected this from Noah, but not Logan. Had his brother really become so jaded over the years? Was he to blame?
No, Patrick screamed inwardly to his brain. He was not to blame for Logan's actions. He had taken responsibility for his brother all their lives, but that was over. He would no longer fight as hard as he did to justify the wrong decisions Logan had made over the years.
He was only the older brother by a year and yet he felt so much more mature. They had each gone their separate ways over the years, and that was just fine with Patrick. What wasn't okay, what really made his blood start to boil, was the fact that yesterday Logan had found something better to do.
The sound of the mug shattering barely registered in his foggy brain. How many glasses had he broken at the cabin? How many sheets and blankets had he torn up, cut up? He had left it that way too, wanting someone else to take care of it for a change. Sure, Noah had checked out, but how could Logan have done this to him? Was there no family pride left in his brother or was he just that selfish?
Mike Corbin hurried to the table, but Patrick had already swept up the mess. "Mike, I'm sorry. I'll pay for the glass." Patrick promised the older man.
"That's really not necessary, Patrick. It wasn't priceless or anything. Say, are you alright?" Mike wondered.
"I've been better I guess." Patrick answered with noncommittal shrug.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Mike offered.
"No thanks, Mike. I'd rather just deal with it on my own. Are you sure I can't pay for the glass?" Mike waved his hand at his question. The grey-haired man returned to his perch behind the bar.
Patrick wished that he would have been able to accept the invitation, to spill his guts to the man with whom he had grown up admiring, but his pride would not allow it. Hell, his upbringing wouldn't allow it. No Drake man ever asked for help. It was disturbing to think that he had picked up any of his father's less than valuable traits, but there it was. He checked his cell phone just to give himself something else to concentrate on--he had repaired it after he "accidentally" backed over it with his car--but the tiny blue window showed that no one had tried to contact him over the last thirty-six hours.
Patrick left a large tip on the table and shoved the door open, no longer able to breathe. The walls had started to close in on him quicker than he had thought they would. These minor mental attacks hadn't affected him since he was a small boy locked in a trunk during a game of Hide and Seek. He had been excellent at that game, always better at hiding than seeking, but getting stuck in that sixteen by eight inch trunk had scared him into a near catatonic state. Noah hadn't known what to do with him and Mattie was already sick by then, so his father had pawned him off on the Spencer's. If it hadn't been for Laura, he might never have spoken again. He supposed that was why they had bonded like they had, so much so that she often referred to him as one of her own children.
"Patrick!" Bobbie Spencer strode out to catch her nephew, her red hair streaming out behind her. "Patrick! Slow down!"
Patrick spun around, his hands shoved in his khakis. "Hey Aunt Bobbie." Patrick couldn't keep the emotion from showing all over his face. As Mattie's younger sister, Bobbie had to have had a pretty rough day yesterday as well. He wanted to hug her and never let go. He wanted her to stroke his hair and rock him, let him cry. Of course, none of these were plausible options, because he was no longer a child.
As usual, Bobbie Spencer ignored things like the actual ages of her nephew and hugged him fiercely to her. "How are you Prince?" She asked him, using the nickname she had given him in his childhood. She was still the only one who could call him that.
Her simple question had Patrick shaking with sobs. He hugged her back, careful not to cut off her oxygen supply, and buried his face into the crook of her shoulder. "I was doing so well, I thought. It didn't hit me until last night really that she was gone. Ten years, Bobbie. When is it going to get easier?"
Bobbie guided him towards a bench and sat him down. She placed his head on her shoulder and stroked his hair. Kissing his forehead, she whispered gently, "It happens to everyone at their own pace, Prince. I wish I could give you an exact date, but I just don't know. I promise you, it won't always be this raw. I promise you that much."
"I feel so lost. I should spend the anniversary doing something other than getting drunk with Logan and sitting in the cabin hoping to relive some memory that, for all I know, we're making up." Patrick berated himself.
"You did not make it up. Your mother was a wonderful giving woman. She was everything you remember. You never lose sight of that, okay?" Bobbie paused for breath while Patrick nodded. "Now how is my wayward nephew? And what excuse did he give this time for skipping out on me?"
"He had better things to do." Patrick gritted out.
"Well that certainly isn't the most original of his excuses, but I'm sure you enjoyed seeing him anyways."
"He never showed. He called me yesterday and left a message on my voicemail." Patrick explained somberly. "I really don't know why I've tried to keep the tradition going. It's obvious that we're just not the family we used to be. But then, how could we be without my mother?" Patrick challenged.
Bobbie grabbed Patrick by the shoulders. "I'm going to tell you something that your grandfather taught your mother, your uncle, and me. Family is forever. It doesn't matter how far apart you are, or for how long someone is gone. Family is forever. Whatever you can do to keep the family together is what you should do. No arguments. No discussions. No second-guessing. You just do it. So no matter what your brother does, you keep trying." She paused to wipe a tear from his cheek. "If you do stop, then you really will have lost her completely."
Patrick hung his head at that. It was just too damn hard to stand tall when the world was doing its best to break him. He had always trusted Bobbie's judgment and she hadn't blamed him for lashing out at her right after Mattie was taken from them. She had talked to him then just as she was doing now. He straightened and slid off of the bench, slipping further away from her. "You're right." He agreed. "It's time I quit being selfish and focus on what's best for my family."
"You're not being selfish. You're being human." She placed her finger under his chin. "There is a big difference in that."
"How do you make it all okay?" Patrick wanted to know.
She smiled at him sadly. "I learned from my mother. Just like your mother did."
"Noah could never stay mad at her," Patrick recalled. "The second he raised his voice, she would give him a look, and he would apologize." His eyes misted. "Logan and I used to get such a kick out of it. He told us that one day we'd be in similar situations and it'd be in our best interests to pick our battles wisely." Patrick continued, running a hand through his chestnut hair.
"I know you hate to hear this, but sometimes your father actually was a very smart man."
"That's where I have to disagree, Aunt Bobbie. A smart man wouldn't have let himself fall for a woman the way he did. When he lost her, he went straight to a bar. He didn't consider how we, his children, might have been taking things. He never once thought about how much we needed him." Patrick shot back.
"Like I said, you hate to hear it. And this is me picking my own battles."
"I don't mean to take my anger out on you. It's not your fault. You've always done whatever you could to make things better." Patrick replied proudly.
"It's okay. I'm happy to help you. You're my nephew."
"Yes but am I your favorite nephew?" It was a running joke between Bobbie, Patrick, and Lucky, dating back to some of his earliest summers spent at the Spencer house.
Elizabeth raised her arms over her head and stretched. It had been a long day and she was beat. She wanted nothing more than to sink into a bubble bath and just forget her every ache and pain. Turning her key in the lock, she entered her frosty, air-conditioned home. It was quiet. Almost too quiet. A quick glance at her watch showed the time to be five in the evening. There should be some noise. Grams was supposed to be home. Where was the noise?
"Grams?" she called out trying to keep her voice calm. "Grams? You home?" Silence.
Elizabeth moved towards the kitchen. If Grams had left for any reason there would be a note taped to the refrigerator. Her grandmother was entirely old fashioned and sometimes completely predictable. She flipped on the lights and focused immediately on the appliance. No note.
On the off chance Grams had forgotten to leave a note, she opened the door to the garage. The car sat there silently. "Grams?" It was harder and harder to keep the worry out of her voice. "Grams? You okay?"
She raced through the living room, pausing only long enough to check the study, and rushed up the stairs. Visions of her grandmother lying helpless on the floor of her bedroom danced in her head. Irrationally she thought about the "I've fallen and I can't get up" commercial. 'Oh please' she thought. 'Don't let me be a cautionary tale for an infomercial.'
She reached her grandmother's bedroom door, knocking as she opened it. The manners her grandmother had worked for years to instill in her apparently remained even in a crisis. "Grams?"
"Elizabeth? Is that you?"
Elizabeth let out a sigh of relief. Her grandmother lay quite comfortably on her bed, not on the floor, and had apparently just woken up from a nap. She moved to sit down at the foot of the bed, suddenly exhausted.
"Hi Grams."
Audrey stretched her hands over her head, and smiled. "I must have slept longer than I thought if you're home. What time is it?"
"About five o'clock."
Audrey nodded. "Dinner time. What do you say we order in Chinese and watch that new DVD you rented the other day?"
Elizabeth smiled. She was wondering if maybe her grandmother and her brother were right about her needing a life. This should not be the most exciting night of her week. "That sounds perfect Grams."