The last update began Act III, which will be building towards the two-year anniversary of one fateful day.
And so the final act continues...
####
When Liza opened the door to him, she knew it would be for the last time. He was different: shoulders straighter, eye bags gone, and, of course, the ever-present cliché had been realized.
At one time, she would have hated him for it. Resented the restoration of that light to his eyes. Perhaps tried to snatch a bit of it away by laying bare their secret activities to all interested parties: those moments when they both blindly groped through the dark, in every sense of the word. By taking a yellow highlight marker to the glorious irony that in her – the woman who had once almost destroyed his life – he had sought harbor, refuge. By clinging…
By falling.
Never again.
"I was expecting you sooner," she said.
He stepped in with the air of a funeral director who had one last bit of unpleasant business before joining his family for a wonderful night.
It was an accurate analogy for which she could not resent him.
"Liza, I…" He turned to her and removed his hands from his pockets, as if their presence would help him find the words. They did not.
"I'm happy for you, Jesse." And she was. Twenty-plus years of history would demand nothing else.
"Yeah, it –" The laughs were intermixed with tears, with more primal emotions. On any other night, they would have released those emotions and communicated in a way where words were never needed. Nor wanted.
But the release was different this night. It was not a strangled cry or a scorching emptiness. It was simply a…validation.
A validation of life in all its crazy, random glory.
She held him in the center of her living room: the eye of the storm. The frenemy, without the benefits. "It's okay. It'll all be okay now."
And when he whispered a soft apology into her shoulder, she placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. "Goodbye, Jesse." In a salute to the equally random craziness that was their relationship, she offered him a winkm a smirk, and one final wry observation. "Just don't mention our newfound to that best friend of yours. We wouldn't wanna send her back to the Great Beyond."
He laughed, and when she joined in, it felt like they would never stop. One final impulse they gladly partook.
####
"I'm so sorry I left you to deal with this alone."
"It's okay. You needed to go. But, you should know that I – that somebody else knows about us."
"Oh, God, it wasn't –"
"No, no. It's Bianca. She…she's a pit bull when it comes to you. I had to tell her or risk getting a piece of my backside handed back to me."
"That's…it's okay, right? Tell me she understands, and that the two of you are good now?"
"Ye – yes, it's…okay."
"Dad's been keeping me posted on the case, every day. He thinks…he thinks we've got a chance."
"Let's not talk about that here. I want to focus on you right now. How are you doing?"
"I'm…would you settle for tired? We've just gotta figure out our next step. Hire a PI, maybe. Some ID stuff in my wallet was missing, so Randi had this crazy idea he might be headed here. She's gonna stay there for a few days, and I'm gonna wait it out here. We'll see what happens."
"This will work out for you, for all of us."
"I wish I had your confidence."
"It's called faith. You need to try it sometime."
When his two eavesdropping subjects finally moved away, Tyrone put the paper down and uncrossed his legs.
One thing was for sure: Mr. Suddenly-Squeaky Big Bro wasn't so clean after all.
And all that BS-crap about 'faith' and 'love' made him wanna empty his guts on that plastic flower.
He'd do what he needed to do here. Namely, clean good ole' bro and sis out for every spare piece of change they had, leave them a little forget-me-always memento, and then blow out of this POS town.
At least he had a place to crash in the meantime.
The cushion beside him sunk in with a familiar weight: his new amigo, who'd set him up with his amenities.
He wasn't staying. Didn't mean he couldn't enjoy a few benefits along the way.
####
She would visit the nursery often. As years passed, the regret – the dull ache of a rapidly fading dream – was replaced with an appreciation, even a smile for the tiny parcels of hope before her.
They reminded her that 'bittersweet' was not a paradox. They reminded her that hope was the most precious commodity.
Just like the little girl with the tiny fists and the tinier dimples.
When those fists uncurled, when those small fingers closed around a larger one, Jenny knew that this precious commodity could never truly disappear.
A gurgle mingled with a gasp and a laugh. Angie picked up her namesake like a cherished mineral. It was mutual love at first sight. Grandmother and granddaught drew closer until they were cheek-to-cheek, dimple-to-dimple.
Heart-to-heart.
Angie sang a lullabye, not with words or hums, but with rhythmic breaths that lulled the baby into a peaceful slumber.
"I never thought I'd see the day," Jenny confessed.
Her companion raised an eyebrow. "And what day would that be?" he whispered back.
She couldn't help the grin that disintegrated her sober expression as she turned to him. "The day my Mr. Tough Guy best friend turned into a grandpappy." She brought her hand to his face, inspecting it with interest. "You do still have all your teeth, dontcha, old man?"
At his 'harumph' expression, she stifled a laugh. Her fingers moved to cup his cheek. "I missed you." And she promised herself she wasn't gonna get all sappy, but the wobble in her words betrayed her.
Jesse, in his 'cut through the bull' manner that she still remembered well, settled for a quiet "C'mere, you," and a hug that would've made a bear envious. With his arm still around her and his head resting on her shoulder, he turned back to the picture fit for a postcard: grandmother and granddaughter, both partaking in the time-honored tradition of fly-catching with half-open, half-snoring mouths.
"And it''s Chief Grandpappy to you," he added with a squeeze.
####
As he skidded to a stop, thoroughly winded, one image engraved itself into the door: his little girl's face.
When that door opened, Frankie gave his dad a quick hug and rushed into the apartment. "You know I missed you, Dad, but there's a little lady I've gotta see right now." He scanned the room, which was surprisingly clean and composed…for his father, anyway. Frankie turned his attention to said man, who was regarding him with his own pair of wide eyes. "Where is she?"
"Slow down, Franklin. I need to talk to you –"
"I know you had something to tell me, but really, can't it wait? Right now, I really need to see –"
"Angela's with...a sitter. Someone I think you're gonna love just as much as your little girl does. For now, can you just sit down and take a breath? Talk to me?"
Frankie reluctantly complied. The moment of rest gave his mind time to take in his surroundings more fully.
This room, it wasn't the only thing that was…changed. His dad was – something was off-kilter in a way Frankie couldn't put his finger on. But he had a feeling it wasn't necessarily a bad different, like it had been.
Soon, he was catching a beer tossed at him from the fridge. While Frankie gladly downed his drink – it had been a long flight - Dad nursed his own can.
"How was the trip? You told me about Randi and her brother, but you never talked about your half."
Another image quickly materialized in Frankie's mind: another face. But this time, the features weren't a blur. And the tightening in his chest wasn't a heavy weight.
"I saw him, Dad." A small smile tugged at his lips.
Dad closed his eyes, bit his lip. "And?"
"He's everything I imagined. Nothing I imagined." Frankie could've described every detail: every mole, birthmark, tiny quirk that proved nature still had its hand in the grand scheme. He settled for four words, the ones that mattered most. "He's gonna be alright."
And as the muscles in his Dad's face relaxed, as tenseness melted away, Frankie realized the difference. That weary darkness that had become a too-natural part of Dad...it hadn't -
A small, beautiful cry he'd recognize anywhere brought him to his feet. "She's here now? Why didn't you say anything?" He started for the bedroom, but Dad stopped him and took a visible breath.
"Are you ready, Franklin?"
Frankie wouldn't have realized he was nodding if not for the tingling that coursed down his neck at each slow movement.
If not for the smile slowly blooming on his father's face. The smile he believed he would never see again.
"Angela," Dad called softly.
Frankie was confused, but assured that the sitter would bring him the best gift of his life.
When he turned, the can slipped from his suddenly lax fingers.
Two absolutely beautiful, absolutely miraculous, matching smiles – two angels – framed the doorway.
They tentatively moved forward, and he bridged the distance in a fraction of a second.
And laid claim to the best gift of his life.
####
The red soldier tumbled into the abyss below.
She raised her hands. "I surrender!"
Natalia would like to say she'd just let a seven-year-old totally kick her ass at a rousing game of Trapdoor Checkers, but the truth was that her opponent was just that good.
The little boy pumped his fist and high-fived his partner-in-crime: her traitorous fiancé. Natalia couldn't bask in the agony of defeat for too long, though. The matchup had ended like so many others over these past few weeks, but in a lot of ways, it represented a victory for both sides.
She could now pick up the small pieces without a stutter or a stumble. Brot liked to joke that checker by checker, she was rebuilding her life. And it was true, because at this small table, she didn't just begin to remaster fine motor movements. She was slowly emerging from the fog that had trapped her. Things made sense. Words, thoughts, but more importantly….she made sense to herself.
And this little boy - this quiet, mysterious, but bright little boy - he made all the sense in the world. They had both tentaviely crossed a line, broken a barrier, and they'd done it together.
So when he beamed that gap-toothed half-smile at her she'd come to love and proudly stated, "Mommy taught me how to kick butt at checkers," she didn't think about fishing for more rare information. She just smiled back and clasped the small cross around her neck. It was a "something old, something borrowed" just given to her by the one living woman she could ever consider calling a mother again.
Your Dad's the strongest man I've ever known. It's only fitting that his daughter - the strongest woman I know - should have this.
She clasped the first gift that Angie had given her father and thought of the woman who was so right, yet so wrong in one fundamental fact. Angela Hubbard, defier of death, defier of all odds, was the true epitome of strength.
Natalia would always strive to follow that example. Right now, she was content to watch as her small friend enjoyed a victory plane ride around the Miranda Center courtesy of his partner-in-crime. In the fleeting image that stung her eyes and took her breath away, Natalia saw a glimpse of a future that, for once, felt within her grasp again.
Glancing upward, she grinned. "Whaddya think, Mom? I did good, huh?"
"No, no!"
The frantic words pulled her back...to chaos. The checkers lay scattered on the floor, clattering in time with her heartbeat. One swiveled, landing with a flourish on the pile of papers now also strewn beneath her feet.
Natalia didn't think of baby steps or proper decorum. Before she could think twice, she had dropped to her knees beside of Brot They both peered into wide, terrified eyes. Those eyes, however, did not see them.
Those eyes were fastened onto the floor, onto the lone checker.
"No," the boy whimpered.
She touched his cheek, but he shrunk back. "What is it, sweetie?"
"The bad man." Most of him shrunk further into Brot's arms. Most of him, except for one quaking finger. Directed at the fallen, almost forgotten police file. "The bad man killed Mommy!" At the lone checker, which made a prominent red bullseye on a smiling, imposing face.
Their suspect.
Newest alias: the Bad Man.