(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoilers, etc.)

Chapter 11: "Gregory"

Remember when we used to shine and had no fear or sense of time? - Matt Bellamy

With a trembling hand, I press my finger to the doorbell. From behind the solid wood door, I hear the faint echo of chimes. I sigh, gazing at the ground for a long moment. Why did I agree to do this? From the back corner of my mind, a tiny voice whispers "Because your daughter asked for your help". Slowly, I look up, filtered sunlight falling through the trees that line the courtyard. A gentle breeze stirs the leaves, shadows dancing on the stone pavers. Despite the warm weather, I shiver within my pink blouse. It's the intensity of the house that does it. It looms before me and as I turn my eyes slowly up, the only thing that strikes me is how much I despise it.

The door swings open and the maid who opens it holds a cordless phone to her ear. "Yes, Miss Caitlin. She's here now. Si, si." She holds out the phone and I take it as I cross the threshold. "She wants to speak with you."

I nod and hold the phone to my hear, immediately hearing my daughter's stilted breathing. "Caity?"

"Oh, Mom! Thank God you're there! Did you check on Trey?"

"Of course I'm here. Darling, I want you to listen to me: Trey will be fine. I'm going up to see him now." My stomach muscles clench and I force a smile into my voice as I continue, "Enjoy the cruise and have a wonderful time."

She sighs deeply and I know the feelings coursing through her. I was a wreck the first time Gregory and I left Caitlin with my parents for the night. But, he begged me to go out on the boat with him for his birthday weekend. "Are you sure?" she asks softly.

"Yes, Caitlin. I'm very sure. Trey will be waiting here for you when you get back tomorrow. I promise."

There's several moments of prolonged silence before she finally says, "Ok. Thank you, Mom."

"I love you."

"I love you too. See you tomorrow."

I pass the phone back to the maid after Caitlin hangs up. The woman smiles at me and says, "She is nervous, yes?"

"Yes," I reply as I hear a thump on the stairs. I turn, watching the dog run across the foyer and jump against my legs. "Well, hello," I gush, kneeling down to him. Spike's front paws rest on my knees as he leans up, his tail wagging energetically. Clearly he remembers me and, as touched as I am, I'm floored that Gregory still has him. He never liked the dog and always claimed he was one allergy attack away from getting rid of him.

The maid clears her throat and I look up as I pat the dog on his head. "I'm going up to see my grandson," I announce and she nods. Slowly, I turn for the stairs, my hand on the railing. Ahead of me, the dog scampers up the stairs and I sigh, following him quietly. The second floor is still, deserted except for me and Spike. From an open door to my right, I hear the gentle strains of a crib mobile and I stop short, listening to the sound. It's not the same tune as the music box, but I can't help but remember how heavy it was in my hands. I think the carousel horse is fitting because we're finally getting our brass ring. Or the way Gregory smiled when he gave it to me. Or the way it felt to lean against him, the gentle lullaby surrounding us.

My hands tremble as I turn away from the door, a lump suddenly born in my throat. The dog shows no fear and he trots into the nursery, leaving me standing alone. Across the hall from the nursery, I mercifully remember, is a powder room. I lunge for it, ducking into the cool room, my footsteps echoing against the marble. My breath runs shallow as I grip the counter, forcing my eyes to the gilded mirror. I'm pale, my eyes panicked as I gaze at my reflection. I'm terrified of my grandson. Still. Nervously, I rinse my hands, the floral soap filling the emptiness. I press my dripping wet hands to my neck, letting the cold water trickle down my neck and combat the nausea I feel. I sigh deeply, desperately searching for the strength I need to face the infant. Blandly, I run my hands over the small towel and inch towards the door.

Functioning on auto-pilot, I cross the hallway and stand in the door of the nursery. The crib is on the other side of the room and I see Spike laying protectively in front of it. The dog's dark eyes follow me as I slowly enter the room, his tail wagging lazily. I glance around at the cheerful surroundings, my fingers twitching against my black trousers. It's the perfect nursery for a child and I smile sadly, not expecting anything less from my daughter. My head swims as I near the crib and tentatively rest my hands on it. Trey looks up at me with wide blue eyes, quietly suckling on his pacifier.

My mouth sets into a line, watching the way the pacifier moves and the way his cheeks rise. Slowly, I reach out, my hand brushing his plump cheek. His eyes are trained on me, seemingly fascinated as I lean down. "Darling boy," I sigh, gazing at him, from the downy blonde hair on his head to his small feet. I suck in my breath and close my eyes, not wanting a single tear to fall. My throat tightens and I hear the sheets rustle as he kicks his feet. Trey is alive, breathing, and rosy. My little boy is not. And he never will, a small voice inside me whispers. A sob rises in my throat as I open my eyes, tears dulling Trey into a watery blur. I blink, feeling tears falling onto my cheeks as my arms twitch.

Slowly, oh so slowly, I reach into the crib. My hands slip beneath his head and body and I inhale, lifting him into my arms. Trey's a solid little boy, the kind that will grow up healthy and strong. His weight settles against my chest and my arms tighten, watching as his mouth opens. The pacifier falls out and tumbles into the valley where our bodies meet. I watch, fascinated, as his head turns to me and his mouth curls into a wide O. A moment later, his face dissolves into a smile as he coos. My broken heart melts, watching as his dark blue eyes blink. "Your nana is a mess," I sigh, resting my hand lightly on his stomach.

There's no response of course. He's settled comfortably in the crook of my arm and my free hand follows a path from his knee to his stomach. "But, you're perfect, aren't you?" His eyebrows bend, almost as if he's considering the question. I swallow hard, willing myself not to think of painful what ifs and instead focus on the child in my arms. My grandson. My beautiful grandson. My hand brushes against his and instantly, he latches onto my finger. He's got a tight grip and I lean in, kissing his forehead. "Nana's going to make it up to you, darling boy. She is. She's going to make up for not being here the last few months."

Trey simply looks back at me, almost like he understands. Like he forgives me. It's almost something I can believe in as I look into his delicate face. Like an untouched blanket of snow on Christmas morning, it's something beautiful to behold. "Nana loves you, Trey. So very much. And, you're going to know it. Every day."

I'm late.

Incredibly and impossibly late.

Annie has this obsession with starting conversations with me at the worst possible moments. Like when I should be on my way downtown for a meeting at the resort site. And, more often than not, it's about topics that drive me up the wall. This morning, it was about paint for the master bathroom. Gregory, do you think we should choose Egg Shell or Pearl? Now, rushing down the hallway, I still can't help but roll my eyes and grimace. Sometimes, I can't fathom how she thinks this passes as legitimate conversation.

I'm rushing by the nursery when a flash of pink catches my eye. I stop short, inhaling sharply. Pink is out of place, you see. Caitlin did the nursery in shades of blue with white clouds and yellow stars accenting the walls. Pink doesn't belong. Yet, there it is, a pink blouse in the middle of the nursery. Olivia's back is to me, leaving me to gape at the way she gently sways from side to side. My mouth runs dry as my fist clenches around the handle of my briefcase. I don't know what she's doing. I don't know who let her in. I don't know why she's here. All I know is that a piece of my soul, the soul people claim I don't have, dies when she turns slightly. When she does, I'm afforded a perfect view of our grandson in her arms, nestled comfortably as he gazes up at her with rapt attention.

Time, precious time, grinds to a stop as I quietly place my briefcase on the floor and stand in the doorway. She hasn't looked up yet. She still doesn't see me. But, all I can see is the adoration painted on her face as she looks down, talking to him. He's holding her finger, cementing the way they are caught up in each other. Naturally, he's holding the finger of her left hand and I can't help but see the diamond engagement ring she's still wearing. That diamond mocks the damaged she caused, the lives she destroyed, the havoc she brought down on this family.

I shift and take a step into the nursery. Instantly, the mongrel laying on the floor growls, watching me like a hawk. Olivia looks up, the adoration she lavished on our grandson turning to me for the briefest of moments. Then, I watch the metamorphosis. Her eyes widen to saucers, her sapphire eyes crystalline. Her face falls, paling quickly as her expression turns from shock to fear and finally, resignation. We are frozen, our eyes locked on each other as the silence consumes us. Her lips quiver, as if she's working up the courage to speak first. Ultimately, Trey wins the contest and breaks the silence. He whimpers softly, as if he can feel the tension swelling between us.

My lips part and I'm surprised at how dry my mouth is. My heart races and a moment later, I realize I'm trembling. She must notice because her face turns and she takes a step backwards. Away from me. My throat constricts and I struggle, saying, "That..."

I'm afraid. Watching Gregory's face darken as his throat works furiously, I'm afraid. I take another step back, noticing the way his hands shake. "That," he tries again, practically spitting the word out of his mouth, "should have been our son." The last part of his statement rises to a different pitch, as if it's physically painful to say aloud.

I look down, preferring the baby's blissful innocence to the rage burning in Gregory's eyes. Trey looks back at me, his rosebud mouth pursed as he whimpers again. My own hand shakes as I feel for the pacifier between us and hold it up to his mouth. He takes it immediately and I draw him closer as I sigh. "I know." I look up slowly, seeing pain wrinkle across Gregory's face. That's the thing about him. His anger always gives way to a darker and more terrifying emotion: hurt.

Her eyes shine as she looks back at me, her face twisted in agony. The only thing I can think of is how helpless she looks, standing there with Trey in her arms. Like a lost child who doesn't have a clue in the world as to how to find her way home. "Do you?" I ask, taking a step closer to her. She stiffens, watching me carefully as she blinks away the tears. "It was supposed to be a charmed life."

Trey turns to the sound of my voice, watching me carefully with the eyes he inherited from his mother, his grandmother, and his great-grandmother. Suddenly, I think of the way Olivia's eyes widened in the hospital, when she took my hand and pressed it to her stomach. Of the way I jumped in surprise when I felt the spasm beneath my palm. Of the way she nodded to my silent question, tears brimming in her eyes. He kicked, Gregory.

I grunt and spin away from her, running an angry hand through my hair. My chest aches, churning with everything I've wanted to shout at her, bellow until my voice runs hoarse and my throat bleeds. "A perfect life," I growl, glaring at the ceramic cross standing on Trey's triple dresser.

"Nothing is perfect," she murmurs and I turn back to her, seething.

"Least of all you!"

She nods, shifting Trey so that his head rests on her shoulder. Quietly, she gazes back at me, hugging the baby to her. "I know that too," she whispers, her voice broken. I sigh, anguished as she continues, "Perhaps that's where you went wrong...that I was wrong."

I move towards her, watching closely. She stands still, no longer backing away as she looks up slowly. Tear tracks stain her flushed cheeks as she shudders. The agony cracking open my chest intensifies as Trey nuzzles his face into her neck, quietly content in her arms. Like he belongs there.

Gregory's so close I can see the vein pulsing in his forehead. I break out in a cold sweat, my heart pounding in my chest as his face turns. His eyes focus on me and I shift uncomfortably, watching the way his throat moves. A moment later, I realize it isn't me he's gazing at, but Trey. My hand rests protectively in the middle of the infant's back as the ground beneath us contorts. "Oh God," I gasp, my arms tightening around the baby as everything begins to shake. Not again.

My teeth clatter together as the baby stiffens in my arms. This earthquake feels stronger than the one last night. My eyes meet Gregory's as the cross on the dresser vibrates to the edge and falls, shattering into pieces. Within seconds, everything stops and Trey's crying fills the sudden silence. "Is he alright?" Gregory asks, coming closer to examine the boy with his own eyes. His hand brushes my own as he places his hand on the baby's back.

My hand tingles, sending a spark up my entire arm. Slowly, I nod, cupping the infant's hot cheek. His little body twitches in my arms as he wails. "He's just scared, that's all," I murmur, gently rocking the baby in my arms. He stands back, watching as I comfort Trey. "There, there, darling boy. It's alright."

"Are you sure he's fine?"

I nod to Gregory's question, even as my eyes are riveted to the baby. "You're fine, aren't you, darling boy?" I slip the baby lower, cradling him in my arms. A fat tear rolls down his cheek and I reach out, brushing it away. I hush him gently, caressing his face until his tears and sobbing subsides.

I watch as the baby shudders, hiccuping loudly. Within moments, he's settled down and Olivia's fingers follow the rise of his plump cheeks. As I watch the baby, I murmur to myself, "It's incredible how he responds to you." Olivia looks up fearfully, as if she expects a bomb to explode at the end of my sentence. I clear my throat and explain, "Caity always says how fussy he is."

She sighs, visibly relieved, as she turns back to the baby. With a smile for his benefit as she nuzzles him, she says, "That's because Nana spoils him."

Trey gurgles as he dissolves into a toothless grin, her lips kissing from cheek to cheek. "Nana?" I ask softly. But, I'm not surprised. Not really.

She looks up at me, the smile on her face transferring from our grandson to me. With a quiet nod, she answers, "I think that's what I'd like him to call me. It's what Caity and Sean called my mother." For a moment, I see her face contort before she clears her throat, swallowing back her emotions. The loss of Olivia's parents was never more apparent until she sighs, her voice shaking, "And, I hear you're Poppop...just like my father."

Years ago, I was bound and determined that Gregory would love my parents. For a man whose mother was dead and who had no relationship with his father, surely my parents would fill the void. They were two people who only knew how to love. Even now, I can still hear the way my mother murmured after meeting him for the first time, "That poor young man is in desperate need of a mother's love." Or the way my father's eyes lit up the first time Gregory called him Dad.

"It just seemed appropriate," he says stiffly and I force myself not to look up. His voice is strained and the air shifts, like we've approached a watershed. There's several moments of tense silence before he asks quietly, "Are you coming home?"

I flinch and look up slowly. I feel the color drain from my face, my mouth suddenly dry. He's standing so still and straight before me that he looks uncomfortable. But, it isn't the position he's standing in that's causing the discomfort. It's me. "W-what?" I stutter.

"Back to Sunset Beach," he clarifies, his voice flat. The ire from moments ago is gone, replaced with the spirit of the broken man he is. The deep lines in his face seem permanently etched there, and, for the first time, I notice how sad he is. "To be a real grandmother to Trey. Finally."

My lips part to respond, but my throat closes up and all I can do is shake my head. His eyes fall and he turns away, wandering over to the window. I turn back to the baby, who's watching me through half-closed eyes. He sighs deeply and I look back up at Gregory's back.

"I've been surprised by how much I enjoy living in London again," I hear her explain and I frown. She enjoys? She enjoys?

My resentment flares up and I ask flatly, "With His Lordship?" Even from this side of the room, I hear the way she inhales sharply. Slowly, I glance over my shoulder, our eyes meeting. Her expression dances between pain and anger, as if they were two separate emotions.

"Colin is my friend." She squares her shoulders and her lips tighten, but she says nothing further. I wait for a moment, giving her more than ample time to elaborate, but she doesn't. Instead, she cradles Trey against her chest and looks down at him. I watch as she slowly turns to the crib and gently lays him down. A moment later, she winds the moonbeam mobile and a soft lullaby replaces the tense quiet.

I should be relieved she's not coming back. This last week with her back in town, breathing the same air as me, has been unbearable. Instead, a lead weight drops into the pit of my stomach as I watch her stand quietly, looking down into the crib. The words are coming out of my mouth before I can stop them and a lump settles in my throat as I say, "We do still have two children who need their mother, in case you've forgotten about them."

My throat tightens as I listen to him. How can he possibly think I could ever return to Sunset Beach? Does he remember nothing of Naples? Slowly, I shake my head and continue gazing down at the nearly asleep baby. My hand rubs a gentle circle on his stomach as I say softly, "They're adults now. They don't need me the way they used to." It's true. Despite what I told Colin last night, I know that my children are not the small children I remember them as. They're adults, poised on the brink of the rest of their lives.

"Besides, Gregory," I continue quietly, "they loved going to London to visit my parents when they were younger. It was an adventure for them and it will be the same adventure for Trey."

The sound of my own name dances off her lips, three syllables that she makes uniquely hers. Slowly, she looks over her shoulder, our eyes meeting. I wait in the silence for her to continue, but she doesn't. Instead, she turns back to our grandson and gently rests her hands on the crib's railing. The diamond watches me, glittering, and I suddenly can't stand it any longer. "Why are you still wearing your ring?"

I freeze, ice dripping in my stomach, as Gregory's growl echoes in the hushed nursery. My eyes are the only things that move and they quickly drop to my left hand. I grip the crib, my knuckles turning white, as I watch the pear-shaped diamond. There's no words to explain how empty my finger felt without it the only time I took it off. That ring has been a part of me for the last quarter of a century. It's the only reminder of my old life in London. Of a time when, for the most part, I had been a person I liked. Of when I was happy.

Carefully, I turn and face him. He's glaring sternly, but is that a lick of confusion I see swirling in his eyes?

"Gregory!"

I look up, annoyed, as Annie bursts into the nursery. The baby begins to fuss, cruelly roused from his nap. Olivia's sad expression morphs to irritation and she rolls her eyes before she turns back to the baby. "What is it?" I ask as Annie stalks over to me. Her eyes dart back and forth between me and Olivia, who's trying to quiet the baby. "Well?"

"Aren't we late?" she asks, grabbing my arm. "We need to be at the construction site!"

I find myself looking up, ignoring my wife's touch, as I watch Olivia. She's got Trey back in her arms as she turns to us, frowning. The diamond on her finger catches the the sunlight, winking, as our eyes meet.

"Gregory, they're waiting for us!"

Trey's furious, red-faced and wailing, as he flails in my arms. Gregory's watching us, surprisingly quiet as Annie tugs on his arm. "I'll let myself out," I murmur and turn away from them. I feel his eyes on me as Annie insists, "Come on!"

That's when the ground revolts beneath me.

"I'll let myself out." Olivia turns her back on me, taking with her the answer to my question. For a silly moment, I consider crossing the room and forcing her to admit the reason. I want to know it. I need to know it.

Before I can even take a step though, Annie shakes my arm again. "Come on!" she pleads, pulling me towards the door. With a sigh, I turn away from Olivia and nod. My wife's face floods with relief and she opens her mouth to reply when the deafening sound of locomotive fills every ounce of me. Everything shakes with such brute force that my teeth clatter together. In an instant, I know.

This is the real thing.