The following weekend, it was time for Natalie's bachelorette party. Neither she nor Adrian had any idea what Julie and the other bridesmaids had planned, but contrary to Adrian's (happily unfounded) apprehension about his party, Natalie was very much looking forward to hers.
Natalie's party, however, wasn't just an evening — it was the entire weekend. Julie had informed her mother that she needed to pack for three days, as they'd be leaving Friday afternoon and planned to return early Monday afternoon (which happened to be Memorial Day). She'd also told Adrian that she was confiscating her mother's cell phone, so he shouldn't freak out if he didn't hear from her during the weekend.
Although he hadn't said anything to Natalie, Adrian was rather nervous about her being gone — and out of contact — so long. Other than her accident and hospital stay, they hadn't spent a night apart since Valentine's Day. Granted, they hadn't been sharing a bed for the past two months, but he'd still felt a measure of comfort knowing that she was just across the hall. What if something happened? What if there was another car accident on the way to or from the party?
He dutifully kissed Natalie goodbye on Friday, doing his best to hide his misgivings, but she seemed to sense how nervous he was.
"I'll be home before you know it," she said as she hugged him tightly. "I'll miss you."
"I'll miss you, too," Adrian said, and he looked so sad that, for the first time, Natalie had second thoughts about going. However, the prospect of facing her daughter's wrath if she backed out, not to mention her mother's, steeled her resolve.
She reached up to hug him again and whispered in his ear, "In eight days we leave for our honeymoon. You'll have me all to yourself for a whole week."
He grinned at that, and whispered back, "I'm really looking forward to it."
"Me too," she said, and they smiled at one another.
A horn honked from outside, and she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Gotta go. I love you. See you Monday!" and dashed out to the waiting car.
He waved as they drove away, and the house seemed enormously lonely when he went back inside. He slept fitfully on Friday night, and woke up on Saturday depressed at the prospect of a long weekend without Natalie.
Dr. Bell had encouraged him to make plans to keep himself busy while she was gone, so he'd decided to spend time over at Ambrose's house. He thought they could go over the ceremony — a rehearsal of the rehearsal, more or less — before the actual rehearsal on Thursday and the ceremony on Friday.
He also had a few wedding-related errands to run, ones that he didn't want Natalie or Julie to get wind of before the big day. Once those were completed, he drove over to Ambrose's house, noting with interest the red Toyota sedan parked in the driveway. He guessed it must be the used vehicle his father had talked of buying, as the tags and license plate were both brand-new even though the car itself was about seven years old.
When he knocked on the door, Ambrose answered immediately. "Good morning, Adrian," Ambrose said cheerfully, moving aside so he could enter the house.
"Hello, Ambrose," Adrian said, stepping into the house. "I thought we could — " But words suddenly failed him.
The house… was clean. Gone were the file cabinets full of mail, the banker's boxes full of papers, the stacks of newspapers and magazines that Ambrose had hoarded for so long. Adrian took another tentative step inside, unable to believe what he was seeing. He hadn't seen the room look like this for nearly forty years. He could actually see the hardwood floor, gleaming with polish. He could see the wallpaper — old and faded now, but still with the orange and brown stripes he remembered from his youth.
Ambrose quietly shut the door behind him. Adrian turned to him, and opened his mouth to speak, but he found he didn't quite know what to say.
"Hi there, Adrian," his father said, coming down the stairs. "I thought I heard the door." He must have guessed what had prompted Adrian's dazed expression, for he smiled broadly and swept his arm to indicate the room. "Quite a change, isn't it?"
"It's… astounding," Adrian finally managed.
Jack Monk smiled in satisfaction. "Ambrose and I have been working hard the last month or two," he said jovially. "We've probably gone to the recycling center a hundred times."
"Ninety-seven times," Ambrose corrected, beaming with pride.
"We finally got the last of it out a few days ago," Jack continued. "You should see the study. We've turned it into an office for Ambrose."
"You… you cleaned out the study, too?" Adrian said, feeling as though he might pass out.
Jack shrugged. "He really needed a better place to work than that cramped desk in the dining room."
"Wait until Natalie sees this," Adrian breathed, turning in a slow circle. "She won't believe it."
"She didn't come with you, did she?" Ambrose asked, glancing at the door.
"No, she's out of town until Monday," Adrian explained, feeling a pang of loneliness as he remembered it himself. "Bachelorette party weekend… thing… with her bridesmaids."
"You mean you're staying in that big house, all by yourself?" Jack exclaimed. "Why don't you stay here instead?"
"Stay… here?" Adrian repeated.
"We have plenty of room," Ambrose said with a crooked smile.
"We could have a — a father-son weekend," Jack offered. "We can keep you company while Natalie's gone. What do you say?"
"I — I guess so," Adrian said, unable to think of a good reason to refuse. And truth be told, he didn't like staying at the house without Natalie. He'd appreciate some companionship, and maybe staying elsewhere would help him bear the loneliness a bit better. "I should go back home and pack — "
Jack waved that suggestion away. "You and Ambrose are about the same size, aren't you? You can just borrow some of his things for the weekend. That way you don't have to make the trip back, since you're already here."
Adrian and Ambrose exchanged a startled glance. They'd never "borrowed" one another's clothes before. Their mother had absolutely forbidden it for some reason of her own, even though, as they grew into young men, they had been more or less the same size.
But as he thought about it, Adrian realized it was a brilliantly simple solution. Ambrose's clothes would be as clean and tidy as his own. If nothing else, he could simply borrow a pair of pajamas and wash the clothes he was wearing tonight for use tomorrow as well. He knew, also, that Ambrose would have extra, unused toiletries nearly identical to his own.
"Ambrose?" he asked hesitantly, feeling he should make sure his brother was okay with the plan before agreeing to anything.
Ambrose looked petrified for the merest instant, but then, with a glance at his father, he relaxed. "Of course," he said. "You're welcome to anything I have."
"All right, then," Adrian said, a bit awkwardly. "I'll do that."
"Perfect!" Jack beamed. "This is going to be great."
Adrian was less sure of that, but he thought it would be better than spending the weekend rattling around in a big house by himself.
They did go over the plans for the wedding ceremony, practicing several times so Ambrose would feel comfortable. They even went over to the Four Seasons itself later in the afternoon so Ambrose could get familiar with the ceremony location. Several staff members — most of whom knew Adrian now, thanks to his and Natalie's frequent visits there to meet with Cassandra — were busy setting up for a wedding scheduled to take place that evening, so it even looked fairly similar to the setup they'd have on Friday. They graciously allowed Adrian to show Ambrose and his father around the terrace, as well as the ballroom where the reception and dance would be held.
"This is an impressive place," Ambrose said, admiring the chandeliers in the ballroom. "What made you decide to hold the wedding here?"
"Natalie and I had our first kiss here," Adrian said, blushing slightly, but smiling at the memory. "Or rather, out there," he said, pointing toward the terrace.
Jack chuckled. "Well, that explains it." He gazed at the chandeliers too. "I guess the detective business must pay pretty well if you can afford a fancy place like this."
"Natalie's father gave her money for the wedding," Adrian explained. "He was very generous."
Jack whistled softly. "I'll bet."
"Did he pay for her first wedding, too?" Ambrose asked.
Adrian shook his head. "She didn't have a wedding the first time around — they eloped."
"Well, she's certainly making up for it this time," Jack said, watching as the Four Seasons staff hung elaborate flower arrangements on the terrace pillars. He turned to Adrian suddenly. "Where did you and Trudy get married?"
"The Golden Gate Club, at Presidio National Park," Adrian answered. "We had the ceremony and the reception there."
"It sounds really nice," Jack said, a touch of wistfulness in his tone.
"It was," Adrian agreed, smiling. "Trudy and her mother did a wonderful job with the plans."
"If you want to see what it was like, we could watch his wedding video," Ambrose suggested. "I still have my copy."
"Really?" Jack turned to Adrian, hope in his eyes. "What do you think?"
"Sure, if you want to," Adrian shrugged. He'd memorized the entire video long ago, but watched it every year on his wedding anniversary — his old wedding anniversary — regardless.
He wondered briefly if he'd continue that tradition even after he and Natalie were married. Probably, he mused. She would likely insist on it, and they'd no doubt watch their own wedding video — or rather, wedding DVD — every year on their anniversary, too. He grinned at the thought.
After they returned to Ambrose's house, they had a light supper — pasta primavera, their father's favorite — and then they did just as Ambrose had suggested. His father was keenly absorbed, leaning close to the television as though he longed to step through the screen and join the guests at the ceremony. Adrian watched with a half-smile, pleasant memories from the day washing over him. It was a nice change from the bitter sobbing that usually accompanied his viewings.
As he watched Trudy say her vows, he daydreamed about what Natalie's wedding dress would look like. Nothing like Trudy's, certainly — even he could tell that the puffed sleeves and high neck of her dress were rather dated by today's standards. Natalie had refused, of course, to tell him a single detail about it. He wouldn't see it — wouldn't see her — until the moment she walked down the aisle to him.
Six days, he thought, yearning for the time to pass faster, even as he watched a twenty-years-younger Adrian Monk kiss his bride and turn, beaming, toward the assembled guests.
"Where's your mother?" Jack Monk asked abruptly, staring at the TV screen with a frown. "I don't see her anywhere."
Adrian and Ambrose exchanged a startled glance. "Mother… wasn't there," Adrian said slowly. "She was too sick to go."
"I thought she didn't pass away until 1994," Jack said, his brows furrowing.
Adrian was surprised he knew even that much. "Dad, she was sick for nearly twenty years before that," he said.
"What?" Jack said, blanching. "What are you talking about?"
Ambrose paused the tape. "She was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin lymphoma in 1977," he said quietly. "She was in remission twice, but the cancer always came back."
Jack looked at them, horror-stricken. "I knew she died of cancer, but I had no idea she was sick for so long."
"Why would you?" Adrian said curtly, feeling a wave of anger sweep over him. "You weren't there."
"Adrian," Ambrose said, frowning. He gave his brother a chiding look.
Adrian knew he should let it go. He shouldn't spoil the weekend by dredging up the past and raking his father over the coals. But he couldn't — especially not now that dormant memories of his mother's long, painful, lingering illness had been hurled to the front of his mind.
"You weren't there," he repeated, each word a sharp slash of icy fury. "She fell apart after you left. Ambrose and I had to take care of things for years — cooking, cleaning, paying bills, everything. Then we had to take care of her after she was diagnosed with lymphoma. Ambrose was practically her slave for seventeen years."
"I didn't — " Ambrose tried.
"Don't say you didn't mind," Adrian demanded, and Ambrose recoiled at his brother's savage tone. "That burden should never have fallen to us. To you." He turned accusing eyes to Jack Monk. "Marriage is making a promise to be there for your family no matter what. It was his job, and he failed her. He failed all of us."
Jack's shoulders were slumped in defeat, and his eyes were haunted with misery as they met Adrian's. "I was a terrible husband to your mother. And a terrible father to you boys."
"Is that supposed to make us feel better?" Adrian asked harshly.
Jack shrugged helplessly. "I can't change what I did back then. All I can do, right now, is apologize."
"I don't care," Adrian fired back. "You can't just — "
"That's enough!" Ambrose shouted.
Both Jack and Adrian turned to him, shocked. Ambrose never shouted.
"Dad is right," Ambrose said heatedly, glaring at his brother. "We can't go back and change the past. We can only go forward in the present. What's the point of staying angry with him?"
"Maybe you can forgive him that easily," Adrian said, fury pushing him to his feet, "but I can't." He walked swiftly to the door, yanked it open, and strode outside, letting the door slam behind him. It wasn't until he'd gotten to his car that he realized he'd left his keys, wallet, and his cell phone inside the house.
Still fuming, he turned on his heel and started walking down the block. He didn't have a clear idea of where he was going to go or what he was going to do — he just needed to put some distance between himself and that house.
After a long bout of furious walking, his rage began to dwindle, and slowly the loneliness and regret took over. He began longing for Natalie — her touch, her scent, her sympathetic smile. She would understand how he felt. She would understand why he couldn't forgive what his father had done.
Or would she?
Adrian stopped dead in his tracks, suddenly remembering what Natalie had told him, months ago, after he'd asked her how she could possibly be willing to help Wally Dougal, given the man had killed her husband. "Holding on to hate won't bring Mitch back," she'd said, "but cooperating with Dougal might at least get him justice. I'd rather have justice than revenge."
At the time, her attitude had puzzled him, but he thought he finally understood it, now. Ambrose had said more or less the same thing, he realized. He could try to punish his father by holding on to anger for the rest of their lives, but it wouldn't change the circumstances of his childhood, or his mother's long, painful illness and death.
He didn't want to start his second chance at a new life with Natalie by holding on to bitterness about the past, and letting it fester like an infected wound — especially not after his desire for petty revenge against a deceased Dale the Whale had almost caused him to lose her.
He wanted to start fresh, with a clean slate, unencumbered by resentment against anyone… his father included. He was so tired of carrying the burden of animosity. It was time to set it down.
Deciding, he turned around and began trudging towards his childhood home. The light was starting to fade and the streetlights switched on as he walked. He'd gone farther than he'd realized; by the time Ambrose's house came into view, it was full dark, and he was exhausted.
He reached for the door, it suddenly swung open, and he jolted in surprise. His father was standing in front of the door, car keys in one hand, the other hand on the door. Jack Monk jerked backwards, but after a few seconds, the surprise in his eyes was replaced by relief. "Adrian, thank God," he said, backing away to give Adrian room to enter the house. "I was just going out to look for you."
As the door swung shut behind him, Adrian was suddenly struck with a simple truth: his father loved him. Maybe Jack Monk been too weak and selfish to stay with his family so many years ago, and maybe he'd stopped loving his wife, but despite that he'd never stopped loving his sons. That's why he'd come back. That's why he was trying to make amends.
He didn't know how he knew this, but he knew it all the same — just as he knew when a perpetrator was guilty even if all the available evidence indicated otherwise.
"Dad," Adrian said, "I'm sorry." To his own bewilderment, he began to cry.
After a moment, strong arms enfolded him in a tight hug. "It's okay, son," Jack Monk whispered gruffly, patting his back. "It's okay."
Adrian could not remember ever being hugged by his father before. Not once in his entire childhood. He put his hands on the older man's back, tentatively returning the hug, and cried harder.
When he was finally able to get his tears under control, and release his father from the heartfelt, if slightly awkward, embrace, Ambrose was there. Silently, he handed Adrian a clean handkerchief.
"Thank you," Adrian said, wiping his eyes. "Ambrose, I'm sorry I yelled at you."
Ambrose shrugged, his eyes watery. "I'm just glad you're okay. We were getting worried."
Jack patted Adrian's arm, looking suspiciously misty-eyed himself. "I'll tell you what we'll do," he said, infusing cheeriness into a voice tight with emotion. "Let's make a big batch of cinnamon popcorn and finish watching that wedding video. What do you say?"
"That sounds good," Adrian said with a tired smile.
