AN: I just wanted to thank each and every one of my readers who have followed my story so patiently to its final chapter. A special thanks of gratitude to those who had the time to offer me their feedback and support. I'm not sure how you feel about how I have chosen to finish the story - so I am a little nervous as it has been an epic journey for me and I thought long and hard where I wanted to go with this.
Please note, there is a reference to a scene in my first SOSF multi-chaptered story titled, "Seeing Is Believing" which is when I had first explored the Jeannie/Steve relationship. I have marked it with an aster-ix (*).
There is a tissue warning.
Tanith
Epilogue
Oh I'm in pieces, it's tearing me up, but I know
A heart that's broke is a heart that's been loved – "Supermarket Flowers" by Ed Sheeran
Several days had passed since Whitney Holden's funeral and life was returning to its normal routine. Mike continued to work with a temporary partner – Norm Haseejian – in Steve's absence and Jeannie had completed her second session of therapy with a psychologist that Lenny Murchison had recommended. All of the physical effects of the drugs that were given to her had left her system and her doctor had given her the all clear for a clean bill of physical health. Now, it was time for her mind and her heart to heal, though she felt the latter was beyond repair.
As the pieces of Jeannie's memory were slowly brought together, a picture of a different Whitney Holden to one she thought she had known began to emerge. Yet, despite all that had happened, the lives that were lost and the devastation that Whitney had left behind, Jeannie could not find it in her heart to hate him. What she felt instead was anger. But it was not anger directed at Whitney alone. No, it was anger at George Holden. Anger at herself for being so blind to the truth. Whitney needed help and probably did so for a long time. How could she not have seen that? And if she had, could she have prevented all the damage he inflicted? Or would she continue to fall victim to his manipulation simply because she loved him and her heart refused to believe he was capable of doing what he did? She wondered if the questions would get any easier to answer over time.
Sitting on the floor with her back against the wall and her legs drawn up in the guest room of Mike's house, Jeannie allowed herself to travel through the fragments of time. The tunes of her favorite songs softly playing over the radio helped fill the silent void and soothe her spirit as if the lyrics were speaking to her and expelling the emotions that were bottled up inside. Balanced against the top of her thighs was a simple photo frame housing a photograph of a time when things were less complicated. The handsome face of a young man who had stolen her heart and escorted her to the prom stood beside a reflection of herself, except the reflection was of a slightly younger and much happier Jeannie Stone.
Tears welled up in her eyes and through the pools of sadness that flooded her vision, a new image surfaced in her mind. The image of another man. One who was older and who had taken up an important part of her father's life before he filled the hole in her heart that Whitney had left. But it wasn't long before he too seemed to have decided to let her go. And when Whitney returned, he picked up the pieces of her broken heart, with the promise that he would never leave her again. When the closing melody of "Yesterday" by the Beatles faded away in the background, the unmistakable opening introduction of Alice Cooper's "School's Out" began. * The song triggered another moment in time and took her to a run-down hotel room where the music blared and all that mattered was being in the company of a friend. No, he was more than just a friend and when he held her in his arms, she felt safe and alive. She felt loved and happy. Jeannie reached out and turned the dial of the radio to increase the volume, losing herself to the music and the lingering memory of a dance she never had wanted to end. Then came the image of her father walking in on them and the moment was quickly extinguished both in the past and in the present.
A knock on the front door broke through Jeannie's reverie and she briefly contemplated whether to answer the door or pretend she was asleep and did not hear in the hopes the visitor would go away. What if it was Irene? No, she couldn't do that to her. Pushing herself up to her feet, Jeannie left the radio on and quickly headed downstairs, not realizing in her haste she still held the photo frame in one hand. When she reached the bottom landing she wiped the tears from her face with the sleeves of her sweater and hoped she didn't look as though she was a complete mess. Then she opened the front door and to her utmost surprise she was greeted by the very person who had filled her thoughts just moments earlier. "Steve!"
Dressed in jeans and a red flannel shirt unbuttoned over a white tee, Steve sputtered clumsily, "Jeannie, I…uh…is this a bad time?" His heart lurched at the sight of the young woman in front of him. There was no doubt she had been crying and trying to hide it.
Jeannie cleared her throat and stepped back, holding the door open. "No, not at all. Please, come in." She noted the dark circles around his eyes, the bruises that were still healing on his face and the heavily bandaged hand. A pang of guilt hit her. She had recently discovered from her father the extent of his injuries and what had caused them. Or rather, who. While Whitney and his father had inflicted these injuries, she couldn't help but feel responsible for them as if she had inflicted them herself.
Steve crossed the threshold and drew his good hand away from behind his back, revealing a beautiful bouquet of lilacs.
Taken aback by both the unexpected visit and now the flowers, Jeannie was almost rendered speechless. "They're…they're beautiful." Realizing she still held the photo frame, she quickly placed it face down on the hallway table behind her and took the flowers from Steve's outstretched hand.
Steve's ears caught the familiar chorus of a song that he would listen to after a hard case and a long day at the office. A ghost of a smile crept over his face when he was reminded of the significance behind the song. That reminder stood right before his eyes and without realizing he started to sing along to the words in a low voice.
Jeannie's cheeks felt warm and the sudden urge to act on her emotions became too overwhelming. She had to leave the room or be overcome by feelings she did not want to explore at that moment. It was just not the right time. She cleared her throat and said, "Um... I'm going to put these in some water. Why don't you take a seat?"
"Sure," Steve replied gently and watched Jeannie disappear into the kitchen. He started to make his way to the living room when curiosity got the better of him and he stepped over to the table where Jeannie had laid a photo frame down as she took the flowers from him. Lifting the frame carefully with his injured hand, he felt his chest constricting tightly around his heart and crushing his lungs until he felt he couldn't breathe. Whatever Jeannie had with Whitney must've been special. So special that Jeannie must've forgiven him for all his sins or could it just be she was grieving and lamenting memories of him? Could he be misinterpreting what he had just found? Then why did she try to hide the item from view? He saw her place the frame face down in a way that she wanted to avoid his questioning stare. So consumed with heartache and confusion, he didn't even feel the pain radiating through his fingers as he held the frame so tightly that the fractures in his hand protested. It wasn't until he heard Jeannie's footsteps returning from the kitchen, that he loosened his grip and placed the frame back down onto the table.
Jeannie held a vase in her hands when she saw Steve still standing where she had left him, looking as though he needed to be someplace else. "Is everything okay?"
"Yeah, I – I can't stay. I just remembered I have something I need to do," Steve responded with a hint of regret carried in his voice.
"Oh," Jeannie couldn't hide her disappointment and confusion. "But you just got here. Couldn't whatever it is wait?"
"I'm sorry, Jeannie. I have to go," Steve shook his head sadly. He stepped forward, placed his hands over Jeannie's arms and leaning forward, he kissed her softly on the cheek, allowing his lips to linger before whispering in her ear, "Take care of yourself."
Jeannie stood, grasping the vase tightly in her hands as she watched Steve walk out the door. A single tear rolled down her face and in a barely audible voice, she said, "Goodbye, Steve."
Without a backward glance, Steve closed the door behind him. He stood on the porch and drew a deep breath of the crisp air to soothe the ache deep within his chest then with a heavy heart he walked back to his car. It was obvious to him now that there was no place in Jeannie's heart for him. Perhaps there never was. At least, not in the way he had held her in his. Whitney had made sure of that and it was time for him to let her go and move on with his life so she can heal and do the same.
Jeannie breathed in the fragrant scent of the lilacs, her mind reeling over what had just happened. What could be so urgent that Steve felt compelled he had to leave so suddenly? With a sigh, she walked over to the hallway table and picked up the photo frame to allow room for the vase but stopped when she noted that the frame was not how she had left it. The photograph of Whitney and her younger self stared back at her. She immediately recalled that she had deliberately placed the frame placed face down on the table when she walked away from Steve. She didn't think that his curiosity would get the better of him but she was clearly wrong. And why would such an innocent photograph cause such a reaction in Steve if he did not bear the kind of feelings that she had waited so long for him to express to her?
Oh, Steve!
Putting two and two together, she knew she had to stop Steve from stepping out of her life again. Quickly putting down the vase on the table and the frame beside it, she lunged for the front door, wrenched it open and stepped outside, only to see the rear of Steve's Porsche disappear down the street.
Jeannie returned inside the house, closed the door and leaned her back against the surface. A tidal wave of emotions gripped her and she slid down onto the floor, covering her face in both hands as she succumbed to the sea of pain that drowned her in its depths.
To be continued…
Only know you love her when you let her go
And you let her go – "Let Her Go" by Passenger
