Chapter 7

© Copyright 2006 by Elizabeth Delayne



“I come bearing gifts.”

Nicole looked up from her book as Jason came through the door carrying a mailed package. It was still a shock to see him, to watch him come in her room and think ... that’s Jason.

That’s my brother.

He looked tired—nervous—but who wouldn’t worry when they were about to take on a ten year old deaf boy?

She had already been up, gingerly got dressed in the loose fitting summer dress that Trisha had brought her before she sat back down to read. She wasn’t a dress person—had rarely worn one—but it was either that or a hospital gown.

She tugged at the dress, twisted slightly and winced at the pain.

For a pair of jeans ...

She wasn’t used to new things—to gifts, to things that were just ... pretty. Trisha had brought in a few pieces of the bedding for Nicole to choose from. She’d seen paint swatches. It overwhelmed her. So much color and expense. She’d never be able to pay Jason back. She didn’t need those things.

She hadn’t planned to stay. She hadn’t thought that through. To think Jason and Gabriel could arrange what she couldn’t. To leave New York, to be with Dusty ... to start over.

With her family.

She stared down at the book she held. It was new, a paperback copy of the hardback she’d brought from New York. It was silly to feel like she should weep over a book, but she did. Her father had taken so much from her—destroyed what meant most. First her family, then her books. He’d stabbed her—his daughter.

She shouldn’t have been surprised.

When she tugged at the dress again, Jason’s eyes turned wary.

”We should get the doctor. Get you something.”

”It’s not the pain. It’s ...” she hesitated for only a moment. “The dress.”

Jason stared at her–for a moment she was afraid he thought of her comment as ingratitude. Then he laughed. “You haven’t changed all that much. Double pig tails and braids are missing though.”

”Even Tom Boys do outgrow some things.”

Jason gestured with the box. “Gabriel went by your place, picked up the books you had right by your bed.”

“That was fast.”

“He overnighted them for me.”

Jason set the box down at her side. He pulled out his pocket knife and handed it to her.

She opened the knife herself and stared down at the blade. It was a tough piece, she thought ... not a piece for executives ... but still, not one that would help him survive on the streets.

She shivered ... thought of the knife her father had used. Her father.

Jason placed his hand over hers. She looked up and met his dark eyes. “You okay?”

“Yeah ....” She opened the box, picked each book up—familiar treasures, their feel, the stories ... all the facts and words she could read and learn, that no one could take away from her. They were books she’d had on a bookshelf by her bed–favorites, a few that had belonged to her mother.

She carefully placed them back inside. “Tell him ... thanks. He’s doing so much.”

And it made her uncomfortable.

“I know.”

Jason wasn’t comfortable with it either—she could tell by the restless gesture in his shoulders.

He picked up the box and looked back at the nurse who’d come in behind him. “They said you’d already signed your papers. So I guess you’re ready to go.”

She curled her fingers around her book and slowly lowered her legs off the bed. When she winced, dealing with the sharp pain, he reached out a hand, steadied her.

Then in the heavy silence that had surrounded them, he helped her pack the small treasures she had been given over the last few days: a few cards, a small book of prayers, and a book from his minister.

* * *

Gabriel walked into the precinct, back through familiar territory–where he’d met with New York officers on several occasions–-to the conference room he’d been loaned so they’d have a place to spread out and sort it through the paperwork. It was all familiar—too familiar. He shut the door a little too hastily.

Behind him, Julie caught it. “Gabriel, what’s wrong?”

He turned, stared at her, and realized she wouldn’t know. What she saw in him now was what he had been before escaping. The deep, darkness rose like bile.

Julie wasn’t the wide eyed southern girl he’d dated, once ... thought he’d loved. She hadn’t just chopped her hair, grown into those long legs. She’d hardened, toughened up. Like him.

Too much like him.

“I need to get busy.”

“You can talk to me.”

So she’d always said, dozens of times. And he had been able to talk to her. Just not enough ... not enough to unclench the torment inside.

“And say what? What would you like to hear?”

“Like what set you off just now. You came roaring in here ... the way you used to.” She stepped in, shut the door behind her. “It just occurred to me. This is the first time I’ve seen you like I was used to seeing you. Full speed ahead Gabriel Flynn, with the anger flashing in his eyes and the bitterness on the edge of his voice.”

He turned away, stared out the window without shifting the blinds away. He was tense, his hands balled into fists and held at his side. His missed his tools, the feel of the soil against his fingers and the wide open nature surrounding him. He missed his patrol car, and the winding streets surrounded by trees.

He stared up at the tall building across the street. He missed being where nothing was taller then the trees.

Julie stepped close, put her hand on his arm. He had to fight the urge to pull back. That was the old Gabriel. The old Gabriel a step away from death.

“I don’t miss him, but I’d like to know what brought him back.”

He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. He could tell her that he’d driven out to his folks place last night, sat with his family, and felt like an outsider.

He could tell her about the rage that mounted as he sat in traffic ... the tension and anger that seemed to roll down his spine.

But that wouldn’t have answered the question. He could put up the right walls, do the duty and get through the day. He knew how to do it.

“The crowds, the traffic ... the tension. There are drug problems in Doughton Woods. There’s homeless. The city’s close enough that I still see a little of everything ... but I ...” he turned, met her eyes. “When I look around, I see life—not concrete and metal. It’s just a cell around here, just a large, cell ...full of prisoners.”

“Gabriel—“

”Come back with me, Julie,” he said suddenly and grabbed her hand, pulled her a little closer—his lips curled up in his best smile, and he felt his heart settle.

Not because of her, but because he felt the peace return when he thought of his new home.

“Come back home—not just to bring Dusty, but to stay. It’s different—I’m different down there. It could work for us this time.”

She pulled back her hand, narrowed her gaze with a firm stare. Oh, she’d had her reasons for breaking up with him back then. He could tell she wasn’t interested now.

“This is my home now, Gabriel.”

He was dismissed, he thought, and heard the finality in her voice. He watched as she walked over to the table, stared down at the list they’d compiled of things they needed to complete. They’d worked so well together all those years ago in Jersey ... the glimmer of hope in her eyes, the enthusiasm for life had drawn him out—had drawn him to her.

But he’d been in love with a shadow. He’d fallen in love with her southern charm, the stories of fireflies and mountain trails.

He hadn’t loved her.

Certainly not her self-determination. He’d never been able to accept the person she was inside—the whole reason she’d left the small town down south behind. She was driven ... her intellect, her diligence, her need for the speed of the city—that was Julie.

He’d been in love with the stories of her home town ... and he’d eventually succumbed to the call of that inner need. Jason had needed that change as well. They’d faced it together.

And they’d found home.

He glanced back at Julie. She’d moved on, unaffected by the turmoil of his thoughts. She was working on the details.

And the sooner the details were ironed out, the sooner he would be home.

* * *

Trisha followed Nicole up the stairs and glanced back down to where Jason waited in the kitchen. He was out of his element. As much as she looked forward to talking to Nicole and showing her around, her first responsibility was to Jason.

And that meant to see that Nicole was settled.

She adjusted the box of books and led Nicole into the first bedroom—once Gabrielle’s, now Dusty’s. The window was wide open, letting in the warm late summer breeze and letting out the bitter smell of fresh paint. The room had been freshly painted in rich blues, the lighter almost the color of half faded jeans. A stripe ran around the length of three walls, a checkerboard design graced the other. There were a dozen framed posters on the wall, from airplanes to an African safari.

Maybe it was too much ... and maybe it was enough to make a boy feel welcome.

Nicole walked over a poster of a train and ran a finger over the front of the engine. The only request she’d had for either herself or Dusty’s rooms was for there to be a lot of pictures in his. “This really looks ... amazing. You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble. Dusty and I ... we’re used to much ... simpler things.”

“So are the rest of us— ” Trisha laughed. “So it was nice for Jason to give us carte blanche. What girl wouldn’t like to try out some of the tricks you see on TV with someone else’s money and someone else’s house? The girls from church had a blast. Everyone who came practically had all of TLC and HGTV memorized.”

Nicole turned around, and struggled over the new information over the pain and the weariness. Trisha took her hand. “Come on. You look tired. I’ll show you your room.”

* * *

Nicole lay on the just refurnished four poster bed and stared up at the ceiling. It was easier then looking at the walls and thinking of all the work that had gone into the room because of a bunch of people she had neither met, nor ever thought of meeting.

Even seeing Dusty’s room, painted blue with the photos of planes and trains and far off places that went far beyond the simple fare that she had suggested—she hadn’t been prepared for her own.

They’d made it look like the pictures of a Tuscan villa, or so Trisha had said. They’d used cream and tan, a mixture of Venetian plaster on the walls—an experiment that several of the ladies were now ready to try in their own homes. The mattress beneath her was new, the bed itself supposedly an antique find. The bed was covered in fine gold and red linens and pillows, and the window coverings were a sheer, draping fabric in a golden cream...

She felt like a princess, lost in the fairy world of the books she’d adored as a child.

Even if it had not been designed by Jason—even if he hadn’t put the effort into it—he’d seen that it was done. He’d turned it over to Trisha, whom he trusted.

Which was something else to wonder over ... there was something between them, strong, but stilted. Nicole wanted to know why ... and wondered if there was something she could do to fix it before she went home.

They shouldn’t have put in so much effort into her room. Everyone seemed certain that Nicole was here to stay—but luck didn’t usually run that way—not for her. If Dusty could be settled, and happy, she would be able to go back to New York at peace. Staying ... building a family together, that was the stuff for dreams.

And the only place she’d ever found that was in her books.

She sat up and dislodged the flaps of the cardboard box Trisha had carried up for her. On top sat the children’s book Pastor Lewis had brought with him on his last visit. She’d heard of the Narnia books before, had heard some of the people in her book group talk about them. There had been a paperback set in the prison’s library, a battered set, donated years before.

This copy was hard bound, like a children’s book, worn on the edges, tall and wide, and oh so thin, with an old looking picture sketched on the front with children looking into what must be the wardrobe.

She opened to the first page with the same wonder and hope that came every time she opened a book. It was hard to explain to people the draw the pages and the words had for her. Whether fiction or resource, the books opened her eyes and heart...

... something she didn’t know how to do with people.

She read everything in the book, from the copyright, to the dedication ... and finally reached the story. She met the children who, like her, were in a new place. She could see English countryside from the pictures she had seen in books ... and she saw the professor in the memories of her life in the Bronx. He’d been called Lue and lived on the fifth floor of the old apartment building. He’d told her stories, and had given her a book once for her birthday ... and peppermints on hot summer days.

Peter reminded her of memories of Jason, and in an ornery way, Edmond reminded her of Dusty. Then, as the children tripped through the story, she followed Lucy into the wardrobe and as always, was lost in the world beyond.

* * *

Trisha found Jason outside on the porch. He sat on the steps and help the cordless phone loosely in his hands. He stared out over his yard, the sweeping lawn, then toward the trees that edged the woods to the road beyond.

He was brooding she thought, and smiled, and wondered if she’d discovered the Rossi family secret. The were brooders ... deep thinkers, worriers, people that had a hard time accepting help. In the short tour, Nicole had worried over all they’d done, more so for her—but even some for Dusty. She’d never voiced the worry, but it was clear—as clear as it was in Jason’s eyes now.

But Trisha loved the brother, and found it easy to open her heart to the sister. She sat down on the steps and tucked the skirt of her summer dress underneath her. She brushed back the hair that picked up in the wind and waited for Jason to talk.

He was thinking ... for he liked his thoughts, and he usually kept them to himself. She was used to that. She was learning to give him the silence, knowing it was a gift, learning to let him process before he spoke—before expecting him to speak. Just because he didn’t tell her, didn’t mean he wouldn’t.

“That was Julie,” he looked down at the phone and swallowed, his brow furrowed. “The judge approved everything. She’s bringing Dusty in the morning.”

Trisha could have told him that everything would be all right—but she knew there would be a struggle—and that, more than anything, was what he worried over. For it would get harder before it would get better.

If anyone knew that, Jason did.

So she leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder and gently ran her hand up and down his back, trying to sooth, like she would have soothed an anxious child.

He shifted slightly, but only to lift his arm up and around her, drawing her into the warmth of his side. “I don’t what to do ...”

He sighed and fell silent, but Trisha filled in the blanks. He didn’t know what to do about kids, about a deaf kid. He didn’t know how to share ... didn’t know how to deal with having a female around either. Didn’t know ... or didn’t believe he knew about love and family.

And he, being Jason, would worry over every detail.

“I pray,” he said at last, “but it ... Dusty will still come off the plane tomorrow. He’ll still wonder where I’ve been ... why I haven’t ... cared before now. And I don’t have any answers.”

She moved so she could look at him. “You’ve cared. Don’t let yourself be blasted with blame for that. Do you think I don’t know what all those brooding moments in your life have been? You’d look at me, and think I wasn’t enough ... because you were worried about your family. Ever since the night you told me about Nicole, I’ve known there was more. I’ve known ...”

He turned and stared at her, he pulled his arm back around until he just held her arm. “You’ve always been enough.”

“No—” she shook her head, “but I’ve understood, and that’s enough for now... because you’re doing something. You don’t know what, you don’t know how, but you’re doing something.”

“I can’t do anything.”

“You’re afraid, Jason, but ... life isn’t easy. It just isn’t.”

“I know.”

He was remembering his mother, remembering the months that he’d watched her die, the months after and the fights he’d had with his father. She thought of the summer after her mother died. She’d had to drop out of school, come home to take care of her father. All of her dreams ... everything had washed away.

And she’d missed her mom terribly.

“I bought a book on sign language. I’ve practiced a little. Maybe we could study.”

He grinned—even if the emotion didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Like a study date?”

“Knowing you, we wouldn’t get anything done. I’ll be your tutor—then you’ll have to pay me.”

He laughed and slowly let his fingers intertwine with hers. “I’ll think of something.”



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