Chapter One
February 21, 2004
Dear Jase,
Ha-ha, very funny. No, I’m not gonna call my daughter ‘That Kid’ for the rest of her life. Look, I didn’t get to name my son, okay? I wanted to get it right with my baby girl. So it took me a while, so what? Three months isn’t that long. I think I finally came up with just the right calling card to give her.
Grace Corinthos Benson.
What d’ya think? Since both Michael and I are going by Benson these days, I figured that was right. But, I wanted her to have something of her father’s. I’ll be smart about it, Jase, I promise. She’ll go by Grace C. Benson; I won’t take any risks with her, don’t worry.
Grace, that part just seemed like...like a way to give her something I never had. I’ve never walked through this world with a whole lot of grace, have I? I want my baby to step lightly when she walks; I figured if I can’t teach it to her, I’d better give her all the heads up I can. Does that make any sense? Do you get what I mean? Bet you do, even though I’m sure you’re sitting there shaking your head like I’m crazy. You always get what I mean when it matters.
So, she’ll be baptized next Sunday. I know you can’t make it up or anything, but I figured if you were in church about the same time, you could be thinking of us then. Me and Michael’ll think of you too, and it’ll be like you’re there. Or, you know, close as we can get.
Michael’s been talking about you a lot recently. It’s weird; he almost never talks about Sonny. His shrink says he’s still not ready, that he’ll ask questions when he’s ready to hear the answers. ‘You don’t ask, you don’t get’. Learned that one in Ferncliff -- guess Michael’s not ready to get, yet. But, you, Jase, you’ve been on his mind all the freaking time lately.
Like, we were down at the beach a few days ago, and he comes running up with a conch shell. He held it up to my ear. “Listen, Mommy, you can hear the ocean!”
I laughed, pointed out that with or without the conch, we could hear the ocean, and tickled him ‘til he collapsed.
Later that night, I went in to tuck him in. He had that shell with him, and after his story, he wanted to snuggle for an extra long time. I thought he was asleep when he finally spoke up. “Mommy?” He held the conch to his ear again. “Can I hear Port Charles in my shell?”
It was like a punch in the gut, Jase. I mean, nine months, you know? I keep hoping he’ll forget, even though I know better. “I don’t know, baby,” I said, finally. “What do you think?”
He held it up to his ear a long time, his forehead wrinkled in concentration. “I think I can hear Uncle Jason. I think he’s riding his motorcycle.” Michael took the shell down then and looked at me. “Uncle Jason loves me. Up to the sky and around the world.”
“That he does, baby,” I whispered, glad it was dark so my son couldn’t see the tears in my eyes. Within minutes he was breathing heavy, fingers still wrapped around that damn shell.
I didn’t know he remembered that. So much for forgetting, huh? Not that I want Michael to forget you, Jase, not really. It’s just -- I don’t want my kid to always be searching for something that got left behind. I lived that; it’s a thing I don’t wanna pass on to my son.
I don’t know, maybe he’s looking for a daddy. I mean, he is my kid, right? And, you’re a safer choice than Sonny or AJ. Or maybe he’s just looking for a man in his life; between me, Grace, and Meghan, Michael’s pretty much surrounded by women. Seems like no matter how hard or how far I run, I’m gonna find some way to screw up my kid. Oh well. Wouldn’t be a Spencer if I didn’t.
God. Did I just call myself one of them? Forget I wrote it; tear this letter up into little teeny, tiny bits and swallow the pieces. I mean it, Jase, you better.
Speaking of, though, could you tell Bobbie to quit nagging at me? If you see her or something. She keeps writing me these long letters with these really heavy messages about not wallowing in guilt and getting on with my life. All of which really mean ‘come back home’ which she knows damn well I’m not gonna do. I’m just so tired of arguing with her, and if you say something, maybe she’ll listen, finally.
Since we’re on the subject of lives and moving on with them -- you better be doing all of the above. I’m not gonna say anything about Courtney ‘cause you know what I think there. But, even if you’re not with her, doesn’t mean you’ve gotta shut off the way you do. You better not be sleeping on that damn couch and eating cold pizza every meal. I’m not gonna walk in your life and wake you up this time, Jase. I’m trying like hell to keep myself breathing; I can’t be that for you again. You’ve gotta do it on your own.
I don’t think you should leave Port Charles, either. You wrote me that you were thinking about taking off again and traveling. I know I don’t get to talk about that; I ran, after all. I don’t care. I’m gonna say it anyways: stay. If you leave, Sonny’s gonna chase you everywhere you go. You’ll carry him with you, I know you will. I know you. Remember the last time you went? Did you ever leave any of us behind, really? No matter how far you run, there you are. Believe me, I learned this one the hard way. You didn’t kill him, Jason. It’s not your fault. Stay, and make that keep being true. If you run, it never will be.
Besides, if I ever do come home, I need someone to come home to. See? Screw everything I said above -- selfish motives. Typical Carly, right?
I better go; Grace’s gonna be getting hungry soon. I’m gonna kiss her twice, once for me and once for her Uncle Jason. Michael, too. I love you. Stay safe -- Carly
