The Good Son
By Nicole Pruitt

Rating: M | Status: Completed | Genre: Supernatural/Angst | Series: None
Summary: Original Series. A back story on the Jennings family through the eyes of Tom.

Go to: Part 1 | Part 2

1952

He tried to pay attention during the sermon, but the only thing that held his awareness was the pinch of his shiny black dress shoes against his pinky toe. There was no need to listen to the droning of the frail old minister; no one expected him to anyway. Each Sunday, his father would ask him what he had learned during church and he would never be able to answer. His mind seemed to go blank each time his father inquired, leaving him feeling stupid and slow. And he knew exactly what his father would say after his few failed stumbles. He would "tsk" softly as he shook his head. "Thomas, dear Thomas, what am I going to do with you? Why can’t you be more like your brother?"

At that point, Tom would glance over toward his brother Chris. It usually took a minute for the boy to realize that he was being stared at, but the moment he noticed, he would quickly turn to his younger brother and stick out his tongue. This action was fast; if you didn’t know that Chris was prone to such behavior, you would never catch him in the act. Of course, his parents didn’t know that he did this, so they never caught their oldest as he taunted his brother. Tom knew that the moment he dared to respond would be the exact moment his parents looked back at him. They would catch him sticking out his tongue and they would see Chris staring into the well-worn pages of his book, looking the innocent angel to his brother’s red devil. It was better just to ignore him and hope nothing happened to him once they return to their home.

Needless to say, Tom hated Sunday mornings.

A 3-½ years age difference foreshadows strained sibling relations like little else. This held especially true for the Jennings brothers. At first sight, they looked astonishingly similar. Occasionally, they would be mistaken for twins, much to the brothers’ mutual chagrin. "How could Mrs. Evans think we’re twins?" Chris had once moaned. "I’m older and taller than that little pipsqueak!" Tom usually shrugged off such perceptions. He knew that he didn’t hate his brother, but he couldn’t be too sure of Chris’ feelings for him. The older boy had nearly four shining years alone with his parents; Tom had ruined that by being conceived. Both brothers knew this fact and Chris had no qualms about reminding Tom of it at every available moment.

The usual fights between siblings took on a particularly physical turn with the brothers. Chris would regularly beat Tom to a pulp, occasionally accepting a helping hand from their cousin Joe. The younger boy couldn’t take them on his own, so he usually let the beating proceed until both boys grew tired and went to find something else to do. Tom would then wander back to his house where his mother would be waiting with an ice pack and a bottle of iodine. She had probably seen the older boys running down the street and realized that they had once again pummeled her youngest to the ground. "You have to be careful of them, Thomas," she would whisper softly. "You can’t let them do this to you every time they feel devious."

"But I can’t hurt them," Tom would cry as he fell into his mother’s warm arms. "I’ll always be smaller than them and I’ll always be the butt of their jokes. I’ll never win!"

"Nonsense," she would reply. "You are a lovely, intelligent boy and you’ll grow to be a lovely, intelligent young man. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Don’t let anyone else make you feel low. Thomas, dear, you can’t let anyone control your life."

Besides his mother, Tom knew that he had one more ally: his grandmother Lenore. His mother’s mother had lived with the family since Tom was only a few months old. Unlike Chris, Tom saw the old woman as a family asset and not as yet another interloper ruining his "perfect life." Lenore recognized this and gave her love in kind. She knew that Chris treated Tom badly and, for that reason, refused to speak to the boy unless someone else in the family was present. "Um . . . grandma, Chris wants to know why you don’t talk to him," Tom had quietly asked Lenore.

Lenore coaxed Tom onto her lap and held him tightly. "I don’t talk to him because he’s such an unrepentant child."

"That’s not what everyone else says. They all say that I’m bad because I’m not always quick like Chris and I’m not . . . "

"Stop it! What’s with all the ‘I’m nots?’ Listen to me, Thomas, and listen well. I don’t think that you’re stupid and neither does your mother. I’ve seen the marks you get in school. You earn better grades than Chris did when he was your age. Did you know that?" He shook his head. "I thought not," she whispered coldly. "Your father is lax on showing you any praise. You’re a slow learner (there’s no shame in it), but once you get it down, you’ve got it for life. Chris had to constantly relearn things. You’d be surprised by how much he messes up."

Tom sat back in amazement as grandmother Lenore spoke his praise. Even his mother was weary of being this thoughtful. He was surprised that she had picked up on so much that had gone on around the house. He, like everyone else, had underestimated her. "But I don’t get it," he murmured. "Why are you telling all this to me now?"

"Because I want you to know it." Lenore held her grandson even closer as she kissed his forehead. "I see good things in your future, Thomas. Promise me you’ll always be a good boy and I tell you, all your dreams will come true."

"Yes, mam."

1960

‘It’ll be three kids now,’ thought Tom as he sat in the waiting room. His mother lay in the delivery room, going through the pains of giving birth to her third child with none of her loved ones around her. From what the nurses told them, she was not having a good time with it. His father wanted to be with his wife, but the nurses insisted that he stay in the waiting room because he would be of "no use" to his wife. That insinuation sent him over the edge, and he left the building to walk off some steam. Since Chris, on winter break from college, had gone off with Joe to visit a friend, it was Tom’s job to sit in the waiting room and linger for any word from the nurses. "Don’t leave this post. If I find out that you did, you’ll be in deep trouble. You understand?" Tom nodded frantically. Mr. Jennings nodded curtly and stormed off. Tom could only sigh once his father left the room. Although he would soon turn seventeen and was now tall enough to look his father in the eye, he continued to back down to him.

Tom resumed his seat in the nearly empty waiting room. The silence felt eerie. "This is a small town hospital," he murmured quietly. "Doesn’t everybody come here? Shouldn’t this place be crawling with bodies?"

"Well Tom Jennings, I didn’t expect to see you here!"

Tom looked up quickly and smiled. Maggie Evans stood a few feet away from him, still dressed in her uniform and looking weary. It didn’t matter to him; he always thought she looked lovely. Tom remembered when Chris, Joe, and Maggie palled around after school. They had seemed inseparable. Of course, the moment Chris went away to college, the holy triumvirate crumbled and Tom rarely saw any of them afterwards, especially his own brother. That had been three years ago. "Um . . . I’m a bit in shock myself," he managed to mumble. "What brings you here, Maggie?"

"Pop hurt himself. He’s being held for observation. I just wanted to check up on him before I headed home. Why are you here?"

"Mom . . . baby . . . long story."

"Uh-huh? How’s she doing?" Tom told Maggie exactly what the nurses had told him. "Ugh, that’s horrible. Where’s Chris during all of this? He’s home for the holidays, isn’t he?"

"He’s out with Joe."

"You mean that he searched out Joe without bothering to look for me?" asked Maggie, her voice inflicted with faux anger. "Of all the . . . argh! Listen, do you want to go search with me for them?"

With thoughts of his father’s orders (and extreme sibling hatred) dancing in his head, Tom politely declined. "Understood." Maggie glanced around the room quickly and took a seat next to Tom. Maggie giggled sweetly as she looked him over, taking her time to glance him up before her eyes met with his. "It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. Well, not really but you were . . . what . . . thirteen when we last talked? You’re older now and you don’t look a thing like the boy who used to run from the Jennings/Haskell domination duo."

"Um . . . okay," mumbled Tom. Was she coming on to him?

"You have changed," she continued. "You’re turning out to be quite the looker, if you don’t mind me saying. You’ll end up cuter than Chris, watch and see."

Tom broke the stare. ‘Yep, she’s coming on to me. She has to be tired to even think about doing something this silly!’ He turned back to Maggie and said, "I don’t think most people would agree with you."

"Most people are stupid." She leaned in and whispered, "Hey, I’ve heard that there’s actually another diner in town. Isn’t that a hoot! So, why don’t you and I go get some coffee? I want to be waited on for once, you know?"

"Yeah, I know." Tom actually contemplated leaving his post and following Maggie to go get coffee. What would people say? Probably nothing. He looked so much like Chris that they would just assume that he was his older brother. Besides, Maggie was only three years older than him. That wasn’t ancient . . . not in the least. And she wanted him to come! He would be able to spend at least a half hour solely in her company. In just the brief moments that he lulled the proposition over, Tom came up with so many scenarios of this rendezvous, each one seeming a bit more ambitious than the last. He would be a fool not to go with her!

But once again his father’s warning rung inside his head: "Don’t leave this post. If I find out that you did, you’ll be in deep trouble. You understand?" Tom understood loud and clear. No leaving the waiting room. No leaving the hospital. No leaving to drink coffee with a flirtatious woman. "I’m sorry, Maggie, but I’ve really got to stay here. Something might happen with mom and no one would be around to hear about it. You understand, don’t you?"

"Absolutely." She jumped form her seat and sighed. She took his hand in hers, looking directly into his eyes as she said, "But you’ll have to take me up on that some other time, okay?" Tom nodded, hoping not to seem to eager. Maggie smiled, and, with a pleasant goodbye, she left the waiting room. As she left, he heard her say, "Keep an eye on your kid brother. He’s going to break hearts!"

A few seconds later, Chris wandered into the waiting room. From the look on his face, Tom could tell that Maggie’s words had completely confused him. He laughed a little and asked, "Since when were you going to break hearts? You’re not the pretty one."

Tom wanted to let his brother’s insult roll away but he couldn’t. Chris had mocked and degraded him for years. Maggie’s small bit of flirtation was just the ego boost he desperately needed. He wasn’t going to let his brother deride it and make it seem insignificant. Without thinking, Tom spat, "I became the pretty one when you decided to get that god awful haircut. Did you pay someone to do that or did you just hold your head too close to the blades of an electric fan?

Chris seemed taken aback for a moment. He recovered quickly however, and took the seat beside his brother. "Are you telling me that only a few little words from Ms Evans turned you into this King of Sarcasm that sits beside me? Really kid, your self esteem must be nothing." Chris looked ahead when he added, "You know, she’s going with Joe to get some coffee."

Tom blinked. Had she forgotten him so quickly? And for Joe! Sure, the guy was a looker, but . . . God . . . Joe! His cousin made sheetrock seem intelligent. How would Maggie find any enjoyment with Joe? As much as it bothered him, Tom did his best not to let his disappointment show. "Why should I care? Maggie does what she wants."

Chris nodded. The doctor and a few nurses quickly ran into the waiting room. Tom noticed that Chris ran a hand through his hair as one of the nurses stared at him. He had made his unshakable brother feel self-conscious! Whatever else might happen later, that little show of insecurity was enough to make Tom’s day.

Amy Jennings was born on December 13, 1960. She was small, a little too small and had to be kept in an incubator for a while. Everyone did their best to comfort the mother and keep the baby as safe as possible. All were surprised by how considerate Tom was. They had always assumed that Chris was the nice, caring young man. He was at least the more outgoing of the two. Most had thought Tom to be more than a little shifty. His show of compassion was highly unexpected. While Tom stuck around to help care for both mom and baby, Chris headed back to school without bothering to make sure if everything was settled. "I told you," Lenore whispered to Tom on New Year’s Eve. "They’re going to all learn what a good boy you are. You’ll prove yourself yet!"

1962

Tom wandered back home around 9:00 PM. They had finished work on the old Peterson place around five, but the other men had wanted Tom to join them for a drink. No one cared that he had just turned eighteen in January or that his parents probably expected him home before supper. "You’re a working man, Jennings!" one of them had joked. "You can stand just a little." Tom didn’t know what to think of being called a "working man," but he willingly accepted their hospitality. In a few months, he would be starting college. He only took jobs as a handyman to make extra money before heading off for school. When he told the others that he would be leaving small town life behind to search for something better, they laughed. "This is Collinsport, kid," one had said sympathetically. "There’s not much room for change. You think you’re going to learn something and get a great big job in the city, but the stakes are against you. You can’t fight fate."

Tom humored them, but he knew deep down that he would get away. Joe might have become entangled in the small town’s snare, but Chris had escaped. He recently graduated from college and he planned to be an architect. Tom thought that his brother would make a fine one but refused to tell him so. The silence between the two after the graduation ceremony had been horrendous. Friends attempted to get Tom to lighten up and speak to his brother, but he shied away from doing so, thinking that Chris didn’t want him too close to him as his friends. His brother seemed so distant. Some chalked that distance up to whatever deep thoughts might be floating through the graduate’s head. Tom knew Chris’ head was muddled by either thoughts of the leggy redhead at the bar or plans on how to celebrate his quickly approaching 21st birthday. Either way, Tom let Chris be and only spoke to him before he left to go home.

Tom had been the first to leave, followed quickly by his mother, and much later by his father. Lenore had been too ill to attend. His father had stayed long enough so that he might adequately celebrate the achievement of his favorite son. Chris was the first member of the family known to have graduated from college. That mere fact dwarfed Tom’s quickly approaching high school graduation. Tom would graduate in the top ten percent of his class. Of course, Chris had graduated just as high in his class, and in their father’s eyes, that was the weightier feat. Tom wasn’t jealous . . . not at all! He only wished that Chris would screw up once. For once in his life, he wanted to be recognized for existing. He highly doubted that it would happen.

As Tom crept back into the house, he noticed that the lights shown dimly from the living room. Everyone was usually in bed by nine. What could be going on? The moment he entered the room, all eyes settled onto him. The eyes he immediately searched out were those of Amy. The little girl sat on her mother’s lap, her smile broadening as her big brother approached. They once thought that she would be some fragile flower, her health improved quickly and seemed to love touching all things that moved into her field of vision. She loved her brother Tom most of all. The beautiful girl laughed most in his presence and demanded him to play with her at least once a day. He spent his time with the girl early this morning, but he could tell that she wanted him to hold her now. She cooed as Tom took her into his arms and let her sit with him in the old rocking chair. He kissed Amy’s nose and looked up. He was shocked by the way his mother, father, and Lenore stared at him. "What am I missing guys?"

His father cleared his throat and said, "I’ve got something to tell you . . . something about Chris."

Tom quietly sniffed as he ran his finger over Amy’s small nose. "What’s he done now? Stopped world hunger?"

"It’s not like that. Chris is missing and has been since last week."

"Last week! And we’re just finding this out!" Tom fell back into the rocking chair, careful to hold Amy close as the chair bucked. He looked back to his father and asked, "Do they have any idea what happened?"

"They don’t really know. His room’s a wreck. All of his things were just strewn around the place like someone had ransacked it looking for something."

"So the authorities think there was a struggle?"

"They don’t know. They can’t think of anyone that would want to harm Chris. Do you know anyone who would want to hurt your brother?"

Tom didn’t know of anyone specific who would want to hurt Chris, but he knew of a few general things that would get him in trouble. Chris was quite a drinker and, on occasion, he was known to smoke something a little stronger than cigarettes. Rumor also had it that Chris was notoriously unfaithful to his many partners. He could have easily angered some anonymous brute that wanted to avenge his deflowered girlfriend of stolen stash. If Chris had been beaten up, he might have deserved it. Tom couldn’t tell his father that, though. "Um . . . I don’t know."

His father sighed and shook his head. "It doesn’t matter. They don’t think it was someone else. They don’t think anyone did anything to him. They think that he just left and that he was the one to ruin his room. Do you know why he would do such a thing?"

"I don’t have a clue," mumbled Tom. In all honesty, he didn’t know why Chris would have done such a thing. If anyone had the world by the throat, it was his brother. Chris could have anything he wanted. Why would he leave it all behind? Why wouldn’t he call anyone and tell them where he was? It was too much to think about now. Tom politely excused himself and took Amy with him. He quietly put the girl to bed and slipped out the back door. He pulled one of the cigarettes he had accepted from one of his coworkers and lit up. A moment after he inhaled, he heard footsteps creep up behind him. He turned to see Lenore standing before him, leaning on her smooth wooden cane as if it were all that were keeping her up. "There’s nothing more to say, grandma."

"He’s gone," she whispered as she moved to stand next to Tom. He noticed the stilted way she moved now. When he looked into her face, he could see that the lines had deepened into her flesh, creating heavy folds in her once lovely visage. Lenore had always seemed so youthful to him. When did this change overtake her? When did she officially become old? "He’s gone and he won’t be coming back . . . at least not in my lifetime. This has really been a blow to your father."

"I can imagine. You can’t believe how many times I’ve heard ‘why can’t you be more like your brother? Why can’t you be like Chris?’"

"I know. Now they’re depending on you."

"Huh?"

"You’re leaving for school in a few weeks. I think this incident with Chris might have made him realize that you’ve always stuck around, that you’re the one who’s done what you were supposed to do and did it well."

"I’ll never be respected in this family. It’ll never happen."

"Just wait and see, Thomas. Just wait and see." Lenore kissed Tom’s cheek and wandered back into the house.

Tom waited outside a bit longer, slowly smoking away and trying to contemplate what had happened this night. He squashed the cigarette butt and tossed it into the yard after making sure it was out. Horror filled his eyes as he noticed his father standing a few feet away. "It’s not what you think," he mumbled frantically.

"It’s no big deal, Tom. You’re eighteen and you were smoking a cigarette. It could be much worse." He took a seat on the porch and stared out into the back yard. Tom wasn’t even sure if his father remembered that he was there. His father finally looked over at his younger son, his wearied stare barely able to focus. "I can’t believe he’s gone. Why did he do this?"

"I don’t know." Tom leaned against the railing, careful to keep his face emotionless and his hands burrowed into his pockets. He wanted to appear devastated, but he couldn’t bring up the emotions. He felt some disappointment in his brother, but, in all truth, he didn’t care what had happened to him. He didn’t see a life without Christopher Jennings as being a bad thing. "We don’t know what happened. It might not be something he cann’t explain to us right now. He’ll get in touch with us in his own time," he murmured.

"Maybe so, Tom, maybe so. I just don’t now if I will want to talk to him when that time comes." He looked away, focusing his eyes back onto the expansive back yard. "He’s hurt me. He’s hurt me bad."

"I understand, dad."

"No you don’t understand! You won’t understand until you have kids of your own." He rose from his seat and joined Tom at the rail. They didn’t touch; they didn’t even look at one another. If they had, Tom would have moved to the seat. "I spent so much time with that boy," moaned his father. "I urged him on with everything that he did."

"I know," groaned Tom quietly.

"I praised the boy; I tried to make him feel like he was needed. I tried to give him what I didn’t have from my father."

"Yeah, I know."

"You don’t know shit, Tom," snapped his father. "You don’t know anything about how Chris and I were."

"Of course I do! I was there!" yelled Tom. He moved away from his father and stood closer to the house. "I know how you treated Chris because I know how you didn’t treat me. You treated him like a king and you treated me like a peasant. How do you think I felt? I’ve stuck around here; I’ve pulled my weight. Chris spent all his time playing around with his friends and then left us pretty damn quick for college, never bothering to return except when they closed down the dorms or when he ran out of money. Did you seem to care? No! You just gave him what he wanted without question. How did you think that made me feel?"

"I . . . I didn’t realize that I did that," stuttered his father.

"I don’t see how! You did it so blatantly."

His father only sighed. He moved closer to Tom but his son pulled away and headed toward the door. His father was able to reach him before he walked back into the house, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him back out onto the porch. "I love you, Tom. I know I wasn’t that great at saying it, but I do love you."

"You know, I can’t figure out what you’re more disappointed about: the fact that you lost Chris or that fact that I’m the son you’re left with." With that, Tom pulled out of his father’s grip and ran into the house. He didn’t know how his father reacted to his last comment; he didn’t care. He only wanted to get to his room and go to bed. On the way there, he heard crying from Amy’s room. Carefully, Tom opened the door to see Amy sitting up in her crib. She was staring at her wall. It should be noted that he walls of her room were painted like the sky. One side of the room was painted to appear like day; the other was painted to appear as if it were night. It had taken quite awhile to prepare the room but it was accomplished before her birth. Tom was only glad that the girl seemed to like it. He picked up his sister and held her close to him. "Shh, honey. What’s wrong?"

Amy’s crying dulled to broken whimpers as she pointed a chubby finger toward the left wall. It looked to Tom as if she were pointing toward the large full moon on the facing wall. "Is it the moon bothering you, hon?" Amy cried and wrapped her arms around Tom’s neck. He kissed her forehead and walked her toward the wall. He took one of her hands into his. He carefully made that hand touch the moon. "It won’t hurt you, don’t you see?" Amy pulled her hand away from his and began to wail. She wasn’t getting the message.

Tom carried Amy with him to his room. He searched through his desk until he found a piece of dark construction paper and a roll of tape. He went back to her room and taped over the offending moon. Amy calmed instantly. Tom didn’t understand it, but he had placated his sister. He kissed her forehead and waited around in her room until she fell asleep. He left her room and headed back to his. Tom didn’t know what he was going to do about his family. He knew that his relationship with his father would be edgy. He was only glad that he would be leaving for college in a few weeks. He wouldn’t have to deal with all the drama.

1964

Tom was pleasantly shocked by how well he thrived in college. Classes weren’t half as hard as he had expected they would be and he had made friends easily. Everyone seemed to be instantly taken by the lovely shy boy who sat on the green each afternoon with a sketchbook and a pack of multicolored pencils hidden away in his satchel. "What ‘cha drawing, Tommy?" they would all ask him. Tom would smile, shrug, and politely ask them not to call him "Tommy." Most of the time, he had no clue what he was drawing. He would look at the sketches later to find numerous abstract shapes, most of them all jagged edges and vivid, angry colors. Tom recognized that he had stores of anger hidden away in his system. He supposed that these odd doodles were his way of letting it all out.

Tom kept, as close contact with home was he thought he was able to manage. He rarely talked to his father; they had nothing to say to one another. Tom hadn’t apologized for the things he had said to him before leaving for college. In all truth, he didn’t feel sorry for saying them. He felt those things deeply, so deeply that they penetrated his core and, now, he would find life unrecognizable without those scars lying across his heart. He didn’t hate his father, whose problem lay in that he had fallen into the praise trap. Many men and women had fallen into it and many more would fall in later. He had meant no harm; he had been naïve. Tom, however, cut his brother little slack. Chris had called the family once to prove to them that he was still alive. He refused to answer any of their questions and refused to apologize for abandoning them. Although he had begged their forgiveness for the worry he had caused, he resisted coming home or explaining why he fled. Chris was acting like a child, proving himself to be a complete idiot. Tom never wanted to see him again.

On one seemingly normal day during his second year of college, Tom returned to his room to find a prim looking woman sitting with his roommate, Chad Holliman. Neither of them looked particularly happy. Chad looked particularly devastated. Tom dropped his satchel by his desk and took a seat. "Um . . . I don’t believe we’ve met?" he asked the woman quietly.

The woman nodded curtly and said, "My name is Veronica Buckley." She shook Tom’s hand with a firm, stagnated grip. He thought she could have been pretty if she had just loosened up. "But that doesn’t answer many questions for you, does it Mr. Jennings? I’ve come from Collinsport. I have some terrible news to tell you."

"Wh . . . what is it? Has anything happened to Amy? Grandma?" The looks on the other two’s faces showed that he hadn’t hit the right names yet. "Mom? Dad? Both! What happened?" yelped Tom as he attempted to rise from his chair.

Ms. Buckley ran up to him and pushed him back down into the chair. "Calm down, Mr. Jennings. There’s nothing you can do now." She sighed and knelt in front of the seat, careful not the muss the hem of her skirt as she pulled both knees beneath her body. She took one of Tom’s hands into both of hers, gripping it with warm conviction. She looked into his eyes and said, "There was an accident early this morning. Your parents were driving home when a truck rammed them from behind. Your father did his best to control the car, but he couldn’t and the car ran into a large tree. The impact was massive. Your father died on impact and your mother only survived to the hospital. I hate to tell you this but your parents are dead. Do you hear me, Mr. Jennings?"

Tom didn’t hear a word she said. Dead? His parents were dead? He had talked to his mother the night before. How could she be dead now? And his father! No, they weren’t getting along as of the last time he had been home, but Tom had always believed that they would have had enough time to reconcile. Now they wouldn’t have the chance to quarrel much less mend fences. The realization sent Tom into hysterics, wailing and writhing as if he couldn’t control himself. Ms Buckley took him into her arms and held him to her. "Please calm yourself, Mr. Jennings," she whispered. "I say this not to be cruel but to be practical. Your grandmother is making the arrangements. She wants you to come home and I was sent to retrieve you."

"I hav . . . have ma . . . my own car," stuttered Tom as he pulled away from Ms Buckley.

"But you’re in no condition to drive yourself home, are you?" Tom couldn’t disagree with her. "Okay. Pack a bag and I’ll be waiting downstairs to take you home." Ms Buckley’s face crumbled for a moment and she took Tom’s hand back into her own. "I am so sorry Mr. Jennings. I know that you must be taking this hard."

Tom nodded and watched as Ms Buckley left. The moment the door closed, he emptied out his satchel and began cramming it with clothes. Chad walked up behind him and touched his shoulder. Tom pulled away quickly, but turned back and murmured, "I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can have anyone touch me right now."

"Understood." Chad moved away and retook his seat. The room went silent for a few moments, each second feeling strained and heavy as the boys went about their business. Chad finally spoke up, saying, "Everything’s going to be okay, ya know?"

"I know," mumbled Tom, who was now struggling to shove a pair of black dress shoes into his bag. He took them back out and stared at them, his contempt for the scuffed leather showing before he jammed them into his bag with a "Goddamn shoes" managing to escape his lips. Tom grabbed his keys from the counter and headed for the door. "See you later."

"Yeah." Chad paused before adding, "You are coming back, aren’t you?"

"Sure. Wouldn’t dream of staying away."

Tom didn’t want to see them, to view his parents lying still on their mortuary tables. He would be able to take the funeral; they would be clean and pressed, perfectly coifed for their trip to the great beyond. But now, now they were as the accident had left them. He knew that he couldn’t take that. Yet he was more than ready to greet Amy when the nearly three year old ran into his arms. She was in tears, but Tom doubted that she understood much about the situation. Actually, he didn’t want her to remember this. He looked up to see Lenore standing before them. The lines in her face had gone deeper, making her appear much older than she really was. God, what this most have done to her! Tom offered her his free arm and she gladly took hold of it. "How are you taking it?" she whispered.

"I’m not." He looked down at Amy and asked, "And how is this one?"

"As well as to be expected," moaned Lenore. "I don’t know how to explain it to her. The local councilor told me a few things to say and I said them. I don’t know what good they did but . . . "

"You did your best."

Lenore nodded. "It’ll take awhile for her to realize what has happened."

"Yes, it will," sighed Tom.

"She’ll be inconsolable."

"She will."

"God, what am I going to do without you?"

Tom looked up her oddly. "Who says I’m leaving?"

"You’re going back to school."

"No I’m not!" Tom was shocked by the look that overtook his grandmother’s face. She looked a mixture of disappointed and irate. They would have to talk. Ms Buckley wandered back into the room and Tom handed her Amy, telling her than he would b back in a minute. He turned to his grandmother, and, wordlessly, they headed outside. "I don’t see what the problem is," he hissed carefully. "It’s my life."

"That’s what I’m afraid of," cried Lenore. "You have a life to live. You can’t stay behind to take care of an old woman and a young girl."

"Well, that old woman just happens to be my grandmother and the young girl my sister. I can’t leave you two alone at a time like this."

"I can take care of Amy."

"I don’t think so," said Tom.

Lenore laughed, leaning against the wall to brace her featherweight body. For a moment, Tom thought she had grown younger. The lines had practically disappeared and her mannerisms had changed. She was trying to prove to him hat she wasn’t her age. "I’m not that old."

"You’re almost 70."

"In 3 years!"

"Precisely! Anything can happen in 3 years and I don’t want to be miles away if it does."

Lenore frowned, allowing the age to creep back into her face and overtake it. Tom hated to see that look return. She glanced back up at him, tears filling her eyes, and asked, "I can’t changed you mind?" He shook his head. "Okay. I’m glad to have you here, but God, I wanted so much better for you, Thomas."

"I’m with my family," said Tom, wrapping his grandmother in his arms as he spoke. "Where else am I supposed to be?"

1965

‘Okay, this is creepy.’ Tom stepped inside the house, alternately trying not to make a sound but doing his best to make his presence known to whomever might be inside. Tom was on a mission . . . well, on a job. Mr. Garringer, his boss, had given him an address with the explanation, "I normally take this job. The little twit needs to take better care of her wiring. Anyway, I think you can deal with it. You’ll be paid double." At the time, that was all the explanation Tom needed. Money was always a great motivator. Although he knew the job would be interesting, he didn’t expect the pleasant house at the end of the street to be empty. After knocking for at least five minutes, Tom noticed that the door was unlocked. Against his better judgment, he walked inside.

The house was well furnished, even if most of it was covered in a gossamer thin sheet of dust. The dark drapes were drawn, leaving all illumination to come from the rustic chandeliers. He thought it all looked lovely, like some sort of graceful home in need of a little cleaning to make it perfect.

Tom heard a sound emanate from the kitchen and he followed it. He glanced around the tan colored walls to find nothing. He turned around the see a woman standing in the archway. Her long legs were covered in tight pale denim. The left knee had blown out and she hadn’t bothered to trim the frays, letting them grow into a ragged mess. She wore a faded flannel shirt with the first two buttons undone. Underneath, Tom could see a thin white t-shirt. Her face was freshly flushed and flawless, its lines being delicate and beautiful. Her hair color looked to be ash blonde, but he didn’t assume it was. The room was much too dark to tell. Her eyes looked to be the palest of grays. Tom would have thought her gorgeous had she not been scowling and holding a baseball bat in her right hand. "Okay buster," she spat in a smooth, careful rasp, "you have 30 seconds to tell me who you are or you get to explain it to my Slugger. Got it?"

"Absolutely. I . . . I’m Tom Jennings," he stumbled. "I . . . I work for Garringer. You called him and he sent me here to fix your stuff."

"You don’t work for Garringer," insisted the woman. "I’ve known Garringer forever. I know everyone who works for him. I don’t believe you."

Tom didn’t know what to say. He frantically dug through his pockets to find the directions that his boss had written out. He managed to unearth the note and hand it to the irate younger woman. He noticed that he had moved back a foot after handing her the note. Was he really so intimidated by a girl who couldn’t be more than 20? She read the note and her face fell through once she finished. She looked up at Tom and whispered, "I’m so sorry. See . . . um . . . my step dad knows Mr. Garringer really well and that’s why I know all the guys . . . well, practically all the guys . . . that work form him. You must be new."

"I’ve only worked there a little over a year."

"Oh . . . I was hoping that it would have been a shorter time. I’m so very sorry." The young woman stared at Tom a moment more before her already large eyes widened to extreme proportions. "Oh God," she cried, "I’ve made such a bad impression."

"It’s fine," said Tom. He walked closer to her and extended his hand. "What’s your name?"

"Um . . . Reeves. Genevieve Reeves." She quickly shook his hand and pulled away. Tom could tell that she was embarrassed, but he didn’t know of any way to soothe her. She would stare at him a moment and then turn away just as fast, as if she were afraid to look at him for too long. "Okay, well I better show you where the problem is."

"Wait a minute. What’s wrong?" asked Tom.

"Nothing."

"No, there has to be. You keep looking at me as if there’s something there that seems wrong."

"It’s nothing that a high post bed and a pair of handcuffs won’t fix," she muttered. Genevieve immediately covered her mouth. The poor thing had spoken without thinking. Tom, for one, didn’t know what to say. On one hand, he was definitely shocked. On the other, he was willing to take the comment as a compliment. It had been a long time since anyone had said anything remotely like that to him. None of those girls had been as lovely as Genevieve. Although he was willing to let the comment slide, she didn’t notice. "Well, I . . . um . . . I should take you upstairs. No! I have to take you to the fuse box and then upstairs. Oh, forget it! Follow me."

Tom followed Genevieve to a room in the back. He was a bit worried by the way she looked over his shoulder as he cut the power to the upstairs rooms. But he didn’t mind following her upstairs. He was enjoying the view of her ass swaying as she crept up the stairs. ‘I really need to get out!’ he thought.

Once at the top, Genevieve pulled out her flashlight and pointed toward a power outlet near the head of the stairs. "That’s the problem." Tom shrugged and fell to his knees. As he removed the cover, he felt eyes pierce the back of his skull. He turned around to see Genevieve staring at him, her back pressed into the opposite wall with her legs pulled into her chest as she looked at him. Tom couldn’t describe the way he was staring at her, but it was apparently enough to make her shiver. "Is it okay if I watch?" she asked quietly. "If an audience will bother you, I’ll move on. It’s no big deal."

"No, it’s fine," answered Tom as he turned back to his job. "You just took me by surprise."

"Didn’t mean to." Genevieve went silent for a moment, allowing Tom to prod at the different wires in virtual peace. He found the calm to be refreshing, invigorating. She didn’t seem to appreciate the quiet as much and soon began to talk. "You know, I don’t normally wander around the house like this, you know dressed like common white trash and ready to bash the brains in of every guy who happens to cross my way. See, my parents are out of town for the next 2 weeks. This is the first vacation they’ve had in 5 years. Since it’s been so long, Carl, my step dad, wanted it to be special. Mom always wanted to go south, like Florida or something, and that’s what they did. They’ve never been out of Maine. Neither have I. Have you ever left Maine, Mr. Jennings?"

"No, I’ve never left Maine. And the name’s Tom…not Mr. Jennings."

"Okay . . . Tom," said Genevieve, her voice tinged with restrained glee. She inched closer to Tom and began to talk again. "But that doesn’t explain me, does it? See, I went to job interviews all day yesterday so I’m slouching today. I’m sure to have various rejections. No one really wants to hire a 19-year-old. How old are you, Tom?"

"21."

"Cool . . . milestone. Did you have some sort of celebration?"

"Nope. My older brother kind of went crazy at 21. My birthday was wasted because we all sat around waiting to see if I’d go nuts too."

"Well, you obviously didn’t."

"Obviously." Tom put the cover back over the outlet and turned to Genevieve. She looked so innocent, all wide eyes and cherub’s lips. ‘It’s been much too long since I’ve been laid,’ he mused, chewing his lower lip as he tried not to look too guilty. He attempted to shake off his lust and said, "Well, it should be fixed now."

"I’m sure it is." Genevieve stood up and walked to the stairwell. She turned back to Tom, her flashlight slowly rising to his face, and said, "I’m going to switch the power back on. Come with me?"

"Maybe later."

"Huh?"

"Oh . . . um . . . never mind. I’ll go with you." Tom shoved his tools to the side and followed Genevieve to restart the power. As they walked back up the stairs, Tom heard the distinct pops of overheated light bulbs. "God! You do have extras, don’t you?"

Genevieve scrunched her face and said, "I knew I should have picked some up last night. Sorry."

"No need to apologize to me. You do have candles, right?" She nodded. "Good. Well, I’ll get you situated before I leave. Is that cool?"

Genevieve sighed and mumbled a strained affirmative. She trudged into a nearby closet and rummaged around. When she returned, she was carrying a handful of tapier candles. She handed them off to Tom before running into her room to retrieve a three-pronged candelabra and a stand-alone candleholder. He plugged in the candles while she looked for more holders. "Maybe you should take a few light bulbs from downstairs," offered Tom. "It would be much less a hassle than pulling out a bunch of candles."

"Won’t help," murmured Genevieve. "It’s hard enough to light the downstairs as it is now. I don’t want to be running blind through the entire house."

"I suppose not." Tom pulled out his lighter and lit the candelabra. He looked up to see Genevieve standing in front of him, her eyes level with his and her lips slightly parted. Carefully, she moved the candelabra away and sat in front of him. Her hands slipped up his shoulders and around his neck. Tom didn’t resist her as her mouth moved in for his. He reached out to her, wrapping her in his arms and pulling her closer, deepening the kiss as much as he could before coming up for air.

Genevieve pulled away and whispered, "Not here. Not like this."

"Then where?"

"My bedroom. Down the hall. Grab the light and follow me."

Tom didn’t argue. He grabbed the candelabra and followed Genevieve to the end of the hall. She fiddled with a faulty doorknob for a few strained moments before the door swung open. Genevieve grabbed his hand and led him inside. Although the lights were probably fine, neither of them jumped to switch them on. Tom loved the ambiance the candlelight gave the room. The sepia walls seemed to glow, lending the room the illusion of a crumbling daguerreotype. The furnishings looked just as ancient, but were completely beautiful.

Then there was Genevieve Reeves. She took the candelabra from his hands and placed it on an out of the way dresser. Without speaking, her hands immediately sought out his shirt buttons. He attempted to unfasten the buttons to her shirt, but when his passion overcame his dexterity, he grew frustrated and pulled the shirt so tight that the buttons popped off. Genevieve took his lead and furiously tried to tear his shirt. In practically no time, they had ripped every stitch of clothing from their bodies. They stood before one another naked and confused. "I . . . um . . . I’m not so good at this," stuttered Tom shyly.

"Neither am I," whispered Genevieve as she moved closer. Her lips pressed chastely against his before she pulled away. She strode toward the bed and stood her ground. "I was hoping that we could learn from each other."

Tom needed no further encouragement. He joined her on the bed, straddling his thighs between hers as they devoured one another. They experimented for an hour, taking turns with touching and caressing one another in different places to see what brought on the desired effect. Sometimes they failed but they succeeded just as often, bringing about rapture more times than they were able to count. In the end, they lay in a pulsing, sweaty heap on Genevieve’s bed. She remained pressed against his chest, her fingers toying with his nipples when she cooed, "I should break things more often, hmmm?"

"Well, maybe, I mean it took no time to fix. I was told it would take . . . oh shit! I have to get back to Garringer." Tom bolted from the bed and began grabbing for his clothes. He hoped beyond hope that Mr. Garringer wouldn’t notice that he was coming back late or that he looked like he had been through a windstorm. "Genevieve, I . . . "

"You’re not leaving me!" she protested.

"For an hour. Let me clear out my stuff at work and get everything settled at home. Get cleaned up and I’ll take you out to dinner."

"Dinner?"

"Yeah." Tom stumbled up to the bed, taking a seat next to Genevieve as he put on his shoes. "I’ve never just . . . "

"Screwed without question?"

"Right. Well, I’ve never done THIS before and I want to make it…"

"Seem less weird?" Tom nodded. Genevieve sighed and sat up, slipping her arms around his shoulders and kissing his temple. "Yeah, I understand. This is odd territory for me, too. Dinner sounds great."

"Great!" Tom turned and kissed her before fleeing the bed. "I’ll pick you up around 7:30, okay?"

"Sure, but hold up a second. What do you have to clear up at home?"

"Have to make sure someone’s able to watch Amy."

"Who’s Amy?" asked Genevieve suspiciously.

Tom laughed as he inched closer to the door. "You’ll hear all about it at dinner. Believe me, you’re not my way of cheating on my little sister."

1966

Tom began to wonder if someone on the other side thought he looked great in black. That's the only way he could explain away his second funeral in nearly 2 years. The first had been for his parents. Now, he found himself at Lenore’s funeral. He was as shocked as anyone that she had died. Sure, the woman was nearly 70; sure, she had been in slowly descending spirits over the last few years; and sure, she had spent the last 2 weeks of what turned out to be her life in the hospital. None of this, at least in Tom's eyes, meant that it was her time to go. She had been his bedrock throughout his entire life. Without her in his world, he didn't know what he would do. He was only glad that he had Amy and Genevieve by his side. Without them, he probably wouldn't have been able to get out of bed, much less speak before the entire congregation at Lenore's traditional funeral.

Early 1967

Tom could barely contain himself as he fumbled his keys into the lock. They would be so proud of him (they would have to be!). He quietly slipped inside the house, careful not to alert those who might be inside of his presence as he moved through the halls. He crept around the corner to see Amy sitting at Genevieve’s feet. It was such a lovely scene. Tom was pleased that Amy and Genevieve got along so well. It would only make any transitions much easier . . . if one happened to pop up down the line. Then again, it would be a long while before anything popped up. His time would be spread extremely thin from here on out.

Genevieve caught a small glimpse of Tom’s shoe from around the corner. "Okay," she said cautiously. "Do you really want to sneak up on us? Let this be a warning: I’ve been teaching Amy my self-defense moves, and if need be, she will be forced to do her damage."

Tom slunk out from behind his hiding place to be greeted by Amy’s open arms. He could tell that something was wrong with her when he picked her up. Over the last few months, she seemed to be growing weaker. He hated to think that anything was wrong with her. Genevieve, who had a secretarial job at Windcliff, had taken Amy to visit one of the doctors. "What do they do at Windcliff?" he had asked Genevieve.

"Oh, they do lots of things. They treat any ailment you can catch. Mental problems often manifest in physical symptoms, you know? If anything’s wrong with lil miss, they’ll find it."

Tom didn’t know what to think of that, but he trusted Genevieve enough to take her word on the Windcliff gospel. He had allowed her to take Amy to visit with the doctor. Unfortunately, the doctor couldn’t come up with any reason for her sickness. She hypothesized that the girl might be reacting to the severe amounts of stress she had been facing over the last few years, but she didn’t seem to take this theory seriously. It had been suggested to Tom that Amy be put into Windcliff on an in-patient basis. Both Tom and Genevieve shot that idea down immediately. Neither saw Amy as being that ill and both decided that the best they could do for her was to care for her in her own home. "How where you today, kid?"

"I was okay, Tom," sighed Amy. "Just a little tired."

"Sorry to hear that, hon. You’ll be better tomorrow." He looked up to Genevieve and asked, "How are you?"

"Fine I suppose. What’s with you? You don’t usually ask about such things."

"Today’s as good as any for that to change."

Genevieve shrugged. "Okay, I can play this game too. How was your day?"

"So glad you asked." Tom sat down in front of Genevieve. Amy sat down between his crossed legs and pulled his arms around her, sinking her head into the comfort of his warm winter coat. This had been the closest thing to a family moment that Tom had experienced in a long time. He didn’t want to moment to pass, although he figured that it would very quickly. "I had an odd job today."

"Where do you go? Oz?"

"Very funny, Gene. No, I was at Collinwood."

"Really? How did that happen?" asked Genevieve.

Tom waited for Genevieve to slip to the floor before he continued his anecdote. She sat in front of him, bracing her back against the sturdy recliner and folding her hands into her lap. She looked ready, if not mildly interested. "Um, there was some major wiring problems going on at Collinwood today. Since they had no one to help on hand, they were forced to call in on someone."

"Figures," snapped Genevieve. "Be it fix their lights or kill off their enemies, the Collinses are hopeless without Matthew Morgan. Go on . . . "

"Thank you. Well, Mrs. Stoddard called Garringer and he sent Darren Morgan and I out there to fix things up. As always, Darren found a million reasons not to do his work, leaving me there to fix the entire damn mess."

"Morgan really should be fired. You work your fingers to the bone while that idiot sits around fattening his royal largeness on whatever is in the icebox. You should say something about that."

Tom shook his head, careful to keep the smile that threatened to emerge from overtaking his face. "No need," he insisted shyly. "Morgan is already kicking himself. You see, Mrs. Elizabeth Stoddard herself took notice that I was doing my job without complaint. Once I was done, I went in to see her and she raved me for a few seconds. She briefly told me that the family had been without a general maintenance man for quite awhile and asked if I might be interested in taking on some of those responsibilities at Collinwood."

"Some of those responsibilities? Why not all?" asked Genevieve.

"She’s got a man working the grounds and fixing the cars, but this guy can’t make his way around the house to save his life," explained Tom.

Genevieve wrinkled her nose, staring down into her hands as she contemplated what he had told her. When she looked up, Tom could see the thin red lines beginning to creep into the whites of her eyes. "Um . . . if you’re working for the Collins’ now, will you still be working with Garringer?"

"Yeah . . . the Collins thing isn’t full time, although it pays VERY well. I’ve still got to work with Garringer to make ends meet."

"Oh," whispered Genevieve vaguely. "So you’ll be working more hours than you are right now?"

"Not every day, but I will average more hours a week than I do now."

Amy looked up at Tom and said, "You’re not going to be around the house as much as you are now. What’s wrong? Do you not like us anymore?"

"That’s not so, honey. I love you so much that I want you to have a comfortable life. I just want to make it easier on us in the long run. Do you understand?" Amy begrudgingly nodded her head. "Good, now if I’m reading the clock right, it looks like it’s someone’s bed time."

Amy groaned as she wrapped her arms around her brother’s neck. "Do I have to, Tom?" she asked as he carried her to her room.

"Yep. You know that you have school tomorrow and . . . "

"Another doctor’s appointment. ICK! I don’t want to go back to the doctor."

"But you’ve got to," insisted Tom. "Once you get better, you never have to go to another doctor again."

"Really!"

"Well, you may have to go to doctor once more, but that will be a long time from now. Can you deal with that?" asked Tom.

Amy thought about it a moment before mumbling, "I’ll manage."

Tom tucked Amy in for the night. She seemed to take the news well. He had hoped she would have been more ecstatic, but he could deal with her reaction. She’s only a child; his priorities and hers would not always match up. Genevieve’s response, however, had been disheartening. She should have understood his excitement. What was her problem?

Tom caught Genevieve before she walked out the door. She was going to leave without saying goodbye. "Bye, Gene. It was a pleasure to be with you too."

Genevieve stopped quickly and shut the door. When she turned to face him, Tom could see the dried tear tributaries that lined her face. She fell back into the door, letting it buffer her body as she slid to the floor. While pulling her knees to her chest, she murmured, "I think Amy was right."

"Right about what?" asked Tom.

"Right about you not wanting to be around certain people. I mean, why would you take a job that you didn’t need? It’ll kind of take up all your free time, you know?"

"God Gene, why does it have to be like this? I’m not taking this job for any reason other than money. I know I don’t need the money, but I want to have it tucked away," explained Tom. "I don’t want to stay in Collinsport for the rest of my life. I want to take that money and move away, to get far from this hell hole."

"And leave me behind?" asked Genevieve. "You don’t seem to have factored me into your great plan." She leapt to her feet and slowly began to approach Tom. "I’ve done so much for you. I’m like your surrogate mother/wife. And how do you think I’d feel about having to give up Amy. I love her as if she was my own. Tom, I love you and I can’t believe that you think so little of me that you’d leave me to the side."

"But that was never my intention! If I was going to go, you better believe that I wouldn’t leave without you. I don’t know what I’d do with myself if you weren’t with me."

"Do you me . . . mean that?" Tom nodded. Genevieve muffled a sharp yelp into her palm before running into Tom’s arms. "Oh God, I should have known better. I’m such a dunce sometimes."

"You’re just tired," whispered Tom. "You do so much for me and I never really acknowledge it"

"As I said, it’s just like I’m your wife or something. You know, this will be the first night I go home in about two weeks. I’m sure my mother has already leased my room out to some ne’er do well border."

"I don’t see why you bother going home," said Tom. "You know you always have a place to stay here."

"As much as I’d like to live in your bed, I don’t think that’s an option," sighed Genevieve.

"And why not?"

"Well, for one thing, we’re not married."

"What difference does that make?"

"People will talk behind our backs if we just live together."

Tom couldn’t help but stare incredulously at her for a moment. "But they’re already talking about us, Gene. As you said, you’ve not slept at home for the past two weeks and this is far from the first time something like this has happened."

"It’s not the same," insisted Genevieve as she pulled out of his grasp.

"Oh, I see how it is! It’s okay for us to sleep together and occasionally spend the whole night with one another, but it turns into sin once we officially set up house."

"That’s not what I was trying to say."

"Then what were you trying to say? I sure as hell can’t get it!"

Genevieve shook her head dolefully as she stood by the door. "And now we’re back where we started . . . only our roles are reversed."

"Yeah," mumbled Tom. "I’m sorry."

"So am I." Genevieve paced the floor before saying, "We’re not going to get anything settled tonight."

"No we’re not." Tom walked up to Genevieve and planted a chaste kiss on her forehead. "You go home and think about it. I don’t want to pressure you into anything."

"I know you don’t, Tom. I just don’t know what to think."

"Then you need to go home and decide. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Tom waited until Genevieve had driven out of the driveway to slip back into the house. He could understand her reservations. Collinsport was a small provincial town and what he had asked of her would not be well received. He wanted to be with Genevieve as much as possible, but he didn’t want to ruin her reputation in the process. This all would have been easier if he were ready to marry.

Tom was about to head to his own room when he heard someone knock at the door. It was Genevieve. "What is it?"

"I left something here," she whispered.

"What?"

Genevieve smiled and took his face into her hands. "I left my heart." Genevieve kept a straight face for almost half a minute before bursting into sweet giggles. "I’m sorry to be so cheesy but that’s the only thing I could think to say. I drove around 15 minutes and that was all that was in my head. It’s pathetic."

"Not pathetic," insisted Tom, "but . . . um . . . "

"Weak?"

"Well meaning." Tom kissed her forehead and asked, "You can’t have made up your mind?"

"Hmm . . . I’ll stay here tonight and then . . . then we’ll pick up my junk from my mom’s house throughout this week."

"What’s brought on this change of heart?" asked Tom.

"Mom and Carl lived together for years," replied Genevieve. "Besides, I’m almost 21. It’s about time to leave the roost."

"Are you sure? I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret."

Genevieve placed her finger over his lips and smiled. "I’m sure I won’t regret it. I know that all will end up right."

"It already has."

The two of them ran over Tom’s room, ripping off their clothes the moment the door closed. They made love, careful to keep the sound down so as not to wake Amy. Once they were done, they lied entangled in one another’s arms, occasionally talking although both knew that there was no real need to do so.

"We won’t get married in Collinsport, will we?" asked Genevieve wistfully.

"I’ve not even proposed yet and you’re talking about marriage," sighed Tom. "And no we won’t be married in Collinsport!"

"I want it to be at the sea, the entire thing. I don’t want the confines of a chapel to close in on us."

"Last time I checked, we were living very close to the sea."

"Okay, I want the sea but I don’t want Maine," revised Genevieve quickly. She moved in closer to Tom, nearly pulling herself on top of his body so that she would be looking down into his eyes. "I want to go somewhere less dreary. I want to go south or maybe to the West Coast. I want to go where the sun shines, where you can taste the salt in the ocean rising in the air. I want a tan, dammit."

"You’ve got this all figured out, don’t you?" Genevieve nodded deviously. Tom could only laugh at her. He pulled her closer to him, this time pressing her body into his and diverting her intense stare from him. "See, it’s a good thing I got this extra job. I’ve barely started and you’ve already got every dime spent."

"You don’t mind do you?"

"I don’t care. I couldn’t spend it."

Late 1967

To anyone who knew him, Tom Jennings seemed to be spreading himself too thin. He worked nearly full days with Garringer. The Collins family wasn’t working him as hard as anyone expected, but the jobs they asked him to do were time consuming. Thankfully, he had few problems with the members of the family. Mrs. Stoddard was generally nice to him, as was the sweet young governess who he occasionally saw wandering around the house. Roger Collins was rarely seen around the house, although his son was regularly seen running around the house with some means of destruction gripped in his small hands. The same could be said for Carolyn Stoddard, although her weapons of choice were the hearts of any man she dragged into the great estate. Tom almost felt sorry for every poor schmuck she dated, be it the weird hippie boy or the local lawyer. Of course, Carolyn wasn’t as creepy as the family cousin that lived in the Old House. Tom didn’t understand why, but every time he saw that man, or his manservant, he felt sick. If the money weren’t so good, he would find a way to ask about them. He knew that his questions weren’t the kind you asked if you expected to maintain your job.

The money was being put to good use. Thankfully, Amy began to recover. Genevieve continued to insist that it was the stress that was making her ill, although the bozos at the hospital still found reasons to try run countless tests on her small body. Tom usually shot those plans down as he trusted Genevieve’s judgment over that of the doctors. It only went to show that he and Genevieve were closer than ever. The few people that realized that they were living together refused to talk about it. Many people were already under the impression that the couple was married. Since they were planning to marry eventually, both Tom and Genevieve generally failed to correct the people who thought they were. Privately, they made plans to leave town once the money could be freed up. Both of them wanted to go to California to live off the beach. Tom was sure that the change of atmosphere would do them all—particularly Amy—good.

He was shocked to see a strange car sitting in his driveway when he got home. He ran through his memory in the hopes of finding a car that looked like this one. He knew most of Amy’s friends from school and none of their parents had this old car. None of his or Genevieve’s friends owned anything like it either. He knew that it was best not to jump to any conclusions, but he couldn’t help it in this light. Before he could get the key into the lock, the door opened to reveal a serious looking Genevieve on the other side. "Calm down," she said softly.

"I haven’t said anything."

Genevieve shook her head and took her lover’s hand. "I know how you think, Tom. A weird car is sitting in front of your house at an evening hour. I know that you’re suspicious."

Tom nodded solemnly as he leaned his side against the doorframe. "You know me well, hon. So tell me, what’s going on?"

"You have to promise to keep your cool, okay?"

Tom raised his right hand and said, "Cross my heart, hope to die. Now tell me."

Genevieve opened her mouth, but it shut it the moment Amy crept up next to her. The small girl wrapped one arm protectively around Genevieve’s leg. In the other, she carried a plush blue bunny. Although he knew that Amy had an extensive stuffed animal collection, Tom had never seen this one before. "Amy," he asked, "who gave that to you?"

Amy’s lips curled into a sweet smile as she said, "Chris gave it to me."

"Chris?" Amy nodded rapidly. Tom cast an awkward glance down to Genevieve, who couldn’t maintain eye contact with him. "How long has he been here?"

"Just a few hours," whispered Genevieve.

Tom would have blown a fuse had Amy not been at his feet. The look in Genevieve’s eyes was begging him to remain cool. Tom tried his best to keep a placid look on his face as he walked into his house. He wandered into the living room to see his brother sitting in what was effectively HIS chair. It had been a little over five years since he had laid eyes on his brother. Shockingly enough (at least to Tom), Chris had not physically changed. The weight of all he had done had not taken a noticeable toll. Tom had always hoped that this would happen, making his wayward brother distinctive from himself. In fact, they looked more alike more than ever. His first inclination was to yell at him, but he didn’t. "Hello," he mumbled. "It’s been awhile."

"Yeah it has." Chris looked around the room with anxious eyes, scanning each object as if it were new surroundings. Slowly, he rose from the chair and walked toward his brother. Tom could see worry circling the man’s eyes. It was his first inkling that Chris was having a hard life. Tom didn’t feel for him, firmly believing his brother had brought this pain upon himself. "Um . . . how have you been?" asked Chris shyly.

Tom immediately bit his tongue, knowing that if he were to speak now, he would probably regret it. He couldn’t believe that Chris was making small talk. Tom couldn’t pretend that nothing had happened, especially not when he was the one who had been left behind to deal with the repercussions. But Tom was not blind enough to miss that Amy seemed amazed by her prodigal brother. He would do his best not to embarrass him in her mind. "I’ve been as well as can be expected," answered Tom softly.

Chris nodded. "I . . . well, I’ve been meaning to call but I’ve been . . . "

"Busy?"

"Yes . . . I mean no . . . I mean . . . God!" Chris moved up closer to Tom, staring his brother in the face with intense conviction as he said, "Listen, I know this sounds like complete bullshit, but I’m telling the truth. I’ve been working through a lot of things in my life and it has really taken up most of my time."

"You mean it’s taken up five years of your life?" asked Tom, now unable to control the spite from stinging his words. "You’re saying that you didn’t have five minutes to spare for your flesh and blood? Really Chris, that’s hard to believe. There’s no doubt in my mind that you’ve had some crazy stuff to work through, but no one’s problems are that big!"

"No, you don’t understand," insisted Chris.

"Then tell me about it!" screamed Tom. "You couldn’t tell anyone about this problem a few years ago. Can you tell me now?"

Chris stepped back, seemingly afraid of his brother. "Are you sure that you’ve been alright over the last few years?"

"No!" Chris opened his mouth to speak but Tom immediately jumped in, saying, "I left a possible future behind to take care of our grandmother and sister after our parents died. Why did I do this? I think it’s because the brother that everyone depended on to take care of things split town without explanation. Hell, he’s standing right here in front of me and he’s still talking in circles."

"That was uncalled for!"

"Hold up! Let me answer your question again. I feel fine, Chris. My conscience is at rest."

Chris didn’t react immediately. He backed up from Tom slowly, careful to feel his way back to the chair with a few well-placed kicks to clear the walkway. His face remained stoic until his glance landed on the doorway. Almost instantly, his eyes thinned to narrow slits as he stared ahead. Tom turned around to catch Genevieve scurrying out of the way as she closed the door. Chris waited until Tom faced him to speak. "I don’t know what to tell you. I understand that your life isn’t all that you thought it would be. But let me tell you, if you think your life is hell, I can assure you that mine is a million times worse."

"Well lets look at the facts: your life goes to nothing after you desert a family that needed you --nay, depended on-- you in some cases. Hmm . . . have you heard of karma? I’m pretty sure that’s the cause of your problems."

Again, Tom had struck his brother speechless. Each time he attempted to talk, he would sigh and look away. Eventually, Chris buried his head into his palms. Tom listened carefully and, to his relief, he heard no crying. "How can you be so cold to your own brother?" he asked softly.

"You’re going to have to excuse my coldness," said Tom, now allowing venomous laughter to infect his voice, "but I don’t see why you have the right to complain. You were always cold to me, even when we were children. I earned my right to be heartless, at least when it comes to you."

"You don’t understand!" wailed Chris. "I’ve changed (oh God! How I hate that word) . . . I’m not the person you grew up with."

"But you look just like him," snapped Tom.

Chris took a breath and fell back into the chair. Slowly, he brought his hand to his head and massaged his temples. Tom thought the scene to look odd. He had never seen Chris so anxious in all the years they had been together. Maybe his brother had changed? Chris shook his head violently before saying, "I don’t feel real anymore. I don’t deserve to live."

"Huh? I don’t understand."

"That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! I . . . I’ve hurt so many people. Mom, Dad, Grandma, you, Amy, Sabrina . . . "

"Hold up a minute!" Tom dragged a chair from the other side of the room over to Chris’ seat. "Who is Sabrina?"

"She’s someone I loved . . . someone I still love."

"Then why aren’t you with her?" asked Tom. "If you love her so much, go to her now!"

Chris sighed and sunk further into the chair. "She knows about me," he insisted quietly. "She knows my secret . . . oh God . . . if she’s still . . . "

"But that’s the way relationships work. Genevieve knows more about me than anyone else. I don’t like to think that she knows these things, but I can’t turn her away because she knows the bad me."

"You’re still not getting it." Chris sat up and leaned into Tom’s face. "My secrets are much worse than yours. Genevieve knowing your stuff is nothing like Sabrina knowing mine."

"That’s presumptive," said Tom. "You’ve not been here. You don’t know me well enough to say that your secrets are worse than mine."

"It doesn’t matter. I can guarantee it."

Tom said nothing. As hard as he had tried, he had been unable to see the "new Chris." His brother seemed as arrogant as ever. Tom wanted to accept his brother; more than ever, he was looking to make his family feel complete. Nothing would have felt more complete than to have Chris home again. "Are you going to stay?" he asked.

"Stay where?" asked Chris. "Here."

"No Portland. Of course here! I just assumed that if you were ready to finally face your family, or at least what’s left of it, you’d be ready to stay."

Chris immediately shakes his head. "I’m not ready for that. To tell the truth, YOU’RE not ready for it, either."

"I’m ready for more than you think."

"I . . . I . . . I don’t think this is going anywhere," mumbled Chris finally. "I should just go."

"I think you should."

Chris nodded and promptly leapt from the chair. He grabbed a bag that had been unobtrusively lying to the side and slung it over his shoulder on the way to the door. He and Tom stared at one another for a moment, quietly sizing the other up and trying to find the words to bid his brother adieu. Chris finally spoke up, saying, "I really didn’t want our relationship to be this way. I’ve always held out for the hope that we could be friends."

"So had I," whispered Tom. "So had I."

"But maybe that can still happen." Chris dug around in his bag until he found a weather beaten notebook. He scrawled out a name, address, and telephone number before tearing the paper out and handing it to Tom. "If you ever need to get in touch with me, go through all of this."

Tom took the sheet of paper without looking down at it. "Okay, this’ll do. And you know where I am, right? Of course. So, if you’re ever in trouble and need someone to talk with, remember that, although I really don’t like you right now, I am your brother and I want to know what’s going on."

"Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind."

Tom watched as Chris quietly opened the door and walked out. Suddenly, he remembered to remind his brother to say goodbye to Amy. If Chris left without telling her, the girl would probably be distraught, blaming both he and Tom over their lack of foresight. He rushed to the driveway to see that his reminder was unneeded. Chris sat on the front door stairs with Amy clutched in his arms. Tom could see a few tears slipping down her cheeks as she held on to her brother’s shoulders. "You don’t need to go," she sniffled. "You need to stay here with us!"

"I know, but I can’t," insisted Chris softly. "There’s nothing I’d love to do than stay here with all of you, but I’ve got a lot of things to clear up. Do you understand?" Amy shook her head. "Ah sweetheart, I know it’s hard to understand, but it’s not like we’ll be separated forever. In no time, I’ll come back to stay. Who knows, maybe it’ll be just the two of us? There will come a time when we’ll have to back off and give the wacky lovebirds time to themselves. We’ll be together then, okay?"

Amy nodded cautiously. Tom thought that she knew that Chris was just trying to appease her. Chris probably did too. He sighed and kissed his sister on the cheek before handing her off to Genevieve. Chris shook her hand and whispered something in her ear. She nodded, but Tom noticed the way the corners of her mouth turned in. She was not a happy camper. Chris briefly turned back to his brother and waved. Tom did the same and watched as his older sibling stepped into his car and drove off.

Tom was still staring out onto his driveway when Genevieve walked into the house with Amy at her side. Almost immediately, Amy reached out to Tom, who didn’t waver in accepting his kid sister into his arms. She laid her head against his chest, clutching him tightly around the back while carrying Chris’ gift to her between them. "Will Chris ever come back?" she asked.

"Of course he will," said Tom with false surety. "He’ll be back before you know it. You do believe me, don’t you?"

"Yes, Tom. I know that you won’t lie to me," explained Amy. "If you say he’s coming back, I know that he is."

Tom choked back tears as he kissed his sister’s forehead. He took his sister to her room and told her to prepare for bed. The girl did so without question, and in no time, was tucked inside the covers, waiting for her brother to send her off to sleep. Tom told her a quick story, and she drifted off before he was finished.

Tom fled her bedroom quietly and headed off for his own. When he entered, he saw Genevieve sitting in a recliner near the bed, her face cradled in her hands as she sobbed oblivious to her lover’s appearance. He sank next to her and locked his arms around her shoulders, allowing her to cry into his body. "I’m so sorry," she sighed. "I thought he was you when I opened the door. It took me about a second to realize that I was wrong, but by then, it was too late to do anything about it. I didn’t want you to go through this. I know you don’t like your brother."

"It’s not your fault," Tom reassured her. "Besides, there was nothing you could do about it. He was going to get in touch with me one way or another. This way is as good as any."

"True, but I hated to see Amy’s hopes dashed on the rocks."

"Me too." Tom pulled away from her and sank to the floor. He looked back into Genevieve’s face and said, "I think Chris is hiding something from me."

"Why do you say that?"

"He kept asking me how I was and he went on and on about some deep dark secret of his. I don’t get it: he wanted to see me to make amends, but he wasn’t willing to tell me what his life has amounted to over that last few years. It doesn’t really make sense."

Genevieve nodded as she slipped deeper into her chair. "Are you going to find out what it is?"

Tom smiled slimly as he pulled the crumbled sheet of paper out from his pocket. "I will one day . . . but not now. They’ll be plenty of time to deal with my brother. His secret has waited five years. It can wait a little longer."

Go to: Part 1 | Part 2

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