(A/N: So, Cali and I have had fun with Jake and Hannah (Trace and Elliot's daughter); We decided that they should have babies (because we like babies), and they were adorable, so we had them grow up. Phillip is in love with womankind as a whole (a bit of a player); Edward claims to have no attraction to women, but falls for a woman dying of cancer (whom he never even kisses); Devin is in love with his twin sister (looooon story); and Delilah is in love with the idea of love (So far). In this scene, Sandrilene (who has less than a month left to live), is speaking with Edward's older brother and best friend (Phillip), and writing a letter to release Edward from his love for her after her death. Enjoy, and grab som chocolate and tissues. You have been warned.)
The soft whirring of medical equipment surrounded him, the noises lulling him into a steady sense of dread as he approached the frail figure lying in the bed. It hurt, just looking at her, knowing how she had once looked, knowing that she had once been a vibrant young woman, so full of energy and passion. Right now, her pale skin was stretched over thin arms, the bones nearly perfectly outlined, and the steady pulsing at her wrist visible even at this distance. He approached her, trying not to cry, as he watched the woman that his brother loved sleep so lightly. He was frightened to see the thin blue veins on her eyelids, and the way that a scarf had been tucked around her head to hide the prominent hair loss. She looked like a small waif.
Patiently he settled on the edge of her bed, knowing that she had asked to see him. He was here to take her to his home, where Edward was getting things ready for her; his father, Jake, was waiting outside to help him move Sandrilene, but before they could, she had asked to see him. Slowly Phillip touched her hand, waited for her eyes to open, and focus on him.
“Phillip.”
She sounded genuinely pleased to see him, though her voice was so soft that he had to strain to hear it.
“You wanted something, Sandry?” This woman was the one his brother loved, and she was his sister-in-law in all but legality. The gentle curve of her lips broke his heart, because he knew it must tire her greatly to smile- she didn’t smile as often as she used to.
“I want to you write something down for me. I don’t think I can do it myself.” Phillip frowned, but took the pad of paper from her table, and the pen. “I want you to deliver it to Edward after I’ve….passed.”
Phillip froze, his heart shattering under the impact of her gentle words, knowing that it would kill his gentle brother to hear her talking like this.
“Dearest Edward,” She began. “Eight months ago, I would never have imagined that I could feel like this. You have changed my life, and made me feel more alive in my death than I felt in my life. I have never loved or been loved so deeply, and I have you to thank for it. My only regret is that I am leaving you here alone. So walk in our place, my darling. Hold our butterflies, and with each gentle touch they give you, think of me holding your hand instead. If you’re reading this letter, it’s all over now, and I am no longer in any pain. For you, that may be the only good news. I hope that it isn’t. I hope that you never forget me, but I hope that you move on. I want you to be free, my love. Free to love, and to laugh, and most of all, to live.” Here she paused, crying too much to be understood. Phillip was weeping too, and he knew that it would kill his brother to read this letter. Finally, she went on.
“Don’t tie yourself to my memory, Edward. Please. Find someone who will make you happy, who will love you as I cannot- it seems that this is the only gift I can give you. To urge you on with your life. I beg you, accept my brother Lucas into your family, as he has no one else in the world. I want him seen to, beloved, and I know that you will. Life has been wonderful, and you have helped me to accomplish my dream. I know that I am dragging this letter out, and probably embarrassing your poor brother as he writes this, but that’s in the past by the time you read this. Know this: I will love you, until the end of time. Not of my time, or yours, but of all time. I will be waiting for you on this side, watching you, hoping that you will live a full and happy life. I love you. Your beloved, Sandrilene.”
Slowly Phillip folded the letter, tucking it into his pocket. He kissed the girl’s forehead as she faded out of consciousness, and called for his father…
-A month and two weeks later-
She had been gone for two weeks, Phillip wanting his brother to have some time to grieve, had postponed delivering the promised letter, but he could wait no longer. He took Edward aside, handing him the letter.
“It’s from her.” He whispered in his brother’s ear, clapping his shoulder supportively, as he moved away to offer the man some privacy.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Friday, June 20, 2008
If you feel so empty, so used up, so let down...start a riot
The anger ran deep, welling out of him with each every breath, filling his lungs, beating his heart, coursing his blood. Yet deeper than the anger, ran the real cause of his emotional upheaval, deeper than any pain caused by anyone ever before. Frankie, his Frankie, had betrayed him. Of course, Yates couldn’t entirely blame her. He was the one who had pushed her away, not because he didn’t want her or the child (though he had to admit, he was not father material). He was reeling from the shock- but it had been the worst reaction to have. He had hurt her first, and that meant it was inevitable that it would come back to haunt him.
She’d gone out for something to make her feel better, and had made love with someone else while she was out there.
At least she had the courtesy to confess, to tell him herself before rumours spread and he learned from someone else. She’d cried, and the regret had been laid out for him to see. What choice had he, but to forgive her? Whether or not he’d ever admit as much, he loved her. He had taken her into his arms, softly kissed her hair, whispered that he would forgive her. He had asked only for a name, and in her state, Frankie hadn’t thought to withhold it from him. Personally, that was fine by Yates.
He lit a cigarette as he walked, holding the stick of nicotine between his fingers, dragging lightly on the small roll. It wasn’t what he really needed to calm himself- walking into a potential fight, he wanted his wits about him. His nerves were buzzing angrily under his skin, and he felt the need to really release all of the emotions he’d been holding back around Frankie. He knew about the history of abuse in her life, and he didn’t want to be like her father. He didn’t ever want to raise a hand to her in that way. Lately, he had to admit, it had been harder than usual. Turning onto the street, he approached the bar where Frankie had said she’d picked up the older man.
Once inside the dim, smoky, bar it didn’t take Yates long to figure out which guy ‘Hunter Collins’ was. His buddies were all laughing, drinking, and asking about the ‘little hottie’ that he’d scored last week. He could hear the guy talking about how she was probably waiting for his call, and wouldn’t she be surprised when she never got it? Yates could feel his blood begin to boil in his veins, knowing that had Frankie not desired to maintain a relationship with him, she would have been waiting for that call. He cleared his throat.
“Hey, Hunter- maybe you should forget about her. Do you even remember her name?”
The other man turned around, a smirk on his rather handsome features.
“Forgetting her would take out half of the fun. She had a masculine name…Frankie, I think. Yeah, but there wasn’t anything masculine about that girl, if you know what I mean!” The friends of Hunter all laughed, making perverted sounds. Yates was the only one who was unamused.
“Yo, Hunter, was she any good?” Yates wanted to kill these guys for talking about Francesca like she was nothing more than a piece of tail. He clenched his teeth.
“Man, was she! The worst part, though, was that she kept whispering someone else’s name. But, the way she writhed underneath me…Mmm. She was good alright, maybe a little too good. She felt like she’d had a lot of practice, like a proper little whore. Actually, maybe I should look her up? She looked like a girl who is up for anything.”
“You stay away from her!” That loud, furious voice ripped away from him before he could stop it, but he wouldn’t take it back. Even if he could. Hunter and his crew all turned very surprised looks to Yates, and he clenched his fist.
“Ahhh.” Hunter crooned, leaning closer to Yates. “Her little betrayed boyfriend came to defend her cheating, whoring little honor. I wonder how he’d feel if I mentioned that I was the one who heard her whisper your name in that tone of voice.” Before he could even think, he had the collar of the older man, pulling him close.
“Leave. Her. The frick. Alone.” Hunter pushed himself away from Yates, laughing.
“Why? She cheated on you once.”
“She’s carrying my child, you prick! I saw the bruises you left on her skin, and I swear to god if you ever touch her again, I’ll kill you!”
Hunter blanched, stumbling away from Yates.
“I banged a pregnant whore? You sure that the kid is yours? For all you know, she’s been screwing men behind your back for a long time, the little bi-“ Yates’ fist landed somewhere on Hunter’s cheekbone, sending him staggering back.“I told you to stop.”
With a roar, Hunter flung himself at Yates, and the two continued their scuffle on the floor, fighting until two very strong bouncers separated them. Hunter wiped the streaming blood from his nose and mouth, his face and chest would be horrifically bruise the next morning. Yates was sporting a cut above his eyebrow, and a bruise that spread down and around his eye. As far as he was concerned, he had won. As the bouncer dragged him out, Yates grinned, and spit on Hunter, shrugged the bouncer off, and walked back to school in much better spirits than when he had left.
She’d gone out for something to make her feel better, and had made love with someone else while she was out there.
At least she had the courtesy to confess, to tell him herself before rumours spread and he learned from someone else. She’d cried, and the regret had been laid out for him to see. What choice had he, but to forgive her? Whether or not he’d ever admit as much, he loved her. He had taken her into his arms, softly kissed her hair, whispered that he would forgive her. He had asked only for a name, and in her state, Frankie hadn’t thought to withhold it from him. Personally, that was fine by Yates.
He lit a cigarette as he walked, holding the stick of nicotine between his fingers, dragging lightly on the small roll. It wasn’t what he really needed to calm himself- walking into a potential fight, he wanted his wits about him. His nerves were buzzing angrily under his skin, and he felt the need to really release all of the emotions he’d been holding back around Frankie. He knew about the history of abuse in her life, and he didn’t want to be like her father. He didn’t ever want to raise a hand to her in that way. Lately, he had to admit, it had been harder than usual. Turning onto the street, he approached the bar where Frankie had said she’d picked up the older man.
Once inside the dim, smoky, bar it didn’t take Yates long to figure out which guy ‘Hunter Collins’ was. His buddies were all laughing, drinking, and asking about the ‘little hottie’ that he’d scored last week. He could hear the guy talking about how she was probably waiting for his call, and wouldn’t she be surprised when she never got it? Yates could feel his blood begin to boil in his veins, knowing that had Frankie not desired to maintain a relationship with him, she would have been waiting for that call. He cleared his throat.
“Hey, Hunter- maybe you should forget about her. Do you even remember her name?”
The other man turned around, a smirk on his rather handsome features.
“Forgetting her would take out half of the fun. She had a masculine name…Frankie, I think. Yeah, but there wasn’t anything masculine about that girl, if you know what I mean!” The friends of Hunter all laughed, making perverted sounds. Yates was the only one who was unamused.
“Yo, Hunter, was she any good?” Yates wanted to kill these guys for talking about Francesca like she was nothing more than a piece of tail. He clenched his teeth.
“Man, was she! The worst part, though, was that she kept whispering someone else’s name. But, the way she writhed underneath me…Mmm. She was good alright, maybe a little too good. She felt like she’d had a lot of practice, like a proper little whore. Actually, maybe I should look her up? She looked like a girl who is up for anything.”
“You stay away from her!” That loud, furious voice ripped away from him before he could stop it, but he wouldn’t take it back. Even if he could. Hunter and his crew all turned very surprised looks to Yates, and he clenched his fist.
“Ahhh.” Hunter crooned, leaning closer to Yates. “Her little betrayed boyfriend came to defend her cheating, whoring little honor. I wonder how he’d feel if I mentioned that I was the one who heard her whisper your name in that tone of voice.” Before he could even think, he had the collar of the older man, pulling him close.
“Leave. Her. The frick. Alone.” Hunter pushed himself away from Yates, laughing.
“Why? She cheated on you once.”
“She’s carrying my child, you prick! I saw the bruises you left on her skin, and I swear to god if you ever touch her again, I’ll kill you!”
Hunter blanched, stumbling away from Yates.
“I banged a pregnant whore? You sure that the kid is yours? For all you know, she’s been screwing men behind your back for a long time, the little bi-“ Yates’ fist landed somewhere on Hunter’s cheekbone, sending him staggering back.“I told you to stop.”
With a roar, Hunter flung himself at Yates, and the two continued their scuffle on the floor, fighting until two very strong bouncers separated them. Hunter wiped the streaming blood from his nose and mouth, his face and chest would be horrifically bruise the next morning. Yates was sporting a cut above his eyebrow, and a bruise that spread down and around his eye. As far as he was concerned, he had won. As the bouncer dragged him out, Yates grinned, and spit on Hunter, shrugged the bouncer off, and walked back to school in much better spirits than when he had left.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Facing a dying nation of moving paper fantasy
(A/N: This is a story arc that I would like to continue, with Jesseh's permission, as I have loads of drabble ideas for it, or even role-playing ideas.)
“I won’t let you do this, Frankie. If I have to sit on you, I will. You can’t go.” Yates looked relaxed enough, as he stretched out on their couch, holding his daughter on his chest, his fingers softly stroking her head. “This isn’t your fight, and you have a family here. I won’t let you go.”
For all his seeming relaxed state, Frankie knew better. He had the look on his face that said he wanted a cigarette and hard liquor, and her to sit with him. It was his nervous, terrified, expression. A very soft sigh slipped from her lips, as she settled to the couch, leaning over to kiss Felicity’s soft head. Her daughter was beautiful, and Frankie was going to miss her. But she didn’t have a choice.
“Lucas…” she sighed again, turning her body so that her back was snug against his hip. “I don’t have a choice. We agreed on this two years ago- I would join the National Guard, to help make ends meet. I have to go.”
He looked like he either wanted to cry, or throw something, but Frankie knew that while he was holding their daughter, he wouldn’t do either one. Instead, she felt his hand take hers gently, lacing their fingers together. He didn’t know how long she would be gone, how long he would be left alone with Luke and Felicity. More importantly, he didn’t know when, or if, Frankie would return. He took a very deep, shuddering breath, lifting his left hand to rub over his face.
“Francesca, please. Don’t do this…it’s dangerous, a-and I need you.”
She didn’t think that she’d ever heard him speak like that to her before. Their relationship was a lot of things, but it had never been this. Frankie turned, gently lifting her daughter from Yates, and carrying her into the little nursery; normally, Frankie was a gymnastics coach, who taught a little breakdancing on the side. Yates worked with troubled teens- those who had bad home lives. He didn’t counsel them, he offered a listening ear, and helped them find safe places to stay. Neither one of them made a ton of money, and after they had taken their son, Luke, back in two years ago Frankie realised that they were going to need more money. That was when she had joined the National Guard.
Eighteen months ago, a small war had broken out between Israel and its Arabic neighbors. It was a fierce war, and the other countries were stepping in as Peace Keepers, and Frankie’s National Guard had been called up. Once she had settled Felicity for sleep, she returned to the living room. Yates was still on the couch, now sitting up with his elbows on his knees, fingers laced and his forehead lowered to touch them. He wasn’t crying, Frankie knew, but she did fear that he was upset enough to do so. Slowly she lowered herself to sit beside him, lightly rubbing his back. How could she have known all those years ago, in that dark alley, that the strange man would become her husband, the love of her life? She leaned her forehead against his shoulder.
“I will come back, Yates. I promise.”
“Don’t make a promise you can’t keep, Francesca.” He stood, stepping away from her, running his hands through his hair in agitation. “You can’t promise me that, and leave me to wonder, or leave me alone. You can’t.”
She didn’t know what to say to that, and she sighed deeply, standing and heading towards the door. Yates got to her first, pulling her roughly against him, burying her face against her neck.
“I love you, Francesca. I can’t live without you…” She felt them then, the hot tears that poured over his cheeks, and down her neck. She held him for a long time, letting him cry on her, and not commenting about how he wasn’t acting like a strong man. She loved this side of him just as much as she loved the side of him that had pushed her against a wall and had his way with her. They were two sides of an extraordinary man.
“Lucas believe me, there is nothing that will keep me from coming back to you and the kids.” She kissed the top of his head, relieved as the tears slowed and stopped. As a gentle kiss was pressed to her neck, she closed her eyes.
“And I will come home.”
“I won’t let you do this, Frankie. If I have to sit on you, I will. You can’t go.” Yates looked relaxed enough, as he stretched out on their couch, holding his daughter on his chest, his fingers softly stroking her head. “This isn’t your fight, and you have a family here. I won’t let you go.”
For all his seeming relaxed state, Frankie knew better. He had the look on his face that said he wanted a cigarette and hard liquor, and her to sit with him. It was his nervous, terrified, expression. A very soft sigh slipped from her lips, as she settled to the couch, leaning over to kiss Felicity’s soft head. Her daughter was beautiful, and Frankie was going to miss her. But she didn’t have a choice.
“Lucas…” she sighed again, turning her body so that her back was snug against his hip. “I don’t have a choice. We agreed on this two years ago- I would join the National Guard, to help make ends meet. I have to go.”
He looked like he either wanted to cry, or throw something, but Frankie knew that while he was holding their daughter, he wouldn’t do either one. Instead, she felt his hand take hers gently, lacing their fingers together. He didn’t know how long she would be gone, how long he would be left alone with Luke and Felicity. More importantly, he didn’t know when, or if, Frankie would return. He took a very deep, shuddering breath, lifting his left hand to rub over his face.
“Francesca, please. Don’t do this…it’s dangerous, a-and I need you.”
She didn’t think that she’d ever heard him speak like that to her before. Their relationship was a lot of things, but it had never been this. Frankie turned, gently lifting her daughter from Yates, and carrying her into the little nursery; normally, Frankie was a gymnastics coach, who taught a little breakdancing on the side. Yates worked with troubled teens- those who had bad home lives. He didn’t counsel them, he offered a listening ear, and helped them find safe places to stay. Neither one of them made a ton of money, and after they had taken their son, Luke, back in two years ago Frankie realised that they were going to need more money. That was when she had joined the National Guard.
Eighteen months ago, a small war had broken out between Israel and its Arabic neighbors. It was a fierce war, and the other countries were stepping in as Peace Keepers, and Frankie’s National Guard had been called up. Once she had settled Felicity for sleep, she returned to the living room. Yates was still on the couch, now sitting up with his elbows on his knees, fingers laced and his forehead lowered to touch them. He wasn’t crying, Frankie knew, but she did fear that he was upset enough to do so. Slowly she lowered herself to sit beside him, lightly rubbing his back. How could she have known all those years ago, in that dark alley, that the strange man would become her husband, the love of her life? She leaned her forehead against his shoulder.
“I will come back, Yates. I promise.”
“Don’t make a promise you can’t keep, Francesca.” He stood, stepping away from her, running his hands through his hair in agitation. “You can’t promise me that, and leave me to wonder, or leave me alone. You can’t.”
She didn’t know what to say to that, and she sighed deeply, standing and heading towards the door. Yates got to her first, pulling her roughly against him, burying her face against her neck.
“I love you, Francesca. I can’t live without you…” She felt them then, the hot tears that poured over his cheeks, and down her neck. She held him for a long time, letting him cry on her, and not commenting about how he wasn’t acting like a strong man. She loved this side of him just as much as she loved the side of him that had pushed her against a wall and had his way with her. They were two sides of an extraordinary man.
“Lucas believe me, there is nothing that will keep me from coming back to you and the kids.” She kissed the top of his head, relieved as the tears slowed and stopped. As a gentle kiss was pressed to her neck, she closed her eyes.
“And I will come home.”
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
When moonlight crawls along the street...
It had been a beautiful night, one spent with his closest friends, one spent doing the things that he did best. It had begun simply enough, with his friend Jason, J's girlfriend Olivia, and himself going out for drinks. Of course, since Liv had a drinking problem she'd had nothing but water all evening, but Jason and himself had enjoyed several different drinks, among other things that Olivia didn't necessarily need to know about. By the end of the evening, both he and Jason were in high spirits and Olivia was left with the chore of getting them both home. However, Yates doubted that she was minding all that much. Jason seemed rather...attentive as the two of them began to stroll back towards the school. His hand was on her waist, slowly stroking her skin through the fabric, placing little kisses along her neck. Frankly, Yates felt a little envious as Olivia's soft laughs and indistinguishable murmurs reached him on the quiet evening breeze. Clearing his throat, he'd told them he felt like taking a walk before walking back to the school. He just needed some space, and some person. Before long, he found both.
He could see her in the entrance of an alley, dancing to some music that apparently only she could hear. She was a b-girl, and the athletic prowess was astounding. He leaned against a building, just watching her with his hazy eyes, enjoying the play of muscles beneath the tanned skin. She was wearing a skirt, and she looked as though at one point she'd been dressed up. He would suppose that her night, like his, had not ended as had been hoped. After a long time of him watching, and her dancing, the girl stopped. She shook out her skirt, smoothed her mussed hair, and glanced around, looking as though she was ready to leave. As gorgeous and athletic as she was, as needy as he was, and as lonely as they both were, Yates wasn't going to let it go at that. There was an empty alley at her back, and he planned on using it to his utmost advantage. Several long strides took him up to her, and the sound of his steps drew her attention. Her hazel eyes watched him approach, and he smirked as he came to a stop before her.
They stood there, chests heaving, as small sprinkles of rain began to fall to their shoulders and hair. Without a word, Yates' hand came to rest on her waist, slowly sliding around her, and up the small of her back, bringing her closer. Still smirking and watching her eyes, his hand crossed her shoulders, and plunged into her thick brown hair, grasping it, and tugging on it gently, tilting her head back. Just as slowly, he leaned in, pressing his lips to hers, slipping between her lips. Surprisingly, the girl kissed him back, her arms wrapping around his neck, returning his kiss. Satisfaction began to fill him, making him need more of this girl, more of the woman in his arm. Yates brought his other arm around her, propelling her slowly into the alleyway as he kissed her, not moving his line of thought until her back came to rest lightly against a wall. He moved from her lips, trailing kisses down her jaw, and neck and shoulder, sending little goosbumps racing across her skin. She leaned her head back against a wall, one leg lifting, and hooking around his waist, bringing him even closer as she tipped his chin up, and began to kiss him. The rain was falling steadily now, soaking them to the bone as Yates' hand slid down to the thigh of her other leg, bringing it up to hook around his waist also. With that, he began to make his move...
...after what felt like the longest time ever, Yates slowly came to a stop, once more lightly kissing the girl's neck, attempting to ease the pain from the bite marks he'd left there, though she made no such efforts to soothe his scratches. His palms were flat against the brick wall, supporting all of their combined weight. Slowly, she unhooked her legs, lowering them to the ground once more, lightly kissing Yates as she ducked under his arm, and made her sodden way out of the alleyway. He pushed himself away from the wall, watching her with intense interest.
"Can I have a name?" He asked, speaking to her for the first time, with his voice hoarse from suppressed sounds.
"Francesca."
With that, he watched her walk away, the first girl to have satisfied him in a very, very, long time.
He could see her in the entrance of an alley, dancing to some music that apparently only she could hear. She was a b-girl, and the athletic prowess was astounding. He leaned against a building, just watching her with his hazy eyes, enjoying the play of muscles beneath the tanned skin. She was wearing a skirt, and she looked as though at one point she'd been dressed up. He would suppose that her night, like his, had not ended as had been hoped. After a long time of him watching, and her dancing, the girl stopped. She shook out her skirt, smoothed her mussed hair, and glanced around, looking as though she was ready to leave. As gorgeous and athletic as she was, as needy as he was, and as lonely as they both were, Yates wasn't going to let it go at that. There was an empty alley at her back, and he planned on using it to his utmost advantage. Several long strides took him up to her, and the sound of his steps drew her attention. Her hazel eyes watched him approach, and he smirked as he came to a stop before her.
They stood there, chests heaving, as small sprinkles of rain began to fall to their shoulders and hair. Without a word, Yates' hand came to rest on her waist, slowly sliding around her, and up the small of her back, bringing her closer. Still smirking and watching her eyes, his hand crossed her shoulders, and plunged into her thick brown hair, grasping it, and tugging on it gently, tilting her head back. Just as slowly, he leaned in, pressing his lips to hers, slipping between her lips. Surprisingly, the girl kissed him back, her arms wrapping around his neck, returning his kiss. Satisfaction began to fill him, making him need more of this girl, more of the woman in his arm. Yates brought his other arm around her, propelling her slowly into the alleyway as he kissed her, not moving his line of thought until her back came to rest lightly against a wall. He moved from her lips, trailing kisses down her jaw, and neck and shoulder, sending little goosbumps racing across her skin. She leaned her head back against a wall, one leg lifting, and hooking around his waist, bringing him even closer as she tipped his chin up, and began to kiss him. The rain was falling steadily now, soaking them to the bone as Yates' hand slid down to the thigh of her other leg, bringing it up to hook around his waist also. With that, he began to make his move...
...after what felt like the longest time ever, Yates slowly came to a stop, once more lightly kissing the girl's neck, attempting to ease the pain from the bite marks he'd left there, though she made no such efforts to soothe his scratches. His palms were flat against the brick wall, supporting all of their combined weight. Slowly, she unhooked her legs, lowering them to the ground once more, lightly kissing Yates as she ducked under his arm, and made her sodden way out of the alleyway. He pushed himself away from the wall, watching her with intense interest.
"Can I have a name?" He asked, speaking to her for the first time, with his voice hoarse from suppressed sounds.
"Francesca."
With that, he watched her walk away, the first girl to have satisfied him in a very, very, long time.
Friday, June 13, 2008
My little girl
Breakfast was quiet that morning, and Madeline Munroe wished to heaven that Isobel had been home this morning, or Christian. Her two oldest children had been out of the house for some time now, but things were always lively when they came home for a visit. She wished, too, that Jake was home. Her middle son had also not lived at home in some time, and was actually visiting his uncle in Scotland, where he had gone to school. That left only Madeline, Jonathan and their youngest child. Ainsley was seventeen years old, and Maddie always smiled when she thought of how beautiful and talented her little girl had grown up to be. But then, that was the problem with this quiet breakfast this morning. Ainsley was growing up.
Jonathan was a late-night person, and he never really came to bed until the children were home. Isobel had nearly driven the poor man mad, as she loved to break the midnight curfew, though almost never intentionally. Inevitably, Christian would head out at 11:45, a wry grin on his face, to remind her that it was time to come home for the night, and shortly after midnight they would return, Isobel chagrined and apologetic. And even Christian had, on his own accord, broken curfew a few times. It was almost a rite of passage, and Jake had his own share of late nights, usually from studying with someone and forgetting to call or check his watch. Yet it seemed, that this one had bothered her husband more than all of the others, and Madeline thought that she knew why. While Jonathan loved the twins, they had a father, and he worried over them, and gave them all of that concern. Jonathan never really wanted to take that away from Morgan. Jake was his son, and he loved him immensely, as Jake was his firstborn, his pride and his joy. But, Jake could take care of himself, and Jon knew it.
But Ainsley, she was Jon’s little girl. There was a special bond between a man and his daughter, and Madeline knew that quite well. She herself was her father’s little princess, much as Isobel was Morgan’s. While she had never heard Jon call Ainsley ‘princess’ she knew that there was much of a similar bond between them. Ainsley just wasn’t a princess-y girl, nor was Jonathan the sort to call her that. In fact, they often didn’t say much of anything, with Ainsley’s quiet manner and Jonathan’s understanding of that. Often, Madeline would see the two of them sitting on the couch, Jon’s arm around Ainsley while they watched some programme or another. Sometimes, they simply took walks together, or played games. Theirs was a tight bond, and Ainsley always ran to her father first. That had to be the reason that this was hitting Jonathan so hard, though he wasn’t showing it.
Ainsley had not come home until well after one o’clock last night. Jonathan hadn’t been sleeping, of course, but he’d waited in the dark for her to say something. She hadn’t, and Jonathan had come to bed quietly, worrying Madeline a great deal. Even more unsettling for Madeline, had come when she’d gone into the girl’s room this morning with clean laundry. Brushing fondly at her sleeping daughter’s hair, she’d noticed the hickey on her neck. She hadn’t told Jonathan, but she knew that he suspected something of the sort. Which was why Madeline was anxious to see how the breakfast would play out, as she settled a plate of bacon next to the bowl of scrambled eggs, and the stack of toast. Her daughter still hadn’t come down to breakfast, though she could hear the slow footsteps upon the stair.
Ainsley came to the table, wearing an old turtle-neck sweater, her hair neatly braided, her brown eyes exhausted. She smiled thinly at her parents, and took her seat. Madeline held her breath while she waited to see what her husband would do. To her surprise, Jonathan said nothing. He merely set the newspaper to the side, and smiled at both girls.
“Good morning, Ainsley.”
Ainsley looked stunned, but then she paled and tried to smile back at her father, picking up her fork to toy with the eggs that her mother had dished onto the plate.
“Morning, Daddy.” Her voice was quieter than usual, and Madeline expected Jonathan to comment on it, but he didn’t. Instead he stood, and walked to the refrigerator.
“Ainsley, Mads, would either of you like some juice?”
Ainsley shook her head, not lifting her eyes from her plate, though she didn’t eat any of the food that she pushed about there. Madeline smiled reassuringly at her husband.
“I would, Jon.” Jonathan poured juice into two glasses, and returned to the table, setting one glass in front of his wife, and keeping the other for himself. Silence took the breakfast once more, and Madeline found herself squirming. She hated the awkwardness, hated that Ainsley was feeling so guilty that she couldn’t even look at her father. She was about to open her mouth and say something, but Jonathan caught her eye, and shook his head. Sighing softly, Madeline bit into her toast, chewing on it slowly.
“Ainsley?”
Both female looked at Jonathan, though Ainsley was much slower in doing so than her mother. When Ainsley met her father’s eyes, he paused for a long moment, letting their eyes remain locked before he pointed to the salt, sitting by her elbow.
“Pass the salt, please?” It was more than the girl could take, and she dropped her eyes, passing the salt to her father. Now, she refused to look at either of her parents for some time, and the table returned to the silence that Madeline dreaded so very much. Finally, the silence broke.
“DADDY, I’M SORRY!”
Startled, Madeline dropped her knife, and looked at her daughter. Ainsley rarely spoke, and when she did it was always done in such a quiet manner. Madeline couldn’t recall ever having heard her daughter use such a loud or forceful tone of voice. It was nearly a bellow, and it was accompanied by a torrent of tears. Her hands rose to cover her face, and she turned away from both of her parents.
“I-I-I didn’t m-mean to be out so late! I was j-just with Avery, and w-we lost track of time.”
A low sigh escaped Jonathan, and Madeline- halfway around the table to Ainsley, stopped. Jon moved from his seat, kneeling next to Ainsley’s chair as he had when she was a child, slowly wrapping his arms around his daughter. Madeline didn’t hear what was said between the two, because she decided to give them the time and space that they needed to restore their relationship. What she did know, was that when Jon returned to the kitchen to help her clean up, there was a smile on his face, and he was in a much better mood, evidenced by the way he stood behind her, slipping his arms around her waist, and pressing a soft kiss to her neck.
Jonathan was a late-night person, and he never really came to bed until the children were home. Isobel had nearly driven the poor man mad, as she loved to break the midnight curfew, though almost never intentionally. Inevitably, Christian would head out at 11:45, a wry grin on his face, to remind her that it was time to come home for the night, and shortly after midnight they would return, Isobel chagrined and apologetic. And even Christian had, on his own accord, broken curfew a few times. It was almost a rite of passage, and Jake had his own share of late nights, usually from studying with someone and forgetting to call or check his watch. Yet it seemed, that this one had bothered her husband more than all of the others, and Madeline thought that she knew why. While Jonathan loved the twins, they had a father, and he worried over them, and gave them all of that concern. Jonathan never really wanted to take that away from Morgan. Jake was his son, and he loved him immensely, as Jake was his firstborn, his pride and his joy. But, Jake could take care of himself, and Jon knew it.
But Ainsley, she was Jon’s little girl. There was a special bond between a man and his daughter, and Madeline knew that quite well. She herself was her father’s little princess, much as Isobel was Morgan’s. While she had never heard Jon call Ainsley ‘princess’ she knew that there was much of a similar bond between them. Ainsley just wasn’t a princess-y girl, nor was Jonathan the sort to call her that. In fact, they often didn’t say much of anything, with Ainsley’s quiet manner and Jonathan’s understanding of that. Often, Madeline would see the two of them sitting on the couch, Jon’s arm around Ainsley while they watched some programme or another. Sometimes, they simply took walks together, or played games. Theirs was a tight bond, and Ainsley always ran to her father first. That had to be the reason that this was hitting Jonathan so hard, though he wasn’t showing it.
Ainsley had not come home until well after one o’clock last night. Jonathan hadn’t been sleeping, of course, but he’d waited in the dark for her to say something. She hadn’t, and Jonathan had come to bed quietly, worrying Madeline a great deal. Even more unsettling for Madeline, had come when she’d gone into the girl’s room this morning with clean laundry. Brushing fondly at her sleeping daughter’s hair, she’d noticed the hickey on her neck. She hadn’t told Jonathan, but she knew that he suspected something of the sort. Which was why Madeline was anxious to see how the breakfast would play out, as she settled a plate of bacon next to the bowl of scrambled eggs, and the stack of toast. Her daughter still hadn’t come down to breakfast, though she could hear the slow footsteps upon the stair.
Ainsley came to the table, wearing an old turtle-neck sweater, her hair neatly braided, her brown eyes exhausted. She smiled thinly at her parents, and took her seat. Madeline held her breath while she waited to see what her husband would do. To her surprise, Jonathan said nothing. He merely set the newspaper to the side, and smiled at both girls.
“Good morning, Ainsley.”
Ainsley looked stunned, but then she paled and tried to smile back at her father, picking up her fork to toy with the eggs that her mother had dished onto the plate.
“Morning, Daddy.” Her voice was quieter than usual, and Madeline expected Jonathan to comment on it, but he didn’t. Instead he stood, and walked to the refrigerator.
“Ainsley, Mads, would either of you like some juice?”
Ainsley shook her head, not lifting her eyes from her plate, though she didn’t eat any of the food that she pushed about there. Madeline smiled reassuringly at her husband.
“I would, Jon.” Jonathan poured juice into two glasses, and returned to the table, setting one glass in front of his wife, and keeping the other for himself. Silence took the breakfast once more, and Madeline found herself squirming. She hated the awkwardness, hated that Ainsley was feeling so guilty that she couldn’t even look at her father. She was about to open her mouth and say something, but Jonathan caught her eye, and shook his head. Sighing softly, Madeline bit into her toast, chewing on it slowly.
“Ainsley?”
Both female looked at Jonathan, though Ainsley was much slower in doing so than her mother. When Ainsley met her father’s eyes, he paused for a long moment, letting their eyes remain locked before he pointed to the salt, sitting by her elbow.
“Pass the salt, please?” It was more than the girl could take, and she dropped her eyes, passing the salt to her father. Now, she refused to look at either of her parents for some time, and the table returned to the silence that Madeline dreaded so very much. Finally, the silence broke.
“DADDY, I’M SORRY!”
Startled, Madeline dropped her knife, and looked at her daughter. Ainsley rarely spoke, and when she did it was always done in such a quiet manner. Madeline couldn’t recall ever having heard her daughter use such a loud or forceful tone of voice. It was nearly a bellow, and it was accompanied by a torrent of tears. Her hands rose to cover her face, and she turned away from both of her parents.
“I-I-I didn’t m-mean to be out so late! I was j-just with Avery, and w-we lost track of time.”
A low sigh escaped Jonathan, and Madeline- halfway around the table to Ainsley, stopped. Jon moved from his seat, kneeling next to Ainsley’s chair as he had when she was a child, slowly wrapping his arms around his daughter. Madeline didn’t hear what was said between the two, because she decided to give them the time and space that they needed to restore their relationship. What she did know, was that when Jon returned to the kitchen to help her clean up, there was a smile on his face, and he was in a much better mood, evidenced by the way he stood behind her, slipping his arms around her waist, and pressing a soft kiss to her neck.
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