Winter
~~~
The Common Room, never quiet, felt louder than usual. It held such an odd assortment of sounds, all fighting to be heard over each other. Laughing. Crying. Yelling. Someone tapped a checkers piece on the table. Tap tap tap. Over and over, a neverending rhythm of tap, tap, tap. Pat tried to block it out, to cover his ears, but the sound still wormed its way into his head. How long had he been there? Trapped. The same rooms. The same people. The same relentless noise. Tap tap tap . It was enough to drive anyone mad.
He couldn't take it. He left his spot in the corner of the room, by the window and approached the door, the way out.
An orderly stepped in front of him. "And where do you think you're going?"
Pat couldn't answer. He knew there was no place to go. He just needed away from the room, the noise. Tap tap tap . He tried to push past but the man shoved him back.
He sighed and returned to his seat. He looked out the window where the world outside was gray and frozen. The snow had mostly melted, leaving only traces along the edges, but the sky threatened more. Tap tap tap . Pat ran his hands through his hair and closed his eyes. Why wouldn't it stop?
A fight broke out from across the room. A new source of noise, one that nearly drowned out the tapping. The orderly left his place by the door, intent on breaking it up.
Without a thought, Pat slipped through the unguarded door. The hallway, same as every other hallway, was quiet. Peaceful. He reached the end and suddenly stopped, unsure. He didn't know where he was going as he knew there was no escape. Trapped. If only he could think.
He spotted an alcove cut into the hallway and ducked into it, sinking to the floor. He wondered how long it would be until they found him. And what would happen to him then? Isolation? Restraints? Something much worse? No one was allowed to leave the Common Room except when told to do so. He knew there would be consequences but he needed away from the noise.
Charlie found him a moment later. "There you are. Come on," he said, reaching for his arm. "Let's get you back."
"No. I can't be goin' back. It's too..." He tried to gather his thoughts but they wouldn't gather. "I don't want to go back."
"If you don't go back, where would you prefer to go?"
"Home." It was so simple, so clear.
"You can't go home."
"Me family needs me," he said, uncertainty in his voice. Do they need him? It had been so long since he had seen any of them. They may have moved on long ago.
Charlie took a seat beside him. "I'm sure your family is doing just fine without you."
Maybe he meant well. The words felt true, in any case. Why wouldn't they be fine? Sarah could handle anything. John as well and Eileen—
"Me daughter..." Pat tried to think of her. Remember her. She was so small. What had Sarah told her. "She's only three." He thought. He didn't know how long he had been trapped. An eternity? It felt longer. "She won't know me." Like John didn't know his own father, Eileen would grow up the same. The realization struck him like a heavy blow, that Sarah could remarry, and he'd be replaced, forgotten.
Charlie sighed. "I'm sure your wife will tell her about you," he said. "But, maybe if you behave yourself for a time, they'll take you off the no visitors list."
Pat could only stare. Forgotten. Alone. Trapped.
"Of course, that means no wandering off," the orderly continued. "This is the second time you've tried to escape."
"I didn't try to escape," Pat replied. It was the truth. He knew there was no escape. "I just needed silence." Was that it? "I can't think. I can't...why can't I think?"
"That would be the phenobarbital, I imagine."
"The what?"
"Phenobarbital," Charlie said, enunciating each syllable. "It's to keep everyone calm."
Calm.
Docile.
"Now, let's get back to the Common Room before they send the entire hospital out looking for you."
Pat followed him back to the room with the laughing, and the crying, and the yelling, and the neverending tap tap tap . He returned to his seat by the window and put his hands over his ears.
~~~
Fabrizio was returning home from work when he spotted a notice taped to his door. He yanked it down and stepped inside. "Lelia?" He called out, but the silence that greeted him made it clear that she wasn't home yet. Most days she was there first but every so often Rose kept her late.
With a sigh, he looked at the notice in his hand and frowned as he read it. It had to have been a mistake. He began to do the math in his head.
Lelia came in at that moment with Caroline on her hip. "I left the stroller downstairs," she said, kissing his cheek. "Could you bring it up?" She set the toddler down who immediately toddled away. "What is it?" She asked, noticing the look on his face.
"They doubling our rent," he replied. "Starting next month." Fabrizio knew that some people had been struggling ever since the crash the previous October but he wasn't sure if this rent hike was a result of it or just an opportunistic move.
"Let me see." Lelia took the notice from his hand and studied it. Her expression shifted from curiosity to concern. "They can't do that."
"They can and they are."
"Can we afford it?"
Fabrizio scooped Caroline off the ground and planted a quick kiss on her cheek. "Might feel a bit tighter but we have savings and we both working."
Lelia still looked worried. "I suppose we could always move in with my parents if we need to. My mother probably wouldn't—"
But before she could finish, Fabrizio silenced her with a kiss. "It be fine. We have too much money as it is."
"Fabri—"
"Maybe we move to better place," he continued. "One with four rooms."
She laughed. "We should ask Cal where he found his help. I imagine with four rooms, we'll be needing a housekeeper and a cook."
"And butler." Caroline squirmed in his arms and he returned her to the floor. "No one with that many rooms answer their own doors." Fabrizio grabbed Lelia's waist and, pulling her close, kissed her. "I love you."
"I love you too but if you don't bring up the stroller, someone will take it."
"I go get it," he assured her, reluctantly letting her go. "But you don't move. We're not finished yet."
Lelia laughed.
As Fabrizio descended the stairs to retrieve the stroller, he couldn't help but wonder what they would do if the rent increased a second time. There were cheaper apartments, the dirty, windowless basement tenements but the thought of raising his family in one of them horrified him. It couldn't come to that. He couldn't let it.
~~~
Cal immediately spoke to his lawyer and together they agreed that while Dinah might be open to the idea of a divorce, it would only happen if she believed that she would come out on top. And, even then, if she knew that his financial situation wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been, she still might refuse. The steel factories may have been worth almost nothing and all of his stocks were gone, but he still owned a large home, a great deal of land, and a substantial amount in tangible assets. It was more than could be said for those poor souls busy jumping off tall buildings.
Following his discussion with the lawyer, Cal swiftly sold most of his land, keeping only a narrow strip around the house. He sold it for cash which he discreetly concealed in a safe hidden beneath the floorboards of what was formerly his father's office, a place that he was certain she knew nothing about.
Once his own financial future was secured—for the most part, he didn't want to return entirely to his old life—he knocked on the door of her parents' house where she had been staying.
"What?" Dinah demanded as she answered the door.
"Can I come in?"
"Absolutely not."
Cal sighed. Of course, she was going to make it difficult. "Fine," he said. "We can talk here in the cold then." He wrapped his coat tighter around himself. "I want a divorce."
"We've been over this."
"Sure," he acknowledged. "But I know that you only married me for my money and now the money's gone." He tried to look past her into the house, hoping to catch a glimpse of his children, but she stepped in front of him and crossed her arms.
"That is true," Dinah admitted. "Because you're a fool." She shook her head. "I'm torn because I do, indeed, want out and I certainly don't want to end up living in some dirty tenement which is surely where you're headed," she said, making a face. "But, it would also make you happy which is something I'd like to avoid."
"Would you just grow up?" He snapped. "Neither of us want to continue this."
"Fine," she said. "But I have a few conditions. First, you'll be taking the blame."
"I never—"
Dinah cut him off. "You will admit to your affair."
"If you want." Given the numerous scandals circulating the city since the crash, he doubted one more piece of gossip would make much difference. At least, he hoped it wouldn't. The last thing he wanted was to see his name plastered all over the papers.
"And I want alimony," she continued. "A lot of alimony."
Cal raised an eyebrow. "And how do you expect me to pay that? You know the money's gone."
"The house, then."
He looked at her. The idea of parting with the house he'd grown up in, the one that had been in his family for generations, was hard to fathom. But, no matter the cost, he had to break free from her. "Alright," he conceded. "You can have the house. But only the house."
Dinah opened her mouth to protest.
"I already sold the land," he explained. "There were a few debts in need of settlement." If she knew anything at all about him, she would've seen through the ruse at once, but she always assumed the worst. The cash that he had hidden away remained safe.
Her lips tightened and her eyes narrowed.
"I want custody." Cal knew he was pushing his luck but he refused to lose his children without a fight.
Dinah shook her head vehemently. "Absolutely not."
"We both know you don't care about those children," he retorted. "You're already coming out ahead on this. How much more do you need?"
She appeared torn and uncomfortable, glancing back into the house and then back at him. "Fine," she finally conceded, irritation lacing her voice. "I'll speak to my lawyer tomorrow."
"All I wanted to hear," Cal replied with a faint smile. "As always, it's been a pleasure talking to you." He turned away before she could change her mind, the door closing with a resolute thud behind him.
~~~
The babies had already been put to bed, but Kate remained awake, diligently mending a shirt. Beside her, Tommy was engrossed in a book. She thought it was well past his bedtime, but it was so rare to see him reading that she didn't want to disturb him.
The front door opened and Hugh stumbled in, already inebriated and visibly seething. "Bunch of goddamn cheats," he muttered under his breath.
"Go on to bed," she told Tommy at once, setting down the shirt she had been working on.
"But—"
"Do as yer told."
Tommy let out a dramatic sigh and slammed his book shut. He shot his stepfather a scathing look before leaving the room.
Kate took a deep breath before approaching her husband. "It can't be so terrible now," she said, taking his arm and trying to direct him to the sofa. "Why don't ye sit down and I'll make ye some coffee."
"I don't want any damn coffee," he spat. "They think they can screw with me and get away with it? Goddamn rigged game."
"I swear, if ye've been gamblin' again," Kate began. "Please tell me that wasn't what the mortgage was for. If I lose me house—" She stopped abruptly as she realized her mistake a moment too late.
"Your house? Your house?" Hugh's focus turned sharply onto her. "How many times do I have to tell you that it's MY damn house." He gripped her arm tightly. "I will do whatever the hell I want with my house," he continued, his voice laced with venom. "If I want to sell it, I will. If I want to tear it down and have you sleep out in the goddamn mud, I'll do it."
"Ye need to calm down. I didn't mean—"
He struck the side of her head, leaving her ears ringing. "I had to marry the only woman in the world who has an opinion for every little damn thing.
Kate tried to move away but he grabbed her hair and yanked her head back."Every single little goddamn thing. I should just sew your mouth shut and then maybe you'll be a better wife."
Don't reply. Don't reply. Don't reply. She knew better but couldn't stop herself. "That'd be more of a threat if ye knew how to do anythin' except drink and gamble our money away."
There was the briefest of pauses before he threw her to the ground and kicked her. "Useless, worthless, bitch."
Kate scrambled to her feet, wincing at the pain. She made a dash for the kitchen with him right on her heels, intending to grab a knife. But then his hand was in her hair and he violently slammed her head against the wall. She struggled to push him away, but he wrapped his hands around her throat and began to squeeze.
Desperate, Kate clawed at his hands, digging her nails into his skin. She couldn't breathe and the room seemed to close in around her.
Then, abruptly, he released his grip, leaving her gasping and struggling for breath.
Behind them, Tommy stood with a chair gripped in his hands as a makeshift weapon. Hugh pivoted towards him and Tommy struck him a second time. In a final lunge, his stepfather lost his balance and stumbled to the ground. He briefly tried to rise to his feet before he gave up and passed out right where he had fallen.
Kate's trembling hands instinctively went to her throat, fingers tracing the bruised skin where his grip had been moments earlier. Her voice, strained and laced with pain, shook as she spoke. "Help me move him to the sofa."
But Tommy just stood there, staring at his stepfather.
"Tommy," she repeated. "I said help me."
Finally, he stirred, and together they maneuvered Hugh onto the sofa. Kate began to undo his shoes but then decided against it. Hugh could sleep with them on.
The following morning, Kate sat in the room, her eyes fixed on Hugh as she waited for him to stir. She had spent most of the night awake, a combination of pain and anger preventing her from sleeping. Her head throbbed, each breath sent a sharp pang through her, and purple bruises dotted her neck. There was also a ringing in her ears that she prayed would fade soon. She had never been angrier in her life.
At last he groaned and opened his eyes. "What happened to you?" He asked, catching sight of her.
Kate slapped him. "Ye did, ye son of a bitch."
He tried to sit up. "Kate—"
She hit him a second time. "I should throw ye out. I should've done it last night and left ye to sleep it off on the lawn to me house but I don't want the neighbors talkin'."
Hugh ran a hand across his face. "Do it," he said at last. "Throw me out." He reached for her arm and pulled her close to him. "You'd starve without me and you know it." He gently patted her cheek then pushed her away.
"How much did ye lose last night?"
He looked at her, the coldness back in his eyes, and for a moment she thought he was going to hit her again. "Why don't you go start breakfast," he said, his tone icy, and he stood and walked away.
Kate let out a heavy sigh, feeling a strange sense of relief that Hugh didn't promise to do better this time. She was tired of being disappointed.
"Mom?" Tommy appeared in the doorway, looking at her with concern.
She managed a weary smile. "It's fine," she reassured him. "Want to help me with breakfast?"
He nodded.
One day at a time, she silently resolved as she stepped into the kitchen. It was all she could do.
~~~
Pat sat in the dining room and stared at the food in front of him. Bland, boring, always the same. He looked down the table at the other people, all happily eating. Seeming to enjoy themselves. He didn't understand any of it. How could they be so happy with where they were?
He picked up a piece of bread and took a bite. It was undercooked and doughy, but dry at the same time. What was the point? He was never seeing his family again so why go through the motions? Why pretend to live...to enjoy himself? He set the bread down and put his hands in his lap. Some days were harder to pretend than others.
Instead, he tried to clear his head. No thoughts at all but still they crept across his mind, none of them good, none of them helpful. None of them clear. It was strange how he couldn't think thoughts but he also couldn't not think them either. The damn medication. He rubbed his head but it didn't help.
There was a sudden commotion at the end of the words, near the doors. Pat turned to look. It was one or two patients, yelling, screaming, out of control and Charlie on the floor.
He didn't need to think.
Pat jumped up and joined the fray. He pulled a patient off the orderly and hit him. Then he hit him again. And again. And again. He lost count. All he knew was that even with the medication dulling, smoothing away his emotions, anger still simmered beneath the surface.
More people joined, orderlies in their white uniforms, and pulled him away. Dragged him away. He saw the restraints in their hands and the panic resurfaced.
"I didn't do anythin'," he insisted. "I was only tryin' to help." He looked to Charlie for help.
But Charlie was bent over the patient Pat had struck. The patient who was still on the ground, hardly moving.
"Charlie!" Pat grew desperate. "Tell them!"
They pulled him away through the doors and into the hallway. One had gone on ahead. He tried to prepare himself for the isolation room. Small, dark, cold, but at least it was quiet. He might be able to sleep and then maybe he could think.
But then they walked past it and a deeper fear rose up. "Where are ye..." His voice died within him. It didn't matter. They wouldn't have told him in any case.
He was taken into another room. One he had never been in before. A large tank sat in the center, filled to the brim with water. Pat tried to pull away. To flee. To escape. He couldn't breathe.
They pushed him forward.
"No, please," he pleaded. "Don't make me go in it. I can't do it. Please." Desperation filled his voice.
They ignored him. Still dragged him forward.
Someone grabbed his feet—he tried to kick them—and his arms.
The water was ice cold. Painfully cold. Familiarly cold. For a terrifying moment, he thought his heart had stopped. He clawed frantically at the hands that held him under. Pulled him under. He could hear them. The other swimmers, drowning, screaming. Why couldn't he move? Sharp pain and his lungs burning. His vision began to go dark around the edges, closing in.
Then he was on the floor, coughing and gasping for air. His limbs numb but still shaking from the cold. His hands still restrained. Every breath an agony. The screaming still lingered in his ears.
"Doesn't that feel better?"
He heard the question as though from a great distance. How could he possibly feel better?
The isolation room was loud. Pat sat in the corner, his knees drawn up. He was so cold. Why couldn't he warm up? There were so many screams still. He wanted to cover his ears but his hands were still restrained and he knew it wouldn't matter. Where was Sarah? He was so cold. So tired. But afraid to sleep. He knew what would come if he slept. The horrific memories, things he had tried so desperately to forget. The screams wouldn't stop.
The door opened and there was Charlie, looking concerned, with a blanket in hand. Pat glared at him. "You nearly killed him," the orderly said. "But I am sorry. I know you were trying to help but good intentions shouldn't result in murder."
Murder. Pat looked away from him. He was so cold. Why wouldn't the screams stop? God, he was still drowning.
Charlie removed the restraints and held out the blanket.
Wordlessly, Pat took it and held it loosely in his hands.
"I can deliver a message to your wife if you'd like," Charlie offered. "Or maybe bring you something to eat. Something from the staff table?" He took the blanket back and wrapped it around Pat's shoulders. "You'll feel better in the morning."
Better.
Pat forced himself to speak. "Would ye leave me alone?" His voice sounded hoarse, unnatural.
The orderly looked at him for a moment longer. "Alright," he said. He stood and left, closing the door and sending the room into darkness.
Pat buried his face in the blanket and tried to make himself as small as possible. His body trembled with the weight of silent sobs, his entire being consumed by an overwhelming despair.
~~~
Pat had always been the one to handle their finances. Sarah had never paid it much attention aside from assuming that he worried too much. But now that he was gone and they no longer had his paycheck, she quickly realized how difficult things were going to be. Thus far, they had been running through their emergency money, cash that had been tucked away into a canister in the back of the pantry, while she prayed that Pat would be released soon.
There was more money, safe in the bank. Money that her first husband had left her when he died. Money that she intended for John's education. She desperately wanted him to go to college, like his father. To make something successful of himself. Better for himself.
But the emergency money was running low and there was no helping it and she soon found herself taking the trolley to the bank. She nearly took the car as John had recently been trying to teach her how to drive but she hadn't yet felt comfortable with it. The last thing she wanted was to forget how to shift gears in the middle of traffic. There was already enough to worry about without having to add more.
Sarah walked up to the bank, feeling defeated, but stopped just in front of the building. There were boards on the windows and the lights were off. Tentatively, she knocked on the door.
"Ma'am," a man walking by approached her. "It's out of business. Knocking won't do you much good."
"But I have...how do I get my money out?"
"Sorry, hon," he replied. "If it was in there, it's long gone now."
"But it's mine." There was nearly $1500 in her account. It was a small fortune.
"Still gone."
Sarah returned home in a state of shock. John's money, gone. It seemed so impossible. It was her money. How could it just disappear? She went back to the canister and counted what remained. $160. Enough for a little over two months if she managed to feed her family on $15 a week. Maybe three months if she could get the food expenses down to $10 and they stopped using electricity but she knew that would be difficult or even impossible. Prices had been steadily climbing since the crash. She would need to get a job. There were always factories hiring and Eileen could stay with Kate during the day. The thought of spending twelve hours a day in a noisy dangerous factory made her want to cry.
"Mom?"
She jumped at the sound of John's voice. She hastily returned the money to its hiding place.
"Are you alright?" He asked.
"Fine," she replied. "You startled me, that's all."
He looked concerned. "Is that all we have?"
"Oh no," Sarah assured him. "There's still plenty in the bank." She managed a smile. "There's nothing to worry about."
John still looked unconvinced.
~~~
Spring
~~~
The moment his mother had stepped away, John peeked into the canister, hidden in the back of the pantry, and counted the money himself. There was so little in there. No matter her assurances, he knew that she was worried.
"It's frustrating," he said to Dottie not long afterward as they walked home from school together. "She's acting like my dad's going to be home any day now and we just need to hold on until then." He kicked at a small stone, sending it skittering across the pavement. "We both know he's not coming home." It was a realization that was difficult to say aloud.
"How bad is it?" Dottie asked. " I mean, if you guys need money, I'm sure my parents would be happy to help."
John shook his head. "My mother would never take charity. I wouldn't want to either."
"So then what?"
He thought for a moment, a conversation from years ago surfacing in his mind. "My dad once told me that he had to get a job when he was fourteen." He had also mentioned how much he had preferred to stay in school.
"You thinking of doing the same?"
"He's been gone since last September. That's nearly seven months," John said. "I know we don't have any money. Honestly, I don't know how we still have any food. Probably should've all starved to death a while ago."
"John!"
He shrugged. "Just stating the facts."
"You really should talk to your mother about this."
"You know she doesn't talk about things with me." He sighed. "She keeps saying everything's fine." He knew everything wasn't fine. He could see it in her eyes. "I should get a job," he said at last. "I mean, my mother won't get one and Eileen's only four. It kind of falls on me."
"You'd have to leave school," Dottie pointed out.
John thought of his father's insistence that he stay in school, his mother's dreams of him going to college, and felt an overwhelming sense of guilt. "I'd only be leaving a year early."
"I thought your mother wanted you to go to college."
"It's not like we could afford it now anyway." He stopped abruptly and looked back the way they had come. He only knew of one place that he thought might hire him on the spot. "Want to come with me?"
"To get a job?" Dottie gave him a look. "I think my parents want me to finish school."
"If you want," he replied. "I was just hoping you'd come with me to ask for one."
"Fine. Where you hoping to work?"
John sighed. "The mill. I know, I know. They're all monsters who murder trees," he said, before she had the chance to say it herself. "But my uncle already works there and I know my dad liked working there. I mean, before they had him committed. I figure they owe me."
It was a longer walk to reach the mill than he had thought it would be and he was starting to have second thoughts as they approached the site. The second thoughts only grew stronger as he watched men move about, oblivious to the mechanical shriek of sawblades. It was all overwhelming. John tried to spot his uncle but didn't see him anywhere in sight.
"You want to work here?" Dottie asked him.
"Not really," he replied, stepping up to a man walking past. "Excuse me. Where might I find the foreman? His name is Harris, I think."
"That'd be me," Harris replied. "What do you want?"
John had meant to ask for a job straight away but as he opened his mouth, another question slipped out instead. "Did you have my father committed?"
"Who's your father?"
"Patrick Murphy."
"Oh, him." Harris shook his head. "I had nothing to do with it."
John wasn't sure if he believed him. Someone must've been behind it and while everyone was quick to deny it, someone was clearly lying.
"Is there anything else I can help you with?"
Dottie nudged him.
"Right," John nudged her back. "Can I have a job?"
Harris looked him over. "I don't hire kids."
"I'm not a kid," John insisted. "I'm seventeen and I'm strong. And my uncle already works here. He can vouch for me."
"Who's your uncle?"
"Hugh Werner. And you owe me."
Harris crossed his arms. "And how exactly do I owe you?"
"You let them take my father away right in front of you and then you never even bothered to send word to my mother," John replied. "He worked for you for nine years. It was the least you could have done."
Harris rubbed the back of his neck, looking both uncomfortable and faintly irritated at the same time. "Fine," he said at last. "You start tomorrow. Be here at 6:30."
As they walked away, John felt strangely deflated. He should've felt good, victorious even. But he didn't want to leave school. He didn't want to work at the mill. What he wanted more than anything else in the world, was for everything to return to normal.
"What are you going to tell your mother?" Dottie asked.
"Nothing just yet," he replied. "I need to wait for the perfect moment."
"And by 'perfect moment,' you mean when she figures it out on her own and confronts you?"
"That seems right." John knew that she would be furious or maybe heartbroken but he knew they needed money. She had to understand that. She had to accept it. There was no other option for them.
~~~
Sarah sat on one of the plastic chairs in front of the reception desk at Eastern State. Her legs were crossed at the ankle but one foot still tapped anxiously against the floor. The receptionist kept looking at her, but Sarah ignored her. She was waiting for a different familiar face.
Seeing it at last, she jumped up. "Mr..." She started to call out. "I'm sorry. I don't remember your name."
The orderly gave the receptionist a glance before walking over. "It's Charlie."
"Can we talk?" Sarah asked. "In private?"
He sighed. "Fine," he said, gesturing for her to follow him just outside the front door. "You have another letter?"
"No." She silently beat herself up. Of course, she should have written. "I have a different favor to ask."
"What?"
Sarah hesitated a moment before speaking. "Help my husband escape."
"No." He looked around frantically. "Absolutely not," he said, lowering his voice.
"Please, you have to—"
"I'd be fired."
"I'll pay."
"$100."
"I don't have that much." Sarah didn't know how anyone could afford such a large amount.
"Then you don't have a husband." He turned to leave.
"Please." She grabbed his arm and began to cry. "He has a family who needs him."
Charlie's expression softened. "I like your husband," he said. "I really do. But I also have a family who needs me. And I refuse to do anything that might jeopardize my job." He shook his head. "I'd be more than happy to smuggle in a letter but I'm afraid that's my limit. I'm sorry."
"He shouldn't be there in the first place."
"That's what they all say."
"But he doesn't." Sarah felt herself growing desperate. She had to make him understand, no matter what it took. "He was on the Titanic ." She said it too loudly and immediately looked around nervously. She knew that Pat wouldn't have been happy to know she was speaking about it but she pushed down the guilt.
Charlie looked surprised. "What?"
"He was on the Titanic ," she repeated. "He was pulled out of the water. That's why he...why he struggles sometimes. He still has nightmares about that night. He..." She took a deep breath. "He's not mad and he belongs with his family."
He fidgeted uncomfortably with the sleeve of his uniform. "I'm sorry. But I can't help you."
"What am I supposed to do now?" Sarah asked the question more to herself than to him. She had tried everything she could think of and nothing worked. She had never felt so defeated.
Charlie shrugged. "Speak to his sister," he offered. "Seems your family is her responsibility now, considering."
"Considering what?"
"She signed the admission papers."
"She couldn't have," Sarah insisted. "We found out about it at the same time."
"Katherine Werner?" He asked. "I saw the papers and that is what's written on them."
She knew it wasn't right. She could feel it. Kate would've never done something like that to her brother. Sure, when she was the angriest at him, she might've tried to kill him, but she'd never have him committed. That went too far. Sarah tried to remember what Kate was short for...was it Katherine? It couldn't have been. But then she remembered how strongly Kate had insisted on Hugh's innocence.
"I'll tell him you were here," Charlie interrupted her thoughts as he turned to the door.
"Please do," Sarah replied. "Tell him I–" But he had already gone inside. She waited a moment longer, staring up at the building, so large and cold-looking and wondered just where her husband was at that moment. She looked at the windows and sent up a silent prayer that he might walk past one, but after a few minutes, she had no choice but to accept she wasn't meant to see him. She turned and began to reluctantly walk away.
~~~
Kate couldn't escape the tension that had settled between her and Sarah. She knew that Sarah blamed Hugh for what had happened to Pat. She also knew that her friend was frustrated that she wasn't as quick to condemn him. Admittedly, Hugh could be cruel, especially when alcohol was involved, but Kate still couldn't bring herself to believe he was capable of such a terrible act. She refused to believe she would've married someone who would do such a thing. But instead of arguing, Sarah had simply stopped visiting.
Kate, knowing how easily Sarah spiraled and how much she had relied on Pat, couldn't stop worrying about her. Unable to bear the weight of her concern any longer, she gathered up Bridget and Henry–Tommy refused to come–and walked over to her house.
She found Sarah in the garden, in the process of tearing it to pieces. "Sarah?" She set Bridget on the ground and quickly stepped forward. "What are ye doin'?"
Sarah didn't bother to look up. "We can't survive on peas so there's no point to having this, is there?"
"But ye love yer garden," Kate observed, gently touching Sarah's arm. "Sarah, would ye stop a moment and look at me?"
Sarah straightened up and wiped her dirty hands on her apron. "Why are you even here?" She asked, turning to face her friend.
"I haven't seen ye in weeks," Kate explained. "I was growin' worried."
"Oh," Sarah replied. "I thought you might've been here to gloat?"
"Gloat? What in heaven's sake are ye talkin' about?"
"You admitted your own brother."
"Why would I do that?" Kate asked, bristling under the accusation. "Where is this comin' from?"
"I spoke to someone from the hospital the other day. He said you signed the admission papers."
"I never signed anythin'."
"Katherine Werner," Sarah said. "He said he saw it plain as day."
Kate folded her arms across her chest. "Sarah, me name is Kathleen."
"What?"
"How long have we known each other and ye don't know me own name."
"Are you—"
"Yer really goin' to ask me if I'm sure of me own name?" Kate asked sharply. "I'm Kathleen. I was named after me grandmother." She cast a quick, protective glance at her children to ensure their well-being. "Henry, don't be feedin' yer sister grass," she called out, before turning her attention back to Sarah. "If anythin' had me name on it, I didn't write it. Particularly if it had me name written wrong."
"Then it must've been Hugh."
"Hugh knows me name," Kate insisted. "He wouldn't have gotten it wrong."
"Maybe but he's forged your name before," Sarah replied. "Did you forget about the mortgage?"
"No, I haven't forgotten the mortgage," she snapped. "God, I wish I hadn't opened that drawer."
"What name was on it?"
"Kathleen, I'm sure."
"Are you?"
Kate sighed. "Sarah, ye need to stop this," she said. "I know Hugh is a lot of things but I still don't believe he'd do somethin' this terrible."
Sarah gazed at the remnants of her garden and wiped her eyes, leaving a streak of dirt on her cheek. "I asked him to help Pat escape," she admitted quietly.
"Who?"
"The orderly," Sarah explained. "I asked him to help but he refused."
"Of course he did," Kate replied. "He'd lose his job if he were caught."
"He said he'd do it for $100 but I don't have $100. Well, I do have it but that's all I have." She choked back a sob. "John's been working at the mill. He doesn't think I know but he's a terrible liar and I know the smell of sawdust."
Kate used her sleeve to try to wipe the dirt from Sarah's face. "What?" She thought she must've misheard because she knew how adamant Sarah had always been about his education.
"He had to. Without Pat, we don't have..." Sarah's voice died. "I just want him home."
"Me too." It felt like before when he had left her in Ohio without any note or warning. Except this time, she couldn't be angry at him for abandoning her.
Later that night, as they all sat around the table, eating dinner in silence, Kate looked at Hugh sitting across from her, entirely unconcerned as he ate his roast. "What's me name?" She suddenly asked, her voice cutting through the silence.
He looked up, puzzled. "Kate."
"Me full name," she pressed. "What's Kate short for?"
Hugh set down his fork before responding. "Kathleen, of course," he said at last. "Why are you asking?"
It wasn't him. "I was just wonderin'."
~~~
Pat sat in the chair, his hands in restraints, and looked around the office. Walls lined with books but no window. It felt suffocating and the desk took up too much space. The man sitting behind it was the same one who had questioned him eight months earlier. A name plate read Dr. J. Barrett.
"Can I go home?" Pat asked. The man looked like someone who made the important decisions.
"I'm afraid I can't see that happening," Dr. Barrett said, shaking his head. He tapped his pen on the file that sat on his desk. Tap tap tap. "Honestly, you've made no improvement in all the time you've been here."
"How would ye know that, if this is the first time I've seen ye?" Pat asked the question but wasn't sure if it was right. Had he seen the man since he had arrived?
Dr. Barrett's response was curt, dismissive. "That's not your concern." The man wrote something down then went back to his tapping. Tap tap tap. "So, I've heard reports of your constant disruptive behavior."
Disruptive behavior? He had always done as he was told.
"Starting fights, wandering the hallways, that sort of thing."
"I haven't..." Pat tried to form an argument but his thoughts refused to organize. "I just...I want to go home."
"Why do you believe that the rules don't apply to you here?" The doctor asked. Tap tap tap . "No one else has caused so much trouble."
He hadn't done anything wrong. "I don't think—"
"Why do you believe that you're special?"
"What?" Pat struggled to follow along. Nothing the man said made any sense.
"How many times have you demanded to go home? How many times have you insisted that you were better than this place."
"I never did...I haven't..." He gripped his hands together tightly. "I just want to go home."
"The only ones who get to go home are the ones who do as they're told. The ones who happily accept their treatments, who work with the orderlies instead of fighting them. Certainly not you." Dr. Barrett sighed. "I see that we tried hydrotherapy once already." Tap tap tap. "I think I'd like to try that again. Maybe make a regular schedule of it. See if we can't see any improvement."
He suddenly felt dizzy. "No, ye can't. Please," Pat pleaded, his voice trembling. "Keep me in isolation the rest of me life but not that."
The doctor leaned forward almost eagerly. "Now why does that upset you?" He asked. "It's only water."
Pat opened his mouth to answer but nothing came out. Instead, he looked toward the door and imagined bolting through it. A useless dream. He was trapped.
"Well, if you have no answer, I don't see any reason to avoid it." The man leaned back in his seat. "I think three days a week to start."
"I was on the Titanic. " The words came out in a rush and he heard them as though from a great distance.
Dr. Barrett raised an eyebrow. "Were you now?" He asked, the skepticism heavy in his voice.
Pat nodded. "Me sister too and me wife." He wanted to run away, to back away, to hide. Anything to avoid that topic.
"That's a lot of people." Tap tap tap .
Unable to bear it any longer, Pat made a desperate lunge for the pen, but the doctor held it out of reach. "Sit down or I'll have you tied down," he warned.
Defeated, he returned to his seat, his eyes once again fixated on the door.
The man tossed the pen aside. "So, in these delusions, which class were you in? Surely not first."
"It's not a delusion." He could hear his heart pounding madly. "I was there."
Dr. Barrett sighed. "Six other patients all claim to have been on the Titanic. One man insists he's Captain Smith. Supposedly, he swam to Spokane. You tell me how that's even possible."
"I'm not...I'm not crazy." He could feel the panic tightening around him.
The doctor leaned back slightly in his chair, his fingers steepled, and a condescending half-smile played on his lips. "No? Your lack of self-awareness is deeply troubling." The doctor remarked. "I believe this is simply all the more reason for the water treatment."
"No, please," he implored, tears running down his face as his resolve shattered entirely. "I can't do it again. Please, don't make me."
The doctor wrote something down, then called for an orderly. Charlie appeared in the doorway. "Take him back to the Common Room for now. And tomorrow we can start on hydrotherapy treatment. I'd like to do it three times a week to start."
Charlie hesitated for a brief moment, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face, before nodding. He took Pat's arm and led him from the room.
"Please don't make me do it," he spoke quietly, urgently.
"Do what?" Charlie asked. "I'm afraid Dr. Barrett mumbled and I don't think I caught a single word after 'take him back to the Common Room."
Pat managed a shaky nod.
"But I can't stop it forever," the orderly continued. "They're going to make you do it eventually. I'm sorry."
~~~
Summer
~~~
"I mean it's not too bad," John said but then he sighed. "But also, it's terrible and I hate it. It's so loud you can't talk to anyone. And the sawdust gets everywhere and sticks to your arms and clothes." He shook his head. "I don't know why my dad likes it or liked it. I can't imagine he'd like working there anymore. Anyway, I rather be in school."
He and Dottie strolled through the park, having hardly seen each other since he started working.
"I'd rather you were in school too," Dottie replied. "I hate walking home by myself. Well, I'm sort of by myself. Jimmy keeps trying to walk me home and I keep having to find new ways to ditch him. It's irritating."
"Want me to hit him?" John offered with a smirk.
"Nah, I'll hit him myself if it comes down to it."
John reached up and plucked a low-hanging leaf from a tree as they walked under it. "You know the worst part of working at the mill? It's being there knowing what they did to my dad."
"You don't know that they did anything."
"One of them was behind it," he insisted. "I still think it was Harris. I mean, he was right there when it happened."
"He has no reason."
"No but..."
"And there's no proof."
"I'm sure there's proof but I can't exactly search his office, now can I?" John couldn't do anything to risk his job. Ever since he started working, he had been slowly slipping money into the canister in the pantry. If his mother had noticed that the amount never grew any less, she hadn't said a word about it.
Dottie shook her head. "I still think it was some vengeful family member of that man who was killed."
John made a face. "That's ridiculous," he replied. "They wouldn't have even known him." He fell silent as they walked on for a bit. "My mom thinks my uncle is behind it."
"He couldn't have," Dottie said firmly. "He's family."
John shrugged. "I know my parents never liked him. I wish I knew why."
"I told you. Your father stole your mother away from him," she explained. "Although, now that I think about it, it would make sense he'd want to get rid of your father."
He didn't believe her theory one bit. But there was still something strange going on. "A few weeks ago, I overheard my mom talking to my aunt. She said that the admission papers had her name written on them."
Dottie turned to him, her eyes widening. "You're just now telling me this?"
"It slipped my mind," he admitted. "It wasn't my aunt though. Someone else had written her name but wrote it wrong."
"So you're saying the person who admitted your father is someone who doesn't know your aunt," she said thoughtfully. "Looks like my theory is right. A vengeful family member of the man who died."
It still didn't seem right and trying to sort it out made his head hurt. His mother had been so adamant that his uncle was responsible. She had mentioned a mortgage as proof but he couldn't see how it was all connected. "I have an idea," he said hesitantly. "Maybe. There's just something I need to see."
"And what's that?"
"First we need to get my aunt out of her house and my uncle too."
Dottie sighed. "And how are we supposed to do that?"
"That part's easy," John said, a sly grin forming. "We just tell Henry how great the park is and he won't let up until he's there."
Everything went according to plan. If Henry was anything, it was persistent. Once an idea had taken root in his head, he never gave it up. His insistence, coupled with the nice weather, meant it wasn't long before they all left for a few hours in the park. Hugh, however, was elsewhere. John didn't know where but hoped he'd be gone for a while. Using the spare key from his parents' house, they let themselves inside.
They quickly found his aunt and uncle's bedroom and began searching the drawers.
"So what are we looking for?" Dottie asked, her hands rifling through the drawers.
"A mortgage," John replied quietly. "My aunt said she found it in a drawer."
"Why do we want a mortgage?"
"Just find it." A voice in his head warned him that it was a bad idea; they were certain to get caught. But he pushed it aside. "Hurry up."
"I got it." Dottie pulled out a folded piece of paper. She opened it up and started to read.
"What does it say?"
"A bunch of legal stuff. $900. Blah blah blah. Signed Katherine Werner."
"Katherine Werner?" There was a sudden feeling like a rock dropped into his stomach.
"That's what it says. Why?"
"My aunt's name is Kathleen."
"So you think—"
There was a sudden noise just outside of the door and Dottie rushed to stuff the paper back into the drawer. She slammed it shut.
"What are you doing?" Tommy stood in the doorway looking confused.
"We were...um..." Dottie looked to John for help.
"Did your father have my father admitted?" John asked suddenly.
"Yeah, probably."
"But you don't know for certain?" John prodded. "I mean he wouldn't really do something like that."
Tommy shrugged. "Sure, he would. That's exactly the sort of thing he'd do. And he's not my father. He's my stepfather."
Dottie started to push John out of the room. "You won't tell him we were here, will you?" She asked as they left.
"Why'd I tell him?"
"Because he's your father."
"Stepfather and I hate him so I really don't care what you do," Tommy replied bitterly. "Just don't let him catch you. When he caught my mom going through his drawer, he hit her."
"He did what?"
"He hit her." Tommy spoke nonchalantly as though discussing the weather. "He does it all the time."
John wondered if his parents knew. If they had, it was yet another thing they kept from him. "Wait. Why are you here? I thought you went to the park."
Tommy made a face. "And get stuck babysitting Henry and Bridget? No thanks. I turned around and went home."
"Does your mom know you went home?"
"She'll figure it out eventually." Tommy threw himself onto the sofa.
"You really don't like your father, do you?" John asked softly.
" Step father and no. He's the one who should be locked up."
~~~
Cal usually ignored the stacks of mail that sat piled neatly on the front table. If there were anything that needed his attention, someone would physically hand it to him. But lately, he had been going through it the moment it came through the door, hoping to see Kate's familiar handwriting. He was always disappointed but it still never stopped him from hoping.
This time, an official looking envelope drew his attention. He opened it and began to read:
I, Dinah Hockley, hereby petition this honorable court for custody of the following children: Victor Hockley, age 15, and Arthur Hockley, age 13.
He clenched his jaw as he read. Of course, Dinah had gone back on her word. Why did he think she would let him have the children so easily? He read on further, growing angrier by the word.
It is alleged that the respondent has exhibited patterns of excessive alcohol consumption, which may impair the ability to provide a safe and stable environment for the children.
Concerns have been raised regarding the respondent's involvement in extramarital relationships, which may have an impact on the children's emotional well-being and stability.
The petitioner has expressed apprehensions about the respondent's social circles, which they believe include individuals with backgrounds differing significantly from the children's own environment. The petitioner is concerned that these associations may expose the children to unfamiliar or potentially unsuitable influences.
He supposed he should've been grateful that she hadn't mentioned a word about his financial circumstances although, with everything else she listed, there wasn't a need to add more. With regard to the social circles, he wondered if she was referring to Louise or Fabrizio. Or perhaps both as he didn't think Dinah would've liked either one.
Cal was angry at the turn in events but more than that, he felt defeated. He couldn't win. No matter what he did, Dinah was always a step ahead of him. At the time, he had been surprised that she was willing to forgo custody, but now he saw that she had never meant to follow through in the first place.
He went straight to her house and pounded on the door.
She opened it herself and immediately greeted him with a smile. "I see you received my letter. Well, not my letter, my lawyer's letter."
"I thought we had this decided," he said. "You agreed that I would have custody."
"I did," she replied. "And then I changed my mind. They're my children and they belong with me."
"We both know you don't care for those children."
She laughed. "Neither do you."
Cal slammed his hand on the doorframe, causing her to jump. "That's a damn lie and you know it," he snapped. "I would do anything for them." He looked at the letter in his hand and imagined shoving it down her throat. "You're not going to get away with this."
"We'll see," she coolly replied. "Now get off my property or I will call the police." Dinah turned and slammed the door behind her.
As he walked away, he desperately tried to think of a way to stop her, any way to stop her but nothing came to mind. Her petition sounded damning and judges already favored women when it came to the children of divorces. There was nothing he could do.
~~~
Kate sat alone in her home, consumed by worry. She wondered if Sarah was right and Hugh had been behind what had happened to her brother. She had denied it so adamantly. It was one thing to marry a man who turned violent when he drank. It was another entirely to marry someone who would do something so terrible. The thought was too much for her to bear. But, no matter whether Hugh had been behind it or not, one truth remained—her name had ended up on the damning paperwork and the idea of being used as a scapegoat was devastating. It was even worse to think that, for a fleeting moment, Sarah—her oldest and dearest friend—had believed her capable of such a thing.
Kate had never felt so alone. It reminded her of the days when Pat had first returned and he and Sarah had been absorbed into their own little world, leaving her left by herself. But now she was married with three children and the loneliness seemed to stretch infinitely further.
She took a piece of paper and began writing a letter to Cal. The same man she hadn't heard from in years, not since she had told him to leave and never return. But she needed to speak to someone, anyone. Except every word she wrote was wrong and she kept scribbling them out and starting again. It was so difficult to put her feelings into words when she didn't know the words for the feelings herself.
Finally, Kate grabbed a fresh piece of paper and wrote just four words: 'Please come to Spokane.' It was a raw plea, stripped of eloquence, a stark admission of her own loneliness and despair. She sealed it into an envelope and went to drop it in the mail. She assumed she was likely wasting her time. Cal wouldn't come because who was she to tell him what to do? She had lost that right the moment she sent him away.
~~~
Mrs. Murphy,
Bottom of the hill, by the sign. 12 am.
C.
P.s. I may still change my mind.
~~~
Water clung to Pat's consciousness like a relentless nightmare. Cold, dark, unending. He woke abruptly with a gasp and a hand clamped over his mouth. It took a moment to make out the face in the darkness. Charlie.
The orderly removed his hand and put a finger to his lips. Beckoned him.
Wordlessly, silently, Pat followed him barefoot from the room and into the hallway. Sterile, cold, empty. He tried to remember what he had done wrong. He must've done something wrong. He had never been led anywhere except as punishment. "I haven't done anythin'," he said.
"I know," Charlie replied in a hushed tone. "You're not in trouble."
"Then where—"
"Be quiet."
It was wrong. He could feel it. He was supposed to be locked in his room, asleep. He wasn't allowed to wander the halls. They reached the front doors and a wave of panic washed over him. He was sure to be caught.
"I couldn't find the clothes you came in wearing," Charlie said. "But you can put this on." He held out a coat. "Not much I can do for shoes."
Obediently, Pat pulled it on.
The orderly approached the door and with a set of keys, began to unlock it. The keys returned to his pocket and, with a firm push, he swung the door open. A rush of chilly air invaded the room. "Come on."
Pat took a step backward, a feeling of impending danger clawing at him. It was a trap. He knew it. Felt it. They were going to put him back into the water. "I don't want...I haven't done anythin' wrong."
"I already said you haven't." Charlie's voice was frustrated. "You're going home."
He couldn't go home. He wasn't allowed to go home. There was no home anymore.
"Your wife is waiting for you," the orderly continued. He grabbed Pat's arm and began pulling him to the door. "I'm not risking my job for no damn reason. Move."
Outside into the dark. His heart pounded madly. He was certain it was a trap. Certain men waited in the shadows. Maybe some new punishment. Pat looked back at the building, dark and sleeping, the occasional window lit up.
But Charlie pulled him on, pushing him to walk quickly down the winding road, the chill clinging to them. At one point a sudden sound and the orderly paused to listen. But there was nothing and they moved on.
There was a car at the bottom of the hill. A woman stood beside it, her figure illuminated by the car's headlights. She looked up as they neared. A hand flew to her mouth and she ran forward.
Sarah.
Pat's steps quickened and when they finally closed the distance, she pulled him into her arms with a force that surprised him. He buried his face in her hair, breathing in her familiar scent, tears welling in his eyes as she held him tightly.
"Thank you," Sarah whispered over Pat's shoulder, her voice filled with gratitude as she clung to him.
"They shouldn't spend too much time looking for him—we're a bit overcrowded as it is—but he should stay home for a while," Charlie said. "I did make up some discharge papers for his file too but I'm not sure how believable they look. Probably shouldn't do anything that might give them reason to look in there."
Sarah nodded. "Anything else?"
Charlie sighed wearily. "He's pretty heavily medicated at the moment so he might seem a bit confused until it wears off. Just don't let him wander off on his own."
"He's what?"
"Medicated," he repeated. "It's to keep the patients calm."
Calm. Compliant. Obedient. Pat knew it was to keep them from thinking.
"Oh," Sarah replied softly. "Alright. Thank you."
"Good luck," Charlie said as he turned from them. "God, I'm going to get fired over this," he muttered as he walked away.
Sarah held him tightly a moment longer then tried to pull back. "Let me see you."
Pat only held onto her tighter, his fingers tangled in her hair.
"You need to let go of me for just a moment," she said, gently loosening his arms. Once she could see him, she brushed his hair from his face and smiled. "There you are. I've missed you so much. Come on." She took his hand and led him to the car.
As she started driving, Pat stared at the passing scenery outside the window. It was a better dream than usual—no water, no screaming—only Sarah. His Sarah. He touched the glass with his fingers. "I don't want to wake up," he murmured.
Sarah immediately pulled over and stopped the car. She took his hand. "You're not sleeping," she said, bringing his hand to her lips and kissing it. "This isn't..." She moved his hand to her chest, directly over her heart. "This is real. I'm taking you home."
He heard her words but they didn't make any sense. He couldn't go home. He was trapped. "I can't..." But he could feel her heart beating steadily beneath his hand. She was so warm. So real. He took a deep breath and, finally, he nodded.
"Do you believe me?"
Pat looked at her. At Sarah. His wife. And nodded again.
She smiled and resumed driving, still holding tightly to his hand. "I can't believe you're finally coming home," she said, her voice choked with emotion. "I thought I had lost you."
He looked around the car then at Sarah behind the wheel. Sarah couldn't drive. It wasn't right.
"Eileen is going to be overjoyed to have you home," she said. "She's really missed you."
"Me sister."
"Your daughter," she gently corrected.
Pat knew that Eileen was his daughter. Of course, she was. He didn't know why he had said what he did. For a moment, he wondered if he had lost his mind. He shouldn't have left. He belonged there. He rubbed his head. Kate was his sister. Kate. Katie.
"Katie cat," he said quietly.
Sarah leaned over and kissed his cheek. "You'll feel yourself again by morning," she promised.
Morning. When he woke up back where he was. Still trapped.
~~~
Seeing him again after such a long separation had been jarring. He was the same man she had loved, the one she had married and with whom she had a child, but there was no denying that he had changed. Tired, thin, worn, a distant look in his eyes as though he wasn't sure what was happening. But then Sarah held him close, her hand pressed gently against his chest, feeling his heartbeat, and everything seemed to fall into place once more. Throughout the entire drive home, she kept looking over at him, afraid that at any moment he might vanish into the night.
The house was as dark as when she had left it, with John and Eileen still sound asleep. Sarah took his hand and guided him inside. The living room was heavy with silence, the only sound being the steady ticking of a clock. "I don't want to wake anyone," she whispered as they went up the stairs. "You can surprise them in the morning." Mostly, though, she yearned to have him all to herself. Just for one night.
They entered the bedroom and the door closed softly behind them, Sarah kissed him with a longing urgency as she attempted to draw him towards the bed.
But he pulled away, his eyes filled with uncertainty. "Sarah. I don't..."
She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. "It's alright," she said softly. "We don't have to do anything. I just want you near me."
For the remainder of the night, she held onto him extra tight, terrified that she'd wake in the morning to find it had all been a dream. But when morning arrived and the sun's rays filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room, he was still there, already awake and looking at her. Sarah reached over and gently touched his face. She could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the wariness, the lingering traces of fear and it broke her heart.
Eileen was overjoyed to have her father back. At once, she clung to him, telling him all about the previous day and her plans for the rest of the week, which, for a four year old, consisted of playing with her doll and eating. By contrast, John greeted him with a handshake, trying to behave as an adult, but that only lasted a few minutes before he brought out his completed Spirit of St. Louis model and excitedly went over all of the details. Pat put up with all of it patiently, but Sarah could see the way his hands shook, how he kept glancing toward the door as though looking for an escape. But then she sent John off on an errand and put Eileen down for a nap and it was just the two of them and he breathed a sigh of relief.
Sarah awoke in the middle of the following night, immediately knowing that something was wrong. "Pat?" She reached over and could feel heat radiating from him. "I can get you some water."
He shook his head and turned away.
She gently brushed his hair back from his face. Every inch of him seemed to shiver, his entire frame trembling beneath the weight of some unseen agony. She adjusted the blanket, cocooning him more snugly, before settling beside him. "You'll feel better in the morning," she murmured, her voice a soft reassurance.
He mumbled something back and she thought she caught the word 'water.' He clung to her and buried his face against her shoulder.
The next day brought no improvement. Sarah remained by his side, gently placing cold compresses on his forehead, trying in vain to cool the relentless heat that emanated from him. His condition had worsened and he grew restless, twisting and turning in the sheets. His fingers clawed as his hair, the anguish in his eyes mirroring the battle he fought against his inner demons. In his delirium, he muttered fragments of sentences. "I can't...I just...don't make me go," he pleaded, his voice a desperate whisper. "Don't leave me."
"I'm right here," Sarah said soothingly, running her fingers through his hair. "It's alright. I'm not going to leave you."
Kate tried to take over once so she could get some rest but Sarah refused. The fear that she had finally reclaimed her husband only to lose him again, clung to her like a shadow. Kate did her best to reassure her, explaining that it was likely just the flu and he'd recover in a few days. But Sarah remembered Daniel and how he had returned from the war only to immediately fall ill and die. She didn't know how Kate had forgotten.
One morning, she awoke to find him still. A sudden panic took hold and she shook him. "Pat?"
He opened his eyes and looked at her.
"I thought you had..." She swallowed hard. "You look like you're feeling better." She laid her hand across his forehead. He was still too warm.
"A bit." Pat managed a weak smile and reached out to her. "How is...how am I..."
"You're home," she replied, brushing his hair back. "Kate's been to see you a few times and John and Eileen are thrilled to have you home." She kissed his forehead softly. "So am I. But now that you're feeling better, you should get some sleep."
"I was asleep," he said, rolling over and closing his eyes. "Ye woke me up."
That night, Sarah slipped out of bed and went outside, taking a seat on the porch swing. She closed her eyes against the cool night air. The days may have still been summer but the nights were firmly in the fall. She had assumed, perhaps foolishly, that everything would return to normal the moment Pat came home. Of course, it hadn't. How could it possibly? Sarah could feel tears well up in her eyes but she blinked them back before they had a chance to fall.
The front door creaked open and she looked to see Pat standing there, a blanket wrapped around him, still looking pale and worn. Without a word, he took a seat beside her, adjusting the blanket to cover her as well.
Sarah rested her head on his shoulder, feeling the lingering warmth of his fever. But he was solid and he felt safe. "Never leave me again," she said softly, taking his hand and entwining her fingers with his.
"Didn't mean to leave ye the first time."
An owl hooted somewhere in the distance and Sarah thought she saw a dark shape flit through the darkness. She wondered whether it was a confused bird or a bat. She was about to ask Pat's opinion when he spoke first.
"I can't do this," he said quietly.
Sarah squeezed his hand. "It's going to take some time," she said. "You've been gone awhile."
"But what if..." His voice faltered and he took a breath before continuing. "What if there was a mistake? What if I shouldn't have been released?"
"You weren't—" She stopped abruptly and looked at him. He must not have remembered escaping in the middle of the night. She leaned over and softly kissed his cheek. "There wasn't a mistake," she said. "You're exactly where you belong. I promise."
~~~
Fall
~~~
Coney Island had been Cal's idea. One last chance to spend time with his children before he lost them forever. He had extended the invitation to Fabrizio and Lelia, even offering to pay for everything, all in an attempt to ease the looming awkwardness that hung over them. Aside from Arthur's brief late night visit, he hadn't seen either of his children in years and he didn't know what Dinah might've been saying about him.
They all met up at the entrance to the park. Fabrizio stood with his arm around Lelia and Caroline sitting up in her stroller. Lelia's face lit up at the sight of them. "There's three of you!" she exclaimed.
Cal looked at his children then back to her. "I suppose they look a bit like me," he admitted. "This is Victor and Arthur," he introduced his sons. "Fabrizio and Lelia. And Caroline," he added quickly, noticing Arthur looking curiously at the stroller.
"Can we go on a ride?" Victor asked at once.
"That's precisely why we're here," Cal replied as they all walked into the park together. The atmosphere shifted, transformed by the vibrant lights, lively music, and the enticing scent of popcorn drifting through the air. He handed each of the boys a dollar, and they wasted no time dashing ahead while the adults followed behind.
"How Dinah let you have them?" Fabrizio asked.
"I borrowed them for the day," Cal confessed with a hint of bitterness. "Wasn't exactly supposed to take them out of Philadelphia."
Fabrizio raised an eyebrow. "So you kidnap them?"
"You can't kidnap your own children and they're still mine, for now." He paused as a large, distracted family, happily munching hotdogs, meandered past them. "I'll be losing custody as soon as everything is finalized."
"You don't know that. It's not over yet."
"No, I do know that. I can't beat her."
Fabrizio let out a huff. "She already has the house," he said. "She shouldn't get your children as well. What does that even leave you with?"
"Several failed factories and a modest amount of cash hidden in the floor of my father's office that I really need to remember to fetch before Dinah changes the locks."
"I'm so sorry," Lelia offered. She had been listening patiently as they spoke, half of her attention on Caroline who was busy looking around, entirely mesmerized by the lights and sounds of the park.
Cal shrugged. "At least I'm out of my marriage. So, little victories, I suppose."
Arthur came back and held out his hand.
"How in the world did you spend it so quickly?" Cal asked.
"I didn't," the boy replied. "Victor took it."
Cal sighed and handed him another dollar.
Fabrizio chuckled. "Where will you go once everything's final?" He asked, jumping back onto the previous topic.
"Maybe here."
"You're moving to Coney Island?" Arthur interjected eagerly. "Can I come?"
"No, I'm not moving to Coney Island," Cal clarified. "I meant New York."
Fabrizio gave him a curious look. "Not Spokane?"
Cal hesitated, his thoughts drifting to Kate's unexpected letter. "Did I tell you that Kate asked me to come?"
"When was this?"
"A few months ago."
"And what you tell her?"
Cal had tried to write a response. He had tried several times but couldn't find the right words. Maybe there were no words. Eventually, he gave it up. "I didn't reply," he admitted. "She made it clear that she didn't want me there."
"Except when she write you and ask you to come."
"I'm not going to just come and go as she pleases."
Fabrizio shook his head. "You're being stupid."
"She's still married," Cal pointed out.
As they approached the imposing Cyclone roller coaster, they all stared up at it in awe. A train rumbled along the tracks with a thunderous clatter.
"We are so going on that," Victor declared as he rejoined the group.
Arthur shook his head hesitantly. "I don't want to."
"Don't be such a baby."
"Maybe your father would go with you," Lelia suggested.
"I didn't ask you," Victor retorted, his tone sharp.
Cal gave his son a firm smack on the back of his head. "Apologize now," he scolded. "That was rude."
Victor rolled his eyes. "Sorry," he muttered, then turned to his brother. "Now come on, you baby," he said, heading toward the ride's entrance.
Arthur followed after a moment's hesitation.
"Dinah's ruined my children," Cal said. "I'm sorry."
"One child, maybe," Lelia reassured him. "Arthur's very sweet."
Cal wondered how the two children could be so different and he worried what Dinah might've done to contribute to such a thing. He sighed. There was nothing he could do about it anymore.
Caroline let out a sudden laugh, interrupting the moment and Fabrizio gently scooped her up from the stroller.
"Are you two holding up well with everything that's been going on?" Cal asked. "I really should've asked that earlier. I'm sorry."
"We're fine," Fabrizio said, pretending to playfully toss Caroline into the air, evoking gleeful giggles from the little girl. "We both have good jobs and we're only three people."
"For the moment," Lelia added, her hand resting on her stomach. "We'll be four soon enough but babies don't take up much room."
Cal smiled. "Good for you guys," he said warmly. "You might need to find yourself a fourth room."
Suddenly, Arthur reappeared in front of them. "I didn't want to go," he admitted. "But not because I'm scared, because I'm not. I just didn't feel like it."
"Well, that's good," Lelia said with a smile. "Because I need someone to go on the Circle Swing with me and Fabri's too scared to do it."
Fabrizio shot her a playful look. "I'm what?"
Arthur's eyes lit up. "I can do it!"
"We'll be back," Lelia said as Arthur took her hand and led her away, leaving Cal and Fabrizio to find a bench to await their return.
"I like Lelia," Cal mused. "You married well."
Fabrizio nodded. "I told you, she's perfect."
"Well, don't let her get away."
"Never."
Cal looked at Caroline, happily sitting on her father's lap, and wondered what his life might've been like if he had been fortunate enough to marry someone like Lelia—someone with whom he could have raised his children. He couldn't imagine how differently everything might've gone. How much better.
~~~
Sarah had to run to the store, leaving Kate alone with Pat. They had all agreed that it was too risky for him to leave the house. Admittedly, Kate was slightly uncomfortable around her brother. She didn't know if he blamed her for what had happened and was too afraid to ask. All she knew was that he was jumpy and irritable and ignored her entirely.
They were both in the kitchen while she made cookies—baking was her go to when she couldn't think of anything else to do–while Henry and Eileen played in the next room. Pat sat quietly at the table with his head down. Kate glanced at him from time to time as she measured out ingredients. She didn't know whether it was better to act as though nothing had happened or better bring it up and get any unpleasant conversations over with and out of the way.
"Bridget's taken to climbin' out of her crib at night," Kate finally said, her eyes landing on the toddler playing with a doll nearby. "No idea how she's doin' it. She should be too short, but somehow she's findin' a way." She gave her brother a look but couldn't tell if he was listening. "I've had to start puttin' her in the kiddie-koop at night. I'm not too keen on it, but at least it has a lid." She paused, unsure whether to continue or not. "It's not that I want to lock me children up like that but I don't need her wanderin' about the house at night. I mean, she can handle the stairs, slowly and goin' down the steps backwards. But I hate for her to take a tumble in the dark. Do ye want me to make ye some tea?"
Pat responded with a slow shake of his head.
"Oh." She scrambled to think of something else to say. "Well, maybe ye could lend a hand with these, then? That might be fun."
"Would ye stop treatin' me like a child?" He snapped suddenly.
Kate looked at the spoon in her hand and blinked. "I wasn't...I didn't mean to..." She stammered. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to take yer mind off things."
"I don't need ye tryin' to take me mind off anything."
Kate took a deep breath and returned to her cookies, her hands trembling as she carefully measured rolled oats.
"Want out!" Bridget had given up on her doll and stood at the backdoor, trying to turn the doorknob.
"Not right now."
A brief silence hung in the air as the toddler took a deep breath. And then she started to scream.
"Bridget," Kate began. "Ye can go outside later."
The toddler's cries escalated, evolving into red-faced sobs, as she pounded her hands on the door.
Without warning, Pat shot to his feet. He went straight to the back door, knocking Bridget to the ground as he pulled it open and stepped outside.
The impact startled her out of her tantrum. She quickly scrambled to her feet and followed him out before the door could close, her earlier outburst completely forgotten.
"Damn it." Kate tossed the spoon down in a cloud of flour and hurried after them. She scooped Bridget up in one arm and reached for Pat's arm with the other. "Ye need to stay in the house."
Pat yanked his arm free and kept walking.
"Do ye want to be goin' back?" Kate called out desperately. "Because that's what's goin' to happen."
He stopped abruptly and looked at her. "Why? Is yer husband nearby?"
"Hugh had nothin' to do with it."
Pat's expression shifted, and he advanced toward her, causing Kate to take several hasty steps backward. "Why don't ye open yer damn eyes for once in yer life. I know he was behind it."
"Ye've just never liked him," Kate retorted. Bridget squirmed in her arms.
"And for good reason. After he tried to do me in and had me locked in that place—"
"He what?"
"Why do ye keep defendin' him?"
"I'm not. I'm just—"
Pat roughly grabbed her arm and pulled up her sleeve, revealing a deep bruise. "And what's yer excuse for this?"
Kate tried to pull her arm back but his grip was too strong. "Let go of me."
"Want down!" Bridget screamed, reaching for the ground.
Pat ignored her. "Let me guess, ye fell again."
"Pat, yer hurtin' me." Bridget chose that moment to send all of her weight backwards and Kate half dropped her to the ground. The toddler immediately toddled away.
"Or maybe ye slept wrong," Pat continued. "Ye know, I can't tell if yer actually this daft or if ye just believe the rest of us are. Either way, yer the one who–"
Kate's hand lashed out, delivering a sharp slap to his face. "Ye have no idea what I've..." She shook her head, her eyes glistening with angry tears. "I'm sorry for what ye've gone through. It isn't fair and ye didn't deserve any of it to happen. But please don't be takin' it out on me. I haven't done anythin' to ye," she said, finally pulling her arm free from his grasp.
Bridget suddenly let out a shriek and came barreling toward them, followed closely by the turkey. She clutched Kate's leg.
"I always forget ye have him," Kate admitted. "Honestly, I can't believe he hasn't been carried off by a bear yet."
Pat didn't say anything; he simply turned and went back inside the house.
Kate looked at the turkey and sighed. "Ye always have to interrupt, don't ye?" The turkey ruffled his feathers and Bridget let out another shriek. "That's what I thought. Come on, let's get back inside," she said, scooping the toddler up.
Inside the house, Pat was nowhere in sight. Kate wondered if he had gone out the front door. She set Bridget down near her doll and returned to her cookies, wishing she could just go home and let Pat become Sarah's problem entirely. But she had promised to stay with him, to keep him in the house. She sighed as she began to clean up the spilled flour.
"What do ye need help with?" Pat had returned and stood in the doorway, looking remorseful and miserable.
It took her a moment to respond. " Ye can chop these walnuts for me, if ye want."
Without a word, he went over to the counter and began chopping the nuts.
Kate watched him work and saw how his hands shook. "At least it's over now," she said, attempting to offer some reassurance.
Pat paused, the knife suspended in midair. "Is it?"
"Well, yer home now. We can all move on."
He didn't respond, just resumed his work, each stroke of the knife growing harder and more forceful.
Kate could feel the anger emanating from him and regretted her words. She wanted to reach out to him, to comfort him, reassure him, but there was something in his demeanor that sent fear running through her and made her hold back. She could tell that something had changed in him and she prayed the change wasn't there to stay. She didn't think she could handle a second angry man in her life. Hugh was more than enough.