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 Posted: Wed Oct 19, 2011 8:54 pm
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Posted: Thu Nov 03, 2011 10:13 am
. Anne sat in her lonesome at the bottom floor of their townhouse. She stared out from her couch at her backyard-- it could barely hold two people, and past the low fencing she could spot the backs of other homes, the creek, the lanterns. It was raining and it was lonely, and Mordekai-- after what few savings they expended-- had returned to work only weeks before. He wouldn't return until later in the evening, she knew.
Before she was staring into the backyard, she was reading. Kind of. A copy of The Kite Runner was held limply in one hand, but it didn't do too much to absolve her gloomy mood. She blamed it on the weather-- it looked as if it were going to rain for the past several days, but it never quite happened, which left her frustrated-- if you want to rain, sky, you better damn well rain.
In her other hand, she had her cellphone. It was a just-in-case, for when Mordekai needed her help, like if he wanted her to pick him up instead of biking, which was becoming more frequent with the weather-- she didn't want him sopping up their floor like a wet dog.
She also kept it for her father. They spoke on a semi-frequent basis, now, once every week or so. Even though they were only forty minutes apart, it seemed that Anne rarely saw him, outside of a few holiday greetings. And now she was asking him for a big, irrevocable favor, one she'd already made in private. She was lonely. It was how things were.
Anne flicked her phone open and searched through her contacts, found 'Dad,' and placed a call.
She hovered the phone a few inches away from her ear; the ringing made her head hurt. A part of her suspected that it would go straight to voicemail-- a part of her prayed that it would be the case.
The phone went silent. Anne squeezed her eyes shut, braced herself, and heard a familiar voice:
“Annie? Hello?”
Anne took a sharp intake of breath and fluttered her eyes open-- she rubbed her temples and laughed, nervously, her dark locks falling over her face. “Hi, dad. Didn't expect a call from me today, right?”
He laughed. “No, but I always appreciate it. Is everything alright?”
Anne's expression soured. She tended to avoid calling her father when she could, as he rarely began greeting her with anything but the worst: he would constantly assume that something was wrong. Admittedly, he was right nine times out of ten, but Anne rarely wished to be a bearer of bad news. For now, though, she was too nervous and flighty to care: she laughed halfheartedly and leaned against the seat, her sights still focused on her backyard.
“...Annie?” He sounded concerned.
“Uh, yeah. Yeah, everything's alright. How are you?”
A relieved sigh from the other line. “That's wonderful. I was just in the gardens. The pomegranates have started to ripen again-- when are you and Mordekai going to visit next? I'll get some juice ready for you.”
“I'll ask him when he comes back from work... he's still getting used to his schedule, though, so we'll have to see how tired he is,” she paused, “And I guess me, too. Dad, I've been so tired lately...”
Duncan's voice quieted. “Have you been keeping up with everything? When's your next doctor's appointment?”
“I haven't made one yet... I think sometime in mid-October, though, the hospital's always so full.”
“Annie, be sure to do that soon. It's bad to fall behind.”
Silence. Annie frowned and set her book down on the coffee table, stood, and pressed her hands against the backyard door's glass pane. She chewed her bottom lip with anxiety and annoyance and-- wonder, she supposed, if she should tell him at all. She sighed again-- her father was clearly waiting for an answer from her-- and dipped her head.
“Okay, okay, can't do this, nope. I'll be honest with you, dad-- I didn't exactly call for another lecture,” Anne responded curtly, “I mean-- sorry if that came off as too rude. I've got to get more sleep, but that isn't the point, either-- I just, uh, need you to hear me out.”
As Anne let out a defeated, quiet laugh, Duncan did the same. “I understand, Anne, it's okay,” he sounded as pleasant as before, which always unnerved her, “What do you need to say, then?”
Anne stifled. She turned back towards the remainder of the townhouse-- she stared at the kitchen, the television, the couches, their shitty rug. It didn't offer her any concrete ideas, but she immediately gripped at the backyard door's knob, quietly slid it open, and slipped outside. “Let me think about how to say this,” she responded-- as she went outside, she was immediately hit by the cold air, which made her shiver. All she was wearing was a button-down and long skirt; stay-at-home day also meant no shoes, and her bare feet and toes bunched up around each other for warmth.
“Okay,” Duncan responded; Anne hurried towards one of the backyard seats, a rusted fold-up chair, and plopped back down. She straightened her back, breathed in, and took in some confidence from the smell of pine just ahead.
“I... think I want to adopt?”
“What?” Duncan sounded incredulous. Anne stifled defeated laughter-- she expected the answer, obviously.
“Well, it's like, it's this project, so it's not technically adopting a human child, per se, it's like... they're called Raevans? They're kind of hard to explain, but from what I've read, they skip the diaper-baby stage and go straight into teenhood. And the project is pretty reputable, I mean, the lab that's operating it is pretty well known.”
“A Raevan? Is it some kind of cryptid? What kind of project is this, Annie? What lab?”
“Raevans are like-- well, like I said, they're kind of hard to explain? They aren't really cryptids, though. Not really classified in any text, they're kind of new. And it's being sponsored by a place called Lab 305,” Annie paused, then blurted, “I can totally send you their website through e-mail or something, it's really up-to-date.”
More quiet. Anne found herself regretting the decision to volunteer for the project the longer she sat in the cold-- she shifted some gravel beneath her feet with her toes. Their backyard was like a concrete-and-gravel dead zone in comparison to her father's garden, but a few pots lay strewn about with green flora. A few of them were dying off already with the weather, and a few of them were ignored for so long that spiderwebs networked comfortably around them.
She sucked in her breath. “...Dad. You still there?”
“...Yes, I am. Have you talked to your husband about this already?”
A good point, made even better by calling Mordekai her husband rather than by his name. She sunk in her chair out of guilt. “No...”
“He--”
“But!” Anne perked, “I'm sure he'll be okay with it. It's not like raising a human child. I'm willing to do all of the work...”
“Anne.”
Anne was surprised at Duncan's grave tone of voice, but she shook it off and continued, “No, really, dad, raising a Raevan isn't going to be as intense as you think. Like, they don't even need human food to live, they feed off of weird crap like, I don't know, hugs and good feelings. And Mordekai can totally provide those kinds of things, too-- I know he's scared of raising kids, but I think it's worth a shot. Please don't shoot the idea down before you look at the website, okay?” She sounded desperate by the end of it, but desperate times called for desperate means.
More terrible, terrible silence-- Anne bore with it, and Duncan finally relented with a small sigh. “Okay,” he responded, obviously worn; “I'll look into it. Did you sign up for it today?”
“I... I signed up for it a few weeks ago, actually.”
“Anne!” Anne reeled back in her seat and kept the cellphone away from her face. “A few weeks ago! Did you tell anyone about this?”
“No! You're the first one. I know it's absolutely stupid, but, like, I wanted to do this so badly, but I was so nervous to talk to you about it. So I kind of just did it,” she grinned at the air, “Spur of the moment?”
A list of possible things Duncan could possibly say bounced back and forth in her head: What would Mordekai feel about this? Hell if she knew yet, Where will it live in your house? We'll make space, like a nursery; This is very irresponsible of you, Annie May. She knew.
She swung her legs a little and waited, and waited, and waited for Duncan to respond back, but her father was stone-cold still in his stupor. She bit her lips again and scratched her ears-- before he could fully devise his lecture, she knew she had to be bold. Bolder than she'd been a while.
Anne took in a deep breath.
“Also, I'm telling you first instead of Mordekai because... I might have registered it under your name.”
“My name. Mine?”
“Yes,” Anne's voice was monotonous, “But I put our address down.”
The sound of pathetic, suppressed sighing filled the other line. Anne brushed a hand through her hair, nervously.
“Why,” Duncan began, desperately, “Anne, why didn't you use your name?”
Anne took in a deep breath, stared at her lap, and let the words flood out: “Just in case something happens.”
Just in case. Just in case she died. She could still feel her heart sluggishly working its motors in her chest, and she could practically hear Duncan's heartbeat too, now-- through his lack of vocalization, his surprise. What Anne didn't realize was that Duncan now stood blindly in defeat by his own home's backyard exit, one gloved hand pressed on the yard table as he reeled at her statement.
Like Anne, Duncan finally sat down-- she could hear the creak of a chair faintly in the background. He sighed again, but this time, it was less sharp, less full of irritated, invigorated energy.
“Anything you want to do...” Duncan's voice trembled with fear, but she could tell his words were genuine-- she covered her mouth as she felt her eyes gloss with tears. Though she tried her hardest to compose herself for this conversation, she was immediately surprised.
“If you really wish to do this, Annie, I would never stop you. I'll honor that choice, no matter what happens. I just want you to talk to Mordekai about this first, then call me back. Okay?”
He was okay with it.
Anne smiled, widely, and pressed her cellphone to her ear. “O-okay. I love you, dad,” she felt her cheeks go red, and she squeezed her nose for warmth, “I will. Thank you so much. I'm... I'm going to go, though, Mordekai's upstairs right now to talk about it with,” Anne lied; she was simply tired, and her head was whirling with relief and adrenaline. “I'll talk to you soon, then, okay?”
“Okay. I love you so much, sweetheart. I hope to see Lady Aina and her sire soon?”
Anne reverberated with a laugh that was louder than it probably should have been; tears streamed from her face. “s**t, dad, stop that. Yeah, of course. I'll tell Mordekai we're visiting soon.”
“Before Thanksgiving?”
“Yeah. Promise.”
With another paired good-bye, Anne dropped the call. She sniffled and wiped her eyes of tears, and sluggishly walked back in doors. Crying over something like this? That was his job, not her's.
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Posted: Thu Nov 03, 2011 10:14 am
. Annie Clarke had passed away at the first of the month, just a few weeks shy of Thanksgiving, and Duncan Clarke – her father – never had the chance to see her alive and whole again. The last he'd heard from her was just two weeks ago, where she'd promised to see him again during that very holiday – and how cruel the world was, Duncan thought. How very loathsome.
Though she loved and celebrated it just the same as any other holiday, Annie had always complained about how she never understood the purpose of Thanksgiving – she was born and raised on Gaia, after all, and her American Bellamy relatives never cared to host it themselves. It was almost always left to Duncan, who was born in America but raised in England, and thought the holiday was just as silly.
Still, the two shared a love for celebration and an excuse to feed their loved ones, and feed they did with splendid dishes aplenty - both with traditional dishes like stuffed turkeys and sweet potatoes and other somesuch odd dishes like curry soup and crisp parsnip chips and pita bread with chutney – and every year their Thanksgiving grew a little bigger, a little more grandiose in fare. And this year, Annie realized, there would be some purpose to Thanksgiving as well, which meant the feast had to be three times as grand to celebrate properly.
She was going to make a very big announcement. To Duncan, it was no secret – she had told him about it just a couple of weeks ago. Her husband would have known, but the stage fright had prevented her from telling him so soon, but Thanksgiving would give her some of the bravery she needed. It was a brilliant plan, she thought.
In late September, Annie had already bought many of the things she needed to prepare for Thanksgiving, which was only two months away. With her passing, she left limoncello still steeping in her cabinet and basketfuls of herbs. She left bags of flour and sugar untouched. Her cookbook was left at the counter, open with a pen at the rim with the cap off.
This is the world Duncan saw without Annie there, and it was a bitter and tasteless one. The townhouse that was always dusty but homey and smelled lovingly of basil was now cluttered, broken, and reeked of whiskey. At the dining table, he saw a tower of envelopes unattended, and Duncan opened and read every one.
There was only one envelope he kept. In it were some very important documents.
He kept the documents at the passenger's seat of his car for a long time, his sole companion as his days were spent processing the last of Annie's statements. Duncan worked quickly, and managed to get most of the paperwork out of the way before Annie's funeral. He did so without anyone's help, but knew he could not go without help for much longer.
***
After the funeral, those who remained until the end of the reception agreed to meet at a restaurant by the sea at 6:30PM. It was recommended by Rebecca, Duncan’s sister-in-law, who insisted the restaurant was commendable. Most Clarkes and Bellamys and Annie's friends in-between had never ventured along the Gambino piers, so many of them took the time before supper to explore the area, to shop and play the part of merry tourists. Duncan encouraged such a venture, but he chose to drive without distractions directly to the restaurant and wait.
The restaurant, called Quincy’s, was as ordinary a pier-side joint as one could expect - the seawater sloshing at its feet stripped the varnish off of its wooden paneling, painted white, and the interior felt plush and warm, if not slightly humid. Duncan was the first to have arrived, nursing an ice water as he sat placidly at a table near one of the glass panelings, staring out at the docks as the last few boats wandered back to their marinas before dusk. He stared out from his vantage point until half past 5, wholly alone, and he did not mind that so much.
What he did mind was the fact that he'd brought the papers in with him – the papers that sat in the passenger's seat, collecting dust. Being alone allowed him to contemplate the papers' fate for a good moment – he could burn them, or toss them, or bring them back into his car. Maybe it was for the best that no one knew about their existence.
But on the table the papers remained.
Another fifteen minutes later, the lights of the last boats began to dim, and his water glass rattled from the small bits of ice stuck together at the bottom. Before he would be made to regret it, he took the documents into his hands and leaned forward to reach the floor, tucking them away instead at the foot of his chair - he understood why he had brought the papers into the restaurant with him, but it did not make it a wise choice. When he uprighted himself, Duncan realized he'd made the motions too late. He sat straight in his seat, putting on a practiced smile as he saw an old friend approach the table.
Despite their history, it was not quite accurate to say his friend was of an old sort - 31 years old and swimmingly successful, Johan Kantor was his son through marriage. Duncan rose from his seat when Johan was only a handful of feet away, offering him a singular wave, extending his arm out for a firm handshake. Despite his youth in years, Duncan never recalled Johan with a fresh face, even when they’d first met fourteen years ago; he was always so careful, so tired, and he remained so today.
Duncan noticed Johan’s solemn eyes glancing at the foot of Duncan’s chair, but Johan was courteous enough not to mention anything peculiar. Instead, he trained his eyes on Duncan, shaking his hand with a firm strength.
“It’s good seeing you, son,” Duncan greeted.
“Same to you,” Johan replied.
They exchanged courteous nods. When Duncan returned to his seat, Johan unbuttoned his peacoat and slung it around his own chair, which was immediately next to from Duncan’s, and quietly took his place at the table. A waiter arrived to greet him, quick to offer him a glass of ice water before going on his way. When the restaurant lulled back into silence, Duncan cleared his breath, exhaling calmly. It was half past five, now, with no other guests of his in plain view. Johan glanced back behind him toward the entrance, as well, before drawing the same conclusion and righting himself.
“How has the rest of your day been?” Johan was careful to ask, voice calm and course as Duncan had remembered it to be. Duncan gave a slight start, then relaxed cupping his hands around his now refilled glass of water.
“It's all been well enough,” Duncan began, and a hollow laugh left him. He smiled at Johan, then, who offered him a slight smile of relief in return. He leaned forward in his seat to reach over their small table to rest his hand against Johan’s arm, which came to the younger one as a surprise. “Thank you for coming by, Johan, I can’t express my gratitude enough. You must have been so busy,” he sat back in his seat properly, “How have you been lately, son?”
“I’ve been alright. I’m not as busy as you think.” Johan hugged his arms, his elbows resting against the tablecloth. “Candice sends her regards, by the way. I’m sorry she wasn’t able to come to dinner.”
Duncan smiled, gently. “Oh, no need to apologize. I’m sure I’ll see her at Thanksgiving.”
Johan was never the expressive sort, but mention of the holiday made his brows raise. He unfolded his arms from over the table, straightening ever so slightly to sit upright against his chair. “If you’re still planning on having a Thanksgiving,” Johan replied, ever so frank.
“Yes, I believe so,” Duncan smiled despite himself. He watched as Johan reached for his glass of water and took a small sip, then cleared his breath. “Forgive me, Johan, but I’ve been meaning to ask you for some advice.”
Johan lowered his glass from his lips, brows knit. “I don’t know a lot about Thanksgiving dinners, Duncan.”
“It’s not about Thanksgiving,” Duncan amended, then paused abruptly. Maybe this idea was not so good, but Johan studied the dip in his expression.
“What's hiding under your seat?” he asked.
“Ah.” Without a word, after setting his glass down, Duncan leaned forward to reach for the documents out from beneath his chair. He straightened them out on the table and handed it to Johan, who took a moment to stare at the papers before taking them gingerly into his hands. “It's from Annie – or for, rather,” Duncan explained.
“They sent this to you?” Johan asked, regaining Duncan’s attention. Johan, with his eyes still at the top corner of the paper, looked troubled. “This isn’t your address.”
“It’s the address to Annie’s townhouse,” Duncan admit, and Johan pursed his lips - Duncan was eager to continue his explanation. “I drove by to see how Mordekai was faring. He hadn’t checked the mailbox since she passed. It’s a mess, the place.”
“Did Mordekai give you these, then?” Johan asked, resting the papers on the table, crossing his arms so as to distance himself from them.
“No. I took them before he even saw the envelope.” Duncan frowned as Johan leaned against his chair, then, staring at Duncan with furrowed brows. Without meaning to, Duncan’s voice grew quiet and frail, and Johan found that he could not maintain his stern expression for too long. “It was buried under piles and piles of so many other letters, you understand – and – this can't be forgotten.”
“So you stole it from him?” Johan asked, tiredly - keeping his hand on top of the documents, he slid it closer to Duncan’s part of the table. “Are you going to tell him about this?”
“That's – what I wanted to ask of you,” Duncan began; he took the documents back into his hands, though he did not entirely know what to do with them anymore. “I can’t imagine he’ll take this well. His history with this subject, you understand.”
“Then don't tell him,” Johan replied, “Like you said. I don't think he would take this well.” Duncan scowled with quiet contention at the idea.
“Annie wanted him to be involved,” Duncan explained.
“Annie dreamed big. That would be great, I'm sure,” Johan replied with a dripping, deadpan sarcasm in his tone, “But I doubt it would go through well for you.”
“Then I would do this alone,” Duncan mused.
“No. Just without him.” The words rolled out of Johan's lips without hesitation, and Duncan tucked the papers away beneath his plate for now, frowning. As Johan finished his glass of water, other company was arriving through the restaurant doors. It was the answer Duncan could predict his son would give him, but he did not like it all the same.
***
Rebecca and her children were the first to arrive after Johan, and after her many more family members had come, keeping Duncan busy with second greetings. In a way, it was a good method to keep the document out of mind, but Duncan still found himself glancing uncertainly at the entrance of Quincy's, dreading the moment he would have to go against Johan's better judgment. But as dinner rolled on, and appetizers began arriving just a few minutes past seven, Duncan wondered if Mordekai would show up at all. He was never fond of family affairs.
But, as with most things, Mordekai arrived late and oddly radiant, cheeks flush as they had been since the funeral that morning. After he'd made his rounds greeting the rest of the family members, many of whom he'd never seen before the funeral, he pulled a chair up close near Duncan and Johan, patting the two of them on the backs. Johan paid little mind to it, offering Mordekai no change in expression from his usual frown when he sat down next to him. Duncan smiled wryly toward the older Kantor in his stead, hand at his shoulder.
“I was worried we wouldn't see you,” Duncan offered – it was both a relief and great anxiety to see him now, but Mordekai didn't seem to catch the subtle upturn of his brows nor his quiet tone. Exuberant, Mordekai laughed – and, with his breath so close, Duncan noticed the scent of alcohol lingering on his clothes and throat.
“'Course I wouldn't miss this,” Mordekai smiled, laughing brightly, leaning over to kiss Duncan on the cheek as freely as ever. With his elbow against the table, he rested his cheek against his palm, grinning toward Johan. “‘Ey. Y’all look glum today,” he joked – Johan leaned away from him, brows furrowed. “How've you been?”
Despite the weariness plain on his expression, Johan endured a kiss to his freckled cheek before guiding Mordekai back straight against the seat, hands on his shoulders. Duncan piped up, pushing his finished appetizers away from the table, offering Mordekai a menu he had saved for him just in case. “We've been well, Mordekai. Are you hungry?”
“We saw you this morning,” Johan added, brushing his hand through his hair in exasperation - “You should know how well we're doing.”
Thankfully, it was a large table, and most of the diners had sat a few seats away from Johan and Duncan to give them their privacy – but a few were still close enough to illicit a few curious stares toward the three men, Rebecca included, who glanced toward Duncan with marked concern. Duncan smiled, paying her worries no mind for now, as his hand slid the papers out from under his plate closer to him, its title now in view.
A snort of laughter later, Mordekai smiled toward Johan, dropping his hand to the table with a soft thump. “I'm jus' tryna lighten the mood, huh? How long's it been since I seen you, Jo?”
“Christmas last year,” Duncan added, in hopes of turning the conversation toward him – the question enough was enough to fluster Johan with a slight anger. Raising his brows, Mordekai turned toward Duncan, smile more muted than it was before.
“Right,” Mordekai chuckled, “When he cut an' run before dinner? That really counts as seein' him? An' what was before that.” Johan slid his own plates aside, turning away from the conversation to focus on his own menu. Mordekai, sordid, frowned in kind.
“He did have supper to go to with Candice and her family.” When Duncan noticed Mordekai's eyes wandering aimlessly on his menu, turning it from front to back like an idle tick, he offered to take it. “I'm sorry, Mordekai. Would you like me to read the menu for you?”
“Nah, I got it,” Mordekai smiled plainly at him, smoothing the menu out in front of him. “But really! When was the last time?”
“Thanksgiving?” Duncan offered, and his very response sent Mordekai up in roaring laughter, and he covered his face to help dull out the loudness. He clasped Johan's shoulder again, causing his brother to start, though he sat there grounded with a frown growing irate.
“C'mon, Jo! So s'really been a long long time – can't we have some fun?” Mordekai and Johan stared back at each other, and Duncan felt his heart sink. Ten years apart, Duncan did not know any other pair of brother who had grown so different in every way, one calm and quiet and the other thriving only with music and sunshine.
They had not seen much of each other at the funeral, past glances, and were well-behaved as a result – and Duncan hoped the peace would remain here, but he felt it fading quickly as soon as Johan snapped his menu shut.
“I can't believe you showed up drunk,” Johan began, glaring at Mordekai. “What were you thinking?”
“I'm not,” Mordekai snapped, glaring back and gesturing at Johan with a blasé wave. “What makes you think 'm drunk? I just -”
“You smell like s**t. You reek of alcohol – what did you do, go on a crawl as soon as you got out of the funeral?” Johan now faced his brother more fully, and Mordekai sat back in his chair with a soft, offended laugh, eyes wide.
“S'that really what you think I did?” Mordekai asked, and the restaurant felt piercingly silent. Duncan glanced between the other worried diners before raising his hands toward the two men.
“Boys, enough, please,” Duncan chided, keeping his hands in the air to keep the Kantors' attention. He glanced toward the table wanly, at the papers that were still hidden poorly underneath his appetizer plate. For now, he did not know what else to cut the tension with.
He slipped them out, offering it to Mordekai. “Son, I have something for you,” he kept his voice even, though his eyes were wide and he felt himself immediately regret it. Behind Mordekai, he could see Johan's expression frozen in shock.
With weariness, Mordekai slowly took the papers from Duncan, though the older man couldn't stop himself from trying to reach back for it – but it was much too late, the blond's eyes focused on words he couldn't quite make out. He drew the papers closer, squinting, catching glimpses of the few words he recognized.
“What is this?” Mordekai asked, lowering the paper from his eyes. “I dunno what this is.”
“They're papers,” Duncan offered dumbly, “They were for Annie. I want you to understand that I took them from your townhouse.”
“Why?” was the next question, and Duncan turned away for a moment, glancing at the table to collect his thoughts.
“They're adoption papers,” Johan began, voice low, and Mordekai glanced back at him with mouth agape.
“What?” Mordekai let out a low laugh, waving the papers in his hands as they bent and crumbled slightly in the slow curling of his fingers. “What, for – what, a dog? A cat? A--?”
When Johan shook his head, Mordekai looked back at Duncan, who could only look at the papers as they were slowly creased with subtle folds, until Mordekai tossed them back onto the table.
“You knew about this?” he asked, louder than he intended.
“Annie called me in regards to it two weeks ago, and that's as early as I knew. She made a promise that she would tell you,” Duncan explained, staring at the now-bent papers on the table. “But she didn't know how to approach you about it.” It was all going to go so well during Thanksgiving, Duncan thought. Now, when he braved a glance up toward Mordekai, Duncan knew he had felt just as miserably as he did.
“I – I really don't want this,” Mordekai begged, “Just take it back, an' – no. No, we -”
“She wasn't going to go through this without you, I'm sure,” Duncan took the papers back into his hands, staring at the words that now read only as blurs from his lack of focus, “But this is something she wanted to do – and it's now under my name. Mordekai... I would like your blessing on this.”
Duncan looked up at him, smiling as best he could. Mordekai looked confused, his hands trembling against the table. “I need your help.”
There Mordekai sat, staring at his lap as he thought a while, and Duncan felt his heart pounding against his chest with every idle second. When Mordekai glanced up, frowning hard, Duncan knew his hopes were misplaced.
“No,” he was quiet with anger; he pounded his fist against the table, rising in the same motion. “If you’re doin’ this, leave me the hell out of it.” He slid his chair back and rose, face red with hurt.
Duncan and everyone around the table watched as he left, except Johan, who managed to keep his glaring toward the table. “It was nice seeing you, Duncan,” standing, Johan smiled warily at Duncan, grabbed his peacoat, and took his leave. Duncan waved as he left with a wan frown, and startled when he felt a hand at his shoulder.
“Duncan, are you alright?” Rebecca whispered, leaning forward close to his seat. Duncan placed the papers back on the table, hands hiding his face.
“Yes,” he sighed, welling with the first tears he felt since he'd heard of Annie's passing.
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Posted: Thu Nov 03, 2011 10:17 am
. Duncan visits Lab 305 for his appointment, meeting a Raevan, Anastacia, for the first time, along with her amiable guardian Zeke.
▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪
Fall winds sifted through the sky between the many trees and corners of the city and into the furls of grey hair sticking out of Duncan's thickly layered attire. His eyes were shadowed by the cover of his sun hat, which rarely left his head nowadays, and his neck and mouth were covered in a knit scarf and woolen jacket. With a basket gripped tightly with one hand, filled to the rim with fresh fruit and vegetables, and the other hand gently adjusting the rim of his glasses, the green-eyed man stared up at a looming building just over the hillside road.
Duncan tipped his neck back to see the approaching laboratory in its entirety, for his hat made it rather difficult for him to see much of anything at all. His grip around the basket became gradually tighter the closer he was to his destination, and once or twice he looked back to the road behind him as if he were making a wrong decision. It almost felt as if he was, to leave work behind with a man-- his daughter's husband-- who so urgently needed help during his time of need, but there was a strange sense of urgency Duncan felt needed to be quelled by going to the facility-- he had a duty to upkeep his promises, after all. He reminded himself that even Maree, another woman at the store that would often scorn Duncan for every second he wasn't there to support his son-in-law, agreed, assuming anything from a laboratory ought to be fairly important, though she only gave a speculative raise of a brow when Duncan mentioned picking up an 'essence and a soul bottle.'
Soon before he left, she asked if they were doing any business with an aromatic therapy business, and the grey-haired man allowed himself a gentle chuckle at the recollection. It eased him enough to enter the foreign building without giving more than a second thought, and he checked the fruit and vegetables in the basket again to make sure they were all fresh enough, but as soon as he spent no more than a second in the building he felt tenseness crawl through his spine. He took off his sun hat out of politeness and smoothed out the bed of his frazzled hair, eyes as wide as a deer's as he examined the roomy laboratory, idle steps reaching further into the hallway.
It was fortunate enough for him that the place was nothing like he'd imagined-- it was neither a medieval torture room, with cold stone walls and mysterious smells, nor a hospital that he'd thought every laboratory might be like. Unlike the staunch smell of medicine and sterile equipment that the lofty hallways of the Durem Hospital had, Lab 305 smelled strangely more inviting, as if it were a home as much as it was a facility. The lighting above him felt warm, instead of cold like a hospital's, and Duncan had to loosen the tightness of his scarf to cool himself down, for heat finally caught up with him and his long walk.
The man could feel fatigue riding up his legs as soon as he did, and despite his sense of wonder, it was a relief to spot an arrangement of couches approaching his vision. As soon as he reached the lobby, he sighed with relief and sat down on one of the couches, setting down his basket of produce next to him. Then he looked up at the sound of idle ticking at the clock facing him-- it was but a few minutes past noon, which made him wonder if he'd gotten there too late, or if the doctor was already in an apppointment or, perhaps, he was scheduled for another day-- all of this made him frightened enough not to stand back up and ask for assistance which, not even in a moment most dire, did Duncan rarely ask for.
It was a rattling thought, to be late or to ask for help, and Duncan quickly coughed the remaining cold from outside out of his lungs and let his back rest against the soft couch. His eyes wandered around in front of him, though, and he couldn't help but notice a strange purple-haired woman behind the office desk. She was barely in his line of vision, her face covered mostly by the computer screen, and the man tilted his head to the side to get a closer look. He was nervous enough as he was, though, and he sat upright once more just when he caught glance of an inch more of Anastacia's lavender hair. That was enough for him, he assumed, and he wouldn't be caught oggling the secretary.
An aroma of baked bread and meat lofted around the office still, though faintly, and Duncan couldn't help but feel hungry-- he hadn't eaten at all in the mornig, as he left from home in a bit of a rush. He coughed into his hand to cover up the faint rumbling sound coming from his stomach and stared at the back of the computer monitor, then at the coffee table-- which, unfortunately, did not have any coffee on it. Frowning, the old man raised his hand and leaned forward, arching his head to the side to try and catch the woman's attention-- it was one thing to be late, and another to be left hungry and thirsty.
"Er-- excuse me," Duncan said, just barely loud enough to hear, "Is there any way I could get some water while I-- while I wait?"
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Posted: Thu Nov 03, 2011 10:26 am
. Mordekai showed up at the front of Duncan's house in a red car stuffed with boxes. The blond pulled into the front parking next to a white Camry, which was just as ancient, turned off the ignition, and stared up at the rear-view mirror. It was dull out, like any other day in the fall. He sighed and stared at the house in front of him, pale and large and overwhelming, then dug through his pants' pockets for his cellphone. Even if Duncan was undoubtedly in the house and was waiting for him, he couldn't muster the energy to get up and greet him properly.
What he managed to do, instead, was pull open the car door and stand outside. Mordekai rested his elbow against the roof of the car, palm pressed to his forehead, and continued staring back at the boxes in the back, each labelled sloppily and glaring straight at him. They'd been doing that for hours, along with the silence, but they only managed to unnerve him with the sound of the phone ringing against his ear. He frowned.
He turned to lean his back against the door. He scowled at the cement ground and kicked it, irate and nervous and impatient. Then the ringing stopped.
"Hello? Mordekai?"
Mordekai's expression dropped from a scowl to a tired grimace. "Hey," he managed, slowly; he peeled his back from the side of the car and paced toward the front door. "I'm here. Sorry for being so late-- traffic and all that."
"Oh-- you are? It's alright-- here, let me meet you out front. Are you in town, then, or--"
"No, as in-- I'm-- parked in front of your house," Mordekai began; he warily leaned back and looked through the side window of the house. Not that he could see past the blinds, anyway.
"Ah--"
"I'll-- see you in a second." Gingerly, Mordekai held the phone away from his ear, stared at it, the flipped it off. He turned back around to stand next to the car-- he didn't care to see the inside of the house so soon. He could've spared to wait until Thanksgiving.
Duncan peered out from the front door almost as soon as Mordekai reached his car again. He was confused when he didn't see Mordekai immediately, but he walked out past the bend of the house toward the lot. The blond was tall enough for his head to reach past the hood of his small car. Though Duncan could only see the back of his head from here, clean-shaven and hayseed colored like he'd always remembered it, a small smile bloomed onto his features.
"Mordekai," he called out. Mordekai glanced back, brows raised and mouth set into an unsure frown.
"Hey." Once Duncan walked toward him, though, he braved some sort of grin and walked around the car to greet him. Mordekai extended his arms out to Duncan when they finally stood face to face, but was unsure on how to proceed; Duncan looked up at him, somewhat surprised, but reciprocated the hug. Mordekai pat the older man's back and stood back; he set his palms against his hips and took a good look at Duncan. The first thing he noticed was that Duncan looked happy. He tried to look the same, and when he did, Duncan laughed quietly.
"It's good to see you, son." Duncan extended his arm out for a handshake, a greeting of his own, which Mordekai happily received. "How have you been?"
"Alright. It's been a while, huh?"
"I suppose it has been." Duncan looked past Mordekai toward the back end of the car, where the boxes were. Mordekai took notice and gestured for Duncan to come closer to the Toyota. He stared at his cargo and took a deep sigh, scratched the back of his head, and shrugged.
"All there is to it."
Duncan pressed his palm against the glass window of the passenger's seat. To his fortune, when he went to open the passenger door, the car was already unlocked. He glanced back at Mordekai. "This is really it?"
Mordekai nodded. "Yeah," he gave pause to tilt his head and look past Duncan, who was pulling out a box. Mordekai nudged Duncan's shoulder and stepped closer, "Here-- I got it."
Duncan rested the box back on the seat. He stepped aside and watched as Mordekai easily picked it up and rested it against his shoulder. Mordekai reached in to grab another one before standing straight again. Once he did, he stared over the car and toward the front lawn that was Duncan's neighbor's. With every passing second of unwavering silence, Mordekai grew more certain of the question to come next. He didn't like it.
"These are just your things, then, yes?"
"If it wasn't obvious," Mordekai snapped. As soon as he did, he immediately grew apologetic, and stared back toward Duncan. "...Sorry. Annie's stuff-- it's all in storage."
Duncan's frown was assuaged into a tense smile. He nodded, then stepped to the side as Mordekai walked toward the house.
"In Durem?" Duncan's voice was quieter than he'd intended.
"Yeah. Near our place." Mordekai set the boxes down on the front porch, then marched back toward the car. He hesitated. "What used to be our place."
Duncan looked toward his neighbor's lawn, then. Ah, they had planted begonias.
"This will be every bit your home as it is mine." He tried to sound assuring.
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Posted: Mon Mar 05, 2012 5:26 pm
. Mordekai and Duncan go to their first Lab event together.
▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪
Mordekai was a bit hesitant about going to the Lab festivies, strangely moreso than Duncan was, but he accepted the extended invitation from his father-in-law anyways. It was only when they were at the entrance of the garden that he started to hesitate, looking longingly behind him and counting to himself how many hours it might take before he could take a polite leave.
Duncan glanced around and adjusted the rim of his borsalino cap and bowtie. It was a bit nerving to see that not a single one of them were his age, which made him feel all the more like the codger he'd pull jokes about during his own relative youth. He was grateful enough that at least a few looked Mordekai's age, though it was difficult to tell, as Mordekai still looked quite young for his age anyhow.
The two glanced at each other, and Mordekai sighed and walked into the entrance headstrong, with a still-timid Duncan following him soon after. They silenlty walked their way towards the drinks area, which was a familiar enough place for the younger of the two to at least ease his posture.
"What'd you like?" Mordekai glanced back at Duncan while he helped himself ot his own drink, stiffly sniffing the beer before taking a small sip. He nodded, "This is good. Local, even."
"Nothing for me, but thank you," Duncan replied, hesitantly moving himself and Mordekai a few more feet away from the drinking table.
"See anyone you know?" Mordekai took a long sip of his drink and glanced around, "Most everyone here looks about old enough to play at a Kids Zone in an amusement park. Maybe we've hired one of them before at the store. Or saw 'em with the Petits at day care."
"No, I haven't... well, I've met Mr. Farris and his Raevan, at the appointment," Duncan looked around helplessly and spotted that patch of familiar lime-green and purple hair, but he also noticed that he was surrounded in other company-- he turned away and scratched his forehead, "But it looks like they're preoccupied."
"Well, if you're not gonna say hi to them, looks like I'll be leaving sometime soon. How long do you plan on staying?"
Duncan glanced back at the sitting area again and made note that the lavender-haired miss was absent from the quartet, but otherwise paid no special mind about it-- around him were Raevans similar to her, and it was difficult not to take brief mental notes about their individual quirks. He stared off into the trees surrounding the garden and shrugged, "I figure I'll just have something to eat and leave, then."
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Posted: Mon Mar 05, 2012 5:35 pm
. (CONTENT WARNING: Suicide attempt, seizure, drug overdose) Duncan invites Anita and Cruz over to a day at his home and gardens on a bright summer day. They meet his sister-in-law, Rebecca, and her children.
▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪
"...Quatre-vingt-deuze, quartre-vingt-treize, quatre-vingt-quatorze, quatre-vingt-quinze, quatre-vingt--"
A boy of 10 named Jerri Petit bit his lips as he tried to recall the tense for ninety-six. He was a very unsure boy, frightened like a deer in headlights at the idea of failure, and when he heard his sister giggle from behind him, Jerri blushed furiously and stared up at his Mama with those remarkably blue eyes of his.
His mother, though, a stiff pianist of regretably fading youth, merely stared from her stool from Duncan's kitchen and waited in perfect silence. She stared once at Jillette and the girl knew enough to stop her laughing, and when Jerri saw her sister leave his side and pitter-patter away towards the side of their uncle, he chewed at his thumb.
"Mama--"
"Maman," the pianist corrected, adjusting a pin in her hair, "Try again, sweetheart. If you start back up again from 90, we can take a break for a little bit."
Duncan ruffled Jillette's hair and glanced back at the unwitting Jerri and his sister-in-law, who didn't so much as laugh when Jerri started to stomp about the floor lightly in frustration. Jillette did the favor of breaking the silence sooner than later, piping up as much as she could above the sizzling sound of pancakes on a skillet. "Mama! If Jerri messes up again, can I eat his pancakes?"
"Oh, don't be so mean to your brother, Jill," Duncan laughed, lowering the heat from the burner and easing out the first batch of pancakes, "And Becky, can you get some plates for these pancakes?"
Jerri nearly bolted towards where Duncan and the cabinets were, and eased his pace if only because he noticed his now-solemn mother glare at Duncan from her seat-- his uncle often pressed leisure, which made Jerri and Jillette frequently pine for more time over at Uncle Clarke's. Becky only reluctantly agreed, and only if the children agreed to review their French exercises in earnest. Nevertheless, neither of the siblings spoke whilst Becky stood from her place and sauntered quietly over to the cabinets, reaching to where the dishes are and grabbing four from the set.
Duncan watched awkwardly as his first batch of pancakes were still placed awkwardly on top of his spatula, the other batch bubbling delightly meanwhile. She placed them on the kitchen island and Duncan plopped one down on each dish, perfectly circular, and made to flip his second batch.
Becky sat down at the dining table with her children, and Duncan glanced over at the clock overhead: it was almost 12, which was alarming news, but he adjusted his glasses and circled around the kitchen island towards Becky.
"Running late, Duncan?" she was adjusting the forks and knives on the table that Jillette had put out, and the two children jumped up from their seats to press their faces against the glass pane watching the garden just ahead.
"Unfortunately... uh, I'm sorry to do this, Becky, but could you handle this batch while I get some things ready? We might need to get three more plates, for the guests and Mordekai, too, if you don't mind. Excuse me--"
Ding!
The Petit children's line of sight zoned in towards the door ahead, and Jillete pressed Jerri's head against the glass to get a quick head's start, yelling loudly enough for her voice to echo throughout the entire house: "I'mma get it!"
Her brother trailed reluctantly afterwards, trying to fix the scruff of hair bothering his eyes while 3-foot-something Jillette pulled open the door and poked her head past the doorframe. Jerri instinctively hid behind her, and the two stared wide-eyed at their guests.
Jillette was more enthuastic in greeting the two, nearly star-eyed as her gaze met the Raevan's green, well, everything.
"Uncle Clarke! Can they do magic tricks?"
Duncan, meanwhile, was scrambling upstairs, and Becky was near-jogging towards the door.
"Jillette, Jerri, go back to the kitchen!"
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Posted: Mon Mar 05, 2012 5:36 pm
. (CONTENT WARNING: Suicide attempt, drug overdose, hospitalization) Duncan, his family, and Anita and Cruz manage to find their way to Durem Medical Center to visit Mordekai.
▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪
Duncan couldn't recall the time between getting to the Durem Medical Center and leaving his home, as if he'd been teleported there himself. The burst of adrenaline he felt was quickly compounded onto his anxiety and his nervousness as he stood waiting at the hospital lounge, staring blankly off into a familiar hall with that familiar elevator. He hadn't left his gardening clothes and was clutching a sun hat between his hands, and he could barely register the fact that Becky was talking in panic over the phone.
Jerri and Jillette sat obediently nearby Duncan and away from Becky, who was stammering away at the corner of the lounge, much to the anguish of the hospital clerks and other waiting patients that sat there, already full of anticipation, or boredom, or fear. It was only after Becky finally eased off of her cellphone that Duncan turned back to stare at her, silently, until she attempted to stand proudly before bursting back out the exit while sobbing. Jillette stared off at the direction her mom was going, only to scrunch up her face and rock her legs.
"Uncle Clarke, I wanna go home..."
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Posted: Mon Jun 24, 2013 5:54 pm
. Thirty years ago, on Main Street, Annie was seven years old; she was clutching onto her mother’s skirt as the harsh gust blew their bodies in every direction. When the rain had started, they lost their umbrella to the wind, and a group of bakers lost their tent to the umbrella.
Twenty years ago, on Main Street, Annie was 17 years old-- it was brusk, as always, but she held tight onto the umbrella in her hands, always ten paces away from him. Her school uniform was drenched in rain, and when she grew frustrated, she ran to the crowd, and he’d lost her for hours.
Ten years ago, on Main Street, Annie was 27 years old. She looked at the silver band around her hand as she clutched his arm, happier to see him than she had been for decades: “We’re going to have a wedding picnic later, if you want to go,” she started, laughter brightening her eyes, “Sorry you missed it, dad.”
At present, Duncan unfolded a cloth to the air, set it down, and smoothed it over a flimsy, plastic table. On the vendor’s tent shielding it from the weather was a painted sign that read Hartline Farms. “Mellow winter this year, right?” asked Stephen, the owner-- he kicked at the foot of the tent to test its security as Duncan took a moment to sit. “We’ve always had the worst luck with this market.”
“Ah-- yes,” Duncan cleared his throat, “But I wouldn’t count out the rain so soon, Stephen. You know better.”
Stephen hummed, pensive, as he scratched his beard. When the tent footing refused to give, he turned his attention back toward their tow truck, where Maree-- Stephen’s second in command, though tiny as she was-- had begun unloading crates of produce onto the asphalt. When a small pumpkin rolled out and onto the ground before her, she let out a pithy sigh and sat on the crate next to her. “Hey,” Stephen began; as the farmer marched to Maree, Duncan was content to chuckle and watch from the tent. “Stop sittin’ on the produce. You know better.”
Maree offered Stephen a sneer; unwavering, she pulled her cellphone out from her pocket and cleaned the screen. “Where’s Eric? He’s late. And-- Rebecca?”
The Hartlines looked back at Duncan, who could only offer a sympathetic smile in return while reaching for his phone. “I’m sorry, you two. I’ll give Rebecca a call.”
He dialed in her phone number. “Hello?” came a voice; it was Rebecca’s, but it sounded hesitant and faraway. Duncan turned away from Stephen and Maree, his phone cupping the speaker to shield his voice from the oncoming winds. “Rebecca? Yes, I was wondering where you were.”
“Oh-- Duncan! Oh my god, I’m so sorry-- I--” she adjusted herself, and her voice was clearer, “Don’t think I can make it. I’m very sorry.”
“Ah,” Duncan hesitated; frowning, he leaned forward. “I see-- is everything alright?”
“It’s just-- well, I want to help, but I don’t think I can make it. Do you really need my help?”
“Rebecca, I asked for your assistance in this back in August… you’ve had plenty of time to decline since then,” he rubbed his temples, “Stephen can’t run this operation by himself, and he’s already two bodies short. Eric’s late, and--”
Rebecca interrupted him with a short, nervous hum. “I-- he only had Eric and Mordekai helping before, right? Well, I’m sure Eric’s going to show up sooner than later,” she paused, “And he already has you there.”
“I doubt one volunteer could replace a farmhand, Rebecca.” His voice grew firmer, and Duncan stood, one hand against the table. “Please, tell me what’s going on. This is unlike you.”
She breathed in. “Look, Duncan, I want to help you, but I need to distance myself from him, and this whole mess. I talked to my therapist about it, and…” she sighed, “I’ve been such a mess this past fall, Duncan.”
His brows softened as he sat against the edge of the table. “It’s our mess to bear, Rebecca. He’s your nephew,” he looked up, “He asked for our help. He won’t even be here.”
“I’m sorry, Duncan-- I’ve said my piece. I’ll make it up to you some other way.” With that, she hung up the phone.
He stared at the phone a while. A moment later, it rang again.
“Hello?” he began, meekly-- Stephen and Maree watched him from the distance of their tow truck.
“What a b***h,” Maree snapped, stuffing her cellphone back in her pocket, “Whatever. We can do without her.”
“That was her sayin’ she couldn’t come out, right?” Stephen looked back toward her, nudging her arm, “Anyway. b***h for brownnosing too, Maree. Shame on you.”
“Shut up--” Maree shoved Stephen hard on the arm as she saw Duncan rounding the tent toward them at a fast pace. “How’s it going, Duncan?”
“I’m very sorry, you two, but I have to go,” Duncan smiled at them as he pulled out his belongings from the back of the tow truck-- his hat, his backpack. Stephen and Maree looked between each other, addled with surprise.
“Why the smile on your face? You looked like s**t just a second ago,” Stephen gestured toward Duncan, “Everything okay?”
“It was the hospital. Mordekai’s coming home,” with that, he offered Stephen a bow of the head and quickly moved past the truck, toward his car, “I might be able to come back later tonight. I apologize!”
“Oh s**t,” Maree laughed; she raised her hand in the air, “Tell him he’s got work tonight, alright? Come back soon!”
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Posted: Sat Jul 27, 2013 3:12 pm
. By the time Mordekai called in to leave, it was winter, and it accentuated just how pasty he'd become in the last six months. Upon hearing the news, Duncan enthusiastically packed a briefcase's worth of clothes and took leave from the store for two weeks, just in case, and left for the ward as early as the guest hours would have allowed. Despite the preparation, the process took until the early afternoon before he was able to enter the car and leave for Durem. Despite the initial warm, awkward welcome from Duncan, most the car ride was quiet, save for the radio music played at near inaudible volume.
Near the end of his stay, Mordekai was no more self-aware of what had happened than when it actually did, and all of the explanations sifted through his comprehension just as any summary of what they had to do to him during intensive care did. This left him most of the way confused, which made him angry, and the anger triggered activity inside of the hospital that lenghtened his original one month under care to four and a half months.
He remembered exactly what he did, mostly, but it was repetitious and perhaps a little petty. He was a child that was introduced to Cowboys and Indians for the first time who purposefully shot his own side either for fun or vigilantism, but had forgotten who was on his team anyways. He was spiteful and said rude things to the doctors, nurses, and patients, and at first felt empowered, having won the game alone.
"Aren't you going to ask me how my stay was?" Mordekai stared at Duncan, who found it difficult to peel his eyes off of the road, even after six months.
"It doesn't seem like you want to talk about it," Duncan replied, turning off the now-curious white noise from the radio, "You certainly didn't when we visited you. But if you want to, feel--"
"I changed my mind."
Duncan looked at Mordekai, relieved but perplexed, "By all means, then."
"No, I mean, "nevermind," I don't think I really want to talk about it," Mordekai glanced at a passing road sign, Welcome to Durem, "None of it's actually that interesting, now that I'm at peace about it."
"'At peace?' With everything that's happened?"
"Oh, hell no," Mordekai laughed, "I'm just at peace with six months of my life being wasted."
Mordekai turned the radio back on.
He recalled the times when he'd heard of distant friends and maybe even a few accomplices being left at such lonely places, and Mordekai would reprimand them secretly over a pitcher of beer. There was no place in the world for the weak of heart, he would say, and who was paying for all of that fake therapy crap, anyways? He laughed sorely about the government, and everyone found it easier to agree with him, even though they didn't quite know what he was saying. They figured it was something cynical.
He chuckled.
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