Part 4 and a tad
She had seen him kill a man, watched the body fall, the singular look of half triumph half devastation cross the face of the Love of her Life, seen Evil vanquished and yet… Yet she did not know the depths of passion in him, know how far he would go to protect the people he loved. He was still surprising her.
People said he had his father’s eyes. She rather thought he had his mother’s. There was more compassion in his eyes than in his father’s, or at least that was what she saw in them. She touched his cheek, noting the five o’clock shadow stubble that roughened her soft palm. He did not pull away, but nor did he press his face into her hand as she had hoped he would do.
"Has Detective Irving found anything new?" She watched as he visibly relaxed at the sound of her voice.
"No," he rubbed the back of his tired neck with one hand and reached out for her with another. "He’s hit a brick wall. No idea who did it." He watched as she raised one perfect eyebrow. "OK, so plenty of ideas who did it, he’s just not sure which one is right."
"That sounds more like our detective Irving," she murmured, half closing her eyes and thinking hard.
"It does, does it?" He put one arm around her waist and drew her closer. "Are we alone tonight?"
"Darling," the word was enough. They were alone. He bent his head down towards hers.
"Aww! Again?" With a disgruntled look on his face, their full grown son wandered through the living room, picking up the books and football videos he had left on his last visit.
"Hey!" Bo grinned widely. "You should be used to us by now."
Her husband’s arm wrapped tightly around her middle, Hope felt cradled by love, like a child in her lover’s arms. "Are you seeing Belle tonight?"
"I was." He took a rucksack off the floor. "She stood me up. I’m having a tutorial with Rex instead."
The famous Horton eyebrow was lifted. "Not Cassie?"
Shawn muttered something under his breath, and his father whacked him on the arm for cussing.
"Problems?" How could she look so concerned and so happy at the same time? The question was turning over and over in Shawn’s head.
"It’s nothing." He brushed a hand through his dark hair, a sure sign of his distress.
"Are you sure?" His mother laid a gentle hand on his arm.
He pulled back abruptly, "I said it was nothing."
The hurt look on her face made him feel like trash, but that’s what he was now. Trash. "Bye."
He slammed the door on his way out, and his mother’s soft voice could barely just be heard as he stomped his way down the path. "Oh, Bo…"
*******
She had seen him kill a man, watched the body fall, the singular look of half triumph half devastation cross the face of the love of her life, seen Evil vanquished and yet… Yet she did not know the depths of passion in him, know how far he would go to protect the people he loved. He was still surprising her.
"Shawn?" Cassie emerged from the bushes like a wraith from behind a gravestone. "Are you OK?"
"Fine." He kicked the garbage can so hard that the lid came off and rattled down the street. "Just dandy."
"You’re not." She took a step towards him.
"Well that was a brilliant observation from a girl with your IQ," he snarled. She didn’t back off.
Cassie lowered her eyelashes so they rested demurely on her cheeks then looked up at him. "You didn’t tell anyone, did you?"
"No, Cassie, I didn’t." He looked angry, angrier than she could ever remember seeing him.
"Good," she took another few steps towards him, and in a gesture that was unknowingly the same as his mother’s to his father’s, she laid a hand on his cheek and like Hope, felt the stubble growing there scratch her palm.
People said he had his father’s eyes. She rather thought he had his mother’s. There was more compassion in his eyes than in his father’s, or at least that was what she saw in them.
He did not pull away, his stubble roughening her soft palm further still, but nor did he press his face into her hand as she had hoped he would do.
"It won’t be long now." She nearly whispered the words, feeling towards him a greater tenderness and intimacy than ever before.
Like his father, Shawn resisted the temptation to lean his cheek into her palm. His words were more loudly and roughly spoken, "Either way, it won’t be long now."
There was a dark look in his eyes when he said that, a look Cassie didn’t like. "What do you mean? Shawn, promise me you won’t do anything stupid."
The laugh he let out was bitter, and it jarred upon her ears. "You really need me to promise you that when the detective is so close to finding us out anyway? Fine, Cassie. I promise. I won’t do anything stupid. My life is ruined anyway."
"Don’t say that, Shawn." She leaned forwards to hug him but he pulled back.
"I’m late for your brother," he excused himself and fled. He couldn’t tell the step he planned to take. She wouldn’t understand.
At the corner, he turned west to follow the path the sun had blazed during the day, only Rex’s dorm room lay to the east. Shawn had lied. He had somewhere else to be that night. One missed assignment was going to make little difference to a man about to go to jail.
It was time to tell all. His guilty conscience was smothering him and hurting the ones he loved the most. He went into the night.
The words of his youthful transgressions echoed in his head, spoken in a different confessional than the police station he would soon be sitting in.
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned…
*******
Aretha was still playing on the jukebox. The detective wasn’t as drunk as he should have been, nor was he as drunk as he would have liked to have been.
Giving up on getting rid of him, Ella laid another beer in front of him and walked away to serve her latest customer.
"What’s your pleasure?" She leaned forwards a little, being deliberately provocative to see if Irving would respond to her flirtation with another handsome man.
If he had been in flirtatious mood, Shawn would have answered ‘your smile’. As the last thing he was feeling was flirtatious, he answered instead, "Beer."
At the sound of his voice, the detective raised his head and stared over at him hard.
"Root beer," Shawn corrected himself, remembering that the detective knew precisely how old he was.
Disappointed that her latest customer had clearly not reached his twenty-first birthday, Ella moved away to pour his drink and mutter about the injustices of a life that provided two good looking men on the same night, only one was too drunk and the other too young to be of any interest.
"Mr Brady," Irving was just drunk enough to tilt his beer towards the boy in a mock salute, but not sufficiently inebriated to attempt greater camaraderie.
"Detective Irving," the younger man sat at the bar with an expression that was an odd mixture of spiritual exhaustion and mental exertion playing across his handsome face.
"Your lover was looking for you," Irving grinned over at his youthful companion briefly.
"She’s not my lover," Shawn answered, sounding miserable and not a little bitter.
"I don´t want nobody, always
Sittin´ around me and my man
I don´t want nobody, always
Sittin´ around there
Lookin´ at me and that man…"
"Ah," the detective nodded sagely. "Interfering in-laws?"
"Be it my mother, my brother, my sister
Would you believe, I get up
Put on some clothes
Go out and help me find somebody for this self,
if I can?"
"Try unbelievable circumstance." Thirstily, he drained his root beer and signalled for another. "I think, perhaps, we’re not meant to be."
Irving snorted loudly at this tentative assertion, and answered more vociferously than was usually the case. "No one is ‘meant to be’. You have to work at it, slogging away until you die, and maybe, for one brief moment, you’re happy, and there’s light in the dark tunnel." He once again inspected his bottle, then went on, apparently satisfied with it’s fullness, "Love is like a campfire. When it starts it burns high, flames up to the heavens, and they are wondrous to behold, but they can’t last long. It takes too much energy and vitality for that. Then there are two things it can do-"
Shawn interrupted rudely, "Is this leading somewhere or is it just the ranting of a drunk man?"
"Now I don´t mind company
Because company´s alright with me
Every once in awhile
Yes it is…"
"I’m not drunk," his slightly slurred voice belied his words, "and this is leading somewhere." Grumpily, he went on, "Like I said, it can do one of two things - die, finishing its brilliance in a cenotaph of cold ashes, or it can die down to a lulling flame, which will grow hotter and last longer than any of the burning flames of passion that were so spectacular to behold." He caught Shawn’s eye and noted his disbelieving expression. "Your parents still together?" He accepted the nodded reply. "Bet they are more in love than ever." Another nod. "Took a lot of time for them to get that way." Shawn was looking more thoughtful as he nodded now. "Hah. It takes more work to keep the flames banked through the cold starry night of this life than most people are prepared to put in. They give up much too easily. They think they’re not ‘meant to be’," Shawn had his previous remark thrown scornfully back in his face, but did not resent it, "so they move on to watch the flames dance high once again until they settle for a pile of ash that keeps just hot enough for them to warm their hands over if they don’t mind getting a little dirty."
"Now I don´t mind company
Because company is alright with me
Every once in awhile, yeah
And Ooooooooooooooh…"
"So I should fight for her heart?" Irving shook his head at his protégé’s strident tone.
"It’s not the fight that matters most, it’s the little moments." He returned to his metaphor, not noticing Shawn’s slight sigh of discontent. "The fire can sometimes need a small bundle of twigs carefully placed more than a single big log flung on."
Aretha’s voice penetrated their gloom once again. Though she had been playing as long as they had been talking, they had failed to attend to her.
"When me an that man get to lovin´
I tell ya girl, I dig ya, but I don´t have time
To sit, and chit, and sit and chit-chat an smile
Don´t send me no doctor
Fill me up with all a those pills
I got me a man named Doctor Feelgood
Yeah! Yeah!"
"Listen to the lady," Irving instructed his student. "She’s wise in the ways of love."
"The philosophising of a Budweiser imbibing, doughnut devouring, Aretha-adoring detective," Shawn murmured to himself, "is making more sense than it should." He stared suspiciously at his root beer, wondering exactly what kind of root was in it. Then, more loudly, he said, "But what if I’m not worthy? What if, in the future, I’m going to leave her in more pain than if I break her heart now?"
"Then tell her the truth tomorrow," the older man finished his beer and prepared to stand up. "Let her decide if she wants to risk her heart. One last thing, Kid - don’t ever lie to her. No matter what the truth is, it can’t hurt her more."
He stood, swaying slightly to the music, and began to walk away.
"That man takes care of all my pains and ills
His name is Doctor Feelgood in the morning
To take care of business is really this man’s game
And after one visit to Dr. Feelgood,
You understand why I feel good, in this pain…"
Shawn’s mind was filled with conflict. Conscience, love and a sense of self preservation were at war within him. He came to a sudden decision. "Detective?" He waited for him to turn, his brown eyes burning, "I need your help…"
"Oh! Yeah! Ooh!
Oh, good God a-mighty
The man sure makes me feel real........
Good!"
Song credit: 'Doctor Feelgood', Aretha Franklin.