Chapter 44

After midnight, when the house was still and dark, Jason snuck in through the back door. He'd driven aimlessly around Salem, until he realized that he had nowhere else to go but home. He supposed that he could've gone to Phil or Shawn's, but what would he have told either of them? That once again his family was a mess and he needed to come running to his buddies for a good cry?

Yeah, right. That would've gone over real well. One had more money jiggling in his pockets than the Welles family bank accounts combined. The other had a picture perfect family complete with sailboats and sunsets. No matter what happened, both had the world at their feet and the perfect girls by their sides. If Jase had dropped by and blubbered, the result would've been a couple of really embarrassed teenage guys, burdened with some seriously girly emotional crap. That'd be just unbearable. It was one thing to be piss-ass drunk and make a fool of himself, but sober?

He carefully closed the door behind him and silently crossed the kitchen toward the living room. He'd have to tiptoe up the steps. The third, sixth, and seventh step were a bit creaky. He was reminded of previous occasions, when he'd had to sneak into the house after a wild party or a romp with a giggly female. Or both.

He'd just kick off his shoes, go to bed, and deal with the old man's wrath tomorrow. Or maybe he could just wake up earlier and sneak out again, before his father would get the chance. There's an idea.

"Jason?"

He nearly yelped, startled by the quiet sound of his mother's voice. He turned to find her in the corner chair in the living room, facing the front window. The soft glow from a small lamp lit her face, which was lined with worry. She'd stayed up, waiting for him.

Jason clenched his jaw. He didn't need this. He hadn't needed it five hours ago. He didn't need it now. He turned away, preparing to sprint up the steps to his room.

"Jason, please…" his mother cried softly, tears thickening in her throat. She rose wearily to her feet and extended a hand in entreaty. Here was her son. Her baby, who was now nearly a man, standing so tall and strong and so distant from her. How the time flew, when one wasn't looking. When one was too caught up with herself and her failing marriage. Because for so long she'd convinced herself that her children were blissfully ignorant of their parents' almost daily outbursts. But here her son stood with the towering, wide frame of a man, but the eyes of a child in heartache. The kind of heartache inflicted by those, who were supposed to take care of him, unconditionally and eternally, but hadn't. How could she have been so careless? "Jason," she sobbed, all the speeches she'd drawn in her head, as she'd anxiously waited for her son, flew out the window, "I'm so sorry…"

With one hand on the banister and his back to her, he closed his eyes. "Mom," he whispered, "Don't cry."

Tears streaming down her powdery cheeks, she stumbled halfway across the room, before she realized it and stopped. "I-I'm so sorry about tonight… about everything. Please… come sit down." When his shoulders slumped but his back remained turned to her, she resigned herself to continuing as they were. With everything that had happened tonight and these past years, he deserved her every consideration. "Your father and I…"

His spine stiffened. "Forget it."

"No," she said, tearily but with resolve, "We never should've let it get to this. What's going on between me and your father… it doesn't change how much we love you."

Her son shook his head and scoffed.

"That's the truth," she asserted with a hint of reproach in her tone now, "Whatever happens between your father and me… is between your father and me. We'll always love you. Tonight… Your father… Your father wants the best for you. We both want that."

Jason sighed. None of this mattered, he thought to himself. His parents hated each other, and his father didn't give a damn about his dreams, his friends, or his feelings. That'd been made abundantly clear tonight. This little scene was just a reprieve until the next explosion. He just wanted to go to bed. He was so tired. So tired of letting his hopes up, only to have them ruthlessly shot down time and time again.

"Jason," his mother said, now standing beside him and running a maternal hand down his back, "Listen to me. I know, I know that you don't think much of Notre Dame right now. And you said that you'd rather stay in Salem. But I think it would at least be fair to yourself to think about it. Maybe see the campus… Maybe take Philip or Shawn with you. Then, whatever you decide, we'll stand behind you, and you'll know for yourself that it's right." She placed her petite, work-roughened hand over his. "I want so much for you to be happy, Jason."

He closed his burning eyes. That he believed. Eventually, he nodded. Anything to keep his mom from crying.

She gave him a grateful hug. "Alright, then. Come on, honey. Time to wash up for bed." And after she'd made sure her son was safe asleep, she'd let stoically anxious Freddy know Jason was home and the compromise mother and son had reached. No doubt, there needed to be some changes in this house from now on.

"Batter, batter, batter!"

"Knock one out of the park, K-Man!"

Outwardly the epitome of aristocratic sportsmanship, Philip nonchalantly dusted off his game cleats and gave his gum a few more decisive chews. Some of his teammates had once suggested chewing tobacco to be just like the pros. But no amount of peer pressure could convince Philip or their hypertensive coach to compromise year-round physical training, not to mention general health, just to "look cool." Secondly, Philip loved his teeth. And tobacco, particularly chewing tabacco, stained. Disgustingly.

Bottom of the seventh. A runner on second and Jase on third. Not bad, Phil thought strategically. Taking in the late afternoon heat, he took a breath and stepped up to the plate. The cheers. The jeers. Random spitting. He tuned it all out and stared down the ball and the hand that held it. Target locked. He watched the pitcher's arm swing back for the wind-up. Then, thought winked out, adrenalin surged, and muscle moved in one powerful, fluid motion. Clang, rang the aluminum, loud and true. Just from the sound, he'd known and started his cocky trot around the bases. A blink later, the crowd was at its feet in deafening cheers.

Salem High, 7. Visitors, 2.

He jogged toward home and high-fived a line of his teammates and accepted the occasional smack on the butt. Only in sports could emotion and affection between males be accepted without threat to their all-too-sensitive prides. And only in sports did Philip feel truly alive.

Then came a somewhat operatic whoop from the crowd. Well… he grinned, maybe sports came in a close runner-up for the latter. Captain Phil looked up into the stands, and there on the very first row with her endless ponytail flowing from the back loop of his Cubs cap sat Chloe, waving to him with her half-eaten soy dog in hand. She wore a short, curve-hugging denim dress and canvas slip-ons. And yet, like a lily in a sandbox, she looked adorably out of place.

"Good form, Master Philip!" lauded Henderson, who sat next to her and with his digital video camera zoomed in on that Kiriakis grin of assured victory.

Philip chuckled. Now, Henderson… Henderson just looked silly donned in his most casually starched oxford shirt and dark slacks with penny loafers. Beside him was a wicker picnic basket holding a bottle of sparkling cider, finger sandwiches, and fresh fruit slices for snacks.

The faithful servant was taping the game for his parents, who once again were off to business meetings in Europe. Not that they ever came, that is. Although they always promised they would. They just recently thought to have Henderson record the games for them, in lieu of the butler's regular breakfast table summaries. It didn't matter, Philip told himself. All that mattered was that Salem High was gliding their way into the championships and Chloe was here to cheer him on at every game, like she promised.

After one last wave to his unique cheering section, he plunked down next to Shawn, Jase, and their teammates in the dugout. Even though he wasn't in uniform, Shawn also came to every game. He figured, if he wasn't able to support his team on the field, he would cheer them on from the dugout.

"Awesome play, bro," said Shawn and gave his pal Phil a thump on the back.

Philip grunted in thanks. "Let's close 'em out, Webster!" the captain shouted to the player at bat.

Jason stretched out his legs before him. This game was already in the bag, so he figured he'd relax a bit. "Hey, you guys got some free time this weekend?"

Philip grunted a maybe. "What the…" he grumbled, as the batter swung and missed. "Shake it off, dude. Shake it off."

Shawn replied, "I guess, man."

Jase guzzled down some Gatorade. "Wanna ride down with me to Indiana on Saturday?"

Philip grunted in question. Then, he clapped and hooted, when Webster made it to first.

Shawn echoed, "Huh? What's in Indiana?"

Jase shrugged. "Notre Dame. My folks want me to check it out."

"Dude!" grinned Shawn, "You got in?" Caught up in the love that is baseball, he gave his friend a hug. "That's awesome."

Somewhat deadpanned, Jason shrugged again. "So, you guys wanna come? Check the place out with me?"

"Road trip? Sure, dude," Shawn answered and turned to distracted Philip, "How about you, Phil? You coming?"

Philip grunted in the affirmative. Then, sighed, as the next batter struck out. Well, it's always fun to give the opposition some hope, he thought, while pulling on his cap and picking up his well-worn pitcher's glove. "Come on, team. We're on."

Shawn bowed to his buddy Phil in smartass gesture, "Do me proud, Grasshopper."

Huffing a bit under the weight of all her cheerleading gear, Belle shuffled into the penthouse. "Hey, Brady," she greeted her brother, who lay back on the recliner in his usual pensive posture, eyes closed, listening again to one of his treasured CDs. She dropped her duffel bag and school books in a heap on the carpet. "What're you up to?"

With the remote, he clicked off the weeping Italian diva in mid-trill. "Some more stuff came for you today," he explained with little introduction, "Think it's Illinois and Michigan. Looks like a sweep, Tink." Although his eyes were still shut, he said her nickname with a hint of affection.

"Really?" She quickly moved to check the stack of mail on the side table. Sure enough, two thick packets were addressed to a Miss Isabella Black. "Oh, I can't believe this," she said excitedly, after reading the acceptance letters. She ran over to her brother and hugged him.

He gave his first smile and hugged her back. "Then, you're out of the loop, because the rest of us aren't surprised. Congrats, munchkin." He drew back and tucked her pixie blond hair behind her ears. "Well, you know, I'm jealous. You and Dad flying to L.A. this weekend and probably you and… your mom hanging out in Chicago and Ann Arbor next weekend."

"Oh, there's no way you're not coming with me!" She was practically hopping with anticipation. "Come on, Brady. I want you to come, too, so you can tell me what you think of the place. Plus, sandy white beaches, half-naked women…" she teased, "Need I say more?"

"Hey, what're you implying?" her brother grinned. "Oh, well. How can I say no to that face, huh?" Feigning a croon, he pinched her nose, expecting her as usual to swat at him. "I guess I'll ask Dad, if there's room for one more on the jet."

"Of course, there is. Now, come on." She took his arm and dragged him over to her heap in the middle of the living room. "Help me lug this stuff upstairs."

Brady cocked a brow. "What do I look like? Your bellboy?" His lips split into a rare goofy grin. Only his darling sister could bring it out of him. "Get it? BELLE-boy?"

"Ha. Ha." Belle rolled her eyes but giggled nonetheless. She scooped up her schoolbooks, while he hefted her surprisingly heavy cheerleading duffle and purse. "So, that music you were listening to before…" she said conversationally, as they headed up the winding steps, "That was opera… 'Madame Butterfly,' right?"

"Ok, ok," muttered Mimi, kneeling, "We're gonna have to talk about puppy diapers, if you keep this up, mister. Hey, now hold still…" After she managed to get the leash on the wriggling canine, she plucked up her keys and pulled open the front door. "Mom!" she called out in no particular direction, "I'm taking Floppy out for a walk. Again. Be right back!" Not really waiting for a reply, she let the dog and his puny bladder lead the way. "Now, just pick one tree…"

She sighed martyr-like, as her puppy proceeded to distribute his precious pee at tree after tree, drip by ridiculous drip. The point of this little ceremony she'd never really understand. When you gotta go, you gotta go. So, you might as well give it up in one take. Instead, Floppy in his forever tongue-lolling grin and with his swishing tail marched himself merrily along the sidewalk, pausing periodically to sniff, then deposit. Mimi had to admit, as they reached the fifth block, a little piss went a long way.

It was such a pretty day out. For the first time in weeks, she returned home from school, before the sun was down. Their director, Mr. Branagh, dismissed them early today. To rest up. Today had been their last rehearsal. Tomorrow was opening night.

Breathe, Meems, she mentally chanted. Breathe.

That their esteemed director thought his students one of the best groups he'd ever worked with gave Mimi moderate comfort. But still… tomorrow night… she'd be on that stage… with hundreds of people watching…

Ok, she thought, I'm gonna be sick.

She continued to take deep, relaxing breaths, while she forced herself to appreciate the pretty Midwest evening. Everything's gonna be fine, she told herself. She'd had more than two weeks of non-stop rehearsals. And a couple of days ago, Mr. Branagh had taken her aside after rehearsal and told her what a wonderful job she was doing. He'd said that she obviously understood her character and her lines and that he had every confidence in her. That day, she'd walked home on cloud nine. She couldn't believe it. She actually had a clue about what she was doing. She was actually good at something. At Shakespeare, no less.

She couldn't have done it without help. That's for sure.

What a funny guy he was, she thought, her mind veering in a completely different direction. Not for the first time. Jason put forth this shallow image, consisting mainly of philandering, jocking, and shrugging off all semblance of inner-depth, sensitivity, or maturity. Then, when one least expected it, he…

He became someone else. Someone she didn't know. Someone she wanted to know.

She remembered many months ago, at that costume party… then at Philip's guesthouse… then at school. He could've bragged about his conquest. He'd certainly been known to shout his acts of manhood from the rooftops. It was conjectured throughout Salem High just how thick his black book was. And it was no secret how popular he was with the girls. And how equally popular girls were with him. He could've bragged about that night at the costume party.

Yet, he hadn't. Instead, the following Monday, he'd defended her against that vicious snipe of a creature, called Jan. And he'd told her how sorry he was for the way things had turned out between them. Then, they'd each backed off, allowing some breathing room, some healing time. And then one day… he recited Shakespeare. In fact, he practically knew the play by heart.

Now, that, she had to admit, was just plain sexy. A guy, whose sensibilities not only were beyond "South Park" but transcended into classic literature. A guy, who had brains to go along with the body. And oh, what a body.

Mimi giggled at herself. Shame, shame, Meems. Nonetheless, she'd witnessed other qualities that were rarely acknowledged. Like his loyalty to his friends. Like that day, when Andrew… He'd been there for her, for everyone that day. Even though he must have been just as scared as everyone else, especially when Andrew aimed the gun right at him. Mimi hugged herself, unintentionally pulling the wandering puppy back by the leash. She still had nightmares about that day.

She took another breath of that cool evening air.

Yep. Like so many things in life, Jason Welles was more than what he seemed.

And like a stubborn knot that finally unfurled and settled smooth and flat into a sheet, her wavering turned into resolve. She wanted to get to know him, dang it. And she had little more than two weeks of school left plus the summer to do it. If this year with her friends, particularly Chloe, had taught her anything, it was that she didn't want to ever look back and regret - especially regret not at least trying, not giving people a chance. Because ultimately the potential benefits were well worth the effort.

"Come on, Floppy," she said to her ceaselessly urinating puppy, "There're some new trees with your name all over them." Or it soon will be.

With the hem of his t-shirt, Jason wiped the sweat off his face and then took another look around the yard. Just one more little patch to go and he'd be done. His mom had asked him to mow the lawn. Or more accurately, his dad wanted the lawn mowed, and his mom had asked Jason, if he could do it. Day Three of his father's silent treatment. That was just fine by Jason. Because there was no way in hell he was apologizing. Besides, Welles men rarely admitted their shortcomings to one another. If they did, they were either completely inebriated or Welles women pulled them by their ear until they owned up. But never in Jason's memory had his father ever apologized to him. So, fuck it. No matter where Jason ended up, college started in three months and he would be counting down the days, until he could get away.

He'd sure miss his friends, though. And his mom. And Katie. Heck, he could come home to visit. Salem U. wasn't that far away.

A hard spray of water to his backside abruptly brought him out of his thoughts. "What the-" The next spurt came at his face, followed by an infectious giggle. Drenched, he turned toward that girlish laughter and found the little redheaded culprit with the dripping nozzle in her grasp. "Oh, now you're gonna get it."

"Jason!" Katie squealed, dropping the hose and made a run for it, laughing all the while.

"Gotta good laugh outta that, huh?" her big brother growled, chasing her, as he easily scooped her up from behind and swung her around. "I'll give ya something to laugh about." With that, he tickled her senseless. "Give up?"

Hiccupping from all the laughter, she grinned hugely and shouted, "No!"

"Ok, you asked for it, twerp!" he grinned devilishly and tickled and tickled and tickled.

Katie laughed so hard that tears streamed from her big emerald eyes. But she never gave in.

Finally, brother and sister collapsed on the freshly shorn grass. Proud that she never surrendered, she stuck out her tongue at him. He shook his head and gave her a mock nuggie. "Twerp."

"How far away is Indiana?" she asked.

Jason blinked in surprise. "Uh… I dunno… like five and a half hours, if we drive."

"Oh," she said, copper eyebrows drawn. "Is it nice there?"

"Uh… I dunno," he replied, running a hand over the back of his neck, "Gonna see on Saturday, I guess. Just gonna see, that's all."

"Ok," she said slowly, "But if it's nice… then you'll move there?"

"Naw, it's just for college. I come back for breaks and holidays and stuff. But I'm gonna just check the place out, that's all."

"But if you like it… then you'll go, right?" Her eyes solemn now.

He sighed and ran a hand over her hair. "Katie, I'm just going to see the place. I probably won't like it-"

"Don't say that," she said, "You haven't seen it yet. And if it's nice, then you'll go." She fiddled with his St. Christopher medal, which had emerged from under his shirt in the playful tussle. She was only eleven going on twelve, but she understood that sometimes life didn't always have fairy tale turns. And even then, they came at a price. Her brother was unhappy. Maybe he needed to leave to be happy.

"Hey," he said, lifting her chin with his fingertip, "I'm your big brother. And I'm always gonna be there for you. No matter where I am. That's not gonna change."

She nodded and accepted the hug. And believed. Because her big brother always meant what he said.

A happy fury of yips had them raising their heads in curiosity.

"Ooo, a puppy," crooned little Katie, with a child's ability to simply forget for a while and live. She scrambled toward the adorable animal with humorously long ears.

Jason stood as well and took in a rare sight indeed. Mimi Lockhart standing all by herself - well, sorta - outside his yard. Giving him an awkward wave in greeting. He took his time, sauntering over to her and her vibrating dog, which hopped up and down, reveling in the attention. "Hey, Meems. What's up?"

"Hey, Jason. Me and Floppy were in the neighborhood and thought we'd drop by." She'd stood there long enough to watch the siblings play and talk. Then, she eventually had to avert her gaze to watch her puppy and Jason's little sister. Sometimes that boy could just stare, as if he could somehow see right through her. Plus, his t-shirt was kinda plastered devastatingly to his chest. A girl's composure could only handle so much.

"Ooo, Floppy," said Katie, "What a cute name! Hello, Floppy." She gave him a good scratch behind the ears. "Is he a boy or a girl?"

Mimi smiled, already noticing the resemblance between brother and sister. "A boy. He's seven months old."

"He's so pretty," Katie said.

When Jason grimaced at that particular adjective for his fellow male, Mimi laughed. "Thanks." She hunched down next to his sister. "Hi, I'm Mimi."

Little Katie looked up and smiled that same mischievous Welles smile. "I'm Katie."

"Kids!" called Mrs. Welles from the doorstep, "Time to wash up for dinner!" Then, their mother spotted their visitors and walked out to introduce herself. "Who's your friend?" she asked kindly, waiting for her children to give the proper introductions.

"This is Mimi, Mom," said her son, "We have American History together."

"Oh, nice to meet you," smiled Mrs. Welles, "And who is this precious thing?" She bent down to pet the puppy.

Showered with adoring attention, Floppy just lapped it up.

"His name's Floppy," said Mimi, shaking her head at her shameless puppy. "Well, I guess we should go. I didn't realize it was dinner time."

"Oh, that won't be for another hour," said Jason's mother, "That's about how long it'll take for these two to clean up. You're welcome to join us. Oh, Jason, you're soaked. Ok…" she said with suspicion and her eyes on her little girl with gleeful guilt flushed all over her freckled face. "What happened?" Though Mom already knew and sighed. "Come on, kids. Jason, why don't you put away the lawnmower, and, Katie, you hit the shower first."

"Can the puppy come with me?" pleaded her daughter.

"In the shower?" laughed her mother, "Oh, honey, you can play with him after you clean up. Now, hop to it. Mimi, you and Floppy can wait inside, if you'd like."

"Um, I dunno… I'd better get home for dinner, too…"

"Just wait a sec, Meems. It's getting dark. I'll give you ride home," interjected Jason, before he walked off to put away the old lawnmower.

"Come on," said Katie, carrying the puppy in her arms, "We can play inside."

Mimi had little choice but to follow. Jason was right, though. It was getting dark and fifteen blocks was a long walk. So, she trailed after his sister and Floppy upstairs. Mimi had never been upstairs before. Thus, she looked around with wide eyes, absorbing the pretty little pictures and quaint old furniture.

Katie paused a bit in the middle of the hallway and then turned right into an open bedroom. "We can play video games in Jason's room, while we wait."

"Katie!" called her mother from downstairs, "Shower!"

"Ok, Mom!" She reluctantly handed the puppy back to Mimi. "The controllers and stuff are right there," she indicated to the small television stand and video game system on the dresser perpendicular to the bed. "I'll be right back." Then, the little girl with pigtails sprinted off to take the fastest shower of all time.

Meanwhile, Mimi stood in the middle of Jason's room in a bit of a daze. Well… she had in fact wanted to get to know him better. She took a sweep around the cluttered but homey room. This was definitely more than she'd bargained for today. But still, she and her reporter instincts couldn't resist. Cradling her wiggling puppy in her arms, she walked around his room, taking in his rock band posters, athletic trophies and medals, and stack of CDs without cases on his boombox. She moved onto his desk, which was piled with miscellaneous papers and magazines. Ever so gingerly, she rifled through some and came across "English Literature, Exam 3, Emily Dickinson." With a grade of "A."

"Wow," she thought aloud. She'd never gotten a solid "A" in English before, much less English Lit. Hmmm, what else did he have under here? Forgetting all sense of respect for privacy, she moved aside some more papers and discovered behind them a small collection of second-hand books. "Leaves of Grass." "Shakespeare: His Complete and Unabridged Works." "Catcher in the Rye." "No Exit." "Lord of the Rings."

"Wow," she said again.

She heard the faint sound of shower water hitting the tub. Then, she continued to move around the room. Well, he had an interesting system for laundry. Dirty laundry must be the stuff strewn in a somewhat disjointed pile in the corner, while clean laundry… She reached out with her free hand to pull open the folding doors to the closet. Hmmm… almost empty. Guess, the rest of his stuff must be in the washer or something. After she closed the closet door, she moved back to where she started in the middle of room, between his bed and his television. She took another sweep. Certainly eye-opening. But fascinating.

The shower was still running and Jason hadn't come to fetch her, so she walked over to pick up a game controller. Oh, what the heck, she thought. She sucked at this stuff, but it was something to pass the time. Besides, if Chloe could do it... She turned on the television, flicked on the Play Station, and sat herself on the floor. Then, with Floppy beginning to doze in her arms, she scooted back against the bed to get more comfortable.

"Ow," she complained, as something hard dug into her back. Must be the bed frame, she thought. She scooted over and took a look behind her and saw it. A brown and leathery corner protruding ever so slightly from between the box spring and the mattress. "What…" she muttered to herself, as she reached across and gently tugged. Out came a worn, leather-bound journal. Her eyes widened. She turned it over in her hands. Should she? she wondered. Agonized. No, it would be wrong to open it. It's personal. It's private. And that's that. She began to shove it back into its original hiding place.

But what's in it? Was this like his diary? Or was this his infamous little black - er - brown book? She chewed her lip a bit. One little, itsy-bitsy peek couldn't hurt, now could it? Just so she'd know, if he was for real. So, she untied then unwrapped the leather cord, which held it closed, then opened it, letting whatever page fate chose. The book folded open and she lowered her eyes to read.

"In dream I see her, eyes smolder pools of fire, lips glisten dews of rose, and hair cascades waves of dawn…"

"Oh… my… God…" she whispered.

"Katie, hurry it up!" he called out, before he rushed into his room. And stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes wide and his complexion paling. "What… what're you doing?"