I went back and forth on this one. Wasn't sure I wanted to reveal what I reveal here, but. Well. What the hell?
In case you can't remember what in the hell is going on, go back and peruse this one (long night 7) real quick. Of course you are free to read all the entries about The Long Night, but the above mentioned should get you pretty well up to speed for this week's installment.
As ever, enjoy.
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Grey closed the door after Viola and stared Maggie down.
She looked shocked and confused and a little disgusted. “You use drugs?”
Grey shrugged.
Maggie frowned and studied him carefully. “How often?”
Grey rolled his eyes and pushed off the door, past his wife, and headed for his closet without responding.
“Grey?” She sounded sharp and edgy.
Still he ignored her. He was all kinds of pissed off, and he knew himself well enough to recognize that in this mood anything that came out of his mouth at present would be hurtful, spiteful, cruel, and entirely unnecessary. So he kept his trap shut. He needed to get them both through this charade, and for that he needed to make sure Maggie didn’t run crying from the house.
He moved quickly once in the large walk-in closet. He moved to the shoe collection, ran his finger down the neat rows, and automatically removed the last pair on the left. He reached deftly into the now empty space and slid a small piece of false backing to the side, revealing a shallow cubby he’d hollowed out of the wall when he was sixteen.
He could feel her watching him, but it couldn’t be helped.
With an enormous sigh of relief his fingers seized upon the small tin he’d left there, forgotten, for years. With his eyes closed he pulled it from the secret hole, replaced the innocuous false back, and carefully rearranged the shoes to look as though they hadn’t been bothered with at all.
He quickly opened the tin to make sure the contraband was still within, then snapped the lid back on and pocketed it smoothly.
Maggie was staring at him, puzzled and very clearly upset with him.
“The shit she found is mostly kid’s stuff.” He snapped gruffly. “I don’t want her getting a hold of this.”
Her eyes widened and she looked horrified. “Grey—“
“Spare me the sanctimony.” He rumbled. “What I do, and what I’ve done is none of your concern.”
She winced.
He suddenly wished he had simply told her the truth. Explained that sure he’d done recreational drugs—he was rich and privileged and more than a bit of a rebel against his Dad’s wholesome upbringing. He knew how to party and had been damn good at it.
But that he hadn’t taken anything illegal in years. He’d outgrown it. He was over that. Now he stuck to good liquor in large quantities, and, okay, maybe occasionally marijuana when it was around. He didn’t need the hard stuff.
But the look on her face just needled him and he felt the urge to scandalize her and push her buttons and tell her to go fuck her judgment and her disappointment. What right did she have to look at him like he’d let her down? She wasn’t his fucking mother. She wasn’t anything to him.
Then why did he feel like a heel? Why did he feel guilty and ashamed?
Fuck that.
“How are we on the trimesters—is now one of the bad times to experiment?”
She set her mouth in a grim line and turned on her heel to exit the closet.
He sighed. He didn’t want to care what she thought about him.
He followed her out of the closet, sourly wishing the night would hurry up and end, but knowing it had hardly even begun. He snapped the closet light off and closed the closet door just as Viola reentered.
She looked from Maggie to Grey with a mischievous little smile playing around her eyes and lips. She was way too fucking clever for her own good. Grey was more than a little pissed with himself that he’d left his casual collection in a place where his little sister might get a hold of it. Of course it had been well hidden and cleverly disguised, but he should have known better. Viola had always been smart and curious and hell-bent on misbehaving.
“What were you doing in the closet?”
Maggie looked at the floor.
“Just a quickie.” Grey responded.
Viola laughed appreciatively and Maggie glared at him.
“What’d you dig up?” He asked his sister, shrugging off the prickling guilt that the sight of Maggie’s welling eyes had evoked.
Viola promptly held out a baggie of assorted pills. It was nearly empty compared with how he knew he’d left it. Goddamn hellion. Jonah and Velvet had their hands full with this one and they likely didn’t even realize it. Grey almost felt sorry for his Dad. If the poor guy ever found out what his precious little girl was really like…
“I certainly hope you didn’t take the majority of it.” He said sternly.
Viola giggled and cocked an eyebrow at him. “What do you take me for?” She challenged him. “Do I look strung out?”
She looked healthy. And alert. And he’d never seen her looking anything but. He held out his hand and she delivered the little baggie to it promptly.
“Losers weepers.” He said and pocketed it.
“Hey!”
Grey shrugged. “Maybe if I could trust you not to be an idiot and sell them to your little classmates—“
“Shut the fuck up!”
“Why don’t you run and cry to Dad about it?”
She pouted and glared at him.
“I’m sorry, ok?”
“I don’t give a shit about your remorse.” He said with a laugh. “What the fuck good will ‘sorry’ do you if you get busted with intent to sell?”
She rolled her eyes and made a disgruntled noise. “So, what? Now you’re all grown up and married and suddenly you’re a fucking Narc?”
Grey smirked. “Don’t get all pissy with me because you’ve been acting like an idiot.”
Viola huffed. “Whatever.”
“Nice comeback.”
Viola opened her mouth to retort but Maggie spoke first.
“What happened to your cousin?”
The Delaney siblings turned in unison to face her. That was a bucket of cold water, alright.
Grey exchanged a look with Viola. He guessed his expression probably matched hers; sobered and chastened.
“Cole?” Viola asked quietly.
Maggie looked at Grey.
“It was a car accident.” He said gruffly. “Nolan was driving.”
His wife gasped and covered her mouth.
“It wasn’t his fault—“ Viola interjected weakly.
“They were hit.” Grey kept going. “From outta nowhere by some asshole vacationer.”
Maggie looked pained and horrified. Grey focused his eyes on the slim gold ring encircling the finger of her left hand, which was still pressed to her mouth. He could still remember vividly the night his dad had told him about the accident. Remember rushing to the hospital to wait, with everyone, to wait and what, pray? Beg?
Remember the way his aunt had fallen to her knees right there in the place they’d been asked to wait while a team of doctors had operated on his tiny cousin. Had fallen to her knees on the monotonous green linoleum when the grim faced surgeon had emerged, Cole’s blood on him, and delivered the awful, unfathomable news.
“Was, the other driver--?” Maggie whispered into the hush of Grey’s childhood bedroom. She kept her hand over her mouth.
“He was drunk.” Viola confirmed dully. “He was fine, too—could have walked away from the crash with a scratch or two.”
A tear slipped from Maggie’s eyes, slipped right over the gold ring.
“He killed himself.” Grey said emotionlessly.
Maggie wasn’t the only one to gasp at that. Viola hadn’t known that. That’s right, she’d been pretty young at the time. Dad hadn’t told her about that.
“What?” Viola whispered. “I thought he was in jail.”
Grey rolled his shoulders back. “He couldn’t take the prospect of prison, or maybe he couldn’t take the guilt.” He shrugged.
Maggie sank to sit on the bed. Viola wandered around the room, processing this.
There’d been no trial. Been no justice, no closure, no peace. Grey remembered the funeral. Remembered his Uncle’s decline into madness.
“One of the worst parts was, the guy had bought all his booze at the shoppe earlier that day.” Grey added after a few minutes.
“No.” Said Maggie, shaking her head as if he must have his facts wrong.
“Nolan had sold the motherfucker an entire case. Gave him the discount for buying twelve bottles.”
Maggie continued to shake her head and weep silently.
“They found six empty in his car.”
“He closed the shop.” Viola added. “For a while.”
“No more.” Maggie choked out. “I can’t hear any more. Not now.”
Grey reached over and squeezed his little sister’s shoulder gently. “Give us a minute?”
Viola nodded vaguely, staring at Maggie’s tearful display, and backed toward the door without comment.
When she’d gone, when the door clicked closed, Grey crossed to Maggie and opened his arms. She shook her head and wiped at her face desperately. He gathered her against him and she sobbed openly, wetting his shirt and blubbering what he suspected was a litany—in Spanish—of prayers for the dead.
He swallowed around the lump in his throat and rubbed her back. He wouldn’t have expected her to take it this hard—she hadn’t ever met Cole. But she knew and obviously cared about Nolan, and… Grey closed his eyes. And she had family, she could certainly imagine… and. And she was going to be a mother soon.
He didn’t entertain the notion that her becoming a mother would mean that he’d become a father. He focused on how she must be imagining what Zahra’d gone through. Chalked it up to her over-active hormones and her powerful tendency toward sympathy and empathy. He held her and said some kind things. The things his Dad would say. But he felt empty and hollow and lonely while she wept. She felt warm and sweet and so fragile in his arms. He wanted to lay her down on the bed and let her curl up next to him and weep until she fell asleep. And he had no idea where such an impulse was springing from, which irritated him.
They stood there, in the middle of his childhood room, until she managed to get a hold of herself.
He knew his family might suspect they’d been fooling around. He wished that were the case.
And when she pulled out of his arms, quietly thanking him for being patient, he washed over angry and cold. He nodded curtly, gave her terse instructions on how to locate the nearest upstairs bathroom so she could freshen up, and he strode from the room.
When the fuck would this night be the fuck over?
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