The Perfect Weapon Chapter 2008: Part 3 Section 2 of 2
Chapter 2008: Part 3 Section 2
Sydney reached in for the single sheet of white paper on top that read in her mother’s handwriting, A long-overdue care package for my daughter. Love, Mom.
“A care package?” Vaughn gently extricated the paper from Sydney’s hand and stared at it.
“I think she meant for me to see this, perhaps, before she saw me...”
“My mom sent me packages when I was in college,” Vaughn noted, frowning.
“Me too.” Weiss peered over Sydney’s shoulder trying to see inside the box.
“I’ve never had one before. My dad never sent one-“ Sydney’s mouth twisted.
“Hey,” Weiss elbowed Sydney. “Neither did your mom until now, keep in mind. And look around you.” Weiss gestured toward the living room and then in the direction of the bedrooms and bathroom. They were clean, pristine actually, but the apartment still looked as though someone lived here. Pictures were back in their correct spots, magazines piled on a new coffee table just as they had been before. Details, all the details were correct. Love was in the details. “What your father did in this apartment? Isn’t that a care package of a kind?”
“Me three. I made big mistakes. Out of caring, but...” Dave sighed. “But Lau - Irina,” he corrected himself. “I interrupted you. Go on.”
“We were talking about regrets. And my greatest shame is that I should have contacted my family," Irina admitted softly. When Dave opened his mouth, she spoke up quickly. "As well it should be -- that's what you were about to say, wasn't it?"
Weiss and Vaughn leaned over Sydney’s shoulder. She parted the piles of red tissue paper that had flown up as she’d released the tape holding the box top together.
“Red? How- “ appropriate, Vaughn meant to say until Weiss stepped on his foot.
"I really wish you'd stop torpedoing my moments," Dave sighed.
"Human Battleship?" Jack asked. "I'd really rather not play that ever again."
"Of course, Jack," Dave and Irina chorused.
"Where were we?" Irina asked.
"You were about to tell me about the day or night Cuvee--" Dave broke off at the look on Jack's face. Had the title supervisor meant more than... Uh-oh. "You knew him too?" he asked slowly.
"Yeah.” Jack threw himself into a chair and sprawled in it. Plunking his elbows on the arms of the chair, he steepled his fingers together and stared at his wife. “ Last I saw him, he was licking my wife's face--"
"He was not!" Irina protested.
Dave's gaze swung from Irina back to Jack. Jack looked...volcanic under the surface and Irina looked embarrassed, then almost...could it be, eager? Was Jack showing signs of jealousy for once? That would explain Irina's look of anticipation. She had always wanted Jack to be angry about something, to show his anger, to use it for....ahem, he wasn't going to think about that.
“Red? Is that supposed to mean something?” Weiss asked Sydney as she stood there immobile.
Sydney nodded as her fingers traced the words written on a simple sheet of white paper inside the box. A care package for my daughter. “I...think...my mother wore red frequently. I think, maybe, my father may have liked that color on her. Or maybe I’m just creating a memory to fill in a hole. ”
Irina’s eyes widened as she took in the carefully-banked and fleeting fury in Jack’s eyes. Hmm. How could she use that in a game between them? The only time he had ever truly been angry with her was the night she had worn her chain, that red dress and then nothing as they’d conceived Sydney. There were no more babies for them other than grandchildren, but perhaps she could find a way to use his anger to heal their wounds and make a new memory. She was unaware that her lips curved upward in a smile of anticipation that made Jack’s skin tighten and his memory slide away from the past to the way that lay before him.
“She was wearing red the other day to meet your father in the Op Center,” Weiss reminded the other two. “In the cage.”
Vaughn nodded slowly. “Yes, she was. Trying to...”
“Please her husband,” Sydney said quickly before Vaughn could say anything else. She just didn’t want to hear it. She parted the tissue, digging deeper. “We all do that. Our loved one says they like a certain color on us, a certain shirt and we wear it. And then we get what we want, right? Attention.” She smiled to herself. Would her father wear black for her mother? She seemed to remember a preference for that. But was that then or now?
Dave looked from Irina to Jack and back again. Hmm. She might get what she wanted. She should be careful. As should he. "So Cuvee gave you the charm?" Dave prompted quickly before he could dispense advice.
"Yes. And..." Irina closed her eyes as she forced herself to open a page of her heavily-edited memory book. "He threw it to the floor. You remember the floor in those days?"
"Ah yes.” Dave rolled his eyes and assumed a flawless upperclass British accent. “The Kashmir prison decorated in the inimitable style of Early Dirt with a soupcon of filth? Brown and grey, so vedddy, veddy neutral and suitable for all seasons?"
"Exactly!" Irina put her hand on Dave's. "You know..."
"I know." Dave squeezed Irina's hand in return. He closed his eyes for a moment. He was so tired, but this was important. Her humming wouldn’t have woken him up if his mind hadn’t heard something critical in it. He opened his eyes again. How long had he had them closed? It was getting dark outside, he could tell. "Sorry, I drifted. You were on the chair. Apparently not the executioner’s chair. Go on."
"After he left, I toppled over the chair I was tied to--"
"To which I was tied," Jack corrected absently. He nodded as he watched his wife and his best friend reconnect through shared pain and apparently, shared amusement at his expense as they rolled their eyes at each other.
“Positive reinforcement.” Vaughn nodded again, trying to meld his notion of Irina Derevko with a woman who’d wear her husband’s favorite color. It was so...normal. Hell, he wore that blue shirt all the time because Sydney loved it. “So, um, Jack’s favorite color was red?”
“Yes,” Sydney said absently. “Our dining room was red - which explains why he told Francie to paint her restaurant red. I can’t believe I forgot that too!”
"This is my memory, Jack. I'll end a sentence with a preposition if I want." Irina smiled at Dave. "Anyway, I scooted...” She looked up and saw Jack smile at the word. Scooted. She’d have to remember to use it another time. “I scoooooted around so carefully, so slowly, trying to find that charm. In the dirt."
"Where was your pride?" Dave asked curiously, trying to understand this woman before him. He was sure part of her failure to return had been due to pride. Laura had been a proud woman too. Stubborn. He, of course, had no idea what stubbornness felt like. Ahem.
"I...forgot all about it in my...need." Irina looked at her husband. "Which is what I did in Panama, wasn't it? I was crawling around in proverbial dirt and..."
"You were standing in a heap of broken glass," Jack corrected softly. "Scaring the hell out of me, but also giving me hope."
Irina sighed and leaned forward to gently kiss her husband's mouth. "I hope I'm done scaring the hell out of you."
"Honey, you always have and you always will," Jack admitted before giving her a kiss of his own. "But tell the story before Dave falls asleep." Dave was clearly fighting off sleep to hear this tale of shared proximity, if nothing else.
"So, I found the charm and stuck my tongue out. I got it on the tip and then pushed it into my mouth and hid it along side my gum. And later on.... that night, the next, I don't know. I lost track of time. I thought I was going to be in there forever. I had this moment of...truth,” Irina explained haltingly as she tried to understand the truth herself. She had avoided it, misinterpreted it, colored it for so long, it was hard to remember what the truth really was in the swirl of wishes and denial, misdirection and memory. Then Jack touched her knee, prompting her, grounding her and she remembered. “I wanted to go home. And I knew what I'd done. I'd brought all this on myself. I’d walked away from my home. I didn’t want to deal with it, I thought about it...I don’t know, I was so lost stuck in that cell. But my mind was wandering and maybe I did start to sing or hum or...”
"I heard...." Dave's deep voice rumbled around the room, the words vibrating against Irina’s eardrums until she wanted to scream at him to stop. The memories swirled in a haze of panic and paranoia until all she could see was dirt and a thin cot and bars and no light...
We are all just prisoners here of our own device...
“Syd...” Weiss elbowed Sydney gently. “Open the box. C’mon.”
“I’m...afraid.” Sydney looked inside. “What if it’s not what I...”
“What you want?” Weiss shrugged. “Well, I smell chocolate, which is always a good start-“
“Chocolate?” Sydney sniffed and reached inside. She pulled out a small box wrapped in gold paper. “Gourmet brownies?” She lifted the tag and read aloud. Sorry, I didn’t have time to bake them like your father did for me, but I hope these will suffice for now. They do have chocolate chips on top. Extra love.
Irina put her hands over her ears. “No...” she whispered as she closed her eyes. Why were Dave’s memories affecting her this way? Why? She held her breath until gentle hands pulled hers away. She opened her eyes to see Jack’s hand on one arm and Dave on the other. Aside from Sydney, the two people who had loved her the most in her entire life. Why had she left them? To end up, where? In a prison with bars and then, even worse, in a prison created by pride and self-absorption and... She shivered again as she wondered into what pit she would have fallen if she’d made a different choice in Panama.
“Shh. It’s okay,” Jack said, standing up to put his arm around his wife as Dave’s hand slid down her arm and then away. “A bad memory now, that’s all.” He rubbed her bare arm, feeling the goosebumps on it.
“You must have bad memories too,” Irina said. She allowed herself to feel the love surrounding her in a circle that wrapped her in warmth and calmness. A good circle, a good enclosure, that when she chose allowed her to like outward. Not like the prisons she'd created on her own. She had not allowed herself to think of prison except as a cautionary tale of the wrong kind. The lesson she had taught herself was the kind that sent her down the wrong path to open the wrong door. She should have come home, opened that door to the people who loved her, she knew as she looked into brown eyes and then blue. “Both of you. Bad memories of doors closing in cells and--”
“I don’t want to talk about it yet,” Dave said quickly, closing his eyes. He knew that he had a Pandora’s box of problems awaiting him, but did he have to open it just yet? Couldn’t he just keep that lid closed for a little longer?
Jack cleared his throat. “Let’s put it this way. There’s a certain room in a certain prison in southern California I’d rather not ever revisit in person or in my memories,” Jack said lightly. “I could if I had to, but I’d rather not.”
“Me either,” Dave agreed, thinking of that hospital Jack had not been recovering in. A tiny white room without windows, just what he did not need after prison. What idiot, what fool... Arvin, of course.
“I’m sorry,” Irina said to Dave. “Go on with your story. I...interrupted.”
“It’s okay. We all have scars, don’t we?” Dave said softly. He was amazed at the emotion she had allowed herself to show. She could not have acted this way as Irina Derevko. Even as Laura, he had seldom seen fear in her, really only the one time. Anger, yes. Irritation, yes. And love, yes. Who was she becoming?
“Intertwined scars-“ Irina began. “We all have scars that involve each other.”
“Jack’s circles?” Dave noted, once again rolling his eyes.
“Hey!” Jack protested, sitting back down in the chair and keeping sharp eyes on both Irina and Dave in the low light. The hospital conserved its electrical use whenever possible. He had not turned on any lights when he’d entered, having heard the conversation from the hallway and deciding that intimacy was easier achieved without feeling as if one were having surgery. “Go on, Dave. You heard someone singing. A woman, maybe Irina? Just down the hall?” So close, so damn close, Jack thought with fury surging through him. Arvin, damn him. Had he found that ironic? Amusing? Before he killed him, he was going to break his nose. “ Were you really singing, do you think, honey?”
“I don’t know,” Irina said haltingly. “The past and present blended together in my mind. It’s blurry.”
“A protective device.” Dave sighed. “You know that, of course.”
“I know. But you could have also imagined it, yourself, Dave,” Irina pointed out. “In what, do you call it? A teachable moment?”
Vaughn stared at the small box of chocolate brownies. A small box inside a larger one. One regret among many? Is that what Irina was communicating? Or was he projecting? His own fears of possible future regrets? “Chocolate is always a good gift. But is it enough to--”
“I forgive her, Vaughn. That’s it or rather, that’s the beginning. And my father forgives her.”
“A second chance. But after so many years?” Vaughn asked quietly, carefully, knowing he was treading a very fine line between possibility and regret.
“Of c-“ Sydney pressed her lips together as her hand clutched the brownies in a tight grip. “No. I must be honest. If - what is it my father always says about timing?”
“The timing must be precise,” Vaughn and Weiss echoed.
“Yes. If she’d waited longer...” Sydney put down the brownies and picked up the note again. “It might have been too late. Do you know what I mean?”
Dave nodded. "Yes, you could be right. Perhaps I was hearing what I needed, if not wanted, to hear? It just...stuck in my head like a broken record. That's what I thought I heard. Then it seemed like, it seemed surreal, a figment born of pain and fear and regret. My head was spinning so much... Like pinpoints of stars in blackness and... “ He took a deep breath. “So to cope, I decided it was just my mind playing tricks on me, telling me a truth I wanted to ignore in a voice that must be a figment. Or a taunt. Do you understand?” Dave asked Irina.
“They told you I was part of the trap, didn’t they?” Irina asked.
“Yes. I believed them. For a while.” Until he’d forced the truth out of someone. Dave looked down at his hands, then over at Irina’s. She - or Laura - had always been self-conscious about her hands, thinking them too large. Jack had always kissed her hands, measured them against his, relaxed her. Hands. Hands could heal or hands could hurt. From now on, he wanted his hands to heal. Well, with one exception. Arvin. He’d like to wrap his hands around... He looked up and refocused. "I'm hungry."
Sydney opened the box of brownies and broke off pieces for each of them. As they all chewed silently, she stared at the small square of sweetness in her hand and shook her head. Why was her mother so concerned about the fact that the brownies weren’t homemade? “What did that note say about my father baking brownies?”
“You had no reason but...hope to believe otherwise and...” Irina looked down at the lost finger and thought of the story Sark and Sydney had told her about the methods used to convince Dave to capitulate. Killing a child in front of him was extreme. Watching him chew a cracker so slowly, Irina knew Dave must have been extremely difficult to break, which would surprise no one who knew him, except perhaps Arvin. Hmm. “You were... in extremis and had to protect yourself. I understand.” Just as she understood that he still had much more to say to her. If nothing else, Dave’s insatiable curiosity would lead him to question until he understood.
“Thank you,” Dave said softly, then turned his head. “I’m sorry, Jack. Sorry I didn’t tell you, that I let my fear for your health rule--"
“Later, okay?” Jack said quickly as he saw Irina’s eyes sharpen at Dave’s words. They would talk about Dave’s mistake and his own health later; Jack had a feeling he didn’t want to understand why Dave had been so fearful of his well-being. How sick had he been? “It’s okay. You made a mistake out of fear for a loved one. Believe me, I grasp the concept. With both hands. Now, I want to hear the rest of this story between you and Irina.” This moment in the near darkness was an opportunity to connect past love with the present that he did not want the two of them to miss. “Go on.”
“Jack baked brownies?” Vaughn and Weiss said in unison.
Sydney’s eyes widened. “I can’t wait to ask about that. But, this really is a care package. How did she know I’ve never gotten one before?” She popped the brownie in her mouth, pushed red tissue paper away until impatiently she began to pull it from the box and drop it on the floor. Vaughn rolled his eyes and bent over, picking up as she threw.
“Maybe all she knew was that you’d never gotten one from her before?” Vaughn suggested as he tossed the tissue into the trash. Was this care package a terrible misnomer - part of some horrible do-over of her earlier game - or was it truthfully meant to forge a connection and provide comfort in a new life?
"Yes," Irina sighed and turned her mind to a page in the memory book she wished she could just destroy. She suddenly understood Dave’s possible motivation in removing some of Sark’s memories. Comfort and warmth. “I sat there, behind those bars, looking out at...nothing. I couldn't see anything. I was so cold, wishing for blankets, for...warmth and I thought of Jack, how he was always cold. Wondered for the first and last time what he had felt when the Agency had put him in prison, knowing how he was always cold. I thought...” Irina looked down at the floor and shook her head. “I thought...before I came to my senses, I would tell myself so foolishly. I told myself that I didn’t need my family, that I only - perhaps - wanted my family. I never thought about what they needed. And even in my...”
“Self-absorption?” Jack asked softly.
“Yes.” Irina frowned and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I was going to say pride, but...anyway, I told myself that my regrets were for a moment of weakness that night, that day...”
“Which? “ Dave’s low voice asked. “The day you sent the message or then, lying on the floor with your tongue licking dirt to get a charm?”
Irina grimaced at the accuracy of the image. Dave could always shoot a bullet straight at a the heart of a target. “Both. I...did not enter either of those moments into my memory book.”
“Memory book?” Dave rolled his head back against his pillow. A pillow! What luxury. He sighed happily and settled deeper into the bed. He was safe. Jack was here, right there. He would take him home. Wherever that was going to be. It didn’t really matter, as long as the people he loved were there. He winced suddenly. Not yet, not yet, he begged himself, even as he felt the lid creaking open.
“Yes. Did you do it too?” Irina asked abruptly. Jack had pushed all of his memories into a box and hidden the key from himself to avoid the pain. “I did it. I filed away precious memories. Did you do that, pull out memories to keep you warm?”
“Yes.” Dave nodded. He didn’t want to talk about that yet either. “But go on. You said after you had the charm, you were cold and thought of Jack and blankets and....”
“Oh.” Irina smiled up at her husband. “I thought that if I were to come back to him, I would wear red. To warm him.”
“Like the dining room?” Dave asked. Irina’s eyes met his and they nodded at each other, while Jack stared at them both wondering what he was missing. Later, he’d ask later.
“Like your shirt the other day?” Jack asked softly, reaching out to cup his wife’s face. “Like you did the other day when you came back?”
“Yes.” Irina turned her head to kiss her husband’s palm. She’d had other ideas over the years about surprising her husband; she’d have to tell him sometime. Sometime when he couldn’t kill her. “So...were you warm? When I came home this time?”
Jack winked at Dave. “Let’s just say, you - when it’s you -“ He touched her heart. “You don't need a red shirt, although I always like seeing you in it. I appreciate that you wanted to make me happy. But the truth is, you.." He rubbed his thumb along her cheek bone. "You always find a way to bring color and heat to life.”
“What’s that?” Weiss asked as Sydney stopped at a small white box tied with a blue ribbon, under which was another folded white sheet of paper.
Sydney pulled out the paper and unfolded it.
For Sydney.
I know you may not remember this incident. Your father keeps reminding me that you have gaps in your memory.
I, however, have never forgotten this day. Or rather, I chose to forget it until recently, when I confronted so much from which I’d hidden. Now it is one memory among many that nag at me, that itch and burn like a wound that won’t heal. I hope this gift will erase one mistake, one regret.
Well, I’m hoping the phrase, ‘Better late than never’ will be applicable in this case. Mom.
“I have no idea what this could be,” Sydney whispered as she put the box on the counter and slowly pulled the blue bow free. Gingerly lifted the lid from the box and setting it aside, she parted plain white tissue and then gasped.
“What is it?” Vaughn asked urgently.
Sydney lifted out a small pair of sparkly-red little girl’s shoes. She held them in her hands and gaped at them for a long moment. “My Dorothy shoes!” she exclaimed and burst into tears.
"Mommy, I neeeeeed those." Sydney pointed at the red patent-leather shoes at the front of the display. They gleamed in the overhead lighting, pulling her toward the store window like a magnet.
Her mother shook her head. "They’re not terribly practical and we’re here today to buy everyday shoes. That was the game plan we started with and that’s the game plan we’ll finish--"
"Be more...fex, fexibibble, flex...about the game plan...." Sydney bit her lip. She’d heard her father tell her mother that during an argument. She thought it was an argument anyway. It had been behind their closed bedroom door when she was supposed to be playing the stay put game so she couldn’t ask or she’d be in trouble for not staying put. And she’d had enough of the punishment of having to write out words from in her books in reverse order.
"Flexible?" Laura fumed. Sydney had not stayed put the other night. Jack had been teasing her about her need to stay with the original game when he was convinced that he’d had a great idea to change it. He enjoyed improvising, found energy and excitement in it. She liked staying with the game plan, having everything nice and neat and planned. What was the point of planning... Oh, forget it. "Did you hear your father-"
Sydney spoke up quickly in an attempt to both distract and get what she wanted. "I would wear those every day!" She nodded. "I promise." She poked her finger at the window, in awe of the shoes. "Look! They’re red!"
Emily laughed softly and nodded at Laura, whose chin was taking on that stubborn tilt they all knew too well. Leaning close, she whispered, "She probably would wear them every day you know."
"I know." Laura had sighed. “But sweetheart, they won’t go with all of your clothes, the way black would-“
“I don’t care!” Sydney shook her head and pressed her nose to the window. “Besides, who would notice my outfit when I have on those shoes?”
Well, good point. Laura looked into the window again. They were terribly cute, those shiny red shoes. Enticing, one might say.
But she’d never had red shoes growing up and she had turned out fine. It was just nonsense, wanting pretty shoes when practical was so much more...practical.
She put her hand on the display window to lean closer, but her attention was caught by the glitter of her diamonds catching the sunlight. She wanted her rings, but she didn’t need them. She could leave them behind if she had to. Need versus want. Then again... She looked back at the shoes. Sydney moved in, no doubt sensing her mother’s vacillation, but said nothing, just looked up with big pleading eyes. Laura rolled hers. That look of Sydney’s always worked on Jack, but someone had to stand firm. And Sydney needed to learn other lessons, as well.
Sydney nodded to herself as she stared at the shoes before her, turning them this way and that, trying to catch the light on their shiny surface. “These are sparkly. Even better. The ones I wanted were patent leather.” She looked up, but the two men just stared at her blankly. She clenched her hands around the shoes. She missed Francie. A girlfriend. Maybe...she could call Nia. She had told her to call. She could call her mother, too. Tell her that she had known that whenever she looked at her rings, I knew I had a chance. Those rings were a weakness. Not too much of one and not too much of a chance, but worth trying.
”You have a sparkly ring and all that sparkly jewelry Daddy gives you and all I want is a pair of shoes...” Sydney whispered, touching her mother’s left hand.
"They’re not that expensive," Emily urged her friend in a whisper. She could see the wistfulness on Laura’s face as clearly as she could see it on Sydney’s. Thinking pride was the problem, Emily suggested gently in her usual way to Laura, "Or I could buy them as a gift. Late Christmas. Early birthday?"
"But..." Her Soviet practicality surfaced, hard-won lessons about the difference between need and want. Irina or Laura snapped, "You want those, Sydney, you don’t need them. And---"
"But they’re Dorothy shoes!" Sydney whined. She heard herself and stopped. If her father heard that whiney voice, she would be in trouble. He couldn’t stand that voice and would pretend he couldn’t hear her when she used it. It didn’t work well in getting what she wanted most from him - attention. Try another tactic. “Dorothy shoes? You love Dorothy and the yellow brick road, Mom! We could use yellow construction paper and make a road in our house or in the garden and play a Wizard game! If I had those shoes.” She smiled until she could feel the dimples in her cheeks.
Clearly, Sydney thought that offer would close the deal, Laura mused, because Sydney knew her weaknesses. It had been a mistake, perhaps, showing so much of herself. She crossed her arms and stared down at her daughter. “That’s not important-“
"Yes, it is!” Sydney crossed her arms over her chest. Emily bit her lip. Two more stubborn females she had yet to meet. “I need them!"
"Sweetheart, you don’t. You want them because they’re cute and red and shiny. But today, we’re here to buy sneakers and black Mary-Janes---"
"NO!" Sydney stamped her foot and crossed her arms. Laura put her hands on her hips and stood her ground. Emily stepped back. “I’ll ask Daddy-“
“You will NOT!” Laura retorted. Sydney’s next step would be to ask Dave; she’d have to call and warn him or rather forbid him from surrendering to his princess. “I said no and that’s it.”
“Fine!” Sydney glared. She had learned a lesson. She would ask Uncle Dave. Mommy hadn’t said she couldn’t ask him and if she didn’t bring up his name, then Mommy couldn’t forbid it. But she’d give Mommy one more chance. The Wizard of Oz always worked on Mommy and Uncle Dave. She tapped on the glass once again. “They’re Dorothy shoes. I need them or or or or how will I find my way back home?"
"Because I’ll take you?" Laura’s lips firmed as Sydney began to wail loudly. "Stop it. Right now or I will take you home without any shoes."
Sydney stared down at the shoes and watched a single tear plop down in a circle on the bright red of the shoe. She wiped it away carefully, worried it would stain.
“All this over shoes?” Vaughn wondered aloud. He didn’t understand girls. He wanted boys. Hockey and Hot Wheels, that was the ticket.
Sydney slowly lifted her head. “Oh, Mom,” she whispered and hugged the shoes to her chest. Her mother obviously regretted that day or else the memory would not have prodded her into this act of redemption. Redemption in shoes. Only a woman would understand, she knew, as she squeezed the shoes again. She looked down at a crackling noise and saw a note in each shoe. She pulled one out and read it aloud.
For the girl you once were. For the girl I left behind. Your Dorothy shoes, so you can always find your way back home. I wish I’d had my own Dorothy shoes to show me the way back home.
“There’s another one,” Vaughn said gently, pointing to the other shoe. Sydney pulled out the second note.
I know you’re too old, too big for these. And I can’t entirely leave my practicality behind me. So, these shoes are also for the little girl I hope you’ll have one day. For the future. For the little girl I know you won’t leave behind. For the little girl I hope I’ll see and hold and kiss all the kisses I didn’t give you after I left.
Sydney burst into tears.
“I think I’m gonna cry too,” Weiss mumbled as he handed Sydney a paper towel to staunch the flood of tears pouring down her cheeks.
“I have my shoes. I have my shoes,” Sydney repeated over and over. “I...can’t believe it. I have my shoes. She remembered. Do you believe that?”
“Regrets are a b****,” Weiss noted. “Especially the regrets for things we didn’t do.” He gave a hard look at Vaughn and then stared at Sydney’s shoulder.
Vaughn nodded and put his arm around Sydney’s shoulder and squeezed her close. He relaxed as he felt her warm, familiar weight lean into him, grounding him in the important reality. He looked into her face and thought about regrets. He peeked into the box. “There’s more in there, Syd. Two boxes more, tied together with a ribbon. Go ahead. See what else is inside.”
TBC at
Chapter 2008: Part 4 Section 1 of 2