This is the final chapter of this story and it should bring the tale of James, Myra, John and Joel to an end. It might have felt wordy to some but I didn't rush it and let it tell its tale at its own speed. It is not for everyone, and that's ok. Some people like Vanilla, others Chocolate, and still others prefer New York Super Fudge Chunk.
The resolution of this tale is based on the real world that we live in, not the fantasy world of "man, if I had money to burn, the feelings of a snake, and there were no consequences for anything I do I could get away with whatever I want!"
My tale does not fit comfortably into any sub-genre, and that's not a problem.
Thanks to everyone for reading. Please vote and comment.
J
Like a great writer once said: Write what you know. So that's what this is, me writing what I know.
Again, no...actually this time, for this last chapter, there are no restrictions. ;). However, this is still as close to reality as I can get it and tell the story.
Enjoy! -V
*****
Eventually John, Joel, and I all calmed down enough from our reunion to take a look around us. My parents were openly sobbing, mom hunched into pop's chest. Father Michael was wiping his eyes on the back of his sleeves. Even the CPS bitch was crying, rooting around her purse for a tissue and trying to dry her nose and face.
"How?" I began choking, trying again. "Was this planned? How'd you boys know to come here? Is this ok? Where's..."I swallowed, looking towards the gate, "Where's mom?"
John wiped his cheeks on the side of my shirt, not letting go of my neck to do so. "Mom's not here. She set up the visit for us with Gramma and Granpa and Father Mikey. Said we had to be on our bestest behavior no matter what. Were you surprised, Dad? Were you? You didn't know? Did you?"
"No, John-boy. You got me good." I ruffled his hair, just amazed to even look at him. He and his brother had changed and grown so much in the six months ; letting me know just how much I missed out. "And you, Joel," I cupped him under his chin and tilted his head up to me. "Have you been a good boy for mommy?"
"I..." my youngest made to speak but the words seemed to get caught in his throat. He stammered a bit and then shook his head. "No, Daddy. I wasn't good. Not at all."
I felt sad, lost in my younger son's words. "Why Joel? Why?"
He sniffled. "Because Mommy didn't want you home anymore. It's her fault. And she knows I miss you." He pulled himself tight against me, holding on like I was going to disappear on him.
Fuck me. My kids were fucked up over this. For the millionth time I hated myself and my drinking. "Joel, look at me," I said, holding his chin until he met my gaze. "Don't blame Mommy, ok? It's not her fault. Daddy was...sick. And I couldn't come home."
"Can you come home now, Daddy? Are you better?"
I smiled, lying to my son. "I'd love to come home, champ. Both of you," bringing John into my refreshed embrace. "But Daddy is still a little sick and needs to stay with Grandma and Grandpa for a bit." I looked over at the CPS worker and asked, "But maybe it would be ok if I could call and talk you both soon? What do you think?"
She once again wiped her tears away and said, "I can certainly see if that would be a problem. I'll let you know soon."
I spent the next two hours with my sons, never letting them out of my sight for a minute, touching them constantly, holding their hands, and eventually, rough housing with them on the lawn after we ate lunch. But this was not to be a long visit as evidenced by the CPS rep and Father Michael checking their watches and then indicating to my boys that it was "just about time to go."
"But!" They complained loudly. "But we don't WANT to go! Can't we stay longer? Daddy, don't make us go! We want to stay with you!"
Each cry was a fresh dagger to my heart. I could only look at the two of them with pleading eyes and offer them my arms to hold. Nothing came out when I opened my mouth, only squeaks and moans instead of words. What the hell could I possibly say to my sons? Anything? Nothing?
I stood up, lifting both of them with me, turning to Father Mike. "It's ok. Where do you want me to bring them? Is...is Myra coming here to pick them up?" He nodded and I swallowed the rock in my throat. "Ok, then. I guess she's here?"
"Yes, Jimmy. She texted Rebecca and me a minute ago."
Rebecca. Ok, the CPS bitch had a name. Good to know. "Alright." I gave John and Joel a fresh squeeze. "Ok boys. Mom's here. Let's get you out there."
As I was walking around to the gate John asked, "When can we see you again, Daddy?"
"I don't know. But I promise you it will be soon. You have my word."
We wandered out front and there was Myra's Sedona at the bottom of my parents' driveway. She had the sliding door open and was wearing a pretty pink short-sleeve shirt and a pair of cut off blue jeans. Her hair was swept up in a ponytail and she had on a thin layer of makeup. In short, she was heartbreakingly beautiful.
However, even though she was standing there next to the open sliding door, one hand on the handle waiting to load up our kids, what captured my attention was the guy seen through the window in the driver's seat. Some guy, driving my wife's mini-van, coming with her to pick up my kids from a supervised visit.
I stood there, staring at my wife with a stunned expression. She was just as surprised to see me come around the front of the house. Her surprise changed to embarrassment as she realized the very awkward and explosive situation she had placed us both in. There was some terrible anger in my chest swelling up like a windblown storm, bringing a flush to my neck and a river of sweat down my spine.
With reserved care I lowered my sons to the ground, not trusting myself to walk any closer to Myra. "Ok boys," I said with a friendly smile that failed to reach my eyes, "Give your DAD one last hug and remember how much I love you and missed you." They each latched on to me one more time, holding me far longer than expected, venturing into embarrassing as I had to pry their hands away and remind them that their mother was waiting. "I'll see you both soon. Scout's honor."
"Bye Dad! We love you Dad! You're the best Dad!"
They finally made it to the Kia where they immediately bombarded Myra and Mark...fuck you Mark, just fuck you...with how great it was to see me and how much they wanted me to come home. Myra was absently listening, her entire being troubled as she buckled them in. Once done she shut the door and turned back to me, almost 20' away. "Happy Memorial Day, James," she said, giving me a small wave.
"Thanks, Myra," I replied, barely holding my combined rage and pride in check. Ok, this was a flash point, a trigger moment for me. I could feel the rising tidal wave of the want that was my desire for a drink suddenly swamp over my internal shores. But I was not going to cave in to it. No fucking way, Myra. Not a chance. You are NOT going to drive me to drink.
Fuck no.
"I wanted to thank you for your note." She looked into her car at Mark and then back at me. "Listen, I'd like to call you. Can I call you later this week?" I nodded, not trusting myself to talk. "Terrific. Thanks again." She waved to everyone else standing behind me, wishing them all a happy holiday, and then climbed into the vehicle while Mark...fuck you Mark, just fuck you...drove my wife and waving kids away.
When it was obvious that they were out of sight, I felt the last of my energy burn out and my legs collapsed underneath me. I hit the blacktop like a sack of wet shit and lay crumpled over my own midsection, tears silently falling down my cheeks. On one side I could feel my mom hugging me and on my other Father Mike was slinging one arm over his shoulder. My pop was standing between my splayed out legs, hoisting me up from under my armpits and saying, "It's alright there, Jimmy. We've got you. Come on, boy. Up and at'em."
They got me upright and walked me like an old man back behind the fence. Even that bitch Rebecca steadied my chair and then gave me a glass of water once I was seated.
"How do you feel, Jimmy," Father Michael asked, staring at me deeply. I could tell by the reflection in his piercing eyes that he knew exactly how I was feeling...and more importantly, what it was I wanted.
"I feel like crap, Father. I feel like crap because I miss my kids terribly, I have no one to blame for that except myself. I feel like crap because I miss my wife, but Myra showed up with that...fucker Mark. Fuck you Mark, just fuck you." I bowed my head. "But more importantly Father, I feel like crap because after what I just experienced - I would really like a drink."
No one said anything, just watching me. "Ok, Jimmy," Father Mike said supportively. "I can hear that. This has been the most terrible of days for you." He paused. "Would you like me to get you a drink?"
I wrestled with my tongue, my heart, my brain, my guts, my wants, my needs, my desires. I combated with all the parts that were Jimmy Skelly, doing battle in the burning field of my mind until I had an answer for that dangerous question. "Father Mike, I would like you to get me a drink. But, I do not NEED you to get me a drink. I'm here now...because of my drinking. And I don't want to be here anymore. So no, I'm good." I could feel my lips twist into a smirk as I said it. "I've got it. I'm good."
Rebecca hung out for only a few more minutes before excusing herself and telling me that she was going to give her superiors a complete report of the day and how positive it was for the children. Ok, thanks, maybe you aren't a complete slack-jawed bitch. Maybe.
After she left Father Mike dug out a small package for me. "Here you go, Jimmy. A little something from me to you; assuming that this visit and your conduct afterwards was going to go well."
"I assume since I'm opening it, you're not unhappy."
"Well, not terribly," he said with a grin. I unwrapped the brown paper and was looking at a small stack of CD's. "I understand from talking to your parents that your original collection, although not extensive, did not survive your time off the ranch. So I figured a few from me to get you back on track couldn't hurt."
"Metallica? AC/DC? Meatloaf? Again I ask you, what kind of priest are you?" We all shared an easy laugh. I held up the 4
th
disk, a plain writable CD. "What's this one?"
"That one is from me. It's a small smattering of inspirational stories I had collected over the years as my time as a counselor along with some positive things to help out people going through the same stuff you are now. Think of it as a personal gift from me to you."
