The day had passed excruciatingly slowly. Neil, Eddie, Lily and Lennox had wandered in an out at several different points, sometimes bring water and food, sometimes just bringing their presence, a few kind words here and there. He'd been grateful for them, for all of them, the best friends he'd ever had, both on and off the island. They were his family, all of them, just as much as the woman lying quiet on the bed.
Lennox had left his side for the first time since that afternoon, mumbling something about going to bring Chris and his father some food before ducking out into the night. The only reason Chris even knew it was night was due to the darkness that cast over the hut, crowding in uncomfortably. The hospital room had been bright at all times, it felt like, even at night, the nurses coming in every couple hours to check on his mother's vital signs
( ... )
It wasn't exactly how he'd remembered it. He'd been alone before except for the nurses, two of them quiet and kind by her bedside before one of them left to get the doctor to declare the time of death. This time there were no nurses and no doctor, but he didn't feel quite as alone.
The hand was warm over his, warm and large and simultaneously trying to be comforting and clinging at the same time. Swallowing hard, Chris's head dropped then, his body feeling like it was caving in once more as his shoulders shook.
"Fuck," he breathed, the word quiet and aching. He hadn't said it seventeen years ago, but he'd felt it. He'd felt it on a far deeper, rawer level than he was feeling it now. Because now he'd at least expected it and now he knew he could live beyond it, neither of which had happened before.
Gordon's hand tightened hard over his son's and he took a deep, steadying breath. He could remember spinning Peggy around in summer with Chris in a stroller nearby. He could remember everything, and for once it didn't taste as bitter in his mouth.
He gazed up at Peggy and he took a breath of fresh air. "Easy, son..." he murmured, his own voice trembling. "Easy..."
Chris could recognize that his father was attempting to be soothing, that the word wasn't intended as a threat and wasn't shameful. But, it still made Chris feel like he shouldn't give into what his heart really wanted and he sucked in a slow, if strained breath, making himself calm down, making the tremors stop.
Once he felt he could move again without breaking, Chris scooted forward as much as he could, his free hand reaching up to touch lightly touch the side of her face, a single finger brushing the curve of her jaw. She was still warm, lifeless but warm. And smaller than he'd ever remembered.
"She was so beautiful," Gordon whispered, mostly to himself, looking at the wedding band on her finger, hanging loose and too-big around her ring finger.
"Even after the cancer, even then..." He closed his eyes and with great effort, opened them and watched his son.
Swallowing hard again, Chris nodded, not too sure he could trust his voice for a long moment.
Finally, he cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter, his hand lifting to brush the corner of one eye quickly. "This quiet, yeah," he managed finally, his voice still catching just a bit. "She just... went."
"That's... that's good," Gordon murmured to himself, his hand still laced through Margaret's, through it all, still unwilling to dislodge it, even now...
She'd been gone for almost thirty years. It didn't make it any easier now.
Not easy, like so many things. Gordon pressed a kiss to her hand, mouth against her skin for a long moment before he very carefully replaced it and he stood. That love in particular had never faded, not one shred or by one fraction. He's not sure when he last embraced his son, but it wasn't much to stand up, move around the table, and, somewhat awkwardly, haul Christopher into the bear hug of sheer, grieving loss that he hadn't been there to offer three decades ago.
"I'm....so sorry," he said gruffly. And then, for once, he didn't say any more.
For a moment, Chris was confused as his father pulled him to his feet. If nothing else, he hadn't realized he was quiet strong enough to do that, but then, Chris wasn't fighting it at all either. And the next thing he knew there were two large, comforting arms wrapped around him and he hesitated only a second before returning the embrace, his face pressed against his father's shoulder.
"Me too," he murmured, his voice quiet and strained in its sincerity before he could take another shaky breath. "I'm sorry."
And he was. He understood for possibly the first time in his life that his father hadn't abandoned him for completely selfish reasons. Not really. Because Chris wasn't sure he could sit and watch Lennox die either, he didn't know if he'd have that kind of strength and maybe it'd taken his father thirty years, but he'd gotten there. And now he knew. Now they both knew.
There wasn't anything else to do or say. There was a breaking point and you broke or you kept on going. Thirty years ago he broke himself and his son open, but for the first time Gordon Cutter felt mended in ways that weren't related to curling. There were miles and years between this and his sin, and for the first time he felt that way, forgiven.
He embraced his son and looked down at Peggy and, for the first time, said goodbye.
Lennox had left his side for the first time since that afternoon, mumbling something about going to bring Chris and his father some food before ducking out into the night. The only reason Chris even knew it was night was due to the darkness that cast over the hut, crowding in uncomfortably. The hospital room had been bright at all times, it felt like, even at night, the nurses coming in every couple hours to check on his mother's vital signs ( ... )
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The hand was warm over his, warm and large and simultaneously trying to be comforting and clinging at the same time. Swallowing hard, Chris's head dropped then, his body feeling like it was caving in once more as his shoulders shook.
"Fuck," he breathed, the word quiet and aching. He hadn't said it seventeen years ago, but he'd felt it. He'd felt it on a far deeper, rawer level than he was feeling it now. Because now he'd at least expected it and now he knew he could live beyond it, neither of which had happened before.
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He gazed up at Peggy and he took a breath of fresh air. "Easy, son..." he murmured, his own voice trembling. "Easy..."
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Once he felt he could move again without breaking, Chris scooted forward as much as he could, his free hand reaching up to touch lightly touch the side of her face, a single finger brushing the curve of her jaw. She was still warm, lifeless but warm. And smaller than he'd ever remembered.
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"Even after the cancer, even then..." He closed his eyes and with great effort, opened them and watched his son.
"Is this how it was? This gentle?"
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Finally, he cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter, his hand lifting to brush the corner of one eye quickly. "This quiet, yeah," he managed finally, his voice still catching just a bit. "She just... went."
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She'd been gone for almost thirty years. It didn't make it any easier now.
Not easy, like so many things. Gordon pressed a kiss to her hand, mouth against her skin for a long moment before he very carefully replaced it and he stood. That love in particular had never faded, not one shred or by one fraction. He's not sure when he last embraced his son, but it wasn't much to stand up, move around the table, and, somewhat awkwardly, haul Christopher into the bear hug of sheer, grieving loss that he hadn't been there to offer three decades ago.
"I'm....so sorry," he said gruffly. And then, for once, he didn't say any more.
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"Me too," he murmured, his voice quiet and strained in its sincerity before he could take another shaky breath. "I'm sorry."
And he was. He understood for possibly the first time in his life that his father hadn't abandoned him for completely selfish reasons. Not really. Because Chris wasn't sure he could sit and watch Lennox die either, he didn't know if he'd have that kind of strength and maybe it'd taken his father thirty years, but he'd gotten there. And now he knew. Now they both knew.
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He embraced his son and looked down at Peggy and, for the first time, said goodbye.
And it didn't feel at all like an ending.
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