night falls like people into love
we generate our own light
to compensate
for the lack of light from above
every time we fight
a cold wind blows our way
but we learn like the trees
how to bend
how to sway and say
i, i think i understand
what all this fighting is for
and baby, i just want you to understand
that i'm not angry anymore
no, i'm not angry anymore
--Ani DiFranco, Angry Anymore
In Alaska under a sun that never sets he realizes the darkness is part of him, inescapable, the roots in the back of his brain so deep he’d kill himself trying to pull them out.
The next three months are black angry despair, fueled by cheap booze and lightened only by the pictures. He will touch Andrew’s face sometimes, close his eyes and claps the book to his chest. He wakes up one morning in the drunk tank, the book still clutched to his plastron. When they let him out they say it would’ve taken an act of God to get it out of his arms.
In northern California, he sobers up; hears on the radio that the serial killer who’s been preying on Nevada prostitutes is going to trial. He thinks of Brandy and hopes they fry the bastard.
Months later, the New Mexican desert, he buries his hands in sand to his wrists, stretches out in the sun, feels the heat against his skin, his shell. He’s kneeling, something like prayer, but he doesn’t know what to or for.
“Andrew,” he says softly. “Andrew, I don’t know any more. But I’m not coming back. Not until I can be the father you need. The father you deserve.”
How are you going to do that? his brain taunts.
“I’ll do it, Andrew. I promise. Or I won’t come back.”
In Mexico he pours the last of the tequila on the ground and can’t imagine how he could’ve drunk shit with a worm in it. Thinks about calling Mike, but doesn’t.
The nightmares start in Panama. Mostly they’re memories: Don, Casey. Rachel.
The worst dreams are the good ones-- back at the farmhouse with Don, trying to help him fix something; drinking beer on a rooftop back in New York with Casey; admiring the baby clothes April’s brought home from Target...
One night in the Peruvian highlands he dreams of Andrew’s birth. When the light of dawn hits him he manages to stop sobbing, remembers what Splinter taught him of meditation. He stays there, meditating, living off plants and animals he’s only vaguesly sure are edible. He feels the seasons change and decides to stay through winter.
By the time spring comes, the dreams are more comfort than torment. He remembers the fights he had with Don with something like nostalgia, and the rest of the guilt and anger is fading... with one exception.
His son’s face still haunts his dreams, letting him rest but never allowing him to forget. As if he could.
As if he’d want to.
As he continues south, he struggles with the darkness, working to shape it, to hone it.
If you can’t lose it, use it, right?
Tierra del fuego, the end of the continent, the end of the world. Summer again, a harsh, unyielding light. He stands on the coast, stretches his arms out toward the water, towards the endless ice he knows lies beyond.
My son. I have failed you in so many ways. The only thing I can give you is that I tried. The only thing I can promise is that I’ll never stop.
The wind picks up, and he shivers.
I don’t expect you to love me, Andrew. I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I’m coming back. And I’ll be there. For whatever you want. Whatever you need.
He turns around and starts the long journey north.
The farmhouse is boarded up, paint flaking. Looks even worse than the first time they’d seen it, when they came here to heal, to find hope again...
So many memories, so many of them good; so hard to separate them from the nightmares that followed.
He takes the old path-- barely visible now-- that Casey used to bring the mail.
Something’s living in the drop box, by the looks; a rabbit, maybe a skunk. He walks through the weeds to the cabin.
The cabin looks pretty good. When he opens the door, he half-expects to see Splinter in the rocking chair, Mike at the stove, Leo raising his eyes from a book.
He sits at the kitchen table and closes his eyes.
I’m not doing it anymore, Mike says. I just... I just can’t bring myself--
C’mon, Mike, Leo does all the butchering at this point--
You want rabbit, you can cook it your fucking self.
Mike--
Raph, I practically puke anytime I see blood, touch the shit, you know that...
You never told me that.
I didn’t think I had to.
Mike...
You didn’t see it, Raph. I mean, I’ve seen blood before, God, we’ve killed people, but... Raph, that was our niece.
All right. All right. I’ll talk to Leo.
You don’t have to. Just back me up, okay?
Rachel’s grave is still covered with flowers. The crocuses have gone by, but the daffodils are making a strong showing, and the tulips are doing pretty well.
One night, when Splinter was still alive, he’d gone out here, the darkness ripping him apart. He kneeled over the grave, sobbing, angry, almost hysterical.
At some point he became aware of Splinter, standing over his shoulder, furry fingers hovering over him. When he knew Raph was aware of his presence, he pressed his fingers into his son’s shoulder.
Do you remember her fingers, sensei?
Splinter kneeled down, slowly, trying to ease his aching knees. Yes.
How could... she was beautiful, she was perfect, how could...
Raphael. I know how devestating this has been... for all of us. But this sorrow... it is killing you. It’s killing your brothers. And I am afraid I cannot stay here with you much longer.
Splinter?
It’s just... a premonition, perhaps. But it worries me... you and your brothers have to move beyond this, my son. You have to live. Surely she would not expect us to... Raphael, our lives are so short, and so precious...
I’ll mourn her ‘til the day I die.
It is all right to mourn. What I fear is that your spirits have died alongside her.
“We’re trying, Splinter. I’m trying...” Still on his knees, he puts his hands out, stretches them to touch Splinter’s and Don’s graves. “I need your help. You know I can’t do this alone...”
In the morning he pours the Coors out at Casey’s grave. “You better appreciate this,” he says, tucking the empty bottle behind the marker stone. He stands there a long time, wondering what they could say to one another. If there’s anything left to say at all.
He looks over at the farmhouse again. “Look,” he says, his eyes focused on the abandoned building, “not that I expect anything. But... if you wanna give me a hand once in a while with that grandson of yours... let’s just say I won’t say no, okay?” He brushes his hand against his eyes, shakes his head. “I miss you, you stupid dickweed.”
He closes his eyes and lets the smell of the beer bring back the good memories he has left.
4 am. The buzz of the doorbell jolts her out of bed. She throws on her robe, picks up the baseball bat, stands behind the front door, ready for him.
“John, I’ve told you already, I’m not letting you back in--”
“It’s me.”
For half a second, Shadow still clutches the bat, poised, waiting.
Then she takes a deep breath and opens the door.
He looks older, the lines in his face more pronounced, the dark fire that once flamed in his eyes reduced to a steady smolder.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came here to apologize. To you and to our son.”
She steps back and lets him in. He remembers the bathrobe from when they were married, but stops himself from putting his arms around her, tries to ignore the ache he feels. “April told me about what happened between you and John... for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
She shrugs her shoulders. “So you’ve seen her?”
”Everyone but you and Andrew... figured I’d work my way up to you guys.”
She waits, her eyes asking for the explanation.
“You’re the ones I really need to apologize to.”
She walks him into the living room, sits on the couch. “You don’t have to apologize to me.”
“I know.” He stands nervously over a chair.
“Go ahead. Sit down.”
He climbs into it, perches-- she’s rarely seen him actually rest in a chair-- folds his arms across his chest. “I owe you a lot more than that.”
”True.”
“I’m staying around from now on,” he says. “I’m hoping... maybe I can be the father Andrew deserves. Finally.”
”I don’t know,” she says carefully, “how he’s going to react to this... you’ve been gone a long time.”
”He’ll be angry,” Raph says. “He has a right to be.”
She nods. “Why’d you come here now?”
“Now?”
“Four in the morning.”
“Didn’t get back into town ‘til nine. And I had a lot of apologizing to do.”
“Raphael...”
“Shadow-- I want to thank you, too. For taking care of him, and for letting my family see him so much...”
“They’re my family too.”
”You know what I mean.”
“You’re welcome,” she says softly, appraising him. “You want something to drink? I’m gonna get some milk...” she stands up, walks to the kitchen.
“Nah,” he tells her. “I’m fine.”
He looks like shit. Like he’s spent the last three years starving out in the woods or something... but there’s something there, a sort of calmness, that wasn’t there before. A peace, maybe. She pours herself the milk, and when she walks back in is unsurprised to see Andrew, poised at the end of the hallway, regarding his father with a mixture of eagerness and suspicion.
Raph’s voice is low, warm and intense as a heartbeat. “I’ve been a jerk, Andrew, I know. I’ve been really selfish. And it’s all right for you to be angry with me. I want you to know that. I’ll understand. But I’m back, and I’m gonna be here for you. Whenever you need me. All right?”
“I gotta sister now,” he says.
“I heard. You like her?”
Drew nods.
“What’s her name?”
“Anna.”
“That’s pretty.”
Another nod. “I gotta go back to bed now.”
“Okay, Drew. Have a good night, okay?”
”Okay.”
“I love you.”
Drew disappears.
Raphael puts his face in his hands, and Shadow sits back down on the couch. “You know,” she says, “this pulls out... you can stay here tonight and we can all have breakfast in the morning.”
”You don’t have to do that,” he tells her through his fingers.
“I know I don’t,” she says, getting up. “But I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’”
He helps her fold the couch out, get the sheets on, takes the pillow she offers, thanks her.
“You want me to tuck you in?” she teases.
“No,” he says, a little irritated, but nothing like the old Raph would have been.
“Then I’ll just say goodnight.”
“Goodnight.” They put their arms around each other for half a second, awkwardly. “And thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she says. “And I accept that apology you still haven’t gotten around to giving me.”
“Shadow--”
“Raphael,” she tells him, realizing to her surprise she actually means it, “it’s all right.”
“All right,” he says, throws his arms around her again and squeezes her, tightly this time. She holds on to him, remembering what it used to be like, remembering all she’s lost.
She smiles at him. He smiles at her.
And they both turn from each other and go to bed.
She gets up in the morning, starts the coffee, walks into the living room to check on Raph. Drew is curled up in his arms, his shell against Raph’s plastron. She notices Drew’s small fingers curled around his father’s thumb.
The photo in the living room’s been moved; she can see the dust marks where it had been. Raph’s probably been looking at it. From Mike and Agnes’ third anniversary, a couple months ago; Sophie stands between them. Mike and Shadow are each holding one of Andrew’s hands; Shadow is keeping a tight grip on Anna, just big enough to walk. Karen is holding Alexandra, three years old now, as beautiful, they all think, as Rachel would have been. Leo has an arm around Matthew. Matt’s in college now, doing pretty well; he’s been seeing a girl named Phoebe, who doesn’t seem to mind that half her potential in-laws belong to a different species. Vaughn and her mother hover at the edge of the picture, smiling.
And now Raph’s back. She smiles at the photo, looks back at her son, who’s stirring in his father’s arms. Raphael’s eyes are open, watching her quietly. Want some help? he mouths.
She shakes her head, and he smiles at her gratefully, closes his eyes and settles down again with his son.
He comes in while she’s setting the table, tries to grab the plates from her.
“No,” she says.
“Why not?” he asks, smiling a little, daring to tease her for the first time since the divorce.
“Because you’re my guest.” Because you’re not going to start living here again.
“Fair enough.” He shrugs his shoulders and sits at the table. “Mike says I can stay with them for a while, until I get back on my feet...”
She nods.
He doesn’t meet her eyes. “Mike says you never changed the custody agreement... I appreciate that. I figure if I’m at Mike’s, he visits like he always does, it won’t be too much of a change for him...”
“Yeah.” She goes over to the coffeemaker, takes a few mugs down, pours the coffee. “Black still?”
He nods. “You should be angrier,” he says.
“I stopped being angry a long time ago,” she says, bringing the mugs to the table. “It wasn’t worth it.”
“You know,” April says, untangling her legs from Vaughn’s, “I was thinking...”
“Go on.” He pulls her closer, wrapping his legs back around her. A ray of sun crosses them both, landing on Vaughn’s hand and making the gold of the wedding band glow.
“Maybe we should open up the farmhouse again.”
“In Northampton?”
“Yeah. I don’t know... last night I had this dream...”
“Yeah?”
She smiles at him, almost embarrassed. “It was crazy... we were all out there having a picnic, I mean all of us, you and me and Don and Casey and all the kids and... it doesn’t make any sense now, but... it... it all seemed right... you know? And I just woke up and thought, “maybe we should go back down there.”
“I bet the kids would have a good time,” he tells her. He’s only been out there once, to see the graves, just before he and April got married. Leonardo had led him, wordlessly, to the cabin the four brothers had lived in for years. Vaughn had recognized it as a sign they had accepted him, had asked questions he hadn’t dared ask before.
Did anyone ever find out... you know... how it happened? Between them?
Leonardo shakes his head. We all knew, kind of, how it could have...
Vaughn had stayed silent, waiting for him to continue.
You have to understand, he finally said, we never thought we could have... any of it. We never thought we would be loved, that we could have children, that... when we first came here, I was injured-- physically, terribly, close to death, they tell me-- and we came up here, in the middle of the night, with April and Casey pulling us in a U-Haul trailer... we thought that was it. The rest of our lives... nothing but secrets, hiding, fearing discovery... He shook his head and walks over to the porch.
And she was our friend. We all had crushes on her, but they were-- they weren’t real. We had ‘em because she was safe, you know? But I think... I think there was always something between them, something more. And we just... you know. We never thought-- I know I’m not making a hell of a lot of sense--
No. No, you are.
It’s just... even just the thought that someone would be brave enough to love us, to want us...
“Vaughn, are you all right?”
“Yeah. Yeah. I was just thinking...”
“About what?” She’s trying to get up again, but he still wants to hold her, to feel her against his skin just a little longer.
“A lot of things,” he says, taking her in his arms and pulling her onto his chest. “Mostly about you...”
“I have to go to work,” she says.
“I know,” he teases, kisses her, lets her go. He’ll have to get up pretty soon himself, but he likes watching her in the mornings, bustling between the bathroom and kitchen.
He wonders if she’s ever thought of herself as brave.
“I love you,” he tells the bathroom door.
“I know,” it answers back. “Are you getting up or what?”
“I’m coming,” he says, sliding one leg out of the bed, smiling at her, and the sun, and the day ahead.
