To Part 17
Back to Story Menu
He walked through the door and flicked on the light, expecting to find the home in a shambles. When he looked around, he saw that everything was in place, the carpet newly cleaned, the windows shining, and the furniture dusted. A lump came to his throat when he also found the refrigerator stocked with food. He saw the fine hand of his mother and sisters in all this. The six-pack of beer told him that Paul had been involved, too.
He pulled out a beer and went to sit on the couch in the living room, pulling off his boots and putting his legs up. He took a sip from the bottle. Closing his eyes, he reflected back on the past forty-eight hours and wondered how life had become so complicated and convoluted. Setting down the beer, he curled up on the cushions and was asleep in seconds.
He was startled from a sound slumber when a familiar hand shook his shoulder. "Peter, come on, Son, wake up."
He looked up at Paul groggily, taking some time to focus and come to full wakefulness. "Paul? What?" He sat up wildly, face paling. "Kacie? Something's happened?"
"Easy, Son," Paul reassured him. "She's fine. I just came from the hospital, and she's much better. She asked me to come here and check on you. It's after six and she wondered where you were."
Peter looked startled, especially when he saw by his wristwatch that he had, indeed, been sleeping for nearly eight hours. He scrubbed a hand over his face and remarked, "Man...I musta just crashed."
Paul regarded him soberly. "I'm sorry that I had to wake you, son. You look like hell."
"These past coupla days have BEEN hell."
"I know, Son, but the worst is over now."
"Is it?" Peter looked at Paul bleakly. "Is it really?" He sat up and sleepily rubbed his eyes.
Paul sat beside him on the couch and massaged his foster son's shoulders comfortingly. A lump rose in Blaisdell's throat when Peter leaned over and rested his head against the solid chest. While he and Peter had had a 'close' relationship for years, Annie was the one who had always offered the physical comfort. {Peter has always held back from touching me. I thought it was because his own father never showed him any affection. When Caine came back, I saw how wrong I was about that. He and Peter are so free about showing their love for one another. I've been jealous of that for months.} He bent his head slightly, to rest it on Peter's, and they sat silently for a time.
"Paul, I can't begin to thank you all for everything you've done for Kacie and me. I-I don't think I could have handled seeing our place, the way it must've looked..."
"You can thank your mother and sisters for that idea, but it's not necessary, Peter. We're your family. We love you and Kacie."
"You DID say she was better, didn't you, Paul?" Peter rubbed the heel of his hand against his forehead. "The nights have been the worst. Jesus, she wakes up just screaming and screaming and I can't hardly get her to calm down." He shuddered. "My God, it just tears my heart out, every time it happens...she's so scared, and her mouth is wide open, but you hardly hear a thing with her voice the way it is. I hold her, and I talk to her, but she just shakes and shakes..." His face looked haunted at the memory.
"It just takes time, Peter. Kacie just went through a pretty traumatic experience. You don't get over things like that overnight." Paul spoke soothingly as Peter looked at him hopefully. "And yes, she's doing much better today. Your father has her drinking some of his 'stuff', and she even smiled a couple of times while I was there."
Peter sank back into the cushions with a sigh of relief.
"How are you holding up, Son? Anything you need?"
Peter smiled tiredly at Paul. "Everything I need is at the hospital right now." He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "As far as holding up goes, I'm...managing."
Paul took a deep breath and caught his lip between his teeth. "Eppy's arraignment was today, Peter."
Peter sat up quickly and asked tensely, "What happened?"
"He was charged with aggravated assault and attempted murder."
Peter looked at Paul, his eyes smoldering with struggling emotions. "And?"
"He pled guilty as charged. He told the judge he didn't want to waste the court's time. Didn't want a lawyer -- refused one, as a matter of fact. He wouldn't see me. He won't see anyone."
Peter jumped up and started pacing in agitation, raking a hand through his already sleep tousled hair. "When's the sentencing?"
"Two weeks from today. The DA is pushing for the maximum on this one." Paul paused a moment, reflecting. "The judge was concerned about Eppy. His physical condition isn't good, and he's being held under guard yet at the hospital while they flush out his system. The detox program isn't pretty. His mental state is in question, too, and he's been put under a suicide watch."
Peter's breath rattled harshly in his throat before he spoke. "Part of me is thinking 'Good, I hope he burns' for what he did to Kacie."
"What about the other part of you, Son? The part that knows better than to seek revenge on the helpless and the weak?" Peter opened his mouth to argue, but Paul stopped him with a raised hand. "Come on, Peter, you're not thinking straight. An alcoholic, on a three day binge after losing his son, you don't call that helpless and weak?"
"Paul, he almost killed my wife! He'd have DONE it, too, if it hadn't been for you! How the hell can you make excuses for him?"
"I'm not making excuses, Peter. I'm explaining. What Eppy did was unconscionable, but it wasn't deliberate. He came here looking for you, and then the booze took over. The rest was an unfortunate accident."
"Having his hands around Kacie's throat was no 'accident', Paul," Peter continued stubbornly. "He damn near choked the life right out of her."
"I didn't come here to argue with you, Peter," Paul said wearily. "I'd hoped you'd have a little more perspective by now."
"You think I haven't been having this same conversation with myself?" Peter's voice rose. "You think I haven't felt torn in two by all this? Kacie is my LIFE, and I love her! Eppy is -- was -- my friend and partner for years. How am I supposed to feel, Paul? Just how the hell am I supposed to feel?" His voice suddenly cracked and he continued huskily as moisture flooded his eyes. "I really wish you would tell me, because I haven't got a fucking clue." He brushed a hand across his eyes. "I better go get cleaned up."
He walked off to the bedroom, shoulders sagging and steps heavy. Paul watched him disappear and thought sadly, {I'm sorry you had to find your idol had feet of clay, Peter. You needed to let him be human a long time ago, Son.}