Faith and Fidelity (26 page)

Of course Vic said yes. He spent most of his weekends rattling around the house, trying not to plant himself in one place and get melancholy. All well and good to keep busy, but there were only so many times you could mow the lawn or rearrange a closet. The thought of getting out seemed like a good idea.

Except.

Except all he wanted to do was ask Evan— where was Matt? Why wasn't he going with Evan to get the kids? One look at his detective's face as he opened the front door told him everything he couldn't ask. Matt had to be gone.

He was itching to ask what happened, but the words “did you and Matt break up?” just couldn't seem to find their way out of his throat and into the air. It wasn't that Vic was homophobic in any way, shape, or form. He didn't care what people did in the privacy of their own homes— hell, he'd been a cop long enough to know what actual perversion looked like and it sure wasn't two guys— or two women— going out to dinner and holding hands. He admitted to being old-fashioned enough to not want to see anyone's tongue in anyone else's mouth in public— but that was really true for straight people too. The Matt/Evan situation, well, that was different. It was just a shock. It took some getting used to.

Didn't look like he even needed to bother.

Well shit, Vic thought as he eased the rental through traffic and headed toward the island. He had gotten general directions to Sherri's parent's place but was hoping that Evan would perk up enough to guide him through the neighborhood. If he'd known what the hell was going on (whatever that was), he'd have given Matty a call. Looking at Evan, he worried that Matt was worse off.

Evan stirred in the seat next to him. Vic took the opening— hell, it was now or never.

“So, where do I go after I take exit fifteen?”

Bewilderment in his eyes, Evan turned to stare at Vic.

“What?”

“Your in-laws place?”

There was a long pause. Evan blinked a few times. Vic waited patiently.

“Take Grayson Road to the end. They live off of it. It's a left at the light.”

“Great.” Vic cleared his throat, unsure what to do now. He thought the kids might be a safe bet. “I bet your kids are thrilled to be coming home.” He detected a slight nod from the tall man beside him.

“Any plans for Christmas?”

Evan stiffened.

“Quiet. At home. They don't need any more excitement.”

Right
, thought Vic,
and neither do you
. The monotone of Evan's voice reminded Vic of countless shell-shocked victims he'd seen sitting across from him over the years. The frustration mounted. It seemed as if they had gone back in time to the days and weeks right after Sherri was killed.

“Sounds good.”

Evan grunted softly.

Vic went back to driving. He resolved to call Matty as soon as he got home. Someone was going to tell him what the hell was going on.

The rest of the drive took only thirty minutes. Evan grunted out some instructions as they got closer to the house but that was all. He felt like cotton lined his head and mouth; he hadn't slept since... He hadn't slept and his chest ached. He took his medicine because the kids were coming home, finally, and they needed him. He needed to be better so he could take care of them. That endless chant kept him from flying apart into a thousand pieces.

Evan felt the minivan stop; Vic cleared his throat. He hated looking like this in front of his captain, knew he didn't have much more time. He could only plead pain and trauma from the shooting for a little bit longer. Maybe another week or so of sympathy would be spared him... He needed to pull it together.

“Uh, we're here,” Vic said nervously.

Evan said nothing and slid awkwardly out of the car. He'd taken a pill before he left the house and the blanket of numbness that enveloped him kept the pain at bay. For that, he was grateful.

He mustered up the energy to smile as the children came bounding out of the house.

For a few moments Evan felt overwhelmed by their voices and the feeling of their arms winding around his neck. A slender crack formed in his heart; for a second he actually felt alive but then the babble ceased and clear as a bell he heard—

“Where's Matt?”

Of course it was Elizabeth, innocent and smiling, clinging to his leg.

Evan opened his mouth but nothing came out. How could he explain what he had done? Any of it.

From behind he heard Vic Wolkowski's voice boom out, “What am I? Chopped liver? Matt had to take care of something for work. I got chauffeur duties for the day.”

Looking up, Evan locked eyes with Miranda, whose quizzical glance was more than he could stand. He jerked his head to take in Danny and Kathleen and Elizabeth who stared at him expectantly.

“Let's go,” he choked out. “Let's get your stuff and say good-bye to your grandparents.”

They moved awkwardly toward the house, Evan steeling himself for what would happen next.

Whatever Evan was expecting, he was not disappointed.

His sullen in-laws stood in the foyer, staring at him like he was social services, coming to rip their children out of the only home they'd ever known. Which was bullshit, of course, but Evan wasn't entirely sure that Phil and Josie knew that. Very little was said.

While the kids were in the other room gathering their bags, Vic tried; he said hello and how are you to the McGregors, but they didn't do much in way of responding. As the kids came into view with their things, Josie burst into inconsolable sobs, which in turn upset the kids, which in turn made Evan see the red-hot fire of his anger flicker up behind his eyes. He was curt and moved everyone out the door as quickly as possible.

“Kiss your grandparents,” he said quietly, trying not to let his glower be turned on the children. “You'll see them next week for Christmas.”

Josie made little hiccuping sounds as she snuffled into a tissue. It pushed Evan's last nerve. Some angry, mean, spiteful bit of him wanted to cancel the Christmas visit but he wouldn't hurt his kids that way.

There was a general confusion as everyone said their good-byes. Evan slipped out the door with a bag in each hand; the pain pulling at his chest was a great diversion. Vic brought up the rear with the rest of the stuff. He made some noise about Evan doing too much but the words didn't quite register. The haze was descending again.

It took another ten minutes but everyone was loaded into the van, strapped in, and they were on their way. The entire process hadn't lasted a half hour.

Unable to keep his eyes open another second, Evan leaned his head against the glass. He heard Vic and Miranda trying to engage the younger kids in talk about Christmas. Things got lively and Evan felt a little peace. Okay, so maybe it was going to be all right. Maybe he could get it together, give the kids a nice holiday and go on.

Danny piped up loudly, saying what he really, really wanted was the Wii and
bam
! There went Evan's improved mood and following right behind was his ability to breathe properly. His mind flew back to the house, back to the scene of just a few days ago. In the basement closet sat the bags and bags of toys and gifts that Matt had bought. He'd refused to take them when he left; told Evan to use them since he wasn't going to be able to go shopping.

Evan didn't say anything beyond a quiet “thanks,” as he watched Matt pack up his bag. There was no look of longing, no tender good-bye. They simply moved around each other like the planets around a sun, Matt picking up his things, Evan watching him. Haunting him. He'd felt the energy draining out, pooling around him on the floor. There was nothing to say, nothing to change the inevitable. This was for the kids... this was for the kids... it was the thing that kept his mouth shut. So he simply watched as his lover took one last look around, spared him a quick, blank glance, and walked out the door.

And that was it.

Now they were heading home to the emptiness and the pile of gifts from the ghost of Matt, mingled in with the ever-present ghost of Sherri, who would always be there.

And don't forget the guilt
, Evan thought to himself,
you couldn't forget that.

“Merry Fucking Christmas,” Matt said, saluting his dark apartment. He'd come home from cleaning out his office— with a quick stop at the liquor store for some holiday cheer— kept all the lights off and sat his ass down in the cozy chair by the window. He couldn't actually see anything of interest but around ten p.m. it started snowing. Of course by that time he was half blitzed so maybe it was imaginary snow.

He had quit his job; the boss seemed to understand. He hadn't really been happy for a long time. It was time for a new challenge. The security firm was the place for Matt to hide and lick his wounds. Now it was time to get his shit together and move on.

What a mature decision! That called for another drink! Matt poured himself another half glass of bourbon. He had planned his evening out quite carefully and was assured there was enough liquor to get him to “unconscious” which was where he wanted to be. Desperately.

The week since he'd walked out of Evan's home had been numb and cold and exhausting. If he'd thought being brought up on charges in the department and ending up a beat cop had sucked out loud, he would like the opportunity to revise that opinion.

The entire relationship was bullshit. Everything was a big sack of bullshit.

He'd ignored Vic Wolkowski's messages on his machine— he didn't answer his phone because he didn't care to respond to anything remotely attached to Evan and that seemed to be the only thing that people wanted to discuss.

Vic— he'd known the man long enough to interpret the slightly gentled tone.

Liz— she called to invite him and Evan over to the house, then had called back several times to confirm. And finally, the last call this morning announced an openly stated threat that after the holidays she was driving to Staten Island and kicking his ass. He waited until he knew she'd be gone to her in-laws then left a message back, sending his holiday regards and apologizing for his lack of response. He promised to talk to her in a few days.

He drained his glass in one long swallow and waited for the awful burn to squeeze his brain and lungs. His rationale was that the pain from the liquor would kill the pain from the hurt, but that wasn't working out too well. All he had to show for nearly an empty bottle of bourbon was a physical ache to go with the one that wracked his brain.

Why?

Why?

Why had he been so stupid? Why had he believed they could work things out? He
knew
it would never work! Knew that right from the very beginning but still, knowing very well how it would turn out, he kept pushing. Kept believing that on this night, he would be sitting on the floor of the Cerelli house, watching the kids tear open their presents, watching Evan watch his kids with shining eyes and a peaceful smile. Bullshit. Everything was bullshit.

On Christmas morning, Evan watched his kids tear open their presents with exhausted eyes and a heavy heart.

The week had been a rough one with everyone's moods flying off the charts. One second they were all laughing and relaxing, the next moment the twins dissolved into shrieking, shoving combatants. Or Miranda stomped off into her room when Evan merely asked her a question about finishing her homework. Evan himself could barely keep his mind focused on whatever the task at hand was; paying bills, cooking dinner, doing laundry.

Sleep was a joke. He dozed, sitting up in his bedroom's easy chair. The bed taunted him with memories; the couch downstairs did the same. He took sponge baths in the bathroom downstairs. It was too much.

Yesterday, the kids spent the day with their grandparents. Evan was not invited— and he wouldn't have gone if Phil or Josie had deigned to ask. They were barely on speaking terms as it was; a few hours sitting across from one another would have been the final nail in the coffin.

Instead, he'd spent the day wandering around the house in a near daze, hearing memories of Christmases past, wondering where Matt had gone then remembering. By the time the kids came home, Evan could barely muster enough the energy to look over their gifts and do the traditional Cerelli family “cookies for Santa” ritual. Miranda thankfully took the lead (sending a blade of shame through Evan again— when would he be man enough to stop leaning on a teenager?), placating Danny and Elizabeth so they'd go upstairs and get into bed.

By the time midnight rolled around, the kids were asleep, and Evan had used the last of his energy to haul all of Matt's gifts up from the basement. He snapped off all the lights then sat on the couch, staring into the darkness and trying to fade away.

Waiting for morning.

And here they were. The happy Cerelli family, opening gifts under a gaily-decorated tree, snow softly falling just beyond the picture window.

Evan made some enthusiastic noises as the gifts appeared one by one. Matt had unerringly chosen something appropriate for each of the kids— even Miranda cracked a real smile when she got to the gift certificates. When the Wii was revealed, the whoops of delight were deafening.

Fucking Norman Rockwell couldn't have done it better.

But a closer look revealed the fine hairline cracks forming in Dad's brain. The strained expressions on Miranda and Kathleen's faces, as they tried to be excited. The higher than normal pitches of the twin's voices as they competed for attention.

The big invisible hole where Sherri used to be.

The big invisible hole where Matt should be.

Matt woke up Christmas Day with a mouth full of cottony regret and an invisible spear lodged in his head.

Happy Holidays, Matthew Haight.

After a long time spent negotiating with his stomach—
I don't want to have to clean it up, I don't want to have to clean it up
— he rolled off the sofa bed and staggered to the bathroom. He avoided the mirror—
I don't want to see how bad I look, I don't want to see how bad I look
— and slid into the shower, hoping to either die or wake up.