This story is a work of FICTION. The events described are my own invention. Any similarities to actual events or persons are strictly coincidental. The author retains the copyright, and any other rights, to this original story. You may not publish it or any part of it without my explicit authorization.
This story contains depictions of consensual sexual acts between teenage males. It is intended for mature audiences only. If you find this type of material offensive or if you are under the legal age to read said material; please proceed no further.
Comments are always welcome at: hailcaesar2011@hotmail.com
A Light in Dark Places Chapter 3
They next time my eyes opened, they were dazzled by a brilliant white light. I thought it was heaven at first but once my eyes adjusted, I discovered it was a hospital room. I looked around and found my mom, dozing in a chair next to me. I was a little disoriented, it took me a moment to remember why I was here and then the empty, hollow feeling resettled in my stomach. I tried to reach the nightstand, to feel around for my glasses, but I couldn't move my arms. Oh God, had my fall into the pool left me paralyzed?
My stirring must have woken my mom. While I was trying to figure out why I couldn't move, she'd noticed I was awake and was soon smothering me with hugs and kisses.
"Oh my darling boy," mom gushed, "thank God you're okay."
"Mom, I can't move," I whispered, my mouth was incredibly dry, "what happened?"
"You're ok sweetheart," said mom, "Everything's going to be fine."
"Why can't I move?" I asked again while trying to lift my arms.
"It's for your own protection honey, the doctors were afraid you might try to hurt yourself again," she answered.
Mom picked up the remote control for the bed and raised the headrest for me, now I could see the restraints that held me in their grasp. This was a harsh reminder of what I'd failed to accomplish, and why I'd tried to kill myself in the first place.
"Mom, Connor's dead," I wept.
"Shh, its ok sweetheart, it's ok," said mom, her voice and her touch soothing my frayed nerves.
"Daddy's on his way, he couldn't get a flight quickly enough so he's taking the train, he'll be here soon," mom assured me.
Oh no, dad. If there is one thing I've always known, it's that my parents love me. I felt terrible for the pain I must be causing them, that guilt, combined with my own grief, was enough to make me wish I hadn't woken up. I'd kept my homosexuality to myself, not because I was ashamed of it or my relationship with Connor, but because the guilt that came with it would be made worse by my parent's unequivocal support. I felt guilty that they'd never have any grandchildren, and that it might be used by my dad's political enemies to hurt him. I felt worse now than I did before I jumped, Connor was gone and with him the person I confided all of my hopes and fears to.
"Is dad upset?" I asked, between sobs.
"Your father loves you Peter," mom said soothingly, "all he cares about is that you're ok."
I continued to be consumed by guilt and just cried harder. A nurse came in and tried to help mom calm me down but didn't have much luck. She was a grandmotherly black woman with a soothing voice but neither woman could stop my sobbing. In the end, she injected me with some sort of sedative.
"You'll be alright now sugar," said the nurse, in her syrupy voice, "just let the medicine do its thing and you'll be asleep in no time."
She was right about that, my eyelids began to flutter before she'd even finished speaking. I felt my mom take my hand in hers and then I was out.
My father arrived while I slept. The first thing he did, when he walked into the hospital was to barge past the hospital administrator, who thought this might be a good opportunity to kiss a politician's ass, and find my mom. She led dad into my room where he kissed me on the forehead and held my hand for a while, before he and mom had a chat with my doctor.
"Honey this is Doctor Caswell, he's treating Peter," said mom, as the two men shook hands.
"Doctor, thank you for saving my sons life," dad said somberly.
"You don't have to thank me Senator, the teacher who went into the pool after Peter deserves the credit for saving his life," said Dr. Caswell with a weak smile.
"He's a very lucky boy," the doctor stated, "had he spent much more time under the water, he most certainly would have suffered some level of brain damage."
"I want to assure you that your son will make a full recovery," the doctor began, "he lost consciousness from the lack of blood flow to the brain but the teacher and our EMT's administered CPR and got him breathing again."
"Thank God," dad muttered with a sigh.
"That's the good news," said Doctor Caswell.
"What's the bad news?" asked dad.
"Senator your son has suffered a terrible loss for someone so young," said Doctor Caswell, "when he came to, here in the hospital, he became extremely emotional and had to be sedated by a nurse."
"What are you saying, Doctor?" said dad.
"Sir, your son will make a full physical recovery but I can only treat his body," the doctor answered, "it is my recommendation that he undergo an immediate psychological evaluation and grief counseling."
"You mean therapy, seeing a shrink?" asked dad.
"Some form of therapy, possibly a pharmacological treatment as well, that would be up to the psychiatrist," said the doctor.
"Aside from the events of the last few days, has Peter ever behaved in a way that suggested he might be depressed?" asked Doctor Caswell.
My parents traded a look before my mother answered.
"He get's mopey form time to time but I didn't think it was anything out of the ordinary for a teenager," said mom, "you have to understand that Connor was his best friend, they were incredibly close."
"Yes, the McCarthy boy's death was indeed tragic but typically teenagers are fairly resilient when it comes to death, that's why I'm wondering if there might be some other underlying factor," said Doctor Caswell.
"What are you suggesting Doctor?" asked mom.
"Let me put this delicately," said Doctor Caswell, "is it possible that your son and the McCarthy boy were more than just friends?"
"Certainly not and I resent the implication," said mom, "my son is a sensitive boy and he's obviously upset by his friends death."
"Yes," said dad, being the more logical of the two, "I think it's entirely possible."
"Jeffrey, how can you say that about..." mom began, only to be cut-off by dad.
"Vivian, he's never brought a girl home, never talks about girls or shows any interest in them whatsoever, that's not normal for a teenage boy," said dad.
Mom didn't reply, she had to admit, everything dad had said was true.
"It's not uncommon for young homosexual males to keep their sexuality a secret for any number of reasons," said Dr. Caswell, "would your son have any reason to fear telling you?"
"I would hope not," said dad, "we love Peter more than anything, no matter what he is or who he decides to fall in love with, I hope he knows that."
"It's a tough age Senator, kids these days are under a lot of pressure, more so for your son because your family is in the public eye," said the doctor, "If for some reason he was afraid to tell you about himself, it wouldn't necessarily mean he thought you would love him less."
"What do you recommend we do doctor?" asked dad.
"I have a colleague who runs a private clinic, in Massachusetts, for teenagers like Peter. It's isolated, and quiet, he'll get the treatment he needs without having to worry about anyone bothering him and he'll meet kids like himself so he is able to see he's not alone in how he feels," said Dr. Caswell, "it might help him come to terms with his feelings and ease his grief."
"I don't know," said dad, "I'm no doctor but shouldn't he be with his family?"
"You certainly have that option, it's possible that his suicide attempt might be the result of grief, combined with the forced separation from family imposed by boarding school" Dr. Caswell responded, "if you take that route, he'll need to begin meeting with a therapist as soon as possible and I would recommend you keep a close eye on him until this situation is under control. Never leave him alone for more than a few minutes at a time, keep doors open so you can hear what he's doing, talk to his friends and get reports from them on things he's talking about and most importantly help him deal with his grief."
"When can we take him home doctor?" asked mom.
"He's physically healthy, I'd like to keep him for observation overnight but I'm comfortable releasing him to your care tomorrow morning," said the doctor.
That was the end of their conversation, the doctor left to make his rounds and dad came in to sit in vigil over me, until I woke up. The first thing he did was have the restraint's holding me down removed, he and mother would be there to watch me and the last thing I needed was to be treated like a prisoner. The doctor approved his request and left us alone as a family.
The sedative I'd been given was a powerful one and I slept for several hours, not waking up until after midnight. I looked to the left and saw my mom curled up on the other bed in the room and I looked right and found my dad asleep in the chair next to my bed, he was holding my hand. His touch was comforting to me and I squeezed his hand, he woke up and smiled at me then gave me one of his patented bear hugs.
"You scared me, tiger," he said.
"I'm sorry dad," I whined, "It just hurt so much, I couldn't take it, I didn't want to cause any trouble for you and mom."
"Your mom and I love you Peter, nothing will ever change that," said dad, "I know Connor was your best friend and I liked him to, but son, was there something more there, something that made him more than just a friend?"
"Y-yes sir," I sniffed.
He looked down at his feet for a moment then squeezed my hand.
"Are you mad," I asked.
"Of course not son and I'm sorry he's gone now but he wouldn't want you to hurt himself, if you loved him then I'm sure he loved you back, he'd want you to go on and try to be happy," he responded.
"I don't know if I can do that dad," I cried.
"Yes you can Peter, I know it seems hard now and I know you'll never forget Connor but you have to go on, it's what he'd want," said dad, who gave my hand another squeeze.
I wish I could say that made it all better but I still felt the gaping hole in my heart, the empty void that felt like it was consuming me from the inside. While we waited for the doctors to release me from the hospital, dad met with Mr. Blankenship, the teacher who saved my life. He thanked him for what he'd done, and told him that if he ever needed anything all he had to do was call. Dad even gave him his personal cell number so he wouldn't have to deal with any secretary bullshit. While dad was doing that, Stewart, my dad's personal assistant, went over to the academy and packed my things. He brought me a suitcase with clean clothes and had everything else shipped back home. Mom, of course, stayed with me.
When I was released, I put on the clothes Stewart had brought me and then I sat in the back of a rented SUV, between mom and dad, while he drove us to the airport. We went past the public terminal and pulled up to a Gulfstream business jet parked on the tarmac. Jack Reynolds, my godfather, dad's lifelong best friend and chief of staff, had made some calls to a few of my father's wealthy contributors and arranged for us to fly home on some company's plane. Jack had come up from DC with dad and Stewart, they, like most of my dad's staff, were fixtures in our lives and we considered them family. I used to play with Jack's daughters when I was a little boy.
"Hey kid, how's my favorite godson?" asked Jack, while he hugged me.
"I'm your only godson, Uncle Jack," I reminded him.
"All the more reason you're my favorite," he smiled, "Why don't you get on board with your mom and we'll have you home in no time."
I got on the plane and snuggled up in a seat next to my mom. She pulled me against here and rested my head on her chest while she stroked my hair. Mom's not very good at hiding her feelings and it was obvious she was shaken by the happenings of the last two days. I knew she was trying to take care of me and as much as if comforted me, it didn't exactly work wonders on my guilty conscience. Somewhere in Michigan, Connor's parents were devastated, their smart, talented, beautiful boy, with a lust for life like no other, was gone. How the hell could I have been so selfish as to try and put my parents through that?
While mom and I took our seats on the plane, dad stood out on the tarmac with Uncle Jack to make arrangements for the next few days.
"God all mighty Jeff," said Uncle Jack, "how's he doing?"
"The doctors say he's going to be fine but we're going to have to get him some help," said dad.
"Well hey, what's the benefit of being a senator if you can't get the best doctors in the state to treat your kid, huh?" Jack asked, while patting dad on the back. They'd been friends a long time.
"Jack, I need to be with Vivian and Peter, he needs his family right now, how long can I be away from Washington?" asked dad.
"That's going to be a problem," Jack began, "there are some close votes coming up in the next few days, the leader is going to shit if you miss them and it might come back to bite us next election."
"Fucking politics," dad muttered.
"I know buddy, but this is the life we've chosen," said Jack.
"Peter's got to be watched all the time," said dad, "If I'm going to be in Washington, I want people we can trust helping Vivian at the house. Get someone from the Pittsburgh office to hang out at the house and make arrangements to get me home the moment the last vote is cast."
With that said, dad and Jack boarded the plane and we were on our way home. I didn't say much, I've always been a nervous flyer so I continued to cuddle against my mother. Stewart slept in his seat and dad and Jack talked quietly about the votes my father would have to make later in the week. At least he'd be able to come home with use for a couple of days.
When we landed, Aunt Molly, Uncle Jacks wife, met us with their Suburban and drove us to our home in Fox Chapel, in the Pittsburgh suburbs. Jack traveled between Pittsburgh and DC, like dad, he was his right hand and felt he should always be close by. Stewart, who traveled everywhere with dad, was based out of DC and normally stayed in the guesthouse, in our backyard, when he was in the state, so when we arrived, he took his things there. Mom put me on the couch with a blanket and I quickly drifted off for another nap. You would think I'd be tired of sleep at this point but when I was sleeping I wasn't hurting and I welcomed the numbness.
After awhile, I felt something warm and wet on my face and woke up to find my Chocolate Lab, Satchel, licking my face. She's the best dog in the world and dad knew I'd be happy to see her, so even though mom had a strict no dogs in the house rule, he let her in. Satchel went everywhere with me, when I was home, and I think part of my dad's reasoning behind letting her in the house had been that she'd help keep an eye on me. If I did something crazy and got hurt, Satchel would get help. As a result, mom never complained once about her presence indoors.
We ate a quiet dinner that night, Satchel at my feet while I poked at my food, how was I supposed to eat when Connor couldn't? My heart ached to be with him and his beautiful face occupied all my thoughts. When I had pushed the food around my plate long enough, I asked if I could go to my room, they said yes but I had to keep the door open and keep Satchel with me. That left the adult's time to plan their schedule for the next few days. Since Stewart had taken a long nap when we got home, he offered to take the first shift watching over me. He would take up a position in the upstairs TV room which was close enough to my room that he'd hear me if I made any noise. He was also a light sleeper so any sound was bound to wake him. Mrs. Bailey, our live-in housekeeper, would take the early morning shift and check on me until my parents got up. With that settled, they put their plan in motion.
When I got up to my room, I played a little tug of war with Satchel, and her favorite toy, Mr. Wonder Weasel, and forgot to be depressed for a few minutes. That all changed when I put on my pajamas and climbed into bed. My thoughts, of course, drifted to Connor. Was he in heaven now? Was he angry about what happened to him? Did he know what happened to me? Was he watching over me? Did he miss me as much as I missed him? I sobbed quietly into my pillow, I knew the adults were watching my every move and for now I just wanted to be left alone. Satchel with her ever keen ears, heard me crying and jumped up on the bed to see what was wrong. I let her get under the covers and hugged my puppy tight.
I woke up the next morning to the smell of Mrs. Bailey making breakfast. She's an awesome cook and her pancakes are legendary, so I padded down to the kitchen in my pajamas, Satchel, right on my heals. It was early, only a little after 6am, but Stewart was at the table drinking coffee while Mrs. Bailey cooked. They're important people in my life, Mrs. Bailey had worked for my grandfather, in the governor's mansion, and when I'd been born she'd taken a job with my parents as sort of a jack of all trades, nanny, housekeeper and cook. She was like an extra grandma.
Stewart was only 23, he'd been a football player at Penn State and started out as a summer intern, in my dad's Pittsburgh Office. When he graduated, dad hired him as his aide de camp and since then he's been more like a big brother. I've seen a lot of staffers come and go over the years but I think Stewart was able to build a close relationship with my dad because they had a lot in common. I liked him immensely because he treated me like a friend rather than his bosses kid. He picked on me, joked with me and roughhoused with me, you know, all the things that boys do, that made him different from people who I knew were only nice to me to curry favor with my parents.
Once, during my dad's last campaign, we were on a bus tour of rural counties and Stewart and I got left behind at a county fair, with a couple of other junior staffers. My dad was taking a tour of the agricultural exhibits and since we had nothing better to do, the four of us slipped away from the rest of the entourage to toss the football around. We'd lost track of time and ran to get back to the bus, only to find out they'd left without us. We were stranded in the middle of nowhere with no transportation and no cell service. Stewart took charge of the situation and soon, a friendly farmer was giving us a ride in the back of his truck. It only lasted a few hours but I liked how I'd been treated just like one of the guys.
"Morning Petey, sleep good?" asked Stewart.
It's probably because he's so much like a big brother but Stewart is the only one that gets to call me that, even if it is childish.
"Yeah, ok I guess," I replied.
"I'm sorry about your friend, kiddo," he stated.
"Thanks Stew," I mumbled.
Stewart made small talk with me while I waited for breakfast. I asked him about the baseball game he'd watched last night, not because I was in any way interested, I just knew he'd do all the talking and I wouldn't have to say much. It didn't take long for Mrs. Bailey to join us, with a plate of pancakes, but she pulled back the plate she offered me, as soon as I reached for it.
"Ah ah, not until I get a smile," she said sweetly.
"Seriously?" I asked sarcastically.
"Show me some dimples or the dog gets the bacon," she added.
Satchel forgot about me and looked hopefully at my plate, as though she'd understood the meaning behind Mrs. Bailey's words. I resigned myself to her will with a sigh, and then smiled.
"Hmmm, needs work, but good enough for the moment," she teased, as she handed over my pancakes and pinched my cheek.
Great, first I get called Petey, now I'm having to perform tricks for my breakfast, what's next, are they going to dig out my old Cub Scout uniform? I was tempted to say I'd tried to kill myself not suddenly become 5 years old again but the words stuck in my throat. Instead I just picked at my breakfast. It had been two days since I'd really eaten and though each bite tasted like ashes in my mouth, I couldn't resist anymore. I consumed the pancakes but slipped the bacon to my dog.
I was just finishing breakfast when I heard the front door open and close, it sounded like mom and dad were up and one of them had grabbed the paper. Sure enough, they came into the dining room together, the daily news under dads arm.
"Morning tiger, everyone," said dad, as he took his seat.
"Morning dad," I acknowledged.
"Good morning sweetheart, did you eat all of your breakfast?" asked mom, before she kissed me on the cheek.
"He ate both pancakes but he doesn't think I saw him feed the dog his bacon," smiled Mrs. Bailey.
"Well, that's a start," said Mom, patting my hand.
After breakfast, I went back to my room. I don't know if it's a good sign or a bad sign but I couldn't cry anymore, maybe I was just angry. Angry at the world for what had happened, angry at God for taking Connor from me, maybe even angry at Connor for doing something so foolish as swim in the ocean alone. I sat on my bed and stroked my dog behind her ears, like she likes, stewing in my rage. Not long after that, my dad came in to check on me.
"Peter, you need to keep this door open," dad admonished gently.
"I wanted some privacy," I said testily.
"I understand but you know the rules, not until you're, uh, better," said dad.
"Psh, better," I scoffed, "I just want to be alone."
"I know you do son but until we're sure you won't try and..." he began.
"So anything interesting in the paper?" I interrupted, I didn't want him to finish that sentence, I knew where it was leading and I didn't want to hear "that" word.
"I'll probably have to make a statement about the President's trip to the NATO Conference this week," said dad, "what do you think I should say?"
"Won't Marcia come up with something," I replied, she was dads press secretary.
"I'm sure she's already working on it but I want to know what you think," said dad, "I like to hear from my top advisor."
"Dad, I don't know anything about that stuff, you know that," I whined.
"Ok," dad smiled, "I just thought you might like to talk about something else. I know you're tired of people asking how you are but don't be too hard on them, they're only asking because they care about you."
"Yeah dad, I know, can I just be alone for a while?" I asked.
"Ok tiger, I love you" said dad, giving me a kiss on the top of my head, before he left.
I spent most of the day in my room, grieving as privately as I could with my door wide open and various heads popping in randomly to ensure that I was still breathing. What did they expect me to do, overdose on toothpaste? I wanted to take Satchel for a walk, I thought the fresh air would do me good, maybe take my mind off of things, but I changed my mind when mom tried to dispatch Stewart with me. What was the point if I couldn't be alone with my thoughts? All the attention was making me very irritable, I needed to be alone. I know I don't have any right to complain, I brought this on myself but if they got any further up my ass, I'd know what a Muppet felt like.
On Wednesday morning, dad had to go back to Washington. He'd delayed his return to the Capitol as long as he could but now there were votes pending in the Senate and he had to be there. He and Stewart left early that morning. With dad and Stewart heading back to DC, Michelle Robinson became my new babysitter. She's 22 and just started working in dad's Pittsburgh office, she'll be helping mom keep me away from sharp objects for the time being.
I worked hard to put on a happy face for my mom, even though she knew I was grieving. I think she was taking my attempted suicide harder then may dad. She checked on me constantly and seemed to be walking on eggshells, every time she had to talk to me. I wanted to do something to put her at ease but I wasn't getting any better, the empty, hollow feeling that settled in my chest felt like it was festering.
Dad only had to be in Washington for a few days and the day we expected him home, I found myself with the first moment of privacy I'd gotten since this all started. I was sitting in the living room with mom and Satchel; absentmindedly channel surfing, when the phone rang. Mom got up to get it, in the next room, she kept the door open and kept peeking in at me but the more she talked on the phone, the more distracted she became and the less she stuck her head through the opening. Mrs. Bailey had gone to the grocery store and Michelle wasn't here yet. There wasn't anything on TV so I turned it off and tried to think what I would do next.
I looked out the window and it was a beautiful spring day. April is a great time to be from Pittsburgh, especially in the Fox Chapel area where we live, surrounded by woods and rolling hills. I walked out to the backyard and smelled the fresh air, there was a chill to it but it felt good against my face so I sat on a chair next to the pool and let my mind wonder. I thought about Connor's funeral, it would have to be any day now and it pained me that I couldn't be there to say goodbye, that the closest thing I'd come to saying my final fair well was that rant back in the academy chapel.
When Michelle arrived, she rang the bell but I never heard it, mom did. She stayed on the phone after the first chime from the front door, assuming I'd get up to answer it, she sat through the second chime because she thought I was taking my time getting up from the couch. The third time the bell rang, she panicked. Mom dropped the phone in midsentence and stuck her head out the door into the living room, no sign of me or the dog. She ran into the foyer, hoping I had just been slow to react to the bell and when she didn't find me there, she let Michelle in and told her she couldn't find me and needed her to help search the house.
They searched the house, room by room and turned up nothing, than mom thought about the pool outback and feared the worst. She startled me when she burst through the door and out on to the patio, I practically flew out of my chair.
"Peter, get in the house, immediately," she shouted.
"But mom I was just..." I began.
"Now," she shouted, as she slapped me across the face.
I was stunned. I couldn't believe she'd done that! I don't think she could believe it either; she seemed to crumple before me.
"Uh, is everything alright?" Michelle asked, when she found us outside.
"Peter, go inside with Michelle please," Mom requested, "I need a minute to get some air."
"Yeah, I know the feeling," I said angrily, "that's all I was doing."
I stormed into the house and sat on the couch with my arms folded across my chest, pouting like a kid who got his hand caught in the cookie jar. I was wrestling with my feelings for Connor and the hold he had over me, he'd been such a part of my life that living without him felt like being on life-support, artificial and unnatural. The loss of my independence was only making things worse, I wasn't getting better, I just wanted to pull the plug.
When I cooled off, I started thinking about the piano. Music had always had a profound effect on me, I could always pick a song that fit my mood and I thought maybe sitting at the keyboard for a while would perk me up. I started with Love Dream, it's a beautiful piece of music by Franz Liszt, but the romantic nature of the music got me thinking of my lost love.
Next I started on Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata but if you know the piece then you know it doesn't exactly start out very upbeat. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mom standing in the back of the room, pacing as if the music was making her nervous. I stopped playing when Michelle came in and sat down.
"Don't stop because of me," she said.
"I was just trying to think of something else to play," I replied.
"Know anything more contemporary?" she asked.
I thought for a moment and let the morose nature of my mood dictate the next selection. If you know the song, My Immortal by Evanescence, then you know what I'm talking about, it could be the national anthem if depression were a country.
"I'm so tired of being here, suppressed by all my childish fears. And if you have to leave, I wish that you would just leave. Your presence still lingers here and it won't leave me alone
These wounds won't seem to heal, this pain is just too real There's just too much that time cannot erase
When you cried, I'd wipe away all of your tears When you'd scream, I'd fight away all of your fears And I held your hand through all of these years But you still have all of me."
See what I mean?
"Maybe if you tried playing something more upbeat you'd feel better," said mom, when I'd finished.
That just pissed me off, I slammed the lid shut on the keyboard and went to my room. Yeah music could always be counted on to reflect my feelings but playing something cheerful wasn't going to change the fact that my boyfriend was dead. I thought my mom's comment was terribly insensitive, even though in my heart, I knew she hadn't meant it.
By dinner time I'd forgiven mom, I don't know why her reaction that morning had been to slap me but I could tell her nerves were shot. Maybe she needed a break too. I decided to turn in early, dad would be home late that night and maybe having him and Stewart back would help ease some of the tension that built up in their absence. I fell asleep quickly enough but it was a restless, dream-filled sleep. I kept replaying the intimate night I'd spent with Connor, on the beach before he died. Oh how I wanted to feel his gentle touch, soft skin, soft lips, still smell the Irish moss sent of his hair and taste the clean fresh taste of his skin. Then I got to the part where I had to hold his lifeless body in my arms, I woke with a start and took a moment to catch my breath. It took me a moment to realize that my cell phone had been ringing.
"Hello?" I asked, I didn't recognize the number on the caller ID.
"Peter, is that you?"
"Mrs. McCarthy?" I asked.
"Yes, its Connor's mother, I hope you don't mind my calling, with all that's happened, Connors father and I wanted to make sure you were ok," said Mrs. McCarthy.
"No, its ok," I stated.
"You were very dear to Connor, I didn't realize that until this happened," said Mrs. McCarthy.
"Uh, you didn't?" I knew that Connor hadn't told his parents about us and I'd never met them in person, I wasn't sure how to react to her comment.
"I was going through his things this morning and I found his journal, it was very specific," said Mrs. McCarthy.
"Uh, it was?" I asked, hoping he hadn't written about our sex life.
"I just thought that you should know he loved you very much and it's clear to me that if he had to pick someone to spend his last day with, it would have been you," said Mrs. McCarthy.
"It was my birthday," I sniffled, "I'm so sorry this happened, it was all my fault."
"Whatever do you mean? How was it your fault?" asked Mrs. McCarthy.
"It was my birthday, he was trying to do something nice for me, if we hadn't gone to that damn beach, if I hadn't gone along with it," I cried.
"You can't think like that, Peter," said Mrs. McCarthy, "I know my son, I know how hard it is to say no when he turns on that charm."
"I should have been stronger," I whined.
"I'm sorry I upset you, Peter, I just felt that it was important for us to speak," said Mrs. McCarthy.
"No, its ok," I sniffled.
"This has all been a shock for us, first loosing Connor and now finding out about the two of you, can I ask a favor?" asked Mrs. McCarthy.
"Of course, anything, name it," I said, hoping that I could do something to ease the guilt I felt.
"Would you come visit us sometime, we'd like to know the boy that our son gave his heart to," said Mrs. McCarthy.
That comment nearly killed me, it wasn't meant to be cruel but it hurt like a thousand razorblades had been taken to my heart. Of course, I couldn't say no.
"Yes ma'am, I'd like that," I replied.
"Good, so would we," said Mrs. McCarthy, "goodnight Peter."
"Goodnight," I whispered.
Any progress I'd made over the last few days was gone. Connor's mother brought all of my emotions to the surface and rubbed them raw with sandpaper. It wasn't her fault, she didn't know, hadn't been told about my suicide attempt, if she had, I'm sure she wouldn't have called me out of the blue like that. I didn't understand why I couldn't just come to terms with what had happened, all I knew was that more than anything, I wanted the pain to stop.
I got out of bed and didn't hear anyone stirring. I crept into the hall and walked downstairs, there was no sign of mom or Mrs. Bailey anywhere, I assumed they were in bed. I walked into the living room and heard the TV on, Michelle must have fallen asleep watching a movie, she was waiting for dad to arrive with Stewart, before going home. I was careful not to wake her, as I crossed the room and slipped into dads study.
I sat down at dads desk and pulled open the bottom drawer that contained his safe. I didn't know the combination but I was pretty sure I could guess, dad can be rather predictable at times. I got it on the third try, the year I was born, the year he married mom and the year he won his first election. I dug through the stack of birth certificates, passports and other important documents and found what I'd come in for, dads gun.
I thought I heard a noise from the living room so I turned off the desk lamp, least I be discovered, and put the gun on the blotter. I started to have conflicting thoughts. Maybe the pool thing had been a cry for help, that I'd meant for it to fail, but a bullet to the head was a sure thing, was this what I really wanted? I was scared and sat there for a long time, debating with myself, it was like one of those scenes from TV, where you've got an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other.
I didn't hear my father come in the front door or here him talking to Michelle. I didn't hear him walk into the study, I didn't even know he was there until he flipped the light switch.
"Peter, what are you doing?" he asked cautiously, once he saw what I was staring at.
"Dad, I need help," I sniffled.