by Kate Morris
“I hadn’t considered it from her angle,” he says softly. “It doesn’t matter, though. She’ll be better off without me lusting after her like some sort of perverted freak.”
Reagan scowls, “Why would your attraction to her make you a freak or a pervert? You’re not the one who raped her, and you would never do that…”
“Of course, I wouldn’t. That’s disgusting.”
“Yes, but your feelings aren’t lustful. They’re just normal. It’s a natural reaction to feel like that about her because you’re in love with her.”
He shrugs and swallows.
“Trust me. I don’t know shit about relationships. But I do know that my feelings for John are real. I love him, and I never thought I’d feel like that about someone. I lust him, too. It’s not wrong. And that’s okay because he loves me back.”
“Your situation with John is different.”
“I wasn’t raped,” she confesses. “But I almost was, by two men who broke into my professor’s lab.” Simon looks directly at her with surprise. She’d assumed he knew this. “I ended up having to kill them to escape my own rape and death. They did rape and kill my roommate and killed my professor. I’m no picnic, Simon. I’ve got a lot of fucked up problems of my own, but John accepts me for what I am. I accept him, too. And Sam seems like she accepts you for who you are. The problem is that you can’t seem to accept yourself.”
“I never will. It would be wrong to.”
She shakes her head and touches his arm tentatively. “No, Simon, what you’re doing now is wrong. You’re pushing her away, punishing her for what happened, and making her miserable because of it. That letter was written by a woman who is heartbroken because she can’t be with the man she wants.”
Simon vigorously shakes his head. “She’s just being defiant.”
“You have to find some way to forgive yourself, Simon. I don’t know how to help you with that. None of it was your fault, sweetie. None of it. Not one moment of it. You did what you could. Even if you’d been a grown man like you are now, you couldn’t have done anything differently. You were outnumbered by so many. You’re just lucky they didn’t kill you for what you did do and tried to do to protect her.”
He looks at Reagan with tortured blue eyes.
“You have to get her back. She has to come home to the farm where she belongs. We all thought she would by now. We didn’t realize it was because of all this. You’re right about one thing. She belongs here. This isn’t something that can’t be undone. Sam loves you. She’ll come back if you somehow learn to forgive yourself and accept that none of it was your fault.”
Simon takes a deep breath and exhales it shakily.
“I think you’d be hard-pressed to find someone now who hasn’t been through some messed up shit of their own, but it’s how we get past it that makes us who we are. You’re in limbo. You’re stuck between the past and your future, which you could have with Sam if you just learn to let go of the past. She has. She’s willing to move on with her life. You have to learn to do the same so that you can finally be with her, which is what I know you want.”
“She’s never coming back. I’ve ruined it with her. I’ve ruined everything! I’m so stupid. I pushed her away. I drove her away. She hates me.”
“She doesn’t hate you. Pissed? Probably. But Sam doesn’t have the capacity to hate. And she sure as hell wouldn’t hate you.”
He shrugs as if unsure of Reagan’s assessment.
“You need to work this out on your own. Take some time. Think about how you need to handle it. You’ll come up with a solution because you’re smart and wise and kind, which are all reasons that Samantha loves you.”
Simon looks at her again. His tears have dried, his eyes have softened again to the calm blue she knows so well, and he offers a lopsided grin of embarrassment.
“Sorry,” he apologizes impishly.
“That pole will forgive you,” she teases. “Now, let me bandage your hands so you can go get some rest.”
“I’m fine. I should stay up and study.”
“No way. Grams used to say that things always looked better with a good night’s sleep.”
“It’s morning,” he reminds her.
“Don’t be a smartass,” she warns and leads him to the counter where she sanitizes and bandages his knuckles.
When she’s done, Simon just stands there in front of her.
“Go!” Reagan orders. “Go and get some sleep. You’re looking like a damn zombie.”
He steps hesitantly close and wraps his arms around her. Reagan doesn’t shy away. This is what he needs, and she wants to be there for him. Contact isn’t as hard for her as it used to be, not with family. Simon is like her little brother, and Reagan only wants the best for him. Seeing him so miserable for so long has been hard on her, hard on all of the family.
“Thanks, Reagan,” he whispers and kisses the top of her head.
She just nods as he breaks away and leaves the shed in a rush of too long pent-up emotions. Reagan goes back to her work after she more thoroughly cleans the floor.
Reagan sighs and says to herself, “I should’ve studied more fucking psych.”
“Everything all right in here?” Grandpa asks from the door, startling her.
“I thought you were sleeping,” she says accusatorily.
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” he jokes.
Reagan scowls hard, “Not funny, Grandpa.”
“I came out earlier but heard you in here with Simon. It sounded rather…intense. Is everything okay between the two of you?”
“Yeah, better than ever actually,” Reagan answers honestly. “Who woulda’ thought I’d be giving people relationship advice?”
“Me,” he answers.
Reagan snorts and then laughs bawdily. “That makes one of us.”
“No, my granddaughter is a brilliant young therapist when she needs to be. I always knew you would be.”
“Get real, Grandpa. This shit is your job.”
“No, no. I mean it. And I’m glad for it, too. Someday, you may need to help others like you just did for our Simon.”
“Again, that’s your job.”
He smiles gently and touches her scarred cheek. There is something in his eyes, something akin to sadness that tugs at Reagan’s heart. She doesn’t want to face it but knows what it is. She sees him looking down his own lifeline and finding an end in sight. Reagan is in denial that it’ll ever happen. It’s a nice place to visit, denial, and she has no intention of leaving.
“So, what’s our plan of attack on this Scarlet Fever?” he asks with a chipper smile.
Reagan returns it, kisses his unshaven cheek and joins him at the counter for some research and study. Just listening to his brilliant plans and ideas makes her feel like a little girl again. She misses those days, being a child so carefree and innocent of the future and what it would turn out to be. However, some parts of the present aren’t so bad. She has John and their two children. She has her family. She has safety and security and a roof over her head. Simple things are more important to her now.
She looks at her grandfather making notes and talking beside her and can’t help the broad smile that stretches across her features. She’ll take the little moments like this and be thankful and hopeful for more to come. Their future is not written yet, and the McClane family seems to be pretty damn good at making sure it is one filled with family and safety.
Epilogue
Herb
During the last week since his breakdown in the shed with Reagan, Herb has seen a slow change come over Simon. He is a man coming into his own, not a boy anymore who is unsure of himself and insecure. Kelly told him the other day how selfless he is during a battle and also how completely indispensable. He seems rather resolute about something, determined and single-minded. Reagan told him about their talk, and Herb is confident it is not too late for Simon to convince Samantha to return to the farm. Beating Henry to a proposal may prove the greater challe
nge.
It is just past dusk, the sun has gone to bed for the day, and he is enjoying a steaming cup of hot tea on the front porch. The men have gone on another night raid. Kelly is the only one still on the farm with him. Herb spoke with his son at Fort Knox earlier this afternoon about their highwaymen issue. Robert has promised more men and is also willing to host them for a spell to work on the Scarlet Fever cure. Herb may be making another road trip soon. The children in town need his help. He’s not as young as he used to be, but he doesn’t have a choice in this. He has to get those children better. They won’t have a future in this country if they can’t keep the children alive. He owes them this much. He owes his maker an enormous debt, as well, and doesn’t have a lot of years left to repent and make things right. He’d humbly appreciate it if his eternity is to be spent with Mary and is willing to do whatever it takes to see her again. Whether or not his body is aging and failing him more and more every day does not matter. He has to make another trip north to the fort.
Tonight, he is reading a particularly old book with yellowing pages and tabs bent over to mark favorite selections from a collection of poetry. This book means a lot to him because it used to belong to his Mary. He remembered this poem by Alfred Noyes when the men started calling these bandit marauders ‘the highwaymen.’ However, he also knows the story all too well and will not share it with his family. It does not end well for the people on the road in the story, and he does not want a shred of doubt that they can defeat these men entering their minds, as it has his. They must conquer and destroy them. He peruses one stanza in particular with a critical eye.
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high.
Blood red were his spurs in the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat;
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.
And still of a winter’s night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding—
Riding—riding—
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
“’When they shot him down on the highway. Down like a dog on the highway’,” Herb rereads aloud, contemplating the full impact of these words by the great poet. Although the story is more about star-crossed lovers, the words still feel premonitory and haunting.
Herb quickly rests the book beside him as Hannah comes onto the back porch holding Charlotte, or Charlie as so many are now calling her, much to Reagan’s disapproval.
“Come and sit with me, Miss Hannah,” he beseeches his granddaughter.
She is dressed just like his Maryanne used to. A long dress, floral print apron over top of it, bare feet and thick, pale blonde braids on either side of her lovely face.
“I wondered where you went off to,” Hannah says as she gracefully sits next to him on the porch swing, an item that his own father built many years ago.
“Just catching some fresh air,” he tells her.
“Are you worried about the men?” she asks, her sightless eyes searching his face.
Herb reaches out and cups her soft cheek. Hannah, being the way she is, leans into his touch.
“No, they’ll be fine,” he says with confidence. “They’re just scouting tonight. Nothing to worry about.”
“Good, I’m glad. I don’t want them fighting these men anymore,” she says, a little scowl line marring her smooth forehead.
Herb smiles gently and pats her cheek. “They have to, sweetheart. We cannot lose the farm to men like them.”
She nods, closes her eyes, pulls back and faces forward, leaning back against the swing.
“Now, let us talk of something more uplifting, shall we?” he suggests, getting a warm grin from Hannah. “What do you think this little bundle of cuteness is going to be like when she gets older?”
The porch door slams, and Hannah’s daughter Mary comes out looking for Hannah. She does not like being separated from her mother for very long.
“Come here, Miss Mary,” Herb entreats, the name of his deceased wife difficult to say without thinking of Maryanne.
She crawls onto his lap, and Herb sets his unlit pipe on the railing to smoke later.
“Well,” Hannah says, “let me think. If Charlie is anything like Reagan, then we’re all doomed. If she’s like John, she’ll keep us laughing.”
Herb smiles and strokes Mary’s dark curls. She plays with the stethoscope hanging from his neck, her big wide eyes curious, as usual. Herb takes it from around his neck and places the listening pieces in her tiny ears. Then he presses the device to his own chest. Mary’s eyes light up with enthusiasm.
“Might be looking at a future doctor with this one, Hannah,” he says and explains. “She’s using my stethoscope.” Hannah smiles gently. Mary reaches for Hannah and presses the stethoscope to her mother’s chest, too. Her eyes jump to Herb’s with excitement, and he kisses her soft, chubby cheek. The wonderment of little minds is something he’ll never get enough of, especially not from his own great-grandchildren.
He takes Hannah’s free hand in his. “When are you going to tell Kelly?”
“Soon,” she answers without surprise that he knows. She hadn’t consulted him about it, but Herb had a sneaking suspicion. Then he’d noticed she wasn’t eating much lately. She probably hasn’t been feeling well just like last time. When he saw her chewing mint leaves the other day on the back porch, he knew. “It’s just been so…”
Hannah sighs sadly and shakes her head.
“Honey, a baby is a blessing no matter the situation. He’ll be happy.”
“I don’t know, Grandpa. With everything that’s been going on with these bad people, I didn’t want him to get distracted, lose his focus out there when he’s… doing that stuff,” she says, not wanting to say hunting and killing and battling men for their survival. His Hannah is too delicate for this world. “He doesn’t need to worry about what’s going on at the farm when he’s trying to work.”
“He’ll be thrilled, Miss Hannah. Tell him soon. Your condition will give you away soon enough anyway. You’d rather it come from you than from him guessing it.”
“You’re right,” she says.
“Oh, I wish your grandmother were here to hear that,” he laments jokingly.
Hannah giggles and squeezes his hand. Then she brings it to her face and rubs the back of his hand against her soft cheek.
“No time like the present, dear,” he says, indicating Kelly, who is coming their way. Gretchen is tagging along after him with a grumpy expression on her pretty face. Maryanne would’ve gotten a kick out of Gretchen. She is a spunky little thing. Cussing, smoking, boyish clothing and a pierced nose? Yes, Mary would’ve loved her free spirit and bold attitude.
“….but that’s bullshit!” Gretchen is complaining at Kelly.
“Too bad, kid,” the big man tells her as he approaches the steps to the porch, probably finding Hannah like a homing beacon in the dark. He is so drawn to her, so protective and in love.
“Whatever!” Gretchen says loudly.
“What seems to be the trouble, dear?” Herb asks her.
Kelly attempts to speak but is cut off by Gretchen, “He won’t let me go with them on any of these missions. It’s bullshit! If Luke can go, so can I.”
“You’re a lot younger than your brother,” Kelly says patiently. Then he grins down at the feisty girl in front of him, who is not backing down. “Luke’s also got experience, and we’ve all seen him in action. We know what he can do, what he can handle. Paige has more experience than you, and you don’t see us taking her, either. This is our job. Your job’s here keeping the farm safe while we’re gone. We can’t have every
person who can shoot gone at the same time.”
“But…”
Hannah interrupts them and stands, “G, would you please watch Charlie while I talk with my husband? I’ll be back in a few minutes. I just need to speak with Kelly.”
“Oh…um, sure,” Gretchen answers and carefully takes the baby from Hannah.
Once Hannah has the baby safely transferred, she swiftly slaps the back of G’s head. “Not in front of the babies, Miss Gretchen!”
She scolds her young sister, who yells, “Ouch!”
“Yes, it was meant to hurt,” Hannah remarks calmly. “It’ll help you to remember not to curse the next time the mood strikes, young lady. Kelly?”
She reaches out for her husband’s arm, who takes her hand while trying to suppress a laugh at G’s expense. Herb watches as he leads her down the front steps and out into the yard. It makes him smile observing how tender Kelly is with his granddaughter, who is not as fragile as most people think.
They stand in the front yard out of earshot of anyone who might be listening. Within moments, Kelly is lifting Hannah off the ground and swinging her around with laughter. Herb knew he’d be happy at the prospect of more children.
“What’s that all about?” G asks, as clueless as Reagan used to be about matters of the heart.
“Seems you’ll soon be an aunt again, Miss Gretchen,” he tells her.
“Another baby? Good grief! It’s like a damn baby factory around here!” she exclaims.
“Yes, yes, it is,” he agrees with a wide smile and takes his granddaughter’s small hand in his. She wears a lot of silver rings on her fingers. Perhaps if past lives exist, she was a gypsy in hers. It makes him grin.
