Tell Me a Story

by Dallas Schulze

  "To happy families." He set the snifter down on the mantel and strode from the room.

  Louise looked from her husband's shattered face to her son's rigid back. In the space of a minute, her family had been torn apart. If it was ever to be put back together again, it would be up to her. She rose from her chair and hurried after Flynn. He was tugging his leather jacket off the coat rack when she caught him.

  "Flynn."

  He turned and tears filled her eyes at the shattered look in his eyes. He shrugged into his jacket.

  "You should be with him. He's pretty upset."

  "I'll go to him in a minute. I wanted to talk to you."

  "Don't worry, Mom, I'm not going to wrap my car around a telephone pole."

  She caught his hands in hers. "Flynn, give him some time. He didn't really mean it. He'll come around."

  He pulled his hands loose and touched her cheek, his fingers gentle. His smile broke her heart; there was so much loss there.

  "Some wounds not even time can heal. Don't worry about me. I'll be all right."

  He was gone before she could say anything more. There was a moment when the door was open to the rain-swept night and then it shut, closing her inside and shutting him out. She stared at the blank panel a long time, hearing the growl of the Ferrari's engine disappearing down the drive.

  She turned slowly, walking back into the study. Her husband was slumped in his chair, his features old and worn. She hardened her heart against his suffering. Flynn was suffering, too. And had suffered for a long time.

  "It's not true. How could he say something like that about his own brother?" The words were muttered, his eyes shifting away from hers.

  Louise knew what David wanted. He wanted her to say that he was right, that Flynn had lied. He wanted her to right his world for him. But she couldn't do that.

  She sat down, reaching out to take his hands in hers, stilling their restless movements. "David, the only thing that's important is that Mark was a wonderful son. He was good and kind and we were very lucky to have him with us for as long as we did."

  "I know that! I just don't know how we could have ended up with a son like Flynn. He's a changeling, that's what he is."

  "No, David. Flynn is as much your son as Mark was. More perhaps." Her fingers tightened over his, stilling his indignant protest. "You and Flynn are too much alike. Neither of you knows how to give'an inch. Mark was willing to bend. He let you shape him. But Flynn knew just who he was from the time he was a baby and he never let you bully him into anything."

  "I never bullied Mark!"

  "You didn't have to. Mark was content to do what you wanted. But Flynn wanted to go his own way. Just like his father always did."

  She paused, letting that sink in, seeing the way his eyes shifted away from hers, as if trying to avoid the truth in her words.

  "He's pigheaded and shiftless."

  "He's no more pigheaded than you are. And he's doing exactly what he wants to do. How can that be shiftless?"

  "He doesn't show proper respect."

  "Have you ever shown him any respect?"

  He glared at her for a moment and then looked away, staring into the fireplace. "I never knew what to do with him. He'd look at me with those bright blue eyes, listen to what I said and then do exactly what he wanted."

  "Are you any different?"

  He grunted, unwilling to agree, unable to argue.

  "David, we've already lost one son. Mark is gone and we can't ever get him back. I don't want to lose my other son and I don't think you do, either. Flynn has tried all his life to be friends with you. Don't you think it's time that you tried just a little? If you don't reach out, we're going to lose him. You're going to lose him. Just as surely as we did Mark."

  He didn't say anything, only continued to stare into the flames. With a sigh, she squeezed his hands and moved away. She'd tried all she could. She could only pray that she'd gotten through to him. Time would tell.

  Chapter 14

  The rain poured down with a steady persistence that said it was here to stay for a long time. Ann stared out the sliding glass door on to the neatly tended rooftop garden and wondered if it was possible to feel any more depressed than she did at that moment.

  It was after one o'clock in the morning. She'd been knocking on Flynn's door every half an hour since eight. At one point, she'd even gone down to the garage to make sure he wasn't home and just refusing to answer the door. But the Ferrari was gone and so was Flynn.

  Where was he? She tried not to think of what she would do if he arrived home with a woman on his arm. She couldn't bear to lose him now. Not when she'd finally realized that he was what she needed. How could she have been so blind? Why hadn't she seen weeks ago that she was in love with him?

  She stepped away from the window and drew the curtains shut, closing out the stormy night. What if he'd had an accident? With the storm soaking the streets, the roads would be dangerous. She could stand anything, just as long as he was safe.

  Tell Me a Story

  She sat down on the sofa, staring into the fireplace. She'd built a fire earlier but it was down to embers now, a sullen red glow that seemed more dark than light. Oscar was asleep on a chair, there was not a sound in the apartment except for the occasional crackle of the dying fire and the steady drone of the rain.

  Ann leaned her head back, closing her eyes. She had to talk to Flynn. It couldn't be too late for them. It just couldn't.

  She had no idea how much later it was that she was startled upright. She hadn't been aware of falling asleep until she was shocked awake. Oscar was crouched on the back of the sofa, his fur on end, obviously disturbed by whatever it was that had awakened his mistress. The knock on the door came again, sounding loud in the quiet night.

  Ann stumbled to her feet, groggy and disoriented. She tugged at her loose shirt and pushed her hair out of her face before reaching for the doorknob, her mind still blank with sleep. She pulled the door open and all her thoughts shifted into instant focus.

  Flynn stood outside. A Flynn she'd never seen before. He was soaking wet, from the black hair that molded his head to the snakeskin boots that glistened with water. Water dripped off of him, creating little puddles before soaking into the thick carpeting. All of this, she noticed peripherally. What caught her and held her was his eyes.

  Their brilliant blue was dulled to steely gray. His skin looked pale and his face seemed much older than his years. He looked like a man who'd seen the death of all his dreams and had nothing left inside. He looked absolutely shattered.

  She stared at him in stunned silence, her shocked eyes taking in his condition. His mouth quirked in a frail ghost of a smile and his eyes dropped from hers to stare at the damp floor.

  "I know it's late. I...didn't know where else to go." His voice was hollow, lost. Ann felt as if her heart were breaking. Whatever he'd been through, it had drained him of all the vibrancy she'd come to associate with him.

  She reached out, taking his hand, feeling the chill cf his skin. "Come in." He stumbled as he stepped in, catching himself against the wall.

  "Sorry."

  "You're frozen. Come in by the fire. I'll throw a couple more logs on and get it stoked up."

  He let her strip the ruined leather jacket off his shoulders. "I didn't know where else to go." He repeated the words as if it were the only coherent thought in his mind.

  His shirt was as wet as the rest of him. "What happened?"

  He stared at her blankly and she expanded on the question. "Why are you so wet?"

  "The Ferrari ran out of gas. I've been walking."

  "How long did you walk?"

  "I don't know. I just walked."

  "Well, you're soaked to the skin. I want you to go get in a hot shower. I'll go to your place and get you something to put on."

  He seemed to come out of his fog somewhat. He ran his fingers through his hair, only just then realizing how wet he was. "I'm sorry. I'm probably ruining your carpet. I should g
o home."

  "Don't be ridiculous. Go take a shower. I'll go get some dry clothes and make some coffee." She gave him a push in the direction of the bathroom, waiting until she heard the shower start before getting the key he'd given her when Becky was staying with him and letting herself into his apartment.

  By the time Flynn got out of the shower, Ann had made coffee and sandwiches and thrown enough logs on the fire to create a roaring blaze. Flynn looked a little less like the walking dead when he stepped out of the bathroom. She'd brought him fresh jeans and a heavy flannel shirt and, if it hadn't been for the dampness of his hair, it might have been possible to imagine that the two of them had been sitting in front of a fire all night.

  "I didn't know if you'd be hungry."

  He sank onto the sofa and glanced at the coffee and sandwiches. "The coffee looks great but I'm really not hungry. It was nice of you to fix them, though."

  She handed him a cup of steaming coffee, her eyes going over him carefully. He looked better. There was still that rather frightening emptiness at the back of his eyes but his skin was not quite so gaunt.

  The silence grew between them. Oddly enough, it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. The rain continued to pound down on the roof tops outside, filling the void with its hypnotic rhythm.

  "What happened?"

  Flynn had been staring into the flames and it was a moment before he dragged his gaze to her, his eyes reflecting the fire. He was quiet so long, his eyes looking almost through her, that Ann began to wonder if he'd even heard her question.

  "I went to visit my parents. My father and I had a fight."

  Ann waited, but he didn't seem to have anything else to say. "I thought you and your father quarreled pretty often."

  "We do." He stirred abruptly, his eyes dropping to the mug he held. "This time was.. .different. This time I don't think we're going to be able to forget it."

  Ann hesitated, wondering if she had the right to probe, her instincts telling her that he needed to talk about whatever it was that was eating into him.

  "I know I may not seem like the best candidate but I've been known to lend a sympathetic ear."

  Flynn glanced up, smiling briefly. "I know."

  Silence settled between them again. Ann waited, knowing that the next move had to come from him. He finished his coffee and reached forward to pour a fresh cup, settling back against the cushions and staring into the fire, his expression brooding.

  "I suppose we quarreled about you indirectly." He spoke so abruptly that Ann jumped.

  "Me? What about me?"

  "He thinks you were smart to get rid of me. He agrees with your opinions. He thinks I'm a worthless, ambitionless playboy."

  "Flynn, I didn't mean those things I said." Her fingers knotted around her cup, her heart breaking at the thought that she could be the cause of his misery.

  He glanced at her again, his smile sweet. "You know what's funny? It hurt when you said it but I knew you didn't mean it. Not like he meant it. You were right about a lot of what you said. I do still do some things just to prove that my father's opinion of me is right. And I suppose I don't have a whole hell of a lot of ambition but then, I've never seen ambition as being the be-all-and-end-all of life."

  "Flynn, what did your father say to you?" She had to know what had put that look in his eyes.

  "It wasn't what he said to me. It's what I said to him." His mouth twisted bitterly, his eyes on the fire. "I broke a promise. I broke a promise and I did it because I was hurt and I wanted to lash out and hurt back. Not a very good reason."

  "What promise, Flynn?"

  "My father was riding me about my life, my personality, my future. All the usual stuff. I should be used to it by now." He set the cup down and stood up, moving to crouch by the fire and pick up the poker. He jabbed at the logs, sending flames shooting up the chimney.

  "And then he started telling me how, if Mark had lived, Mark would have given him a grandson by now." He stood up, leaning his forearm against the mantel and staring down into the flames. "I told him that wasn't likely. It's the truth but, God help me, I had no right to say it."

  Ann stared at his taut figure, a vague suspicion forming in the back of her mind. "Why wouldn't Mark have given him a grandson?"

  He turned his head to look at her and she almost cried out at the self-loathing in his eyes. "Mark was gay. Mr. Captain-of-the-football-team, tough-cop. God, how he hated himself. He hated himself for being what he was. He said Dad would never be able to stand the shock if he found out and I kept his secret for him. I kept it all these years until tonight. Tonight, I blurted it out like a child. Just because I was hurt. My father called me a bastard. I can't even blame him." He put his head down, resting his forehead on his arm, his shoulders slumped in absolute defeat.

  Ann got up and went to him. All the hurt that lay between them was forgotten. This was the man she loved and he was in pain. All she wanted was to ease his hurts. He resisted her arms when they slid around his waist but Ann ignored him, pressing her forehead against his taut back, holding him.

  "Flynn, you're only human. I'm sure Mark would understand what you did. And your father will come around. Just give him some time. He was hurt and shocked but he'll come around."

  He held himself away from her a moment longer and she thought she'd lost, that he wasn't going to take the comfort she offered, that he wasn't going to be able to let down the barriers he'd built up over the years.

  He turned suddenly, almost throwing her off balance, his arms going around her and clutching her convulsively tight. Ann lifted herself on her toes, circling his neck with her arms as he buried his face in her loose hair.

  They stood that way for a long time. Ann stroked his hair, wanting to soothe away years of hurt. Beside them the fire snapped and popped. Outside, the rain poured down on the city, washing clean the summer's accumulation of dirt.

  Inside, there was just the two of them. No past, no future, nothing but the present. Ann felt the dampness of his tears on her neck and her arms tightened. She wanted to tell him that everything was going to be all right, but she couldn't get the words out past the lump in her throat. She could only hold him, offering the only comfort she could.

  Inside, a part of her was singing with elation. He'd come to her. In his misery, he'd come to her. That had to mean that he cared. He wouldn't have come to her if he didn't care for her.

  She didn't know how long it was before he moved, his arms loosening around her. He backed away, wiping self-consciously at the dampness on his cheeks. His eyes looked anywhere but at her.

  "It's late. I shouldn't have kept you up so late."

  "It's all right."

  He glanced at her and then looked away. "I should go home."

  It was Ann's turn to look away. "You could stay here tonight."

  The silence seemed to stretch out endlessly. Neither of them looked at the other, but it was in both their minds that they'd reached a major turning point.

  "I'd like that." Ann let out her breath in a rush, only then aware that she'd been holding it.

  They didn't turn on lights in the bedroom. They undressed in the dark, without speaking. They weren't ready for words. Ann slipped on a silk sleepshirt and slid onto the cool cotton sheets. A moment later, Flynn joined her.

  They lay apart for a few moments, each uncertain of the other's expectations. So much had been said but there was so much left to say. Flynn's hand slid across the inches that separated them, seeking her arm. It was all the invitation Ann needed. With her head nestled securely against his shoulder, the strong beat of his heart beneath her palm, she felt as if she'd come home.

  Within minutes, he was asleep, his breath stirring her hair. But, even in sleep, his arms held her securely. Despite the late hour, Ann lay awake, staring into the darkness. He needed her. The realization slipped into her mind with the softness of a whisper, but the impact was much greater. With that realization came another. All these weeks, she'd been so afraid of falling in love
with him, terrified of being vulnerable. She finally knew why.

  Flynn seemed so complete in himself. He'd never seemed to need anyone. In his own flip way, he'd always been invulnerable. It was frightening to need someone so much and feel that the need was onesided.

  But, tonight, she'd seen the vulnerability in him. She'd seen what she had to offer him. An unconditional love. Someone who accepted him with all his faults and all his good points. Someone who'd never compare him to another and find him wanting.

  Someone who'd love him just as he was.

  ❧

  When Flynn woke, he was alone. He rolled over in bed, his arm sweeping out in search of Ann's warmth, but the bed was empty and the sheets were cool. He opened his eyes, feeling strangely empty. He stared at the ceiling, exploring his emotions, seeking the source of the emptiness.

  Mark. For the first time in three years, he was not carrying the hard knot of pain that had been there since his brother's death. He called his brother's face to mind and was surprised to find that it had grown slightly fuzzy around the edges. The warmth in the eyes, the smile, those were still crisp and clear, but other details were blurred. Softened.

  Softened. That was how the pain felt. It was still there. He'd never stop missing Mark. The loss would always be with him. But the pain had softened, become bearable. It was as if, in talking about him, really talking about him, the memories had fallen into their proper place.

  He sat up, his eyes skimming over the room. It was the first time he'd been in Ann's bedroom, and he found it looked just as he'd expected it to look. Neat and tidy, almost like a motel room except for the occasional touches that showed the woman lying beneath the career.

  Her closet was partially open, and he grinned when he saw the tangle of shoes that covered the bottom. He would have expected her to have her shoes neatly lined up on shelves, carefully paired and labeled with the days of the week. There was an extravagantly feminine vanity in one corner, its surface covered with delicate perfume bottles. Funny, he'd never associated Ann with perfume.