103:For You

After the bubbles faded and the afterglow dimmed, Jon and Chiara deliberately and mindlessly wasted the remainder of the afternoon.   She needed the mental recuperation time and, quite honestly, so did he.

Tears weren’t his thing in the first place, because they left him powerless to do anything but hold on and hope his embrace and reassurances might help. Seeing the strong-willed counselor weeping as though her grief was a bottomless well of despair had done a number on Jon, and he would do almost anything to prevent a repeat recurrence of it.

That’s how he ended up on the hotel sofa with her lying in his lap, a captive audience to Disney on Demand’s Peter Pan.  Chiara wanted him to see the crocodile she had likened him to in the beginning of their relationship, and today, he was glad to indulge her.  If it kept her smiling instead of blubbering, then they’d watch Peter Pan followed by Cinderella with a Snow White encore.  He didn’t care.  Whatever it took.

Once Tink and the boy that refused to grow up had taken their leave, though, she hadn’t been drawn to any other cartoons.   Chiara was more interested in showering and washing her hair for the dinner that her sons had unenthusiastically agreed to.

Now, wearing makeup, with her hair brushed out and the whites of her eyes actually white, she resembled herself again.  The red lightweight sweater brought out some color in her cheeks and she wore her jeans like a very comfortable second skin. 

“You look better,” he observed with an appreciative smile while fastening the last button required on the black shirt.  Leaving at least three open was in the rock god handbook on page seventy-two, paragraph three.  It was his favorite passage.

“Better, huh?  You’ll make my head swell with that kind of compliment.”  

The teasing lilt to her voice cranked up the wattage on his smile.  She wasn’t dreading dinner, which pleased him.  It was his thought that they were in for an awkward hour at most, and then everything would start to improve.  They would get used to him and his new role the in periphery of their lives, they would get a little more insight than their mother was comfortable providing on her own behalf, and then things would start settling into the new normal. 

That was the plan, anyway.

Jon patted the counselor’s backside with a heavy hand and leaned in to buss her lips.  “Then I take it back, because my head’s swelled enough for both of us.  You ready to go?”

The corners of her mouth slipped a little as a shadow skittered over her features, but shiny mahogany hair shimmered as she nodded.  “Yep.”

“We’re meeting them at the restaurant, right?  Where are we going again?”

“Since there is, and I quote, ‘no decent pizza in California’, they’ve opted for a steak and seafood place that’s ‘as far from cafeteria food as you can get’.  Also a quote.”

“They’ve got a point about the pizza, and I can’t blame them on the cafeteria food,” Jon granted while placing a light hand at Chiara’s back to guide her out the door and down the hall.  Hitting the call button for the elevator he glanced over and nonchalantly mentioned, “I’d rather argue with you in the elevator than the restaurant, so I’m going to bring up something that I hope should be obvious.”

She entered the elevator car with one dark brow arched suspiciously and turned to face forward.  “And what is that?”

The heavy doors slid shut with a quiet whoosh when he pushed the button for the ground floor, and Jon sidled close to drape a light arm around her shoulders.  “As I recall, the last time I went to dinner with you and your sons, there were some ugly words exchanged over who would pay the check.”

The counselor’s nose wrinkled in delicate distaste, no doubt recalling his boorish barb that it was his money regardless of who paid the bill.  “I seem to remember that, yes.”

“Well, there won’t be any ugly words this time, just a simple statement.  I’m taking my girlfriend and her kids out to dinner.  Got it?”

Dusty pink lips puckered with contemplation while milk chocolate eyes sparkled mischievously, and Chiara swiveled on her heel to place both palms against his chest.  Those puckered lips followed suit when she placed them against his in a sensual kiss that ended with her suckling his bottom lip.   

“Yeah, I’ve got it,” she assented in a small voice, and Jon was transfixed by the glossy residue of their kiss glistening on her lips.  “Dessert’s on me, though.”

She turned him on.  There was just no two ways about it.  Why else would he take that seemingly innocent statement and make it the script for his newest dirty fantasy?

“I rather hoped that a certain sexy cannoli would be on me – riding me – but however you wanna work it…”

Her sultry chuckle sent a warmth through Jon’s abdomen and he almost wished they were staying in for both dinner and dessert. 

“We’ll figure out something,” the counselor pledged and slid her hand into his as the elevator doors parted.  “Here’s hoping tonight goes better than today did.”

With a tight squeeze, Jon silently promised that it would.  He’d watched Peter Pan today, by God.  They were done with the tears.  He’d make sure of it.

Twenty minutes later, they were seated in a quiet corner booth of a subtly lit restaurant called Sundance The Steakhouse.  He and the counselor were on one side of the rich cherry and leather booth with wine chosen from the vast menu.  Her sons were sitting opposite them with beverages more appropriate for young men not yet of drinking age – soda and water. 

The waitress had just left with orders for a variety of steak, seafood and pasta, and her departure brought with it a quiet lull in conversation.  Although, to be fair, there really hadn’t been any conversation at all up to this point – only casual and slightly stilted greetings.

Noah and Caleb were more subdued than Jon had ever seen them.  Every time he’d shared dinner with them before, they were both eager to talk about anything and everything.  Now two dark heads were bent over their phones, with neither showing any inclination to chat.

If their hope was to dissuade Jon’s inclination to chat, they were about to be sorely disappointed. 

He took the feminine hand draped over his thigh and folded it into his for a gentle squeeze before diving in head-first.  “I’m glad you guys decided to join us for dinner.  Your mom misses you being in New York, so I know she appreciates the extra chance to see you – even if it’s been a rough day for everybody.”

Noah’s cocoa eyes flashed up just long enough to cast the distinct impression that he was biting his tongue before sliding back to his phone.  By contrast, his younger brother was parking his own phone on the table, fiddling with the cutlery as he put Jon under careful scrutiny. 

“Were you and Mom seeing each other in the Hamptons?”

Okay.  Not exactly the direction Jon had anticipated, but he was all about an open and honest discussion.  Whatever would get them on the road to normal.

“Kind of,” the counselor interjected over the rim of her wineglass before he could speak.  “We were… drawn together even though we didn’t want to be.  And Jon didn’t know about your dad until you guys went backstage in Vancouver, so he isn’t at fault here.”

It was sweet of her to defend him, and he stroked appreciative fingertips over that hand that was still on his thigh.  Jon, however, was quite capable of speaking for himself.  “Nobody is at fault.”

“Not how it sounds to me.” 

Noah’s quietly grumbled retort wasn’t necessarily open since he didn’t bother averting his focus away from the iPhone, but it was honest.  Jon would give the kid that, and it was why he was careful to offer his next words kindly.

“Then maybe you better listen again.  Your mom hasn’t shared a whole lot about what happened today, but I know it upset her deeply.”

The counselor gave his foot a sharp nudge under the table.  “Jon, this isn’t necessary.”

“Yes it is.”  His disagreement was as kind as the original remark, and he noted that they now had the full attention of both boys.  “You’re not psychotic or delusional, but you’re not invincible, either.  Noah and Caleb should know that they have the power to hurt you.”

She didn’t say anything, but if looks could kill…  Well, he’d at least have a hefty flesh wound, but Jon was tough.  He could take it, and would if it meant these kids comprehended how stupid it was to believe their mother was mentally unstable – or that she didn’t deserve something better than their father.

“Do you guys want to know why your mom has been seeing a therapist?  Because it has nothing to do with hallucinations.  She’s been holding herself responsible for your Uncle Joey’s death all these years.”

“Huh?” Bewilderment flooded Caleb’s features. “I know I was little when that happened, but…  It was a terrorist attack.  I don’t understand how it could be your fault.”

“It’s not.”

“No, it’s not,” Chiara echoed Jon’s avowal, pushing her wine away to fold arms atop the weathered cherry table.

 Her head was held high as she leaned in, and Jon laid a reinforcing palm at the small of her back, glad to for the confidence in her voice.  She wasn’t just giving lip service.  She believed it.   

“Joey was in my office the day of the attacks – because I’d asked him to come – and I made him stay there while I went downstairs for coffee.  He died and I didn’t, so I’ve had… issues with it.  Jon convinced me it was time to work through it.”

Caleb’s confusion and subsequent sympathy as he offered his apologies were both understandable and appropriate.  Noah’s reaction, however, wasn’t what one might expect.  With thinned lips, downturned eyes and a stormy scowl, he was the epitome of anger.   

“Noah?  Something wrong?”

Jon was the one to pose the question, but the young man pierced his mother with an accusatory glare.  “Dad said that to you, didn’t he?  That the family didn’t have any choice but to blame you, because you were responsible.”

Other than a face that went as white as the knuckles on her tightly clenched fists, Chiara gave no outward appearance of being disturbed.  Her voice sounded no different than it ever did when inquiring, “How do you know that, Noah?”

Jon didn’t need any more than that to know the boy was right.   Owen hadn’t just been blackmailing her but had also been trying his hand at emotional abuse.   

He could almost feel the satisfying crunch of the guys nose splattering over his face, even as Jon slid a hand that was feather-light to cup around Chiara’s neck.  It had been a long, long time since he deemed something worth the price of a physical fist-fight.  Breaking his hand screwed with both his career and ability to make a living, but for this…  Owen Foster was going to get a good old-fashioned ass kicking until Jon’s knuckles bled as much as that fucker’s face.   

“I heard him once, a long time ago,” Noah bitterly revealed, and his anger now fully justified in Jon’s mind.  “I went past the living room and Dad was reading the paper while you worked at the desk.  He was just talking like it was normal conversation, saying how hard it was for the family and that, since you were responsible, they couldn’t be faulted for blaming you.  I didn’t know what he was talking about at the time, but it was right after school had started for the year, so it must’ve been around 9/11.”

“Probably so,” was the counselor’s placid agreement as she hooked fingers around the base of her wineglass and lifted it.  “Something similar happened nearly every year.”

“So…”  Caleb’s gaze shifted back and forth between the pissed-off face of his brother and the quietly resigned one of his mother.  “What does this mean?”

“I think it means Dad lied to us.  Mom didn’t hallucinate anything.  He was just trying to cover his own scheming ass.”

“Mom?  Is that true?”

Placing the glass down on Jon’s side of the table, she stretched across to take one of their hands in each of hers.  “I’m sorry, baby, but yes.  Your dad hasn’t been particularly nice to me.”

“Then why the fuck did you stay with him so long?” Noah demanded, jerking free of her grasp in a show of hurt that his father was an ass and frustration that his mother tolerated it.  “Why would you put up with that crap?”

The counselor’s left hand lay open and empty, and Jon watched her mouth stutter and go silently closed as pain-riddled eyes fell shut for a long second before opening again.  Knowing her, she was trying to find the right words, but in Jon’s mind, there were only five that would do.

“She did it for you.”