| Subject: Chapter 245 - Part 2 (16 and above) (end of chapter 245) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Monday, July 10, 07:08:15am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark" on Monday, May 01, 06:55:47am
She waited in silence for her lover's first words, uncertain what they would be, her mind still flicking through what she herself had read--wondering what any of it told her. He had started out trying to be formal and perfect--probably going back to his early lessons from his own, better-educated, preacher father in Alabama--but had clearly given up more at the end. She wasn't certain what that said. Maybe, he had started to feel more comfortable talking with her shadow; maybe, he had just stopped caring. She wasn't certain that either option really settled her now.
She felt a little bit of anger rise in her with these possibilities, anger she had long tried to keep in check. Either way this issue went, there were few people she would have felt comfortable giving the letter to--and not just for its information. She had worked hard her entire life not to be a stereotype, had done her best--even in the insulting roles she had been given--to show some better side of her race. She had spoken more formally, dressed more primly and stylishly, than anyone at the studio. Her sigh went deep. She didn't really need her father to undermine her now.
She didn't really know why her mind went in this direction, wasn't certain what it said about her. Perhaps she was just looking for an escape from the more important information there, from the things her partner now knew; she sighed, thoughts turning with it. It wasn't that she had really tried to hide any of it before. It was just that . . .
It was here that Kate sighed, understanding her partner's intentions--or lack thereof--no anger in her, knowing the truth. Some secrets were just easier to keep. It wasn't like, "Have you ever had a child?" was exactly a normal, unprovoked question between most lovers. It could never really be said that there had been an opening.
She let all the information she had learned sink into her, then, beginning to understand. Terry had once mentioned that her father was a Pullman porter; she could only guess which trains he might work. It seemed something of a miracle, but he must have made the random choice of either Nikita or Michael from his hundreds of passengers as a messenger.
All of these conclusions passed through her quickly, Helmut's legal wife soon focused on more relevant matters, finally finding a place to start--a small detail, all things considered. Her partner had told her many things about the riot in her hometown of East St. Louis--about the hate of those who had taken out their own impotence on those even less fortunate than themselves, about the wanton destruction and killings which had taken her mother and brother's lives. She had hinted in small ways about the aunt and uncle she had then gone to live with--her father deserting her, when she was still 7. But one piece of information here was new. "He hit you?"
They weren't looking at each other, Kate's calming touch even stopped--both of them quietly staring out into the past. Terry sighed. "The day he left, the day he sent me to Chicago. We'd just found out for certain about my mother and Billy." It always took at least a few days after such chaos to start identifying the bodies. To her surprise, there was almost a tear in her eye; she blinked it away, regaining control. "When I couldn't take it in, he . . ." There was a very deep breath, her voice tinged with anger, even if her words held comprehension. "He didn't want anybody to repeat the fact that they were dead."
Lord. Kate's head sagged, her arms now braced forward on her knees. As much as she could see the workings of the man's mind at such a time, it seemed that both of them had parents they couldn't entirely trust--although, in her case, that was probably the understatement of the century. She would have laughed, if it even seemed possible anymore; it turned into an almost wry smile, as she wondered about the letter's far-more-important details. "And your son?"
There was a very deep sigh from the woman beside her, her eyes closing for a moment, before she lay back on the bed--tired of expending even the energy it took to sit up. There was another, long pause, before she spoke. "Do you want an apology?"
Despite herself, and the seriousness of the moment, Kate laughed, her first words a murmur. "Yeah, right." She sat up straighter, her tone ironic. "I'm terribly upset that you had sex with some guy when you were a teenager, instead of waiting for me to meet you when you were . . ." There was a pause, her gaze finally moving to the woman, as she braced herself back on her hand. "How the hell old are you, anyway?" It was a subject neither of them typically discussed.
Terry smirked, seeing the love in her partner's jaded words. "500," she groaned, before looking back up to the ceiling. It had never occurred to her that they had never celebrated each other's birthdays--or even knew when they were--the reasons too obvious. For Kate, any taste for birthdays had been driven out of her early--as they were used solely for publicity, Madeline certainly not giving a damn, otherwise. For Terry, there had just been too many children in her aunt and uncle's house to notice them all. And at the studio? Well, who cared about some colored woman getting older? Her head shook slightly. Besides, a woman broaching her 30s didn't want to place any more attention on that fact than necessary.
"Settle for 29," she murmured finally, ignoring that it was the truth--for another couple of weeks, at least. For most women in this town, for many in the world, that was the most they would ever admit to, anyway.
Any possible broken fences had already been mended in just these few, teasing words--both of these women understanding their partner far too well. Still, there were other matters to discuss. "Do you want to tell me about it?" Kate wondered quietly. They weren't looking at each other again, each focused on varying parts of the room. She didn't wish to put any more pressure on her beloved than she already had.
Terry just shrugged, barely noticing the kindness, at the moment. "What's to tell? I was 14 and full of youthful curiosity, and he was 17 and didn't look up past my breasts." She snorted. "By the time I realized that the first time could get you pregnant, I was already in trouble." Her look wandered to the ceiling, a certain sadness setting in. "It wasn't like there was any way I could keep him." It was all-too-clear that she wasn't referring to the father of her child.
There was a nod from the woman who loved her, the understanding clear in the gaze which found her own. "So your aunt and uncle took him in."
Terry nodded, although her eyes had wandered sadly again. "I was lucky they were there." And that the children they had already had were so, relatively, mature--unlikely to suddenly tell the boy about his real parents. It had been fortunate, for both of them. It wasn't like a homeless colored child had much chance in this world, otherwise.
They were both silent in the face of this--but, after a brief pause, she went on. "I thought about getting rid of him, but . . ." There was a grimace, as she remembered. "I had a friend who went to one of those sort of doctors once." Her head shook. "She didn't come back."
There was a grimace from the other woman on the bed, but she didn't need to ask any more. Any woman over a certain age understood all-too-well about the sort of back-alley doctors who were a woman's only other choice in those sort of situations. If you lived through the experience, you'd been granted a miracle; there was a very deep sort of shudder. It made her damn glad to be what she was.
This knowledge ran through both of them for several minutes, before their eyes finally met. Kate's voice was soft but unyielding--her mind returning to the letter's author. "I don't forgive him." And she could see no reason why her beloved should, either.
Her partner smiled at this fierce sort of loyalty, understanding the woman's words--their hands finding one another's, soft smiles meeting. Terry said nothing, seeing no reason to. She had written off her father long ago. Nothing at all he had told her had in any way changed her mind.
The couple just looked into each other for sometime, before Kate finally spoke again. "Do you want to see him?" It was clear that she didn't mean Terry's father.
The question only made her lover's head turn away, gaze back to the ceiling--not really knowing what to think. Finally, she said what she could. "How can I?" With any luck, the boy didn't know his true origins--and whatever he was going through certainly wasn't going to be made any better by finding them out. She could really only wish for one thing. "I hope that son-of-a-bitch loves me at least well enough not to tell him." That would certainly be the last betrayal she could stand.
Kate understood all of this, couldn't question her choices. It wasn't like she had any, really. She just sighed, linking her fingers through her beloved's, trying to give her comfort. She would have been silent in it, but one more thought had slipped through. "This is why you wanted to be the one to check on Nikita."
Terry's distant gaze nodded. "I certainly know what it's like to be pregnant and scared." It might have been for entirely different reasons--but neither of their situations were any less potentially deadly than the other.
The pair's eyes met at this point, their desire to see the other couple through shining there--all their reasons quite evident. Michael and Nikita had already made it clear that they wished the two, untraditional couples to be their child's godparents. This was only another impetus they all had to see them make it through.
Their hands were tight around each other's now, asking and giving strength. Still, there was a confession Kate felt welling in her, the mention of the other couple--the memories of what last night had brought--bringing all of it back. It was very hard to voice. "Terry, I . . ." She gave up for a moment, looking for another way in. "Last night, . . ."
She couldn't get through it, but her partner understood. "I know." She went on, when Kate seemed unsure. "I know what you and Helmut would have done, if Rene and I hadn't been there." It had been clear enough in the way the pair had been clinging to each other's hands, in that certain look of desperation in their eyes. She had been there before herself, if in slightly different ways--her head shaking. "Don't apologize."
It was rare for Kate to be truly at a loss--her training at Madeline's less-than-tender hands far too thorough--but here she flailed, lip trembling slightly. "But I . . ."
Terry's hand cupped her chin. "We all need affection. Sometimes, it doesn't matter who."
The tenderness she so willingly gave here--especially considering the terrible shock she had just had--almost made Kate cry, but she managed to hold the reaction in check. While she wanted to point out that it was Helmut himself who had drawn the reaction from her, not just some random person, she could see that her partner already knew--forgave her everything. After a second, Terry shrugged, her voice ironic. "Sometimes, men look good."
Hm. Kate looked away--but didn't pull back from her hand. "Hard to imagine." But that was all which really needed to be said, after all.
Their eyes met again a second later, all real discussion done for the night. Kate leaned in to kiss her, lovingly and tenderly, before they settled on the bed in each other's arms. They were both aware that, in awhile, Helmut would send one of the servants to quietly see whether they wanted dinner--but they weren't thinking in such mundane terms right now, the embrace tightening. Sometimes, all that mattered was that someone loved you. And, when that person was the only one you loved, it made the greatest pain seem not very important at all.
[End of Part 245]
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