(no subject)

[bannion_sight]

In a way, it had been much easier to deliver Paul's letters to his parents. Even though the essence of the news was the same-- that their son was never coming home -- then, she'd at least been able to assure them that she'd seen him recently, that he was doing well, that he was happy.

There's no way she can do the same thing for Sol Laine.

Dave had awkwardly offered to come with her, and she'd been grateful for that, even as she'd turned him down. Now, Kim stands on the doorstep of the house where Kevin had once lived -- not all that long ago, really -- and rings the bell.

She has to force her fingers to loosen on the letter she's clutching in her hand.

Comments

[inthetapestry]

It takes Sol or two a minute to respond. In the days since he dreamed of Kevin, since he woke with his son's name on his lips, Sol Laine has grown increasingly tired. Aches and pains he'd never noticed before flare to life whenever he sits still, it's near impossible to focus on anything.

But he does stand and move with slow, even steps toward the door. He fumbles with the handle, blinking hazily at Kim when she stands revealed in the bright afternoon sunlight.

"Do I--Is there something you--"

He squints at her face, at her hair, then at her face again.

"Kimberly Ford?"

[bannion_sight]

"Hi, Mr. Laine."

Kim's normally-bright smile is a little muted, but it's still there.

"I heard you were back in town." A quick pause, and a quicker breath. "Can I come in?"

[inthetapestry]

He stands by the door a moment longer, staring at her.

Perhaps he is hoping to catch a glimpse of fair hair and laughing eyes over her shoulder.

Then he comes back to himself, stepping out of her way and gesturing her inside.

"Of course, Kim. Did--I can put some coffee on. Or tea. Or--"

He can't remember what else he has.

He might not even have coffee.

[bannion_sight]

"You don't need to--" she starts, and changes her mind mid-sentence. "But if you're having some-- sure, thanks."

It'll give them both something to do. There are levels and levels of pain here, she knows.

[inthetapestry]

Was he going to have some?

Sol ruffles through the pantry, knocking over a box of crackers. He bends over slowly to pick them up, setting them on the counter beside a stack of unopened mail.

"Ah. Here's the filters. It will just be a minute."

[bannion_sight]

"Okay."

Kim's looking around the kitchen. It feels smaller, somehow, than when Kevin had been here; dimmer, as though a light has gone out.

Which, in a way, it has.

Oh, Kevin. Oh, my darling man.

"Did you, um-- did you have a nice trip?"

[inthetapestry]

It takes Sol a while to answer. Maybe he's preoccupied with the coffeemaker.

"Hmm? Oh. Yes. It--I had a nice time."

He thinks. It kept him busy, at least. And away from home.

[bannion_sight]

"Good," she says, a little helplessly, and then, "Good. I'm, um, I'm glad."

[inthetapestry]

He manages a smile for her as he passes by on his way to the refrigerator.

"Do you take cream?"

[bannion_sight]

"No, black is fine, thanks."

Kim finally sits down, choosing a chair at the small kitchen table. She sets the letter on the table in front of her, brushing it with her fingertips.

[inthetapestry]

"All right."

Sol gets out cream, anyway, then sets it and the sugarbowl on the table.

"Oh, I can't forget the coffee, now."

He gets two mugs, one of them, a souvenir mug from a trip to Nova Scotia, chipped and cracked and coffee-stained, was Kevin's favorite when he was a child.

He does not hand that mug to Kim.

"Have you been well, Kim?"

[bannion_sight]

"I've been okay, yeah," she tells him. Kim cradles the mug in both hands, drawing in the warmth.

"Mr. Laine--"

[inthetapestry]

"You must call me Sol."

He stirs sugar into his cup, then adds cream.

It keeps his hands busy, if not his mind.

"Please."

[bannion_sight]

"Sol."

There's no easy way to do this, she knows; there's never going to be an easy way.

"I'm afraid I've got some bad news for you."

[inthetapestry]

He isn't looking at her.

If he doesn't look at her it isn't real.

No more real than that dream--that moment of unawake awareness of a sudden deep absence--

"Have you heard from Kevin lately? He hasn't called in some time, and I've been worried."

[bannion_sight]

"No-- no, I haven't, I--"

Kim takes a breath, forcing herself to steady; forcing herself into that place of stillness, or trying, shouldering the weight of grief even as she aches with sorrow for the man sitting across from her, whose loss is so much worse.

"He's not coming home, Sol. He can't."

It's said as gently as she can make it, soft with compassion... and full of certainty.

"I'm sorry."

[inthetapestry]

"He called me Abba."

Sol is looking at his hands.

Kim may as well not have even spoken, or so it appears.

"That's when I woke up. I think I'd like to wake up again."

[bannion_sight]

"He--"

Seer of Brennin she had been, and a Seer she still is, the dreamer of the dream, and so it is that understanding sinks through her like a stone falling into deep water.

Who better to know how dreams can cross both worlds and time, carrying messages that might not otherwise be heard?

"I know." Kim's eyes are bright, too bright, with tears she will not let fall. "I wish you could."

[inthetapestry]

"I'll live. Not much longer, but I will live."

Not like Kevin, his bright, bright boy.

He still hasn't looked up.

If he leaves his eyes half-closed, he almost imagines he can see Kevin's reflection on the table-top, standing behind him, ready to tease for the lack of food in the house.

But no--it's only a trick of his tired old mind.

Blinking, Sol looks up, frown passing briefly across his face.

"And you? You and--Paul and Jen and--I don't remember who. I'm sorry, I wish I could. Kevin would have worried about all of you, too."

[bannion_sight]

"Dave," she finishes, for him. "We're okay. Paul and Jen are living somewhere else now, but we're all okay."

This much she can do, and so she does; Kim holds his gaze steadily as she says,

"It's because of Kevin that we are, actually. He -- he did something very brave -- and because he did, he saved us all, and a lot more people besides."

[inthetapestry]

"That's my boy."

So, so very brave, Kevin Laine, and so very bright.

"That was always my boy."

The tense change would hurt more if he hadn't already known--and he is an old man.

The death of hope would have come sooner or later.

There's no harm in 'soon', now.

[bannion_sight]

"Yes," Kim says softly, remembering. "Always."

To this I will make reply although he be a god and it mean my death. So he had sworn, and so he had done, had Kevin-- Liadon -- and it is only one of the many, many reasons that she loves and had loved him, that they all did and still do.

Even as she thinks it, she's reminded of something else, and Kim picks up the letter from the table and holds it out to him.

"Paul would have been here if he could. He wanted to be-- but he couldn't, he can't, and so he wrote you this."

[inthetapestry]

"Paul--?"

Sol looks at the letter, eyes distracted and hazy.

Paul. Paul. Surely Kevin had a friend named--oh.

"Yes. He's a good boy."

Sol's hand, shaky with something that is not only age, reaches out to take the letter.

[bannion_sight]

Kim laughs, a little shakily. "He is."

She releases it easily, and for a moment there's nothing but awkward silence in the air between them-- a silence filled with memories.

She's felt this helpless before, and she hates it.

"Is there -- what can I do? Is there anything I can tell you, or that you'd want to know, or anything?"

[inthetapestry]

"He's dead," Sol says, looking down at the letter, at his hands holding the letter.

He can see the age spots, the wrinkles, the blue of his veins--all things his son will never get to see, not on himself.

"There isn't anything else to know."

[bannion_sight]

And what is there to say in the face of that?

Still, she tries-- for Kevin's sake, for his father's, for all of them.

"There could be. He--"

[inthetapestry]

Sol looks up at her, then, and for a minute it's plain to see that Kevin was his son, even if his hair is gray and not gold.

"He was brave. I know. I have always known. You needn't retell it for my sake, Kim."

[bannion_sight]

She sees it, and it comes near to breaking her heart in two, but in the face of his quiet statement Kim can do nothing but bow her head in acceptance.

"I wish-- I wish there was something I could do, Sol. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Low, but clear, and with the all the sincerity of --

(do you know the wish of your heart)

-- something deep behind it.

[inthetapestry]

"I know."

His gaze drops, and he lays the letter on the table, cupping his hands around his coffee mug instead.

"I know you are."

[bannion_sight]

He won't read it while she's there, she's certain, and he won't let himself truly grieve in front of a woman young enough to be his daughter-- she's sure of that too.

"I should go," Kim offers, hesitantly. "Unless you'd like me to stay a while?"

A second's pause, and a small, hopeful smile.

"Or if you'd rather, I could come by next week? We could have lunch, maybe?"

She can't just walk away from Kevin's father. Not when she (and Dave, although that's different) are all that's left.

[inthetapestry]

"Lunch?"

When's--oh. Next week.

"Yes. That would be . . . good."

He thinks? It's--so many things are dim just now.

Except for the letter on the table, and the mug between his hands.





And the memory of Kevin's smile.

[bannion_sight]

"Okay," Kim says, softly. "Okay. I'll call you."

She slips from her seat and hesitates, but only for a moment-- and it's a presumption, in a way, but she can't not, she can't. Kim bends down and hugs Sol Laine, tightly.

[inthetapestry]

There's a few moments of confusion for Sol, because she isn't Kevin, but her hair is so pale, and maybe he's only backlit by the sun, but no--

No--

He pats her back gently with one hand, for as long as she holds on to him.

It is what Kevin would do.

And there is no one here to do it but Sol.

[bannion_sight]

She pulls back after a few seconds, and the clear gray eyes are bright with unshed tears as she looks at him.

"I'll see you next week, Sol. Take care of yourself."

Kim sets her coffee mug by the sink, then quietly walks from the kitchen and from the house, leaving him behind. Alone.

(She makes it outside before beginning to cry, and she's grateful for that much, at least.)

[inthetapestry]

Sol makes no reply, just turns back to his coffee as Kim leaves.

The letter sits on the kitchen table for four more days.