(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]

"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.