Lifeline

by Susan X Meagher

  "I’m game," Ryan said. Jamie and Catherine declined, with Jamie having only a momentary desire to remind Ryan she was taking medication. She quashed the urge, though, deciding that she didn’t want to supervise her partner. The foursome sat in the quiet room for a few minutes, gazing idly at the elaborate decorations, while the low buzz of generators and helicopters provided the nerve-jangling background noise.

  They were settled in their room by two a.m., both so tired they were dead on their feet. Ryan was busily brushing her teeth as she asked, "Who was that reasonable, passive man who was in the living room with us?"

  "I haven’t a clue," Jamie said, "He’s a source of constant surprise, isn’t he?" She walked into the bath to wash her face, staring at her tired and haggard image for a moment. "I’m just glad that mother didn’t drink today," she said quietly. "She apologized to me this afternoon, by the way. She was really ashamed of herself."

  "Yeah, it was bad last night," Ryan said, not elaborating further. She had seen Catherine tipsy before, but never blind-drunk, and it was an experience she hoped she never had to revisit. She knew that the terror of the night provided a very good reason to drink, and she had to admit that she would have likely done the same in Catherine’s situation, but it was still jarring and unpleasant to see the woman she had come to love be so out-of-control.

  Jamie stood in the doorway of the bath, looking out the window as she reflected, "It wasn’t bad when I was young, but I think she’s been that way many times in recent years. Occasionally I would call home, and she would claim that I woke her – but it would be the middle of the afternoon, or early in the evening. I think she was too drunk to talk to me. The next time we’d talk she wouldn’t mention it – so I can only assume she didn’t remember."

  "I hope she can cut back on her own," Ryan said softly, "but if she can’t, we’re going to have to get involved."

  "Involved?" Jamie asked, unconsciously moving back a step.

  "Yeah. We can work with her therapist to do an intervention if we have to." She approached Jamie and placed her hands on her waist, looking into her eyes. "Your mom is not going to cut her life short while we stand by and watch."

  "Bu …" Jamie blinked at her partner in surprise. "You can’t make someone stop if they don’t want to, Ryan. This isn’t one of those things you can force your will on."

  "I know that," Ryan said. "Remember, I watched my Uncle Charlie drink himself to death. We were all involved, and he had more support, and more chances at staying sober than most. He wasn’t able to accept the help – he was just too far gone, and he hated himself too much." Ryan gazed into her partner’s eyes and said, "I don’t see that level of destructiveness in your mom. I think it would really help to let her see how her drinking affects you – if it comes to that."

  Jamie looked up at her, a worried frown slowly etching itself onto her face. "Do you think I should have been talking to her about her drinking before now?"

  "No, no, I don’t. I think she’s just now becoming receptive to the idea of trying to control it. It’s hard to make a dent when the person isn’t self-aware."

  Jamie hugged her tightly and asked the question that had been floating around in her mind for quite a while. "Do you think I should stop drinking?"

  Ryan took a breath and decided to be completely honest, having given the matter a good deal of thought. "I think it would be easy – very easy -- for you to become an alcoholic, Jamie. If I were you, I would never drink to excess, or start to rely on alcohol to calm down, or help you sleep. I think you’re genetically programmed towards alcoholism, and it wouldn’t take much to push you over."

  She nodded, revealing, "Anna says the same thing. She thinks I should be very careful."

  "I always liked that Anna," Ryan said. "She cares about my best girl."

  After lying in bed, tossing and turning, Ryan finally decided to get up. She didn’t want to wake her partner with her movements, but given the depth of Jamie’s sleep, she had to admit that wasn’t her primary motivation for rising.

  She was struggling with an unfamiliar curiosity about the members of the press who had put the rest of the world’s news on hold to focus on her and Jamie – even though she was certain that knowing the motivations of the reporters would not make her feel better. The newspeople were holding her and Jamie hostage either because their editor told them to be there, or because they were free-lancers who smelled a big payoff if they could be the one to get the women to break their silence. It was really as simple as that, but the reality of the situation didn’t make her feel any better.

  Slipping into sweats and a T-shirt, she walked down the dimly lit hall, finding herself pulled towards a full-story-high, leaded glass window that graced the center of the second floor. She had been drawn to the window the first time she saw it, the golden light that flooded the hallway on a sunny day very appealing to her. Two upholstered wingback chairs flanked the window, and she sat in one, drawing her feet up on the substantial cushion and locking her arms around her shins.

  The lights from the news vans had not dimmed, and her second floor perspective allowed her to get a much better view than she had been able to glimpse when they were rushing into the house. Her thoughts were vague and unfocused, her mind trying to understand something that she was wholly unprepared to comprehend. She had never had much interest in the celebrities the media created, and she was frankly puzzled by the people who were interested in them. She didn’t understand what she or Jamie could say that would in any way have an impact on a stranger’s life. Her mind was idly wondering if the public really cared, or if the news conglomerates just believed they did, when Jim came up and placed his hand on her shoulder. She jerked around in startled surprise, not having heard him approach.

  "Having trouble sleeping?" he asked.

  "Yeah. I’m trying to understand why in the hell those guys would rather be here than with their families on Christmas morning."

  "That’s a tough one," he said, taking the other chair. "Having the press here is making this much harder for you, isn’t it, Ryan?"

  She nodded quickly, turning her attention back to the street. "I almost lost two of the most important people in my world … not to mention almost dying myself … and now I’m expected to share my feelings about that with a bunch of strangers? Why? What do they want?" Her head dropped to rest upon her knees, and he felt his heart go out to the normally self-assured young woman, seeing in her troubled eyes a vulnerability that was striking and completely surprising.

  "I truly don’t know," he said softly. "Maybe people want to believe there are heroes …"

  "We’re … not … heroes," she said, biting the words off. "Wouldn’t you do anything in your power to save Jamie’s life? That’s not heroic. It’s just doing what anyone would do in the same circumstance."

  He shook his head briefly, his lips curling into a smile. "I know that’s how you feel, Ryan, but it’s not reality. Very few people could have held onto that car … and that’s if they were gently placed upon it. Very few people would have willingly climbed into a moving car bearing two gun-wielding men like Jamie did – no matter who was inside. I know this makes you uncomfortable, but your actions were very heroic."

  Ryan nodded to show that she heard him, but she didn’t agree. "When you love someone, you don’t think of yourself first, Jim."

  Her bright blue eyes glowed from the light that entered the window, and he could feel the determination radiating from their depths. In a rare flash of self-awareness, he was struck by the sacrifice this young woman had been willing to make for his daughter. A stab of regret lodged in his chest when he considered his actions of the previous months, finally forced to acknowledge that he had fabricated every worry, every fear that he had ever expressed about Ryan. His shame was so great that he was unable to speak. Standing up, he approached the young woman tentatively, then leaned over and kissed her on the top of the head, ruffling her hair lightly before he turned and walked down the hall.

&
nbsp; Ryan stayed right where she was, shaking her head at the thoughts that rolled through her mind. She was so intent that she almost missed the soft tread coming down the hall. Flicking her head briefly, she saw Catherine, in a satin nightgown and robe, walking down the hall … presumably towards Jim’s room. The older woman didn’t seem to notice her, and for that Ryan was glad. Oh boy! she groaned inwardly. Why am I the one who always sees him with women he shouldn’t be with?

  Her soft knock was met with an immediate, "Come in." Catherine cracked the door open, and poked her head into her husband’s room. "Am I disturbing you?" she asked quietly.

  "No, no, I just came up." He smiled a little and said, "I’ve had so much cognac, I can’t understand how I’m still standing, but I can’t seem to relax."

  She entered the room and walked over to the dresser, leaning against it as she said, "It must be contagious. I can’t even keep my eyes closed."

  His eyes took on a shy glint as he asked, "Want some company?"

  She nodded, feeling embarrassed, but overwhelmingly needy. Not having had a drink all day made her feel raw and bruised – her feelings much too close to the surface for her comfort. Not wanting to be rude, but determined that he not get the wrong idea, she said, "Just company, Jim. Do you understand that?"

  He nodded, and extended his hand. She walked towards him and let him envelop her in a warm hug. "I could use some company, too," he said. "It’s lonely in this big room."

  She removed her robe and slid into bed, waiting for him to strip down to his boxers and T-shirt. He climbed in and held his arm out, smiling when she cuddled up against him in a long-familiar embrace. "This is nice," he said, his voice very soft. "It feels right."

  She didn’t comment, knowing he was referring to more than the closeness. Even though her heart knew it was dangerous to share this intimacy, her wounded psyche needed the comfort so badly that she allowed her body to relax and drift off to sleep in a matter of moments, feeling safe for the first time in two days.

  When Jamie went downstairs on Christmas morning, she was pleased to find Ryan entertaining Marta while the cook iced a tray of her famous cinnamon rolls. When the older woman saw Jamie, she wiped her hands and dashed across the room, enveloping her in a bruising embrace. "I am so thankful you are safe, Cariño. I have never been so worried in my life."

  "We’re fine, Marta," Jamie said, holding on tight. As the older woman released her, Jamie shook her head a little. "I don’t know how we’re fine – but we’re fine."

  "God protected you," Marta said, the answer obvious to the woman who held such a fervent belief in an omnipotent being.

  "I suppose that’s true," Jamie said, not having any reason to dispute Marta’s contention. She crossed the room and gave Ryan a kiss on the forehead, asking, "And when did you get up? Your side of the bed was cold when I woke."

  "A while ago," Ryan said, not wanting to tell her partner that she’d barely slept a wink. "I could smell Marta’s cooking, and I had to come down so I wouldn’t miss anything."

  "She’s been up for hours," Marta said, busting Ryan completely. "I don’t think she slept, Jamie. Look at the circles under her eyes." The cook was giving Ryan a concerned look, but she shrugged it off.

  "I’m fine," she said. "We’ve just had a tough couple of days. I’m sure I’ll be back to normal as soon as we get out of this fishbowl."

  "Are they still here?" Jamie asked, not having checked on her way downstairs.

  "Yeah," Ryan said, her smile fading. "I know they won’t stay forever, but this is a slow news week, so we’re probably still the biggest local story."

  "Lucky us," Jamie said, smiling thinly.

  Jim came into the kitchen as they were discussing the matter, and he obviously overheard the last part of their conversation. "Morning, girls, Marta," he said, appearing very businesslike. "I had an idea."

  "What’s that, Daddy?"

  "I’m considering going to federal court to ask for a temporary restraining order to keep the wolves from our door."

  Jamie’s eyebrows shot up as she stared at her father. "Can you do that?"

  "Well, the courts don’t like to limit press access, as you know, but given that I’m a senator, I thought I could use an argument about my personal safety. It wouldn’t take much ingenuity to figure out where our house is … any crackpot could come to Hillsborough and drive around until they saw the news vans."

  "Well – who feels better?" Jamie asked with false brightness. "Now we get to worry about lunatics picking us off with high-powered rifles!"

  Jim looked nonplussed for a moment, then his self-assured demeanor returned and he conceded, "It might be a little ambitious to expect to make much headway with the federal courts on Christmas Day. I don’t know about you two, but it’s the helicopters that are making me crazy."

  "Count me in," Ryan said. "They’re why I couldn’t sleep."

  Pursing his lips in thought, he said, "I’m going to make a few calls. I might not be able to force them to stop, but I think I have enough influence to convince them to stop voluntarily."

  Ryan knew that her version of voluntarily and Jim’s version differed markedly, but for once, she didn’t mind if he used strong-arm tactics to accomplish his goal.

  "What about the nuts out there who have already seen an aerial view of our house?" Jamie asked, finding herself slightly panicked at the thought.

  "I’m going to hire someone to guard the house," Jim said. "Obviously, no one could get past the news vans to threaten us today, but I don’t want your mother and Marta here alone after we all leave."

  "Where don’t you want me?" Catherine asked as she walked into the kitchen, fully dressed and ready for the day.

  "I’m going to hire security to watch the house for a few weeks until this dies down."

  "If you think it’s necessary, go right ahead, Jim, but I’m leaving for Italy tomorrow, and I was going to see if Marta wanted to go stay with her sister until I get back. Would Helena have somewhere to go if she didn’t stay here, Marta?"

  "Yes, her son has an apartment in San Jose. She could stay there."

  "Would you like to leave?" Jim asked, turning to Marta.

  "Yes, yes, I would," she said quietly. "It is frightening to have those people outside."

  Jim nodded, then looked at his wife for a long minute. "How long will you be gone?"

  "Not very. Just a couple of weeks."

  He nodded again, looking like he wanted to say more, but obviously choosing not to.

  Jamie spoke up, "I don’t think it’s worth it to try to force the press to leave, Daddy. We’re leaving after dinner, so most of them will follow us." She shivered involuntarily as she considered that scenario.

  "I think I’ll call home and see how bad it is there," Ryan said. She picked up the nearby phone and dialed her home, where Kevin picked up on the first ring. "Hey, Kev, Merry Christmas."

  "Hi, Ryan, Merry Christmas to you, too. How’s it going?"

  "Good. I just wanted to see if the press was there. There’s a boatload of the bast … jerks down here," she said, catching her profanity before it got all the way out.

  "Yeah, there are a few guys outside here, too. Not many, though. They’re gathered over in front of the Necessaries, drinking coffee. My mother wanted to make them some breakfast," he said. "I don’t think she understands that they’re like stray dogs … if you feed ‘em they’re yours forever!"

  "She can’t help her good heart," Ryan said. "Are she and my da over there?"

  "Not now. They came for breakfast, and then they went to Tommy’s. You can catch them there if you need them."

  "No, I’ll talk to them later. Just checking to see if things are still crazy."

  "No crazier than normal," he said. "Be careful coming home, Ryan. Call us when you’re close, and we’ll come down to keep the reporters away from you."

  "Will do, Kevin. Love you."

  "I love you too, Ryan. See you tonight."

  She hung up and shrugged
her shoulders. "It doesn’t sound like it’s too bad there. I guess that means they’ll follow us tonight."

  "God, I wish we could prevent that," Jamie said, sighing as she sank into a chair.

  Her father stood and announced with a determined look in his eye, "No one will follow you tonight. I don’t know how we’ll do it, but we’re getting you out of here – sight unseen."

  Ryan needed a little alone time after breakfast, so they went outside into the garden. They sat upon a wooden bench placed under a substantial arbor, the structure and the foliage shielding them from one pesky helicopter that had obviously spotted them when they walked outside. Ryan looked at her partner, her eyes a little watery. "We haven’t even wished each other a Merry Christmas yet. This is just so weird, Jamie. It doesn’t seem like Christmas at all." Grunting softly, she said, "Actually, it doesn’t seem like we’re in our own lives."

  Leaning forward, Jamie placed a tender kiss on her lips. "Merry Christmas, honey." She wrapped her in a hug and held on for a long while, still able to feel the tension flowing from her lover’s body. "How did it seem at your house and at church last night? Was that familiar?"

  "Yeah, that was better," she said. "I guess it’s just weird because I’m used to my Christmas routine. Leaving home has me a little mixed up."

  "Are you unhappy we came?" the blonde asked, gripping her hand.

  "No, not at all. It would have been weird at home, too. It can’t help but be weird when there are news vans and helicopters hovering over your head. It’s unavoidable."

  Jamie snuggled close and said, "You know what I want to do?"

  "What’s that?"

  "I want to fantasize a little. It’s what I always did when I was little and things started to bother me."

  "Fantasize?" Ryan asked slowly, not really getting the point.

  "Yeah. I want to talk about what it will be like when we have our family. How will we celebrate Christmas?"