Knox County Ch. 09

He saw her face was still tense, though.

"What's wrong, Elizabeth?" She shook her head, and he pressed. "Come on, tell me what's wrong."

"You don't understand, Will. I almost lost you. I don't want to go through that again, okay?"

He laughed. "So that's why you still insist being on top every time? You're afraid of breaking me?"

She smiled at this, then nodded slowly.

"Well, as much as I like it, it's getting a little boring. I think I'd rather be dead than have to suffer through just that position for the rest of my life."

Her eyes flared. "Boring is it? Making love to me has become boring?"

"That's not what I meant," he said. "But yes, it's becoming too routine. You're too tentative, and you won't let it loose."

He watched her face, seeing her mull this over in her mind.

"So if ever we get married, and make this permanent, then I suppose you'll quickly tire of the same old same old?"

He smiled. "Oh no, not by a long shot. Then we'll be doing it doggy style, sixty-nine, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, missionary, standing, sitting, bent over the couch. Have I missed any here?"

Her face brightened. "No, that seems to about cover it, I suppose."

"And when all of that gets too boring, I suppose I'll have to invest in toys and the like."

A grin curled her lips. "Toys? Pray tell."

He shrugged. "You know, anal beads, vibrators, dildos, stuff like that."

"You got an ass fetish, don't you?"

"Just your ass."

"And you want to try that sometime, don't you?"

He nodded. "Very much so."

She nodded. "Well, that one's reserved for my husband only, you know."

He knew. They'd had this talk in the past. After her previous career, she insisted that something be saved for her husband, and he intended to fix that issue once and for all.

"Strange you should bring that up," he said, his face getting serious.

"What?"

"Well, you graduate in two weeks, right?" She nodded. "And you already have a job lined up, right?" She nodded again. "And you love me heaps and gobs, right?" She paused, afraid to draw the connections he was drawing. After a moment, she nodded.

Will walked to his jacket thrown over the chair and reached inside. "Then I guess my only question is whether we have to actually be married before you keep your end of the bargain?"

He turned and dropped to his knees. "Elizabeth, will you marry me?"

She looked at his eyes before looking at the large diamond engagement ring in the palm of his outstretched hand.

Her hands flew to her mouth and she tried to hold back the tears.

"You going to keep me hanging here?" Will said after a moment, starting to rise.

She rushed at him and hugged him tightly, pushing him backward into the chair. "Yes," she said, smothering his face in kisses. Then she stood back and watched as he slid the ring onto her finger.

They resumed kissing for several minutes, their hands stroking each other's bodies.

"Wait," Elizabeth said, breaking the embrace and pushing herself away and looking into his eyes. "You're not just doing this for a shot at my ass, are you?"

He grinned. "Well . . . ."

She punched him on the shoulder before falling back into his arms.

* * *

Hollister stood in the studio, staring at each painting for several minutes before moving onto the next. At works in progress, he nodded and sometimes mumbled, at completed paintings he stared longer and more intently, rarely saying anything.

After a half hour and nearly a dozen paintings, he started on a new painting and his body froze. He looked back at the painting he had just come from, then peered deeper into the one now before him.

"Sean," he said, "what's this? I've . . . you've . . . this is new."

Sean saw Aimee stiffen beside him, biting her lower lip.

"You don't like it then?" Sean said.

Hollister didn't answer. Instead, he snuck a peek at the next painting to his right, looking at it before going back to the painting before him.

"No," he said, his eyes now looking at the next three paintings down the line. "No, it's not that. Actually, I do like it. Quite a bit, truth be told. But they're different from what you normally do. The style, use of color; particularly the use of color. Much more bold. Still, really quite good."

Sean saw Aimee's body relax and a smile turn up the corner of her lips. She shot a glance at Sean.

"You're joking," Emily chirped in, seeing the unspoken communication between Sean and Aimee.

Hollister turned and faced them. "Joking?" he said, then saw the conspiratorial looks between Sean and Aimee. His eyes narrowed, then he turned back and paced the last five paintings he's perused. "They're unsigned," he said. "The new ones . . . you didn't . . . ."

"Aimee did them," Sean said. He was beaming now, his arms folded over his chest.

"Oh Aimee," Emily squealed, throwing her arms around Aimee and pecking her cheek before going on. "They're beautiful. I didn't know you were . . . that you. . . ."

Hollister's face became a mask, his arms folding over his chest as he rocked on his heels.

"Did you do any part of these paintings, Sean?"

Sean grinned, but Aimee exploded. "You pompous bastard," she said.

Hollister ignored her, staring at Sean. "Sean, please answer my question."

Aimee started to speak, but Sean silenced her with a hand on her shoulder.

"No, Roger, she did them all by herself. Every last line and splotch."

Again, Aimee started to speak, but Sean shook his head. Hollister turned back to the paintings and looked at the next six in line, both finished and unfinished. As he did so, Sean pulled Aimee over to the sofa and sat, putting his fingers to his lips to keep her silent.

After nearly fifteen minutes, Hollister turned and walked to a chair, sitting and crossing his legs. "Who's the subject of the last three?" he asked.

Aimee looked at Sean, expecting him to answer. Instead, he looked back at her and nodded.

"Jenny Silverman," Aimee said, looking at Hollister now.

"The girl who's father shot Sean?"

Aimee nodded. "And whose boyfriend used to be my husband," she said.

"Why aren't they signed?"

Aimee shrugged, but Hollister just stared back, waiting for an answer.

"They're just practice, I guess," Aimee said.

"You've done others?"

Aimee nodded.

"Then where are they?" Hollister asked, looking around the room at the other paintings as he did so.

"Mostly underneath the ones you're looking at," Sean answered for her. "They were crap."

Aimee shot him a surprised look, and Sean could see she was upset by this. Sean just shrugged in response. Better for her to learn to take criticism now, he thought.

"Well," Hollister said, pausing to look once again at the paintings before turning back to Aimee, "these are not crap. Not exactly masterpieces yet, but definitely not crap."

Sean saw Aimee's lips tighten, waiting to hear the next words.

Sean heard the doorbell in the background just before Hollister spoke again. Someone else–probably Jenny–would get it, though, so he didn't move.

Hollister took one final look at the paintings before fixing Aimee with a stare. "I suppose I have for you only one question." Aimee bit her lip, waiting. Hollister continued, "Do you have an agent in mind yet?"

Sean heard two things at once. He heard Aimee respond, "Do you really think . . . ."

Then he heard a long, high pitched scream from Jenny in the background. "Noooo. . . ."

* * *

When Sean met Cynthia and David at the door, she could see the shock was numbing him.

"I came as quickly as I could," she said, looking over his shoulder.

Aimee was cradling a sobbing Jenny on the couch, rocking her. Cynthia saw tears on Aimee's face as well, her eyes red and puffy from crying.

"I didn't know who else to call," Sean said. His voice was barely a whisper, and he turned and looked at Aimee and Jenny, frozen.

"Come on," David said, guiding Sean by the elbow toward the kitchen.

Cynthia strode to the couch and sat on the end. "Aimee, what is it?"

Aimee looked at her, trying to find the words and choking several times before clearing her throat and speaking.

"It's Tim," she said. "He's dead. Killed himself."

At that, Jenny sobbed louder and Aimee pressed her tighter.

Cynthia's jaw dropped. "When? Why?"

"About an hour ago. They just told us maybe twenty, thirty minutes ago. The police . . . they knew he was dating Jenny . . . that she was here. They told his mother, then they came here to tell us."

"But suicide?" Cynthia couldn't believe it. Big, strapping, cocky-as-hell Tim, always in command of everyone and everything. People like Tim didn't kill themselves. There had to be a mistake.

Aimee said noting in response, just continued rocking Jenny back and forth, trying to calm her down.

Cynthia sat watching, unsure what to do. She didn't realize she was stroking Jenny's back until she saw her face turn to her, a mask of anguish, and fall into her arms. Without conscious thought, she felt her arms open and pull the girl toward her.

After a few minutes, Cynthia heard the whistle of a tea pot. Moments later, she saw David enter from the kitchen carrying a tea pot and some mugs, followed close behind by Sean carrying the remainder of the mugs and a pitcher of milk.

David nodded Sean toward a chair and poured tea into the mugs, handing them out to Aimee and Sean. He then held a mug toward Cynthia and nodded at Jenny.

"Jenny," Cynthia said, "drink some tea. You'll feel better." She tried to gently push the girl away from her shoulder and toward David, but Jenny held on tightly.

David kneeled next to them. "Please, sweetie, have some tea." She turned her head to look at him, and he tried to smile. "Tell you the truth, you'll still feel like shit, but at least you'll have something warm in your belly, okay?"

Cynthia felt Jenny nod against her shoulder, and she saw a shaking hand reach out and retrieve the mug of tea. After a minute, the sobbing had subsided and Jenny was sitting on her own.

David nodded his head toward the hallway and Cynthia rose and followed him there.

"This one's kind of out of the blue, huh?" he said when they were alone.

Cynthia nodded. She was unsure what to do, afraid any reaction would set David off and bring up wounds that had just begun healing.

"Can't say as I'm really all that upset," David continued, "but still, can't say as I'd want the rotten prick dead." He looked over his shoulder and at the three sitting like zombies in the living room, cupping their hot mugs and staring vacantly into space.

David looked back at her. "Why's Sean taking this so hard?" he asked.

She heard concern in his voice, and thought hard trying to come up with an answer. "Probably because he just went through something like this awhile back. When his wife died." She looked at the three of them, and Sean was now staring at Aimee, his pain obvious. "And because I think because she's hurting so bad, too. Y'know, like if I was in pain because my brother or someone died. Wouldn't you be hurting, too?"

He nodded. "Okay," he said, "that makes sense. So what do we do?"

Cynthia chewed on her bottom lip for a moment before answering. "I think we've got to get Jenny out of here," she said.

David raised his eyebrows.

"Sean and Aimee can take care of themselves," she explained. "They'll work through it. Sean's only hurting because Aimee's hurting–mostly, at least–and Aimee's already divorced from him. She'll get over it quicker because she's got Sean. But leaving Jenny here just seems . . . I don't know . . . I think that'll drag all of them down. She's now lost the only two men in her life, her father and her lover, and she'll take awhile. I think she'll keep that festering here with Sean and Aimee." She looked at David, who was watching the three in the living room as he listened. "Don't you think so?"

He turned back, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. "Yeah," he said. "I guess you're right. But she's . . . well, a stranger. You sure you want this?"

Cynthia shrugged. "No, I'm not. But I don't see any other way around it, dear. She's alone. Her parents and boyfriend are gone. I'm pretty sure she was an only child. I don't know about aunts and uncles, but I haven't heard her speak about any of them, either. Not since her dad was killed. And we can't let her go back to her apartment–theirapartment–all alone."

"Fuck, even I'd kill myself in her shoes I guess." David let another breath out, then pulled Cynthia into a hug. "Are you sure you'll be okay? You know, with everything we're . . . . I mean, you're pregnant, for Chrissakes. This won't be too much on you?"

"No, dear," she whispered into his ear. "I helped Sean through it once, and he was a total stranger, too. I suppose I can do it again."

David looked down at her and tried to grin, but she could see it was forced. "You're not going to try to help her through it the way you helped Sean, are you?"

She knew what he was talking about, and she smiled. "No, David, I don't think I swing that way."

* * *

Aimee was surprised to see Will and Elizabeth at the funeral, and she approached their table at the luncheon afterward.

"This is a surprise," Aimee said, sitting across from them.

Will crossed his throat and looked at Elizabeth, who in turn looked at Aimee.

"Me, too," she said. "Said he had to be there, though. After all they'd been through at the shooting and all. Kind of puts a strange closure to it, I think."

Aimee nodded. Strange as it sounded, she understood. Will's tension relaxed, and he held his hand across the table toward Aimee.

"We're really sorry, Aimee. I know you were divorced and all, but still."

Aimee nodded. "Yeah, can't just shut it all off overnight. And thanks."

Aimee looked at Elizabeth's hand and smiled. "Does that mean congratulations are in order?"

"For what?" Sean asked, stepping behind Aimee and placing his hands on her shoulders.

"Her left hand, babe," Aimee said. Elizabeth held out her hand to Sean, showing him the glittering engagement ring.

"Oh," he said. "Nice ring."

Aimee turned back and up, looking at Sean. "They're engaged, Sean."

He was taken aback, then a big grin split his face. "Oh, that's right. You Americans wear that on your left hand. We do it on the right in Ireland." He looked from Will to Elizabeth. "That's great, guy. Congratulations."

Will and Elizabeth both said their thanks.

"Give you any ideas?" Aimee asked.

"Like what?" Sean responded.

She held her bare left fingers in front of his face and flexed them.

"You're kidding, right?" he said.

She shook her head. "We're not getting any younger here," she said.

Sean cleared his throat, looking around the room trying to spot someone.

"Oh look," he said, pointing, "it's David and Cynthia. We should go say hello, don't you think?"

Will suppressed a laugh, coughing into his hand.

"I don't think you're getting out of this that easily," Elizabeth said.

Aimee pouted her lower lip, but Sean was already striding across the room.

* * *

David couldn't remember being happier in the past year than he was this day. The crisp autumn air carried a slight breeze, the leaves were brilliant hues of gold and scarlet, and everyone around him was giddy with joy. Cynthia held a twinkle in her eye as she held the tiny baby in her arms, while little Sean David Holloway clumsily walked between her and the proud, beaming parents of the baby boy.

Jenny was smiling, too, something she'd done all too rarely in the past eighteen months. She was dressed in a bright yellow dress, and her gaunt frame was filled out some. The crew cut young man holding her hand was lost in his doting on her, and she was enjoying the attention he showered at every turn.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the priest intoned at the front of the church, "will you please rise."

As one, the congregation rose to its feet and the organ began the wedding march.

The bride appeared at the back, aglow in her white gown and gauzy veil. Behind the veil, David saw tears of joy welling in her eyes. At the altar, the groom was beaming, his body a tense coil of giddiness ready to burst at the seams.

"She's beautiful," he heard in his ear.

"As beautiful as Elizabeth was at your wedding," David responded in a whisper.

Will nodded, now cradling his baby girl and kissing her tiny, wrinkled forehead.

He felt a hand take his, a gentle squeeze. "It's good to see everyone happy," Cynthia whispered to him.

David's eyes traveled to Sean at the altar, his chest about to burst from his tuxedo. Then he watched Aimee, clearly restraining herself from running up the aisle into his arms. Roger Hollister led her slowly, beaming to be giving his up and coming artistic star away in matrimony to his best–and most beloved–client ever. Emily, the maid of honor, weeping openly and loudly at the import of the moment. Looking over Will's shoulder was Elizabeth, smiling as she made faces at little Nicole while Will's face was transfixed by a look of contentment. Jenny, on the other side of Cynthia, tears now welling in her eyes as her boyfriend tried to do something but was lost as to what. Finally at Cynthia and little Sean, both beaming their joy.

David pulled Cynthia and Sean to him. "Yes," he agreed, "it's good to see that it's all worked out."

Finis

Author's Comments. All right, here it is, the unanswered questions. First, the most glaring absence is an explanation for Tim's suicide. This should be self-evident, though: He finally realized the import of all he had done and, sensing this, could not live with the guilt. This was made painstakingly clear in the scene in the mental hospital, and I saw no reason to add another scene to spell out that he was crushed irrevocably. How did he commit suicide? Who cares is my simple response. It's irrelevant. What's relevant is that he did commit suicide. Frankly, it was tough enough killing the rotten bastard off–and the main reason this story took so long; I really wanted to marry him off to Jenny–without having to go into the gory details. Still, I just couldn't have him and Jenny living happily ever after because it wasn't believable. How could they really be happy together when she knew how they'd met, how he was at least partially responsible for her father's death, and how he'd probably revert to his old ways? It seemed easier, and happier, to kill him off and show Jenny finding happiness.

Another glaring omission is whether Aimee was successful as an artist. The final scene indicates she now has an agent and is an up and coming star. In the art world, this seemed believable and a sign of things to come. Ergo, enough said.

If you spot any other omissions or have any other questions, send me a comment or questions and I'll do my best to answer.

Thanks again for taking the time to slog through this convoluted mess!