Lost & Found Ch. 04

Next thing I knew, Caitlin was sitting on my back, waking me up by repeatedly bouncing on me, the way she did when she was six years old; only now she wasn't six, and she weighed a ton, if the bend she put in my spine was anything to go by.

"What, what do you want, do you know what time it is? Get lost Kat, I'm trying to sleep!" I hissed, but she kept it up until she was sure I was fully awake.

"What's going on, Frankie?" she demanded, her voice no louder than mine.

"With what, Caitlin, anything specific, or in general?" I hedged, only for her to bounce on my back again, making me groan in pain; she was really hurting me!

"Talk Frankie, or I'm gonna keep doing this. You know exactly what I'm talking about; ever since you and dad came back from seeing the Dolan's you've both been acting like the spies in 'Mad' magazine. What gives?"

I groaned again, this time in chagrin; there was no way I was going to tell her what I knew, she didn't need to know, not with Sarah's wedding so close. The truth was, I didn't want Sarah finding out just before her happy day, and Caitlin just might let slip something.

Kat took my groan as a sign that she was wearing me down, so she bounced again.

"Look, will you quit that!?" I hissed again, getting ready to dump her on the floor, because she was starting to piss me off, something she'd never managed before.

"Talk, Frankie, or I'm gonna use my knees, I mean it!" she hissed back, dodging my flailing arm as I tried to swat her off me.

I knew that at some point I wa going to tell her, I just didn't want to, but I had already lost the battle; Kat was a very persuasive young lady. I turned over sharply, dumping her on the floor on her butt with a squeak of surprise.

"Serves you right, Kat!" I grinned, "Now shut your mouth and listen, this is not to go out of this room, and Sally is never, and I mean never, to hear this from you, from me, no-one, got it?"

Kat nodded, her eyes big as she realised how deadly serious I was.

"When dad and I went to see the Dolan's, I met Steve's mom. She's a really nice lady, sad, with hair just like yours; exactly like yours, in fact. There's a good reason for that; her name is Roisian Dolan, but her maiden name was...Moran."

Kat listened in puzzlement, then suddenly her eyes opened wide, looking like two bright emerald marbles.

"Oh no, Frankie, no, d'you mean...?"

I nodded slowly.

"She's dad's little sister, your aunt, which means that little piss-rag Steve Dolan...is your first cousin. Now you know why Sally must never know, I need you to swear you'll never tell her, this is something she can't ever know, you got that?"

Kat promised me, her lip trembling and her eyes brimming as she absorbed the fact that she was closely related to the boy who'd done that terrible thing to our beautiful sister. She promised me, and she never broke that promise.

*

The wedding went off without a hitch (no pun intended) and Sarah and Joe temporarily moved into her room while dad and Joe (and with a little help from me!) did some basic renovations on the old Moran house on Bixby, to give Joe and Sarah their own home. Joe still had a year before he graduated, so mom and dad helped them out. Sarah couldn't work as she began to show, so she spent most of her time with mom, with Kat buzzing around her.

Joey was born when I was 16, and just a few weeks before Kat's 14th birthday, and he was the spitting image of Sarah, the same golden brown eyes, the same dark gold hair, the same quirky smile. Mom was in love with him, as was dad, and Kat spent her every waking moment carrying him, to the point where Sarah had to literally prise him away from her so she could nurse him. Kat was infatuated with her baby nephew, although she once confessed she couldn't get straight in her head whether he was her nephew or her cousin. I warned her to only think of him as her nephew, anything else was just too dangerous, and too hurtful to Sarah; that pulled her up short.

And so life went on; Joe graduated and got a job with an insurance firm headquartered in Roseville, two towns over and just across the state line, and he, Sarah and Joey were the typical young, mid-western family. Then when Joey was almost a year old, we heard the news; Joe was ill; he had cancer; it was aggressive and incredibly painful, and it was terminal. Sarah was devastated, as were we all, and poor Kat, with her everlasting crush on him, she was almost destroyed by the news. When we lost Joe, Kat nearly went out of her mind with grief, she and Sarah constantly together as they tried to come to terms with the loss to our family.

The funeral was a small, family affair, just immediate family, and a few of Joe's closest friends, and one lady with dark glasses and bright copper hair, who slipped in during the service, sat quietly at the back, and slipped out before the end, leaving a single white rose on the seat she'd vacated.

Sarah decided to stay on in the home she and Joe had built together, surrounding himself with his memory as she brought up little Joey, making sure the little boy knew all about his father, constantly reinforcing the love Joe had for that little boy. I also knew Steve Dolan had married Angel Rayne, his high-school squeeze, and had had a little boy a few months after Joey was born. Kat was even more confused and conflicted; her adored little nephew/cousin now had a little brother, was she supposed to hate him? Love him? Pretend he didn't exist? She came to me for answers, and I didn't have any, and I wasn't going to tell Kat how to think.

Around about this time, Kat was starting to develop an interest in boys, and now dad and I were both on tenterhooks; she was only 14 and wise beyond her years, but still naive, unsophisticated, and devastatingly pretty, her pale skin, flaming red hair and bright emerald eyes immediately setting her apart from the other girls her age, none of whom was as eye-catching as her. I had my work cut out trying to make sure boys her age, all urges and hormones (and I should know, I used to be one, hell, still was...) kept their hands in sight at all times, having to get pretty persuasive with some of the more persistent ones, if you count bouncing them down the school steps on their chins as being 'persuasive'. The word got around quickly; Caitlin Moran's older brother was bad news, steer clear of her, which made my life easier, and made for some high-tension slanging matches between her and me. I always won, by the simple expedient of hustling her into her room and slamming the door on her, then sitting outside, so every time she opened her door, I'd cock an eyebrow at her and say "Where are you going?"

After a while, she calmed down as she realised she didn't have to prove how grown-up she was, and life normalised around us. Boys still buzzed and hovered around her, but at a respectful distance; we were both in the same building in school, the junior high school sharing space with the high school proper, so she never knew if I was just around a corner, ditto for the boys her age (and some of the older ones) which kept them all well-behaved and reduced the likelihood of, and opportunities for, any mutual explorations.

Of more concern to me, and Sarah, if truth be told, although she tried to hide it, were the disturbing stories we were beginning to hear about how Steve Dolan and that worthless trull he'd married were treating their son. Stories were circulating that the little boy was...different, that there was something wrong with him, and so he was being neglected, virtually abandoned. Nothing was being done, because the Dolan's had family members in positions of power and influence in virtually every state, county and municipal office, from Law Enforcement to Sanitation, and any complaints would have just become lost in a tangle of paperwork; a family as adept at keeping secrets as the Dolan clan knew only too well how to protect their nasty little secrets and treasure-troves of lies.

These stories eventually got to Kat, and bless her, they outraged her; the thought that her beloved nephew's little brother was being neglected by the two people in the whole world he was supposed to rely on the most lit a fire in her that nearly blew up into incandescence. I almost had to physically restrain her from going up to Beverley Hills and punching-out Angel (and what a misnomer that was!) Dolan for doing what she was doing to her little boy; I had to remind her that it was none of our business, and we were not supposed to get involved, because we were not supposed to have any reason to get involved. Eventually Sarah did, but that's a whole other story. I had wondered why Steve's mother wasn't doing something about it, and when I asked dad, he told me she'd moved back east after Jerry Dolan's death and cut all ties with Steve and his wife. Dad seemed sad about it, so I didn't press the point.

When I was 17, the worst thing happened. Dad collapsed at work, and was rushed to hospital in Roseville, but died on the way there. His heart, his big, generous, compassionate heart had given out on him, the curse of the Moran men, the same thing that had killed his father and both his brothers.

Mom was inconsolable, but Kat was nearly hysterical with grief, so much so that Sarah and I honestly worried for her sanity; dad had been the center of her world, her rock, the one person other than me that she knew she could 100% rely on to be there for her, and he'd been taken away from her when she needed him most. I was in almost as bad a shape; I never knew my biological father, Michael Moran was my dad, the only father I'd ever known, and losing him was like losing a big part of me. So much of what I was, and what I stood for, what I believed in, came from him. His willingness to listen, his reluctance to criticise, his ability to make the worst days seem that little bit better, all that was gone, taken from us, from me. He was gone, and I had lost another father.

The funeral was almost an event; dad had been a popular foreman and then manager, and was well-known in the town; virtually everyone had either gone to school with him or worked with, or for him, and I could feel the heartfelt tributes as, one after another, people said good things about him that I knew, but apparently so did everyone else. Kat and Sarah sat pale and uncommunicative; their grief for dad contained but not diminished in a little well of deeper sadness on that sad day. As we were leaving the church, I saw on one of the rear seats a single white rose, and I knew that all the family had been there, one way or another.

Life soon settled back into normality, although Kat was no longer the fizzy, exuberant, precocious, brash teenage girl she been before; losing dad had taken something out of her, and I grieved for that loss as well, for the loss of my little sister and that special innocence she'd possessed. Now she was even more attached to me, sneaking into my room at night to sleep on my couch, staying in my room to do her homework or watch TV, or just sitting silently, watching me, usually with her comforter tented around her like Sitting Bull outside his tepee, usually wearing one of my Tee-shirts.

Mom got it, and asked me to leave her to do that until she'd gotten over the worst of the loss, and of course I agreed. I didn't mind having her there; even if her conversation was usually monosyllabic, she was still company for me; if she was silent and uncommunicative, at least I still had the sound of her breathing at night, especially if I woke up to find her huddled up against me, her cheeks wet where she'd been crying in her sleep.

My heart was breaking for my baby sister, I didn't know how to help her, and I couldn't give her back what she needed most in the world, so we ambled along, silently communicating, or not, living in silences that we didn't know how to break.

Eventually she began to come back, to take notice when I commented on a show we were watching, to maybe give a wan smile when I made a joke, and to spend more time in her room or with mom rather than hiding-out in my room. I breathed a sigh of relief as she recovered from the paralysing grief that had almost overwhelmed her, and sometimes now I caught her looking oddly at me, then grinning mysteriously before looking away.

She still snuck into my room now and again, though, and I'd wake up to find her curled up fast asleep on my couch, with her favorite quilt wrapped around her, her face relaxed and angelic, the face of a little girl at peace with the world.

I started college in the fall, studying for an MBA, as dad had always felt I had the mind and discipline for business; to my surprise, I found I had a natural aptitude and an actual interest in the world of finance and management. I lived at home, as the college was only in Monte Vista, five miles away, an easy commute. While I studied, I also kept a close eye on Kat, and took an interest in her school life and interests. She'd tried out for the cheerleading squad, but inexplicably ditched the final try-out, even though she was one of the top three picks, and during one of our evening sessions watching TV in my room I asked her why.

She grinned, suddenly looking 12 years old again.

"I realised I didn't want to be lumped in with the rest of those bimbos and tramps, okay? I looked at who was in the squad, and who was trying out, and asked myself if I'd allow any of those sluts anywhere near Frankie, and the answer was a definite no! I don't want to be labelled as one of 'those' of girls!"

She leaned over and kissed me once, lightly, on the cheek.

"My Frankie is a special guy, and there's a special girl waiting for him, you wait and see!"

I laughed, delighted that she'd followed dad's advice long ago, to do what you want to do, not what people think you should do, or want you to do. My baby sister was getting to be a feisty little miss again. I think dad would have been proud of her, I know I was.

And so started a new type of closeness between Kat and me. While we were both there 100% for Sarah if she needed us, I realised Kat needed me too; with no father, and no Joe anymore, I was the only older male influence she had, even if it was only by a couple of years; I became her friend again, but also her confidante, her support-system, her conscience, and her confessor, even though I was only a couple of years older than her; I think it was because I never questioned her judgement. I knew she had a good head on her shoulders, really all she needed me for was to confirm decisions she'd already made. As she got older, this became more and more the way things were. It didn't help that she was also blossoming into a lovely young woman; I began to have nightmares about her, boys, and the multitude of things that teenagers could get up to that ended badly, especially when the boys were loaded hormone-guns with hair-triggers, just waiting to go off, and Kat was just about the prettiest girl in the whole damn town!

I didn't realise it at first, but I was actually becoming jealous of the boys who'd call her, or walk her to school, or walk her home, or talked to her outside the school, and those who had the nerve to call the house, well, I gave them short-shrift if I got to the phone before she did. It was an uneasy time for me; I was feeling more like her father than a slightly over-protective older brother; I was finding it hard to define inside what it was I was protecting her from, and why, although the easy answer was, 'take a walk down Bixby, see if you can spot Sarah, all alone there with that little boy, is that what you want for her?'

When I thought of it that way, my resolve stiffened, although the feelings of jealousy and resentment when boys called asking her for a date never quite went away; deep down inside I knew it was more than that, but I could never dredge down deep enough to properly examine those reasons for my attitude toward her and boys, perhaps because I knew subconsciously that I'd find something there that I shouldn't.

A few weeks before Kat's 18th birthday, yet another hammer-blow landed on this family. I got a call one afternoon, just after I'd come in from classes, it was Sarah, wanting me to collect Kat and take her over to Bixby Street, Sarah wanted to see us both. She wouldn't elaborate over the phone, but I thought her voice sounded strained, like she was restraining herself. To tell the truth, I was a little alarmed; my first thought was that there was a problem with little Joey, but Sarah wouldn't say anything more, just repeated her instruction to go get Kat and bring her over, and then she hung up.

I drove to the high school, intercepting Kat as she was climbing into a car with a group of girls and boys, and fought down the sudden surge of possessive jealousy, feeling strange that I should be feeling that for her. Kat was surprised to see me, and no less apprehensive when I told her what Sarah had told me, but she got in the car, making no conversation all the way to Sarah's home, about 3 miles away.

When we got there, Sarah answered the door, and I was shocked at her appearance; she looked pale and drawn, and her eyes were puffed and red from crying. My heart leaped into my throat; something was wrong with Joey, oh my God! Kat jumped to the same conclusion, pushing past Sarah to grab up the toddler and hold him close, nuzzling and baby-talking to him as tears started in her eyes.

Sarah wordlessly took Joey from her, Kat reluctantly letting go of him, and sat down, motioning for both of us to sit. Kat reached out to her, her hand trembling.

"Sally, what...what's wrong, oh dear God, it's Joey isn't it? Please say it's not, please!"

Sarah wiped her eyes and kissed the squirming infant on her lap.

"No, baby, it's not Joey, he's fine, I promise you!"

We both breathed again, relief shedding off us like autumn leaves.

Kat looked at Sarah again.

"Sally, if it's not Joey, what is it, what's wrong?"

Sarah lifted Joey to look into his clear tawny-brown eyes, so much like hers, a single tear escaping her own and running down her cheek.

"It's mom. She asked me to tell you, she can't, she doesn't know how to."

Kat and I sat perfectly still, until I broke the silence.

"Tell us what, Sally, what does mom want you to tell us?"

Sarah looked away over my shoulder, not meeting my eyes.

"Kids, mom's...ill, she's been sick for a while now, they never found out, and now..."

Sarah stopped to swallow, tears flowing freely now. I hadn't even noticed that Kat had taken my hand, her knuckles white as she squeezed me tightly.

"Mom has ovarian cancer, they found it too late, it's too late to stop it, she's dying, my mom's dying..."

I was stunned; mom hadn't looked sick this morning when she chided me for not eating a proper breakfast before heading off to college, she'd laughed at the cartoons Kat was watching at the counter while she washed up, she'd been normal, ordinary, just mom.

Kat sat in stunned immobility, her mouth working as she fought to say something, two big tears welling up in her luminescent green eyes. She turned to me, the one who'd always made everything right for her, her mouth working soundlessly, and then she slumped against me as she fainted, overcome by the emotion she was trying to deal with.

I caught her and slid her onto the couch, sliding a cushion under her head until Sarah stopped me.

"No Frankie, leave her lie, lift up her feet, higher than her head, she'll be okay in a little while."

I slid back down to the ground, staring at Sarah, trying not to cry myself, my heart thudding as I absorbed what she'd told us.

"How long, Sally?" I whispered, and she ducked her head down, absorbing herself in Joey as she cried.

"Three months, maybe six, but that's all; mom's been sick for a long time; she wanted to keep it quiet until after Kat graduated, but now she knows she won't even make it that far. She's started making arrangements, you know...for...for the funeral, the house, where Kat's going to live after...after....I thought she could stay with me, both of you, it will be good to have all the family in...in one place, together again, what do you think?"