Julia

I was alone in the car, so I didn't bother to cover my mouth when I let out a nice, wide yawn.  I was sitting at the stoplight about five minutes away from the house, worn out and relieved that the day was almost over. 

All I wanted to do was go to bed; the past few days had been a real drain on my stamina. Alas, tonight Stuart was taking Danny and myself to the fiftieth anniversary showing of Star Wars: A New Hope (which honestly wasn't accurate, since the movie came out in May of 1977 and not December, but Star Wars films have a way of coming out during the Christmas season, and George Lucas wasn't much for continuity in the first place, so it didn't matter).  Aside of Empire Strikes Back, it was the only Star Wars film I honestly liked for itself. The other later films were only as good as their numerous YouTube edits. And I had seen Episode IV a million times, admittedly, but it would be a treat for Danny if nobody else, as he, unbeknownst to Stuart, was the only one who had never seen it in the theater.

Quietly I thumped my hands against the steering wheel to the beat of the music, mouthing the chorus of the so-bad-it's-good Vanilla Ice track we all love to hate, "Ice Ice Baby."  Call me a traitor, but I needed it.  The song had everything I wanted at the moment: energy, pep, and a means to laugh at Freddie's expense.

"Vanilla Ice did it better than you guys," I declared aloud childishly. "I'm going to have to show you that song, see how you like them apples."

Of course, I didn't mean it.  "Under Pressure" held a very dear place in my heart, and despite the fact that my parents actually went to high school with Vanilla Ice for a spell (till he dropped out, that is), I harbored no connection to such a notorious plagiarist.   All the same, once more, I was not happy with Freddie.

Then again, to be fair, I was happy with neither of the men in my life at present.  But where my dear Stuart was concerned, that was normal.  For every time Stuart and I engaged in our Wednesday ritual, I always felt so cheap afterward.  Even after he would draw me back upright and kiss my numb lips, breathing hard and murmuring how masterfully I "did that," my soul stayed heavy for the rest of the day.  And that morning, I wound up twice as blue.

For I couldn't stop thinking about Freddie.

Although he and I were at worst estranged lovers, and at best old friends, more than ever I felt I was betraying him somehow. Freddie's added presence hadn't made our "tradition" any easier. In fact, I came very close to utterly collapsing into tears after Stuart climaxed. It was a ridiculous notion, of course, especially since Freddie had indubitably closed the thin book that was our story, and stashed it away on the shelf in between the much thicker volumes concerning David and Mary, where it gathered dust, yellowed, and eventually rotted away- just another of Freddie's forgotten faces, one of many untold stories. 

Still, you could have at least texted me back, dude, I said silently. I know you know how.  All I wanted was to hear your voice, I needed it so much today- and really I would have been happy with a polite "no, thanks" if you were too busy, just some sort of confirmation that you saw what I sent, that you cared enough to read it- but you completely ignored me. I know we are nothing and I'm about as exciting as a dry bologna sandwich to you, and that's fine- but did you really have to blow me off like that?

Then again, Freddie had gone out of his way at first to try and arrange for the lesson to happen a little later.  Perhaps he wasn't so much ignoring me out of disregard, as he was out of anger that I had chosen time with Stuart over him.  The nerve of me.  And not me specifically, but anyone who dared to place him anywhere other than the number one spot.

Surely he had had a much better time at the radio station than he would have while pretending to learn how to drive, so it all worked out for the best, I decided. 

Freddie doesn't know what we do.  And if we play our cards right, he won't ever know.  He wouldn't understand, nor would he care to.  Good Lord.  Imagine the field day he'd have with dirt like that!

A second later, the music cut out, replaced by Sting, singing the first line of "King of Pain."  After a minute I realized my phone was vibrating in the cup holder- and I rolled my eyes.  Oh, come on, Danny.  Not again.  Why can't you just leave the ringtone alone?

I answered the call, making sure the smile was detectable in my voice.  "Hey, Stuart."

"Hi, Jules," he greeted me.  "Just wanted to let you know that I've left Princeton and I'm heading your way to pick you two up."

"Wonderful.  Now you're sure this won't slow you guys down as far as Speck is concerned?"

"Honey, the bridge is at seventy-five percent still, so we've got time- and until Dr. Ling gets here with her own team tomorrow and evaluates the situation for themselves, we really can't do much else at this stage."

"Yeah, so what did that even mean?  Can you tell me now?"

"Later," he said.  "Tell me, though, has Danny ever said anything about how he even managed to get into the lab?  Have you asked him?"

"Not so far.  But I will."

"Would you please?  That'd be extremely helpful."

"Maybe one of you guys left the door open," I joked.

"Unlikely.  That door self closes and self locks in a matter of ten seconds if it's mistakenly left open- and the password changes every twelve hours- and the surveillance on that door is round the clock.  The consensus is, Danny had help- and Steve is my prime suspect."

I frowned.  "What does K say?"

"He swears he didn't do it.  I'm not sure I believe him, but then, there's no footage of him letting Danny in, so I'm really as in the dark as the rest of them.  But anyway, I don't want to think about Speck right now.  I'm still feeling good from this morning, and I don't want to kill it."

"Mm," I nodded, then quickly changed the subject.  "So- what are we going to do about Freddie tonight?"

"Oh, don't worry, Jules," Stuart laughed.  "I've got it all set up."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll see!"

My eyes narrowed.  "Stuart, I swear, if you've set up some practical joke-"

"Jules, come on.  I'm not that kind of guy.  I really tried to work something out that I thought he would enjoy.  Gabe told me about this club or bar that he and his friends go to, I forgot the name, but apparently it's one hell of a place- and they have agreed to meet him there and- well, show him a good time, if you know what I mean."

"I know what you mean," I murmured, feeling a little queasy.  Still, I went on, "That's actually perfect, I think he'll enjoy himself.  Sure will beat sitting around our house all alone. I think he'd kill himself before doing that."

"I try," Stuart replied.  "It shouldn't all fall on you after all.  Melina's a trip."

"Yeah, I'll give you th-" I began- and then I did a double take.  "What did you say?"

"I said, Melina's a trip.  What?  Wasn't that his, uh, drag name or something?  Melina?"

My face fell even further.  "Yes," I murmured.  "That's right.  Melina, like the Greek actress Melina Mercouri.  Melina Mercury, Melina Mercouri.  Wasn't he clever."

Stuart must have heard my voice shake.  "What's wrong, Jules?"

"Nothing's wrong, I just don't know how you would know that."

"Ah.  Well, let's just say, I've been doing my homework."  After a pause, he asked, "Should I not call him that?  Should I stick to Bucky 13 or what?"

I rolled right through the Stop sign, turned blindly on our street without looking both ways first.  "Why don't you call him by his actual name.  That's a good start."

"That's true, but it's not near as fun as-"

"See you in a few, Stuart."

Click.

By this point I had pulled into the driveway.  I took the key out of ignition once in the garage, leaned against the steering wheel, and just sat there a moment. 

"How did I get here again?" I asked myself rhetorically.  "Why am I sitting here in New Jersey stuck between a rock and a hard place, questioning my existence?  How did this happen?"

Easy, I answered myself.  Freddie.  That's how.

With a sigh, I rubbed my eyes, took my hair down for the time being; I had been wearing it so long today, the teeth of the clip were starting to dig uncomfortably into my skull.  As I did, I couldn't help but notice those horrible white roots at the top of my hairline.  I was past due for a color touch up; another week or two of neglect, and I would look like something out of X-Men.

White hair at thirty, I said to myself.  It's just the two stripes, granted, but it's still white.  Only old ladies have white hair.  After a pause, I added, At least Freddie still thinks I'm pretty. 

"Oh, yes," I scoffed aloud a split second later. "Freddie, my gay ex-lover, the same person who thought David Minns and his 'chubby arse' was the cutest little cherub he ever did see, thinks I'm very pretty.  Yeah.  Thanks, man.  Means the world."

Ah, me.  I can be one stubborn, cynical bitch when I so choose, can't I?

I didn't feel like musing, whether silently or aloud, any longer.  I didn't have the time.  Stuart would arrive in a bit, and if Freddie was already home, I didn't want him to feel like I was purposefully ignoring him- even if he had purposefully ignored me first.  With a flourish I clambered out of my car, slammed the door closed, and was surprised to see the garage entry slightly ajar.  Clearly someone was home.

Carefully I crept inside, pulled the door closed behind me.  Freddie had either left already, or had yet to come back; it was too quiet for him to be there.  Fry jumped up on my legs, tail wagging.  Absently I patted his head.  And then, I heard it, coming from upstairs, the muffled, high voice of my son singing "O Holy Night."

I covered my mouth, tiptoed toward the stairs.  I loved it when Danny sang- and not just because it sounded just how I'd always imagined his father would sing as a child (minus the vibrato).  Danny had such a pure voice- truly the voice of an angel- and "O Holy Night" was one of my very favorite Christmas carols.  All put together, it was a killer combination that filled my heart to the point of overflow.

When I came upon the hall, however, I found that Danny's bedroom was empty and utterly silent.  The singing instead came from my room- whose door was closed with the light on inside.  I frowned.  With Fry at my heels, I quietly padded toward the door and put my ear against it.  On the other side I could hear him rustling around in my drawers, going through my bureau, opening the closet.  I stood there waiting a few seconds, counting to myself, Three, two, one...

And flung open the door. 

"WHAT are you doing?" I boomed playfully.

Danny wormed back out from under my bed.  "Mom!" he gasped.  "I was, uh- nothing!"

I folded my arms, unimpressed.  "Why are you going through my things?"

"No reason."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, ma'am."  He put Farnsworth on his shoulder, who immediately flew to my head.

Without a word, without even getting the bird literally out of my hair, I walked toward the open closet, pulled the door a little wider.  I nodded.  I could read that boy like a book. 

"Danny, why is the box on the floor?" I asked him quietly. 

Danny hesitated, then hung his head.  "I, was- I was gonna try and look at the stuff."

"Were you looking for the key?"

With a little sigh, he nodded.  "Yes."

I sat on the bed and patted the spot right beside me.  After a moment, Danny shuffled over, climbed up on the covers so we were sitting side by side on the duvet.  His eyes were focused on his lap, hands folded, feet kicking a little because like his father, he couldn't be still if his life depended on it.

"So," I said, "how was your day?"

He looked at me, confused.  "Are you mad at me?"

"We'll discuss that in a minute.  Right now, I want to hear about your day."

Danny blinked, then pushed his glasses further up his nose.  "It was okay.  Art was fun- we're making these family crest type things, but they have to have a holiday theme, depending on what we believe in."

"That's cool.  I guess Wes must have gotten the car fixed."

"He did?"

I cocked my head.  "Well, he must have, right?  Or did he take a rental and pick you guys up?"

"No, Cousin Roxie did it today.  Lauren got to play her music this time- and she made us listen to Moana and Tangled all the way back from school."

"Wasn't so good, huh?"

Danny replied with a gagging noise.

"They can't all be Aladdin, I guess," I sighed.  "How was Roxie?"

"She's okay.  She kept on asking about Freddie though." 

I shook my head.  Remind me to tell her he's taken- and not by me.  "How so?"

Danny thought it over, and spoke carefully.  "Well- stuff about how- she thought he, uh, looked like someone she knew once, a long time ago.  That's all."

I really didn't think much of it at the time.  Perhaps I should have.  "Any issues with Ms. Rydinger?"

Danny shrugged.  "Not really- except for one thing."

I sighed.  "What happened?"

"Well- Jamal and I were messing with his phone before class, and I made him look up that Tom Jones guy."

I grinned.  "You did?"

"I just wanted to know who he was- the guy you met.  You guys never said who he was, and then we played one of his songs, the one that goes 'She's a lady, whoa-oh-oh, she's a lady-' you know that one?"

"Of course I do."

"Well, Ms. Rydinger heard it, and she said, it was- sexist?  Is that even a word?"

"Sexist?" I repeated wearily.  "She said it was sexist?"

"Yeah.  What's that mean?"

I didn't answer him right away, instead just buried my face in my hands.  I never thought I could dislike a teacher, or get the impression that anybody in the world could possibly have a personal vendetta against my boy- but with each passing day, Ms. Rydinger defied all expectations.

"What'sa matter, Mom?" he asked.

"Nothing," I murmured.  "I just wish sometimes that Ms. Rydinger would just go away and stay there."

"I wish that all the time.  She's mean."

"I'm sure there's a reason for it- her attitude," I said automatically.  "But there's absolutely no excuse for her taking it out on you- and I wish there was something I could do about it." 

Not that I hadn't tried, either.  Only a month before, I petitioned the school board about Ms. Rydinger and her seemingly unfounded passive-aggressive demeanor towards Danny.  Only after I got Wes to back me up did I so much as receive an email of condolences.  Nothing had changed, of course; at this rate, all we could do was clam it up, sit it out, wait for Danny to pass fourth grade and leave Ms. Rydinger behind altogether.

"I know something you can do," Danny offered brightly.

My brows rose.  "What's that?"

He grinned hopefully.  "You can show me the box."

I rolled my eyes and stood.  "Danny-"

"Oh, Mom, can't I see the box?  Like now?"  He took off his glasses.

But for once, I was in no mood to be swayed by his big, sad, melting eyes.  "There it is," I teased.  "See it?  Good.  Are we done here?"

"Mom!" he groaned.  "You know what I mean.  I wanna see what's in it! Please!"

"That's as may be, but you still took matters into your own hands, tried to go around me just now-"

"I know, and I'm really sorry, but can I still see it?"

Under most circumstances I would have been more quickly moved to show Danny, even after him pulling a stunt like this.  But still I hesitated.  "First why don't we check and see if Uncle John's tried to contact us on Skype?"

"He didn't.  I looked."

"Odd."  There it was again, that twinge in my stomach.  Not a word from John since Danny sent them that picture.

  "Now can we?" he asked one more time, ever hopeful.

I rubbed my eyes and sighed through my nose.  Clearly this boy was not going to let it go- and taking my happy pill now wouldn't help me until about half an hour later.  I could be putting my very sanity at risk, placing myself in the way of the darkness- but Danny would not be deterred.

I looked at my watch, then at Danny.  "Would you please walk out of the room a moment, sweetie?"

Danny looked crushed.  "What for?"

I smiled.  "So I can grab the key."

The biggest smile split his lips.  "Thanks, Mom!" he cried, throwing his arms around me then scampering out, closing the door behind him.

I really do spoil him, in a way, I said to myself.  In the end, he always gets what he wants.

So I went into the master bathroom and opened the cabinet.  There it was, right where I had left it- my gold chain, and the two glittering items that served as pendants.  One of them was a small, bronze key cast in an old-fashioned cloverleaf design.  I slid it off the chain, closed the cabinet quietly (Danny loved to eavesdrop, sneaky thing that he was), and called him back in.

I placed the chest on the bed. 

"Can I do it, Mom?" Danny asked eagerly.  "Can I open it?"

I nodded, but just before I handed him the key, I whispered, "Now listen, before we do this, you have to promise me something."

"Sure!  What?"

"I need you not to tell Freddie about anything you see in here," I said.

He squinted.  "Why not?"

"Because it is none of his business, that's why," I lied.  "Promise me, Danny.  I'm counting on you.  Freddie- he just doesn't need to know."

"Okay, I promise."

"Cross your heart?"

He crossed his heart.  "And hope to die."

"That's not necessary, I believe you," I smiled.  Solemnly, then, I gave him the key.  With deft hands Danny put it in the keyhole and turned carefully until it popped open.  He giggled in anticipation.  Farnsworth, still sitting on my head, squawked.  Fry lay down quietly at our feet.  And I, slowly, with my heart in my mouth, lifted the lid.

"Wow," Danny whispered.  He had been through this chest so many times, and yet each time may as well have been the first.  As far as he knew, this was the closest he would ever get to his daddy.

"Go crazy," I said, one ear listening for any rattles or rings at the door.  "But when I say pack it up, pack it up.  Okay?" 

"Okay," he hummed, reaching inside.  If Freddie were to walk in now, especially with our security alarm crawling around on my scalp, and catch us red-handed, God only knew what he would do.

But for now, I just watched Danny.

The boy had a system; every time we took this trip down Memory Lane, he did the same thing.  Danny would painstakingly empty the chest, one thing at a time, lay everything out single file on the bed.  This he did now- till suddenly he stopped.

"Something's missing," he said, brow creasing with concern.

"There is?"

"Yeah."  He looked at me.  "Where's the ring, Mom?"

I blinked.  "Ring?"

"We have to have the ring, or else it's all out of order."

"Honey, you know I always wear it round my-"

"Yeah, but you're not wearing it now.  We need the ring."

"Okay, okay, one second."  My heart sinking a little heavier, I went back, I opened the cabinet, drew out the gold chain- and stared a moment at the cheap metal ring that hung from it.  The years had not been kind to the ring- over time it had lost its faux rose gold luster- but I could not bring myself to part with it.

"There," I sighed, letting the chain pool in his palm.  "Anything else we're missing?"

"Nope, that's it," he beamed, laying the chain between the ripped photo and the fortune cookie slip.  For a few seconds he just looked at everything, then let out a little sigh.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

He shrugged.  "Just wish the picture wasn't all torn up and stuff."  He pointed at the Polaroid, which showed me in a white dress, and someone else's hand against my cheek, the two of us apparently in mid-kiss- but the other person was too well torn away for any conclusions.

"Me too," I nodded. 

"That's Dad's hand, right?" he asked.  "That there?"

"Mm-hm."  I swallowed, then chuckled.  "Your dad had really big hands."

"Do I have big hands?" Danny held them out, palms up. 

I couldn't help smiling.  "Your hands can only get bigger, Danny; you haven't finished growing yet."  I didn't have the heart to tell him that his hands were probably going to end up on the smaller side, like mine.  Veronica had confided in me as much- and I believed her.

"Why is there a fortune cookie thing in here, Mom?" Danny asked.  "I never got that."

I shrugged.  "Because- the guy who sent a lot of this stuff to me- wanted me to have it.  I think he was trying to tell me something, trying to send me a message, but I still have yet to figure it out."

"Today is gonna be the day that they're gonna throw it back to you," he read aloud.  "That's from a song."

"That's right."

"Which guy?"

"His name was Rudy," I explained.  "Very nice man.  Big man, even taller than Stuart."

Danny was impressed.  "Really?"

"Mm-hm.  He was a good friend of your fath-" I cut myself off, the blood draining from my cheeks.  But it was too late.

"Rudy was my dad's friend?"

"Uh..." I balked a moment, then realized I could take none of it back. I had never before spoken of Rudy to Danny, let alone call him by name, but it was out there now.  So be it.  Freddie never mentioned his driver Rudy anyway, so what did it matter? 

"Yes he was- and he was very kind to me as well."  And he knew about you before I did- which is what really bakes my noodle.  

"What stuff did he send you?" Danny asked, waving his hand over the row of artifacts.

"This, this, and this, too."  I pointed at the sealed envelope, the ripped picture, and the smaller box, which Danny now opened up.  He always saved the prettiest ones for last.

"K sent me the journal," I said while he busied himself with that, "but it's not much use for anything, they redacted almost every word- but I guess it's just as well."  I sighed sadly.

"Dad must've been pretty important, then," Danny said.  "Was he like a spy, or a secret agent?"

I smiled.  "Well, I wouldn't say that, but he was full of secrets. I-"

I stopped myself talking right away.  For now Danny was holding them in his hot little hands.  The black and white jade cats- Yin and Yang, I called them.  The carving was one of my most prized possessions; it was a complete miracle that I even wound up owning them in the first place.

"Careful, Daniel-san," I warned him gently.  "They're almost two hundred years old."

"Whoa," Danny breathed.  "You gave these to him, right?  To Dad?"

"I did," I whispered.  "It was a little gift- see, he loved, you know, jade, and-"

"Are they Japanese?" he asked hopefully.

"No, they're Chinese.  I think you've asked me that before."

"Oh, sorry, I keep forgetting.  We should show them to Freddie sometime-"

"Danny, no!  I said, we can't show him any of this stuff."

"Can't we at least show him the cats?"

"We especially cannot show Freddie the cats!" I exclaimed.  "We can't show him anything here, or tell him about anything here."

"But I thought you guys were friends."

"We are friends.  I just don't want to tell him about what's in the chest!  It's a secret- and you have to help me keep it a secret.  All right?"

"Weird friends," Danny hummed, but he nodded albeit somewhat reluctantly.  "Mom, do you still love him?"

The question completely threw me off.  "Love who?"

"Dad!  Not Freddie!  I meant Dad."

"Oh."  Honey, stop repeating yourself, it's not helping.  "Do I still- love your father?"

"Uh-huh.  I mean- if he came back, would you want to be with him again?"

"Danny, where on Earth did this come from?"

"I don't know, I was just wondering.  In fact, I wonder it a lot.  Would you?"

So I tried to beat around the bush, "Honey, I'm with Stuart-"

"I know, but if Dad were to suddenly knock on the door and walk in the house, like right now, would you break up with Dr. Preus, and be with Dad again?"

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.  I had no idea how to answer him honestly, and still maintain control over myself.  It only took one wrong nudge to send the entire house of cards toppling.

Danny wouldn't understand if I told him the whole story.  He would not understand if I explained to him that his father was born fifty-one years before me, had more boyfriends than he had girlfriends, and had written all those amazing songs we heard on the way to school that morning.  And he certainly wouldn't understand if I told him that his father was no longer interested in me in that way-

Yes, yes- but even with all that in mind- would I?

It was still a good question- and one I didn't get the chance to answer.  For someone's hard fist then rapped energetically at the front door.

"Go answer the door, sweetie, I'll put this stuff up." I waved Danny out of the room, throwing everything haphazardly back in the chest.  "And remember- not a word to Freddie!"