Julia

The garage door was moving much slower than usual. Over the course of around seven grueling seconds I sat there waiting for the damn thing to drag all the way up so I could pull the car in, teetering dangerously on the brink of complete and utter panic, of the sort that the cheery Christmas music playing through the radio only seemed to accentuate further.

No one had answered the house phone. Danny was not responding to my texts. I had absolutely no clue who, if anyone, was home. All I could do was the very thing I had been doing since I hit the road home (aside of cursing Stuart's name, of course): pray. Pray that I would have beaten the lab rats, by even a single minute or so, just so that I could beg Freddie's forgiveness for turning him away so coldly that morning.

Perhaps there had been a certain level of truth to Antonio's story- but I knew now there also existed a lie. As many times as I had come to realize that half the information available about my prince was fabricated, I should have assumed this far-fetched sexual escapade of theirs would be no different. How could I have fallen into old habits so quickly? Why was disbelief my knee-jerk reaction?

And why was the garage door taking so frickin' long to open?

"Come on!" I screamed. "COME ON, DAMMIT! OPEN UP!"

Finally the sluggish, frozen-over machinery pulled the door far enough up to clear the Jetta's roof. I tapped the accelerator with such careless power I almost rammed right into the wall, but fortunately my foot hit the brakes a split second before I could.

I undid the belt, shut off the engine, popped open the car door, ran to the garage entrance and yanked on the knob a couple of times before the neurons in my brain started firing intelligently again and told me I left the house keys in my purse, which I had in turn left in the car. So with a little scream of frustration, I tripped over myself running back to collect my things, kicking the door closed once more while the keys jangled loudly in my shaking hand as I pushed the proper one into the lock and turned the knob so hard I nearly wrenched the thing out of the slab. At last, with a cold sweat beading along my forehead, I burst into the house.

Fry hopped off the couch and padded over, tail wagging- which told me that Danny apparently was home at least. As upset with my son as I still felt (for I had since discovered just why I hadn't seen those emails before Ms. Rydinger called me that afternoon), I took some comfort from that- but it wasn't enough.

"Freddie!" I called out, keeping my tone as calm as I could manage, even though every word shook violently. "Freddie, are you here?"

No answer, except for a single hoarse beep from Farnsworth.

I tried one more time, louder, voice cracking with fear, "FREDDIE!"

My panicked, wild cry pierced the hollow silence, but once more received no reply. Heart aching, I drifted quietly into the "office" and hung my purse around the back of the swivel chair.

I might have hurried upstairs in search of the man, but I didn't; there was no point. Freddie wasn't here. I could feel it in the air- the lack of that subtle electricity, that living pulse that seemed to charge the atmosphere whenever he was close.

As I came back into the living room, I heard Danny's bare footsteps hurriedly padding closer. "Mom?" he called, presently appearing on the staircase. His mouth seemed to twitch as though with a smile, but it faltered almost immediately after his eyes met mine.

"Hello, Danny," I murmured.

"Hi." He swallowed. "Uh- what was the yelling about? I was in the bathroom, I couldn't-"

"I was trying to- to see if Freddie was still here," I managed.

"Oh," Danny nodded. "Uh- he, um, actually just left, like- half an hour ago or something."

I licked my lips; they were so dry all of a sudden. "Where?"

He blinked. "Where?"

"As in, WHERE- uh- where... did he go?"

The boy just looked at me for a moment, before staring quietly at his shoes while he answered. "Um... Well, Mr. Burdon stopped by, and Freddie got in the car, and he left."

My insides tightened. "Left?"

"Yeah- I mean, yes, ma'am. He didn't really say where, though."

"Did he say anything at all?"

Danny blinked. "He said he wanted to- just- go ahead and get out of here, I guess."

This was beginning to sound like the start of another of my infamous nightmares. Any minute now, the boy would be bombarding me with those same old accusations. They could involve any scenario, any character, real or fictitious, but they always fell to spouting her cold, harsh, but nonetheless true charges, as clearly and inexorably as though I was hearing them for the first time. I couldn't bear to deal with that now- so I pinched myself.

But nothing vanished. Nothing altered. This was no dream, it was real. Freddie wasn't just "not here"; he was completely gone. Returned home. Just like that. This past surreal week of highs, lows, laughter, tears, and a whole lot of bickering, had drawn to a close.

I was too late.

"This is the way the world ends," I softly murmured the final lines of a T.S. Eliot poem. "Not with a bang, but a whimper."

It took me a while to find the composure enough to speak again. "So- Freddie went back to Princeton."

He shrugged, his voice and eyes eerily indecipherable. "I guess."

"Without saying good-bye."

"Well- not really," Danny piped. "He said good-bye to me."

That hurt. Young Danny of course didn't see how that could possibly have done any damage, but it seared me like red-hot iron. I gritted my teeth against a very ugly comeback which started with a hostile "Of course he said good-bye to you, you didn't f--- things up with him over and over the way I have," and instead wordlessly seated myself on the sofa, reaching automatically for the half-empty pack of cigarettes lying there on the coffee table. Nicotine first, happy pill second.

I breathed the filtered smoke into my lungs, let it out slowly. "Well," I murmured. "I guess that's that, then."

"Uh-huh," Danny sighed behind me.

"It would have been nice if he stayed long enough to- let me say goodbye as well."

"He was in a real hurry," was all he said.

"I don't blame him," I whispered. "I don't blame him at all. That party and everything- the rock star world- I have no doubt it's a heck of a lot more fun than - this place."

"Yeah."

It surprised me, how well Danny was taking Freddie's departure. As attached as the boy had grown to him, I had expected a more emotional response- but he seemed to have gotten over it without any trouble.

That is the virtue of being a child, I suppose- especially a boy, I said to myself. Lucky little imp.

Danny came slowly around to face me again. "You okay?" he murmured. I can only imagine what kind of expression I was wearing right then; it must have been something truly disconcerting for him to ask that question.

At last I looked up at him with such cold, hard eyes I think I actually saw the boy shiver. The Freddie situation had been resolved; what was done, was done. An explosion within and without was imminent- but it had to be postponed. I would die before Danny saw me cry. Therefore, it was high time we had a change of subject- even one at the boy's expense.

"What happened today?" I asked quietly.

His face blanched. "Oh. Um- well, I, uh- lots of things happened."

"Why don't you tell me about your detention first." I took another drag. "Start there."

I did not anticipate his sudden wide smile. "I didn't have one."

"Oh, really," I said dryly. That's good, Daniel-san. Keep digging this hole deeper. Just brilliant. "Okay. I'll play along. We'll just skip right to the emails, then."

Gone was the smile. "Uh- what emails?"

"John Daniel, don't get cute with me." My voice was stern, hand clenching tighter in my lap. "The ones that keep magically disappearing from my inbox and going straight to the spam folder. For some reason, Ms. Rydinger's address is listed among the spam recipients." I blinked. "Would you happen to know why that is?"

Danny gulped. "Yes."

"Oh, do explain."

He stared at the floor. "I did it."

"What for, Danny?" I asked. "Were you afraid I'd see something?"

"I was afraid that you'd send me to a psychiatrist, because that's what she wanted you to-"

"Psychiatrist? Why?"

"She thinks I'm a special kind of weird- the excessive thing, remember?- and I guess to her, my kind of weird needs medicine, so-"

"That's ridiculous!" I exclaimed.

"Maybe. I just didn't want to go, or be told I have something scary in my head-"

"Danny, there's nothing wrong with you, I wouldn't have gone along with it anyway."

His eyes widened. "No?"

"Of course not. That woman doesn't know everything, she's just got a big fat stick up her a- um, nose." I paused, let him bask in his relief for a second, then I went on, "But that still doesn't give you the right to go in and tamper with the settings- any more than it gives you the right to pose as me and send texts to people through my phone without asking! I mean, good grief, Danny!"

"I won't ever do it again," Danny pleaded. "Either of those things, ever again. I promise. I'm sorry. I'll stop."

"I accept your apology," I said coolly. "But- I still think it would be best that we just sort of cut off your computer and video game privileges completely till the start of next year."

"Aw, Mom! But-"

"No buts. You're clearly a little too cavalier with the technology we have, so it's high time you had a nice, long break. Understand?"

Danny looked like he wanted to argue his case further, but he seemed to reconsider. "Yes, ma'am," he murmured unhappily.

I leaned wearily back against the couch, already quite sick and tired of jumping down his throat, even though we still had yet to even discuss his detention (or lack thereof, however that worked). For the most part, I loved being a mother- but these were the tense moments I really dreaded, having to be so firm with my son when he misbehaved, and having to always be the one to deal out his punishment. Contrary to popular belief, I never enjoyed playing the Wicked Witch of the West- but sometimes, in life, if you want something to change permanently, I suppose that's what you have to be.

Letting out a long sigh, I looked my little boy over. In a much softer, warmer voice, I murmured, "So... aside of all that... how was the rest of your day?"

Danny let out a quiet huff, and plopped down beside me, clearly just as grateful as I that the hard part was over. "It was okay. Kinda boring, though. Just a bunch of movies."

"Oh?"

"Yeah; the dumbest one was some Nutcracker thing with Morgan Freeman."

"Oh, I think I remember that. That came out a few months after you were born." After a beat, I finally asked, "If you didn't have a detention, then why is it the school called me to let me know you-"

"That was probably before Freddie came," Danny chirped.

I blinked. "Freddie came up to your school?"

"Oh, yeah," he gushed. "He told Ms. Rydinger off and made her change her mind about the detention."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "What did he say?"

Danny told me- and I covered my mouth in shock, eyes widening with every detail. From the sound of it, Freddie had absolutely annihilated the woman. He had won for us what once seemed a perpetually losing battle; even after everything went south with Antonio's little Stuart-fueled intervention, he took it upon himself to fix it. I didn't know why, I couldn't even begin to guess the reason why- for all I knew, there may not have been a "why" at all- but he did it just the same.

"...And so, Freddie kind of made her promise she wouldn't just pick on me for no reason anymore," he concluded.

"He did?" I said for at least the fourth time since he started the story.

"Yeah," Danny nodded. "Isn't he the greatest?"

I nodded and, for a single instant, almost smiled- before the sadness washed back over me and made me remember myself. All was still for a few moments. That is, except for Danny, who kicked his feet restlessly back and forth while fiddling with Fry's long floppy ears when he came to say hello, putting his front paws up on the seat cushion. Absently I threaded my gold chain between my fingers while I took another long puff.

He's the greatest, all right- but he's also the gone-est. And quite rightly.

"So, um- are you taking me to rehearsal tonight?" he asked.

I rubbed my eyes. "Sweetie, do you have to be there for all of them?"

I mean, all you're doing is standing there, right? I added silently. How hard is it to master holding a shepherd's staff?

To my dismay, Danny replied, "Mm-hm. Mr. Arthur gets really mad at kids who don't show up like they're supposed to. Choir people too. Once somebody came in a few minutes after we started, and he gave everybody this dumb two-minute speech about how important it is that we all be on time and how it's, um, unprofessional when you're not- or something."

"I see," I mumbled, while inside my head I raged rather childishly against the circumstances. I didn't have any wish whatever to brave the wintry elements tonight, certainly not with all the snow and ice that was promised for this weekend. All I wanted to do was sit at home and drown in my own tears while I slowly but surely worked my way through two full pints of Ben and Jerry's. Alas, my much-needed Chunky Monkey binge would have to wait till later tonight.

"Okay," I sighed. "What time do you have to be there again?"

"Seven-thirty, I think." Seconds after he replied, his flip phone beeped overhead. With a little gasp, Danny sprang off the sofa and bounded back up the stairs.

"What's bitten you?" I asked as he vanished.

"I think I got a text!" Danny yelled back. "One sec!"

I rolled my eyes, then stood from the sofa myself and followed him up; my happy pills would do me no good just sitting idly in the tube. It was around five thirty now, which meant we would need to leave within the next fifteen minutes if we wanted a ghost of a chance in getting to Brooklyn in a timely manner- providing of course, that traffic wasn't too congested.

"Hey, Modo," I called, "what are the current road conditions on I-278?"

But just like the last time, Modo was silent. Have they both run out of power? I asked myself. Not that I cared, of course, I just wondered.

When I walked into the kitchen, however, I realized why Modo hadn't responded like it was supposed to: it couldn't. By the force of sheer willpower Freddie had reduced both the spherical devices to a single pile of plastic rubble, almost overshadowed (but not quite) by yet another stark change in the room- namely, the nine exquisite ruby-colored roses that had replaced the old white and yellow bouquet he bought in the beginning, the flowers serving almost as subtle bookends to the week itself.

First my phone, then my Modos, I thought with a shrug. I didn't have it in me to be upset about Freddie destroying my devices at the moment. They hadn't cost me anything after all, being birthday gifts from Stuart- whom I still was far from ready to forgive for his treachery anyway (though I knew I would, before too long; I would have to, naturally, if I valued our lives). I even managed a sad chuckle when I read the tongue-in-cheek epitaph placed in front of the mound.

Oh, well, at least the roses are pretty.

And they were. Very gently, so as not to knock any petals loose like before, I lifted one rose out of the glass vase for a whiff. Its sweet fragrance caught me off guard, filling my senses. How generous of Freddie, to have again brought home such lovely flowers. My thoughts drifted back to what he had done for Danny that very afternoon. Of course, he had had his jackass moments, and occasionally he had been downright waspish- but I had behaved no better myself. And yet, in spite of all the issues between the two of us, still he stuck his neck out for his son.

What a sweet thing to do, I mused. Defending his little boy, protecting his family without even knowing that's what he was doing.

On impulse I shut my eyes, brought the rose closer once more. My cheeks heated up as I made believe that the soft red petals were Freddie's lips, and very sweetly, very tenderly, I kissed them- before jerking my head away and stuffing the rose back in with the others, my vision blurring with silent tears.

A bit too late I realized how badly I had handled the truth, by not telling him about Danny, when he so obviously deserved to know regardless of how it might make him feel. Freddie might have flown completely off the handle, reacted in the worst way imaginable- but Danny was still his son, and he deserved to at least be told he had one. But I'd frittered away my chance, and Freddie still knew nothing.

And it was all my fault.

I was losing it again. Blindly I fumbled toward my happy pills; only they could save me now. I tapped one into my palm, put a glass under the tap, set the capsule on my tongue only to hear those fateful words resound in my ears: "Take the blue pill, the story ends."

Just like before, I could no longer follow through. I couldn't bring myself to willingly pump myself full of false feelings of balance, voluntarily encase myself in my own Matrix- or as Freddie might have called it, my "man-made paradise"- any longer. I had lied to myself enough for one life. I couldn't carry on doing it.

Feeling frustrated, and crestfallen, and utterly helpless, I spat the pill out and hollered, "SHIT!"

Of course, that was before I realized Danny was watching me from the hall, wide-eyed and concerned. By some great magic I managed to clear my face of the few rebellious tears that had slipped out without permission, and turned to face him.

"Pardon my French," I whispered.

"It's okay, I've said worse stuff," he shrugged.

My brow arched almost playfully. "You certainly have."

Danny giggled- then seconds later, he straightened up, and marched to me as though he had some incredibly important news.

"Uh, by the way, Cousin Roxie just texted me," he said, showing me his phone screen but not for long enough for me to read the actual message.

"Odd," I noted. "Why didn't she text me herself?"

"I dunno. But look. Um- she says there's some dinner happening tonight for, um- parents of the kids in the program, and, uh- she really wants you to be there!"

"Not interested," I sighed.

Danny's face fell. "What?"

"I'd rather just wait around in the sanctuary- watch you and the other kids practice."

"But you've got to go!" he pressed. "It's very important."

I was in no mood, needless to say, to hobnob, or really talk to anyone at all for that matter. "Why's that?"

"Well- first off- you promised you wouldn't, um- watch us practice-"

"I can wait outside the sanctuary, then! This isn't rocket science, Danny, I don't need to-"

"Plus, um- it can, uh, if you go to it," Danny interrupted breathlessly, "lots of people will be there, so maybe it will, um- sort of help you- not think about it."

I swallowed. "Think about what?"

He took off his glasses. "You know, um- Freddie being gone and everything."

I didn't answer right away, giving him the chance to continue, "Because- you know, um- I mean, I remember what you said about Dad once, and how- that worked for him sometimes. Being around lots of people when he was sad made him feel better, or something. That, and singing, I mean. Right?"

I smiled quietly as it hit me once again, as often randomly would happen, how much I loved my little boy. "That's right."

"Does it work on you, too? Those things?"

"Singing, yes. Having lots of people around? I'm not sure."

"Maybe you could try it tonight, and see."

I rolled my eyes. "Danny, if you were any more transparent, you would be a window."

"Oh, come on, Mom! Say you'll go. It'll be great! Please, won't you go?"

"All right, all right," I sighed. "You win. Where is this thing, and what time?"

Danny smiled in triumph, fitting his glasses back over his eyes. "It's called, uh- Tavern on the Green. And it starts at seven-thirty too."

I whistled, impressed. "Fancy." I whipped out my phone and looked up the expected dress code, which was described as "smart casual." Looking myself over, I decided my button-up and black slacks certainly fit the bill.

"Great, I'm already dressed," I remarked aloud, turning around so Danny could see. "I think this'll work, don't you?"

Danny's eyes narrowed in deep thought. "Eh... I guess," he shrugged.

"What do you mean, you guess? The site says, 'smart casual'."

"Yeah, but- I thought people wore dresses and ties and stuff to that place. Remember in Ghostbusters?"

"That was back in the eighties, Danny. 1984, in fact. Times change."

"I know, but," he sighed, "still... That one dress you have isn't that fancy, I bet that would work."

"Which one?" I owned a grand total of three dresses: one for weddings, one for funerals, and one for everything else.

"The maroonish-red one," he replied.

"Danny, that's probably the most formal gown I have."

"Yeah, but it's so cool-looking. Do that." He rubbed his hands together and ran off before I could protest, humming some little song to himself.

I thought it rather strange that Danny should have cared so much what I wearing, especially since half the time, his own clothes didn't even match. Nevertheless, he seemed to feel fairly strongly about it- and I hadn't the energy to argue.

"I'll give it a try," I called to him at last, walking to the bedroom.

"Hurray," he yelled back. "And do those gold hoop earrings. Lots of gold. Oh! And those shoes with the high heels. Do that, too. Yeah."

"Don't push your luck, kiddo," I murmured while I kicked off my flats.

***********************************************************************************************

Why am I here? I asked myself one more time. Oh, yes, that's right. Because my kid talked me into it. That's why.

It was of course too late to turn back now; it was already seven thirty-six, and I was climbing out of the Jetta to let the valet attendant take the wheel. The lovely Tavern on the Green stood before me, lined in elegant white Christmas lights, glittering like an enormous diamond against the natural beauty of Central Park.

I stood there in my "everything else" dress- the flowing, sleeveless burgundy gown I had last worn at that gala with Stuart some months ago- which at the moment was half-hidden by my warmest and nicest-looking long coat. All around me, men and women were milling in and out of the restaurant, mostly dressed either as though they had come straight from the office or the stock exchange, some in blue jeans, some in slacks, some in pencil skirts. But no one, aside of me, had made the mistake of showing up in a floor-length cocktail gown.

Needless to say, I felt somewhat overdressed.

This is the last time I let my nine-year-old son give me fashion advice, I groaned inwardly. I feel like a rube. Rudy would have been a better hand, as I recall, were he not busy carting Freddie back to the university. Shifty fellow. Whose side are you supposed to be on, anyway?

I felt myself descending back into a dangerous state of mind. As fast as I could, I tried to pull myself back from the ledge; I would have plenty of time to jump off of it later tonight, in the privacy of my own quiet bedroom. For now, I needed whatever self-control I could manage. So, lifting my chin, I strode inside and right up to the host stand.

"Excuse me," I cleared my throat, "is there a large party meeting here at seven-thirty?"

The host squinted at me, then at the tablet in his hands. "Um- the name, please?"

Crap. Danny didn't tell me the name. "The party should be under, uh- maybe something like- Brooklyn-"

"No, madam. I meant, what is your name?"

"Oh! Sorry." I blushed from my chin to my forehead. This was so awkward a situation to be in. "I'm- I'm Julia Samuels, I was told there was some kind of-"

"Samuels?" The look in his eyes changed almost imperceptibly. "Ah, yes. They've been expecting you."

"They have? I mean- they are?"

"Indeed," he beamed. "Now- there is just one small wrinkle, I'm afraid."

I blinked. "Wrinkle?"

His wide smile abruptly became apologetic. "You see, the table we had set up for your party filled up faster than expected, so at present there is no seat left."

I looked down, even more embarrassed now. "I see."

"However, if you like you may wait at the bar until we find another chair, or another table to attach-"

"You know, you really don't have to do that," I cut him off, "I can just go ahead and go."

His brows rose. "Madam, it's no trouble-"

"I appreciate that, but I- thanks anyway. Really. I'm- I'm good." My voice was trembling. "Is it still all right if I go to the bar though?"

"Of course," the host assured me, and pointed behind him. "It's right that way, the circular bar there."

I thanked him, then scurried off in the direction of his finger. My face only grew hotter, it seemed; even after I seated myself at the bar and ordered myself a Cape Cod, my flesh crawled with anxiety.

Still wrapped in my coat, I sipped my drink, staring blankly at the wide glass room beyond, where people dined under sparkling chandeliers. Just out of my field of vision, a live jazz combo was smoothly jamming away to the classic tune of "I've Got You Under My Skin." There was a posh, yet sanguine feeling in the air, more pleasant than I expected; were I myself in better spirits I might have planned to stay even longer, if only to kill the waiting time by people-watching and gently grooving to the band. But since I woke up that morning,I'd been left, lied to, used, and undermined- and I had had enough.

With a sad little sigh, I drew a pen from my purse. Someone sat down in the chair beside me, but I didn't turn to acknowledge them. I was too busy sliding one of the paper cocktail napkins out from under my drink; for some reason I now had the urge to doodle.

Two minutes and three good swallows later, I had half-completed a crude little sketch of the face that would not leave my mind's eye. Though I was, and am, no artist, let me assure you, it wasn't all that terrible a drawing- but then again, the brows, the face shape, and the nose were the easy parts. It was his mouth that would be tricky, unless of course, I copped out by simply giving him back his mustache- which I did. Not the greatest likeness in the world, but it would do for now.

All that remained now were the eyes- eyes I never got around to drawing. For before I could, a large, slender hand glided into my sight and turned the picture sideways so that its owner could see better.

"Let me guess," a silken voice purred. "Omar Sharif?"

The pen fell from my hand. I whirled around, and found myself staring deep into those same eyes. His eyes. The most beautiful brown eyes ever set in the face of a man.

I can't begin to describe the deluge of thoughts and emotions that crashed upon me in that split second of realization that this too was true, that he actually had simply been sitting there watching me the last three minutes- a wave of confusion and relief and surprise so powerful I almost died right then and there while I tried to figure out the answer to a single unspoken question:

But HOW-?

I didn't die, though, naturally. Instead, I ended up doing the next best thing. I fainted.