 | ShatterStorm Productions
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| ShatterStorm Productions
|
Primary Character(s): Karen Taylor
Disclaimers: See Index page for full disclaimer info
++ Karen ++
Once the others leave, the house gets strangely quiet. We have the quartet of one year old children with us, since they're entirely too small to be in a crowded mall or movie theatre. I've no desire to be watching Finding Nemo again, and was thrilled when Sam and Art offered to take Emily, Fawn, and Cubby to see it at the mall for Emily's birthday. Can't believe that damned movie is still playing. I think Emily may have found a replacement for The Lion King. Finally! In the past two years, I've gotten royally sick of that movie, Emily's 'purr' notwithstanding. But thankfully, she has a new obsession now, and that new obsession has taken her away for the afternoon.
Janet and Catherine tagged along to do some early shopping for Christmas gifts, which leaves me home alone with four sleeping kids, Darya, and a not-so-hot Dace. Turns out my punk of a sister's coming down with something, and she's doing her best to sleep it off before heading back to Vegas in the morning.
While Dare's in with the kids, and Dace is out like a light, I take the time to go tinker in the garage. It's not often I get this quiet time, not with seven kids under the age of six. Well, that and Darya's still got issues with the bikes. I normally keep mine over at the Goldston house, letting it sit with Sam's Indian under a tarp. Dare's still too weirded out by the bikes to really be comfortable around them, but every time she's gone to visit her folks, I pull that Harley out and put it through its paces. If Dare knows that I do it, she plays dumb really well.
With the same sense of destiny that always comes with this exact act, I pull back the tarp covering my Harley. It was my father's bike, bought as a gift to himself when he just knew that his first, and unbeknownst, last child was due. When I bolted, I took the first generation Electraglide as my due and a reminder of what I'd left behind. I've babied this beast for twenty-four years. I'm not about to let it go easily. Not even for my wife. I have very few vanities in my life, and this bike is at the top of that list. Well, this bike and my long hair.
In a respectful and thoughtful quiet, I gather clean rags and begin to lovingly wipe down the bike. Polish the chrome; treat the leather; check the fluids. Not a millimeter of this beloved beast is missed or forsaken. It's a rare treasure that I have the time to do this while my wife is home, and I'm taking the opportunity for what it is.
"So, gonna start it up and take it for a spin?" That well-known, well-loved voice actually startles the hell out of me. I've gotten quite used to the soft sounds of my breathing and the swishing of the cotton cloth.
"Damn it, punk!" I growl halfheartedly at her, taking in her sleepy visage. "Didn't anybody teach you to knock?"
She grins and shrugs as she leans indolently in the doorframe. "Raised by rabid wolves, remember? Well, 'til Sylvia got her mitts on me." I snort in response to the sarcasm and return to wiping down the leather seat. "Seems a shame to get it all dolled up and not show it off, Bane."
"Give it up, Dace." This time the growl's not so halfhearted, and I'm actually a bit startled at the rising venom in my tone, like a coiled viper reading to strike.
She sighs and clucks her tongue. "You know, Jesse'd have your hide if he knew you were keeping this beauty hidden away like this. He'd kick your ass from here to Chicago and back if he knew."
"Well, he doesn't know, does he?" I retort sharply and get up, intending to pull the tarp back over the bike.
"Aw, c'mon, Karen," she wheedles. "I'll ride bitch for you. I miss this bike. I miss clinging to you while we tear across the open road at full throttle."
"I can't, Dace." It hurts to even say the words. The lump in my throat is a physical sensation.
"Then I'll drive. You be my bitch. It's been a while since we've played that game." There's still an edge of teasing in her voice, but the words burn like salt in an already festering wound.
"Damn it, Dace!" I yell, belatedly realizing Darya and the little quartet might hear me. "Knock it the fuck off! I can't take the bike out. Now drop it!"
Silence falls over the garage and I lean heavily on the bike, hands flat on the seat to brace myself. I can feel the vein throbbing in my temple, closing my eyes to keep my calm. Why does she have to do this? Why does she always have to stick her nose into things that are better left alone? Because she's Dace, I suppose, and she's always been like this. But this time is different…
"When was the last time you actually took this bike out and rode it, Karen? Has it been hidden away like this for the last four years?" Her voice is deliberately quiet and carefully modulated. It's something she learned as a cop, and Anastasia's honed it further to an even sharper razor edge.
"Dace, please don't do this." I can't seem to help the note of pleading in my voice, no matter how much I hate the weak and wheedling tone.
"Don't do what? Damn it, Karen, you taught me that being honest about who and what I am is important. I've looked up to you for as long as I've known you. Since I was a stupid kid, teetering on the edge of total destruction! And here you are hiding away a part of yourself, something that's always helped defined you. And for what? A stupid fear?"
My hands clench into fists as I turn to face her. "You know damned well what happened to Emma, Dace. Darya's terrified of motorcycles. I'm not going to let my wife live in fear that I won't come back from a ride."
"First off, that jackass was riding a fucking rice burner, not a real motorcycle," she replies with an expressive snort before going into lecture mode, ticking the points off on one hand. "Second, you could get hit the same way Emma was, but that doesn't stop you from driving that fancy-ass SUV you've got. And it's pretty damned sweet, I might add. All tricked out?" Confused by the change in her tactics, I stare at her. With a saucy and strangely sympathetic grin, she waggles the third finger on her hand. "Third… what was my third point? Oh yeah, third, you could go through that fucking stargate and bump into the goddamn bad guys and not come back." That familiar voice goes quiet and intense, her stare like a physical sensation, even as I can't meet her eye. "And yet you still do it."
"I don't have a choice there, Dace. I'm in the Air Force and if my commanding officer tells me to go through that 'gate, I fucking have to go through the 'gate. I don't have a choice. It's not as easy as you think it is. Darya understands that, she understands the risks of the job."
Dace nods thoughtfully and studies me for a long minute. "You've never backed down from a challenge in the past, Karen. You've always faced your fears, faced your battles, kicked ass until you made it right. So why back down now?"
"Because she's my wife, Dace, and I won't hurt her," I reply wearily, defeated by the weight of this battle, both with her and myself. "Look, I don't want to fight with you. This isn't something that can be easily resolved, so let's just drop it."
"So that's how it is then?" she asks in a tone that I haven't heard before. There's something biting and almost hurtful in her voice. But maybe that's just my own frayed nerves… "Because your wife is afraid of something, you've given up a part of yourself? Packed it up and shoved it under a tarp in the garage where it only sees the light of day when she's not around? Every time you pull it out, you probably have a bitch of a case of guilt, don't you? Don't you, Karen?"
"Dace," I growl warningly.
"You do. So you've given up a part of yourself, of what defines you as a person, so that your wife can continue to live in fear. Is that it? Christ, it's a good thing Anastasia can't see you right now. She'd be horrified to see all of the work and training she put into you, flushed down the drain like so much crap. Do you disrespect her so much as to do that? She took you in, trained you, treated you like a daughter, and has treated your wife and children as her own. Is this how you repay her?"
"Fuck you, Dace." Red anger is clouding my vision now. Is it her or myself I'm more angry at?
"No! Fuck you, Karen Taylor," she spits back at me, riling up my hissing snake of a temper again. "I understand that you love Darya. I understand that she has an irrational fear of motorcycles borne out of the tragedy of her first wife's death. But I don't understand how you can throw away such a large part of yourself and allow her to live in fear for the rest of her life. You forced me to face my fears. Me, Tessa, Steph, and how many others over the years? You've always been the one who said that hiding behind fear is cowardly, that it's so much better to face your fears and gain strength and courage from that. And yet, here you are, doing just the opposite. You're nothing but a fucking hypocrite, Karen Taylor."
"So I'm a hypocrite because I don't want to cause my wife undue stress and pain? Well, fuck you and the horse you rode in on, Candace."
"No, you're a hypocrite because you're causing pain by not confronting her fear." She takes a deep breath and almost whispers, "Karen, I don't want to fight with you, but you can't let Darya live her life in fear. And you can't give up a defining part of yourself just to pander to that fear of hers. But I can't make you change that, and I can't make her face her fear. That's something that the two of you have to do together. But if you're not going to make the effort, just how real, how honest is your relationship?"
I advance on her again, hand curled tightly into a fist. Just as I'm about ready to actually punch her in the mouth, I stop with a loud screech of frustration. "Fuck this! I don't need this shit, Dace. Not from you, not from anyone. This is my life and my family."
She visibly flinches away from me, even as the blue eyes flash gold like sunlight on rippling water, and her voice is a threatening growl. "You know what? I'm done. This is your shit to deal with, Karen, not mine. And if we continue this, one of us is going to say something we truly regret." She pauses then, rubbing at her bloodshot eyes, her posture visibly deflating. When she continues, her voice is soft again, thick with regret. "I'm not feeling all that great, and my internal defenses are fucked and this was a really stupid time to bring this up. I just… I lost you and everybody else once before because I was a stupid, stubborn bitch. I'm not gonna do that again, sis. I think maybe it's best if Catherine and I stay over with the Goldstons tonight. We can get a ride into the airport from one of them. I'll make sure we stop over before we leave to say goodbye to Dare and the kids."
Is this what this comes to? Helplessness, confusion and rage are bile in my throat and the painful pounding in my ears
"Karen? Dace? I heard shouting." Darya's standing at the door, baby monitor in one hand; her eyes land on the bike, then flicker between Dace and myself. "Is everything okay?"
"Just a little disagreement, Dare," I finally say past the lump in my throat as I roughly jerk to cover the bike up again. "I'm gonna go take a walk, okay?"
Before either of them can answer me, I take off, nearly running, out of the garage and down the street. Blindly, I walk, and the pounding of my feet are like a mantra winding through the storm of my thoughts. It's not just the damn bike, but parts of me that the thing has always represented. The courage it took to walk away from biologicals that didn't have a clue how to love me. The violent wrenching away from the pampered and stifling life of privilege to enter a life of terrifying chances that were exhilarating. I had never lived until I stole that bike and ran away to the desert that became the first real home I knew.
My steps have taken me to the little park a few blocks away. It's a place that Cassie found when the Goldstons moved in to the neighborhood. The kids have always loved coming here, to the peaceful shade and elaborate play ground. Strangely, it's empty tonight, and I'm drawn to the swingset where I've passed many an evening pushing Emily and the older twins.
+++++
"Kryn?" Emily's voice startles me out of my reverie, and I'm stunned to see that it's started to get dark.
"Hey, Monkey," I reply softly and I'm startled at how rough my voice is. Just out of my reach, Emily hesitates a moment, obviously sensitive to and confused by all the heightened emotions. But her hesitation lasts only a moment, and she steps in close so that I can ruffle her red curls lovingly. "How'd you get here?"
"Unca Dace said you might need me," is the careful reply. "She said you were sad."
A glance around finds Dace standing against a tree about twenty yards away, arms crossed over her chest. She meets my gaze for a few second, and even in this growing darkness, I can read the roil of emotions in her eyes before she turns and walks away, not looking back. Swallowing thickly, I turn back to Emily. "Dace is right, Emily, I am kind of sad."
"Can I help make you feel better? Unca Dace said I could."
What more can I do but shrug helplessly? "Just the fact that your Unca Dace brought you here is helping me feel better, Monkey," I tell her truthfully, pulling her into my lap where I still sit uncomfortably in the rubber seat of the swing. "Do you mind if we sit here for a little while, just you and me?" She nods and curls against my chest, just like she has for the past four years. It's a startling reminder of the day we met, as she celebrated her second year of life and my freedom from the infirmary with that broken arm. "Thank you, baby," I murmur thickly, pressing my cheek against her hair and feeling the tears that have been threatening all evening grow hotter and closer to the breaking point.
"Kryn, why are you sad? And Unca Dace, too?"
"Dace and I had an argument," is all I can manage at first. "We were mean and said some things that we shouldn't have."
"Can't you say you're sorry? I always hafta say I'm sorry when I fight with Cubby or Fawn."
I smile ruefully at her logic. "Sometimes it's not that easy when you're a grown up, Em'ly mine."
"Oh." She grows quiet and we stare off into the setting sun for a moment or two. "Kryn?" she finally asks in a tiny voice. "Is Unca Dace gonna go away forever tomorrow?"
"No!" I whisper back harshly, blinking against the damn tears. "She wouldn't do that to you, baby. Even if she and I don't say we're sorry, I'll make sure you can always see your Unca Dace, okay? That won't change, no matter what."
I can't say whether Dace and I will ever get over this bullshit, but I won't let my family suffer for it. Maybe, just maybe, it's time to talk to Darya. We've both suffered enough.
