Katherine Hanna - Breakdown

“Did I know him?”

Brian thought Ian meant Colin, then realized he meant Chris.

“No, you were just a baby when he moved away. When we get home, I’ll show you some pictures, okay?”

“I’ve seen the pictures,” Ian reminded him. “And Uncle Jon has some in his room, too. Y’know, if he wants to get to Hurleigh, he’ll have to take our bus.”

“You’re right,” Brian said, his mouth gone dry, as they turned the corner into the station. Brian scanned the place.

Most everyone in the bus station lingered near the stalls. Three people had already queued for their bus. Brian caught sight of a man sitting on a low brick wall in the afternoon sun. He held a bulky brown jacket in his lap and kept his head down. At this distance, there wasn’t much to distinguish him from any other stranger in the street. But Brian stood rooted, staring with his mouth open. He put a hand out in front of Ian.

“Stay here,” he said. He walked forward, breathing as if he’d run the last two blocks. “Chris?”

The man on the wall looked up, saw him instantly. Brian stopped, choked on guilt. Not dead…

Chris eased himself off the bricks and came forward a few steps. He wore his brown hair long, pulled back into a ponytail. A few pieces had come loose and hung down around his face. He hadn’t shaved, and his clothes looked like they needed a wash. His eyes had a haunted, uncertain look to them. Brian knew that look; he’d seen it in his wife’s eyes occasionally as she had gazed at their children during the Bad Winter, when so many were dying.

Chris glanced down. When he brought his eyes back up, the haunted look was gone, and he seemed suddenly unburdened. His mouth formed a silent word: Brian. He took a deep breath. His voice came out relieved.

“You look good.”

“Chris—” Brian gasped. He started to move forward, but Chris took a quick step back. Brian’s stomach balled up. He tried to keep his voice steady. “Have you had a blood test?”

“Of course. Negative.”

Relief flooded through Brian. “Then you’re good,” he said, but he stayed where he was.

“Yes, I suppose.” Clutching the jacket, Chris stared at Brian.

“It’s good to see you,” Brian said, thinking it was a phrase more appropriate for an acquaintance at a party, not someone you thought had been dead for six years. But no other phrase came to mind.

“It’s good to see you,” Chris returned. It sounded automatic. His next words were barely audible. “I didn’t think I’d find you.”

“How did you get here?” Brian asked.

Chris was looking past Brian at Ian. “Is it safe to bring him here?”

“He has to know. He has to learn how to go on, doesn’t he?” Brian had been through this with Fiona, over and over.

Chris nodded. “Well, you haven’t seen what I’ve seen, but maybe it’s different here.”

Brian’s answer came out harsher than he expected. “How do you know what I’ve seen?”

“You look like you’ve got it easy.”

“Better than most,” Brian agreed. “But nothing is easy anymore.”

Chris drew himself up, his face hardening. “Yeah, I know.”

It occurred to Brian all at once that Chris shouldn’t be alone. He should have a wife and child with him, but he didn’t. Guilt hit him again.

Brian turned to Ian. “Go queue for the bus, old boy.”

Ian shuffled off, looking back several times.

Brian swallowed hard. This wasn’t going well. Chris’s sudden appearance had unbalanced him. The whole thing had an unreal, dreamlike quality to it. He hadn’t really believed Flynn, even though he’d gone through the motions of checking at the Government Center. Until Ian had suggested it, he never thought Chris might be waiting at the bus station.

“Chris, what happened? We thought you were dead.”

“No, not dead. Almost, a few times.”

“How did you get here?” Brian prompted when Chris said nothing else.

“I walked, mostly.”

Brian did not understand. “Walked? I thought you were in New York.”

“No, from—” Chris said, then stopped. He seemed to be thinking hard. “It’s a long story.” He did not go on.

At a loss, Brian did not know what to say, what to do. It was starting to sink in: Chris was alive, standing here in front of him, and he had done nothing to show he was the least bit happy about it. He felt he should make some gesture, but at the same time, it was as if Chris didn’t particularly care. Or maybe Chris was taking cues from him, Brian thought. Had he come across as indifferent? Was it too late to change the tone of the conversation?

“Look,” Chris said suddenly, making Brian flinch. “Except for Flynn, I’ve not found anyone. He told me about my mother. Is Jon dead, too?”

“No,” Brian said, glad to have some good news for him. “Jon’s all right. He’s well. He’s with us out in Hurleigh.”

Chris took a deep, ragged breath and let it out as he closed his eyes. He looked like he might fall down. His shoulders sagged. He put a hand up to rub his face, then looked at Brian again.

“What does he know about Kevin?”

Kevin, the middle of the three Price brothers, had been living in London with his girlfriend and her daughter. Brian shook his head. “We’ve never heard. He rang Jon, back at the start, and said they were coming. But they never did.”

“He’s dead. They’re all three dead.” Chris’s face went hard again.

“Can you be sure?”

“I’ve been there, to London, to his flat. The door was marked.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” It all came back to Brian, the enormity of it, symbolized by rows of stone markers in the parks where children used to play. At times it still threatened to overwhelm him, and he had to focus on those who depended on him, not on those who were gone. Now a familiar grief trickled past the dam he had built to hold it, grief he usually felt only late at night in the dark, or as he trimmed the weeds around three small graves in the Hurleigh churchyard. He took a few deep breaths and shored up his dam, and the spillage drained away.

“But Jon’s with you?” Chris asked. He looked at Brian as if he hardly dared to believe it.

“Yes, he’s fine.”

“Sandy?”

Brian hesitated; he didn’t know the name. “Um, I don’t—”

“Jon’s girlfriend.”

“He never mentioned a girlfriend,” Brian said. Chris took it in with a curious expression, then a resigned shake of his head.

“Fiona?”

“She’s fine, and Preston. Simon is with us, and Alan, and Laura—”

“ Laura? ”

Chris and Laura had been engaged and lived together for three years when the band was at its most popular. They’d called it quits without getting married.

Brian nodded. “I found her here in Bath, took her out to Hurleigh.”

As close as they’d been once, Brian had hardly recognized her. She had lost her husband, her sister, and her job. She had burst into tears when Brian asked if she needed help.

The haunted look passed across Chris’s face again. “All this time,” he said, “you were all here, safe. And I—” He stopped and squeezed his eyes shut.

Brian didn’t know what to say. Chris shook himself and got his composure back. Brian glanced over to where Ian stood. “Look, the bus will be along soon. Do you have any money?”

“Yeah, I’ve got money.”

“Right, then. If we want a seat, we should queue.”

Chris nodded but didn’t move. “Is it okay?” he whispered, not looking at Brian.

“Of course,” Brian said. “Yes, of course! God, why wouldn’t it be? Chris, I—” Brian had to stop, swallow. “We’ve missed you. I always hoped you were okay.” But as he said it, he knew it wasn’t completely true. Maybe since the crash, since he’d had to reevaluate his life, but before that, for years, he had nursed a festering resentment, and New York was not far enough away to suit him. He had argued with Fiona about Chris’s few visits with Ian and put a stop to them. When the crash came, he had felt a sort of remorse, a sense that there was a small, ugly part of his past that could never be changed, never put right. He had mentally put Chris in the same sad category as so many others, whether they were in the Hurleigh churchyard or somewhere unknown and far away, with nothing to be done about it. He took a breath, forced a smile. “Jon’s going to be over the moon.”