Katherine Hanna - Breakdown

Chris nodded, pulled another shirt from his bag. “It all happened so fast, within days. If my flight had been just one day later, I might never have gone to the airport. Everything would have been different.”

“What if I’d gone to New York for Christmas?” Jon said. “You’d invited me, do you remember? I’ve always wondered what would have happened. Maybe Kevin would have come out to take care of Mum.”

Chris balled up the T-shirt in his hands. “‘What if…?’” he whispered. “That’s a phrase I’ve beaten myself up with the past six years, Jon. What if I hadn’t tried to come here after Christmas, hadn’t ever gone to the airport? What if I hadn’t let Sophie go to the airport to see me off? Maybe she wouldn’t have caught it. What if they hadn’t canceled my flight, and I made it here? Would I have spent the past six years trying to get back there, going the opposite direction?” He sighed, shook his head again. “It’s a bottomless black pit, that phrase, those two little words. And what if I’d got here and found out you were all dead?”

Jon’s stomach felt hollow. “Is that what kept you away? Since London?”

Chris did not look back at Jon, but he nodded. “I was afraid I wouldn’t find anyone. I didn’t know if I could stand that.” He sat down hard on the bed, reached into his duffel to pull out a plastic bottle a quarter full of water, and drank it down.

“What made you come, finally?”

“I decided that I could stand it. I had to know.”

“Well, you’re home now, finally,” Jon said. Chris’s head jerked up at him. Jon could hear him pull in his breath and saw a flash of uncertainty in Chris’s expression. Then Chris stood up as if to cover it, tossed the bottle onto the bed.

“I’d better have that shower,” he said, and reached for the clothes Jon was holding.

Jon got him a towel from the cupboard in the hall, showed him the soap and shampoo, how to work the shower to get the optimum temperature, and then left him to it. He went into the empty room next to his, the room that was supposed to have been Colin and Emily’s room. Over the years it had been used for storage. A few boxes were piled on the bed and stacked on the floor, but it was a good-sized room, bigger than his own, and even after Jon had pushed all the boxes against one wall, there was plenty of space. He found bedding in the closet and set about making the place comfortable for Chris.

Brian stuck his head in the door. “Do you need anything? Fiona wanted me to ask.”

“No, thanks. It’s okay, isn’t it, to put him in here?”

“Of course,” Brian said. “I can clear out those boxes, if you’d like.”

“No, don’t worry about it,” Jon said. “They’re not in the way.”

“Right, then,” Brian nodded, and glanced toward the loo. “Supper soon, Fiona says.”

“We’ll be down as soon as he’s ready,” Jon said, and Brian went back downstairs.

The bathroom door opened soon after. A shave and clean clothes made a world of difference in Chris’s appearance. Jon wondered why he wore his hair so long; he never had before, always kept it short and neat, but he didn’t say anything about it. Jon was back in his own room, gathering up Chris’s dirty clothes into a laundry basket. He held it out and Chris dumped the stuff he’d been wearing into it.

“I’ve got you set up in the next room,” Jon said. He picked up the blanket roll and motioned for Chris to follow.

“This is nice, thanks,” Chris said, coming in carrying his duffel, coat, and shoes. “The whole place is nice,” he went on. “How long has he had it?”

“He bought it about a year before the crash,” Jon said. “Took most of the year to get it ready, too. It was rather a wreck, I hear. Needed lots of remodeling and upgrades.”

Chris shook his head ruefully and tossed his stuff onto the bed. “Brian’s private little kingdom,” he said softly.

“What?” Jon said, taken aback. “It’s not like that at all. Brian hadn’t much to do with it. It was all Simon’s idea. He used up all his own money first, then convinced Brian to give him more. He saw it coming long before the rest of us. If it weren’t for Simon, we wouldn’t be here.”

“Huh. Good old Simon. He always was a few steps ahead of the rest of us.” Chris sat down on the bed to put on his socks.

“Supper’s about on. We can go down as soon as you’re ready,” Jon said.

Chris nodded, reached for his shoes, pulled one on, and began to lace it slowly. Jon watched him, saw how stiffly he held himself, saw him fumble with the laces.

“What’s wrong?” Jon asked.

Chris shook his head. “Nothing,” he grunted. But he sat for a moment after he’d finished the first shoe, then reached for the second.

“Smells good, doesn’t it? I’m starved,” Jon tried.

“It does,” Chris agreed, then glanced up at Jon. “I’m not very hungry, I guess,” he said, his face blank.

It struck Jon then, and he could have kicked himself. “You look tired.”

“I haven’t slept well the past few days. Wondering, y’know? I’m guess I’m—I don’t know—just overwhelmed.” He dropped his head down, rubbed at his eyes.

“You don’t want to go down, do you?”

Chris shifted on the bed. “I don’t want to be rude.”

“It’s all right; they’ll understand. I’ll tell them. You can just rest.” Chris looked up at him, his eyes pleading. “It’s all right,” Jon repeated.

“Thanks,” Chris whispered.

“Sure,” Jon said. “Get some rest.”

At supper, mindful of the small ears at one end of the table, they spoke of what a good, happy thing had happened. Jon grilled Brian about everything Chris had told him on the bus ride. Brian made it clear that Chris hadn’t said much, but related the main points. It seemed that Brian was being careful to say only neutral things about Chris, and Jon thought Fiona might get a different version of the story later that night. Jon wondered how much of Chris’s reluctance to come down to supper was because of Brian. He couldn’t believe that the two of them would let something that had happened so long ago cause problems now. He wanted to say something, get it out in the open, but he couldn’t do that with Ian and Preston at the table.

When they finished eating, Brian took the boys off to read in the sitting room, and the adults rehashed and speculated in low voices until Jon felt ill. He kept quiet until finally they noticed his glowering face and ended their discussion. He helped clear the table and put together a plate of food for Chris. Laura laid a hand on Jon’s arm as he was about to leave the kitchen.

“Tell Chris we’d love to see him,” she said, “but if he just wants to sleep ’til tomorrow, we understand.”

Jon nodded and went upstairs. He knocked softly and opened the door. Chris jerked awake and sat up with a gasp.

“Sorry,” Jon said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Wow. I was dreaming.” Chris swung his feet over the side of the bed.

Jon used his elbow to flick on the light switch. “I’ve brought you some supper. I thought you might be hungry now.”

“Brilliant,” Chris said, squinting a little at the light. He balanced the plate on his knees. “I guess I am, a bit.” He took a few bites.

“Everyone said to tell you they understand if you just want to sleep until tomorrow. But of course they’d love to see you, if you’re up to it.”

Chris nodded noncommittally as he chewed. “So, how many are there?”

Jon leaned against the doorframe and counted them out on his fingers. “Brian, Fiona and the boys, Simon, me, and Laura. And then Alan and his wife, Vivian, are in the gatehouse. Nine. You make ten. Oh, and David is here quite a bit. He’s Laura’s fellow—” He broke off at the sudden thought that maybe Chris would try to rekindle things with Laura.