was no question about what would happen afterwards. Ward and Faye had discussed it the night before. Lionel was coming home to stay with them for a while, and after the funeral he and Ward took a walk. Greg had escaped almost the moment they got back to the house. John had been his friend for most of his life, but he didn't seem to feel the pain so much now.
“What can I say?” He shrugged to Val after the funeral. “The guy was a fucking fag.” But he had also been his friend, and Valerie remembered the crush she had had on him, to no avail. They all knew why now.
Faye kept a discreet eye on Anne, she had been through a great deal in the past few months, but she seemed to be all right now … unlike Lionel, who walked along woodenly at his father's side unable to think of anything but his fight through the flames and his inability to get to John. He had thought of it again and again and again in the past three days since John had died. He would never allow himself to forget … never … it was all his fault … he had forgotten to turn the Christmas-tree lights off when they went to bed … they had drunk too much wine … and those damn little fucking blinking lights … why hadn't he remembered them … it was all his fault … he might as well have killed him with his bare hands.
He said as much to his father now. He had nothing in common with Ward anymore, but he had to talk to someone. He wondered if John's parents blamed him.
“They should, you know.” He looked at his father with broken eyes and Ward felt his heart melt toward the boy he had tried so hard to hate for the past year. And now one of them was dead, and it had to end. Faye was right. They were lucky it hadn't been Li. These moments with him now were like a gift.
“We blamed you both for a lot of things in the past year. And we were wrong.” Ward sighed and looked out at the trees as they walked along. It was easier than looking his son in the eye, something he hadn't done in almost exactly a year, even after Li and John had rescued Anne. “I didn't understand what made you the way you are. I thought it was my fault, so I took it out on you … and I was wrong….” He looked at Lionel, and saw tears coursing slowly down his cheeks, tears mirrored by his own. “I was wrong to blame myself. Just as you're wrong to blame yourself now. You couldn't have done anything, Li….” They stopped walking and he took the boy's hands in his own. “I know how hard you must have tried,” his voice broke, “I know how much you loved John.” He didn't want to know but he did. And now he pulled Lionel close to him, their cheeks touching, their hearts beating against each other's chests, their tears falling on each other's shoulders as they cried and Lionel looked at him, seeming like a little boy again.
“I tried, Daddy … I did … and I couldn't get him out fast enough….” Great sobs broke from him, and Ward held him tight, as though to keep him safe from harm.
“I know you did, son … I know….” There was no telling him it was all right. For John, it would never be all right again. And Lionel felt he would never recover from it. It was a loss that none of them would ever forget, a lesson dearly learned.
And when they went back to the house, the others were waiting for them. It was a quiet dinner that night, and afterwards, they all went to their own rooms. Almost everything Lionel owned had been destroyed in the fire, except a few things he had forgotten at his parents' house, some jewelry that had been darkened by the smoke, but not lost, and his car, which was parked outside now. He was sleeping in his old room. Quietly Faye went about shopping for him in the next few days, and bought a few things she knew he'd need, and he was touched. Ward lent him some things, and the two men spent more time together than they had in a long time.
Greg went back to school,