The silence in the room was deafening. Clare had never before been so impatient. For some reason foreign to her soul, she missed home. Really missed it! She frantically tossed and turned on the mattress. Her mind scurried on with a nightmare.

She saw herself and her dad bathing in the sun on their balcony. She calmly walked across to the edge and stared down at the traffic. The next thing she knew, she was about to fall, her body dangling in the free air above the road.

"Daddy, help me!" she screamed, but to her surprise, her father just stood there, watching her plummet.

Sweaty and trembling, Clare woke up in a bright sunny room. There was a familiar smell lingering in the air but her mind was dizzy from the nightmare. Father wouldn't do that, he wouldn't, she thought to herself; Henry said he cared.

There came a knock on the door, and Nurse Joyce entered the room accompanied by another nurse pulling a huge trolley through the doors. "You are getting discharged today. You must feel relieved to finally be going home?" Joyce asked with a warm smile.

Clare nodded. "How about Jack?" she asked. "When is he being discharged?"

"I think they want him to stay a day more, considering".

Clare nodded, still reeling from her nightmare. "I'll go see him today. Maybe talk, if he wants".

"That would be nice, you can help him keep his mind off of the funeral", Joyce said pulling the trolley. "Jean, go take your break before your shift finishes love". Jean nodded, and left the room quietly.

Joyce turned back to Clare. "What would you like for breakfast? I have pasta, sandwiches, and today's special, egg and bacon".

Clare asked for pasta.

Joyce stared at her a moment. "You look down".

Clare hesitated. "I haven't been to a funeral since Mum's. I still can't believe he's gone".

"It's always hard love. Especially the first few days and months, then the pain slowly fades. You're left with only their memory". Joyce gave a slight squeeze on Clare's shoulder. "Your uncle should be here in couple of hours".

After Joyce left, Clare slid out of her bed and put on her robe. She picked up her tray on which sat a bowl of pasta, a bowl of fruit salad, a small carton of juice, and an empty cup with a tea bag and a small milk tub. With all these, she made her way to Jack's room. Today, she was going to dine with delightful company rather that sulking in the room alone. Her plans after breakfast, were to take a quick hot shower, put on the clothes Henry had brought, and finally go see Brandon in the ICU ward. She would have to make Henry wait until she was ready to leave.

Jack was already eating his egg and bacon when Clare knocked on his door. She entered, suddenly regretting having passed on egg and bacon. The aroma fizzling the room was mouth watering.

Jack nearly choked on his food. "Didn't know you were coming", his voice a touch lighter. Seeing the tray in her hands he swallowed the food in his mouth. "Sorry, I've already started. Was starving", he grinned from ear to ear.

She approached his bed and put down the tray besides his. "I'm being discharged today".

"You must be glad to be getting out of here!" He looked at his plate a moment, "Hope you come visit me".

"Of course I will. Just give me your address and I'll come every day, if I can", she said smiling. She sat opposite him on the bed, snuggling under the cover, took out the cutlery from its plastic wrapping and dug into her pasta. "I've been told you might be getting out of here tomorrow. Perhaps I could pick you up, and we can go somewhere and talk". She watched Jack shuffle egg around the plate.

He spoke without looking up. "I'll be going to the funeral home with my parents for the next few days". He sniffed, his fingers playing with the plastic fork between them. "Mum and dad came to visit me yesterday, and I could hardly face them". He stabbed at the scrambled egg violently. "I felt so terrible", he said, his eyes moistening. "I couldn't apologize for failing to bring back their Matt".

"You mean Matt's parents came to see you?" Clare asked, confused.

Jack stared at her baffled. "No! I mean, Matt is their biological son. I'm adopted". He watched Clare's confused face. "You didn't know?"

"I thought you two were really good friends," she said, letting go of her food. "You both never mentioned being brothers".

"Slip of the mind, I guess", Jack replied astonished.

Clare forced a smile, beginning to pity Jack more so for his loss.

He scratched his head uncomfortably. "You are, coming to his funeral. Aren't you?"

"Yeah, of course" she replied, noticing the tremble in his voice.

Jack took the cup of water from the bedside table and drank it thirstily. "It's on the twenty seventh, in the afternoon at the Hargrove Funeral Home". He began to fidget; he hadn't talked to anyone else about the funeral except his parents. The more he talked about it, the more he couldn't believe Matt was gone.

Clare glared at her cold pasta. A vivid image of Matt blocked her vision. She blinked frantically, trying to dry up her eyes. "Are you delivering the eulogy?" she managed to look at him. His jaws clenched and unclenched as he nodded, trying hard to keep his composure.

He grabbed a tissue off the bedside table and blew his nose into it. "Something he said when we were young, I can't seem to get it out of my head". Jack pushed away the tray and blankly stared at the white cotton sheets. "He had appendicitis when he was nine and thought he was going to die". Jack swallowed and Clare nervously stirred her pasta. "Before they took him into surgery he told me ..." Jack sneered at the thought, "...he told me to tell our parents that he didn't want a black funeral if he died".

Clare stared, dumbfounded.

"He thought black made the whole thing even worse". He looked at Clare, who had begun to cry. "You know what he wanted instead?" he asked, slightly grinning at the memory.

Clare shook her head.

"He wanted blue" Jack grabbed a tissue out of the box and handed it over to Clare. "It's his favourite colour...was..."

"It's a nice colour, Jack" Clare said with a tortured smile.

Jack nodded, gazing at the white sheets. "Do you have anything blue to wear?" Clare nodded. "I don't know how to tell mum and dad, what Matt wanted". Jack tried hard not to burst into tears. "I don't know how to tell people to wear something blue".

"Would you like me to tell them?" Clare asked, gently squeezing his hand.

He stared at her, uncertain, yet relieved. "Would you?"

Clare nodded again.

"Will you come with me tomorrow?" he asked holding her hand tighter. "I'll introduce you to my folks. They'll like you, like Matt said".

Clare smiled awkwardly. "Would you like me to tell them then?"

"No," he shook his head, terrified at the thought. "Before you leave".

Under the warm shower, Clare stood, lost in thoughts. The water sprinkled down like rain onto her cold skin, slithering off like silk. She let it run. She couldn't be bothered. She stood there, thinking about Matt's funeral. She hadn't attended a funeral except her mother's, fourteen years ago. She could hardly remember it except that the casket had remained closed. Clare's mum had died in a horrible pile up.

Clare had never understood why she hadn't been allowed to see her mum one last time. Though, as she stood there, contemplating another funeral, she had a darting realization that her father had spared her the horror of seeing her mother, an image that would have been beyond recognition. He had cared to make sure Clare would never remember her mother in such a state.

Clare felt like she was six years old again. Everything grew tall and big around her. The shower rose higher. The water droplets became bigger and hit her hard. Her hair dripped heavily down her back. She shivered even in the warmth of the water. Steam rose high above her, and the water, suddenly icy, pounded her shoulders.

She grabbed the hot water knob and turned it. Her white skin turned pink as the heat of the water burned it, but she still felt cold, like she was standing in a cooler. She stood, immobile, unaware how hot the shower had become. For that moment, she had escaped her body, out onto the unknown world of memories. Her mind was blank, and, she stared vacantly at the tiles. Her breath gasped out under the burning hot water, until she collapsed to the floor.

A nurse was calling out her name, struggling to pull Clare to her feet. "Miss Peterson, are you okay?" The water had been turned off, and a towel had been wrapped around her tender body. "Dear lord. Look at your skin".

Clare watched the nurse's horrified face, and finally looked down at herself and noticed her bright angry skin.

"Are you okay?" the nurse asked again.

Clare nodded and stood up. The pain of sore skin spread down her body. "I'm fine" she answered to the hovering nurse. "The water suddenly came out hot. I'll be fine". She felt her tired legs give a tremble. "I should get back to my room. My uncle will be here soon".

Clare flinched at the touch of her clothes against her body. Each movement caused her discomfort as she made an attempt to pack her belongings in the bag Henry had brought. It was already past ten o'clock when she was finally ready to go say goodbye to the boys. However, Clare lingered on in her room. The sooner she went to see them, the sooner it meant she would be leaving. Leaving Brandon.

The day had only just begun and she wasn't ready to leave. What if something happened and she had no way of finding out. She wanted to wait a while to visit him, and stared out the window at the tree tops thrashing around in the wind. She impatiently stared at the empty visitor parking lot. Henry would be pulling up in a car any moment.

Clare's thoughts reeled back to Brandon as a bright red car entered the parking lot. She turned to the clock on the wall. Quarter past ten. She rubbed her hazy eyes and made her way across the room. Occasionally flinching as the clothes rubbed against her skin. She picked up her bag and left it beside the door. Henry would be arriving soon. It was time she go see Brandon.

Clare hovered over Brandon, steadily staring at his face. It was tough to see him hooked up to ventilators and IV drip. She lifted his hand carefully and traced it as if to remember the touch. "Today is Christmas Eve you know", she spoke dryly, droplets of tears glistening in her eyes. There were too many things going on.

First was Matt's death, then his funeral, along with Brandon's coma. It was excruciating to stand and watch him be so still. In a trance, she repeated herself, slowly stroking his hand. "It's Christmas Eve. There are people coming to visit their loved ones with flowers and gifts for tomorrow". She focused again on his face, her hands reached out to tidy up his ruffled hair. "There's even a fake Christmas tree in the foyer outside, with boxes beneath it...Empty of course".

Suddenly, she felt his finger twitch. She imagined he'd open his eyes. She stared on for a while, but nothing. "I was flicking through TV last night, and guess what? Old habits die hard". She chuckled nervously. "I ended up watching the shopping channel and ordered some gifts for you guys. Guess memorizing dad's credit card number came in handy finally".

She looked at him again. "I got something for you, and Jack, and Henry. Henry's our butler, but he's more a father to me. He's a nice man, you'll love him". She flicked her hair back, annoyed that it was intruding. "He's coming to pick me up soon".

"I wish you would wake up," she whispered after a long while. "There is so much we need to talk about. A Christmas dinner together, perhaps?" She awkwardly glanced around the room, wondering if any of this was falling on his ears. She couldn't stop pretending that he was only sleeping. "I kind of burned myself today in the shower", she looked up again hoping to catch him opening his eyes. "I'm kind of tempted to strip down to nothing right now...but you wouldn't care, would you?" she half smiled to herself in agony.

She sheepishly scratched her head; a habit picked up from him. "We were on the news last night. They have asked your family to come forward. I'm sorry I wasn't able to help the police much...Matt's funeral is three days from now. It would be good if you could come". She wiped away her tears. "Jack needs us", her voice barely escaped. I need you, she thought. "They were brothers. I only just found out today." she straightened up, ready to leave. " Anyway, this is not the time and the place".

"Your uncle is here honey" Joyce poked her head through the doorway.

Clare nodded and kissed him softly. "Get better soon!" She picked up his hand again and took out a pen from her pocket. "Call me". She scribbled her number on his palm, "I'll come scrambling. Promise".

Before leaving the hospital entirely, Clare popped back into Jack's room to say goodbye. Walking past the nurses' station with Henry, she stopped a moment to say bye to Joyce, but had to wait a while until Joyce finished helping out a young woman.

The woman spoke in a country accent, "I'm here to see Brandon McCoy".

"What?" Joyce asked. Astonished at how fast the news bulletin had worked. She noticed Clare and gave her a nod.

"Brandon McCoy" the red head repeated. "This is the St. Vincent Hospital, isn't it?" she asked. Only after seeing the nurse nod, she continued. "It was on the news".

"Yes, of course. You've come to the right place" Joyce smiled awkwardly, and glanced over at Clare.

Clare stared at the red head, wondering how she was related to Brandon.

"We were in a dilemma because we didn't know how to contact his family," Joyce was saying. "You are?"

"How rude of me. Name is Maggie Samuels" the woman said, extending a hand. "I'm a friend of Brandon's. We go a long way back."

Joyce shook the woman's hands, slightly surprised. Clare was surprised too, and continued to stare. An instant pit of jealousy boiled inside her. It was decided she wasn't going to like Maggie very much, if at all.

"So, I'm guessing his family is aware of Brandon's situation though?" Joyce asked inquisitively.

Maggie cleared her throat. "Yes, but unfortunately his mother isn't able to travel much". Maggie suddenly turned and eyed Clare hovering. She clumsily smiled.

"She's not very well," Maggie said turning back to Joyce, and leaned in on the counter. "Will I be able to see him?" she asked, still aware of Clare's presence. "Can I help you, doll?" she asked, suddenly swivelling to face Clare.

Clare shook her head. "Sorry"

Maggie eyed Clare from head to toe. "Have we met before?" she asked curiously.

Clare shook her head again. "No".

Maggie's eyes grew wide. "Wait a minute! You were on TV. The girl found with Brandon and that other guy". Her smile widened and she extended her freckled hand towards Clare. "Nice to meet you..."

"Clare" Clare said, extending her own ghostly white hand.

"I'm Maggie" the stranger shook Clare's hand. "Brandon's friend" She smiled from brim to brim. "Thank you for saving him. They said you were the one who found help."

"I did what I had to" Clare said modestly and hesitated. "I'm sorry I must leave, but it was nice to meet you, Maggie".

"Nice meeting you too, Clare".

Clare smiled and turned to Joyce. "I'm off now."

"Finally" Joyce sighed sarcastically.

Clare chuckled. "Thank you for everything, Joyce"

"Ah" Joyce waved a hand in the air, "Just take care of yourself".

Leaving the hospital grounds, Clare couldn't stop thinking about Maggie. She sat quietly in the passenger seat, staring out the window as buildings passed them at a snail's pace.

Henry turned to her, bringing the car to a stop at a traffic light. "Can you believe it's Christmas already?" he asked. It was colourful outside, the city streets heavily decorated.

Clare nodded.

He looked at her, concerned. "Since we are already here, how about some shopping?"

"No, Henry. I just want to go home" she answered pressing her lips. She gazed out the windscreen, at the wipers swishing back and forth across the glass, at the snow being hurled away. "Sounds funny, doesn't it?" she said, finally turning to face him, "Coming from me?"

"No, not at all", he answered warmly. "I'm glad to know you do occasionally miss home after all", and smiled. "We missed you too!"

She watched pedestrians cross the street once the light flicked on. "You know what, Henry? I feel like I've travelled through time". She laughed at herself. "I mean, being stranded out there for so long, it felt like we were the only ones out there". She raised her hand and wiped away the condensation from the window. "I was moving, while the whole world was at a standstill, and now, out here in the middle of a city hustle. It feels...surreal".

"How are you feeling now?" he asked, wondering what was going on in that little head of hers.

"I don't know," she replied meeting his gaze as the last of the pedestrians got onto the sidewalks. "I'm not sure of anything anymore. I don't remember the person I was two weeks ago." She shook her head and sighed. "I don't see her anymore".

Clare focused her eyes on Henry as he smoothly took a left turn and headed out the city. "It feels like everything I used to value was fickle. Or what I used to say or do. I'm uncertain" she said emotionally. "...like I've wasted my entire life up to now doing trivial things...caring about things that don't really matter."

"It sounds odd, but, the time I spent with those boys felt like the only time I've been fully myself. Entirely myself! Something I wasn't aware of." She turned on the seat briskly. "Tell me, Henry, that I haven't led a pretentious life?" she asked, tears clouding her vision.

Henry took one of his hands off the steering wheel and held her trembling hand. "No, darling, don't ever think that. You were happy. You laughed, you shared. It was a different phase of life". He glanced her way. "You're just growing as a person. Don't ever think you've wasted your life" he said adamantly. "Everybody leads a different life. You can't expect them all to have similar experiences."

Clare shifted to face the front. A tense laughter escaped her. "Growing up? In some way, I guess."

"You know what this means?" Henry asked cheekily.

"What?"

"That you are finally coming into yourself. That's all, love", he said smiling. Clare simply sat back, watching the road ahead.

They drove into the underground parking of their building, in a perfectly manicured street. Nerves finally gripped Henry and his grip on the leather steering wheel tightened. He brought the car to a stop inside their huge garage, and sighed. "Home at last!" He slid himself out of the vehicle and opened the boot of the car to get Clare's bag.

In the elevator, Clare could sense Henry's agitation. "Are you all right?" she asked, watching him fiddle with his keys.

"I'm fine" he answered looking startled. He was wondering how Clare would react to the inevitable meeting he had set up.

The elevator jerked to a stop and Henry held the lift open for Clare. He smiled nervously at her, as the elevator approached their floor. His cold hands were beginning to feel clammy. He tightened his grip on the bag as the door slid open, and Clare stepped into the small foyer. Henry stepped up to the door and pressed the bell. The chime rang out faintly.

Clare chuckled. "Henry! Have you gone mad? You and I are both outside..." But Henry continued to wait for the door to open from the inside. Her face suddenly drew a blank. "You have a surprise for me?"

Something like that, thought Henry, but remained quite. "A surprise...Yes, certainly" he answered, edgily.

"A surprise?" she pondered the idea.

He contemplated telling her she was about to meet a total stranger, but decided against it as the huge door swung open and there stood, Daniel Peterson, with baby Jimmy in his arms. Daniel's deep-sea blue eyes glazed over as he stared at Clare in disbelief.

Clare smiled innocently. "Daddy?" she gave him a kiss and turned to Henry. "You sly man! It's a beautiful surprise, Henry. Thank you". She said, giving him a kiss that was well deserved.

Henry forced himself to greet Daniel. "Morning Sir!" He hadn't planned on Daniel Peterson being home when Clare arrived. He had planned Clare's meeting with her step mother to seem as accidental an event as possible. Unfortunately, it was Daniel himself shadowing the very doorway Henry had presumed Margaret Peterson would be standing.

"You're not working today?" he asked nervously as Daniel continued to stare at them.

Daniel glanced back and forth between his daughter and Henry, uncertain. "I was planning to go late" he finally said, managing to remove himself from the shock long enough to answer the question. He felt flabbergasted. He had planned this carefully. His two lives would not mix till he felt ready. He didn't feel ready yet. This was the first Christmas with his new wife, and was meant to be just that, with his new wife. Clare had not been in the picture. Not till he could gather enough courage to face her. But there Clare was, waiting to enter the house. Daniel knew he had a few rough hours ahead, and a lot of explaining. "Come, come in", he stuttered nervously.

Caught by surprise with the stutter, Clare eyed her dad a while, finally registering the baby he was holding. Perhaps we have visitors, she thought. "You never stuttered before."

Daniel chuckled nervously. "I just hadn't expected you to be back so soon, that's all." Daniel kissed Clare on the head and stepped back, allowing the two to enter.

In the middle of the hallway, Clare turned to face her father. "Sorry to disappoint you if I just didn't find hospitals homely!" Bitterness snuck in her tone. She stared at him closely. His French beard with hints of gray slicked through it, though his eyes still looked young and fresh. Her eyes flicked to the little blonde baby perched on her father's hips. She stepped closer, tossing the baby's soft curls from his blue eyes. The shade was similar to Daniel's. "Who's this little man?"

"That's Master Jimmy" Henry filled in.

She met her father's eyes. "Who's baby is he?"

Daniel could feel the blood rush to his face. He glanced over to Henry, seeking help. As much as Henry had prepared himself for the exact situation, he couldn't rediscover the words he had carefully chosen. The two men could only stare at Clare, gob-smacked.

Clare heard screaming down the hallway and turned around. Two kids ran out into the corridor. The little girl screamed out, "Give me my dolly, Jason!" The boy dove behind Daniel, while the girl came to a standstill in front of Clare. Her eyes grew in excitement. Without warning the child flung herself onto Clare, squealing. "Clare, Clare! Mum, look it's Clare".

Taken aback, Clare held the kid, trying to remember the face, realizing they had never met before. She crouched down, holding the child by her shoulders. Daniel watched his worst nightmare take place. "And, who might you be?"

"I'm Denise" the girl smiled widely. "And that's Jason. He's my brother" she pointed abruptly. "That's my baby brother, Jimmy" she added, pointing at the infant in Daniel's arm.

Clare smiled extending a hand to Denise. "Nice to meet you, Denise". She turned to Jason hiding behind her father's legs. "Nice to meet you as well, Jason!" She watched the boy hide deeper behind Daniel. "He doesn't talk much does he?" she asked Denise.

Denise grinned, shaking her head. "He doesn't talk to strangers". She moved close to Clare and whispered, loud enough for Jason to hear. "But he knows who you are, he's just a chicken".

"Am not!" Jason protested chewing on the dolls foot.

Denise suddenly tugged at Clare's sleeve. "Come with me". Clare followed, bewildered. She was being lead towards the kitchen. "Mummy's this way" the girl said.

"Oh, really? Let's meet your mum, shall we?" and Clare eagerly walked hand in hand, delighted with the random company of the little child.

Clare apologized as she bumped into a woman in the doorway, embarrassed.

"That's all right" the woman said shaking her head. Margaret finally looked up. "Clare!"

Clare's intrigue peaked at this point in time. "Yes".

"Oh" Margaret clasped her hands, delighted. She immediately wiped her hands on her beautiful floral cotton dress and gave Clare a quick hug. "I'm so glad to finally meet you".

Clare hesitated. "I'm so sorry; I can't recall..."

"No, silly. We've never met before," Margaret answered. "I'm Margaret, by the way".

Clare shook the woman's hand. "Nice to meet you, Margaret".

"You too... I've wanted to meet you for so long. Ask your father" Margaret smiled, still reeling by the chance meeting.

Clare turned to her father. Her confusion grew deep. What's going on here?

Margaret grunted. "He's not going to say anything" she shook her head, turning back to Clare. "Ever since I met him, I've wanted to meet you. To get to know you". She watched Jason come and hide behind her, and ruffled his brown hair. "But you were always busy". She had a sly smile creeping across her face, "I was so close to calling off the wedding".

Clare stared at the woman in astonishment. "Why would you call your wedding off for me?"

"How could I, without the groom's daughter being present?" Margaret asked, entirely taken aback. She failed to register the shock on Clare's face. "I mean, just because you didn't want to meet me..."

For a moment Clare's world stopped. Her weak body staggered towards the ground.

Clare would have collapsed if not for Margaret's quick reflex. She looked at Margaret then her dad. Her head swam, her eyes welled. "You two...You two are married?" she choked out and looked to her father for an explanation.

Margaret, equally shell-shocked, looked back and forth from Clare to her husband. She could sense the sincerity in Clare's voice. Clare moved away from Margaret's clutch, holding on to the doorframe for support instead.

"You didn't know?" Margaret asked in a trance. Clare's stinging eyes meet hers. She shook her head.

Margaret steadied herself, and turned to Daniel. "You didn't tell her?"

Clare's voice broke out in a struggle. "How could you not? Why?"

Daniel looked at the women, stunned. He slid his trembling hands in his pocket. "I didn't know how you would take to a new mother," he answered, staring at the floor like a guilty child.

"New mother? New mother?!" Clare's voice rose in anger. "You weren't sure how I would take it?" she asked, peeling herself away from the doorway. "How am I supposed to take this, Dad? Tell me? How?"

She shook her head, still shocked. "How long has it been?" When Daniel didn't answer, she screamed. "How long?"

Her teeth clenched together in anger, again met with silence. "You know what?" she wiped her nose across her jacket's sleeve. "I don't care. Why should I? I don't even know you!" she said bitterly, meeting Daniel's eyes.

"I've tried so hard. So bloody hard to please you. You! And what do you do?" she glance at Margaret standing beneath the doorway. "You go out of your way to disown me".

Clare bit her bottom lip and stepped back. "Thanks a lot dad!"

"Clare, I was only trying..."

"You, what? That you were planning to tell me. Is that it? When?" She turned away in disgust. So much anger was building up inside her that she feared she might just attack him.

"I never meant to hurt you," Daniel desperately tried to approach her.

"Too late" she pushed his hand from her shoulder. "Too late" her tone cold as a winter's morning. She stepped away from him. "You always made me think I was asking for a lot, but you never gave me anything. Not even love".

Margaret turned to Henry and spoke in the calmest tone she could manage. "Henry, could you please take the children away from here. I too need to talk to Daniel".

Henry nodded and took Jimmy from Daniel, and asked the other two to follow him into the games room.

"I don't want to go," Denise cried.

"Denise!" her mother's voice became stern, "when you're asked to do something, you do it. Now go with, Henry". Scared, Denise ran from the room, after Henry.

When it was only the three of them left in that hallway, Margaret shut the kitchen door, isolating the group further. She relentlessly stared at Daniel. "How could you do this, Daniel?" she asked, finally breaking the awkward silence.

"I thought it was in everyone's best interest for the time being. Give the kids some time to adjust. I'm sorry, Margaret. I really am".

"Best interest? Whose, Daniel?" Margaret asked, joining Clare's side. "It's obvious you weren't thinking about your daughter, and you certainly weren't thinking about me". She folded her arms, "If my memory serves well, I had always, always been interested in getting to know Clare". Margaret's voice rose higher as her cool composer crumbled into a heap. "So tell me, Daniel. Whose interest did you have in mind? I don't think the other children, or Henry were even considered at all".

"I don't know" Daniel shook his head in defeat. "Clare never seemed to mind much of what I did".

Clare laughed sarcastically. "That's because you pushed me out of your life. How would you know what I wanted if you never bothered to ask? You never asked me about anything that ever mattered. I wanted to be normal, dad. With a normal family".

She paced across the hallway. "The only way you showed any care was to give me money and send me away. As if money could fill all the voids in my life".

She stared at Daniel for a long moment. In disgust, she walked towards the main door. "I knew you were selfish, but cruel, I had refused to accept. Until now! Perhaps it would have been best if had I died in that crash... I had come back thinking this was my home".

"Clare, this is your home. Please don't leave!" Margaret called out as Clare reached for the door handle.

Clare turned around. "Thanks, Margaret, but it's not my place to stay some where I'm not wanted".

"Clare! I'm sorry. I admit I've screwed up. I've been selfish, but honey, I don't want you to leave. I really don't..." Daniel begged, fighting the creeping tears.

Clare felt nothing watching her father struggle to ask her to stay. "There's nothing left for me here. Don't waste your breath". She picked up the bag Henry had brought back from the car and stepped out the door she had minutes ago entered.

"Clare, There's no need for this. Clare!" Daniel ran after her.

Clare's eyes widened in anger, and she snapped. "Yes there is! There's nothing left, because you destroyed it all." She turned and headed to the elevator. Once the elevator opened, Clare turned back, knowing Margaret was peering from beside her father. "Welcome to the family, Margaret", and let the lift close before Margaret could protest.

Margaret stepped inside the hallway calling out to Henry. "Could you please come out here for a moment?"

"Margaret", Daniel followed her inside the door. "Please, listen to me" he grabbed hold of her shoulder, "I can explain".

Margaret shot him an angry glance. "Don't touch me, Daniel," she shrugged him off. "You couldn't even explain it to your daughter, I can't expect you to explain it to me!" She turned away from him when Henry walked in. "I can't even stand to look at you right now!" she whispered.

Henry approached the enraged woman. "Yes, Margaret"

"Henry! Could you please go and check on Clare? " Margaret asked, putting a hand on her hip and the other massaging her hairline. Henry didn't have time to ask anything. When he passed her, she handed him her car keys. "And give her this. I don't want her wandering about in the cold. And if possible, please, bring her back".

Henry impatiently tapped his foot as the elevator gradually descended to the parking level. He ran out as soon as the lift opened up to the dimly lit space, half expecting Clare to be there, and waiting. He stood, contemplating whether he should run out onto the street, but then again, it had been quite a while since Clare had left. He decided to take the car and drive around, and headed to the car.

As he was reversing Margaret's car out of the garage he spotted Clare crouched behind a pillar in the rear view mirror. He stopped the car and got out. His heart hammered against his rib-cage as he approached her.

Clare could hear his feet falling on the concrete floor. "Go away, Henry. There's nothing left to say!"

"On the contrary, I think there is plenty to be said", he said coming closer to her, "Won't you come up?"

She shook her head, burying it deeper into the folds of her knees, turning her head away from him.

"Clare!" he could hear her sobbing behind the curtain of her hair, and sat down beside her. "Come up! It was Margaret who sent me. I didn't come here of my own accord, if that's what you are thinking".

Clare stared up at him. "You knew about them, didn't you?"

Guilty conscience didn't let him maintain eye contact and his gaze shifted away, towards the numerous oil stains on the concrete floor. "Yes, I knew about this" he finally whispered. His turned back to Clare and thought he saw a flash of anger course through her eyes. "And" he choked out, "I also knew you deserved to know".

Her eyes fell down to Henry's shiny black leather shoes. "How long Henry? How long has it been?"

"He's known her since the time when your mother was still alive. Margaret was a friend of hers", he saw Clare's eyes widen in surprise "When your mother died, so tragically...your father cut off all ties with old friends, including Margaret". He smiled slightly. "They all reminded him of your mum".

"He met her again in London, three years ago. She was a divorcee then, with two kids" he wrapped his arm around her slouched form. "It was then, when they got together".

"And the wedding?"

"Five or six months ago, after Jimmy's birth. It was a small affair...only a few witnesses".

"Six months..." her voice fell low, emotionally exhausted. "That's a long time". She tucked her chin into her chest and huddled for warmth. "And when was I supposed to come across all this?"

"Only Daniel can tell you that, honey. He swore me into secrecy. Apparently it's none of my business sticking my nose into his life". For the first time, Henry's voice grew bitter. "With such harsh words, my dear, I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to".

"But I have tried and failed many a time trying to organize your meeting with Margaret without Daniel knowing. That's what today was about". His voice started to crack under the emotion and Clare saw tears gleaming in his eyes. "I'm so sorry; I couldn't tell you before this. I didn't mean to put you through such a chaotic situation. I just didn't know what else to do".

Clare didn't know what to say as Henry continued to speak. "Seventeen years, Clare. Seventeen years I've served him. And that was the gratitude I got".

"I don't blame you, Henry. I don't" She took his wrinkled hands in hers, "I can't excuse dad's behaviour. I'm sorry for what he said".

"When you didn't arrive on time from this trip, I took the liberty to fabricate a plot. To compel Daniel to tell you everything". Henry took out his ironed handkerchief, "I told him you were staying there until further notice".

"Why?"

"Because," he said sounding shocked, "dear, had he known you were coming today, he would have flown Margaret and the kids out of town on the very first flight he could find."

"He wouldn't?"

"Absolutely! It has worked so far hasn't it?" he rebutted blankly.

"I don't know what to think anymore, Henry!" Clare shook her head. "What is happening? My life is shattering all around me, and I can't seem to hold on to it." A shiver coursed through her at the thought. Everything she had taken to be her reality frayed at her every touch.

"Keep an open mind, Clare." Henry advised, "It sounds odd, I know". He held her as she sat there in silence, crying.

It had been an hour since either one had muttered a word. The morning sun had passed over, and the parking lot grew darker. Henry thought to try and convince her to come up with him. She seemed calm enough to raise that question again.

"Clare" he spoke softly, gently rubbing her back. "Come up, dear. This will not solve anything, with you sitting here, and your folks sitting up there. Both parties wondering about the other. Come up with me, we'll all sit and talk this through".

"Henry" her voice broke out dry. "You know I can't. I can't, it's too early". She shook her head violently. "It's not something small I can forgive easily."

"You won't come, then?" he asked in an acknowledging tone.

"No"

"For how long?"

"I don't know, Henry. Until I can bring myself to come to terms with what just happened up there. My own father, Henry..."

"Then you'll never come!" he stated, pulling her into a hug. He could almost feel the anguish she was going through, and he knew, his darling girl was never coming back home, not until her memories of today grows bleak.

A comfortable silence wrapped around the two. Henry finally sighed in defeat. "Where are you going to go?"

"If I knew, Henry. I wouldn't be sitting here with you", she said sarcastically, wiping her nose. A little chuckle escaping her raw throat.

"In that case," he reached into his pocket and fetched Margaret's car keys. "Take this. Margaret doesn't want you walking around in this cold". He smiled bleakly noticing her moist eyes. "If I ask you for a favour, will you do it for me, Clare?"

Clare's eyes widened. It wasn't like Henry to ask for anything, and almost immediately nodded. "Just have to ask, Henry!"

Henry took out his wallet and handed her a credit card. "Don't say no."

"Henry!" she exclaimed, "I couldn't".

"I've always thought of you as family, so let me be your family, till you can support yourself, that's all".

Emotion flooded her weary heart and she leaped into his embrace. "I don't know how to thank you".

"A smile will do" he whispered and kissed her head. "There is one more thing I want to ask of you".

Clare looked at him curiously.

"About Margaret" he said, and noticed her gaze drop to the ground. "Please, darling. Don't avoid or ignore her for your father's mistakes. She's a nice young lady who cares about you, and is as much Daniel's victim as you. Promise me you'll give the woman a chance before you decide to hate her".

Clare reluctantly nodded. "I've got nothing against her".

"She wants you to come up".

"You know me better than anyone. Can't you explain to her my reasons?" she asked him, pleadingly.

Henry nodded. "In that case, I will organize you a place to stay".

"It's Christmas!" Clare told him, confused. Finding accommodation at any hotel during this season would be akin to attempting to find a needle in a hay stack.

Henry grinned slyly. "I know a few people".

Henry pulled the black Volkswagen onto the side of Patrick Street and turned to Clare. "VIP residency!" his eyebrows did a short dance. "You're going to love it here." He looked at her staring out the window. "You coming?"

They both got out of the car and Clare followed him towards a high fenced property that enclosed a huge mansion. Henry buzzed the intercom installed beside the gigantic driveway.

"How do you know these people?" Clare asked eyeing the ten foot wall.

Henry turned to her with a wide grin. "I know their housekeeper. She's a dear friend of mine".

Before Clare could fire another question the intercom came alive. Through it, came a cheerful voice, "Who is it?" It was an accent Clare had heard before.

"Helga," Henry bent over the speaker, "mind opening the door for an old pal?

"Is that you Henry?"

"Yes, my dear. The door, please". Henry said laughing. Up till now Clare hadn't realized how strong Henry's British accent was.

Clare followed Henry into the compound as the electric gate whirred to a close behind them. It was a fairly long, curved driveway up to the house. A stout lady opened the door. Clare smiled as the chubby lady greeted her in a definite Deutsch accent.

"Hallo!"

"Hello!" Clare reverberated.

Helga looked at Henry. "So who is your Freundin, Henry?

Clare smiled and extended her hand. "Ich bin Clare".

Helga squealed and clasped her hands, delighted. "Kanst du Deutsch sprechen?"

Clare shook her head. "Neine, nicht zu gut. Not too well".

"Doesn't matter, dear" Helga said cheerily and turned back to Henry. "What brings you here?"

"This poor dear of mine doesn't have any place to stay with it being Christmas and all." Henry said as they entered the warm interior of the house. "I was wondering if you could stay her here for few nights, until I can organize an alternative".

Helga laughed. "Yes that is possible. Mr. Brighton isn't in town for few weeks at the least".

"That's what I thought" Henry exclaimed, "Where has he gone this time?"

"Wife wanted to visit some Greek island or other. I'm not entirely sure", the woman kept walking through the house. "Come this way" she said and gestured with her short chubby hands.

Clare discovered that they had arrived at the kitchen, and Henry sat himself down on a chair at the side of the bench tops.

Helga poured fresh hot coffee into three mugs. "Freshly brewed, Henry, just as you like it".

For a moment, Clare thought perhaps the two adults in the room shared something more than friendship, but then again, she had thought Henry was gay or widowed.

Helga turned to Clare. "I'll put you in the guest wing. Is that all right?"

Clare nodded.

.

Maggie had sat beside Brandon's bed, watching him for quite some time before she dozed off. She was beginning to dream.

Her marriage had strained and stretched for few years, well overdue. And only recently he had filed for divorce claiming his wife had commitment issues.

"Megg, I can't stand this anymore. Either you give me divorce, or I'm still walking out".

"Yeah? Where the hell were you thinking of going anyway?" she screamed, "To some slut you have on the side?"

"I wasn't the one who had commitment issues from the beginning", her husband yelled back. "You always had that bastard on your bloody mind".

"Don't you bring him into this. Don't you dare bring him into this! He has nothing to do with us!"

"Why not? The fact that my wife is still in love with him matters to me".

"I should have never left him! How about that?"

"Perhaps" he yelled, leaving the house. "Damn the night I got you".

"Yeah, well, you liked me then" she yelled, chasing after him. She hadn't planned on breaking up with Brandon, but unfortunately, he had walked in on her with his friend. The friend she ended up marrying.

Maggie opened her eyes, the feeling of remorse teasing her still. I shouldn't have left you, she thought looking at Brandon. The guilt for having broken his heart had always eaten away at her. Eventually, Maggie had in fact begun to like no one else but him, even after so many years.

She held his hand gently, plundering into the shadowy remains of her past. "I want a fresh start!" she whispered longingly. Her vacant eyes remained locked on his hand and failed to register it jerk. She gazed relentlessly at the hand, not quite sure what had happened.

She dismissed it as a hallucination when his hand jerked again. She drew in a frantic breath. "Brandon?" she choked out, focusing on his face. His eyes danced beneath the eyelids. Next moment, she was screaming for a nurse.

Brandon struggled. A distant voice was calling out to him. It sounded familiar in his ears, humming. His vision was clouded by pale red light filtering through his eyelids. He fought to recognize the source of the voice.

The white sterile light in the room stung his eyes which watered and strained while three figures stood above him, talking.

"His vitals are back to normal" a man's voice cracked into his curious ears.

"When she screamed, I thought something had happened" a woman's voice rang out at a quick pace.

His eyes adjusted to the light, his vision cleared. He was looking at a red hazy halo hanging over his head. The face was familiar. "Maggie?" his dry voice croaked out in surprise.

Brandon struggled to sit up on the bed once the medical staff had left. He was weak and exhausted, and leaned on the pillow. "How long has it been?" he asked finally.

"Three days" Maggie answered.

His last memory was of Clare staring at him as he'd collapsed. "Three" he nodded. His eyes never rose high enough to meet hers. "How are the others?"

"Everyone is fine, except..."Maggie's voice trailed off hesitatingly.

His head shot up to look at her, hovering near the window. "Except?"

Maggie didn't answer.

"Except what, Maggie?" he asked sternly.

She turned to face him slowly, her face sombre. "Some guy, Matt, died. I'm so sorry."

"H-o-w?" he asked. Uncertain of what he had heard.

"I'm not exactly sure, but they said an accident of some kind." She said, approaching his bedside.

"Accide..." he couldn't even say the word. "How's that possible? They were indoors! Tucked away safely".

"I'm sorry. I don't really know what to say."

He looked up with his bloodshot eyes. "It doesn't make sense!" Brandon's head was swimming. He didn't really know how to respond to the news. This shouldn't have happened, his thoughts continued to trail, as intrusive Maggie took him into her arms.

Maggie was irritated by his silence. She sat by the window, waiting for him to talk. She tossed her frizzy hair behind her ears and spoke. "Your mum's sick. It'd be best if you come back home with me" her voice was heavy with impatience.

He looked at her, saddened with grief. "I'm tired, Maggie!" he said laying down, and pretending to go to sleep.

His attempt to fool her didn't work and Maggie stood up from the chair in anger. "Think about it while I take a walk". She snatched her bag from the floor and left the room.

Brandon shifted uncomfortably, unable to fall asleep. Maggie had left hours ago, but his nerves were still jumpy from her unexpected and unprecedented arrival. He swung back up on the bed, and rubbed the itch from his eyes. That's when he noticed the writing on his right palm. The ink was faint but legible. Get well soon! Love, Clare. A phone number was scribbled neatly underneath.

A warm feeling crept over him as he read the number again and again. Then a thought struck. Write it down!

Clare sat at the edge of the enormous bed in the guest room, skimming its intricate décor. Her eyes roamed over to the fire place, where moments ago, Henry had lit a fire. He had disappeared out the room to talk to Helga.

She sighed, contemplating the turn of events. What had started out as a beautiful day, had turned savage as the fiery flames she was staring at. Her thoughts dwelled on Brandon. Please God, at least keep him safe!

Clare slid down from the bed and pulled her bag closer. Something blue! She remembered. She needed something blue for Matt's funeral. Opening the bag, she found nothing blue but for a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. There was nothing else suitable to wear to a funeral in the lightly packed bag. She hadn't even considered packing few things before storming out of the house, but it was too late. She couldn't go back.

Henry popped back into the room as she got to her feet. "I thought I'd say goodbye". He walked in to see the contents of the bag sprawled. "What's wrong?" he asked, watching her hover over the bag.

"Do you know if I have a blue dress, Henry?"

Henry's eyebrows lowered in a frown. "Not that I'm aware off. What's the matter?"

Clare stared at the clothes around her feet and sighed. "I need something blue...for a friend's funeral in couple of day's time".

"Blue? Is that appropriate dear?" his eyebrows raised.

"Consider it his last wish." she smiled awkwardly. "Do you know if I have anything appropriate?"

"I'm not sure, darling. How about you come home and fetch whatever you need?"

"No Henry, I'm not going back".

"Then I'm sorry. I don't know how I can help you. I'm completely clueless as to what you want to wear. Perhaps you could buy something."

"Perhaps"

"Well, I better get back," he said stepping towards the door with one last look at the pile of clothes. "If you need anything..."

"I'll call"

"Right then, I'll come by tomorrow".

Brandon was being wheeled down a long white corridor, door after door. Then the nurse stopped at a door and knocked on it twice before wheeling him inside. There sat Jack, on the edge of the mattress, writing.

Jack peered up from the piece of paper. "Brandon!" Flabbergasted, he looked on. That very morning, doctors hadn't been hundred percent sure whether Brandon would recover. Less than nine hours later, he was wheeled into Jack's room, very much alive.

Brandon laughed at the welcomed surprise on Jack's face. "How are you?" he asked, cautiously.

Jack blinked away his tears madly. "I'm fine...You?"

"Hanging in there" Brandon nodded. Strained silence crept between the two.

After a moment, Jack spoke again. His voice serious as was his face. "We were brought in three weeks ago. Did you know that? I'd probably be dead by now had they come even an hour later".

Brandon looked puzzled. "Three weeks? ... I was told three days ago".

Jack cracked a wide smile. "Sorry, couldn't resist mate".

Brandon laughed loudly. It felt good to laugh.

It was after a rather late lunch that Clare left the manor for a short walk. Her cold hands played with Henry's credit card in her pocket as she walked into a clothing store.

One of the cheerful staff approached her. "Happy Holidays! Will you be needing any assistance today?"

Clare smiled nervously, looking around the immaculately adorned shop.

"I'm sure I can help you find exactly what you're looking for" the assistant looked on, expectantly.

"Something blue"

"For a wedding?"

Clare shook her head. "For something else"

The saleswoman nodded. "Right this way", and walked across the store towards the dress section. Clare followed.

"Let me think" the woman said, peering at numerous dresses. She grabbed a couple of gowns and a few cocktail dresses in various shades of blue and gestured Clare towards the fitting rooms.

Clare stood her ground, staring at the selection.

"Is there something wrong, Miss?"

"I don't think gowns are appropriate" Clare answered nervously. "Do you have something between formal and casual? I don't really wish to stand out."

The assistant thought, putting the dresses away. "What do you think of a fitted, fine-striped blue shirt, with a plain pair of tailored pants in black?"

"I heard about Matt" Brandon sombrely looked at Jack. "I'm sorry". Jack nodded, watching Brandon pick at the arm-rest of the wheelchair he was seated in. "It should never have happened. I'm sorry. I wish we could have found help sooner." Brandon looked up at the barely composed Jack perched up on the bed.

"Wouldn't have made a difference" Jack finally said, leaving behind the silent nods and shakes of his head. "He died at least a day before they came". He hid his face within his palm. "It was entirely my fault".

"Wasn't anybody's fault" Brandon sternly. "It could have happened to any of us, and all of us".

"But it didn't" Jack whispered from behind his hands. "Matt left the cottage alone, and I let him". Jack jumped off the bed and walked over to the window. "I found him half an hour later, sprawled on the floor of the shed, barely conscious".

"What happened?"

Jack wiped his nose. "I don't know exactly" He turned around, leaning against the wall. "He left to see if there was any fire wood around the cottage so we could keep the fire going. He was supposed to return within half an hour at the most".

"Why did he go alone?"

"Told me to stay back, in case"

"We returned..."

Jack nodded. "I waited for him. The wind was picking up, and I couldn't see a thing, and I waited".

"Probably the same blizzard Clare and I got lost in."

"I had to drag him back to the house when I found him," he said biting his lip. "I kept talking to him. Asking him questions, to keep him from falling asleep. It was all slurred...he said he had a splitting headache".

Jack stared at a particular spot on the floor. "I piled all the blankets I could find, any extra pieces of clothing, trying to warm him up."

He finally looked up at Brandon, "Nothing worked." He shook his head, angry and frustrated. "And I just sat there, watching him die. Absolutely helpless".

He slithered to the floor, his face hidden in his palms again, sobbing. "I couldn't do a thing, Brandon!"

Brandon wheeled himself towards the grieving man. "You can't help what happened, Jack. You did all you could". He put a supportive hand on Jack's shoulder. "Matt would have done the same, had it been you, or Clare, or me".

Jack swallowed hard. The truth however nasty was that Matt had been at the wrong place at the wrong time. Still, this offered no salve to his aching conscience.

"When's the service?" Brandon asked when Jack seemed calm.

"Day after tomorrow" he replied, staring at the floor, "at the Hargrove Cemetery, in the afternoon. And wear something blue". He was met with a questioning glance. "Matt never wanted a black and white funeral. Said it was too depressing".