When the Smoke Clears

Chapter 7

"So you really don't remember anything, huh?" Frank asked.

He was seated on Curtis's couch, his body angled toward Karen. He'd brought her here after the protest; showed up on Curt's doorstep–much to his old friend's surprise– with an unconscious Karen clutched in his arms. It'd been Curtis who took care of her, bandaged the wound on her head and got her into dry clothes when Frank was too much of a mess to do anything but pace the living room like a caged lion. He was gone now, stepped out to make sure the two weren't followed to the apartment. It was his way of giving them some time alone, and Frank was thankful for it. They had a lot to catch up on.

Karen sat beside him with a blanket over her shoulders and a steaming cup of tea held between her hands. She hated tea, preferred coffee like any self-respecting New Yorker, but Curtis insisted it was better for staving off a chill and whatever germs were swimming in the East River. She figured she could at least entertain the thought. She owed him that much. Her head was stitched, thanks to Curtis Hoyle. She'd been able to shower and now sat in clean, dry clothes thanks to the man's unyielding altruism.

"No." She shook her head. "I just remember being in the hospital with you and then..."

There's no light at the end of the tunnel for me. He told her that day.

There wasn't one for me either. She thought.

"And then nothing." She finished. "It was like I blinked a-and you... disappeared."

Frank sighed. "Shit, Karen, I-" He knew exactly how that felt. He blinked and she did disappear. Only difference was, she didn't have a choice. He did. He had a choice and he made the wrong one. Some things never changed, he guessed.

"I'm sorry," he said for the hundredth time. It would never be enough. "I fucked up and-"

"Frank..."

"No, Karen. I gotta say this. Please."

She frowned but nodded, unable to say no to that magic word, nor the look on his face when he said it.

"I shoulda been here," he said. "Maybe I needed to leave, you know? The city felt like a graveyard, and I... I couldn't stay." He wasn't proud to admit it, but it was the truth. He was too weak to stay locked in the living reminder of all he'd lost.

"I couldn't stay, but I should've come back. I should've..."

Despite years to prepare for this, his words failed him quickly. All thought was overrun by the torrent of emotions threatening to rip him apart at the seams. Karen could see his anguish, his guilt. She could feel how much his absence ate at him. Maybe she should have let things go on the basis of that alone– he'd clearly suffered enough– but something was eating at her, too. It had been for months.

Her eyes dropped to the cup in her lap so she could avoid his gaze as she asked, "So, uhm... what happened?"

Frank flinched. He knew the question was coming, but it was what it implicated that squeezed his lungs. Why weren't you here?

"I looked for you," Karen went on, unknowingly rubbing salt in the wound. "No one had seen or heard from you in years. I thought..."

Her sentence trailed, too afraid to tell him she thought he was dead, or worse, that he'd abandoned her. Frank seemed to sense that, or at least some of it, because his jaw tensed and he sat up a little straighter, like he was awaiting some sort of punishment. God knows he would've deserved it. But all he got was Karen's soft face, her imploring gaze as it met his; her readiness to listen, to accept. He supposed that was punishment in itself. Releasing a sigh, he turned his head and stared off toward the window. His gaze went distant, like he was looking into the past and the laundry list of his mistakes he'd built up over the years.