Chapter Text
January 1976
Burlington, VT
Jack Abbot is born on January 28, 1976. It’s certainly not the coldest day of the month, but there’s been rain scattered across Burlington since he was born just after dawn, some of which turned into flurries mid-air and landed as snow blanketing the grounds of the UVM Medical Center. And seems to be cold enough that baby Jack keeps snuggling harder into his mother Elizabeth’s chest, despite the thick blanket he’s swaddled in and the layer of baby fat he’s already carrying – having come out of the womb at 10 pounds 11 ounces, much to the dismay of his mother’s body. There’s probably something underlying he’ll discover later – like a heart malcontented and unwarm – but Emma Mae pays no mind to it, because she’s just glad he’s here and he appears perfect to her; he’s her spitting image with light grey-green eyes that’ll probably darken later and auburn curls splayed across his squishy head, including the beginnings of a cowlick. Besides, she’ll gladly take some time alone as her husband Ray and older boy Bobby hunt down the cafeteria. So, she chooses to appreciate her sweet little Jack in this quiet moment.
🐇🪐🦢
August 27, 1983
Columbus, OH
Jack’s seven years old when he experiences his first death in the family. Though— he doesn’t realize it at first. His mother tried to tell him, Bobby, and Evie something about their Grandpa Bill – their dad’s dad – being sick, which meant the family needed to go see him. But she gave no other explanation as she gathered them into the family station wagon, and their father Ray was no help either, caught in a frantic tizzy about his own father’s health. It’s only a 20 minute drive across town to Mount Carmel East, but those are 20 more minutes Jack doesn’t have any answers, and he’s already, admittedly, pretty nosy of a kid, so this is some form of cruelty in his eyes. Thankfully he can’t perseverate for long because Evie’s reaching her tiny hand over the side of her car seat, trying to grab for his, and she’s his baby so he can’t deny her the affection. Not when rubbing his thumb along the back of her hand is soothing for both of them.
And for continued comfort, he insists on taking her from their mother once the car is parked. Bobby is diligently following their father through the parking lot toward the front entrance, ever acting as his shadow; meanwhile, their mother hangs behind with Jack and Evie Rae, since Evie’s only just turned three but she’s nearly half Jack’s size – as Ray and Emma Mae Abbot apparently always manage to have big babies. Raymond approaches the welcome desk and explains the situation to the woman clerking, who kindly hands him the visitation sheet to fill in for his family, trying to stay calm in opposition to his irritated panic. And tries to flash a polite smile to Emma Mae, who’s got concern for her father-in-law and for her husband’s temper etched into every line of her face. She’s also concerned, to some degree, about her younger two children wandering off – since Jack’s attention isn’t always there and Evelyn’s in his care, so where he goes, she’s going. But Jackie’s just showing his baby sister all the fluorescent lights in the lobby and watching them gleam off her big green eyes, while kissing her soft cheek to make her giggle – which Emma Mae’s sure is a distraction tactic to keep her from getting scared about what’s to come.
After the paperwork’s filled out, the clerk looks it over and informs Ray that, once they make it to the Critical Care unit, the kids are only going to be permitted in his father’s room if the nurses allow it, because they’re all under 12; a vein pops up in his neck, especially when Bobby’s nine, and that should be close enough to 12 to allow his eldest child one last look at his grandfather, but he bites his tongue and snatches the visitor tags from the clerk’s hand. He guides Bobby toward the elevator corridor with a hand hard clamped around his shoulder (which Bobby knows better than to say anything about) and soon enough, Emma Mae follows his lead, collecting Jack and Evie Rae and setting them in the right direction. There’s barely any air moving inside the elevator as it moves upwards, so Jack feels stifled by the 95º heat outside creeping in, especially with Evie breathing down his neck, but he keeps his mouth shut to avoid making his distressed father irate. Instead, he shifts Evie’s weight in his skinny arms, which makes her tuck her face further into the crook of his neck, and holds his breath until they reach the Critical Care floor.
The air is a different kind of stale up here – more sterile in feel and smell, for one thing – and every few doors, the bulbs in the hallway are out, making this ward feel right out of a Hitchcock movie. Not that Jack knows much about those, as he and Bobby only ever catch glimpses of any movie when the local stations pick up on the home antenna, but he knows that if birds start crawling out of the ceiling or walls, he’s taking Evie right back into that elevator and hauling ass out of this hospital. Although, nobody seems to appreciate his careful eye on crooked ceiling tiles, since Raymond and Bobby are pushing forward toward the room number the clerk relayed, and Emma Mae is trying to gently nudge Jack to follow them rather than stopping under every light with a blown fuse or hole in the ceiling; Heaven forbid, he tries to keep Evelyn from getting her eyes pecked out or her arms scratched up. And he doesn’t feel any more easy when Ray knocks on his father’s door and Grandma Kay answers with a blank look, then an awkward, space-filled hug. Certainly doesn’t feel easy about the wave of coughing that rings through the room and into the hallway before the family’s even entered; nor easy about having to walk inside the room, with a swivel of Evie’s head onto his shoulder and a press of his hand over her exposed ear, while Emma Mae gives Grandma Kay a well-intentioned side hug then gathers behind her children.
Grandpa Bill looks worse for wear laid up in that hospital bed with a nose cannula in – granted, he never looked great to begin with and has had a lingering cough since before Bobby was even born. But this definitely isn’t a pleasant look: red and pink all over, dark sunspots all across ragged skin, tired sagging eyes among other overly prominent wrinkles, and noises in his throat that no one should have to describe. If the hallway was bordering on a scene from The Birds, this was Night of the Living Dead, and should realistically be enough fodder to keep Jack away from horror movies when he’s older (—it won’t, but the thought crosses his mind). At the moment, he can’t quite place what’s the matter, save Grandpa Bill’s cough being worse than usual and his skin tone probably not being the color it should be. It won’t be until much later that he’ll learn this was a long winding case of chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, or COPD, that was worsened by congestive heart failure at the very end. For now, all he can glean is that the musky scent wafting off his grandfather’s skin, permeating the entire room, is cigar smoke and Jack’s never wanted to walk out of a room sooner. Thankfully, a nurse, Katrina, notices the bewildered stare on the children’s faces and offers to take them off Emma Mae’s hands for a bit while the nurse practitioner, Rita, explains the situation to her and her husband.
Jack immediately deems Katrina to be nice when she asks the boys if they want to go down to the cafeteria for ice cream, albeit a little overbearing of an RN when she asks Jack if he wants her to hold Evie and give his arms a break. He’s mastered the art of holding Eves in his lap with one arm and eating with the other, sometimes switching it up in a way he’ll later find out is considered ambidextrous, so he’s just fine with holding her and eating his ice cream, especially when she asks for little bites and he has to wipe melted ice cream off her nose with a napkin. Meanwhile, Bobby’s sitting across the table, next to Nurse Katrina, and quietly contemplating his ice cream more than he’s eating it; he’s always been the nervous type, obediently compliant to their father like he’s got something to prove by upholding his duties as the eldest child, like he’s trying to play man of the house before it’s at all necessary. Jack’s never understood it, but then again, he’s always flocked to his mother and to Evelyn before he’s flocked to their father and at times, he’s effectively invisible to their father, or at least he’s shadowed by different expectations than Bobby is. Though, it makes him worry about when the strings of Bobby’s strait lace are going to break under the tension and burst him wide open. Thus, they’re left diametrically opposed in this moment – Evie squirming in Jack’s lap as he tries to keep a handle on her and Bobby shuddering when Nurse Katrina’s pager beeps, like he’s already predicted what that’s about, and a dark cloud is hanging over him.
Jack can gander a guess, too – he’s not stupid – but he’s trying to avoid letting it shake his conscience. Besides, their dad’s family has always been a weird bunch; distant, guarded, not very affectionate, and their dad’s turned out the same cold, bitter way. At least their mom, and Grandpa Henry and Grandma Luann, and uncles Walt, Marshall, and Charlie, are all warm so the kids aren’t sheltered in a frigid home or completely iced out by relatives. But it still confuses Jack to some high Heaven or ever-loving Hell how someone like Elizabeth Mae Reder could end up with someone like Raymond Abbot – an eternal mystery, really. Anyway, he’s certain he knows what just happened upstairs and if he’s correct, there’s a small sad pit set to form in his stomach. They’ve only had fish from the freshwater tank in the living room die up to this point, and that’s not all that comparable – even when he’s really loved a certain cichlid or catfish – so he’s not quite sure how to feel about this situation. He’s heard you’re supposed to be sad and upset when you lose someone, especially when it means you’re down a grandparent. But grandparents are usually really old, so it’s bound to happen eventually, right? And what’s the policy on grieving a relative you weren’t even close to, who barely acknowledged the existence of you and your siblings? He really doesn’t know the answers to questions like these and, again, he hates not having the answers to questions that are bugging him. So, he just has to sigh and deal with the grey matter ambiguity as Nurse Katrina herds the kids back towards the Critical Care floor and tries to give Evie reassurance when she starts getting fussy.
☼
Jack and Bobby’s assumptions are, unfortunately, correct. By some cruel strike of fate, Grandpa Bill had slipped through the veil right before Ray, Emma Mae, and Grandma Kay’s eyes – just as Nurse Rita was explaining further treatment options, including hospice care. And the kids – yes, even baby Evie – have to tip-toe around their father’s bereaved state in the week leading up to the funeral. They’re at school and daycare most hours of the week, so at least they don’t have to spend too much time at home avoiding his gaze, but it still means that Jack and Bobby have to find some way to tell their 2nd grade and 4th grade teachers, Mrs. Izbel and Ms. Sherry, about this. Teachers who are compassionate enough to offer condolences, which Bobby accepts with a sad nod, but Jack has to stop himself from rolling his eyes in Mrs. Izbel’s face since she’s a sweet older lady who means well. And when they’re at home, there’s many a silent glance at their mother for help navigating this situation, as if Emma Mae had any answers for them. All she can offer is concerned smiles, and prayers that keeping quiet and at a distance is working to their advantage.
On September 3rd, the family gathers with a plethora of friends and relatives unknown to them at Norton Church of Christ, just outside of Grandpa Bill and Grandma Kay’s farm. Jack didn’t know it was possible to be acquainted with this many people, let alone for all of them to show up for Grandpa Bill out of anyone. Ray’s in one of his cold, calculating fits, so Grandma Kay gives a eulogy in his stead – with appropriately timed nods and accolades to the infantry buddies of Bill’s who were still living and in attendance. Jack wouldn’t have taken his grandfather for an army man, but times were a lot different when Bill was a young man compared to the childhood Jack’s living right now. Though, it doesn’t stop him from fidgeting under the starched collar of his rented suit and wishing that Grandma Kay, and Staff Sergeant Grady, and Father O’Malley would hurry up their speeches so he can stuff his face with egg salad sandwiches and Planters cheez balls he saw being bought and prepared for the lunch reception. He doesn’t really care if that’s insensitive to say, because he’s seven years old and his vocabulary isn’t refined enough to know what ‘insensitive’ means. If anything, it’s insensitive to force kids his and his siblings’ age to go to these kinds of things when they should be out being kids.
That being said, he sighs the deepest sigh of relief when the wake adjourns and those who needed to make personal amends with the casket have done so. The lunch reception and celebration of life are taking place at the farm, and Jack’s never been more glad to see the acreage of farmland, even if most of the grass is dead and the fields are freshly planted with vegetables he’s barely going to touch after they’re harvested. Being let off the proverbial leash into the yard of the house and able to throw off his suit jacket is a literal breath of fresh air, and being able to tear off running through the fried grass is more freeing than usual. Plus, Bobby’s chosen to step out of their father’s shadow and come running to play with him, and Jack’s already sure he doesn’t believe in God but he’s thanking someone for allowing his brother to come back to him in this moment. Especially when they realize the sycamore trees have thrown some dead branches, and they can wield the sticks like guns, with Bobby imitating the noise of a shotgun – mimicking real-time kickback from such a gun, too – and Jack trying to make the sound of a Star Trek phaser firing, all the while taking turns falling to the ground and pretending to be wounded. That is— until Ray catches wind of what they’re up to and yells at them to knock it off, even when Emma Mae tells him they’re just boys being boys and should be allowed to have some fun. Ray shakes his head and utters something about them hurting each other or themselves, before storming off into the house. Bobby, of course, drops his stick and scrambles to enter a sheepish embrace with his mother and baby Evelyn; Jack, however, tightens his grip on his and blows an irritated breath out of his nose.
He can see Ray through the kitchen window, standing and talking to someone with his back turned, so Jack points the stick at the spot right between his should blades and ‘shoots’ until the brittle branch snaps in his fist. He’s not a bad kid, and he hopefully won’t turn out to be a bad person, but a rebellious heat is burning in his belly and making him want to hurt whoever he could with his branch or fist. Particularly those, like his father, who aren’t looking and maybe even those who get too close. He doesn’t want to turn out cold and distant like his father and his siblings, or his grandparents, but if he can’t be himself without someone fighting back on it, what’s to keep him from becoming guarded and never showing his true face? He’ll feel better once he actually eats some food, but for now, all he can see is doors closing and an inability to open them.