The minute she walked into the fish market the nostalgia hit. It wasn’t a pang so much as an assault. She grew up with the smell of fish all the time and became desensitized to it by the time she’d learned to talk. Now, the sense memory hit her with the force of a physical blow. The smell of the fish, the color of the walls, the hanging netting, the table cloths, the cash register … and her father standing right there behind the counter. Tall, lean, clear-eyed, and every bit her proud, Irish father.
“Kayla! Good to see ya, Lasse, what have we done t’earn the honor of your presence here, now.”
Kayla was too stunned to talk. All she could do was stare in wonder. It was almost the same feeling she got when she saw Steve in the cemetery after all those years. Only now she knew this might be her one shot. When the people we love die, and we say I’d give anything to have just one more minute …, this was her one more minute, and she knew it.
“Lasse?”
She forced the shaky voice from her within her to form the words. “Hey, Pop.”
“Well, hey, yerself, girl.” Shawn had a cagey look in his eye. What was going on here? Something was off. “You’re mama’s upstairs helpin’ young Max with his homework. You, eh, wanna go on up?”
Kayla shook her head. She walked up to the counter and stared into his fierce blue eyes.
“Well, ya should. Yer ma’s hoppin’ mad ya know. Missin’ the trial and all.”
Kayla froze. “The trial?”
“Would do us good to have ya stick around tonight, have some supper. Smooth things over.”
Kayla nodded. “Ok,” she said. “I’d love to stay for dinner.” What trial?
“Ye mind tellin’ me why ye didn’t go see Kimmie at her trial?”
“Kim’s trial! Kim is on trial. Oh Pop, I forgot — I mean I-I-I’ve been working at the Emergency Center. I’m sorry, no one told me. I just saw Bo this morning, why didn’t he mention it?”
Shawn frowned at his daughter. Something was wrong. “Ya don’t remember your own sister’s murder trial?” He spoke the words rather harshly, and Kayla was suddenly stricken. This was not how it was supposed to go at all. Shawn caught the lost look in her eyes and dropped the discussion about Kim then and there. “Ya look like ya seen a ghost, girl. What’s wrong? Out with it, now.”
That was it for that. The tears she’d used all her strength not to cry now sprung to her eyes, which immediately became glassy and bloodshot; and Shawn Brady knew without a doubt that something was very wrong with his daughter. Roman was the serious one. Kimberly was the one who walked around with storm clouds she pretended weren’t there. Bo was his brooding trouble-maker even before this whole Kiriakis mess. But Kayla? Kayla was the one you could depend on as the normal one. She was the who found the good in every situation, the one who never stopped smiling. She was his sunny day. Not this time.
“Kayla, what is it, darlin’?” he gasped. Her lip quivered as the tears silently streamed down her face. Shawn reached out to her. He held her by the shoulders and squeezed, bending his head to search her eyes for whatever could have upset his little girl this much. “What’s wrong with ye? Tell me!”
“Pop!” she sobbed. “I miss you!” She collapsed against his chest and let her father hold her tightly in his arms while she cried. Deep, wracking sobs that would not stop once they started. Sobs that disappeared into the flannel of his shirt as she felt his familiar arms around her. She wasn’t a 25-year-old woman. She wasn’t a 45-year-old woman. She was her daddy’s little girl that was getting her one more minute.
Shawn didn’t say anything, just held her and let her cry as he stroked her blonde head. He hummed an Irish tune he’d always used to calm down his weepy babies, only it had the opposite effect and made her cry that much harder at the bitter within the sweet. Kayla held on tight until her cries turned to muffled whimpers and finally soft hiccups. She hadn’t cried like this since Steve died. Not even at Pop’s funeral was her grief this profound. But now, seeing him again – her real father, living and breathing right in front of her – her emotions ran away with her. It was out of her control, she had to just follow them and hope for the best when they decided they were spent.
Shawn pulled his daughter back from him and said, “If yer done usin’ my shirt as a handkerchief, then I think ye’d better tell me what’s gotten into ya.” Kayla laughed through the last of her tears. “Kayla, what’s wrong?”
“Would you believe me if I told you I’m just so happy to see you?” she asked as he sat her down at the far table.
“No, I wouldn’t,” he said firmly. “Now, look, the place is all closed up, you ma’s upstairs with the kids, Frankie’s got somethin’ on his mind he thinks we’re not noticin’, and now that ya missed the trial, yer ma was even more fit to be tied after talkin’ to Chris about ya the other day. Now, Kayla, it’s just you and me sittin’ here.” He looked at her expectantly, but before she could reply he added, “It’s that Patch guy, isn’t it? He did somethin’ to ya.”
“His name is Steve, Pop, and no,” she smiled, “Steve didn’t do anything.”
“Well, it’s like I said, Chris came over here and told us, ye know,” he continued as if she hadn’t said anything. “We know he’s been – stayin’ with ye.” His eyes started to light with Irish temper. “Are ye in trouble, Lasse?” he asked more softly. “Is that it?”
“In trouble?” Kayla had to stifle a laugh. “No, Pop, no, it has nothing to do with Steve. Yes, you’re right, we’re seeing each other … he loves me, Pop—“
“Och,” he sputtered as he folded his arms in defiance.
“And I love him. But it has nothing to do with him.”
He looked at her clearly expecting an answer. “What then, girl? Spit it out.”
Kayla just gazed at him with her chin in her palm. He wasn’t going to understand that they were leaping through time and that she’d forgotten that this was when her sister’s trial was and that he was actually dead so she was overwhelmed with love for him. So, instead she chose the next best thing. She lied.
“It’s been a very rough few weeks, Pop.”
“Ah, the Emergency Center.”
She neither nodded nor shook her head, merely continued. “People torn from their families, children left behind, poisonings, difficult people making things very hard. I’m supposed to now remember every little thing without a clue for how long, and it all just got completely overwhelming. Part of me is scared all the time, Pop, and if it weren’t for Steve I would have gone insane by now. Thanks to him, I didn’t give up. He helped me get through these three weeks. I don’t know, it might be more, I’ve lost track. I’d say he pretty much saved my life. Thanks to him these last three days have finally been pretty good.”
“So good he made ye forget about yer sister? Chris said ya didn’t even ask about Kimmie’s case when he saw ya at Shenanigans.”
She didn’t know what to say that would make him understand. “Pop, I’m sorry. It’s just that it’s been the very worst time of my entire life. Almost – I can only think of one thing that I’ve gone through that’s been worse than these three weeks have been. And when I saw you just now, I … I felt like I was home after a long time away. It all just hit me, and I guess I fell apart a little bit.”
It was as close to the truth as any lie she could have told.
Shawn glared at her and searched for any signs that this Johnson character might have hurt her, but other than the swollen eyes she looked perfectly healthy. “Ya wouldn’t be feedin’ me a load of malarkey, now, woudja?”
“Pop, no, really.”
“Alright, Lasse,” he gave up. “You’re sure that Johnson didn’t do anything to ye?”
“Ya know, what, Pop? One day you’re gonna love him. He’s an amazing man.”
Shawn finally accepted that whatever was bothering her wasn’t Steve and maybe was exactly what she’d said. “Ok, ye had a good cry, then, so now how ‘bout ye go face yer mom and then have a good supper.”
Kayla smiled and followed her father up the stairs to the home she’d grown up in her entire life until she’d gone to live in Cleveland. Her mother was surprised to see her and more surprised to see the telltale signs that she’d been crying. She was about to lay into Kayla, but Shawn quietly shook his head. So, she didn’t push her daughter to explain. Kayla played Candyland with Max, thrilled to see the little brother she didn’t grow up with but loved just the same. She was taken a bit by surprise when Max gave her the silent treatment but quickly remembered that he started out not talking all those years ago. Frankie was another story. Still distrustful, not yet quite willing to relax and accept the Brady’s as his family yet. He seemed more on edge than usual. It was strange, she didn’t remember this Frankie very well, as he’d spent more time with Steve, actually, though Max warmed her heart immediately.
They ate a big family meal, and Kayla enjoyed cleaning up the dishes with her mother after. Caroline had asked her as calmly as she could where she was and why she hadn’t gone to the trial, and Kayla told her the same thing she’d told her father. Then it occurred to her that not one of her family members had called her checked on her or took the initiative with her. It was, apparently, Kayla’s responsibility to check in, benefit of the doubt notwithstanding. So, she chanced “It’s not like I disappeared, though. I was at work like I always am. Someone could have called.” Caroline balked slightly but didn’t pursue it. She never did like confrontation. Ultimately, Kayla was able to finish the dishes quickly, give her mother enough reason not to doubt her, and came away with a new issue for tomorrow. What do I start doing about this trial?
Caroline disappeared to put her young son to bed, and Kayla took a really good look around. It struck her just how similar the place was 20 years later. The furniture had changed, but most of the wedding photos that were on the mantle would still be there when 2009 came around. Even John and Marlena’s when they thought he was Roman. They used the same every day dishes in 2009 as they had used tonight, and while a small flat screen TV was now in the corner, most of the rest of the house was more or less the same. Perhaps a bit more cluttered with photos of grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Jeez, Sami, maybe get your tubes tied, she snarked to herself.
Steve was right. She needed this. It was like a salve on an open wound. It wasn’t that Steve couldn’t ease her pain, it was just that some wounds heal best with different medicines.
It was eight o’clock. One more hour of her one more minute. Kayla’s heart felt momentarily heavy anticipating the end to this gift.
“Hey, Kayla,” Frankie called over to her, momentarily dissipating her tension. “Max wants to say goodnight to you.”
“Well, then I won’t keep him waiting,” she said, heading for what used to be Bo’s old room where the boy was tucked in bed.
“Yeah, too bad Steve’s not here, he wanted to say goodnight to him, too. Wonder what he’s doin’ tonight.”
“Yeah,” Kayla said with a knowing smile. “I wonder.”
Steve howled as he sank the eight ball on his fourth straight game. “Woo hoo, ladies and gentlemen, that’s what I’m talkin’ about!” One of the regulars that Steve had long forgotten the name of threw his cue stick across the room and swore loudly. “Dude, dude, dude,” Steve chastised, “you kiss your mama with that mouth?” The bar erupted with laughter, and the man dug into his jeans pockets in disgust.
“That’s my last $50, Patch. I’m tapped out.” He handed the bills to Steve, but he held up his hand and pointed to his right.
“Give ‘em to the little lady over there,” he said, to which the brunette little lady in question blushed and said, “Thanks, Patch, you’re a lifesaver, you know.”
“You just get that boy of yours a nice birthday, Joanie.” She nodded and gave him half the money he’d just hustled. “Nah, baby, you need that.”
“And you don’t? You’re not rich, Patch, you need it, too. Take it, you earned it.”
“No, it’s yours.”
“No, Patch.” She was insistent, so he relented and took the money. “What else can I do to thank you?” she asked him. It was an innocent gesture of appreciation, rather than something salacious.
At first Steve was going to insist that there was no need for thanks and to just pay her rent and give her son a nice birthday. But then he did think of something.
“Just one thing, baby.”
“Anything, what is it?”
“You can start calling me Steve. I don’t go by Patch anymore.”
“Oh,” she turned a deep crimson and felt immediately bad. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to – everyone calls you that, I didn’t really – I didn’t know.”
“Don’t get worked up, baby, it’s a recent thing. Just call me Steve.”
“Ok. Steve. Thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me.”
Steve gave her a hug, and she disappeared out the door with the money he’d hustled for her. Joanine had run into the Heart just after he’d arrived, crying and saying she was looking for him. He hadn’t remembered her name, but he absolutely remembered her face and that she was one of those people down on the Riverfront who were barely making ends meet. She’d asked him if she could borrow some money so she could pay her rent, plus it was her son, Johnny’s, birthday. Steve helped her without hesitation. Won all four of the games some hustler tried to hustle him out of. Sadly, the man was out of his league. Steve tucked the money away and made a mental note to pay Kosichek for the March rent ahead of time so that his mother and sister had somewhere to stay.
Steve downed his third beer and was feeling a nice, warm buzz settle over him. Lots of people knew him there and made various manner of small talk. He didn’t remember a single one of them, but he didn’t find winging it that difficult. In fact, he was enjoying it very much. Steve shot some more pool just for the hell of it, ate his chili, and listened with fascination as the blue collar crowd engaged in a rather amusing political discussion.
“The man’s senile, don’t you get it?” one guy slurred.
“Reagan’s not senile, you idiot! Reagan’s a hero. A g*ddamn hero!”
“Your both idiots,” a third piped in, “’cause it doesn’t matter, he’s a lame duck.”
“He’s not a lame duck ‘til af’er the ‘lection,” the first guy replied. ‘Til then he’s senile again.”
“I think you’re senile.”
Steve clapped his hands and practically rolled with laughter.
“What the hell are you laughin’ at? You think something’s funny over here?”
“Who me?” Steve asked with a smooth charm. “Just this table, my friend. You seen it? Not a single shot to be had. I’m just laughing ‘cause I won’t be losing any money on this one.”
“Yeah? I think you’re laughing at President Reagan, that’s what I think. You’re laughing at a hero.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Ya look like a Democrat. You vote Democrat?”
“I wouldn’t know, I was too busy being a soldier.”
“A soldier?! Aw, sh*t, I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” The man who wasn’t a regular and had no clue that Steve Johnson was playing with him stood up and yelled loudly to the whole bar, “this man’s a vet! Nam! … You were in Nam, right?” he asked a little too late, as the damage had been done. “Get the man a beer!”
“Italy, actually.” Steve couldn’t help himself.
“Italy? Yeah?” The man struggled to place the military offensive that would have taken place in Italy.
“Special assignment,” Steve helped him out. Then he tapped his patch for effect.
“Ooooh, man! Hey, this is a hero, here! Lost his eye fighting the Cong in a top secret mission in Italy!”
The two guys originally arguing with him both looked at him like he was nuts.
Steve could barely contain his laughter at the absurdity of the statement – and what’s more, this guy was dead serious.
“Thank you! Thank you … uh …”
“Steve.”
“Steve! Thank you, Steve, for your service to this country!” He then stood at full attention and saluted until he finally took pity on the guy and saluted back. The man then went back to his beer.
The bartender knew Steve as a regular and knew damn well that the closest Patch had ever gotten to Viet Nam was on some trawler while in the Merchant Marines. He caught Steve’s eye, shook his head, and smirked as he poured Steve what would be one last beer.
Now half an hour later, Steve would have been losing every last dollar he’d made earlier if this had been a hustled game, as he was slightly more intoxicated than is recommended for precise billiard shots. Steve cursed as one shot after the next missed their intended pockets. “Well, screw this stick, man! I need mine! These sticks suck, man!” Steve called out to the bar. “My wife gave me the best cue ever made. Can’t lose with that one. Back at my apartment. And my other apartment. I’ve got two apartments.”
“What the hell you goin’ on about, Patch?” the bartender yelled.
“My name is Steve, dammit!”
“Oh, it’s Steve now? And you’ve got a wife and two apartments? Ok, I’m cutting you off. Time to go home!”
“No, it’s …” he looked at his watch. “… only 8:30, I need to kill another half hour, man! Gimme a shot of bourbon! No! Whiskey! I want a whiskey!”
“Show me the money, Johnson.”
“No, put it on my tab.”
“What is this, Bennigans? You ain’t got a tab.”
“Aw, c’mon, dude, even Kosichek gave me a tab! If I can get one with that asshole, I should be able to get one here. Why didn’t you ever give me one?”
“Patch, shut up.”
“STEVE!”
“Whatever!”
“If I play you a song can I have my whiskey?”
“If I give you a whiskey, will you leave?”
“That’ll work.”
The bartender poured a shot of whiskey, which Steve tossed back, then true to his nature, rather than his word, he took out his harmonica and started singing a song he made up on the spot, each phrase followed by the familiar punctuation of a standard harmonica blues riff.
“Well, I closed my eyes …”
“In two thousand and nine …”
“With my girl in my arms …”
“In the bed that was mine …”
“But then I woke up …”
“Sometime in the past …”
“My wife had big hair …”
“We got real young real fast, I’m singin’”
“The jumpin’ blues …”
“And me with … out my pool cue …”
“I got the blues …”
“Real soon we’ll go some … where that’s new! …”
The bartender rolled his eyes and pointed to the door as an amused smile he couldn’t quite help started to spread across his face. Before Steve headed out the door, the man with American pride came up to Steve, slapped him on the shoulder, and said, “You’re a g*ddamn fine American.”
Steve opened his eye wide and looked at him. “Thank you! I’ll look you up when I get home! You’ll be about 60!”
“Nighty-night, Johnson,” the bartender encouraged. “See ya next time. Have fun sleeping that off, now.”
Steve stumbled out the door, not so inebriated that he couldn’t walk, but intoxicated enough that he wasn’t going to be able to hide it from Kayla.
Kayla! Steve sobered just slightly with the realization that he had to go get Kayla at the fish market while he was less than sober. “Oh, that’s really brilliant, asshole. Make ‘em just really love ya now.”
Steve got as far as the pier before he decided the best thing to do was not go to the fish market as planned, and instead to sit here and try to look sober before he knocked on the door. He sat on the bench in the cold air and watched the fog continue to roll in off the river. He loved the smell of this place. It held more memories than he could count. He and Kayla. He and Bo. He and Marcus. Britta died right over there. “Where the f*ck did she come from?” he asked himself out loud. “You’re just drunk, dude.” He glanced over to his right and remembered Kayla scraping him off that very spot and taking care of him when there wasn’t anyone else to do it. He didn’t really know it at the time, but he’d fallen in love with her. She’d cleaned him up, seen him at his very worst, including under his patch for the first time, and she wasn’t any more horrified than if he’s had two perfectly good eyes. People who didn’t get any farther than seeing him at a gas station shunned him, yet, this amazing and beautiful woman saw his scarred flesh and continued to pursue him. He hadn’t understood at the time just how hard he had fallen for Kayla Brady, but that was when things turned for him and he saw her as not only someone he cared about, but as someone who cared about him.
Steve sat like that for twenty minutes, remembering, chuckling, waiting to sober up.
At 8:45, Kayla started to pace. Her father had tried to leave the room several times, and Kayla found reasons to keep him there. Steve was right, she needed to enjoy every single moment with him. And so other than a brief trip to the bathroom for both of them and about half an hour spent doing dishes with her mother, she spent those moments with him, laughing, talking about Kimberly and her brothers, and all the things happening with everyone. Marlena was dead, Roman was struggling with the three kids, and it looked like Kimberly was going to serve time for killing Shane’s first wife. No one mentioned Bo and Hope and Victor Kiriakis. Kayla wanted to pipe in and say don’t worry, she’s alive, just wait till the real Roman comes back, and they’re about to get a new grandson. The one thing she did allow herself was a nudge about Kimberly. “Pop, you should talk to Shane about that partner of his, that Gillian.”
“Who now?”
“His partner, I think her name is Gillian.” Honestly, the names had faded over time, so she wasn’t sure, but she figured close enough. “I don’t really trust her where Kimberly’s concerned. I think you should talk to Shane, tell him that you want him to look into her, that you don’t trust her.”
“Kayla, do ye know somethin’ we all don’t?”
“I might, Pop. All I’m saying is that we all know Kimmie didn’t kill Emma, and he should look into this Gillian woman a little more closely than he’s already doing. That’s all.”
“And ye know this how?
“I’m resourceful. And I have a hunch.” Shawn eyed her and crossed his arms in front of him.
“Come on, Pop, you always taught me to trust a Brady hunch, right?”
Shawn looked into the blue eyes of his daughter so much like his own and nodded. “Ok. I just hope ye know what yer sayin’.”
Kayla kissed her father on the cheek and laid another intense hug on him, which was enough for Shawn to drop it for the rest of the night.
Shortly thereafter, Shawn caught her looking at her watch for the 17th time that evening. “Ye got a hot date, do ye?”
“No! Why?”
“Cuz you’re wearin’ a hole in my carpet, girl.”
Kayla looked at her father. “I just don’t want to go, Pop,” she said softly. “I … I miss you so much.”
“Well, then come back and have supper tomorrow,” he said, having entirely missed Kayla’s use of the present tense. “We should have some perch left, they were really bitin’ all this week.”
Kayla felt the sting at the back of her eyes and mentally forced herself not to cry. “Pop, I want you to know, you were – and are – the best father anyone could ever ask for. Thank you for being my pop.” Then she hugged him tightly around the neck, locked the feeling of her father’s hug into her subconscious, and felt him tense up with his own emotion. He hadn’t been expecting the outpouring of sentiment from her and had to get himself together.
“Kayla, lasse, you’re some girl, ye are. You’re some girl, I got there. I’m proud of ye. I couldn’t be prouder.”
Kayla smiled and a tear did roll down her face. “I love you, Pop.”
Then she got her coat and headed out the door while she still had the willpower to do so. She stopped in the doorway and turned back to see him. He waved at her, and for a moment his eyes understood everything. She saw in his eyes the understanding of who she was, what she was going through, and who she would one day be. She couldn’t explain it, she didn’t know what it was or that she wasn’t making it up in her head. But her father’s eyes were speaking something to her.
“Pop?” she asked softly. “Tell God thank you for me, please. Tell him thank you for my one more minute. Ok?” she squeaked out.”
He returned her gaze with calm and sincerity. “I surely will, darlin’”
Then Kayla walked out the door and ran away from her parents’ home as fast as she could with fresh tears streaming down her face. Ran to seek bittersweet comfort in the arms of her husband.