Reality Author: JanetD Email: jdillon@mail.win.org Rating: PG (language) Summary: Nick meets a man from his mother’s past. Author's Notes: This story is a follow-on to my previous story “The Truth”. Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The characters in this story are borrowed from the TV show "The Guardian". No money is being made from this story. Any resemblance of a character in this story to any real person living or dead is purely coincidental. Likewise, any resemblance between an organization depicted in this story and any such actual organization is purely coincidental. --+-- Attorney Nick Fallin was sitting having lunch in Bennington’s, a popular downtown restaurant not too far from his office. Across the table was a woman in her sixties--Clara Northram, widow of Richard Northram, founder of a successful string of dry cleaning businesses in Pittsburgh. Mr. Northram had died some two years ago, and though Mrs. Northram relied on one of her husband’s associates for the day-to-day running of the business, there was still a certain amount of paperwork that required her attention. This was one of those occasions, and Nick had suggested that they meet for lunch, so that he could go over the required documents with her, and get her signature. Nick and Mrs. Northram had just finished their meal. Nick had retrieved the papers from his briefcase, and had just started to explain them to Mrs. Northram, when a man approached the table. He looked to be in his late sixties or early seventies, well-dressed, with a distinguished appearance. Despite his years, he still had a thick head of silver-white hair, and an erect posture. “Clara!” he said, with warmth, reaching to take her hand. “Stephen!” Mrs. Northram replied, returning his smile. “Well, what a nice surprise! How are you?” “Fine, fine, Clara. And you?” “Fine.” Suddenly Mrs. Northram remembered Nick, and said, “Oh, let me introduce you. Stephen, this is Nicholas Fallin, my attorney. Nicholas, this is Dr. Stephen Hiller.” “How do you do,” Nick said. As he reached to shake the man’s hand, he realized that the words “Dr. Hiller” were echoing in his head. There was something...familiar...about that name. “Nice to meet you,” the doctor replied automatically, briefly shifting his attention to Nick. He seemed about to resume his conversation with Clara when he stopped, and looked a second time at Nick. “Fallin.... Why, you must be Anne and Burton Fallin’s boy! Am I right?” Nick nodded, as he said, “Yes, that’s right.” “Why, I knew your parents, son,” the doctor said heartily. “In fact, your mother was a patient of mine.” Nick’s expression altered visibly at this statement. With a new wariness, he began an avid study of the man’s face. But the doctor did not seem to notice. He had paused, as if in deep recollection, and now his whole demeanor changed. When he spoke again, his voice reflected an old sorrow. “Her death...you should know her death was a grievous loss to her friends, as well as her family. Such a shame for a woman like your mother--a lovely, vibrant woman--to be taken so young. A real tragedy. You have my condolences.” Nick nodded, and murmured, “thank you”. But, in truth, he had paid very little attention to the doctor’s last words. This man had been his mother’s doctor. Was he the one who had made all those visits to the house to see his mom? The name sounded right, but he wasn’t entirely sure. He was still searching his memory, seeking the answer to that very important question, as Dr. Hiller turned his attention back to Mrs. Northram. The two of them spent a few minutes “catching up” while Nick sat in rapt contemplation. At last, Dr. Hiller said, “Well, Clara, I can see you two are discussing business, so I won’t keep you any longer. Nice to meet you, Nicholas. Goodbye, Clara.” Nick barely noticed the doctor’s farewell, but Mrs. Northram said, “Goodbye, Stephen. Do take care.” With a final nod, the doctor turned and left the table. Mrs. Northram watched him walk away, and then turned her attention back to Nick. “Well, now, where were we?” she asked pleasantly. Nick seemed lost in thought, and did not reply. “Nicholas?” Mrs. Northram prompted. Suddenly realizing that she was speaking, Nick smiled in apology, and, at the same time, unconsciously sat up a little straighter. “I’m, I’m sorry, Mrs. Northram. Let’s see now.... We were talking about the ‘deed of trust’. This is pretty straightforward, but let me just clarify a few things for you.” ----+---- As Nick drove back to his office after lunch his mind was still worrying at the link between Dr. Hiller and his mother: Was he right? Was this the same man? The man he had only recently come to suspect of being his mother’s...lover? Since leaving the restaurant, he had been racking his brain to recall as much as he could about those long ago `doctor’s visits`. Now he was almost sure that Dr. Hiller was the one who had come to the house all those years before. He thought there was a physical resemblance between that man of twenty-odd years ago and the man he’d met today, but it was the familiarity of the name that had really convinced him. In his mind, he could see again his mother introducing the man with the black bag as “Dr. Hiller” to his own 9 or 10-year-old self. Nick’s silver BMW was stopped at a red light. He had been so involved in dredging up the past that he didn’t notice when the light turned green. A sharp toot of a car horn brought him abruptly back to the present. Seeing that the signal had changed, Nick put his foot on the gas, and accelerated sharply through the intersection. ----+---- Nick Fallin walked into Fallin & Associates at much less than his normal quick pace. He wore a clouded, gloomy expression. As he approached his office, Jake Straka came striding toward him. Jake nodded hello as they passed, but Nick appeared not to even see him. Noting the expression on his colleague’s face, Jake stopped, and called out, “Nick?” Nick stopped in turn, and looked back. Jake put his hands out, palms up, and said with a grin, “Hey man, who died?” Nick did not reply, nor did his expression change. He just turned, and continued on. Jake looked after him for a moment, shaking his head with a silent, “I’ll never understand that guy,” before proceeding on his way. Reaching his office, Nick entered, and shut the door behind him. He walked slowly to his desk, and took his seat. He knew he needed to get his mind back on business. He had a lot of work to do. But he couldn’t pull his thoughts away from Dr. Hiller and his mother. Even as he tried not to, he began to imagine the two of them together: Dr. Hiller holding his mother in his arms.... Dr. Hiller kissing her.... Dr. Hiller un-undressing her. God! He shuddered in revulsion. The images were pure torture. He began to feel sick to his stomach. He tried desperately to push the appalling images away, and drew a deep, grateful breath when he succeeded. Just then there was a tap at the door, and Burton Fallin stuck his head in. “Nick, I need you to--” He stopped as soon as he got a good look at his son’s face. Nick was pale. His face was crestfallen, and he looked totally undone. Burton’s expression and voice changed noticeably, as he asked with concern, “What’s the matter?” Nick had lowered his head as soon as the look on his father’s face had told him what his own face must be revealing. He didn’t look up, as he answered in a ragged voice, “Nothing.” Burton came into the office, shutting the door behind him. He walked over to stand in front of Nick’s desk. He tried again. “Well, something’s wrong.... What is it?” Nick didn’t reply, but his father decided to just wait him out. Finally Nick ran a hand down his face, and (still averting his gaze) answered , “I-I met a man today. A, a man named Stephen Hiller.... Dr. Stephen Hiller.” As he uttered that name he looked up at his father to gauge his reaction. Burton looked disturbed by this information, but made no comment. With unmistakable emotion in his voice, Nick continued, “Did my mother and Dr. Hiller....” He swallowed hard, and began again, “Was he one of the men my mother, my mother...slept with?” Burton looked pained, but nodded as he said, “Yeah.” A stricken expression spread over Nick’s face. He had strongly suspected this, of course, but still...hearing his father erase all doubt was like a physical blow. He looked down again, compressing his lips, as he nodded dispiritedly. Burton now had a question that he urgently wanted the answer to. “How did you know?.... He, uh, he didn’t say anything to you, did he?” Nick drew in a breath, and replied slowly, “He didn’t say anything about, about that, no. He just told me my mother used to be his patient. Then I remembered...I remembered that a ‘Dr. Hiller’ used to come to the house. He, he came around a lot.” Burton sighed, and ran his hand through his hair. He was silent for a moment. When he next spoke his voice was full of regret. “I’m sorry, son. I’m sorry you had to meet that, that ‘man’.” He paused, running his hand over his head again. “I wish...I wish things had been different, Nicholas...between your mother and me; Hell!” -- (the word exploded out his mouth) -- “between you and me.” Another pause. “But that’s, that’s the past, son. I can’t change it. I wish I could.” Nick nodded. He knew that was true. It was all in the past...long over and done with. But the thought of his mother with this man, this, this `doctor` still “hurt like a sumamabitch”, as his father would say. He drew in a deep breath, and tried to regain his composure, tried to move the emotion and the fresh hurt away to the back recesses of his mind. While Nick was waging this internal struggle, Burton had been studying his son’s down-bent head. He thought perhaps Nick was coming to terms with this latest revelation. He genuinely hoped so. The silence was finally broken when Nick looked up at his father, and said steadily, “Wha-what was it you wanted to see me about?” The End This is the eleventh of the more than twenty stories I’ve written about “The Guardian” in the past year. If you would like to comment on the stories you find there, you can drop me a line at shaet111@yahoo.com. Happy reading!