Ch. 1: The Confession

Henry had never planned to tell Jo like this. He had always planned to sit her down and explain it all out, calmly and logically. Well, he had always wanted to do it that way. Deep down though he had always known he never would do that. He was far too afraid of her rejection to sit down and tell her willing and rationally. He knew that some event would rip the secret from him, that he would have to explain it all out of shear need. But he had never imagined that the circumstances surrounding the reveal of his secret could ever be this desperate. Then again he had never thought he'd ever be living in a world without Abraham either.

Henry always knew it would end like this. From the very beginning he had known that he would find himself at this end. Henry was immortal but Abe was not. Therefore, Henry had always known he'd outlive his son. But he supposed that he had still held on to a hope that somehow death would evade his son just as it had eluded him. It had been a fool's hope of course. But he knew he'd held on to it none the less because he was completely surprised to find himself here in this moment.

Abraham had gone, quietly in his sleep. It was the best Henry could have hoped for, if a parent could have hopes about such a thing. As someone who had experienced many deaths over the years, many of them quite painful, he knew he should feel grateful that Abe hadn't suffered at all in the end. He'd not even known death was coming. And Henry was grateful for that. He was very thankful that Abe had not experienced the pain of death or the fear of its coming. But the gratitude he felt did not even come close to outweighing the despair he felt over that death. It had happened so suddenly, without any warning or indication, that Henry had not seen it coming and had not been prepared at all for it. While the surprise of it had been a kindness to Abraham it had added to the pain for Henry. As long as he lived he would never forget how terrible it had been to go to his son's room and find that he was gone.

Henry stared at the old carousel from his place on the bench beside it. It was quiet in this part of the park as the carousel had been out of service for decades now and Henry was glad for the company of the silence. He stared at the carousel that was now broken and neglected but he could remember a time when it was new and had been filled with children. Among them many times had been his child. There had been a time, when Abe had been so young, that he had begged Henry to go nearly every day. Of course, Henry had never been able to say no to his son and he'd spent many an afternoon on this bench watching as Abe circled round and round waving to Henry as he passed by. The carousel, while a reminder of those good times, now also stood as a sad testament of how far he had come from those good days.

Henry buried his face in his hands, unable to look at it as the pain of all he'd lost hit him deep inside again. He reminded himself that none of this should be a surprise to him; he'd always known it was coming. It was one of the reasons he had used to try and talk himself out of adopting Abe in the first place. But that had been a lost cause from the very beginning. He'd fallen in love with that baby from the first time he'd held him. Though Abe had not been his own biologically, Henry had felt an instant connection with him as if he were his own. He could never turn his back on Abe. He had made that "impulsive commitment" Abigail had spoken of but he had always known that commitment would be for the rest of Abe's life and not his own. But knowing it was coming had not prepared Henry at all for accepting it at and made no part of this any easier. Though his life was never ending it felt like it was over. It seemed as if everything that meant anything in it was gone forever.

Even with his head in his hands and the depth to which he was lost in his thoughts it was easy to hear her approaching before she ever spoke. He wasn't sure if he wanted her here or not. If she were here to try and get him to talk the he was sure he would rather just be alone. He knew he didn't want that. But if she were coming just to be with him he found that he really wanted that. His loneliness seemed to scream out at the idea of having her company.

"Henry?" Jo spoke quietly as she approached from behind.

"Detective," he greeted hollowly, lifting his head from his hands but not turning around to look at her.

"Hi, Henry," she said as she walked around to sit beside him on the bench. She had a sympathetic smile on her face when he glanced in her direction. He turned around facing the carrousel once again as she sat down next to him.

She had been the first one to arrive at his home after it had happened. She had rushed right over after he'd made the call, literally running up the stairs to get there as fast as she could. She found him still in shock slumped against the wall outside of Abe's room. Her eyes had been filled with tears and her face was full of the most genuine sympathy he'd ever glimpsed in his life. She had offered no words to console him only her touch as she had rushed to embrace him. He remembered that hug and how good it had felt to hold on to her as an anchor when the very world around him seemed to be spinning out of all reason.

Remembering it now, and wanting that again, he briefly wondered why he had kept his distance from her in these past weeks. She had been such a strength to him in those first few days following Abe's death. She'd been such a help and he knew that she was the only reason he'd ever survived any of it. But after the funeral he had pulled away from everyone, her included. He hadn't seen anyone or accepted any calls in weeks. He hadn't wanted to withdrawal from everyone and at times he didn't even know why he was doing it. Especially with her. She understood what it was to be in grief and he could feel that difference in the way she dealt with his as opposed to others who had offered their sympathies.

But having her here now, right beside him, he remembered why he had distanced himself from her as well. It was because of the barrier he felt, the barrier between them that he had created with his lies. No one understood what he was going through. And it wasn't just in the way that one person could never truly understand the grief of another. It was more than that. No one even knew what it was he was mourning. They all thought it was grief over losing a dear friend he felt. No one knew that it was the loss of a child he was feeling, a loss so great it should be in a class all its own.

Even Jo, with all the help he knew she wanted to be for him, didn't know that. He wanted the help and the comfort he knew she could give but even more than that he wanted her to really know what it was he was suffering. With her around it was too hard to ignore that want, a want that was quickly turning into a need. He was too raw, the pain too great, for him to be able to hold up the facade that he constantly wore, the one that protected his secret. His grief was making him feel like he didn't even want to do that anymore and that was a dangerous place to be. Being isolated from everyone was the only way to protect himself from his own grief-stricken recklessness.

"I'm surprised to see you here," he said. "How did you know I'd be here?"

"I'm a detective. I have my ways," she said with a light smile.

He nodded, consenting to her logic. "Yes, I suppose you have."

"Well, it wasn't the first place I looked," she admitted. "I tried several before I thought of this place. I remember that Abe had mentioned it once." Just hearing her say his name tore into Henry. "Did he used to bring you here?"

It was just an innocent question. He knew she was only trying to start a conversation when a conversation wasn't easily had. But it only cast a spotlight on the secrets he held, wretched secrets he didn't want anymore.

"Something like that," he said stiffly, looking ahead. He could see her out of the corner of his eye and he could tell she felt she had struck a nerve. She became silent, dropping the subject. He knew that must not be easy for her because as she sat there quiet he saw as she stared at the carousel ahead of them. She was studying it and was no doubt coming to the correct assumption that it had not be operational for several decades, so long in fact that it might have already been close before Henry's supposed 35 years of life. But she didn't ask any more questions about that certain subject since she could see that it was upsetting for him.

Henry was hit by a brief shot of guilt. Jo was only trying to help and he was making it difficult. She had been nothing but good to him and she'd not gotten much in return for her efforts. It wasn't her fault she didn't know the truth.

"Thank you," he said breaking the silence, glancing over at her. "For the food. And everything else. I don't know if I've even thanked you for everything you've done."

In the weeks since the funeral, Jo had tried to call him several times but he had never picked up. When she didn't get through on the phone she had started to show up at his door but he'd never answered. After those efforts failed she had taken to having food delivered to his house. She must have ordered the delivery people not to take no for an answer (and surely given them a decent tip) because they rang the bell until he finally answered the door. Every time he tried to pay them they told him it had already been taken care of. Of course, he'd known it was her. He couldn't think of anyone else who would have been so persistent; or anyone who would be so patient with him. He knew that if it went for her he probably wouldn't have eaten.

"You're welcome," she said with a smile on her face. It led him to believe that he hadn't thanked her yet which was disgraceful. That coupled with the look of fondness on her face that she still had for him despite his actions made him look away again in shame.

"It's been a long time since I've seen you," she said after a moment's pause. "Lucas has been calling me every day asking me if I've heard from you," she said with a slight smile in her voice.

If Henry had to guess he would have to say it had probably been three weeks since he'd seen Jo or Lucas for that matter. He didn't know for sure because he'd lost all track of time. They had both been at the funeral, along with the others he'd met through his work with Jo and the NYPD. He'd actually been surprised to find out he'd made so many friends, some of them solely there for him since they'd not known Abe. They'd all been very supportive but he'd not seen or talked with any of them since.

"I'm sorry if he's been bothering you on account of me."

"He's not bothering me," Jo said honestly. "He's worried about you. And so am I. I haven't seen you in weeks. You haven't returned any of my calls."

"I'm sorry," Henry said and he truly was. He really didn't want to worry anyone. "I just...I can't..." he said shaking his head and putting it in one of his hands.

"I get it," she said and he knew she really did understand. "I didn't expect you to come back to work right away. I just wanted to know you were alright."

"Well, I'm not," he said flatly, but it was the honest truth.

She nodded, agreeing. "Tell me how you're feeling," she said gently turning her body towards him and looking at him. It was invitation to him, to really open up to her. He could feel how kind the offer was, how she was offering herself as a safe place to land once he'd fallen to pieces. He wanted so much to take her up on that offer and he could feel that there was only a thin string of restraint holding him together still.

"I can't," he said avoiding her gaze and the encouragement that her body language was giving. His voice was full of the agony he felt and he hoped she would sense it and not push it. But he knew she wouldn't drop this. For his own good she wasn't going to let him off this hook this time.

"It will make you feel better. It really will," she said placing a brief hand on his shoulder.

The quick touch was almost enough to undo him. He wanted nothing more than to be able to do that but he couldn't. "I believe you, Detective. I do. I just can't."

"Henry...I thought we were friends."

"We are."

"Then why don't you trust me? I trust you. And I've been through loss; if you're embarrassed, you don't need to be. You can cry or scream, whatever; I've done it all already. "

Henry didn't say anything. He had no other defense to offer her but he also wasn't going to give in just yet.

"It's been three weeks...since..." she started cautiously.

"And what? I should be over it by now? I should have moved on because he was only a friend of mine?" Henry snapped. There was more venom in his words than she had expected and she wasn't quite sure where it had come from. She recoiled at his words, shocked for a moment and not knowing what to say.

Now he knew he'd hurt her. Again, it was the last thing she deserved. "I'm sorry," he said, hanging his head, tears burning his eyes. "I'm sorry," he repeated shaking his head. "I didn't mean to get angry. I don't know what's wrong with me."

He felt her reach a hand to his back and leave it there. He was proving all too well the point that she was trying to make; he needed to deal with the grief inside of him before it tore him to pieces.

"That's not what I was going to say at all," she said and her voice was now starting to become saturated with her own emotions. "I would never reduce your pain in that way. I'm just saying I...I miss my partner and...and I want him back."

Her tone was so open and less reserved than it usually was. She didn't conceal anything at the moment, not her loneliness or her need for him. She was being vulnerable for him. He wished he could to do the same for her. He wasn't even sure how to respond. Her friend, her partner, the Henry she knew, might be lost forever.

"I don't know what to do," he whispered. He hadn't really meant to say it out loud but it was so quiet he wasn't even sure if she had heard it or not.

"Henry...Abe came to talk to me."

This quickly captured Henry's attention. He turned towards her, clear interest on his face. "When?"

"It was a while ago. Actually, it wasn't that long after you and I met."

"Wh-what did he say?" he asked desperately. He was eager to hear what Abe had spoken.

Jo paused for a moment remembering that past conversation. She was hit by a wave of her own grief as she remembered Abe. He'd always been so kind to her and she missed him too. She was also conflicted about what she had to say. She didn't know what it was she carried but she knew somehow it was going to cause Henry even further pain. It didn't even make sense to her but she knew that Henry would be able to fill in the blanks and it would make perfect sense to him. Even knowing only half the story it still felt heavy to her.

She had to struggle to keep her voice calm when she finally spoke. "He came to me and he told me you had a secret. He said it wasn't dangerous to anyone but you. But because of it you had to keep people at a distance. He said you would want to tell me but that you would feel like you couldn't."

Henry was nearly overcome hearing these words that Abe had shared with Jo. "He said that?"

"Yeah. He also said that...after...you know after he was gone you were really going to need someone. Because he was the only one who knew the truth and you needed someone else to know. He said you wanted to trust me but that you'd been really hurt by people you trusted in the past and you just didn't know how to anymore."

"I can't believe he said that to you," he said thinking about her story, new words from his son, new information about him, when Henry thought there would be none. Abe had known him so well. He really had understood and he had been so kind to Henry. Abe had never told anyone about Henry's secret. What he'd told to Jo had been the closest that Abe had ever come. Though it was far from being full disclosure Henry had never expected Abe to even say that much to anyone.

It proved to Henry just how painful the secrecy had been to Abe. His secret must have weighed so heavily upon his son. He bore so much responsibility in being Henry's son. It must have been so difficult to be the only one to know Henry's secret. After Abigail left them, Abe would have had no one to confide in about the struggles and trials he faced in regards to knowing Henry's secret. Henry had known that Abe wanted him to tell Jo. So many times he'd asked Henry to tell her. Henry had always assumed that was for his own benefit, but now (when it was much too late) Henry realized that it would have benefited Abe too. Abe also would have had someone else to confide in. Henry wished so deeply that he had shared that secret with Jo while he'd still had Abe with him. He could have relieved some of Abe's stress. But he'd chosen instead to leave Abe in secrecy, and it had worried his son so much what would become of his father after his passing that he'd done all that he could even when Henry had left his hands tied.

All the while, Jo had known. For most of their friendship she'd had this knowledge, that he had a secret, one he kept from her and she'd never said anything. She'd not investigated it or forced him to tell her. She'd not left him. His head, in addition to his heart was now spinning as he thought about it.

"You...knew I had a secret? All this time, you knew?"

"Well, to be fair Henry, I don't think that would come as much of a surprise to anyone. You're a very secretive person and you kind of stick out. I think everyone assumes there's more to you than meets the eye. Abe just kind of confirmed it for me. "

"Oh..." he said. Had he more thought to devote to that he would have to reconsider his walls and ponder how he might rebuild them since they were apparently ineffective. But thoughts of preserving his secret were buried so far under other thoughts it didn't even register at the moment. "But you never said anything. Why didn't you ever bring it up?"

"Well, I tried to get you to talk to me. I tried to show you that you could trust me. But I didn't want to force you into anything; I wanted you to want to tell me whatever it is."

Henry could feel himself crumbling. Like an avalanche that starts gradually as small pieces falling slowly before it plummets down fast and all at once he could feel the pieces of himself starting to come undone. That was the thing though; he already did want to tell her. Why didn't he just do it already? Maybe a desire to tell her was never the thing he had lacked. Yes, he wanted to tell her. He wanted that a lot. But would she accept him? That was the real question. Maybe that had been the real question that had needed answering all along.

Jo slipped her hand into his trying to give him strength. It felt so natural; it belonged with his. He held on to it in return. "Whatever it is, you know you can tell me, right? You know you can tell me anything?"

"I'm afraid it isn't that easy," he admitted, though he already felt himself swaying in that direction. "Abe was just a boy when he found out. He accepted it well, he adapted quickly because he was so young. He practically grew up with it being a normal part of his life. He sometimes forgot that isn't always the case. An adult won't accept this so easily."

Jo's brows creased as she considered Henry's words. What he had just said was odd. It didn't make any sense. How could Abe have learned a secret about Henry when he was only a child? Henry wouldn't have been born for another several decades. But Henry's trust was delicate thing. She knew she couldn't rush him on it and she didn't want to say anything that might jeopardize her earning of it. So, she didn't probe him with the questions that were already filling her mind. She waited instead for him to come by the revelation on his own.

But he didn't continue speaking. He squeezed her hand and she could practically hear him contemplating what he was going to do, what he was going to say to her. She could almost feel the longing to do it in his touch. She was relieved to find that he wanted to talk to her. Even though she had been patient and had waited for him to be forthcoming about his secret that didn't mean that she hadn't wanted to know what it was. She had wanted to know what it was very much.

She knew it was difficult for him though, for some reasons that she did not know. She searched for some words to say. She really wasn't very good at this sort of thing. It was always hard to know what to say to grieving people and, as with almost everything else, Henry was even more difficult to figure out. Of course, he was also worth every bit of the effort.

She was still wracking her brain with what she was going to say when she caught sight of a piece of paper in one of Henry's hands. Upon further consideration she realized that it wasn't a piece of paper but a photo and an old one at that. Desperate for anything to grab at for conversation she took the opportunity.

"Is that Abe?" she asked, pointing to the picture that Henry had in his hand.

Henry looked at the picture for a moment. He had forgotten he was even holding it. It was a mistake that normally he would never have made. Usually, he wouldn't have had one of the old pictures out with him in public and he certainly wouldn't forget he had it in his hand. But the truth was he just didn't care anymore. Nothing seemed important any longer including the preservation of his secret.

How could anything matter now? He was all alone. He had already lost a wife and now he had lost a son. The second was even more painful than the first, a fact he never would have dreamed was possible until it had occurred. He had no one in this world and though there had been a time when he had lived in solitude he knew he could never go back to those days. Abe was right; he did need someone.

Remembering these new words from his lost son were what finally sent him over the edge. He should have done this so much sooner, if not for his own sake, for Abe's. And he had failed at that. He'd made Abe's burden unnecessarily hard with his stubbornness. Abe had trusted Jo. Even after only knowing her a short time he had entrusted her with this responsibility; the responsibility of looking after Henry after he was gone. Shouldn't that be enough for Henry to trust her as well? Abe was smart and a great judge of character. If Henry hadn't been so stubborn he'd have remembered that sooner.

At any rate, he knew he had to tell Jo. All reasoning aside, he was now blinded by his grief. Jo had said once that he had no self-preservation skills but that hadn't been completely true until now. Henry was all alone now and he suddenly felt desperate for Jo; for her friendship, for her company. He needed it completely and the only way he could have that was without the lies between them. With Abe gone he did need a confidant and he wanted it to be her. If he couldn't have that from her then he truly didn't care what else followed. If she didn't accept his secret he would just leave. He no longer had anything else to make him stay and he wouldn't be able to bear it here if she rejected him.

Jo watched Henry as he appeared to ponder something before handing the picture over to her. Jo took the picture and looked at it. It was old, brown and white and crinkled with age. She would have expected this from a picture that was as old as Abe. Something she didn't expect was the other person she found in the picture with Abe. In the picture there was a toddler, Abe she assumed, being held by a man that appeared to be Henry. Though the image had faded some over time it was undeniable that the man holding Abe was a complete likeness to Henry.

She gapped at the picture, not sure what it was she was seeing, because what she thought her eyes saw couldn't be real. The man in the picture could be a family member of Henry's. This could have been Henry's grandfather or great uncle. Sometimes people in the same family resembled each other so much it was hard to tell who was who. That would be the logical explanation. But as logical as that explanation would be she didn't think that was the case. This man didn't just look like Henry; he looked exactly like Henry. He would have to be a twin of Henry's to resemble him this much. Plus, the smile on the man's face also gave argument to her logical explanation. The way the man was smiling, that was Henry's smile.

The picture could be a fake but she didn't think so. She knew that there were amazing things that could be forged and edited in pictures. A fake could even be aged to be made to look authentic. But she didn't even consider that for a second. That would take a high level of decent and though she knew Henry kept things from her and told her half-truths she knew he would never blatantly set out to deceive her. Especially at a time like this.

Looking at the picture she would have to assume that the child was Abe and Henry was the one holding him but that couldn't be true. Abe was just a child in this picture which meant it was taken over 60 years ago. But how could that be since Henry, who was only supposed to be in his thirties, was in this picture too?

She stared at the picture for a while. She wasn't even sure how long. She almost hoped she would see something different if she stared at it longer, something that would make sense because this really didn't make sense. She was hesitant to look up at Henry. If she thought she was at a loss for words before, it was nothing compared to now. When she looked up she found that Henry was looking at her, studying her reaction. She reminded herself of Henry's current state of grief and the precariousness of earning his trust. She hoped the chaos she felt inside did not show on the outside.

"Henry?" she asked, begging for an explanation but unable to make herself voice any of the questions in her head.

He gestured for her to turn the picture over. She felt nervous for some reason but she turned it over slowly. Written on the back, in Henry's handwriting, were the words "Me and Abe 1948."

She stared at the words for a while. As innocent as it might look to anyone else it was a confirmation of the crazy conclusion she had arrived at. "I don't understand," she said, and she heard a waver in her voice. She desperately tried to force the emotions down. She had to be strong for Henry now; she couldn't lose it herself.

It took Henry a few moments to answer. He couldn't believe that he was about to tell her the truth. Though he'd made the decision to tell her his secret the words still weren't easy in coming. He didn't have even close to the amount of energy he needed to reveal the whole truth of his secret. So, instead he turned back to what he had wanted to tell her when she'd first arrived, what he had wanted her to be able to understand ever since he'd lost Abe. He'd never planned to tell her like this. But then again he'd never expected to be without Abe either.

Jo could see there were tears in Henry's eyes and his lip quivered slightly as he got ready to speak. She found herself holding her breath as she waited and she placed her other hand over the top of their joined ones. "Abraham wasn't just a friend of mine," he said looking at her. "He...he was my son."

The confession was too much for him. These words were the last push that sent him over the edge into his grief. All this time he hadn't been able to actually voice his loss and finally doing so had made it real. More real than he would ever want it to be. He didn't even wait to see what her reaction would be. As soon as the words were out of his mouth he collapsed. He pulled away from her and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands as he started to cry.

"He was my son and I had to lie about it most of his life," he said mournfully, his face still buried. "I had to make him call me Henry when all I wanted was for him to call me dad. I could never tell people what he really meant to me, how important he was to me. Even, ever since he died...people still didn't know. They knew he was near and dear to me of course. But no one knew that he was my boy, that he was my baby." The words spilled out of him briefly but now he was spent, the declaration had taken everything he had left and sent him hurdling down into a pit of despair he wouldn't be able to come out of on his own. He let himself be consumed by his sobs. He couldn't even bear to see what Jo's face might look like. Could he survive her rejection right now if that's what he got?

Jo pressed a hand to her mouth containing a cry of her own as she watched Henry dissolve into tears. She had a million questions; her head was actually spinning with them. What Henry was saying couldn't possibly true. Henry couldn't be Abe's father. He just couldn't. It was impossible and unbelievable on so many levels. At any other time her mind would have gone into problem solving mode right now, working out all the reasons why this couldn't be and finding an appropriate explanation instead. She'd be able to see the facts as they were unclouded by emotions. She was a detective; it was what she did. She dealt with reason and this was unreasonable.

But right now she found that her mind did not go there and her heart didn't even want to. It was completely broken for her best friend and the sight of him so sad. She had never seen Henry sob and it crushed her inside. This was the unreserved display of despair of a person who had had finally reached their tipping point.

Grief was a strange thing. At first it leaves you in shock. You expect your emotions to react suddenly at the start. You assume you'll cry right at first; you feel guilty when that doesn't happen right away. You loved this person and you assume you should be upset from the very moment you learn of their loss. But that isn't what happens at all. You find yourself numb, unable or maybe unwilling to feel what you know you should be feeling. Maybe it was a coping mechanism, the thing that made it possible to get through those first few days. But then there comes a moment, an instant when something happens, maybe something that seems completely unrelated and you crack. Everything you knew you should be feeling all along comes spilling out all at once. She could well remember when that had happened to her, after Sean's death. And this, right now, was Henry's moment.

She knew what was happening to him now and could imagine, at least in part, how he might be feeling. Her loss was so recent she could easily recall it and she ached to know that Henry was going through that. Somehow, telling her this truth had sent him over the edge. It had to be a lie but how could it be a lie? A lie wouldn't be able to cause him such pain. Why would he even lie at a time like this? How could he lie at a time like this? There would be no reason for Henry to make up what he had just told her. In fact, she was pretty sure that someone in the depths of grief like this couldn't make up such a thing.

She found herself believing what Henry had told her. In this moment, it was actually hard to doubt it. Henry was absolutely devastated. What she was witnessing right now, she had seen before. It was the grief of a parent, of a father, who had lost a child. She'd delivered that awful news so many times before and watched as they came to terms with it. It was unlike any other loss. She'd had to tell people of a loss of a loved one of all kinds of relations. But the grief of a parent was so different and so much greater than any of those others it was easily distinguished and recognizable. And this was exactly what it looked like.

She wanted to know so much more but now was not the time to ask questions. Even if she were callous enough to ask them at a time like this (which she was not) he wouldn't be able to answer them. There wasn't much that made sense right now, so she simplified it down to what she did know for certain: Henry was her friend and he was hurting. Right now he needed her to be there for him and that was all that mattered.

She wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "I do," she said quietly.

She hoped it was the right thing to say. She just wanted him to know that she was there for him. She certainly hadn't expected to have this conversation and she wasn't prepared for it at all. She was relieved when he quieted for a moment and looked up at her. He stared at her for a moment and she felt nervous under his scrutiny as he searched her face for something. Tears filled her eyes and she let them this time, letting herself show some of the pain she felt for him. He looked so vulnerable right now, so breakable and she only hoped that he found what he was looking in her. She felt a tear fall out of one of her eyes but she held his gaze until he broke it, leaning his face against her shoulder as he fell against her. She wrapped her arms around him and held his as he cried some more.

"It wasn't fair to him," he said, now that the words were out and she hadn't rejected him they seemed a little easier. "All those years, it wasn't fair to him. I didn't want to do it."

"Abe knew how much you loved him. I'm sure he never doubted that for one second," she said with certainty as she hugged him.

"What am I going to do Jo?" he asked pulling back to look at her. He looked so desperate and lost. There would have been a time when she would have thought it wouldn't have been possible for the man who always seemed to have it together. But here he was, lost and looking to her for guidance this time. "I don't know how to live without him."

What could she offer him now? From experience, she knew that there was no right thing to say to a grieving person. No matter what anybody said it wouldn't make things any better. Words wouldn't bring their loved one back and that was the only thing that would make things any better. She knew that there nothing she could say to Henry to make the loss of Abe (his son) any better. She also knew that there were so many wrong things to say to someone. After Sean died she was sure she'd heard them all. So she understood that there were a lot of things that she could say to make it worse. She was at a loss.

"I just want to die," he added, closing his eyes.

She knew the feeling. She'd had that same thought many times in the days, weeks and even months following Sean's death. She still felt it from time to time. It never went away. It made her so sad to know it would never go away for him either.

"I know," she said shaking her head in understanding and pulling him to her again.

"I feel like...I've died inside. How can I ever be alright when...he's gone forever? I'm never going to see my Abraham again."

Henry talked so tenderly about Abe that Jo actually forgot for a second that there was no way Henry could be Abe's father. She was lost in the affection in his words. He had to be Abe's father with the way he talked about him. She had always known that Henry cared about Abe. But she had never known how much he had loved him. All of that love and all the loss he felt now that he'd lost him all came out, strong in his words. This was the first time he'd been able to express them and they were potent from being store up.

"How am I going to get through this?" he asked quietly, almost as if he were talking to himself.

Jo remembered back to the day she'd had that conversation with Abe. There was something that Abe had said that she'd not mentioned to Henry. At the end of the conversation, Abe had suddenly turned even more serious. He had gripped her hand and looked deep into her eyes, his almost desperate as they searched hers out. "Jo," he said his voice begging for her attention, "he needs somebody."

He'd already said that, earlier in the conversation, but not like this. This was different. What he was saying had more meaning behind it. There such an urgency in it. She had not understood at the time what he had been talking about. She could feel the weight of some burden that Abe had carried. He'd wanted to say more, she could see that. But he'd been bound, the secret not his to tell. But even without divulging it he had wanted her to agree to something. She had nodded her head, not really knowing what to say, not really knowing what she was agreeing to.

What she did understand now was he had been asking her to take his place. He had been passing the responsibility of caring for Henry on to her. He'd wanted to give her the gift of being Henry's confidant. She still didn't understand exactly what the secret was Henry had; she knew there had to be a lot more to his story. But she did understand the responsibility and the privilege that Abe had entrusted to her. He had known the full story, whatever it was, and he had trusted her with it in the future. He must have thought she could handle it. It touched her and she resolved to live up to that trust.

Abe had been worried about what would happen to Henry when he was gone. He knew he wouldn't be around forever and yet he somehow knew that Henry still would be after he was gone. Now that she could see how lost Henry was without Abe she could see why he had been afraid of that. She knew she would stand by Henry and be there for him. She had, in fact, already agreed to it. She also knew it was the only decision she ever would have made.

"I don't know," she admitted, when she finally spoke. "But I know we'll figure this out. Together."

Henry pulled back and looked over at her. He searched out her eyes, looking for repulsion, rejection, anything like the terrible things he'd sometimes found before when he'd shared the truth. But he found none of that. He only found the safety he'd so longed for. "Thank you, Jo."

She did not know that she'd given him exactly what he'd been seeking: her acceptance. She still had so many questions. But she didn't want Henry to even try and explain them right now. She knew he would have to explain himself at some point and she knew he would. But for today, trust and acceptance and shared comfort was all that they needed between them.

Be sure and follow to see what happens next and let me know what you think of it so far!