Ringer, Season Two

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Chapter Sixteen: "What are we going to do?"

By one o'clock that afternoon, Juliet was practically falling asleep on the couch, even though the television was up so loud that everyone in Manhattan could hear it. Of course, she had turned the volume up intentionally, in order to block out any sounds of whatever her parents might have been doing in the bedroom. She wasn't stupid. She had been listening outside the door when Andrew proposed, and had heard Bridget's answer clearly. She was happy for them, no doubt about it, but that didn't mean she wanted to hear them getting it on.

So, she had occupied her time in the hours since by watching T.V., because, really, what else could she be doing? It wasn't healthy for her to be going anywhere, and it wasn't like she had any money to be leaving the house anyway. She had settled for Food Network and enjoyed the episode of Chopped. However, she began to doze off when the Barefoot Contessa came on and started making a pot roast for her husband Jeffrey. It was cute, but boring.

Finally, she decided to get up and get some water, because she realized that she hadn't had any in over three hours, having been glued to the couch. By now, her throat was parched.

As she made her way to the kitchen sink, she noticed her father's cell phone on the counter. He had left it there last night and hadn't been out of his room to claim it this morning. It was ringing, and by the looks of it, it had been ringing for quite a while.

Juliet picked it up and read the Caller I.D. It was the police station. She wondered why they would be calling. It wasn't like they needed any more information on Siobhan, did they? Or maybe, it was that stupid female officer that she and Machado had been playing cards with. She was a weirdo, and had worked her ass off to get Machado's number, but to no avail. God, what a wannabe flirt she was. Maybe she had gotten Andrew's number and was calling to see if he could provide her with Machado's digits.

Juliet had to laugh, though. That woman had been hilarious! She had gone on and on about how Machado had the best eyelashes that she had ever seen on anyone, pushing her boobs out toward him almost to the point of sexual harassment. That is, until he told her that he was an FBI agent. She backed off, a little, after that, but not before giving him a coquettish look. Needless to say, it had been very awkward for Juliet.

She picked up Andrew's phone and answered it.

"Hello?" she said uncertainly.

"Hello?" A man's voice on the line began, "this is Officer Towers. Is this Andrew Martin's cell phone?"

"Yes," she replied. "This is his daughter, Juliet."

"Well, may I speak with him, please? It's an urgent matter," the man said.

"He's-uh-busy at the moment. Could you call back later?"

"No," the man said. "I have to speak with him now. I have...horrible news."

Juliet's stomach dropped, although she wasn't sure why. What horrible news could this man be delivering? Nevertheless, she was interested.

"What horrible news?" she asked.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, as if Officer Towers was debating whether or not to say anything.

"Well, what is it?" Juliet persisted, starting to get annoyed. If the guy wasn't going to say anything to her, then she would just hang up.

Finally, he sighed. "His wife committed suicide this morning."

"What the hell?" The words flew out of Juliet's mouth before she could stop them, but her heart suddenly lept for joy. She almost screamed in happiness, but caught herself just in time. She cleared her throat. "What? How?"

"She ran headfirst into a wall and broke her neck," he said sadly. "I'm so sorry."

Now, it was Juliet's turn to pause. She had no idea what else to say. "It's alright," she managed to squeeze out. "I'll let him know."

If anyone had asked Bridget Kelly a year ago what she would be doing right now, making love to her future husband certainly would not have been her answer. She would probably have said something along the lines of "struggling to stay sober," or "struggling to find a job." The word "struggling" would certainly have been in there somewhere.

Now, she couldn't believe where she was, lying in bed, naked, with the most handsome and loving man she had ever known. She didn't want it to ever change.

But, of course it did. As soon as they heard a knock on the door, that is. Their lips broke apart and Andrew let out a small disapproving grunt.

"Daddy! Bridget! I need to talk to you!"

He rolled his eyes and gave Bridget another kiss on the lips. "I'll be right back."

He wrapped one of the bed sheets around his waist and walked over to the door. Bridget brought the other sheet up to her chest, just in case.

"What is it, Juliet?" he asked.

Although she couldn't see Juliet, Bridget could hear the hesitation in the girl's voice quite clearly.

"Um...I don't know what you guys are gonna want to do about this, but Officer Towers just called...Siobhan's dead."

"What?" Andrew nearly shouted.

Bridget shot up from the bed and rushed over to the door. "What do you mean?" she asked frantically.

The young girl sighed. "She committed suicide this morning. Ran into a wall and broke her neck. Like I said, I don't know what you guys want to do about it, but..." her demeanor changed dramatically and she smiled. "I'm gonna go look for a maid of honor dress."

And without another word, she walked off, leaving Andrew and Bridget in shock. He shut the door and stared at her for at least thirty seconds before either of them could say anything.

"I can't believe it," Bridget finally said. She sank back down on the bed, dropping the sheet. Andrew did the same. "Why would she do that?"

"I don't know," he shook his head. "I guess...she felt like she had no other way out, which, in truth, she really didn't Her life was basically over."

They looked at each other, and tears began to flow from both of their eyes. A part of Bridget felt the same as she had eight months ago, when she had thought her sister had committed suicide the first time. Only, now, it was definitely for real. The other part of her couldn't believe that she was crying over such a despicable human being.

She laid her head on Andrew's bare chest, on top of the bullet wound scar. "What are we going to do?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he stroked her hair and wrapped his arms around her. She could feel his tears fall on top of her head.

"Why are we so sad?" she asked. Truly, it didn't make sense. After everything Siobhan had done to them, here they were, crying over her death.

"I don't know," he repeated a second time.

They sat in silence, listening to the dull sound of the television in the living room. Thinking about it, Bridget supposed that there could have been many reasons for their mourning Siobhan, but the most obvious had to be that love was not a two-way street. Siobhan didn't have to earn or deserve their love for them to be upset over her death. She was still their family, and as much as they didn't want to admit it, they still loved her.