Quid Sit Futurum Cras, Fuge Quaerere et Quem
 

BYERS:

No. I can't leave her.

I think I fear her dying only a little more than what would become of me should anything happen to her...

I may be breathing, but I'd still be a corpse.

And I feel like one, even as a gentle hand on my arm guides me out of the room.

Still, if my future father-in-law thinks this is important enough that he would leave his own daughter for a moment...

I'm in a trance as he guides me out of the hospital lobby. It's only when the shock of warm air and humidity strike my skin that I am sharply aroused from my dreamlike state.

And for the first time, I notice: Jeffrey is shaking.

He has been so calm, so soft-spoken, so strong. He clasps his daughter's hand and wills her to be well; he does the same with his wife, and she finds her center of power to maintain in the face of all this.

This is the first I have noticed how deeply the strain is affecting him. I've been so busy soaking in my own misery that I failed to notice how the drops were accumulating on him.

I am such a selfish individual. I hate myself for this.

Finally, I ask him if he's all right. What an idiotic thing to say; how could he be that way? How could any of us?

"John, I'm fine, as fine as any of us can be in this; you've asked me that about a hundred times." He smiles, weakly but tenderly.

I asked him if he was all right? I cannot remember for the life of me being concerned for anything but Juliet's survival...and my own.

His hand stays on my arm, and I begin to wonder if it's for his own support as much as mine.

I owe him at least that much.

How is it that this man, who is barely acquainted with me, can treat me with such kindness? The only thing he knows is that for some reason unbeknownst to myself, I have made his daughter happy.

Until now. Why did this happen to her?

Apparently her parents feel no ill will where I am concerned; I was not with her when the incident occurred, and I attempted to be present as rapidly as possible. They see me as a partner in their suffering.

What is it in me that makes me feel that somehow, this must be my fault?

What sort of guilt have I been injected with over the years that makes me this way?

I'll tell you what it makes me.

Selfish.

Too certain of my own importance in the universe.

And hubris is certain to be anyone's downfall.

Leaving Juliet's side, I suddenly am overcome with a sense of dread, of feeling that I have done something terribly wrong.

The trembling increases, and I notice a quaver in Jeffrey's voice as he asks me if I know anywhere around here close by where we might get something to eat.

"We've got a long way ahead of us.   And when was the last time you ate, John?" He chides me gently.

When was the last time I ate something? Yesterday? Was it morning or afternoon? Did I remember to eat something?

I'm trying to form a picture of this, and it is completely blurry.

In this section of town, the only place I know is the *Athenaze Diner, one of the ubiquitous Greek diners that litters the city. Athenaze would never win prizes for its culinary originality, but they do make a decent breakfast and lunch, and the portions would intimidate even Michael and Langly. (Athenaze is Greek for, 'to Athens.').

Right now, one place would be as good as the next. Normally, merely suggesting food is enough to get me salivating; now the idea of a meal feels like a pasty lump stuck somewhere between my throat and stomach.

But Jeffrey is insistent. And at the moment, my own judgment leaves a great deal to be desired, so I will go with his.

Athenaze is not a long walk, although perhaps a bit more crowded than I would have preferred. Our beehived hostess, however, assures us through her bubble gum that no more than five minutes' wait for a table will take place.

There's no place to sit in the foyer of Athenaze, which is not good; Jeffrey looks as if he could stand to get off his feet. He continues to shudder, more violently than before, and I am concerned when I notice his ashen complexion.

I ask him if we should leave; he assures me that we should get something to eat, he'll feel much better after we do, and so will I.

He is trying to distract me by asking me about my work; both of us being university professors does give us a common link.

I can barely think about work, either my licit or illicit work, but I try to be polite. I ask him how his research in medieval Christian poetry is going.

I can see him trying to answer me, but no words escape his mouth-in fact, it appears that one side of his face has gone slack, and speech evades him-

I scream to the hostess to call 911.
 

LANGLY:

Ally's wide awake now, compared to how she was, anyway.

She asks me how I'm doing.

Aren't I supposed to be asking her that?

I seem to recall something in our wedding vows about 'for better, for worse.'

I'm not sure, but I think this is what they meant by worse.

Worst is seeing Ally so upset and sad and sick. I miss my serene Ally, who smiles a lot and takes it pretty calmly no matter what it is.

She's not taking this one calmly.

Me neither.

How'm I doing? How'm I supposed to be doing?

I haven't got a clue. You tell me.

"Guess I'm okay," I tell her, I sort of shrug.

"Uh-huh. Sure you are, babe. Just like I'm okay. NOT!"

I just about hit the ceiling there. Ally yells out the last word-and she almost never yells, when she does, I just about feel my heart skip four beats and my ears split.

"I'm definitely not okay, Langly, just in case you can't tell!"

She's beyond sad. She's madder than hell.

This makes me real nervous, because she doesn't get mad much, and when she does, it's bad.

"Right now, all I can think about is, if I weren't so fucking defective-"

"Hey, you're not gonna talk about yourself that way!"

"Don't you interrupt me! If I wasn't like I was, we'd be on our way to having a little boy together. That was our son, Langly! The baby I wanted so badly to have with you! The baby I wanted to carry and deliver and hold and nurse and nurture and, with you-" she points straight at my heart-"grow into a happy and capable adult! No, Langly, I'm not okay, and I don't know when I'm gonna be!"

I try to take her hand, and she lets me, but she's not letting me off the hook.

"So you tell me, how is it for you, Langly? And don't tell me it's all right, because that's a fucking lie and you know it!"

I don't like being pushed, particularly when I'm like this stressed out, and she's kind of working my buttons right now. I don't wanna snap at her, but she's asking for it...

"Whaddya want me to tell you, Ally? That I feel like shit for putting you through this? That I'm sick to death that we can't have kids together? That this whole thing's made me feel sad and guilty and miserable? That what you wanna hear?"

Ally hates big emotion, and she shocks the shit out of me when she says, "YES!" Pretty much at the top of her lungs.

We got the attention of one of the floor nurses. He pops his head in, asks in a heavy Spanish accent if everything here's all right.

Ally'll usually say, it's fine, don't worry about it, but today, she sits up and shouts, "GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!"

He scurries away like a scared rabbit.

I think about joining him for a moment.

"You wanna hear about what I feel like, Ally? I'll tell you. I love you so damn much, and it kills me that we can't have a kid! That that's not for us! You wanna talk about feeling robbed? Well, guess what? I feel like I got robbed, then stabbed for no good reason! This has been so fucking hard, Ally, but all the while, I think it's worth it, we'll get our boy, and then..."

"And then nothing." She finishes it in a whisper.

"Yeah."

"It's not for us, Langly. Not this way." Her eyes are filled with big tears and they slide out on her cheeks. She's so light that the few freckles she's got left are sticking out big time. "I'm sorry..."

"Yeah, me too."

"What're you sorry about, Langly?" I'm getting that hard blue stare again.

"For making you go through this-"

"No, no, no, no, no! You don't get it, do you? I AGREED to this, Langly! I wanted this for us, too! I still do! I'll probably always wish it were so! But it's not gonna happen, babe. Not for us."

"Nope."

"And I'm so damn pissed off right now, I could scream!"

You have been, girl.

"Langly...you don't know what the...ectopic one was, do you?"

Actually, I do. I hacked the med records...it was a girl...shit. I wasn't gonna tell her...but she's looking at me that way...

"Yeah."

"And?"

"Was gonna be a girl."

Shit. We were gonna have one of each. That would have been so awesome...

"A girl. And this one was a boy. Goddammit, Langly...this sucks!"

Tell me about it.

She's crying hard now. This isn't about lost tissue. It's about kids we really wanted. Still want. Can't have.

She needs me so bad right now.

And all I can do is put my arms around her.
 

FROHIKE:

I cannot believe it.

Yes, I can.

My own daughter will not even give me a chance. A chance to make amends, to show her I truly do care for her...

But I am not sorry for the decisions I have made today. Just as I was not sorry for the ones I made in previous times.

I only wish that my children were not the ones to pay for my decisions.

I'm about to settle in on my second J&B when the phone rings.

It's Byers. And he doesn't sound good.

Oh god no, don't let anything more happen to Juliet...

Byers, normally the epitome of calm and control, is utterly beside himself, and it takes me several minutes of coaxing and encouraging him to breathe deeply in order to figure out what has transpired.

Apparently, his future father-in-law persuaded him that they should get something to eat-a wise man, I would say. It's always easier to face difficult situations on a full stomach, unless yours is as trashed as mine is. Byers noticed that the man-I gather his name is Jeffrey, near as I can make out-was not in good shape, but initially chalked it up to the situation at hand.

Believe me, I wouldn't be doing too well had something like this happened to my daughter.

The hospital staff believes that Jeffrey Parker has suffered a stroke. Definitive diagnosis and seriousness of his condition are currently unknown to Byers, who is currently gravitating between Juliet, still unconscious, and Caroline, the mother, who now has two family members in a desperate condition.

Christ. Just when you think it can't get uglier...this is worse than war.

I ask him, gently, repeating several times, what I can do for him.

He can't get it out...but I gather he wants me to be with him.

And if I ever needed to honor that, that moment is now.

I assure him I'll be in Baltimore in an hour.
 

I leave Michael a note and an e-mail that I will be back in Baltimore with Byers, that Leslie has left, and that I will call him later for more information. I do not give him more than that. He has no need to know yet.

I can do the drive to Baltimore in my sleep, and I frequently have. I know the town better than the back of my hand, having grown up there, and I know the location of the hospital. Not in one of the nicer portions of the city, but for trauma care, unparalleled.

Yet I feel like a stranger when I approach the signs off the 95 that lead me to my destination. It's been so many years since Baltimore. So much has happened.

So much has changed, and so much has stayed the same.

I do not feel at home here anymore. I guess feeling at home in a place consists of more than knowing your way around, although I'm grateful that I do-I'd hate for this to be my first time negotiating the city.

First things first. Much as I would like to bring flowers to Miss Juliet, I'm afraid that has to wait.

Right now, my surrogate son needs me, and I'm determined to find him, as rapidly as possible.

He's currently in with Juliet, and seeing him is terrifying. He hasn't slept, he's even whiter than he was last night, and the normally placid clear blue eyes are red-lined and terror-stricken.

The voice doesn't belong to him, I swear.

"Caroline asked me to stay with Juliet," he says softly, dully.

I don't need a better look at him to know he's in shock. Not only has the mind had all it can take, but now the body is in rebellion. He's in slow motion, in a trance. He can take no more, and his system knows it, even if he doesn't.

First things first. Triage.

This boy needs some Valium, stat. I realize this will probably put him to sleep, but right now, that may be what he needs. I ring for a nurse.

And wait. This is a very busy place, filled with very difficult situations and decisions, and Byers is likely to be pushed to the bottom of the pile.

In the meantime, I stroke his back, as I do Michael's when it all gets too much, and make nonsense noises to him so as to reassure him. I realize this is scant comfort, but at the moment, it is all I can offer.

I read Juliet's chart. The woman is not in good shape, although her surgical team feels that with the proper rehab, she will be fine.

She needs to jump quite a few hurdles before she's even ready for that, though.

She needs to regain consciousness.

It may sound silly, but I firmly believe that Byers and her mother will make that happen. I believe Juliet can hear them, and she must know that they want her to be well.

She's a strong girl, to be sure, but she's in for the fight of her life. And she can't even open the first round yet.

Byers needs to rest, and yet not be far from her.

Waiting for a member of the nursing staff, I'm tempted to call Jo and find out if she has any pull around here. She knows a lot of staff in a lot of hospitals, and I've noticed that in spite of her status as a former member of the profession, she still garners a great deal of respect.

I haven't even called Jo yet. She's presenting a paper at a convention in Raleigh, North Carolina, this weekend. And I don't want to disturb her. She's entitled to a life away from trouble and trauma, particularly after caring for Joan Langly up to and past the hour of her death.

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death...

Why, in times of trouble, that prayer floats back to me, I have no idea...I think it is a relic of a time when things were more certain, more innocent. When I thought there might be a God, and that he was not utterly indifferent to our sufferings.

Which I am firmly convinced that if he does exist, he is.

A nurse finally shows up. I speak to her regarding Byers, who barely seems to notice what is going on around him. He will not release Juliet's hand. It is as if he has become an automaton, programmed to insure her survival.

I don't need to plead my case too hard. I think one look at Byers convinces this particular staff member that a shot of Valium and a few hours of sleep would do wonders for the man, and she says she'll be back shortly. She says she can't get him a bed, there isn't one available, but the one chair, the recliner, folds out, and perhaps he can be comfortable in that. She says she'll bring him a blanket.

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee...Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus Christ...Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners...

A mantra from another lifetime. One I do not believe. But saying it rovides me with the comfort I knew in other times.

Comfort we all desperately need now.

A member of the nursing staff comes by, and Byers barely acknowledges her as she searches out a vein and injects the clear liquid into it.

Within a few minutes, he is asleep, and I cover him with the blankets that have been left for him.

And begin my vigil in his stead for Juliet.

It will be a very, very long day. Lasting well into the night.
 

LANGLY:

Ally stops crying. It's like she's drained out, nothing left.

I love her so much, I can't stand it.

I just want to take her in my arms and love her till I can't do it anymore.

Typical of me, I then proceed to insert my very large foot in my very large mouth.

"Could be worse, Ally, we could be Byers and Juliet."

She draws back for a second, looks me over, says, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I mean...oh shit. Juliet, she was traveling back from Jersey last night, she got real messed up in a car accident, she's in Baltimore, Byers is with her...

"Jesus Christ, Langly, we're sitting here pissing and moaning because we can't breed and the fiancee of one of our best friends is hanging there in the balance?" She throws back the covers and starts pulling on her IV. Which she shouldn't do, I try to stop her, but you don't fuck with a redhead on a roll.

"Ally, don't, you gotta get better first-"

"Fuck that, Langly. Get this thing out of my hand and help me get dressed. We're out of here. NOW."

Like I said, I don't fuck with a redhead on a roll.

END OF PART 34