Die Patris
 

FROHIKE:

I haven't slept a wink. All the J&B in Christendom wouldn't have put me down, either...

Byers is still asleep, but then again, it was nearly 3 a.m. when we came in...and it's only 6:30.

I'll check on him at 8 and see how he's doing. In the meantime, time to contact Jo.

Unlike me, Jo has no particular aversion to cellular technology. She carries hers with her at all times, and fortunately, she has it on when I phone.

"Jo Gilfillan." Soft, crisp voice.

"Hi, it's Melvin."

"Melvin, what are you doing up? You need some sleep."

"Couldn't. How're the Parkers?"

"I'm with Jeffrey right now...he coded once, Melvin. They resuscitated him, but I'm concerned that the next time, they might not want to...brain activity is minimal."

"Does Caroline know?"

"Yes, she knows. She came back when she found out, and she's here with me now."

"And?"

"She's exhausted and devastated, as expected...living on coffee. I was just about to make another run for some. I could use a shot of caffeine myself." A small laugh. We're all caffeine addicts around here. We joke about it. Why not?

"What's her take on Jeffrey's being resuscitated again?"

"Later."

"Understood."

"I'm going to stop in and check on Caliban and Juliet...she's doing better, thank God. Pressure on the brain is greatly relieved, which means the concussion is subsiding. But there is concern that she'll require a hip replacement. Apparently the fractured pelvis is more akin to a shattered one."

Oh God.

"She is in a lot of pain, but she woke up two more times...she asked for John both times."

"How's the brother doing with it?"

"Fine. She recognized him. And he told her that John was with you, and that seemed to comfort her."

"Then, I'm going to chapel for a while...I need to contemplate in a quiet place. And the first Mass isn't said until 8:30." Which she will no doubt attend; Jo rarely misses Mass, regardless of where she is.

She is fortunate to have such faith available to her.

I am envious at times of such things.

If I remember my catechism correctly, wasn't envy one of the seven deadly sins?
 

BYERS:

Where the hell am I? I'm not with Juliet...I'm not in my own home...

I came with Frohike...

That's right, I'm at his apartment. I must be in Michael's room, judging from the décor-if you consider a few badly placed punk band posters and a Playboy calendar décor. (On the other hand, I'm sure Dad must have a Playboy calendar-or at least one from Hustler).

I'm so tired...but I can't sleep anymore. I need to get back to Juliet.

Someone must be awake here...the aroma of coffee is wafting back towards this room. I know that the one thing these two can do is make coffee, so unlike at Langly's house, where you'd better pray he isn't the one making it, you'll be all right here, even if Michael is the master brewer.

I've never slept in a waterbed before...it's not a bad sensation, although being as exhausted and still hung over from the medication they gave me, getting out of it is interesting. The bed is comfortably warm and giving, but when I imagine being home in our own bed with Juliet...well, there's no comparison.

I need a shower. And some clean clothes. The shower I can do here...but these guys aren't even close to my size, and I'm sorry, as much as I love Frohike, there is no way I would be caught dead in that alpaca vest. Actually, we didn't see much of the alpaca vest last winter...I wonder if Michael hid it or threw it out.

Not likely. I don't think they throw ANYTHING out in this family. There must be a pack rat gene that lurks in the Frohike blood, at least that of the males. I'm somewhat myopic, but not myopic enough to miss the stacks of paper that line Michael's walls. He probably saves every class note he ever took, at least if he's anything like his father. Which he is. In spades.

I hate to ask Frohike to do this, when he's done so much, but I really need him to take me to our apartment so that I can reassemble myself there. And I miss Tivvy. I'm dying to see the cat...no doubt she is very lonely for Juliet and myself, although among Michael's better attributes is his love for animals. I miss being in our bed with Juliet, here on a Sunday morning, sharing the sections of the Washington Post, enjoying coffee and bagels, and indulging in...private things.

And I've got to pull myself together. I've been nothing but a basket case since Juliet was late from New Jersey on Friday night. Hardly what she requires at this point.

Frohike's at the kitchen table, appearing to be embarking on his first mug of coffee of the day. He shouldn't be drinking coffee, what with the way it aggravates his ulcer, but he shouldn't be drinking J&B either. I might as well tell him to stop breathing if I am to say that.

"You okay?" He asks me quietly as he stands to pour me a cup. Which, by the way, I need in the worst possible way. The dark brew is warm, welcome, comforting, in the same way kind treatment by a friend's affectionate parents on an overnight is.

"I think so." I need to pull myself together here. Coffee might be a good place to start. "We're not going to disturb Michael, are we?" I notice a lump on the sofa. It hasn't given any indications yet that it's alive, but I'd hate to wake him up, knowing how disagreeable he can become. I must confess, though, that as of late, there has been less of that from him. Michael is beginning to deal with life's annoyances-and major problems-with more maturity.

"Michael? Surely you jest. Michael could sleep through a tornado." He joins me again at the table. "When do you want to go back to Baltimore?"

"Soon. But...I need a shower, and some new clothes, and I...I miss my cat." I find myself turning bright pink at this admission.

Frohike just nods.

I notice he's given up the Kevlar vest for sleeping-or, if he hasn't, at least he removes it before coming to the table.

Still has the damn blue bunny pajamas, though. God knows how long he's had those...I don't recall a time when he didn't. I remember the first time I saw them-we had just moved the offices to southeast DC, and it was our first night staying over. The Kevlar vest caught my immediate attention, but upon closer inspection, I noticed that the PJ's had prints of rabbits on them.

Well, we have Langly and his fringe rock-band T-shirts, all in black...I suppose blue bunnies are pretty tame by comparison.

We sit in companionable silence, the kind you can enjoy when you are totally comfortable with a person and feel no need to fill the empty spaces. In view of our solitude, I'm rather surprised when Michael shortly thereafter arises from the dead.

"You're up early," Frohike comments to his groggy-looking son, whose hair is mussed and his eyes are puffy.

"I get up this early all the time," he grumbles back.

"Not on weekends."

"On weekends when I gotta feed the cats, yeah." He slips his glasses on, missing his nose on the first try-the boy is seriously sleepy. "How ya doing, Prof?"

"I'm...all right."

"Anyway, I gotta go feed your cat."

"No need. We'll be stopping by there. I'll feed her."

"Well, make sure you play with her a little, she's lonesome. Kelly and me'll go over later to feed her again, keep her company."

"She is a bit...spoiled." I blush as I confess this.

"So?" Michael looks at me as though the idea of spoiling an animal is a ridiculous one. "Isn't that why you have pets? So you can spoil 'em rotten? I would. Say, Dad, soon as I find the right cat, it's mine."

Frohike sighs and looks resigned. "Fine. Whatever. Just don't push the envelope and try bringing in a dog."

"Hey, I already SAID I was gonna get a cat! I didn't say anything about a dog!" Michael is not intensely agreeable when he is tired, and I suspect at this point anything his father says to him will push his buttons. "Any more coffee? I'm fucking tired."

"Michael, watch your mouth." Frohike delivers the sigh of the long-suffering. "And yes, there is some, but make another pot when you take yours."

"All right, all right. Oh, by the way, case I forgot, Happy Father's Day again." He gives Frohike a quick embrace, which I find surprising in view of the fact that I would not have considered their brief exchange exceptionally friendly. I guess the bond between the two of them goes far deeper than that; there is probably a level of understanding I could never even hope to come close to with my own father.

My own father. Who does not know I am engaged, let alone that my fiancee is seriously injured. For all he knows, I could be dead.

And somehow, I doubt it would matter much to him.

It's Father's Day. I would like to call him...but what would I say? There would be no amiable hug as took place between Frohike and Michael. Would I wish him Happy Father's Day? I don't even know how he views his being a father...I suspect that for him, Kat and myself have become nuisances, reminders of past times, of mistakes, of tragedies best forgotten. Assuming I could even reach him in the first place, he would, in all likelihood, refuse to speak to me.

I wish this were not the case. I could really use a father right now.

Fortunately, I have one...right across the table.

"Happy Father's Day," I say, very quietly. Frohike just nods and looks at his coffee mug, but I think I sense a tiny smile in there.

He may be a modest man, but I suspect he likes to be acknowledged as much as the rest of us. And I owe him so much. He has always been there for me. He continues to be there for me. He has been a friend, a coworker, a partner in crime, a confidante, a muse, and a father.

About the only thing he can't do is resolve my own issues with my own father.

Would that he could.
 

LANGLY:

It's only 9:00? And I'm awake?

Jesus. I never get up this early on Sunday. But I'm lying here awake. I'm trying not to move around, I don't want Ally waking up yet.

It's weird, though. She's always got like this sense that I'm up and she rolls over and puts her arm around my waist, and I drape one over her little shoulders. Her back still feels warm. She needs to stay home and sleep this one off.

And I don't want her going to DC with me. I mean, I want her with me...but I don't want to put her in a nasty situation. Well, not any nastier than what she's got already.

"Hey." Her voice is always real quiet, especially when she first wakes up. But I'm so used to how she says this, it's like, I think I'd die if I didn't hear it first thing in the a.m.

"Hey yourself." This is like standard opening line for us. It's part of the vocab of what makes us us, I think. "You feeling better?"

"Uh-huh." She's still kind of out of it. Well, I did feed her two Vicodins at bedtime.

"You want some coffee?"

That gets her to lift up her head. "Langly, I'm not so out of it that I'll drink your coffee. I'll make it." She starts to get out of bed but then she sits down on the edge, like she got up too fast and she didn't get enough blood to the brain.

"Maybe you oughta stay put."

"Just give me a minute. I'll put on some coffee. Then I'll come back. Okay?"

"'Kay." I lie there and stare at the ceiling, thinking about this meeting this afternoon.

I'm definitely nervous.

I don't like meeting people I don't know...I don't trust people I've never seen to be who they say they are...and this dude sounds so much like me, it gives me the creeps.

Probably why I trust him even less than average.

Maybe he doesn't sound like that in person...maybe he's got some electronic voice distortion devices...wouldn't put it past him.

Still, why the hell would want to sound like me? I mean, really? Maybe he did it to freak me out. And it did. And how the hell did he ever find out my nickname from my brother? My late, very dead, older brother. Who's been 86 for 22 years now.

Things are just so fucking weird.

Just add it on to everything else. It's like, I wake up, first thing I think of, I lost my chance to be a daddy...and it's not coming back. It's not the sort of thing that gives you warm fuzzies the rest of the day. Matter of fact, it's kind of a downer note on which to start things off.

But hey, it's a downer for Ally, too, maybe even a bigger one than for me...don't know. I mean, she's got a kid already. But she seemed like she wanted this one so bad. I didn't think at first she really did, but I think when she found out she was pregnant, she really got into wanting it.

Wanting him. We know it was supposed to be a boy. I don't know if that makes it easier or harder. Ally's great with a daughter...might have been fun to see her deal with a little guy.

She comes back to bed, lies down and snuggles up to my chest like she always does in the morning...I love this. She's always so warm and cuddly. This morning, she's too warm, though. She's gotta stay put today. I play with her peachy-colored hair, and she kind of murmurs to me like she does, always for some reason makes me feel calmer. It's like we got this language together, like nobody else has it. Just us.

"What time do we have to be in DC?" She asks me.

"WE don't have to be in DC anytime. I have to be in DC at one."

"Langly, I'm going."

"Hey, Ally. You still got a temp. Stay home. Get better. Make me happy."

"I don't want you walking into this alone."

"Dude said to show up alone."

"And that's what makes me scared. I don't have to show myself, but I'm not going to let you be out there naked."

"I'm taking Junior."

"I'm glad, but...I don't know, Langly. I just don't want to be alone right now." She's got tears all glimmery in her eyes again. "I'm not doing so great."

Christ. She admitted she feels like shit. Without my prying it out of her with a crowbar.

Will wonders never cease.

"Miranda's here. Kelly'll probably be here part of the day, Junior's going with me."

"It's not the same." She buries her face in me. I just stroke her back and her hair, trying to make her feel better.

I used to worry she didn't need me at all, and that scared me. Now she needs like crazy, and that scares me, too. 'Cause I'm not sure I can do good enough by her.

Christ, who the fuck is banging down the door?

Miranda pops in, and she's carrying a tray full of coffee mugs and English muffins and the Sunday paper and some strawberries...oh man, I do love strawberries.

"Happy Father's Day." She grins at me and deposits the tray of goodies near my side of the bed. "Figured I shouldn't be a total shit to you today, Langly."

"God, I don't know what I'd do if you weren't." I can't help but grin back at her. This kid aggravates the hell out of me...but I love her. A lot.

"Well, I mean, if you prefer..." She trails off, smiles evilly at me. "Oh, and I got you this." She leaves an envelope on the tray. "Gotta go get dressed. Shelby and me are getting together to go shopping." Lately, she and Shelby, after a long separation that they had probably from OD'ing on each other, have gotten more together again, and that's cool, 'cause Shelby's a pretty nice kid. I mean, I'm glad she doesn't live in our house anymore, but it's cool to see her around.

Well, looks like a card...time to open up and see what the wit and shopping talent of Miranda Gerstein has come up with this time.

It's an amusing card, which is what you'd expect from Miranda, but I'm real surprised when I get to the part she writes.

"Langly-you're such a pain sometimes, I could kill you, but you're always there for me, and thank you for that. I miss my own dad, but you help a lot. Love you, Miranda Gerstein-Langly."

The signature is the biggest surprise of all.

And I got tears in my eyes.

I get to have Father's Day after all.
 

MICHAEL:

Dad and the prof have left for Baltimore, which is cool. I know Dad doesn't want me going to DC, but I told Langly I would, and I will.

Besides, if this guy is The Thinker...and I pass on the chance, I miss a living legend.

I'm kind of scared. Got to admit it.

Lately, I'm kind of scared of everything.

Mostly I'm scared I won't measure up. It's like, I'm trying to keep my 4.0 in school, and I want my dad to be proud of me on the magazine...looks like right now I might be the only one trying to get a July issue out. I'm wondering if I can really do this...but I got to. I got to prove to my dad once and for all that yeah, I'm not a fuckup.

I hope he gets home in enough time for dinner...I'd like to take him out. I mean, it's not much, but man, for all he does for me...

I really believe now that if he'd been allowed to be around Les and me, all those years, he would've been. I think Mom might even be sorry for what she did...sorry she did it, and sorry she lied about it. She and me, we still don't get along too great...but hell, maybe someday we'll be okay.

It's real funny. Les left in such a hissy fit. And instead of like being super pissed off at her, which I am, by the way, I feel something else.

I feel sorry for her. She doesn't get to be with Dad today. I mean, I know he's with the prof and stuff, and he has to be there...but doesn't matter. It's like, for me, he's always THERE. Sometimes more than I'd like, but man, when I need him, he doesn't fuck me over. When I was so sick last winter, and then when I had surgery, he was right there and he stayed with me and he just didn't care what anybody thought, he was gonna be there.

He's a good dad. He drives me crazy, but I'm like so lucky to have him.

Before he came to get me, I had like no idea what you're supposed to do as a man. I mean, what it means to be one.

Like he doesn't have everything down pat, I mean, he probably doesn't have anything down perfect, but that's okay, because I think I learn a lot from him. At least I hope I do.

I know he'd have been there for Les and me. I see the way he is with everybody he cares about and he NEVER lets them down.

Maybe he should once in a while, we lean so hard on him, but it's like he would never do it. He'd rather die of his ulcers than tell the prof no. He's just that way.

God. I don't think I can be half as good as him.

But I'm trying.
 

LANGLY:

Ally's really pushing to go, and I don't want her to.

I tell her, I get to take a fever reading before she can go.

She says it doesn't matter, but please don't leave her here alone, she wants to be with me.

She's crying a little, and God knows I'm a sucker for her when she cries.

I tell her, you get a reading anyway, I want to make sure she's okay, I don't want her getting sick on me...

Christ. The shit I put this woman through. If it wasn't for me, then she'd never have gotten pregnant and she wouldn't have miscarried...

And she'd tell me to fuck off and get over it. I know that.

She's still at 100 even. Don't like it. Think she should call Scully. I don't think you're supposed to get fevers after you lose a baby, but I don't really know. Are you? I think I'd feel better if she called her.

I tell her I'm worrying, would she please call Scully? Pleasepleaseplease? I mean, I know she says begging's not an attractive habit, but man...please don't let anything happen to her.

I couldn't take that. Not now. Not ever.

She says she needs to get in the shower, would I go with her, she's still sort of dizzy sometimes.

Like she'd have to ask twice.
 

BYERS:

I feel as if a century has passed since I've last been at our home.

It's not a large place, no question about that. But it is Juliet and me, together.

Walking in and knowing she isn't there, and the reason she isn't, kicks me in the guts like being hit with a soccer ball, a sensation I distinctly remember from a game in boarding school. I was the goalkeeper-I actually wasn't a bad player, being somewhat wiry-and I intercepted a ball right in the solar plexus. I remember having the wind knocked right out of me. It was not a pleasant sensation.

But I'm greeted by our cat, who has become so beautiful, and she is so terribly affectionate. Her cries tell me she misses us terribly. I find myself talking to the little furry creature and comforting her as one would a child, and in doing so, comforting myself a bit.

I wish I could sneak her into the hospital. I know how much Juliet would love to see her, and I really believe in the healing power of animals. There have been days at TMB, when things are really getting hairy, and then one of the Langly cats comes over for a pet and a cuddle, and all is right with the world again. At least the part of the world where cats get petted. Their soft fur and soothing sounds are so viscerally calming.

Living things that give you love.

Frohike tells me to get my ass in the shower, and he's going to make me some breakfast in the meantime-I don't even remember the last time I ate.

I have a vague memory of going with Jeffrey Parker to get something to eat...oh my God. My future father-in-law...I hadn't even thought of him...it's as if the world faded to black after that happened.

I ask Frohike how he is. Frohike tells me to shower and change my clothes first, then we'll talk.

I don't think I like the sound of that. Knowing what I do of Frohike, if Jeffrey were fine, he would tell me right off if he were doing well.

I don't suspect the news is good.

Still, I need a shower, and Frohike is not one to be pressed...it merely makes him irritable. I will have to work on his timetable.

Just as well at this point. I know I'm not fully functional.

When will I be again?

The hot water gives me a sense of reality, of myself, again. I can see that I have broken out in hives, which is what I do when I'm severely under stress. Most people don't see it-I'm generally clad in long sleeves, except when I'm in Hilton Head with my sister and her family, but it's a reaction I've had all too often in my life. I think I spent my entire high school years covered in wheals.

I've been so numb until now that I haven't even noticed that the angry red blisters itch furiously. Now I'm aware of it, and I almost wish I could sink back into oblivion. It would be so much easier.

But my job right now is to help Juliet get well. And I will do it. No matter what.
 

Frohike has prepared some omelets and toast, simple and delicious. I'm not hungry, but I force myself to eat, and I'm grateful I made the effort. Ever since Frohike discovered the worlds of Emeril and Julia Child, he's been turning out culinary creations that rival Ally's, and then some.

There's coffee and juice as well. And Frohike does not force me to converse.

He relays that my father-in-law-future father-in-law-is indeed terribly ill, from a deep bleed within the brain, akin to a stroke, but far more serious and much less negotiable. He is currently not able to breathe on his own.

At the news of this, I break down. Jeffrey Parker, who barely knows me, only that his daughter loves me, has treated me with so much tenderness---tenderness I don't deserve, but gratefully accept from him.

I wonder if Juliet knows yet. Frohike confirms that she has not been told.

I know how much Juliet loves her father, and how much he adores her.

Oh Christ. And it's Father's Day.

All these men who are not my fathers...they are my fathers.

So why do I so terribly still need my own?

END OF PART 39