Militiae Species Amor Est
 

MICHAEL:

Christ, what time is it?

Was I asleep for ten minutes? Ten hours?

My mouth hurts like hell. Where I couldn't feel my face before, now I can feel all of it...and it's about the size of a beach ball...

I'm thirsty.

Where's Kelly?

I try to call her, no answer. No big surprise there. Doubt anyone can hear me, with all this gauze shit in my mouth.

Oh man. Why did I do this?

I gotta get up. I don't wanna. I'm so tired.

I gotta use the bathroom. I don't know how I'm gonna do it if I don't get up.

I manage to get up this time...I wanna brush my teeth while I'm in the bathroom...my mouth tastes so bad...

Knock on the door. Can't a guy have a little privacy when he's miserable?

"Don't brush your teeth." It's Dad. "You have to wait till tomorrow."

OH GROSS!

"Do you want some soup?" he calls out again. As if I'm capable of having a real conversation right now.

Do I? Guess so. I am sort of hungry...I really want something to drink...

I've been reduced to this biological organism from this. Removal of my wisdom teeth seemed to take away the higher functions in my brain...

I see myself in the mirror for the first time since I had it done.

OH FUCK.

I thought I was ugly before.

And this is without my glasses.

Against my better judgment, I pop my glasses on...and I would've done better to leave them off.

I'm swollen up about twice my normal size, and I'm purple. I've got chipmunk cheeks, and believe me, they don't look cute on me.

What did I do this for? I'm miserable.

Out in the kitchen, Dad's made some soup...I think it's chicken and wild rice and mushroom, my favorite...although right now I'm not all that inspired. But he made it for me, he doesn't eat soup in the summer, so I should eat some.

I don't even notice at first that Jo's at the table.

Last time she was here, she looked totally panicked. Of course, I'm lost in some kind of druggy fog here, so I'm not sure, but I think she just looks depressed. Hard to say.

She smiles at me a little, and actually extends a hand out to my back. I don't mind. I'm not so weird about being touched these days, and Jo is pretty cool.

"How're you feeling, Michael?"

"Like shit." You can tell Jo the truth. She doesn't flinch.

"Not surprising. It's not the most pleasant experience. Can I do anything for you?"

I shake my head a little...Christ, it hurts.

And I may not be very hungry, but I'm thirsty as hell, I ask Dad can I get some Coke?

He fills up a glass for me, no ice, and hands me three pills. Two white ones, one pink one.

"Let's see what you have there," Jo looks at my meds. "Amoxicillin and Tylenol 3's. Pretty standard issue stuff for oral surgery."

Good, the Tylenol 3's, that's pain goodies, and I need 'em right now.

"You have any nausea?" She asks softly.

Not right now, but I really don't care to relate what an ass I made of myself earlier.

"Kelly said you were sick afterwards." Jo says this like, it's sunny outside.

"When'd you see Kelly?" I'm like, I got no idea what time it is, when she left, what's going on...

"I had her and Jo for dinner," Dad says. "Kelly left about two hours ago...she has to start her job in the morning."

"When'd that happen?"

"This afternoon. She's going to work in Dana Scully's lab," Dad says. "Allison is going to work a little bit from home, but mostly, she's taking some time off to be with her kids. Actually, you two were talking about it earlier."

We were? Jesus Christ, I don't remember a goddamn thing.

"Did I say something stupid?" I look over at Jo when I say this.

"No, dear, you were very happy for her," Jo is like, she's so level. "But you were also in a lot of pain, and she gave you some meds, and you fell asleep again."

Okay, so at least I wasn't a jerk about it.

"I don't remember," I moan.

"You were lucid...but it's not unusual after the type of anesthesia you had to have some memory lapses for a day or two," Jo explains. "You probably don't even remember the procedure."

No, I don't...thank God. The results are bad enough.

Dad spoons me out a small bowl of soup. I'm not even sure I can finish it.

"Take your meds first...the codeine will be kinder to your stomach if you do," Jo instructs.

I start with the pink guy, and I take a big swallow of Coke...which promptly runs out of my mouth and down my chin.

I am so fucking pathetic.

"Small sips," Dad advises. Like I need reminding at this point. I'm pretty damn out of it, but I know this wasn't the T-shirt I was wearing this morning. I wonder how many I've gone through.

I would normally like to listen to Jo and Dad talk, find out what's going on...but after about six bites of soup, real small ones, and two Cokes, I'm ready to go back to bed.

I ask Dad to tuck me in.

He does.
 

LANGLY:

I hold her for a long time, after she's pulled herself back together and she's not crying anymore.

She needed that cry. She probably doesn't think so, but she did.

She's got her head snuggled against my chest, and I've got my arms wrapped around her. She is so damn tiny. She feels so fragile when I hold her.

She's anything but.

I can feel every nerve in her back. That's one of the things I love about the dress she's wearing. It's a great color...and it's backless. That translates out to braless, always a nice state of affairs.

"This is weird for me, Langly." She speaks so softly I can barely hear her. She's all laced up with tears, too.

"How so?" I touch the wavy red hair.

"I...always earned my own money. Always. I've never not. And I'm...sort of nervous about it."

"We've got enough."

"It's not the same thing. I always had a job, Langly...always! I'm...kind of scared about not really having one. I feel like I'm jumping into the abyss."

"Hey, we got enough. I make enough. If we really get stuck, we've got the money from the trust. We'll be okay."

She shakes her head. "Langly...I always feel like, that's not really my money. I didn't earn it."

"Does that matter?"

She stands up, lights another smoke. "Langly, you want another Corona?"

"Only if you're having one with me."

She heads into the bedroom and out towards the kitchen.
 

BYERS:

It's quiet here in the offices. The only other person to grace the premises today was Frohike, and he left nearly five hours ago. I suspect he wants to be with his son right now.

I can relate. I was in my PhD program when I had my wisdom teeth removed. It was fairly miserable.

And my father wasn't there for that, either.

I don't want to call him...and in some sick, twisted way, I do.

What will I say to him?

I suppose I could call him to tell him I'm engaged. That is something he doesn't know...and I suspect I should tell him.

I've picked up the phone about twenty times since Frohike departed. I've even begun dialing the number...but I never finish. I always place the receiver back in its cradle either before I enter the final digit, or as soon as I do, before the ringing on the other end commences.

What am I doing here at this hour, anyway?

I've called Juliet twice this evening to indicate that I need the time to get caught up. This is not a lie. She is aware that I am well behind on things.

At six p.m., she was very at ease with the idea. By 8:30, I sensed a growing impatience on her part.

I suspect that my absence at dinner did not increase my rating within either of their eyes. Caroline prepares wonderful dinners, that much is true, but somehow, I lacked the appetite tonight. Scrounging for leftovers in the Langly refrigerator was somehow a preferable course of action. And this at a time when the house is shockingly low on provisions. Ally seriously needs to make a marketing trip. Perhaps even a trip to the dreaded Costco is in order. I've noticed, that when a trip to Costco looms on the horizon, is the only time Ally attempts to invoke her Jewish-American princess status-without success, I may add, but she does mention it.

I do want to get home and see Juliet. I simply wish that I was going home to only her and Tivvy. Caroline of course has the cat spoiled rotten-all it has to do is look at her, and she assumes the cat is hungry. Which means that if she doesn't leave soon, we are going to be the proud parents of one fat pussycat.

I should just go. It's late.

Once again, I pick up the receiver...
 

FROHIKE:

God, it's hot.

I'm sweating like a pig.

Jo, meanwhile, is dressed in a beige linen summer dress-simple, unadorned-and looks totally cool. Her hair isn't straggling, and her only concession to the heat is that she has kicked off the beige flats she had on her feet when she came in.

She isn't feeling very cool tonight, though. And it's not the temperature outside.

"My ADA funding has been removed," she announces simply, quietly, but the anger in her voice still tinges it. Quiet fury is fury nonetheless. "Effective July 1." She hands me several legal documents and letters.

I would like to tell her these are fraudulent...but I'm pretty well-versed in detecting fraudulent documents, and these are bona fide.

"Basically, Melvin, I'm out of work. The university hasn't laid me off-yet-and my salary is through the university, not the ADA-but with no ADA funding, I'm not sure what I'm going to be responsible for. I think it's only a matter of time."

Practical concerns hit me first. "How are you for money, Jo? I don't need to know specifics-"

"I'm fine. I live simply. I got some from my older brother when he died, and from my parents' life insurance, and I invested it well. I have savings. I could be all right for a couple of years."

Just how much does she have? It's occurred to me that I've never hacked into Jo's bank accounts...

And I never will. I won't do that. I trust her. If she says she has enough, then she has enough.

"And we are not to teach classes in Catholic theology. Student loan programs are still in place...although there are signs that they will be dismantled over time...and it's claimed that it's a violation of federal law that students receiving government backed funding receive theological instruction. And Melvin, it goes further...the philosophy programs, which in a Catholic university are very tightly linked to the theological studies, are under siege as well. And what's next? Will we be told what literature or history we can't teach? This has already happened in the public schools. Evolutionary biology is severely under attack in all institutions."

"That could be a problem, since all the current central dogma of biology is based on an evolutionary approach."

She nods in agreement. "You wonder what we'll be permitted to teach pretty soon."

"I'm assuming accounting, business, engineering, computer science, these haven't been attacked yet?"

"Not yet. But it wouldn't surprise me if some way is found to infiltrate these areas."

"Health science programs?"

"Well, as I said, evolutionary biology is under siege...meaning that students in these programs are getting about half their necessary education. And there's more stringency in what procedures can be taught to medical and nursing students."

"I wouldn't think there would be a conflict there."

"You wouldn't. Catholic teaching institutions have never taught certain gynecological procedures, and I think our attitude towards assisted suicide is well documented. While I disagree with the church's stance on many things-and you know well my work within Catholics for a Free Choice, Melvin-I think we have one of the soundest sets of medical ethics in any institution in the world."

I don't think I could disagree with that, overall. There are flaws, to be certain...but there is a certain reflection of Christian philosophy within the care ethic of Catholic health care delivery.

She gives a harsh bark of a laugh. "I'm waiting for them to start teaching about the geocentric universe again."

"Well, the Church didn't forgive Galileo for 500 years for that," I remind her.

"True, true. But this is worse, Melvin." She sips the Sam Adams I hand her. "Melvin, I've given my life to working within the institution that's shaped my life...I'd like to think I may have done some good for some people...and now, individually and institutionally, we're being treated as though we're the devil incarnate."

Jo's flaw in her reasoning is obvious. She is talking about the grand tradition of Christian charity and outreach.

This has nothing to do with either.

I think I need another beer.

With a small J&B chaser.
 

BYERS:

There. I've done it. I dialed the number. And didn't hang up the phone.

If I thought my blood pressure was up earlier, right now it has to be going through the roof.

Two rings, and a voice with a distinctly Caribbean accent answers the phone. Different from the last time I called.

Father's Day. What a cruel irony.

"Hello?"

"May I...speak with James Byers, please?"

"Who's calling?"

"This...is an associate of his." I gulp on the lie, but last time, I revealed myself...and never got past the household help.

The household help is different every time I call. This should come as no surprise; my father always terrorized the help. My mother managed to extend tenure from weeks to sometimes years among them, but after her death, the number of tenants in the position has to have been dizzying.

I'll be very surprised if my father comes to the phone.

But apparently I entered the right password, because she says, "Just a minute, please."

A minute becomes 2...becomes 5...

Why am I doing this?

My palms are sweating. I can feel every nerve in my body unraveling into a gelatinous mass.

I nearly fall out of my flesh when a male voice, familiar, yet so foreign, so far away, electronically reveals itself.

"Yes?" The voice is clipped, as always. No warmth.

There are some constants in the world.

"Uh...this is John."

"John who?"

"Your son."

Dead silence. "Yes?" He hasn't hung up on me...but the timbre of voice lowers the temperature of my blood a few degrees. All the while forcing a deep blush starting from my chest and working its way up to my temples.

I've always despised the fact that I blush. I do it so easily.

In this moment, I'm greatly relieved that he can't see me.

"I just...I wanted to tell you something." I hate the hesitation in my voice.

I'm 37 years old. I'm responsible. I'm capable. I'm engaged.

"What would that be? Another assault on my practices and principles from the divine moral authority that my son seems to have set himself up to be?"

I feel about 12. And incredibly stupid.

"No...nothing like that."

"Good, because this conversation would have ended already. So what do you have to tell me that it merits a telephone call at 10 p.m.?"

Well, it has nothing to do with your stock price.

"I'm engaged."

He barks out a hard, sharp laugh. "Really. I figured one mistake would have been enough for you."

"This...isn't a mistake."

"Oh, really? How long have you known this woman? A month?"

"Nearly two years." Why am I caving in to this?

"I see. This wouldn't happen to be the young woman that was there...last
spring?"

He was there.

"Yes. It is."

"I see. I hope she's not another piece of white trash. Or are you taking social reform a step further, John, and bringing a prostitute into the family-"

"Don't you ever speak of her that way." I can match him for coldness. "For your information, she happens to be a software engineer and she's been a professor of computer science. Her parents are professors." I don't mention that her father was a professor, past tense. I still have trouble thinking of Jeffrey that way.

"Oh, my, defending the lady's honor. Let's just say if it's anything like your last choice, well, I hope you've shown better judgment this time."

How dare he assail Susanne?

In under five minutes, he has managed to debase both women I love.

Why haven't I hung up on him?

"I just...thought you'd like to know."

"What do you want from me, John? My blessing?"

"That...would be nice."

"For a woman I've never met, for a son who has disgraced and humiliated me? I don't think so. Now, was there anything else you wanted to say? Because I have numbers coming in from Tokyo, and an early day tomorrow."

"No...nothing."

"Goodnight, then." He clicks off before I even utter the same sentiment.

Maybe I shouldn't complain about Caroline so much.

At least she loves and cares for me.

Even if she is driving me insane.
 

Juliet has dozed off on the sofa when I arrive. Caroline is still awake, watching something on PBS. She eyes me warily at first, but I must truly look like hell, because her expression softens in short order.

"I saved some dinner for you. Roasted eggplant with marinara and mozzarella."

"Thank you." I can barely gasp the words out. I am so drained. It takes all of my energy to lean over and kiss Juliet, who only stirs slightly, then nestles back into the sofa cushions.

"John, are you all right?" She gives me a concentrated look. "Did something happen?"

"You...could say that."

"So tell me."

"I...tried calling my father. I told him...I was engaged."

She looks surprised and slightly pleased, then perplexed. "And he wasn't happy about it?"

Oh, you have no idea...

"I don't think he cares one way or the other."

"I don't think that's true, John...he probably cares a great deal."

"No. He won't forgive me. Ever." I can feel my eyes well up, and I hate it. I wasn't born to do emotional display, and doing it in front of my future mother-in-law...

"Then he's lost more than he could imagine. But you told him. You took the high road."

"I tried." My voice comes out in a horrible cracked whisper I haven't used since I was in junior high school and was suffering from voice-changing trauma.

"Yes, you did." She comes over to me and wraps her arms around me. "It's all right, John. Let it go. You've earned it."

And I break, right in her arms.

Of all places.

END OF PART 63