In Vino, Veritas
 

FROHIKE:

The news was not good. This is obvious from both of their young, anguished faces.

I shepherd them inside, one on each side, with an arm wrapped around each of them.

Bad move. Kelly bursts into tears. I drop my arm, but she snuggles into me.

In the kitchen, I just embrace the both of them. Kelly sobs, and I think Michael is gulping air to keep from doing the same. I hope he's not having an asthma attack. Inside my embrace, he wraps himself around Kelly.

Allison comes in. I nod at her. She starts a teapot.

I'll pass, thank you. Byers may feel that chamomile tea is good for relaxation. Me, I think it's barely suitable to water the plants with.

I just hold on to the kids for a long time.

They're too young for this. Way too young.
 

Allison serves steaming mugs to Kelly and Michael and herself, but for me, she reaches for the liquor that sits on the counter, and pours me two fingers of J&B, neat.

"Kelly. I'm so sorry."

She's cried out now. She just nods silently. Michael reaches out and touches her hand, which she latches onto and refuses to let go.

He loves her so much. And this isn't what I thought it was before.

Which makes me even more nervous.

This isn't the mad lust that goes with teenaged relationships.

He's forged a serious commitment to this girl. And she to him.

Oh Christ on a bike. This is what I was afraid of.

Michael looks at me. His eyes are red and tired looking. But the green irises that match mine look into me, direct and firm.

"I'm staying with her tonight, Dad." He says it quietly, but in a voice that brooks no dispute.

I wonder where he got that voice.
 

MICHAEL:

This is not an experience I EVER want to repeat. Not in any circumstances, for any reason.

Kelly didn't have to get close to them...but it didn't matter. She knew. Confirmation will come from dental records, but she could tell.

Then she threw up. I damn near did the same thing.

I've been trying to hold myself together all night. I don't know how much longer I can hold out.

I told my dad I was staying here tonight. He didn't look happy...but he didn't argue with me, either.

And he did give us each a hug before he left.

I lead her down into the dungeon. Back to where I lived for quite a while. It's weird.

Miranda pops her head out of her room as we come down.

I do NOT want to deal with her right now.

"You guys, you want my room tonight?"

This is Miranda, queen of the junior bitch prom?

She does have a double bed, as opposed to Kelly's single. Would be a lot more comfortable.

"Uh-thanks, yeah," I tell her. I wasn't quite expecting this.

"Just let me get my stuff," she says, and pops out a moment later. "Kelly? You want anything?"

Kelly shakes her head, mute.

Gonna be a long night.
 

Miranda's room is messy, but not so bad as it usually is. Like I should talk. My room's a disaster. I really ought to clean it.

Someday.

I need to get my lenses out. Ally's got stuff upstairs. She'll probably let me borrow some.

"You okay?" She asks me real quiet as I come up.

"Just need some contact lens solution."

"You know where it is." She reaches over to me, and gives me a hug. "I'm going to bed, but help yourself to whatever you need."

"How's Patrick?"

"Fell asleep in Langly's arms. He'll be fine in the morning."

"You hear from the prof yet?"

"They had a lot of damage to their place. They're sleeping in your bed tonight, at least according to your dad."

So that's why he didn't bitch when I said I wasn't gonna be home tonight.

Ah-ha.
 

Miranda's bed isn't as comfy as mine, but it's decent. And there's room enough for both of us.

We both have everything off, even my lenses are gone now, but I think the last thing we want to do tonight is do the deed.

We just lie in the dark, trying to keep each other alive.

All of a sudden, a weird, funny thought crosses my head...and I find my mouth curving into a smile.

"J and the prof are sleeping in my bed tonight," I tell Kelly, kissing her. Her breathing is wet and labored.

"What?"

"Juliet. Byers. In my bed." I find this inexplicably amusing.

All of a sudden, Kelly giggles, it's thin, but it's a giggle. "In your room? Those two? They'll probably fumigate the place before they go near it!"

Well, I did say my room needed cleaning...

"I love you, Michael," she says, half-giggling, half-sniffling.

"Love you, Kel, so much."

We fall into each other's arms under cover of darkness. It's warm and quiet here.

If you can hold back the dawn...I'd appreciate it.
 

FROHIKE:

It's nearly midnight.

Oh. My. God.

Jo. I haven't contacted her.

I feel horribly, inexplicably guilty.

Inexplicable because she is a capable, competent woman, and not given over to panic.

Perhaps there will be a message from her...I hope so.

I begin the ritual of unlocking...yes, we have additional locks. The ones provided are hardly sufficient to hold out a slick four-year-old, let alone someone who looks upon housebreaking as a profession.

And yes, I have things worth stealing. Never mind the neighborhood, or the appearance of the place...

Wait a second. I did enter the correct apartment, did I not?

Is that what our coffee table looks like? I knew we had one...I just don't think about it, seeing as it's always covered.

Not only is it naked, but waxed. Waxed, for Christ's sake!

Even Jan, when she was caring for Michael after surgery, didn't go that far.

Newspapers are neatly stacked in one pile-and a quick glance reveals that they have been arranged by city, in chronological order, most recent on top. Magazines have been neatly filed away, in reverse chronological order again, and alphabetized. There's not a dish or glass to be seen in the living room. My computer work area is neatly dusted and the paperwork has been organized.

No jackets or backpacks near the door, where Michael and I usually drop them; they've been hung in the closet, which has been tidied as well. And the floor? I was reasonably certain we had green carpeting...I think in the 70s, there was a special on green carpeting, and every slumlord in the Continental United States took advantage of it. I think every apartment I've ever inhabited has had green carpeting. Yes, it's still shag-whoever came up with that decorating fashion I hope has been drawn and quartered-but when it's vacuumed and clean, it's not quite so horrendous.

The kitchen is clean enough to perform surgery in, and probably by now, even enough so that Byers and Juliet would eat in it. They have eaten in my home on rare occasions, and not complained-I do wash the dishes for company, you know-but they have not been my houseguests in this location. Everything is tinged with the faint but discernible odor of bleach. I didn't  realize we had this much counter space, but then again, it's usually submerged under god knows what. And-this is a mirabilis dei-the oven is clean. The oven! I wonder what year it was last done. It had to be long before I ever moved into this place. Every dish has been washed and put into the cupboards, arranged by size.

"Frohike? Is that you? I'll be out in a minute." The disembodied voice of Byers emerges from the bathroom, as does another blast of bleach as he opens the door.

I've certainly seen Byers like this-when we were all living together in DC, he was the only reason that any cleaning ever got done-clad in rubber gloves and carrying an armload of housecleaning supplies, so it's not his appearance that undoes me.

I'm thrilled that he's willing to clean, even if I should be vaguely insulted that he doesn't consider my premises suitable for he and the lady to dwell in. It does indeed need cleaning; I've just been too busy (and lazy) to see to it.

"I just finished the bathroom," he tells me, almost apologetically. "Juliet's gone to bed. I cleaned Michael's room earlier so that she could get to bed.

Okay, that I can understand. Even I have an edge on that boy as far as housekeeping skills go. I can do the work. I simply don't.

I'm tempted to say, you didn't have to do that-but this is Byers, and yes, he had to do it. And I'll be damned if I'm going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"You received a phone call from Jo. She was wondering if you were all right. I assured her you were, and that you would contact her soon."

It's past midnight. I'm not going to disturb her tonight, but first thing tomorrow morning, I'll get in touch with her.

"Thank you." He's such a good boy. I wish his own father would realize how lucky he is to have had the son he did. It angers me that he will not relent where his own flesh and blood is concerned. But then again, I do know about old grudges.

I pour myself three fingers of J&B-if any day deserved large quantities of drinking, it's today-and offer something to Byers, who I'm certain will decline.

He surprises me by accepting, and requesting a gin and tonic, double strength.

Obviously he's had a long day as well.

And God help me, we have ice cubes. I swear, Michael hasn't yet figured out that when you empty a tray of cubes, you refill it.

I don't have lime wedges, but I find a bottle containing some Rose's Lime Juice, and Byers assents to it as a substitute. Good stuff, Key limes.

"How is your young lady?" I ask him.

"She and Tivvy are all right. They've gone to sleep. I did Michael's room first."

"We very much appreciate you letting us stay here."

"It's no problem." And it's not. Glad to do it for them-particularly if I get this kind of maid service.

"Tivvy found the water bed...well, intriguing," Byers gives a goofy, paternal grin. I always knew he was kind to animals, but to see him spoiling that cat-well, it's actually somewhat amusing. "But she's settled in and is fast asleep next to Juliet. Obviously she's acclimated."

"Any ideas on what you'll do next?" I ask him. I'm not trying to hurry them along...all right, I am. This is a small apartment, and I don't do long-term visitors well.

He sips his drink, a little more heartily than I'm accustomed to seeing him do.

"I was thinking about this tonight. Juliet's been in pain, and pretty much knocked out on Vicodin, but when she's feeling better...I was going to suggest that we look into buying a house."

"Pretty major step." Even if you do have $30 million in trust.

"I think it's time."

"Well, you two have decided that this will be a permanent arrangement, so why not?"

I hope they're not planning to move far away...the thought of that makes my heart sink. For a moment, I can feel the J&B burn a hole in my stomach.

"I'd like to look in Arlington, or Falls Church, or maybe even parts of Annandale," he says, staring into space.

Relief. All of these towns are within seven miles of where we are now. I can deal with seven miles in any direction.

"What is it you think you'd like to have?"

"Well, obviously, more room." He laughs. "And a roof that doesn't leak."

We both laugh at that one. I am astonished-and pleased. In the past, he would not have taken this kind of incident so well.

"You two are planning to have kids, from what you've indicated."

"Uh...yes." He's blushing. And I don't think it's simply because of where children come from...

I get the impression they might not be working terribly hard to prevent the occurrence.

"So you'll need enough room for however many you plan on."

"Two, maybe three."

"Why not go for 2.5?"

He laughs. "I don't think I could persuade Juliet to stay in the .5 state indefinitely."

"I'm sure."

"I think...I always figured when it came time to buy a house, I would have a list of requirements. I have some, obviously, but I think I'm going to work more like Langly did buying his."

"In what sense?"

"In that, I think, when I find the place with the right gestalt, I'll know."

"Just don't terrorize your realtor in the process." Allison and Langly ended up going through three agents, one of which Langly fired, one of which quit, and one which saw the deal to fruition, although not without indicators of a nervous breakdown in progress.

"You've only had one house, haven't you?" he looks over at me.

"Yes." The one Jan and I bought in Teaneck...about a million years ago.

"Do you think if the circumstances presented themselves, you'd buy another?"

"I'm not sure. I think in my case, the question is pretty academic." Working for Ms. Russell is very profitable, but most of it will go to educate Michael, at least over the next several years.

"You never know. It could happen." He smiles ever so slightly.

"I think I need to educate Michael first."

"Well, of course, but you...you never know, Frohike. You might meet someone."

I almost drop my drink. Fortunately, there is very little left.

And I definitely need another.

Byers probably assumes I'm just getting wasted...which I'm trying to accomplish, particularly after tonight.

"Frohike, just bring the bottle over. And the gin. I could use another one."

Well, any pretenses of not trying to get drunk have just been trashed. I oblige, bringing both liquor bottles, the tonic water, and the lime juice to the table.

I notice that Byers's second drink has a lot more gin and less tonic than the first one.

"Frohike, it could happen," he's got a silly, slightly wasted smile on his face.

"What could happen?" Best to play ignorant in these situations.

"You could meet someone...fall in love again."

I refill my glass to the brim. I'm going to need it now.

Little does he know...

"We know you're not a monk." He's vaguely amused.

This is Byers?

"I think...at my age..."

"What about your age, Frohike? Does love only favor the young? I'd like to think not." He downs a large portion of his second drink.

He's not used to this, and he's going to pay for it in the morning. I should tell him to slow down.

Fuck it.

"There hasn't been anyone since Dee, has there?" His soft voice is even more gentle than usual.

I shake my head in the negative.

"Surely you must have encountered...someone along the way...that you thought..."

"Well...there is a lady."

The auburn brows arch up, and the slight smile becomes full-fledged. Byers drunk is definitely a trip.

"Well, well."

"Nothing is going to happen."

"You're sure of that."

"She's married."

"I see." He finishes his drink and almost knocks the J&B over reaching for the Tanqueray. "How married?"

I almost fall out of my chair. John Fitzgerald Byers, the very epitome of propriety...

What the hell is he suggesting?

"No. Nothing will happen."

Much as I want it to. Much as my insides scream for her to be with me tonight. Byers, when he's drunk his fill, will tumble into bed alongside Juliet, his second-and better-chance at life. Langly will be home in bed with his wife succoring his sore arm and any other needs he happens to have. My own son, my baby boy, is lying in bed with the girl he loves and is in the process of forming a permanent emotional connection to.

And I'm alone.

"So tell me about her." His voice is teasing, but gently so.

"No." I will not. There is nothing to tell.

"Aw, c'mon, Frohike. We tell you everything." His words are becoming slightly slurred.

"I doubt that."

"No, we do! Why would it be so awful for you to...try again?"

"In case you haven't noticed, my track record is pretty depressing."

"So was mine."

I look at him sharply. I may be drunk, but unlike him, I haven't totally taken leave of my sensibilities.

There is nothing between Martha and me, I tell myself severely. This totally exists in your head.

So she was pleased about the pussywillows. Big deal. Most women like gifts of flowers.

No, it was just a grateful acceptance of a small gift...nothing more.

How I wish it could be more...

What kind of life is it for her, to spend her days slaving away over suffering and dying patients, only to return home at night to a suffering and dying husband?

No life at all.

And what kind of life can you offer her, Frohike? Can you do better?

Probably not.

I've finished the contents of my glass, already. I pour another. Byers is attempting to pour himself another drink, but he sloshes tonic water on to the table.

"I think you've had enough, Byers." I say it softly.

"I want another." He sounds like Patrick Langly when he says it.

"No." I take the Tanqueray from him. "Go to bed. Get in there with Juliet. That's where you belong. Go now."

He stares at me for a moment, uncomprehending, but then, in spite of his alcohol haze, he gets it. He staggers off towards the hallway, not certain which door leads where.

"First one on the left," I tell him quietly. He somehow manages to locate the doorknob, and lets himself in. I hear the sound of a body falling against a large, water-filled entity a few moments later.

I ignore my advice to him, and pour myself another tumbler of J&B.
 

Goddamn my Catholic conscience. If I had half a brain, I would get in my car, drive to Baltimore this very moment, bearing a single red rose, and ask her to come away with me.

To where?

Doesn't matter.

What makes you think she'd come anyway, Frohike? She's got a husband that she vowed to love and care for as long as they both shall live. Remember that part, Frohike? The part you totally fucked up on?

What makes you think, even if this happened, that you wouldn't fuck it up again?

Wait a minute. You just want to talk to the woman, not marry her...

No, Frohike, that's not the way you operate, and you know it...when you love, you love totally, with all your heart and soul and being.

And bring nothing but misfortune to the women who love you in return.

You wouldn't want to do that to this lovely woman. The beautiful and caring and gentle Martha. No. She deserves better.

I want to take her dancing. I want my feet to float of their own accord, with her in my arms...

Stop it, you idiot!

Why couldn't her husband have died in this godawful tornado? Why not him? It would have been a blessing. He's in so much agony...and so is she...

Right. And you're just the balm to soothe it, Frohike.

Not.

I want her in my bed. I want to feel every inch of her flesh, her warmth, her tenderness...

Don't go there, Frohike. Just don't...

Useless advice.

I'm already there.

I drink until the sun comes up.

END OF PART 87