"Hearts of oak, did you go down
alive into the homes of Death? One visit
finishes all men but yourselves, twice mortal!"

"The Odyssey," Fitzgerald Translation. Book 12, Lines 25-27. Used without permission.
 

MICHAEL:

It's late. I keep thinking, maybe he's out for the night.

I think he would have been, but some nurse came around to suck some blood out of him, and that woke him up, and boy was he pissed. Dad's usually not rude to women, but this time he made an exception, big time. That poor lady got the shit cursed out of her.

I hate to admit this, but I almost wish Martha was here. She'd know how to deal with this. Me, I got no idea. I'm like trying to tell him to chill, and he just gets madder.

The poor unfortunate gets out like as fast as she can. I wonder if she's gonna retire and do something calm, like detonating bombs or something.

He keeps this up, the staff's gonna detonate HIM.

Langly stops by for a few minutes earlier, but Dad's out, and he just sort of hangs in the door anyway, says he's catching Ally's cold and he can't breathe on him, just wanted to make sure he was still breathing. I assure Langly not only is he breathing, but as soon as he wakes up, he's in line for asshole of the year.

"Guess he's getting better," Langly says, shrugs, and bails out.

I hope so.

I could've actually used a little company from the Blonde Boy, but he really shouldn't be here if he's got a cold, and Dad would just scream at him, too. Probably even more than the prof. And while the prof can be cool when Dad's reading him the riot act, Langly's got too much of a mouth not to keep it quiet, and things just sort of escalate.

Which is not what Dad needs right now, I know. We're all supposed to keep it calm.

Yeah, right!

We're all supposed to leave him alone and go about our business like nothing the hell is wrong.

Fat fucking chance.
 

"I told you...go home." Dad's like so pissed right now.

"I'm going. In a little while." I figured I'd leave around 11, I'd get an okay night of sleep that way, particularly since Kelly's gonna be in my bed tonight. I always feel better when she's next to me.

"Which part...of go home...didn't you understand?"

Okay, I've had it.

You know, when I'm sick, he's like, he drops everything. He makes me little bowls of soup and rubs my back and sits with me all night and worries about me. And I let him.

This blowing everybody off when he's sick is stupid, and I'm not putting up with it anymore.

I pop my chem book in my backpack, and I go over to him. I really wanna just scream at him and chew his ass out the way he chews mine...tell him what a jerk he's being...

But instead, I lean over and hug him. I'm trying not to hurt him, but I need to hold him.

And instead of shoving me off, all of a sudden, he grabs me like he's drowning.

He's shaking. I'm wondering, should I call the nursing desk?

Instead, I just hold on to him with all my might, and the more I hold on to him, the tighter he hangs on me.

My shoulder's damp, too...I think he's crying.

"I love you, Michael," he whispers to me.

"I'm so scared," I tell him.

"Me, too."

"What're you scared of?" I ask him, just holding him to me.

Takes him awhile to get enough breath to answer. Talking hurts for him right now.

"Not...being able to do for...myself...for you..."

"So what if you can't do everything yourself? You got me, and lots of other people!"

"Not...used to having done...for me."

"Maybe you oughta get used to it."

"Kind...of old...for that."

"Bullshit."

"You're my boy...I'm...supposed...take care of you."

"Well, you do! Jesus, Dad! You take care of all of us, how do you think you got here in the first place?" I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes...but I'm determined I'm gonna stay cool.

For him.

"Scared of dying," he says finally.

"Well, no shit, Dad! You got any idea how scared I am? I'm like, what am I gonna do if I lose you? You got any idea what that feels like?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"Because...lost you...once. Won't do it...again."

"Yeah, well you better not!"

"Michael...would never leave you...again. Not ever."

"And I wouldn't leave you! Jesus, you always seem like you're in such a hurry to push me out-"

"You'll...have to go someday."

"No. Maybe not in the same house, but I'm not going anywhere, Dad."

And I know that that's true.

"I'm...scared...you'll just go away..."

"No. I'm not." What the hell made him think that?

"You'll go to school..."

"Doesn't mean I'm gonna bail on you!" Jesus! No way would I do that.

I owe him way too much.

"You'll get married...have your own family..."

"Yeah, well, don't you wanna be a grandpa someday?"

"Someday. Not now."

You and me both, Dad.

"You think I wouldn't let your grandkids know you?"

"I...don't know..."

"Oh, get real, Dad! You'll be the best grandpa in the world! Know how I know?"

"No."

"'Cause you're the best dad in the world. That's how."

"No, I'm not."

"Yeah, you are. And don't argue with me. I mean, who the hell else would put up with me? I'm such a screw-up-"

"No." He's getting kind of short of breath, I need to make him relax now. "Not...a screw-up, Michael...proud of you."

"For what?"

"You...try so hard...so caring..."

Well, not always.

"You have...a long way to go...you've come a long way..."

"Like in the Virginia Slims ads?"

"You need...go home now, Michael."

"You want me to stay?" If he does, I will...

"Yes...but...go to school. Do good things...keep it up...so much to do..."

"You sure you don't want me to stay?"

"Keep you here all the time...it'd be wrong. Go home."

I look at him, all tubed up and wet eyed. He looks so small and so vulnerable.

This is my dad, Mr. Tough Guy?

Yeah. It is.

"Martha says she'll be back after her shift," I tell him. "In the morning."

"She needs...get some sleep."

"She's worried about you."

He's so tired from talking. I cover him back up and hug him one more time.

"Okay, Dad. I'm gonna go now. But I'm gonna be at our house, if you need me."

"Be okay. Worry more...you don't do...things you need to."

"Love you, Dad."

"I love you...so tired."

He closes his eyes, and he's down for the count.

Yeah, Mr. Tough Guy.

Just made the toughest call he ever made.

Admitted he needs us.
 

GIZZIE:

Quiet night, just for something a little different. We don't get many of these, but we only have three patients in house tonight. Unless some joker decides to see how well he can navigate the streets of DC after a fifth of Jack Daniels, or someone decides that a gun solves disputes most efficiently, we're in good shape.

Good thing, too. I'm short of help. It's Martha and me and two others, which is still below legal minimum-you're supposed to have a minimum of two nurses per patient in critical care. If we juggle the numbers around, we've got three.

And Martha...well, she's beyond exhausted.

Strangely enough, she looks happy tonight. You'd think with all the troubles she's had lately, she'd be a wreck...but she's...

Glowing, for God's sake!

Our three guests are fairly stable right now, and I grab Martha and tell her we're gonna live a little.

This means, we're actually going to get a break tonight. And before the caf closes. This is truly a unique experience. Most nights, we're lucky if we get enough time to grab some sugar, caffeine and calories from the vending machines-and this is assuming they work.

Not that the caf is any prize here. Most of the food looks pretty scary-never eat anything from the steam table.

The cheeseburgers, however, are cooked to order, and if you're really hungry and you put lots of ketchup on them, they're not bad.

We're really hungry.

We sit with our burgers and fries and Mountain Dews-got to keep those caffeine levels up.

"How's your man, Martha?"

This turns her cheeks pink-I love it.

I realize her husband is barely cold in the ground. Fuck it. He hasn't been her husband in years.

She deserves this little chunk of joy.

"He's...making progress." She's not looking up. Martha is so Southern in some ways. The sort of woman you imagine turns her back to a man when she steps into her panties.

"You going back there after shift?" I ask her.

She blushes even deeper. "Yes."

"You could use a little sleep, girl."

"I know...but I haven't slept in so long, I've almost forgotten what it feels like."

"It's great. Try it sometime."

"I will. When he's released."

Sure you will...

Then again, seeing as he's just bled out an ulcer and gone through an MI (tech talk for heart attack, kiddies) and a bypass, he's not going to be thinking about getting it up much. Not for a while, anyway.

Too bad for her. She could use it.

I don't mean that in a negative way. Not at all. Daniel lost his ability to do the deed at least six years ago...maybe longer.

I'm glad she's found someone she cares about...but it bothers me that she's fallen for a guy who is obviously not exactly the paragon of good health. She just got a reprieve after a decade of suffering with Daniel. I'm concerned that once again, she's going to run herself into the ground, physically, mentally, emotionally.

Financially, she's already ruined, probably forever. I suppose you could look on the bright side of it. He's not after her money.

And I'm more than a bit anxious that rather than finding out this from the man himself, all seems to have been revealed by...the son. Whose existence she was unaware of until a few days ago. And so far, the majority of her comments-few as they have been-have been somewhat less than positive. I think the most positive thing she's said about him is that he's no longer a minor, although he is living at home. With Dad.

She may think he's going to be a minor nuisance.

I don't have kids of my own-unless you count the birds and the dogs and my husband-but I've got nieces and nephews, and I've got news for her.

He ain't gonna go away. And while she said he's gradually becoming more cooperative, I think she's got a hard road to hoe if she pursues this relationship. That kid's his flesh and blood, and if he's got to make a hard choice, I worry that he's gonna be choice and she's gonna be hard.

I should tell her this stuff. She's always appreciated my being honest with her. And she's no weakling-truth is not something she shies away from.

I worry about this, and I should share that.

I look at her face. Her eyes sparkle, her cheeks are flushed, and her smile is wrapped in gauze. Her whole look is the dreamy one of a young girl in the first blush of love.

Fuck it. I'm not saying a damn word.
 

LANGLY:

It's good to be home. Especially since I feel so shitty. I'm sweating about Fro, I'm hating my job, and I'm getting sick.

But hey, I can still rock Patrick. And he's like so happy to see me, I didn't get to be with him last night, and he's like all cuddly.

I ask Ally how she's feeling, she says fine.

If she feels like me, she's lying. And I can tell, she's dragging a little. She's trying not to show it, but she seems like not quite so lively like she always is. But she made this chicken and mushroom stuff for dinner, which is positively deadly it's so good, and we got to just sit on the balcony and have a beer, and now I get to sit with Patrick.

Never thought I'd be a person who wanted this kind of stuff.

Now it's like, I got no idea how I got by without it.

I'm even glad to get hassled by Miranda. Course, she's not being much of a hardass right now, she's worried about old Fro, too, but a day without hassling the stepdad's like a day without sunshine for her. So she makes sure she and me, we both get our RDA.

Tonight could be perfect. I got home at a halfway reasonable time. I got fed, my kids are around, my wife's a sweetheart. Sitting here with a drowsy Patrick, this could be like the epitome of domestic suburban bliss.

God, I gotta get over this stupid cold so I can see Frohike.

And he's gotta get better. I don't know what I'm gonna do if he doesn't. Not having him around, I feel almost...

Lost.

I cuddle a now-nodded off Patrick real close to my heart, and all I can think is, if it's like this for me, what the hell's it like to be Junior right now?
 

"Langly. Come to bed, lover." Ally's shaking my shoulder.

"Can't move."

"Sure you can. I put Patrick in bed hours ago." She leans over, I can feel her hair wrap around my face.

"Don't wanna."

"That's Patrick's line."

"Nah, he stole it from me."

"I believe that."

"You think he's okay?"

"Frohike? Wish I knew," she says gently.

Me, too.
 

BYERS:

I cannot sleep to save my life, and I'm so exhausted, I ache.

I even try one of Juliet's pain pills-which she is determinedly weaning herself from-in hopes of getting a little chemically-induced relaxation.

An hour after consuming one, I'm lying here, wide awake.

I feel utterly disoriented, knowing how ill Frohike is...and being powerless to do a damn thing about it.

And I sense that the months ahead are not going to be easy ones. Major tectonic shifts in task allocation, responsibilities and roles.

This scares me. I fear change in the first place. I'd have made a very good cat. Cats like every day to be the same. They like knowing what to expect.

Of course, this would be contingent upon my being able to choose the day, and we all know how likely that prospect is.

I feel...what?

Scared? Tired? Frantic? Miserable?

All of the above, but something else...

I think I feel...

Orphaned.

Once again, I involuntarily move towards the phone...
 

Yet another maid answers. Once again playing out my theory of extreme turnover in the personal labor force of James Arthur Byers.

"I'd like to speak with Mr. Byers, please," I tell the maid, trying to insert as much authority as I can.

"Who's calling?" This one, if possible, is even ruder than the last one. Next time I call, God knows what I'll get.

"An associate." I'm still using that line.

Why don't I just tell the truth?

Because you think he won't talk to you, that's why.

"Which associate?"

I'm exhausted and not in the mood for this crap. "Just get Mr. Byers, please." There's less patience in my voice than I'd like, but too bad. I'm not about to be stonewalled by the temporary hired help.

She slams down the phone on the table, and a few minutes later, I hear my father's voice...and once again, I can feel my palms sweat, my cheeks turn hot, my voice splinter...

"Yes?" Brisk, sharp, unemotional. As always.

"Dad, it's John."

"Yes?" This bothers me. I'd like a little bit more personal acknowledgement.

Then again, he hasn't hung up on me yet, so I should be grateful for small favors.

"Um...I was wondering...could you...maybe come down here?"

"I thought the lawyers took care of everything."

"They did...it's not about that..."

"What is it this time, John?"

He sounds impatient...but he actually called me by name. For some reason, in spite of the tone, this tiny gesture gives me some courage. Either that, or exhaustion and Vicodin are making me less inhibited...and I don't care which it is right now.

"Well...a good friend of mine...colleague...is very ill...I'm...I just thought..."

"John, I'm very busy. You know I can't just drop everything because someone happens to be under the weather. That's not the way the world works."

"Um...never mind...sorry to have bothered you..."

"Wait. You called me. I think I deserve some clarification here. Now what kind of illness does this 'colleague' have, and what's the problem? Is there a problem with the hospital? With the care they're receiving?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Then what is it?"

"I'm...I don't know...I'm kind of at loose ends here..." I'm not even sure what I'm begging for here.

He's silent for a few moments.

"Let me see if I understand this correctly. You have a friend or colleague or whatever you call him-I'm assuming this is not your fiancee-"

"Correct."

"And you're distraught over this."

"You...could say that." And then some.

"And you're asking me to come...and keep you company?" He sounds, well, confused.

"Um...yeah."

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, sir."

"How old are you now?"

"37." But I sound and feel about five right now.

"You hold a responsible position, you're being married in not too long a time-this time I hope you do better, by the way-and you're practically middle-aged. And you want me to come down and hold your hand?"

"Just forget it...I'm sorry to have disturbed-"

"I'll have to make some arrangements first."

What?!

"I'll be there in the morning. Good night."

He said what?!

He said...he'll be here in the morning.

At least I think that's what he said...

END OF PART 31