"Then pardon, son.
It's natural we should sin, being human."

Euripides, "Hippolytus," Lines 614-615. Translation by Ralph Gladstone. Used without permission.
 

MICHAEL:

September 17, 2001

I felt pretty good this morning, but I started fading when I was tutoring. Seems to happen like that. Working with people is hard. Takes energy. By the time I'm done, I don't wanna see another human being.

Except one.

Kelly doesn't work on Tuesday. She's got a lab that lets out the same time I get out of tutoring. She's done a few minutes ahead of me, I always run over (and don't get paid for it, I'll have you know!), and she's studying while she waits.

She looks real tired.

Finally, I throw the last brain-dead idiot out. Enough. Time to go home. We're supposed to go to my house and study.

I lean over and kiss her. "So how's my fiancee?"

"That sounds nice," she murmurs in my ear, but the voice isn't hers.

"You sick, too?"

"Got a sore throat, if that's what you mean."

"God, we're great, aren't we?"

She smiles at me. "Always. Are we still going to your house? I mean, I probably shouldn't with your dad-"

"I'm already down with it. Not gonna make any difference. C'mon."

We walk out like a couple that's been married thirty years.

Sometimes it feels like it. Other times, it's like it's all new...

Weirdness.
 

Martha's got dinner working, it's some kind of fish. I can do fish if it's cooked right.

It's cooked right. Good stuff. I'm still kind of partial to Rubio's fish tacos-yeah, they're deep fried and all, but damn, they are good-but this stuff is nice.

"It's orange roughy," she says.

Kelly's not eating much. "Not much of a fish eater?" Martha asks her.

She shakes her head. "No, I just can't swallow too well."

"You can't talk too well, either. Both of you need some rest."

"We have to study. And you promised you'd help," I remind her.

"I will. And I promise it'll go pretty fast. Then you're going to bed. Both of you."

"Not together, they're not," Dad says, more like he's grumbling. I don't think he's thrilled about all the stuff he's having to change.

"I'm going home when we're done, Mr. Frohike," Kelly promises him.

Damn.

Dinner gets done, and tonight, I offer to do dishes, Kelly does too, I'm trying to show her I'm not some totally useless male like Langly is. She's made comments about it. So I don't want her to think like that about me. That gets done and we get backpacks and leave the big kids to the living room.

"Leave the door open!" Dad barks at me.

Jesus fucking Christ, what does he think we're gonna do? We're both sick and we both got tests tomorrow.

Yeah, the house is really gonna be rocking tonight.

"Mel, I'm going in to help them," Martha tells him, like calm down already, old man!

Thank you, Martha.

It's still weird having her here. But I think I like it okay.
 

And you know what? Martha's way of doing this is really good-makes a lot of sense, and it does go faster than trudging through every last fucking detail in the book.

"It used to take me forever to study for bio. It didn't come to me easily, that's for sure," she says. "So I came up with this system." It's a combination of function and mnemonics. And damn, if it doesn't work. Kelly's impressed. Me too. Calc and chem, you can do it strictly by functionality, and it's a piece of cake, but there's a lot of cross-functionality in bio, which complicates the hell out of it. But Martha's got some ideas on it, and they're good.

"You really need a good system for when you go to med school, because the volume of reading you're expected to do is unbelievable," Martha tells her. "I don't say that to scare you. Just to stress the importance of coming up with a few good tricks to get you through."

And she quizzes us, on both of our subjects (I'm in 1, Kelly's in 3). And we did pretty damn good.

"Okay, kids, time to hit the sack," she announces, kind of like some sort of chaperone at a school dance.

It's okay. I'm beat, and Kelly's fading real fast. I wish she could stay here, though. I could snuggle up to her and I'd feel all better.

But not with Oscar the Grouch around. Martha said he was grumpy today, that's to be expected.

"Martha, he's always grumpy!" I tell her.

She laughs.

And you know what scares me most?

We all go out to the living room so I can walk Kelly down to her car, and I catch Martha looking at Dad who's sleeping in the chair and snoring like a goddamn chainsaw.

She looks at him the same way Kelly looks at me.

What the hell have they been up to while I'm out?
 

I get ready for bed, think about taking a shower but I'm so damn tired I think I'd pass out under the water.

"Hey Martha." I ask her when I come out in my sweats. "Um,.like, could I have another one of those things you made last night?"

She smiles at me. "I think so. Probably do you good."

"Yeah, I slept pretty good last night." And the backrub didn't hurt.

"And some Robitussin for the cough."

Oh Christ, I hate that stuff.

But she gives me another chill chaser, she calls it, and I'm scoping out where the Robitussin is, but she's already got in and she pops a couple spoons in my mouth like when I was little.

And I don't mind. I must really be out of it.

She asks me if I need a backrub. I figure, I'm good without one right now.

Off to bed.
 

MARTHA:

I've come to the conclusion that I'm nursing two for the price of one.

But the payment for the one was damn generous. And he seems much more grateful, and a lot nicer than I thought he'd be when I first met him.

I'm talking about the boy, dammit.

Hard day with Mel. He tried to work, but kept getting very tired. And nothing seemed to please him. He was irritable and moody all day.

At least he's asleep now. Admittedly, it's in the chair, but first chance he stirs, I'll get him in bed.

Michael's sound asleep, I checked him a few moments ago. Snoring lightly, as is typical with a cold.

I turn to Turner Classic Movies-I think they get every cable channel known to God and man in this house. I've seen channels that I didn't know were channels.

"Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?" is on tonight. I like this movie. It's a wonderful bitchfest, with Joan Crawford and Bette Davis. Reminds me a little of Gizzie and me on a bad night.

And it occurs to me, I have less than 24 hours to comply with her 'orders'.

My orders are, I'm supposed to kiss Mel.

I could kiss him right now and he wouldn't know it. I'm assuming she meant that he had to be aware of the kiss. I know Gizzie. If he doesn't respond to it, in her mind, it's not a real kiss.

Same for me.

I'm watching the harridans on TV with one eye and Mel with the other.

He's got the sweetest, softest expression, especially when he's asleep. A full, gentle mouth...

That I want to feel pressed up against mine.

About three-fourths of the way through the movie, he stirs.

"Mel. Are you awake?" I ask him quietly.

"Hmm."

I'm assuming that translates to, yes, but barely.

"Come on, I'll help you into bed."

I half expect him to snap at me-he did more than a few times today, although the comments were nothing personally directed-but he doesn't.

I go over to his chair and take his hands, but he's too heavy to move this way, and I might pull on the sutures.

So I place my arms around him so that I can pull him up from the waist.

My God. He's so warm, so soft, and so sturdy, too. You wouldn't think to look at him, but he is.

I help him rise from his chair, my arms around him so that I can distribute his weight. It would be easier if he were to put his arms around me...

Oh. My. God.

He does.

Probably just to get up more easily, I tell myself.

He's on his feet now, and I expect he'll drop his arms from me.

He doesn't.

I don't take mine away, either.

The TV is forgotten. All I can hear is the sound of both of our breath.

I'm waiting for him to be awake enough that he'll pull away.

Instead...

He lowers his head on to my shoulder. And it's not a gesture he needs to make in order to maintain support. It's a gesture of vulnerability. A take-care-of-me gesture.

I remove one arm from his waist and wrap it around his hair, touching his cheek.

We're just breathing.

I run my hands through his hair, and he reaches up and cups one hand around my neck...oh God, I've died and gone to heaven. His touch is so tender, I'm going to cry.

I begin to move one hand up and down his lower back, with one finger, stroking gently.

I hear a small murmur of contentment escape him.

He lifts his head off my shoulder and faces me. His eyes are open now. He's not asleep.

He's just looking at me with those clear, sea-green eyes. They're deep and gentle.

If I'm not mistaken, there's longing in those eyes.

And desire.

And something else.

We're just breathing still.

Our faces move closer, as if we suddenly have no will of our own.

And then, so soft...

A brush of his lips against mine.
 

MICHAEL:

Oh Christ, I'm thirsty. I need something to drink, big time.

I lie in bed for a few minutes, trying to get up the energy to haul my ass out of bed.

Finally, I have to go to the washroom, too, so now I've got two excuses. I'm kind of woozy, but I manage.

I hit the bathroom first and get that out of the way.

Some water might be good. I feel like I'm in the desert.

Only the low lights are on in the living room, and a small one in the kitchen.

And I don't have my glasses on, either.

I must really be sick, or out of it, or still dreaming.

At least I hope I am.

I see Dad and Martha...

Kissing.

Oh Christ.

END OF PART 55