Carmine divinas artis et conscia fati
Sidera diversos hominum variantia casus,
Caelestis rationis opus, deducere mundo Aggredior.
(Divining arts, and stars foreknowing fateVarying the diverse turns of the human state (The works of heaven's high reason) we bring down In verse, from Heaven.

Manilius, "Astronomica," I, 1. Used without permission.
 

ALLY:

Kelly and I finish clearing the kitchen while Langly and Michael depart for the jungles of the offices of TMB.

"Is this classic? Leaving us with the dishes?" Kelly says as she mops down the countertops.

"I don't know. Does Michael do them?"

"Only when there aren't any left."

"He's one step ahead of Langly. When there aren't any left, he says, 'hey Ally, we got no clean dishes.'"

"Doesn't he ever help you with housework?"

"Not really. I mean, home repairs, yeah, which is good, because I'm a total loss there." (I am. My first husband claimed that one of the scariest sights he ever witnessed was me holding an electric screwdriver). "And he does take care of the kids, which to my mind's eye is way more important."

"He didn't do anything while you were working?"

"Not really. Occasional load of laundry. I should let him do the bills; he's actually better with money than I am, but he's pretty tight for time, and I'm at home now."

"It doesn't bother you?"

"Sometimes, but I wouldn't list it as a major concern, no."

We have plenty of other ones to deal with, thank you. Housework sinks down pretty low. Why do you ask?"

"Well, MIchael and I, well, we've never talked about how we'd divide up chores and stuff."

"Wouldn't be a bad discussion to have. Granted, Langly and I never had it, so there's no room to talk for me here."

"What about money?"

"Well, we do discuss that-sometimes very heatedly. Money's complicated. You're not going to know how Michael deals with money overnight."

"Well, we don't have any, so I really don't know."

"How's he at managing his own accounts?"

"Okay. Not terrible, not great. Of course, we have so little money, it's hard to tell." She gives a rueful grin.

She sounds to me that she's at least thinking in practical terms-which is more than I can say for her fiancee, who, for the most part, doesn't have a practical bone in his body. Michael's a dream child. There's an ethereal quality about him that permeates everything about him. Kelly, on the other hand, is so grounded at 19, it's scary.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Ask away." Not that I'm guaranteeing an answer here, but asking's free.

"Why doesn't Mr. Frohike like me?"

Tough one.

I honestly think Frohike likes her well enough. I don't think she has anything about her to dislike.

Still, I understand his reservations, after a fashion. This is his baby she's marrying, and he's been having to do a lot of catch-up with the child. And now he's talking about moving on.

I think the man is panicked myself.

"I think...he worries that you guys don't have your act together. And that scares him." I think that's part of it, anyway.

"Um, well, what do you think I should do?"

"What do I think you should do?" God, I hate it when people ask me for advice. I'm so terrible at it.

What would I do?

"Well, you know how you were just talking to me?"

"Yeah."

"Well, what I'd do is, talk to Michael first. Then sit down, and have the conversation with Frohike. Then he'll maybe get the idea that you are thinking about the nasty little day to day issues. I think he'd respect that."

Well, I do.

"You might have to do it a few times. He's kind of stubborn."

Kind of?

She smiles. "I'll do that."

"I think both of you need to do it. But you need to do it with each other first. Figure out what your plans are, then present them."

She looks doubtful. "I don't know, though. Sometimes...you sort of get the feeling with Mr. Frohike that it never quite measures up."

"Well, you do seem to have an ally in Martha."

"She's really nice."

"And if anyone could convince him, she could."

"Guess Michael and I better come up with something."

"You might not try it tonight. They're trying to get an issue out for November, and they're late already."

She smiles. "Always something, isn't it?"

Oh, honey, just you wait.
 

MICHAEL:

2:34 a.m.

We just posted.

"God, I'm beat," Langly's yawning. "You ready to call it?"

"Langly, you moron, I was ready to call it hours ago." And I was. I could have fallen asleep-oh, say, anytime after 8 o'clock tonight.

"Yeah, well, c'mon, let's lock up and try to get a couple hours in before we have to get up and do it again."

"Least the prof'll be around for December. And maybe by then, Dad can do more."

"Maybe." He yawns again as we finish shutting down. "Well, it's out there."

"Good thing. We were getting some pretty brutal e-mail."

"Yeah, well, let's face it, our readers, they're all capitalists at heart, Ally's right about that."

"Didn't look too bad," I have to say, it really didn't, considering how quickly we had to put it together, and how half the fucking staff's missing.

"Nah, in spite of the fact that you were doing it, it looked okay."

I think this is as close to a compliment I'll ever get from Langly.

I stagger out behind him and finish setting the alarms.
 

MARTHA:

October 23, 2001
 

I just finished my shift. A brutal night-7 admissions. 2 of them didn't make it to shift change.

So goes life in the CCU.

I need to get home and sleep. To cuddle up next to Mel and just feel his warmth pressed against me.

I'm needing this these days like I need oxygen.

Mel's awake when I arrive. Granted, he's accustomed to rising early, but he looks as if...

He's about ready to take off.

He runs over to kiss me. "You look tired, you should get some rest. I'll be back later."

"Where're you going?" He's supposed to be resting.

"I've got some work to get done. I'll be back later."

"Fine, but I won't be." I can't believe I'm saying this, but the fact is, I will not allow myself to nurse another man into his grave. I got enough of it in my marriage. I get plenty of it at work.

I can't deal with it.

He looks puzzled. "Why not? I thought you were off tonight."

"Mel, once again, you're off and running when you're not supposed to be. You probably didn't take your walk, and you probably didn't eat anything."

"I'll get something later."

Time to fight dirty. "Mel, are you interested in playing with your grandkids? Because from where I'm standing, it doesn't look like that's going to happen!" I can feel tears springing viciously to my eyes.

He looks at me, silently. I look at him.

"I can't do it, Mel. I can't stand around and watch you abuse yourself until you die."

I pick up my purse and backpack again, readying myself to leave.

He comes behind me, puts his hand on my shoulder.

"You don't want to stand and watch me die? Okay, here's one for you. I made the mistake of letting a woman walk out one time. I'm not going to do it again."

"Then what are you going to do?"

He's silent for a moment.

"Feel like some breakfast?" He asks.
 

We spend the rest of the day hanging around-sleeping, walking to the store, minor household tasks, and more sleeping. He still doesn't know what I have planned for tomorrow.

A tomorrow that almost didn't happen.

Slowly, but surely, I think it's beginning to sink in.

We're walking back from the bank, and I slip my arm in his. Another perfect fall day in northern Virginia. I relish these; by the time we return from North Carolina, the climate will have totally changed.

We've been quiet, as is our nature. We're not big talkers.

He says it, almost offhandedly, but I don't think there's anything offhanded about the sentiments behind it.

"I really would like to be a grandfather someday."

I know he would. He loves children. I think being a grandfather would be the biggest kick of his life.

"How do you feel about being a grandmother?"

Me, who never wanted children?

"I could see it happening."

He stops in mid-stride, turns around to face me, and we stand, in the middle of the sidewalk, sharing the most tender kiss I've ever felt-and from him, I've felt a lot.

When we finally come up for air, he just smiles at me and says, "I'm glad."

I just have to keep him alive till then.
 

I don't have to work tonight, so I make us a simple, but tasty and healthy, dinner. I'm assuming Michael will not be here; usually he's with Kelly on Thursday nights.

I'm rather surprised when he stumbles through the door-and I do mean literally stumbles.

"Are you all right?" Mel calls out to him.

"Just tired. Finished November last night."

"I was wondering why you didn't come in until after 3." The voice is stern, and caring, all at the same time.

"We were busy." He yawns heavily. "Man, I gotta get these lenses out." He vanishes towards the bathroom.

"He shouldn't run himself into the ground so hard," Mel complains gruffly.

I have to laugh. And I do.

"So it's okay for you to do it, but not your son?"

He smiles at me. "Something like that." Then he looks at me seriously. "Really, Martha, I don't want to be dead before I'm 60. There's so much left."

I clasp his hand gently.

Michael comes back out. "Got enough left?"

"I think so," I rise up to grab him a plate, but he motions me back to my chair.

"Need to study," he says as he makes himself up a plate.

"You'll do no such thing," Mel tells him severely.

Michael looks at him, completely confused and surprised-and more than a little irritated.

"I got work to do!"

"And you're a walking dead man. Finish your dinner, and if you're not in bed in an hour, I'll come in and sit on top of you."

"Dad, I-"

"No. Eat your dinner, and then off to bed. End of discussion."

I have to restrain myself from laughing out loud.

After Michael vanishes into the bathroom-and I think he is going to bed; I can hear the shower-Mel and I do the dishes. I've never been partial to domestic chores, but doing this simple task is comforting and relaxing with him.

"Mel, how can you have one set of standards for your son and one for yourself?"

"Easy. It's called parental fiat."

"He's an adult, Mel."

"Yeah, but bet you anything he's in bed in half an hour."
 

He is.

Michael may be an adult, engaged, a premedical student-but to Mel, he's still his little boy.

About half an hour after Michael disappears into his room, I see Mel walk quietly over to the door and peek in.

"Is he asleep?" I whisper across the room.

"Uh-huh."

He doesn't leave the doorway. Not for a long time.

I join him.

Michael is sound asleep. He's snoring a little-I suspect as he gets older, he'll snore like Mel-and he's chewing on the corner of a pillow.

He looks like the little boy I think Mel sees him as.

I guess I can understand a little why he feels this way about his son.

Finally, I take his arm. "Time for bed, Mel."

"It's early."

"No discussion. Bedtime."

He looks at me, a little surprised, but he follows me into the room.

Besides, we have quite a day tomorrow.

He just doesn't know it yet.
 

LANGLY:

God, I feel like a zombie. But I'm finally getting out of here.

Zupan-prick's been back, but for some reason, he's bugging me less this week. Which is real bizarre, because I've been up to all kinds of things I'm not supposed to.

Mostly I ignore him.

Had lunch with Charles again today. Hasn't heard from Bryce.

Gotta help him find Bryce. Gotta figure out what happened to Sheridan and Nathanson. Gotta figure out what happened to Joanie, and Scott. Still have to find out what happened with Lydia. Why Ally didn't get into school after she was accepted. Why Randa's getting so much shit...

Fuck it. I'm going to bed when I get home.

Rest of the fucking world's just gonna have to wait.
 

BYERS:

Santa Margarita Island is wonderful. I think. The beach is beautiful, or so they tell me.

We haven't seen it yet.

We're in no hurry.

"John," Juliet calls to me. "We need another can of aerosol whipped cream."

Now you know why our sightseeing has been rather limited...

**************************************************************************************************************

FROHIKE:

Martha's insisting we get in bed.

I guess I can't argue with that. I am a bit tired, although I could work some.

No. I can't risk losing her.

We finish the bedtime preparations, but stay naked when we get undressed.

She is so beautiful.

We kiss. Soft, barely there at first. Then touching lips, then growing deeper, more urgent. I move my lips to her neck and shoulders. I adore her shoulders.

She gently runs her fingers down my chest, and I gasp at the sensation. Electricity.

I let my mouth travel to her breast, first the left one, kissing the top of it. As I do this, I watch her nipple and areola darken and harden, little moans beginning to escape her, intensifying as I travel closer to the tip.

I plant a soft kiss on her erect nipples, first one, then the other. I can feel her hips gently buck under mine. Her hands travel to my balls and my cock, and she teases them at first with a light, gentle hand, then applying more pressure.

Oh God, does she know how to make me feel like a young man or what?

I was so worried about going back on my blood pressure medication-it can make you impotent, the ultimate male curse.

So far, Martha seems to have ameliorated that.

All my senses are awake and alive.

She lies on her back, spreading her legs far apart and pulling her knees up. We both like this position; it allows me to penetrate her very deeply.

I sink down between her legs, drawing my sex up to hers. Slowly, gently, I begin the journey up her, until there is no space between us. I'm merged into her completely.

We lie still at first, savoring the sensations of each other. Her hands gently clasp my ass, working the area above the crack where I seem to be so damn sensitive.

Her fingers travel down and begin to massage my prostate. I'm not going to be able to hold on much longer.

Finally, I can't hold out. I feel my body give way to hers, and the more she cries out, the more my pleasure increases, until I feel myself spraying inside her, hot and wet. Her hips continue to buck; I try to give her every ounce of pleasure she craves.

Finally, we are no longer vibrating, but lying in a soft golden-blue light of afterglow. I lean my head into her breast, and feel myself drifting to dreamland.

No, I don't want to be dead before I'm 60. If that means being good...

I'll do it.

As long as I can be bad like this.
 

MARTHA:

October 24, 2001
 

I wake up before Mel.

He looks so peaceful, like a little boy with no cares in the world.

The father and the son look completely alike in sleep.

Michael is getting ready for school. For once, he looks rested and refreshed. His eyes are clear, not rimmed in red, and he isn't staggering as much as usual.

"Sleep well, dear?" I ask him.

"Uh-huh. Should've studied, though."

"You don't have any tests, do you?"

"Nah, but getting behind, that's the worst."

"Sometimes it does you more good just to rest up and let it go for a while."

"Yeah, maybe."

If he doesn't value sleep now, wait till he's in medical school. He'll begin to think and talk about sleep like starving people think and talk about food.

It's going to be hard for Mel to go through watching him like that.

But better that he be around for it.

"You know that your dad and I are leaving today."

"Yeah." He gives a long yawn, but it's a contented, catlike yawn. "Have a good time. Wish I was going, me and Kelly. It's so awesome there."

"Think he'll be surprised?"

"Dad? Oh, hell, yeah. Anyway, gotta go."

Michael slips out, and I finish packing our luggage and getting it into my car.

I haven't felt this anticipation in I don't know how long.

It's nice to have it back.
 

We eat some breakfast of decaf, grapefruit, toast and orange juice, and we then take a short walk outside.

Looks as if we're going to get good traveling weather.

"Mel, I need to go into Richmond for something." This is my cover story. "I'd like you to come."

He hesitates. "I really should get some work done."

"Please?" Well, it worked when I was 16.

"All right." He doesn't seem very enthusiastic...

But then again, he has no idea what the real plan is.

I check to make sure I have everything I need-cash, credit cards, ATM card. I filled the gas tank yesterday, so no need to stop.

We head out on to the highway, and we watch the fall colors.

I'm waiting for him to become suspicious.

Fortunately, he ends up falling asleep halfway to Richmond.

This is going to be a wonderful trip.

END OF PART 13