Fanfic: Rumors
Rumors

Jane Harper

RATING: R for language and violence
SYNOPSIS: Begins immediately after "Blood & Thunder"—in fact, it starts between the climax and the epilogue. This one's about trust.
ARCHIVE: Sure, just let me know where.
DISCLAIMER: Sarah's mine; the rest of the characters herein belong to the Evil Genius and his minions. I'm just tossing them into a bag, shaking it up, and seeing what happens.

It was well after seven in the evening before the Coroner's wagon took the body of Sarah's cousin away. It was well past nine before the police were finished at the scene and everyone had left. She surveyed the shambles that had once been their living room, with broken china, a gaping hole where a piece of the Persian rug had been taken for evidence, and scarlet blood stains around it.

Leo stepped over and put his arm around her shoulder. "We can't stay here tonight," he said. "Let's get some stuff together, I'm taking you to a hotel."

"I don't want to go to a hotel," she said. "I'm not going to let what happened today chase me out of my home."

"You sure, Toots? Not just for a couple of days while I get somebody to come in here and clean all this up?"

"Is that what you want?"

He nodded.

"OK. I just want to be wherever you are." She took his hand in both of hers. "When I think what could have happened—"

"It didn't. We're all OK, thanks to Margaret."

"I don't think I've ever felt so helpless." She reached out to pull him close to her. "Or so scared."

He chuckled wryly. "First New Year's weekend and now this. We've had a helluva few weeks, haven't we, Toots?"

They gathered up clothing and other things, and he called his driver to take them over to the Four Seasons. "What the hell," he said. "Might as well be comfortable."

Once they were settled in the room, they took a long, steamy shower together. As they were leaving the bathroom, the phone rang.

"Yeah, we're OK," Sarah heard as she combed the knots out of her wet hair. "Has it been on the news? . . . That's what I was afraid of. . . . " His pager sounded. "Just a sec. Here, talk to Sarah." He held the phone out to her. "It's Mallory."

"Hi Mal."

"You OK?"

"Shaken, not stirred. Listen, do me a favor, will you?"

"Sure."

"Go over to the house tomorrow and get my furry family and cat-sit them until the cleanup is over, please? It'll be hard enough to focus the next couple of days without having to worry about them getting out and turning into sail-cats."

"You bet. We'll take care of them until you're home again."

"Thank you so much. I don't know—" Her voice broke as angry tears filled her eyes and she began to sob.

"Sarah, it's ok. You go hug Dad. He's upset too, he just won't show it."

"I know."

"You guys just hold on to one another. I'll see you both tomorrow."

"OK."

"Hang up now."

"OK." She put the phone back in the cradle, but it promptly rang again. Looking over and seeing that Leo was on his cell phone, she answered.

"H—hello?"

"Sarah?"

"Yes. . .?"

"John Hoynes. You all right?"

"Yes, sir. Leo's on his cell—"

"Good for him. I was calling to see if you were OK or if you need anything. I just saw CJ on CNN—"

"Oh God," she said, beginning to sob again. "That means—"

"I'm afraid so. Fasten your seat belts, it's gonna be a bumpy night."

She couldn't help giggling. "I'm sorry, Mr. Vice President, you don't sound anything like Bette Davis."

"Well thank God for small favors," he responded. "Seriously, do you need anything? Besides to stay home tomorrow?"

She sniffled as the tears stopped. "Actually, I hadn't thought—"

"That's an order, Sarah. You go downstairs there tomorrow and get a massage and take a sauna and sit in the Jacuzzi and pamper yourself."

"Yes, sir."

"And listen, take this number down. It's my cell. If you need anything—anything!—and you can't raise Leo, you call me, understand?"

"Yes sir. Thank you." She wrote the number down.

"You know, this isn't just your boss talking, this is your friend."

"I know. And I appreciate it. I'm lucky to have both."

She looked up to see Leo off the cell and waving at her. "Is that Hoynes?" he stage-whispered.

She nodded.

He reached out for the receiver.

"Sir, Leo needs to talk to you—"

"OK. You remember what I said."

"Yes, sir."

"That was for your boss. How about your friend?"

"Thank you, John." She had never called him that before outside of a meeting and it made her vaguely uncomfortable, but it was obviously what he wanted. Handing the phone to Leo, she ignored his scowl, and went back into the bathroom to dry her hair.

A minute later he came looking for her.

"Thank you John?" he asked, cocking one eyebrow.

"That bothers you?"

"Yes, frankly, it does."

"You've heard me call him that at the Card Game."

"We're not at the Card Game."

"I've heard you call him that."

"I knew him before he was Vice President. Besides, sometimes I call him that—"

She finished for him."—to put him in his place. Sometimes I hate politics."

"I'm a politician."

"You know what I mean."

"Do I? Sarah, he's your boss for crying out loud."

"He's also my friend."

"Really? When did that happen?"

She turned off the hair dryer and put it down on the vanity. In the mirror she could see his eyes changing color, from calm hazel to angry gray. Turning around, she reached out for his hands. "Irish, I don't want to fight. We're both tired and hungry and running on adrenaline. Let's order something from room service and then go to bed."

"I can't." He wouldn't look her in the eye.

"No, tell me you have to go."

He nodded. "Like it or not, this is news . . . I have to go talk to the Press Corps."

"Why can't CJ handle it?"

"CJ is handling it. She's the one who called, she needs me there. We're not the only news item on the menu, you know. She has other boats to bail."

"I need you here!"

"I know." He looked down at the floor. "I've got to put some clothes on," he added, and turned toward the outer room.

She followed him and watched him dress. As he was putting on his suit coat, she went up and straightened his tie. "Irish, are you jealous?"

He put his hands in his pants pockets and looked away.

"You are! How sweet! And how wonderfully old fashioned!" She grinned.

He looked her in the eye and scowled, or tried to, but the phony frown dissolved into a puckish grin. "So sue me."

As he was leaving he kissed her goodbye and said, "Sarah, please be careful. Don't get too close to Hoynes. I love you, and I don't trust him, and I don't want to spend the rest of my life in Leavenworth for taking him out with Lionel's cricket bat."

She laughed and pushed him out the door. It wasn't until she'd sat down on the bed and turned on the television that it hit her what he'd said; after six months he'd finally admitted he loved her.

Sarah sat once more on the floor in their living room, holding on to Margaret for dear life, seeing her cousin and her lover wrestle for an eight-inch chef's knife, seeing them fall to the floor, seeing the pool of blood spread from underneath them . . . and this time it was Leo lying in blood and her cousin who got up, triumphant. She watched in terror as Joel split Leo's body open with the knife, screamed at Joel's face covered with her lover's blood, made a futile attempt to stand and wound up crawling over to the still-warm body. Now her hands were covered in his life's spent essence, as her cousin came toward her face with the blade—

She woke up with a scream, covered in sweat and tears. The clock said 1:30, and her hands shook as she reached for the telephone. She dialed Leo's office, but there was no answer. She called his pager, then tried Mallory's home, but no one was there. Sam's cell phone was shut off. Leo's was sitting on the table in their room.

She got up and went to the bathroom, threw cold water on her face. There were dark circles under her eyes. She had not slept the night before because her cousin had been stalking her. Now she couldn't sleep because he had found her.

God, what I wouldn't give— No. It's not worth it. Besides, I don't have any. . .

Twenty-six years, and she still wanted the sweet oblivion that her drug would bring her. Not often, but when it hit, it hit hard. She went back to the phone and called her old sponsor. The machine answered; she left a message. "Marie, this is Sarah. I know I haven't seen you in awhile, haven't called, haven't been to our meeting—I'm going to a different one—but right now I'd kill for a downer and I really need to talk—I'm at the Four Seasons, please, please call me."

She tried Leo's office again, and his pager.

She turned on the television again, watched some mindless movie, watched CNN, watched Animal Planet. The refrigerator was right there next to the television, full of . . . well, it wasn't her drug of choice, but it would do.

She rolled over and opened the door to the candy shop. Pulling out several bottles, she twisted off the caps, held her breath, and drank. God, how I hate the taste of liquor. It burned, and she had to rinse her mouth after each one—and she didn't much care what she was drinking. Two, three, four, and the buzz started, she descended into the familiar oblivion that she always described at meetings as "diving into a vat full of marshmallow cream."

As she began to drift, she heard a voice. "And listen, take this number down. It's my cell. If you need anything—anything!—and you can't raise Leo, you call me, understand?"

Shaking her head to try to resist the descent back into hell, she rummaged around on the desk for the number, and dialed.

"Yeah?" a voice answered.

"'Zat you, John?"

"Sarah?"

"Yup."

"Jesus Christ, you're drunk."

"Yup. Not even my drug of choice. Hate the damn stuff. Any port in a storm, eh sailor?"

"Where's Leo?"

"Work. Must not be by the phone, called four times. Even called my old sponsor!" She giggled.

"Dammit Sarah, you could have called the number in the phone book, for Chrissake." He hesitated a moment. "OK, I'm coming over. It's 2:30. I'll be there by 3. Promise me you won't drink anymore, at least until I get there."

"OK." She held her hand up in a scout-pledge. "I promise."

The line went dead.

"Shit," she said out loud. "Shit fuck. He's mad at me now."

A familiar voice came out of the television, and she looked up to see CJ and Leo on CNN. The announcer said it was a briefing held a few hours earlier. She waved at the television. "Hey Irish!" she called to it.

A knock came at the door.

She rolled over and opened it. Hoynes strode into the room, went to the bar, pulled the ice bucket down, and handed it to the agent with him. "Rick, do this for me. Take that down to the concierge and tell her to fill it with coffee. Strong black coffee. I'll be here."

The agent left and closed the door behind him.

The Vice President's expression was as dark as his hair. "Sarah, what the fuck are you doing?" He picked up he empty bottles and threw them away. Then he collected all the full bottles from the bar and took them into the bathroom, pouring their contents down the sink.

The agent returned, with the ice bucket still empty, but carrying a pot of coffee. "Thanks, Rick. Put the coffee and a cup down in front of Sarah. I'll be all right."

He turned to her and went on. "Do you have any idea what happens when I go cruising out on the town like this? The guy across the hall, even as we speak, is getting thrown out of his room -–he could have been over there fucking somebody's eyeballs out, but now he's gotta put his pants on and go. Rick and Marty are tearing their hair out right now because I'm just not supposed to do shit like this!"

He grabbed hold of the handles on the back of her chair and steered her toward the bathroom, where he turned on the cold water in the shower and shoved her under it.

"And don't call me sailor!" He walked out of the bathroom and slammed the door.

Ten minutes later, she came out of the bathroom in a fresh terry robe, bleary-eyed but nearly sober. "God, John, what did I just do?"

"Well you fucked up my night, that's one thing. I was on my way home when you called."

"What the hell time is it?"

"Almost four."

"Oh God, you have to be back at work in two hours!"

"Yeah well, if McGarry can do it, so can I. He's older than I am."

She headed for the bar but he got up and stood in her way. "Water," she rasped. "Water!"

He laughed and opened the door, pulling out a bottle of water. "Drink. It'll keep your head from coming off."

"I know."

"I thought alcohol wasn't your drug of choice," he noted quizzically.

"It wasn't. It isn't. That doesn't mean I've never been blasted."

"Obviously."

She sat in silence and finished the water. "You hungry?"

He nodded.

"Let's get breakfast. Neither one of us is getting any more sleep tonight." She called room service and placed an order for four, suggesting that they might invite the agents in to join them.

"They can't. At least one of them has to stay out there."

"God, John, I'm really sorry."

"Will you stop?? I told you to call me. I just didn't know you'd call so soon." He flashed that million-dollar grin. "Now, you want to talk about it?"

"You're acting like my sponsor."

"As of right now, I am your sponsor. And you're doing 90 meetings in 90 days."

"Aye-aye, sir." She saluted sharply.

He returned the salute with a flourish.

"You went to Annapolis?"

"Yeah, then law school. Served four years in the JAG's office. Couldn't get out fast enough."

"Yeah well, don't let that get around."

"I don't." He grinned again, and waited a beat. "Now, you going to tell me what happened?"

"Twenty-six years, John. Twenty-six fucking years. Down the tubes. Because of a nightmare."

"Tell me what really happened last night. All I know is what I heard on the news."

She described the events of the afternoon and evening, and the dream. By the time she was finished she was crying again, and one of the agents was knocking at the door. "Room service is here," he said.

Hoynes went to the door of the room and opened it. "There's stuff here for you guys too," he said to his escort. "Want me to dish it up?"

"Thank you, sir," they responded, nearly together. "We'll come in one at a time."

An hour and a half later, the Vice President got up to leave. "You gonna be OK now?" he asked her.

She nodded. "You?"

"Yeah."

"You're getting too old for this shit," she said with a grin.

"Look who's talking." He put on his overcoat. "Promise me you'll call Leo and tell him to get his ass back here. If you don't, I will, and I'll make sure he thinks we were doing something besides playing pinochle."

"Oh gee thanks, guy. That would make my week for sure."

"I'm serious!"

"I know you are. You be careful or somebody else will think we were doing something besides playing pinochle."

"Naaah," he responded, with a wave of the hand. "I'm not very good copy."

"You want me to check in tonight, oh sponsor of mine?"

"Ya think?" he asked with a grin.

"Seriously—" she finished with an earnest look, "thank you. I'll see you Thursday at the Card Game."

He started for the door. "And you'll call me tonight?"

"Yes, sir."

He closed the door behind him.

It was one o'clock when she woke up again, to another ringing phone.

"Hmmmm?"

"Sarah?"

"Umm-hmm."

"CJ. You had lunch yet?"

"Uh, I was asleep. Haven't slept in two days—"

"I'm sorry. I thought I'd come over for lunch. I really need to talk to you.

"OK. I'll order in. Just come on up when you get here."

CJ arrived before lunch did.

"Hi, Sarah." She tossed her coat on a chair and came over to give the older woman a hug. "You doing ok?"

"Yeah. I saw you on CNN last night, with Leo – good job."

"You mean you saw Leo with me, don't you?" she giggled.

"Oh excuse me!" She giggled. "Now, I have no idea what either of you were saying because I was completely blotto, but you both looked real good!"

That made CJ laugh out loud. "Well, we were talking about the events of yesterday afternoon. People tend to get curious when the DCPD descends on the Chief of Staff's apartment like a plague of locusts. Especially when shortly thereafter someone leaves in a body bag."

"How much did you tell them?"

"That someone had broken into Leo's apartment and was holding two women hostage. That this someone had assaulted Leo with a knife and was killed in the struggle. That we have confidence that it will be ruled self-defense by the Coroner's office."

"That Margaret rode in like the cavalry and saved the day?"

"No, Leo wanted to keep both your names out of it."

"Right, like we haven't been photographed up the kazoo together."

She shrugged. "Listen, I want to get this business out of the way. There's no easy way to ask you this – and God knows I value our friendship, but I have to know. Did the Vice President spend the night here last night?"

"No."

"He was seen coming in a little after three and leaving just before six."

"That's not all night."

"True," she said with a sigh, "but you know what I mean."

"Are you asking whether I'm sleeping with him?"

"I guess I am. That's certainly what the buzz is."

"I can categorically deny that."

"OK, you can categorically deny that you're sleeping with him. Can you categorically deny that you're having sex with him?"

Sarah burst out laughing. "Girlfriend, when I've already got prime rib, you think I crave pot roast?"

CJ giggled. "Thanks for loading me up with that image." She waited a beat. "Was that an unequivocal no, or a non-denial denial?"

"That was an unequivocal no. If I'd met him first .. who knows, but now, no. Absolutely not. Without reservation or purpose of evasion."

"Then, if you don't mind my asking, what was he doing here?"

"CJ, you've got to keep this quiet."

"You mean, I've got to keep this from Leo."

Sarah nodded. "Both that John was here and also what I'm about to tell you."

"I'll do my best. Leo's not above having people followed, you know."

"I know that." She felt a momentary pang of panic. "It wasn't somebody working for him that started this buzz, was it?"

"I don't think so."

"Thank God."

"And you were about to tell me what the Vice President was doing here at all hours."

"I got loaded last night. First time in twenty-six years. The Vice President is my sponsor."

"Oh great," she responded. "So either he's perceived as fucking the Chief of Staff's . . . uh . . . girlfriend, or he's exposed as being in recovery."

"Yeah. Shit on one side and manure on the other."

"Glad I'm not his Press Secretary."

"CJ!"

"Well it's not like there's not enough going on this week. Or . . . had you heard? Did Leo tell you . . . ?"

"Tell me what?"

"Sarah, the President has MS."

"Really? He must have good doctors."

"That's it? He must have good doctors?"

"Well, and an excellent staff." She grinned. "I gather this wasn't something widely known until recently?"

"It was pretty much a state secret. Mrs. Bartlet told the President's doctors when he was shot, and it got out." Her eyes flitted away for a moment.

"There's more than that . . . What aren't you saying?"

"Well … theoretically, this makes the President vulnerable to a 25th Amendment challenge."

"That he's not fit to serve? That's bullshit! And besides, doesn't a challenge like that have to be brought by—" She stopped abruptly as her mouth caught up with her brain. "By the Vice President and a majority of the Cabinet," she finished slowly. "John would not do that, CJ. He wants the Oval Office, but he's willing to wait his turn."

A faint look of surprise crossed her face. "You sure about that?"

"Absolutely."

"Sure you're not a little biased?"

Sarah didn't answer, and lunch arrived. Over their salads, CJ brought the question up again.

"I really, really think you should tell Leo about last night."

"What happened last night?" McGarry asked as he walked in the door.

"I think that's my cue to go," the Press Secretary said. "Thanks for lunch, Sarah. Good luck."

"Thanks so very much, girlfriend."

Once CJ was gone, Leo repeated his question. "What happened last night? You were OK when I left."

"I had nightmares. Awful nightmares."

"About what happened at home?"

She nodded.

He threw off his overcoat and suit jacket and took off his tie. Kicking off his shoes, he lay down on the bed and patted the mattress next to him, and she came over and snuggled up to him.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here, Toots."

"Oh, Irish, you're gonna kill me." She started to cry.

"Hush, of course I'm not." He kissed her forehead and stroked her hair. "I wish you'd called me."

"I did. Four times."

He didn't respond.

"I called Mallory. I called Sam. I called my old sponsor."

"Oh God, Sarah, tell me you didn't—"

"I did."

"Where did you get it?"

"Out of the bar. I got drunk."

"I warned you about switching addictions."

"I know. I feel awful."

"Good. Remember that feeling."

"When I couldn't reach anybody else, I called John."

"John who?"

She didn't respond.

"Hell's bells, Sarah!" he sat straight up and she fell off his shoulder with a thud. "You called Hoynes?"

She leaned back on her elbows. "Yeah, I did."

"What did he— you called Hoynes?"

"YES! Get over it!"

"And did he get up on his white horse and ride over?"

"No, he got into his limo and rode over."

"Well that's just fucking great." He got up off the bed and started to pace. "Getting him over here was like bringing a brass band and the Cirque de Soleil."

"Actually, there was more steel than brass, and not a single acrobat!"

He stopped pacing and rubbed his face with his hand. "I can't believe you did that."

"Leo, I tried to reach you, four times. You would rather have had me just sit here and drink myself into a stupor?"

"Let me think about that one."

"Wait just a goddamn minute. I knew coming into this relationship that you weren't going to be available at times, that I was going to have to handle things on my own and that you couldn't come running home every time I stubbed my toe. And now you're telling me that I can't have you when I need you, but I can't have anybody else either???"

"Well, no, that's not—"

"Fuck you very much!"

"That's not very likely," he muttered.

"You got that right." She was furious. Getting up into her chair, she grabbed a change of clothes and headed for the bathroom to dress.

"Sarah, what the hell are you doing? Isn't it a little late to change clothes in the john?" Through the door it sounded as if he was stifling a laugh.

That was the last straw. She threw the clothes down on the bathroom floor and began to sob.

He opened the bathroom door, gently, and came in, putting his arm around her shoulders. "Why him, Toots?"

"Because he was there," she answered. "And he dropped what he was doing and came to help." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Doesn't it strike you as the tiniest bit skewed that I can get my boss to come when I need someone, but not a man who claims to love me?"

"Didn't manage to sneak that past ya, huh?" Again with the half-grin.

"Almost. It didn't register until you were in the elevator." She chuckled in spite of herself, and looked down at the pile of clothing on the floor. "You're standing on my skirt."

"Better than standing in it."

"It's not your color, Irish."

He bent over and picked it up, holding it by the waistband. "Not my size, either."

"Stop it!" She couldn't keep from giggling. "How am I supposed to stay mad at you?"

He shrugged and handed her the skirt. "Were you going somewhere?"

"I gotta find a meeting," she answered. "I gotta do 90/90."

"Says who?"

"My new sponsor."

"And that would be ??. . . Jesus Christ, Sarah, don't tell me."

"OK, I won't tell you."

"I don't trust him."

"That's your problem."

"Well he sure as hell won't be goin' to meetings with ya!"

"Like you will!"

She turned to leave the bathroom but he blocked the way. "You have no idea what you've done, do you?"

"I slipped, Leo. It happens. Today is another day."

"I'm not talking about that."

"Then what the fuck are you talking about?"

He threw up his hands. "Fine. Go. You'll see."

Sarah got as far as the lobby before she spotted the press, lying in wait for her or for the Vice President or for Leo, or all of the above. At first she froze, like a deer in the headlights, while cameras and microphones materialized from nowhere, and then she bolted back into the elevators and up to their room.

Leo was sitting on the bed in his shorts watching CNN.

She burst into tears as soon as the door closed behind her. He got up from the bed and came over to hug her, clasping her head to his chest and stroking her face. "Go ahead, Toots. Go ahead and cry."

"I want to go home," she sobbed.

"Tomorrow. It'll be ready tomorrow afternoon."

She looked up at his face with glistening eyes. "Do you have to go back— ??"

He shook his head. "Nope. I'm not leaving you tonight." He bent down and kissed her softly. "I may be old, but I'm trainable." He helped her take off her coat, and she changed into a baggy T-shirt, then crawled into bed and under the covers. She lay snuggled up against him, half-asleep, as he read memos and watched the news, until the phone rang again and he held the receiver out to her.

"Your sponsor," he said.

She started to reach for it but he pulled it away, holding up an index finger to signal her to wait a second. "John?" she heard him say. "Listen, I can't say I'm happy about this— but it's up to Sarah and if she can trust you, I guess I can try." He made an uncomfortable face, then he handed her back the receiver.

She blew him a kiss.

"Did I just see a pig fly by?" Hoynes asked when she answered.

"A whole squadron of pigs, flying in formation." She winked at Leo.

"Did you get to a meeting?"

"I got as far as the lobby, the press is all over the place. You sure do make an impression when you swoop in at 3 am!"

"Yeah, I heard about it from everybody here too. That's why I'm calling. I think you should work at home for a few days, until the news cycle runs its course. When people figure out we're not running off to the Bahamas for a hot weekend, they'll find somebody else to plague."

"Do you want me to stay home tomorrow night?"

"From the meeting? Yeah, you probably should. People will go from thinking it's a card game to thinking it's an orgy."

"Ewwww!" she said, laughing. "I like you a lot, John, and I love this guy here, but I'm sorry, Bill Kowalski is just above and beyond the line of duty. That man is butt-ugly!"

"Hey, all cats are grey in the dark."

"That must be my problem; I like to keep the lights on." She looked up at Leo, who was making a scowling face that she didn't buy for a minute.

"Did I need to know that?" Hoynes asked with a chuckle.

"Hey, you nominated yourself to be my sponsor, did you play hooky the day they taught the thirteenth step? I'm going back to sleep. And thanks again for everything."

She handed the phone back, and again he held it up to his ear. "John? Thank you for what you did last night. I owe you a big one. But if you even think about thirteenth-stepping this woman, I'll have your guts for garters, Secret Service or no Secret Service." He laughed, then said, "I know. Good night, Mr. Vice-President," and put the phone back in the cradle.

He woke up when she screamed.

It took him a minute to realize where he was and what was happening. She was crying and whimpering, and he rolled over and took her in his arms.

"Shhhhh, Sarah. It's OK. I'm here. We're both all right. It's over."

"I'm so sorry," she was repeating over and over. "I'm so sorry. . ."

"You don't have anything to be sorry for. I'm the one who should be—"

"It was because of me. Joel wanted to hurt you because of me."

"No, Joel wanted to hurt us both because he was sick and had stopped taking his meds." He rocked her gently back and forth.

"But if not for me—"

"If not for you, my life would be pretty bleak right now. And, as you said to me a few weeks ago, you don't have to feel guilty about having survived."

He looked up at the clock; it was a little after four AM. Reaching up onto the nightstand for the phone, he punched in a number and waited for it to ring. He hit #1 to bypass the message, then recorded. "Hi. It's 0400, I need for you to staff my appointments out today. I'm not coming in. I'll be on my cell if Josh or the President or Chairman Fitzwallace need me, otherwise I'll see you tomorrow." He hung up the receiver, wrapped his arms once more firmly around Sarah, and went back to sleep.

The next afternoon the two of them went home. To Sarah's surprise, the living room had been completely redone; the quilted wall-hanging that had previously been in the front room of her apartment was hung over a new flowered sofa, with area rugs over freshly-polished hardwood floors. The walls were repainted and newly wainscoted in a cheerful yellow. And, the huge comfortable recliner that had also been in her apartment had been re-upholstered in forest green and sat next to Leo's favorite overstuffed leather chair.

"Irish, this is beautiful!"

"I showed the decorator your wall-hanging, and he did the rest," he shrugged.

"But so fast!"

"RHIP, Toots."

"How long did you say you were in the service? Never mind." She winked at him.

When they were sitting down to dinner, she asked, "Irish, would you do something for me? I feel a little funny asking."

"If I can."

"Will you go to shul with me this weekend?"

"Will they let me in?"

"Sure, they don't check your wee-wee at the door. And besides—"

"Could we maybe not talk about that? It's still a little too soon . . ." He squirmed ever so slightly.

"Sorry."

"Any special reason you want me to go?"

"Yeah. I need you there to hang onto. There's something I need to do. Not have to do, need to do." She hesitated. "I need to say Kaddish for Joel."

"The prayer for the dead?"

"Yeah. I'm the only family he has, and in his way he was very devout."

"You can say that again. He invented the Procrustean jockstrap, especially for me." He grinned at her, then laughed when she got tea up her nose. "Seriously—" he went on, reaching for her hand, "if you want me there, I'll do my damnedest to clear the decks Saturday morning."

"Thanks, Irish."

Saturday morning saw both of them sitting in services, Leo looking bewildered, Sarah serious under her rainbow prayer shawl. The prayer leader began:

"In solemn testimony to that unbroken faith which links our generations one to another, those observing Yahrzeit and those who mourn please rise to declare our faith in God, to magnify and sanctify God's holy name.

Sarah joined in. "Yitgadal v'yitkadash sh'mei rabba…"