Sitting at the kitchen table, Ryan and Micki spoke in quiet tones over their steaming cups of morning coffee.
"It's been 24 hours and he hasn't improved at all," Ryan commented, "He's becoming dehydrated." He looked into his cousin's eyes. "I know he doesn't want us to call a doctor, but honestly Micki, I'm really worried."
"Yeah, me too. I'll call Dr. Sorenson and see if he has time to drop by and check him over."
"The sooner the better, in my opinion," Dallion said.
"I'll go downstairs and call right now," Micki offered, "Why don't you check on him?"
"Good idea."
Taking her mug with her, Micki headed downstairs and Ryan quietly walked into the bedroom adjacent to the kitchen. He stood at the foot of the bed for a moment, watching the slightly labored rise and fall of his friend's chest. Ryan shook his head in worry as he sat on the edge of the bed, softly wiping the beaded sweat from Jack's brow, causing the older man to stir with a moan.
"Hey Ryan," Marshak's hoarse voice squeaked.
"How're you doin' Jack?"
"A little better, I think," Marshak lied.
"Really," Dallion's voice belied his skepticism. "Then why don't I make you some toast and an egg. You haven't eaten a thing in two days."
Marshak made a face at the thought of it. "I uh, don't really feel up to that much, Ryan. Perhaps just a cup of tea."
"Jack, you've got to eat."
"Ryan, please, just some tea."
"We're calling a doctor," Dallion announced as he stood up.
"I don't need a doctor," Jack growled.
"Yes, Jack, you do."
"Damnit, Ryan, I asked the two of you not to do that."
Dallion sat back down on the edge of the bed. "We're worried about you, Jack. I mean really worried."
The older man's features softened as he reached for the young man's hand. "I'm okay, Ryan, really. It's just the flu."
"If it was just the flu, you'd be better by now, Jack. Look, what's it going to hurt, you seeing a doctor?"
"I don't like them."
Dallion sighed audibly. "Well that's not good enough. Micki's calling Dr. Sorenson, besides you like him."
"As a chess partner, I like him, as a doctor, I don't want him darkening my doorstep."
Ryan smiled slightly and patted Jack's hand. "Settle down and save your energy. I'm going to fix some tea and we'll see if you can keep that down."
"Oh, joy….."
Chuckling slightly, Ryan left the room to make tea just as Micki entered. She sat on the bed and smiled at the man who had over the years, become a father to her.
"Is there anything I can do?"
Marshak shook his head, too tired to speak after his sparring with Ryan.
"Dr. Sorenson is coming by shortly." When Jack didn't respond, Foster frowned. "You're not even going to argue with me?"
"Already lost to Ryan," Jack whispered, "and I feel very tired."
Micki reached under his shoulders and neck and began to rub his muscles gently with her hands. "You've had a couple of pretty rough nights, I'm not surprised. You need to get your strength back, and you need to rest."
Jack groaned as she massaged away the tension. "I'm sure Dr. Sorenson will be able to give you something to make you feel better."
"Mmmm..." he muttered before succumbing to Micki's gentle attention and falling into a light sleep.
Micki continued to rub his muscles until she was sure he was asleep, and then softly she stood, bending over to place a light kiss on his forehead. "Rest easy, Jack."
Quietly, she left the room, leaving Jack to disquieted dreams...
"John! William!" the soft woman's voice called. "It's time for dinner, let's go!"
A moment later two boys ran into the kitchen, and sat down at the table.
"When's pop coming home?" the taller boy asked.
"I don't know, John, he had to work late."
"Again?"
"Yes, again. Now eat before it gets cold."
The younger boy stuck his fork into his mashed potatoes. "Is there more gravy, ma?"
"Yes William, in the gravy boat right in front of you."
"Sorry, didn't see it, ma," the ten-year old responded.
Betty Marshak watched her twelve-year old son push his food around the plate. "Is something wrong with your food, John?"
"No," the curly-haired boy sighed, "it's fine."
"Then why not try eating it please."
"Yes ma'am."
"Jack's gonna pout now because pop ain't home."
"Isn't home," John corrected his younger brother, "and don't call me 'Jack' unless you want to wear those potatoes."
"John Marshak, don't you speak to your brother like that."
"Yeah, Jack," William taunted, "don't speak to me like that!"
"All right, both of you," Betty scolded, "that's enough. Can we please have dinner in peace?"
"Yes ma'am," both boys answered.
The silence continued until well past the time the boys had finished the dishes and were up in their room doing homework.
"Why were you so upset that pop didn't make it home for dinner? He never does these days," William said.
"I just don't like seeing ma upset all the time, that's all. Finish your homework, Billy."
The younger boy turned back to his book, but only momentarily before he said, "Jack, what's really going on?"
"Stop calling me that and what do you mean?"
"It isn't just that pop's missed dinner every night this week, is it….."
John looked away then and sighed. "Please finish your homework, Billy, and go to sleep. We have school tomorrow."
"I'm not a little baby, Jack….."
"Billy, I told you not to call me that, and I mean it."
"Why not? Pop calls you Jack."
"It's a nickname. Besides, it's pop's name for me."
"Please can't I call you Jack?"
John sighed. "I suppose if it means that much to you, then I guess it's okay if you call me Jack, but just don't do it in front of the guys at school – I don't want it to stick."
Satisfied with the partial win, the younger boy went back to his book, and fell asleep on his bed long before Cawley Marshak came home, drunker than Jack had ever seen him. The elder son watched quietly from the landing of the second floor as his father stumbled in the door, almost knocking his mother over in his inebriated state.
"What's for dinner, Betty?" he slurred.
"There's a plate in the warmer for you, Cawley."
"I didn't ask you that, I asked you what it was….."
"Roast chicken and mashed potatoes."
"Again?"
"What do you expect on the paycheck you bring home; or should I say on the portion that I actually see after you drink up most of it!"
"You better mind your mouth, woman."
"A little dose of the truth goes a long way doesn't it, Cawley?"
The resounding smack of flesh meeting flesh made the twelve-year old start. He watched as his mother tried to get away from his father who repeatedly struck her across the face. Unable to stand it, the boy ran down the stairs and put himself in between his parents.
"Stop it! I won't let you hit her!"
"John," Betty managed to say, "Please go upstairs, right now. Your father and I are just having a little disagreement, there's nothing to worry about. Isn't that right, Cawley?"
"Yeah," the old man slurred, "yeah, that's right. Go up to bed, Jack."
"No! I won't let you hurt her!" John yelled as he lunged for his father.
Even in his drunken stupor, Cawley Marshak was a larger, stronger man than his twelve-year old son. He grabbed the boy hard around the neck, and slugged him in the side of the head, rendering the child unconscious. Betty threw herself at her husband, knocking him to the floor, screaming wildly at him, not only waking all their neighbors, but also their ten-year old son. William appeared on the landing, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, which quickly widened at the sight below. Seeing his older brother lying in a pool of his own blood, William ran down the stairs to the older boy.
"Jack! Jack! Please wake up, Jack!" William wailed at the top of his lungs……
"Jack! Jack, wake up!"
His blue eyes slowly opened to find Micki holding him down by the shoulders, her eyes wide with fear. "Micki…. What…….what is it?"
"Oh Jack, you must have been having a nightmare. You were screaming at the top of your lungs and thrashing out like you were trying to fight someone off. Are you okay?"
"Yes," he sighed wearily, "yes, I'm okay." For a long moment, Micki didn't back off, and although it was an effort, Jack cupped his hand over the side of her face. "I'm okay," he repeated, "I'm okay, sweetheart."
After another moment, Micki let up on him and sat back, her eyes searching his for the truth.
"What were you dreaming?"
Marshak looked away. "I…..I don't remember."
She gently pulled his face toward her. "You're a terrible liar, Jack."
He nodded and simply said, "Yes."
He let out an uneven breath then, and Micki's concern for him washed through her once more, overtaking any irritation she might have felt in regard to his less than forthcoming explanation. She readjusted his neck and head on the pillow, trying to make him more comfortable.
"Will it help if I stay with you for awhile?" He smiled weakly and nodded. "Take my hand then," she said entwining her fingers through his, "and close your eyes. I'll be right here to catch all the bad dreams."
Jack felt the deep regard he held for her begin to sting his eyes and he slammed them shut, hoping Micki had not seen the stark vulnerability of his heart shining in them. But a moment later he felt her hand softly stroke his face, brushing away the tears she found there, and he knew that there would be no more hiding from her. He just prayed that his strong affection for Micki and Ryan would not prove as fatal to them as it had to everyone else in his life whom he had ever loved.