Part Four

Jesse had collapsed on the bathroom floor by the time Mr. White came in to check on him. The older man shook him awake.

The first thing Jesse was conscious of was Mr. White's voice telling him, "Looks good. Do you want something to eat?"

Jesse sleepily nodded. He was starving. The older man extended his hand and Jesse gripped it with his good one, hoisting himself up and following his host into the dining room. He had set up plates, forks, and knives.

"What's for dinner?" Jesse asked. His tongue was thick in his mouth. Everything felt uncomfortable, but it had stopped being totally painful. He guessed he had worked through the worst of it. His arm was still throbbing, though, on and off; he got used to it, somehow. He had to.

"Spaghetti," Mr. White replied.

"Great," Jesse enthused, taking a seat. When Mr. White served it, Jesse dug in, scooping up forkfuls. "Thank you," he said in between bites. Mr. White nodded, seemingly in a kind of approval.

"You look better," he commented.

"I feel better," Jesse admitted. "What are we doing tonight?"

"I think you've worked hard enough today," Mr. White replied, "I'm going back to my house. You can stay here. Watch TV and relax."

"Can't I go out?" Jesse asked, "Go to the mall or something?" Now that he was feeling less dead, he was starting to realize how much he missed the feeling of the sun on his face, the smell of flowers and trees.

Mr. White's eyes darkened.

"You will not leave this condo."

Jesse swallowed. The punishment Mr. White had threatened hovered in his mind.

"Okay."

Mr. White reached up and patted him on the head.

"Good."

Andrea shifted from side to side, foot to foot as she rang the doorbell. She probably should have called first, or instead, but maybe this would be more fruitful.

The door opened, and an older blonde woman appeared in the doorway. Behind her was an older man, and a preteen boy.

"Hi, uh, Mrs. Pinkman?" Andrea inquired.

"Yes?" the woman asked. She looked less than thrilled at the intrusion. "How may I help you?"

"My name is Andrea. I'm looking for Jesse."

Mrs. Pinkman sighed.

"Come in. Sit down." She ushered her inside and gestured for her to take a seat on the couch, which she did. When Andrea had crossed one leg over the other and vice versa three times, the woman spoke again. "I assume you want to see my son for… personal reasons."

Andrea blinked.

"Yeah, I guess so." She gazed around the room and noticed that the boy was looking at her with distrust. She didn't like it; they all put her on edge. "Have you seen him?"

"No," Mrs. Pinkman replied, "But if you're… in trouble…" Andrea opened her mouth once she caught the meaning, about to respond.

The boy cut in, "The clinic's on 8th Street."

"Jacob!" Mrs. Pinkman exclaimed, appalled.

Andrea's eyes flared.

"Maybe someone should've given that address to your mother, you little smartass!"

The Pinkmans' eyes turned towards Andrea.

"Uh, sorry." She caught her breath. Why did this all have to be so frustrating? Did she really think she was going to find out any more by coming him than by going by Jesse's house? Jesse hadn't mentioned his parents or his brother… and Andrea was starting to see why. She raised her hand. "I'm not pregnant. Totally, very much not pregnant. I would just like to find Jesse. He's important to me and I want to make sure that he's all right."

Mrs. Pinkman looked at her and sighed.

"I'm sorry Miss…"

"Cantillo."

"But I haven't talked to my son in at least the last six months. Last person to come around asking about him was some DEA Agent. Schrader was his name. I can't help you there. I hope you find him, though. I'm glad my son has someone who cares about him."

Andrea started at the comment, wondering if it meant Jesse's parents no longer did. But she didn't say it.

"Thank you for your help," she said instead, then hesitated before adding, "Like I said, I'm not pregnant. But I do have a little son who… he's six. And he loves Jesse and Jesse loves him so if… if somehow you do see him, tell him that Andrea and Brock love him and want him to come home." Somehow she managed to say the words without tearing up, but she said them to the floor. "Anyway, uh… Thank you for your time." She stood, turned, and walked out the door.

Jesse had to be somewhere. And if she really was the only person left who cared about him, that meant she needed to find him even more. She would stop at nothing.

She loved him. She knew that now.