How to Fall Head over Heels
by TheBucketWoman
Disclaimer: I don't make TV money, so it stands to reason that I have no stake in this show. Nor do I own the stuff I make reference to, especially the really old joke Derek tells, but you knew that.
Chapter Nine
Part One: George
The answering machine was flashing F when he got home. Nora had clearly turned the ringer off at some point, and he didn't blame her. She always had her cell with her anyway. He found Nora on the couch with a cup of coffee that he could smell from the door. Sweet caffeinated bliss. Edwin was sprawled ungracefully across the rest of the couch, asleep, his legs hanging off of the arm, his head pressed against Nora's leg. Lizzie sat on the floor in front of Edwin. They were watching some British chick-flick, one of the ones where Colin Firth gets wet; George couldn't keep them straight. Marti was on the chair next to the bookcase, following Edwin's example.
So since he knew that he had time to kill, he went into the kitchen, poured himself some of the coffee Nora made and hit the answering machine, the way he usually did at night. There was one message from Mel, his officemate, telling him that she had control over the Hastings case, and that he should just "take care of his people." Twenty-five were from assorted friends of Derek. Five were from George's ex-wife, Abby, who:
1. Just got the message. Wanted details.
2. Was stuck in Colorado with Chuck, the boyfriend.
3. Was snowed in and couldn't get a flight out.
4. Still couldn't get a flight out.
5. Needed someone to call her back, for the love of God.
The last thing George needed right then was the voice of his ex over the phone, cursing everyone who'd ever been involved in aviation back to the Wright Brothers and Icarus.
He wasn't much of a drinker, so there was nothing that he could do to make the phone call easier.
"Hi Abby," he said, when she picked up.
"Bout time," she said. "Thought I'd drop dead waiting for you to call me back."
"I'm sorry, Abby." It was always best to give her what she wanted and back away slowly.
"I was up all night," she said. "I'm this close to digging a tunnel with a plastic spork to get the hell out of this airport. I'd get home faster if I flapped my arms."
"Just relax, Abby," George said. "We got it under control."
"Define under control."
"Right now, your son is most likely tormenting his stepsister and will continue to do so until visiting hours end, which should be in about half and hour. His biggest danger is probably Casey herself."
"I guess that's comforting in a way."
"In a way," George agreed.
"It took me forever to get through to the hospital, and the nurse was pretty vague when I called, so..."
"They are 'cautiously optimistic' about the possibility of a 'positive patient care outcome' and barring any 'unforeseen complications' or 'therapeutic misadventures' that could lead to a 'sentinel event,' they can kick him out by Tuesday or so." George said. "Sound familiar? But in general, he's happy as a clam 'cause the tube's out of his throat and we brought him some sweatpants so his butt's no longer to the breeze—"
"What about his voice?"
"That we gotta wait and see about," George said. "So far, we know that the vocal cords aren't paralyzed and that's good, but how much voice he gets back is anybody's guess because they're still watching for damage that can show up later. But so far, he seems to be healing."
"Is he miserable?" Abby asked.
"Pretty miserable, yeah," George said. "The docs have forbid him from even attempting to speak, and you know as much as anyone how hard it is to get Derek to shut up."
"This is true."
"But he's being good about it," George said. "I expected way more trouble from him. But maybe I'm jinxing it."
"You do that sometimes."
"Thank you."
"Don't mention it," she said. "I guess I'll let you go now. If you could just let him know I love him and that I'm coming as fast as the spork will let me—"
"Will do," George said.
Part Two: Casey
Sam had taken off after about half an hour, Jack the orderly in tow. Jack looked sorry to see the show end. He winked at Casey on the way out, and she had the feeling that he was going to enjoy dishing with the nurses later. Didn't they have to keep these things confidential?
There was progress. Sam had let both Casey and Emily hug him before he left, and he and Derek had done that knuckle bump thing that boys did. Then Emily had decided to leave, even as Casey clutched at her like Wile E. Coyote clings to the edge of a cliff.
So suddenly she was alone with Derek again. How she wished for Marti to sit between them on the bed.
And why did Emily leave her like that? She was acting like she was leaving Casey in a closet for a game of Seven Minutes in Heaven. Casey had never played Seven Minutes in Heaven. She didn't think that she'd be good at it. She'd have to be untangled from hangers, she was sure of it. It was too early for them to be alone. Casey wasn't ready to be alone with him yet. She needed time to think, to analyze and formulate a plan of action. She needed contingency plans. A mission statement maybe. Index cards. This, if she chose to go for it, would be no small undertaking. No one else seemed to see the seriousness of the situation.
He was smirking at her again, like he knew what she was thinking. She looked at the way his eyes crinkled up at the corners when he did that, or when he smiled full out, and she lost her train of thought.
Oh yeah, plan of action...strategy, index cards, got it, she thought. Then there was a pause in which no coherent thought entered her head, until, suddenly she thought: Small talk! I can do that!
"So what books did Edwin and Lizzie bring you?"
Derek reached into the nightstand and pulled out some paperbacks. He held them up, game show style.
"Whose idea was the Rachael Ray cookbook?"
Edwin's. He will be punished, he wrote.
"Well, this Stephen King might be good," she said, indicating the beat up copy of The Talisman.
It's huge, he wrote.
"It's medium for King, I think," she said.
Yikes, he mouthed.
"Don't be so lazy," she said. "It'll probably be a great read."
Edwin read it, he wrote.
"See?" Casey said. "It's not like he brought you War and Peace; he wants you to be entertained."
Did he really go off on Dad? Derek wanted to know.
"Yeah, he did," Casey said. "I've never seen anything like it."
That is surprisingly cool, Derek wrote.
"So not cool," Casey said. "He and Lizzie were terrified."
I'm proud of him, Derek wrote. Don't tell him that.
"I'm proud of him too, actually," Casey said. "By the way, in the middle of his rant, he said something like 'Derek's on the roof and we can't get him down.' What does that mean?"
He gave her an "are you kidding" look and scribbled for a long time. Then he handed her the notebook.
He wrote:
This guy has to leave town for a week or so, and he has his brother cat sit for him. He calls after a day or so to see how everything's going and his brother tells him that the cat died. The guy flips out, tells his bro that he should've broken the news more gently, saying "The cat's on the roof and we can't get him down," the first time he called. The next time he called, the brother should say that the cat caught a cold or something. Then, the next day, the brother could have told him that the cat died. So the brother apologizes, says he'll know better next time. Then the guy asks, "How's Mom?" And the brother says: "Mom's on the roof and we can't get her down."
"That is so not funny," Casey said. "That's horrible!"
He gave her the eyebrow, but then shrugged. He pointed to his wrist, gesturing at the watch he wasn't wearing.
"It's 9:30," she said, looking at her watch. "Oh crap. Mom and George will kill me."
The car broke down. You ran out of gas. And you can't find your watch, he wrote. If I were you I'd take it off before you try that excuse, tho.
"'Cause those excuses work so well when you use them."
He had to give her that. Be safe? He wrote.
"You're being protective?"
If you really want to crash into stuff, I can't stop you, but I can offer suggestions, he wrote.
"I guess I can take a suggestion," she said. "So I'll be over at some point tomorrow, but I have an essay that I haven't started, so I can't be too long."
Preee-dictable, he wrote.
"That's me." With that she leaned in and pecked him on the cheek. Then, she gathered up her stuff and left.
Part Three: At the nurses' station.
"I want popcorn," said one nurse, leaning on the desk.
"Yeah, those two are fun to watch aren't they?" said the other. "Why do you think I keep letting her stay late?"
