The road to a friend's house is never long

The day came and went with lightning speed, and I was glad for it. Emil had spent most of the night at the hospital with Cassandra. In the end, they admitted her. Though the admission was not related to injuries, it was more related to hysteria. I think that Emil probably pulled some strings and had her admitted for sedation and observation.

Part of me was surprised that he should choose to come home to my place. He could have easily called and gone to his. In fact, his place was a bit closer to the hospital. But I admit, it was nice to have him slide into my bed next to me and pull me into his arms.

He apologized to me about having to return to the hospital the next morning. I again put on my best supportive smile, and acknowledged that it was OK that he should go and help with this. I hated myself for the tiny part of me that didn't want Emil to go to Cassandra's hospital bedside. So, I called Annie. Distraction was in order.

Annie of course took the challenge to heart, and somehow managed to pull some strings of her own and book a solid 6 hours for the both of us at her favorite day spa. She picked me up within an hour, and we were off for a day of facials, and body wraps, and massages, and hiding from life.

When she dropped me off at home, I felt limber and supple, and I smelled faintly of mint and earthy fragrances. She hugged me tightly, and told me to rise above, which of course is easy to say but difficult to do. I could see on my phone that I had 3 messages waiting for me. I was in no particular hurry to listen to various and sundry status updates on Cassandra Wayne. Between some work related stuff, and what was going on with Cassandra, Emil had said he probably wouldn't be able to come by again until tomorrow.

I walked through my home, not really turning on the lights, liking how the shadows of dusk played against the warm colors of my walls, of my furniture. I sat down on my huge sofa in my family room. I had searched far and wide for the perfect sofa. I didn't want one of those small hard sofas that forced you to sit up straight with your feet on the floor. I wanted a soft, deep sofa with a high back that invited you to curl up and watch TV or read a book or listen to music, or whatever.

I grabbed the TV remote control and flipped to my favorite old movie channel. I smiled to myself as I recognized Witness for the Prosecution. I was just about to lean back and grab my favorite afghan when I heard someone at my door.

I padded through my foyer and looked to see who was responsible for the loud uneven knocking. I was surprised to find Bobby Goren leaning in my door jamb. I threw the locks and opened the door. He practically fell into my foyer. Immediately I could tell he was drunk.

"Bobby." I said, surprise in my voice, over both his appearance at my door, and his obvious drunkenness.

"I wasn't sure you were home." He said, catching his balance by leaning against a wall.

"I was about to watch Witness for the Prosecution." I answered. "You can come in if you like." I continued, as if I couldn't see that he was obviously stumbling around my foyer.

"Are you alone?" He asked, looking around my dark rooms.

"Yeah." I replied, turning to walk back toward the family room. He followed me, barely. I sat down on my sofa, and he sat down hard beside me, his long legs unevenly splayed, he leaned back against the cushions.

"I'd offer you something to drink, but I think you have that taken care of." I said with a smile, realizing I couldn't let it slide any longer.

"What?" He said, too drunk probably to follow my remark. It was early in the evening, and I couldn't think when he would have had to start drinking to get this drunk this early.

"Nothing." I replied, curling my legs up underneath me. The TV volume was low, and I realized I could hear Bobby's somewhat labored drunk breathing more so than the movie. "Long day?" Curiosity got the better of my desire to watch Witness for the Prosecution. He looked at me, fumbling a bit to move his shoes off his feet. He scratched his fingers through his hair.

"Do you smell mint?" He asked, kind of leaning in to sniff me. "Is it you, you're all minty." His voice was laced with a little accusation. I was surprised he could smell anything, all I could smell was scotch, on him.

"I went to a spa with Annie today." I allowed. "And you, long day?" I repeated the question.

"Frank's birthday." He answered me. He leaned back, resting his head, closing his eyes. He breathed in a heavy sigh. "I wonder if he even knows it." Bobby slurred the words together. I knew what Bobby meant, Frank's various addictions kind of interfered with him tracking any kind of calendar.

"Maybe this year he does." I replied, thinking that Frank was just recently out of a rehab facility.

"I remember when he was 10, my mom, she brought home this store bought yellow cake, the kind with the white icing." Bobby's kept his eyes closed as he spoke, and he ran his hand across his face making him even more difficult to understand. "Frank wanted chocolate." Bobby continued, again another heavy sigh. "So mom, you know, got up from the table and without even cutting a single slice, threw the cake in the trash can, and she went to bed." Bobby sighed again. "I guess you get what you get and you don't get upset," he concluded.

I looked at him for a long moment, thinking about the last thing he said. I wondered how often he listened to those words from his mom. He said them in such a sing-song way that I knew he resented them. I didn't know what to say; maybe there was nothing to say. I moved a little, so that I was kind of leaning against him as he lay sprawled in the middle of the sofa with his arms spread open along the back. As soon as he felt me against him, he tightened his arm around me. His breathing was a bit more even, his eyes still closed.

"Did they just slather mint all over you?" He asked, wrinkling his nose a bit. I smiled. Bobby really could be peculiar at times.

"Yes, they slathered mint all over me." I answered. "Did you just pour a bottle of scotch over yourself?" I tried to point out that he didn't exactly smell great.

"Nope, just straight into me." He kind of pulled me closer, tighter against him. I could feel him falling asleep. I laid my head on his chest to watch the movie. My soul hurt for him, hurt for his loneliness, hurt for his anger at his family that he couldn't seem to reconcile, and I thought about that saying, about a road to a friend's house. I was glad that Bobby found his way, I just wished he hadn't found a bar along the way.

A/N: I hope you are still enjoying reading. If you have read my stuff before, you know that to me that Chapter 13 seems like such a hurdle to get past. Anyway, drop me a review, push me into the next chapter.