Designed Intent

Chapter 25

Sunday

Bobby was beside himself – she's leaving me, dear God, she's leaving me. He was afraid to do or say anything; he did not want to upset her. He could not live knowing that she didn't want him anymore. He had gone into the dark living room and sat in his chair, right leg bent with his foot on the seat; elbow on his knee, chewing his thumb.

Gleason had gone back to bed after telling him she wanted them to take a break from each other. She didn't want to leave him. She loved him, more than she had loved anyone; but she just couldn't take the fighting anymore. She was so tired, weak, she had no energy – she knew something was wrong with her, but she chose to ignore it.

"Bobby?"

He startled, as he hadn't heard her come from the bedroom. He stood and looked at her, but said nothing. She was dressed.

"I want to go back this morning. I'm going to stand by for a flight to Chicago. I'll get a cab."

He took a step toward her reaching for her, but didn't touch her. "Gleason –," he breathed out. "Don't, don't do this, please don't do this."

Softly, sadly, she answered, "I need to, Bobby. What we have is only going to get worse. I'm going back this morning."

He crossed to her and reached, but she stepped away. "I'm going, Bobby." She couldn't look at him.

"I'm begging you, don't go. Wait and go back tomorrow morning, like usual. Honey, we have so little time together."

Gleason's hands went to her face, much in the same way Bobby does. Suddenly she felt so weak that she had to sit down; she moved to the sofa and sat. Bobby squatted in front of her and took her wrists. "We have to talk, Gleason, we have to talk. Then, then we'll talk with Dr. Stephens when you come home. You'll be back in two weeks. You said you would do this, right?"

She looked at him and his pain drained her. "What is there to talk about?" she asked with resignation.

"Us. Honey, I, I don't want us to end. We can fix this. Please, let's fix us."

Gleason looked at him and said, "Bobby I don't have the energy. This is too hard, being here, with you, waiting for, fearing, the next fight. I, I just want to go to Evanston and do my work. I want to teach my classes and go back to the apartment and sleep. Grade my papers. Loving you is too hard anymore. I can't do it all." They stared at each other and she continued, "I need to go to Evanston."

Bobby stood and turned his back to her. His mind raced as he stood thinking, hands stuffed into his pockets. She stared at his wide, strong back.

"Do you love me?" he asked as he turned around. "Right now, do you love me?"

"Yes, Bobby, I do love you. You know that. I will probably always love you. I just can't be with you. I cannot stand the fighting."

"If you love me, then stay. We need to have today and tonight to be together and not fight. I swear, I won't do anything that will make us fight." His eyes pleaded with her, "We won't fight. I promise."

Gleason felt slightly lightheaded and put her hand to her forehead, she had no strength to argue with him; she felt slightly nauseous. She went to stand, but her legs buckled and she fell back onto the sofa. He was on her in a second.

"Gleason! Honey? Honey?" She was conscious, just dizzy. Bobby looked for his phone.

"I think I need something to eat," she whispered.

Bobby ran to the fridge and returned with a glass of orange juice. "Here," he helped her sit up better and she sipped the juice, her eyes closing in pleasure.

"Gleason, I'm going to call the paramedics. Something is –,"

"No! Please, I'm better. Don't. I'm ok now. My sugar was just low. We need to eat, Bobby. Get dressed and let's go get breakfast."

He was reluctant to leave her. He ran his hand over her head and wanted to kiss her, but was fearful. He stood and hurried back to the bedroom. Gleason finished the orange juice and carefully stood, testing her power. Her stomach felt better, she just needed a little fuel. Yeah, just a little fuel.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Here," Maeve handed Malcolm a mug of coffee, turned and poured one for herself.

"Thanks." Maeve sat with the paper open in front of her. "Can I have a part?" he asked.

Angus trotted into the kitchen and stopped dead when he saw his daddy at the table, suddenly shy, his finger going to his mouth. "Hey, Laddie, good morning. How's my boy today?" Malcolm folded the paper and held out his arms to his son. The boy looked at his father and then at his mother.

"Go on, Sweet, say 'good morning' to your dad," Maeve nodded to her son.

Gussie walked slowly to his father and leaned on his dad's knee. Malcolm picked up his son and set him on his lap. Angus immediately leaned on Malcolm's chest and put his thumb in his mouth. "Oh, Laddie, ye are t –,"

Maeve put her hand on Malcolm's upper arm and said softly, "Let him be, Malcolm, let him be."

Malcolm looked at Maeve and wrapped his arms around his little boy, and then planted a kiss on the top of his son's head.

Maeve stood and got Gussie a bowl of cereal, "Oh, look, Gus, the prize!" She held up some small plastic bit sealed inside a small plastic bag and handed it to him. Gus reached for it with a big smile and began to pull fruitlessly at the plastic. Suddenly, he held it up to his dad and said, "Open niss."

Malcolm and Maeve's eyes locked and slowly her hand went to her chest.

"Ok, here, Lad, let Daddy open it for you." Malcolm took the offered toy, pulled open the plastic bag and handed it back. "What do you say?"

"Tank you."

Maeve sat and Malcolm could see the tears in her eyes. Their boy would be fine. They would be fine.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby ordered a huge breakfast and Gleason ordered pancakes and bacon. Bobby was surprised at her choice, but said nothing. They had said little on the way to the restaurant. "Are you sure you feel ok?" he asked softly; he was terrified to say the wrong thing.

"Yes, yes. I'm fine. I'll be even better after we eat," she said with a slight smile.

Bobby reached for her hands and she let him hold them, his thumbs siding over the backs. "Thank you, Sweetheart, thank you for staying." He could barely choke out the words.

She continued to watch his thumbs move over the back of her hands. "I'm worried, Bobby."

"About what?"

"Us."

He didn't know how to respond, so he said nothing. The server returned with her tea and his coffee and he let go of her hands. Gleason set the tea bag into the small pot of hot water and Bobby took her hands again. He was never going to let go of her. "We need help to fix this. Dr. Stephens will help us. She'll tell us what to do."

Gleason was sorry she had agreed to go with him to counseling. Once again, she had given in to him, agreed to do what he wanted. She closed her eyes and turned her head at this realization.

"What are you thinking?"

She looked at him and said, "Nothing."

"Honey, we have to start being honest with each other. I think that's part of the problem. I think we're trying to protect each other, by keeping things from each other."

She knew he was right. "I'm, I'm worried about going to see Dr. Stephens."

"It will be fine; she's a wonderful doctor. You'll like her."

"Bobby you saw her for months and it didn't work. You had to start up again with her. Why would you go back to a doctor who couldn't help you in the first place? What if she can't help us? What if she makes us worse?"

"Sweetheart, the first round of counseling with her was specific to being taken hostage. It had nothing to do with the rest of my life. This round is all about me. And you."

"See, that's part of it. I was shocked when I learned that you and she talk about me. I didn't know. I, I'm uncomfortable about her knowing things about me, us. I don't like to talk about us."

The server returned with their meals and the conversation halted. Suddenly, Bobby wasn't hungry. It had never occurred to him that Gleason would object to him talking about her, about them; she was so much a part of him. He tried to recall the specific bits he had told Dr. Stephens. He poked at his omelet as he thought.

Gleason slathered butter over each of the pancakes and then saturated them with syrup. She picked up a slice of bacon and broke off a piece with her teeth. She finished the strip and then cut into her pancakes. She speared a stack of pieces, looked at Bobby and noticed he was not eating. "Are you ok?" she asked.

He looked up at her with that pained look and nodded.

"What's wrong? Why aren't you eating?"

"Nothing, I was just thinking." He cut off a bite of omelet, began to eat, and was hungry again.

Gleason looked at him and then began to eat as well. She swallowed, speared another stack and said, "You cannot say 'nothing' anymore. If you want us to be honest, you have to be honest, too. What were you thinking about?" She watched him chew and swallow and then she put the forkful of pancake in her mouth when he set down his fork.

"I was thinking of how much I love you. How desperate I am to fix us. How hard it is going to be for you to talk with Dr. Stephens. How much I love you for doing it. I was thinking about us." Bobby looked across the table at her with resigned love.

Gleason returned his look and then realized something. She set down her fork and wiped her mouth. "Bobby," she whispered sadly, "what if we cannot be fixed?"

"We will be. We have to be. I cannot live without you."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sunday Mid Morning

"Honey, tell me why your chest hurts and you can't catch your breath." Bobby and Gleason were driving home from breakfast.

Gleason sighed and said, "Bobby . . ."

He glanced at her and reached for her hand. She took his and he squeezed hers. "Tell me."

"I don't know why. It seems to happen when I get upset. It always ends."

"How often does it happen?"

"When I get upset, I said."

"How many times?"

Gleason looked out the side window and didn't respond. She changed the subject with, "What have you told Dr. Stephens about me?"

Bobby's head tilted to the left, his left hand tightened on the steering wheel, his lips shut tight and he breathed through his nose. Jesus Christ! he thought, she's playing this fucking game.

Gleason looked at him and then slid her hand from his. They rode in silence.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sunday Noon

The lovers moved around the apartment in near silence. Gleason had made up her mind. She made sure she had her pills and cell phone. Bobby sat in his chair, in the living room, reading the Sunday paper; he didn't even look up when she came down the hall.

Gleason took her bag from its place behind Bobby's chair; made sure she had her ticket and took her wrap from the closet. Bobby turned at the sound of the closet opening.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"I'm going back, Bobby. I'll call you tonight, when I get to the apartment."

He was on his feet and the newspaper fell to the floor. "Don't."

She looked at him, turned and left. Bobby stood staring at the door and then went into the kitchen. He removed the nearly full bottle of Jack Daniels from the shelf over the fridge and got a glass.

By two, the Jack Daniels was empty, by six the Glen Levit was gone, by eight the last five beers were done, by ten she still hadn't called, and by eleven, he was passed out in his chair.