Chapter Twenty – Six

The taxi pulled up to the Johnston residence close to noon. Blythe House had been waiting for any sign of her son's arrival. She was worried. The several calls she placed to his hotel and cell phone went unanswered. It was unlike him not to call back when he was expected to arrive earlier.

Greg exited getting slowly to his feet and leaning noticeably heavily on his cane. The ten yards from the curb up the driveway to the front door seemed like a football field full of land mines. Each step he took sent jarring pain through his right side from his foot to his head.

Blythe opened the door for her son. "Bad day?"

He raised his head. "That's an understatement."

"Well, I won't tell you to be nice. I guess I'll have to run interference." She rubbed his back as he passed by her.

Joanne wiped her hands on a dish towel as she approached to welcome him. Her vivacious smile dissipated upon seeing his condition.

"You look like hell."

"Gee, thanks." Greg shrugged out of his coat.

"Ooh, what a grouch."

"Greg's feeling under the weather," Blythe explained futilely.

"I need to sit," he said softly so only his mother could hear.

"Come into the living room and relax. I'll make you a cup of tea."

"Is it going to be red again?"

The playfulness of his tone was replaced with a mean sarcasm. She knew her son was in pain and hated that very little to nothing could be done to prevent or alleviate it. It wasn't easy to accept, and she barely understood why stronger pain management was out of the equation, but she did comprehend that it changed his ability to cope with his world when he was hurting this badly.

Joanne brought tea to him before he had settled into the nearest chair.

"There's an ottoman in the corner." She set the tray down and proceeded to retrieve the footstool.

"You don't have to slave over me." Greg tried to keep the edge from his voice but failed.

"You're right. I don't' have to. But I want to."

His agitation concussed her, making it hard for her to ignore his mood. She didn't want to appear overly sympathetic as well. Blythe warned her that she had yet to experience his bad side.

"The phrase 'hell hath no fury like a young woman scorned' is child's play when it comes to Greg's orneriness. Pain only magnifies it."

At the time Greg's mom was divulging this information, Jo didn't think much of it. But now that he was displaying some of the crankiness, she realized she hardly knew him at all. How often was he in pain? How long did these bouts last? Could she suffer through with him?

With the leg rest in place, both she and Blythe attempted to help him get his legs up.

"No!" He shouted with great force and trepidation.

They both jumped back. They could only struggled with their emotions while watching him support his thigh with two hands and lift his leg to rest on the hassock.

"Would a heating pad help? Or maybe and ice pack?"

"Don't baby me!" His eyes flashed anger.

Jo wasn't abashed. She couldn't take it personally as what she saw was not anger directed toward herself, but a loathing for his own helplessness.

"You need something stronger than Advil. I'll check my medicine cabinet."

"I can't have anything stronger," he murmured. "I can't tolerate it." Greg was censoring, trying to control his temper amidst the pain. It wasn't easy.

"Do you want to lay down on my bed?"

"Enough already. Let me settle in and deal with this my way."

"Okay," she said a little hurt. "I just want you to know you have options."

"Options," he snorted with derision. "They're band-aids only. My only option is to suffer."

Jo gave Blythe a concerned look. Greg's mom responded with one of her own. This prompted Jo to head for her bathroom in search of anything that might help.

Aunt Sarah made her first appearance of the day. She was moving slowly, but that was mostly because she was tired and weak. When she saw her nephew looking miserable and despondent, she couldn't keep from inquiring as to his health. "Greg, what's wrong?"

"Having a bad day." He tried to soften his voice, but it didn't have the effect he hoped.

"No need to be snippy. If you're hurting, you should take something."

"I did. It isn't as effective as I'd hoped."

"I've got some codeine pills the doctor gave me."

A sinister grin turned up the corners of his lips.

"I take it you'd like one or two." She made to return to her room.

"I can't."

"Don't worry, you won't set me back any."

"Please, I can't take them."

There was a desperation in his voice that stopped her in her tracks. Both she and his mom looked at him with curiosity, which Greg mistook as pity.

"Don't look at me like I'm an invalid."

"Why would you choose to be in pain if you knew a few pills would make it go away?"

Jo returned to the living room after listening to their conversation. His adamant refusal to accept any pain relief in pill form got her thinking. She approached him cautiously, kneeling at his side before pressing two caplets in his palm. "They'll take the edge off."

He threw them into the fireplace as if they were hot coals. "What would it take for you to stop looking at me with so much pity?" His voice cracked under the strain of the pain and insecurity he felt.

Jo grabbed the hand that once held the pills she offered. She placed two more there and folded his fingers over them. She held her hands over his, feeling him tremble. All the while she studied his face for the confirmation she needed.

Greg wouldn't look at her directly. The way she searched his face told him she knew. Maybe not exactly what, but she knew he was hiding something. He couldn't let her or his family see his humiliation.

"It doesn't change who you are or how we'll treat you." Her voice was a near whisper so that only the two of them could hear what she said.

"That's crap and you know it."

Blythe and Sarah had taken to the couch. They watched the interaction between Greg and Jo. The intensity amongst the couple was palpable, even thought they could barely hear the conversation. And yet they watched innocently thinking that the lovers had forgotten they were there.

"How long have you been clean?"

"A year and a half." He closed his eyes as not to have to look at her.

"I'm assuming opiates."

He finally broke down and looked into her eyes searching for the one thing that would tell him how she knew.

"You threw Midol away like it was on fire. When I put more in your hand, you panicked. And you're ashamed."

"I am not."

"You can't look me in the eyes for more than a few seconds."

He stared her down.

"Oh," she said unexpectedly looking away.

What had his face revealed that turned her away? It was just as he thought. The newly acquired knowledge repulsed her. "Like I said: it's crap." You've already changed your mind about me."

Jo shook her head. "Nothing's changed. We're all the same people we were twenty-four hours ago."

"The only thing that's changed is that I'll no longer offer you something stronger for the pain." She let go of his hand and got to her feet. "I'll make more hot water," she announced to the room in general.

Greg noted his relatives staring at him. He hung his head, not wanting to face their anxious looks.

"Greg, is there something you want to tell us?" Blythe approached her son cautiously.

"Sit back down. I don't need you hovering over me."

Blythe reclaimed her seat. "Greg, if you're having a problem, we can talk about it."

He snorted back a sardonic laugh.

"There has to be something you can take for the pain." Aunt Sarah was worried he'd suffered enough.

"He's built up a tolerance, Sarah," Blythe patted her sister-in-law's knee while keeping her eyes on her son.

Greg looked at her with shock. "Gawd, Wilson told you."

"James didn't tell me anything I didn't already know."

"So how long have you known I'm an addict?" The blue of his eyes turned very dark.

It took her a few moments to process the information.

"I suppose he told you about Mayfield, too." It was the second fact he never wanted his mother to find out about.

"What's Mayfield? Aunt Sarah asked innocently.

Jo returned with the hot water. "You don't have to say anything else, Greg."

"What do you mean?" Blythe looked to her with astonishment.

"We all have our demons. In a moment of weakness he told you a dark secret. Please don't use it against him." She sat down half way between the two parties.

"The drugs don't work anymore, that's all," Blythe couldn't decide whether she should defend her son or admonish him.

"Don't make excuses for me, Mom."

"For goodness sake, Greg, I'm not excusing your actions. You needed the medication for the pain."

"It started out that way. And then I hated what I had become, and I took a few more. Then I lost Stacey, and my life went down the toilet. So I took a few more. And every time I was annoyed, hurt, angry, tired or just plain fed up, I took a few more.

"Pretty soon I was popping them like breath mints and getting the same results - as breath mints.

"The pain continued to increase and the pills did nothing."

"What made you stop?" Blythe had seen enough television and news programs to know that drug addicts could just quit cold turkey.

Greg had turned off the conversation after his confession ended.

Joanne proceeded to pour everyone a cup of tea. "Does it really matter? He's clean. He isn't interested in using again, and he clearly doesn't want to discuss it further."

She was so matter of fact that it took all three of her guests by surprise. Aunt Sarah decided to pretend the discussion never happened. Blythe looked from her son to her hostess. Twenty minutes ago she was convinced Joanne would have made a good daughter-in-law. Now she wasn't so sure. And her own son-he seemed so spiteful and resentful.

How many secrets was he keeping from her? "What's Mayfield, Greg?"

He sighed, more out of exhaustion than frustration. "Let it go, Ma." He was too tired to fight anymore.

"I can't let it go." Blythe kept her distance and hardened her heart. "You tell me you're a drug addict, then mention a name thinking I know what it means. Obviously it has great importance to you."

He wiped his hand down his face. "Don't do this to me."

"I'm just trying to understand what you've been through."

"You'll never understand."

There was so much loathing in his voice, she needed to hold him, to soothe his emotional turmoil. It didn't matter if he was five or fifty. Blythe still needed to let him know she loved him and would do anything in her power to ease his suffering.

As she approached, Greg rested his head on his hand, unable to face her. It had been a bad idea to come. And now he was trapped.

"I know about Amber." There was a long silence. "James told me about the bus crash."

At the mention of her name, Greg forgot to breath. He was relieved to hear that she only knew about the accident. His body shuddered, forcing him to exhale.

"And I know about the other doctor who committed suicide."

He began to sob silently. Why did she have to bring THEM up?

"This is going to sound ridiculously crass and selfish, but I'm glad you survived. I feel sorry for the families of your colleagues, but I'd never get over losing you."

Greg thought about all the stupid stunts he pulled, how many times he had technically died, only to be revived by a miracle of modern medicine. Worst of all was the time he called his mother a few Thanksgivings ago just before he overdosed on oxycontin and whiskey. It would kill her to know how much of a loser he really was.

"Mayfield was the place I kicked the drug habit," he conceded. He could give her that as long as he didn't have to divulge anything else.

Jo, having taken refuge in the kitchen, wasn't satisfied. Mayfield rang a bell she couldn't place. Was it a city or town? It sounded very 'Andy Griffithy'. No, that was Mayberry. Wasn't Mayfield a boxer? Damn, that was Holyfield. It was driving her nuts.

She headed for the computer in her room. The only real way to place Mayfield was to Google it. Hundreds of links to Mayfield: the town, village, city and county popped up. She refined her search to add rehabilitation. The links for municipalities named Mayfield and having rehab facilities topped the list. None of those institutions were actually called Mayfield.

The advanced search of Mayfield Rehabilitation Facility Near New Jersey returned the top ten listings, all for Mayfield Psychiatric Hospital. A quick prevue of their specialties proved there was a drug addiction and detox program available. It boasted a six week session that had a 98% success rate with a small margin of patients falling back into old habits the first year after completion of the program.

Greg said it had been a year and a half. He was one of their successes. Thank god. She cleared her web browser and put her computer in sleep mode. Things had gotten quiet.

The smell of turkey permeated the air and she decided it was time to check on the bird. Jo dared to peek into the living room to see how things were progressing. Much to her surprise Greg had been left to himself.

He was still sitting in the same chair, leg up and head resting in his hand. Perhaps his aunt and mother were gathering themselves together in preparation for her family's arrival. Jo wondered if she should approach him.

"You don't have to stare at me from the corner of the room," he called out, his voice thick with emotion.

Jo headed his way. "If you want to take respite in my room for a while, you're welcomed to it. You can lay down if you need."

He reached his hand out to her to draw her closer. "No need. A cab's on its way."

She gave him a weak smile.

"Not so attractive anymore when you find out I'm a recovering addict, am I?"

"Stop belittling yourself. So you have a problem. Big deal. We all have shit we're dealing with on a daily basis.

"I'm leaving." He shook his head as if confirming his next sentence. " I can't love you."

There it was, right out of left field. He dumped her before things ever got started. "You're not being very fair."

"I'm only doing this out of fairness to you." His voice was devoid of emotion.

Jo felt he had turned off his personality. It was another mechanism for protecting himself. "How is it fair to me? Explain it, because I don't understand."

Greg hung his head in shame. "How can I love you when I hate myself so much? It just won't work."

"You are a hot mess!" She couldn't help but laugh at him.

He took offense. "Fuck you!"

"Stop being such a drama queen. Everybody has issues. You are NOT the only person in the world carrying the burdens of a life they're not happy with."

How could he convince her he was unworthy of her? That they could never work because he was flawed. It would be torture for both of them. The best way to survive for both of them was to stay away from each other.

"It should be my choice whether or not I want to be with you. You've already told me you are interested. Quit making my decisions for me."

"There are things about me - things so disturbing that I'm afraid if you found out, you'd never forgive me."

She got to her knees beside the chair and held both of his hands in hers. They looked into each other's face for a very long time. She had fallen for him. His vulnerability was endearing. And although he sabotaged himself at the expense of the relationship, he was nothing like her ex-husband, who blamed her for anything that went wrong.

"If you tell me the disturbing things yourself, then I won't have to wonder what unspoken surprises lie ahead to ambush us. Who knows, maybe it's not all as bad as you think."

"It's not as easy as it sounds. I've lied and subverted truths and motives for my actions in order to hide the reality of who I am."

"The world won't come crashing down if you admit the truth."

Greg threw his head back with laughter. "Not true. The last time it happened-"

"Don't stop just because it's a painful memory. If you don't talk about it, you allow it to take control and taint everything else. Trust me. Nothing you say will make me run screaming."

Whether it was her sincerity and his feelings for her or the challenge of shocking her, Greg found himself confessing. "I went crazy."

"Who doesn't every now and then?"

"That's not what I mean. The Vicodin toxicity had me hallucinating. I saw dead people. They talked me into doing things that led to hurting the people around me. At one point I was delusional and shouted out to everyone within earshot that I had a sexual encounter with my boss.

"As she was about to fire me, it clicked that it was all a lie. The whole time I had been eating Vicodin like candy. I no longer knew what was real. I committed myself to Mayfield Psychiatric Hospital."

"So far nothing there to freak me out." Jo ran her hand through his hair before kissing him.

"My voluntary commitment didn't stay that way. The State of New Jersey revoked my medical license. In order to get it back, I was forced to stay against my will until my psychiatrist was satisfied."

"Nobody wanted to see you go back to the drugs."

Greg smiled sardonically. "It had nothing to do with drugs. I'm screwed up. My misanthropic view of the world is apparently a mental illness."

The way he treated his psychological illness was more debilitating than his physical ailment. And he was embarrassed or ashamed of it. She understood his dilemma.

"And that's what you think is going to break me?"

He nodded, his eyes filled with unshed tears.

"Not hardly." She laughed with relief.

Someone sniffed back a funny nose. Until that point neither one of them had realized they had an audience. Their heads turned simultaneously. Blythe was in the doorway, a mix of emotions evident in her body language. Even more mortifying were the three figures in the kitchen speaking in hushed voices.

There was no rock to crawl under, no hole in the middle of the floor to swallow him up. Nothing but his own humiliation to shine a spotlight on him.

"I need to get out of here."

Jo watched helplessly as he pushed away in an effort to scramble to his feet and get of there as quickly as possible.

It wasn't until he was at the threshold of the front door that Jo's father stopped him. Greg was unseeing of the wake of emotional mayhem behind him.

"Greg, don't leave. Your mother needs you."

He turned, not looking at the man, only seeing the quivering wreck that was his mother. He looked at her, really seeing how knowing who he was destroyed her. Another Thanksgiving ruined by his actions.

"I'm toxic," he said, barely audible. "I have to-" Greg finally looked into the man's face. "What are you doing here?" He shook his head to rid himself of the ghost before him.

"I'm Joanne's father. We used to be neighbors. Do you remember me?"

"No. This isn't happening." Greg backed away from him nearly tripping over his own feet. If there was ever a good time for Southern California to get hit by an earthquake that decimated him, now would be the time.

"Greg, are you okay? You don't look so good."

He let the cane fall as his hands went to his head. Greg let out a cry filled with anguished. He felt like the fabric of his being was disintegrating.

When he opened his eyes, Jo was holding him, keeping him upright. Greg squirmed out of her arms, then pushed her away. "This is so wrong."

The wild look in his eyes scared her. This wasn't about being embarrassed or ashamed. It was something completely different. The closest thing she could equate it to was a psychotic break.

He looked over his shoulder for an escape route. Damn his body for betraying him.

"Greg, talk to me!" There was a sense of urgency, like he might try to head down the hill and get himself killed that made Jo grab him.

Before he could even think to respond, the taxi pulled up. He backed away from her, taking a quick look at the cab, then looking back at her. She had been nothing but patient and honest with him. He at least owed her an explanation.

Greg covered half the distance to the waiting car before he could say anything. When he turned back, his tears were flowing freely.

"You're my sister!"