Chapter 22
Probation

- Part 5: Stand Up -

by TeeJay & Sisterdebmac


Authors' Note:
"You know, when you're all alone and you're on your own and you feel stripped down to the bone. When you're lying down in the dust and a bloody dirty crust is running up and down your nose. Spit it out, brother, say it loud, brother, come on: Enough is enough, I'm too tough to give it away, one of my demons will pay for these crazy puzzles I face every day. You're falling down, you hit the ground, you must rebound—stand up, my friend. When morning come, you can get some, keep moving on—get up again." —Seeed

Again, thanks to all the readers of Butterflies, especially those of you who have reviewed it. We couldn't do this without you.

Synopsis for Part 5: Success and a huge setback on the path toward Jamal's freedom.

Rating For Chapter: PG-13 for strong language, violence & adult themes.

Rating for Part 5: PG-13 for language, violence & adult themes.

Disclaimer:
These characters and settings are not ours. Nor are we claiming they are. They are property of CBS, Barbara Hall Productions, Sony or whoever else they might belong to. We're not making any money out of this, although that would be really cool.


"You look familiar," Adam said to Judge Amy Gray as he followed her into her chambers with Jamal, Mr. O'Connell, Mrs. Morgan, and an armed escort right behind him.

"Ever been in juvenile court in either Arcadia or Hartford, Connecticut, Mr. Rove?"

"No, Your Honor."

"Then maybe I just have one of those faces," she smiled at him. "Have a seat, gentlemen, Mrs. Morgan. I only have an hour break before my next session."

Adam and Jamal took a seat at the rectangular table across from the judge, Mrs. Morgan and Mr. O'Connell flanking them.

Judge Gray briefly looked at Jamal before returning her eyes to the paperwork in front of her. "So, Mr. Morgan, I've read your file. I've spoken to Mr. O'Connell and your mother previous to this meeting. Mr. Rove, I read your statement. I've seldom seen so many people rally behind a young man in your position. What do you attribute that to?"

"Uh... Well, my mom always tries her best, Your Honor. Of course she's here with me. And Mr. O'Connell, I don't know exactly why he's helping me. Probably because of Adam." He stole a quick glance at him. "All of this is because of him. I kinda knew there was something about the dude when I first met him. I don't know if I can explain it, but it's something about the way he sees things."

Judge Gray looked at Jamal again, and there was that certain disconcerting doubt in her eyes that made Jamal nervous as she said, "He certainly sees a great deal in you. He sent me pictures of your artwork. You're very talented."

"Thank you," he muttered.

Her tone became slightly sarcastic. "I also saw the police photos of some of the graffiti you've been grabbed up for over the years."

"Your honor, I haven't been doing that for a long time."

"I know. You graduated to burglary."

Jamal looked down at his hands in shame. "Yes, Your Honor, I did. And I know you have no reason to believe me when I say this, but I will never do anything like that again."

Amy Gray rubbed her forehead. She'd had a nagging stress headache there all morning. "You're right, Mr. Morgan. As you can imagine, those promises are a dime a dozen in this room." As soon as she said it, she wished she hadn't. She wondered for a second when had she turned into a cynic?

Jamal's voice yanked her back to reality. "All I can say is that the people in this room have given me every reason in the world to keep that promise."

"Well, I certainly hope that's true." Judge Gray looked through the documents that lay before her once again and the room went silent for a long time. Finally, she looked up at the group again. It felt like the world hung at her lips.

"If I agree to this, Mr. Morgan, you will sign a contract. It will stipulate that you will serve three years of probation and report to a probation officer, in person, once a week. You will have no contact with drugs, alcohol or weapons of any kind. You will participate in the Big Brothers & Big Sisters program. You will finish high school or get your GED and you will hold a steady job—preferably the internship Mr. Rove has secured for you. You will complete at least one year of higher education at minimum. I'd like to see you go to college, but trade school would also be an acceptable alternative."

As she spoek, Judge Gray glanced at Jamal's mother, happy to find her attentive to the point that she seemed to be ticking off each of the conditions in her head as they were recited. She returned her focus to Jamal. "Mr. Morgan, if you're ever found to be in breach of any part of the contract, you will be returned to Corrections immediately to serve out the rest of your sentence. Do you understand?"

Jamal met her eyes and said in a confident tone, "Yes, Your Honor, I do."

"And you agree?" she asked him.

"Absolutely."

"Mrs. Morgan, I understand that you're working with social services to secure a better housing situation."

"Yes, Your Honor."

"Have you made any progress?"

"We're wait-listed with Habitat, and Mr. Rove's fiancé is trying to expedite that with eminent need paperwork."

The judge made a note in the case file. "I'll check on that, see if there's anything I can do."

"Thank you, Your Honor," Mrs. Morgan said.

"Mr. O'Connell, are you ready to sign off on this deal?"

"Yes, Your Honor, I am. Once in a while, we get to do something for these young men that we can honestly say we know is the right thing to do. Once in a while we meet one who clearly is not already a lost cause by the time he enters the system. I think we get so cynical sometimes that we lose sight of the fact that our job is to help those who can be helped. Nobody's giving Jamal a free ride. He's committing to a lot of hard work. If we give him this chance, he knows it's up to him to make the best of it. I've been keeping an eye on him for weeks. Pretty much all he's ever shown me is that he's worthy of this leap of faith."

Judge Gray nodded. If Hogan Corrections hadn't given up on Jamal Morgan, how could she? She looked over at Adam. "Mr. Rove, do you have anything to add?"

"Your Honor, I almost threw my life away when I was Jamal's age. But some wonderful people reached out to me, wouldn't let me. Six years later, I'm about to marry into their family. It wasn't easy. Nothing good ever is. But you better believe that nowadays I'm a firm believer in reaching out to people. Jamal Morgan's gonna be somebody someday. Well, of course he already is somebody. What I mean is that one day people will know his name. He has something special to give to the world. And he has people who love him just because he's an honest, caring, smart, funny guy. I talked to his Aunt Shylene the other day and she had some stories."

Jamal looked embarrassed, but amused. His mother couldn't suppress a quick grin, knowing full well what stories her sister would tell.

Adam smiled at them. He shocked himself and his young friend with his little speech. Of course he'd been going over and over in his head what he should say. But in the end, he just spoke from the heart. Continuing with, "Your Honor, he's never been violent. He's always done good time. Aside from the tagging, he wasn't getting any kind of kick from breaking the law."

"The court doesn't care if he was deriving pleasure from his crimes, Mr. Rove."

"I'm sorry, Your Honor, what I meant to say is that he chose to do the tagging. But he executed the burglaries under threat from others."

"Which might be relevant if anyone else was ever linked to the home and car burglaries Mr. Morgan was convicted of, but no one was."

"Uh, yes, that's true," Adam stammered, realizing he should've quit while they were ahead.

"Your Honor, excuse me," Mrs. Morgan interjected. "Can I say something?"

"Of course," the judge answered.

"I know my son. He's not perfect, but he's a good boy. He has a good heart. He understands that what he did was wrong. And he will commit to everything in your contract. All he wants in this world is to come home to his family and get his life straightened out. And... and I know that you've heard it all before and there's no reason to think he's any different than the other thugs that come through here, but I promise you he is different. And he will make the most out of this chance if you give it to him.

I worry about my younger son, Judge Gray, about how he's supposed to make it without his big brother around to take care of him. My boys are close, Your Honor. Jamal knows Malcolm worships the ground he walks on. He tells me all the time that he wants to clean up his act and be a good role model."

"Thank you, Mrs. Morgan," Judge Gray smiled at her and then turned back to Jamal. "Well, young man, I'm certainly impressed with the support system you've got here. I'll take all of this under advisement." She stood and the others followed suit. "Mr. O'Connell, I'll call you tomorrow with my decision. It has been a pleasure meeting you all."

No one said much as they made their way back to the parking lot after the meeting at the courthouse. Adam felt that it had gone pretty well. The judge seemed receptive of what they'd proposed. He could see things going their way. But Jamal and his mother were far more skeptical. Just as judges often felt that no one ever told the truth in court, the Morgans couldn't really imagine that a judge could see beneath the surface of someone who might appear to be just another punk with no conscience, and recognize a boy who was exactly the opposite. Their mood dampened Adam's as he watched Mrs. Morgan hug her son very hard before he was loaded back into the van for the return trip to Hogan Juvy.

Mr. O'Connell could tell she was very nervous about what might happen. "I think we're in good shape here, Mrs. Morgan," he reassured her. "I know Judge Gray. She's very fair-minded. I'll call you the second I hear anything at all, okay?" He extended his hand to her.

She shook it. "Thank you, Mr. O'Connell."

He went to his car, parked right beside the Corrections van and left her with Adam.

"And thank you, honey," she said, pulling him into a hug. "You're a Godsend."

He merely smiled at her and said, "Come on. Let's get you back to the hospital."


When the call came from Judge Gray, Bob O'Connell found that he couldn't wait to tell his young charge the news. He had Jamal escorted to his office and he rang up Adam and put him on speaker.

"Gentlemen, mark May 18th on your calendars."

Both Adam and Jamal whooped despite their best efforts to contain themselves. Mr. O'Connell only laughed. "Mr. Morgan, I'm sure you want to call your mother. Mr. Rove, we'll see you on Sunday."

When he finally got his mom on the phone, Jamal cried for the first time in his whole ordeal. He was going home. He could finally put the nightmare behind him. Only three and a half more months now and he was going home.


He had brought clay to today's class just for something fun to do to give everyone a break from sweating out their midterm project. They all loved getting their hands dirty, really physically making something. Adam was just finishing off putting the items his students had created into containers, so that he could give them to Helen Girardi. The high school had a kiln and Helen had agreed to help out with the cooking.

Everyone else had left the room a while ago, including Jamal, and Adam was about to leave too, when he saw three very big guys he had not seen before enter the room. The last one closed the door behind him. Adam could hear alarm bells going off in his head, but he tried to stay calm.

Like a deer in headlights, he watched as one guy with a spider tattoo on his neck approached him, the others following close behind. Adam wondered where the hell Dewey was, but before he could finish the thought, the guy stopped near Adam and glared down at him. "You the dude who got that little dickwad Jamal two months off his sentence?"

Adam knew he only had seconds to decide if he should confirm or deny that fact. One of these guys slipped behind him and pinned his arms back, wrenching them painfully.

"Answer me, bitch!" the tattooed guy demanded.

"Yes," Adam managed to get out. He knew they would do whatever they wanted to with him anyway, no matter what he said. He only prayed that Dewey would reappear or that the block CO would get back from taking the students to their pods before they could do any real damage.

"Stupid fucker even admits it," Tattooey grinned at the others and they snickered at Adam.

"What difference does it make to you?" Adam asked.

"What difference does it make? Hmmm. Well, let's see... Maybe I don't like that little cocksucker catching a break he don't deserve. How 'bout that?"

"Who does then? You?"

"Maybe I do, teacher-teacher. What the fuck do you know?"

Adam had no idea where the courage was suddenly coming from, but he heard himself say, "About you? Nothing but what you're showing me right now."

A fist slammed into his cheekbone, and it felt like his brain rattled around in his head for an hour before he could see again. He hadn't been hit since high school. He'd forgotten how much it sucked. He desperately tried to think of a way to get himself out of this mess without being beaten to a pulp. He was terrified to find himself blank.

"What do you want from me?" was all he could say.

"I want you to work one of your special magical deals for me, what do you think?"

"You know I can't do that."

"Yeah?" Tattooey cocked his head and got right in Adam's grill. "Well, you better damn well fucking try, son." He jabbed both his fists into Adam's chest to emphasize his point.

Adam gasped as the wind was knocked right out of him. With all else failing, he figured he'd better play along before they broke something. "Okay, okay, I'll make some calls. Maybe there's a program—"

"Program?" Spider-Tattoo spat. "Man, I didn't say nothing about no program!"

"That's the deal I got for Jamal. It's all I can do."

The guy scowled and took an angry step toward Adam again. One of the other thugs slapped the back of Adam's head, "What bullshit is that?"

"Maybe it sucks but at least you'd be out, right?"

Spider-Tattoo bent down to level with Adam, looking him in the eyes. "You got a point there, little man. But how do I know I can trust you?"

"You can, I swear," Adam tried to assure him in his best confident voice.

"Uh huh. Well, your butt boy, Jamal, ain't goin' nowhere right now, is he? So if you break your word to me, next time you see him, you won't recognize him."

Adam breathed a sigh of relief when Tattooey turned away from him. But then he turned back around and punched Adam in the stomach, doubling him over.

The pain was horrific. He couldn't breathe. And then he felt the guy behind him release one arm and grab him by the hair, pulling his head back. The only thing he saw was the fist coming at his face again. His jaw rattled and he felt blood and saliva spray from his lips. The guy who had held him shoved him forward and he collapsed to the floor, barely managing to catch himself on all fours. It took all of his brainpower just to draw in his next breath.

Spider-Tattoo leaned down close to his ear. "Don't you dare fuck with me, teacher-teacher. You haven't even begun to feel pain yet."

Just at that moment, the block CO returned and saw what was going on. He threw the door open and immediately radioed the command center, "SORT to classroom 9, now!"

He pulled out his billy club and bounded into the room. "Mayer! Step away. Right now!"

Colby put his hands in the air mockingly and took a couple of steps away. He laughed at his boys, "Oops, Daddy's home. We're in wicked trouble now."

The three guys stepped up into a line and moved toward the lone CO. Adam looked away, afraid of what might come next for the poor man. And then he heard commotion down the hall. Seconds later, he saw a team of six men enter in riot gear with pepper spray and batons, the one in the lead carrying a Tazer.

Clearly outmatched, the inmates had no choice but surrender. As Adam watched them getting shackled, his vision began to clear, the white spots in front of his eyes abating. He sat back on his heels with some difficulty as relief washed over him. Just as the COs were about to escort the guys out of the room, Adam spoke to Spider-Tattoo. "That was really stupid, you know?"

He narrowed his eyes, hardly intimidated. "Yeah? Why is that?"

"I think instead of getting out of here early, you'll be staying for a very long time." Adam dragged himself to his feet and met Spider-Tattoo's eyes again. "If you even look at Jamal funny, I'll make sure you're locked up in isolation for the rest of your stretch."

"What the fuck makes you think you have any say in that?" the guy snickered.

"I got a Juvy judge on my side in this thing," Adam let out angrily. "Watch me."

Spider-Tattoo couldn't say anything else as he was being led from the room.

Dewey Smith, the CO who always stood watch over the classroom returned just then to see the end of the whole ordeal. "Adam, what happened?"

"Smith, where the hell were you?" the other CO asked

"I was in the head. It was an emergency."

"Well, keep him quiet for a minute. They're on the way down from the infirmary."

Dewey Smith helped Adam sit in the nearest chair. "Jesus, man, I'm sorry. I radioed for a replacement on the door, but I couldn't wait."

"Not your fault. Just my dumb luck," Adam said. Blood was still pouring from a cut inside his mouth that his own teeth had made on that second punch to the face. "I've got some paper towels in the bottom right drawer. Can you grab them?"

Dewey did so immediately, feeling like a complete failure for not protecting this innocent civilian he had in his charge.

Adam wiped away the blood and tried to stem the flow with pressure. His cheekbone throbbed and he could actually see it swelling up, under his eye line.

Before anyone could say anything more, the volunteer doctor and a male nurse arrived. They treated him on the scene and then brought him back to the infirmary for a couple of x-rays and an observation period, just to make sure he didn't have a concussion. He lay on a gurney, wondering how long he would have to wait there. He was sure they had procedures to follow when a civilian volunteer was injured--besides the medical stuff. There'd be paperwork, statements. He sighed, he'd better have someone call Joan to let her know he would be running late. Not exactly how he had imagined the day to turn out.


She was at the door even before he had exited the Forester. She met him in the driveway of their house. When she saw Adam's roughed-up face, she let out a gasp. "Oh my God, Adam, what happened?"

He felt slightly foolish that she was already making such a big thing out of it. "Relax, Jane, it's just a couple of bruises and scrapes." She took his hand and started walking him to the house when he resisted. "I have some stuff in the trunk."

"Can't that wait?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose it can."

They went inside the house and into the kitchen. She hovered near him the whole time. "Are you sure you're all right?" Joan asked.

"I'm fine. They checked me out in the infirmary. It'll be sore for a while, but I'll live."

She sat in a chair at the table and Adam followed, sitting down opposite her. "Honey, I was so scared when they called from Hogan. What happened?"

"What did they tell you?"

"That there had been an incident and I was not to worry and that you were gonna be late."

He sighed heavily. He knew she'd been going crazy waiting for them to release him all that time. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For making you worry like that."

"I would have worried more if you just hadn't come home without a phone call. So what happened?"

Adam told her the whole story, and he saw the concern and anxiety intensifying on her face as he recounted the events.

When he finished, she sat in silence for a while, before she shuddered, "My God, what a scary place. You're not going back there, are you?"

"Of course I am. The trial period doesn't finish until March. I won't be intimidated by those punks."

"Those punks?" she repeated. "Honey, they beat the shit out of you. There's no telling what they'll do to you if you go back there."

"Jane, they were caught red-handed. Dewey says they'll be in solitary for at least 30-days. The ringleader, this Colby Mayer kid, might even get transferred to a high security facility. Whatever happens, they won't let him get to me again. It'll be safe."

"It'll never be safe, Adam."

He pressed his lips together briefly. "No, you're right, it'll never be safe. But that could be said of everything we do everyday. Life is never safe, Jane. You know that."

She said nothing for a few seconds, then slowly nodded. "You really wanna go back, don't you?" she said, quietly caving.

"Yeah," he said in a voice just as gentle. "I've built something there. I'd be a coward to quit now."

"And after Jamal's released, are you still gonna teach the class?"

"I hadn't really thought that far ahead... I don't know. Peter's doing 18 months and he's a really talented kid. And there's this guy, John. He likes to build things, but they won't give him any tools. So we're trying to find ways around that, like I'm teaching him how I build 3D models on the computer."

"I think you just answered my question" she whispered and met his eyes. "Just promise me you're gonna be ultra-careful from now on."

He did his best to smile at her through the pain as he nodded. "I will."


"Of course I'm human," said Lucy, still a little puzzled.

"To be sure, to be sure," said the Faun. "How stupid of me! But I've never seen a Son of Adam or a Daughter of Eve before. I am delighted. That is to say—"

Joan closed the book as soon as she heard Adam coming out of the bathroom, putting it on the bedside table next to her. She had only started reading to distract herself from the fear and dread that roiled around in her mind as she waited for him to come to bed with her.

He groaned a little in pain as he lay down. He had a bruise along the lower edge of his left ribcage, and moving his torso around sent shooting pains through his gut. It made Joan wince along with him. He closed his eyes as he lay on his back for a few seconds, then opened them and turned around to look at her.

Her brow was creased and her face bore such an expression of concern that he reached over and stroked her hairline very gently. It made her close her eyes and when she opened them, tears slid from them.

"Hey," he softly whispered, "Jane, don't... why are you...?"

She gave a little sob. "I'm sorry, ignore me. I'm... just such a crybaby, that's all."

His voice was still gentle, his thumb wiping away at her tears. "I don't think you're crying for no reason."

She sniffled, then said, "I just... I can't stop seeing you... seeing them... hit you. I—" New tears flowed from her eyes and he scooted closer and wrapped her up in his arms. "I could've lost you," she breathed.

"Shhh, no, it's okay. I'm okay, baby."

"Adam, you got lucky. You could've been killed!"

He couldn't really argue with that. The thought had crossed his mind too.

"And it would be God who set me up to lose you again," she continued angrily.

"What are you talking about?"

"He set me up to smash your sculpture and I lost you. He set you up to meet... her, and I lost you. Why is he doing this? He said we're supposed to be together. How could He risk your life like this?"

"Jane, I'm fine. This is not about us, okay? It's about helping Jamal. I started something here and I can't just quit. I can't leave him like that."

"But you can leave me."

"I'm not leaving you." He stroked her soft hair and tried to calm her down. "I'll be safe as houses now. I told you, they put those guys in solitary. And you'd better believe the COs will be doubly vigilant about protecting all the civilian staff from now on so they don't look like chumps."

She settled into his arms and held onto him tighter than he could ever remember her holding him before. He returned her embrace and kissed her forehead very gently, careful of his injured lip.

"I barely survived being apart from you for two weeks. I can't lose you, Adam. I won't."

He kissed her hair, and lay his cheek against it lovingly. "Nobody's losing anybody."

Finally, her tears subsided and she sighed against him. "I just wish I could wipe those images from my mind." After short pause, she asked, "Were you scared?"

"Yeah, of course I was scared," he admitted. "But it all went by so fast, I didn't really have time to even think about what was happening. I just reacted and hoped the guards were nearby."

"If Dewey was outside the room, how'd those guys get in?"

He chuckled. "He had a little... bathroom-related emergency."

"It's not funny. What if he hadn't gotten back in time?"

"His replacement was on the way and he called a SORT team as soon as he got there. Jane, trust me, this is not gonna happen again. They can't let staff get hurt without serious repercussions. They're all on their toes now."

She wiped the rest of her tears away and put on a brave smile, leaning back to study his face. "You know," she said, a little mischievously suddenly, "I think you're gonna have a nice shiner by tomorrow."

"Great," he groaned. "The guys at the studio will all make fun of me."

"Yeah, well, the laugh is always on the loser," she quipped.

"Except I wasn't really the loser."

"They don't know that."

"You're not really reassuring me," he groused.

She looked at him for a long moment. When he couldn't take her eyes on him anymore, he said, "What?"

"I really wanna kiss you right now, but that split lip of yours looks like it'll hurt you if I do," she said with a slight smile.

"Don't let that stop you," he smiled back.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

She moved closer, kissing him very softly, very carefully. When he rose up to deepen the kiss, she moved closer yet, sliding one hand over the back of his neck, drawing him to her. He suddenly winced and tried to suppress a pained groan.

Joan immediately let go. "What did I do?"

"Nothing. Keep going," he urged her on.

She shook her head slowly and sat back, lifting up his t-shirt. Even in the dim light she could clearly see that big, ugly bruise. "Oh, God, baby," she gasped.

"It's not that bad," he assured her.

"It looks bad!"

"It's just a bruise."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Nothing's broken?"

"Nope, promise. I had x-rays and everything."

"Does it hurt much?"

"Enough to let me know it's there, but nah, not too much."

She looked down at him for a long moment. "Does this hurt?" She bent down to where the bruise was and planted very soft kisses around it, careful not to touch it.

"No," he said in a whisper. "Not at all."

"And this?" She moved the t-shirt further up and kept kissing him, nearing his collarbone.

"Jane, stop." he said breathlessly. "Stop." She did so and looked at him questioningly. "You're getting me all excited, and I don't think I'm up for that tonight."

The look on her face was pouty, but only for a second. "What if you didn't have to move?" she suggested. "At all."

He was puzzled for half a second. Then he grinned at her rather wickedly. "Oh, I could handle that."

"Okay, then, you just lie back and let me do all the work."

He nodded into the pillow and she continued kissing him, touching him, doing all the things that she knew would please him. In no time at all, she had him halfway to bliss, wondering how he ever got lucky enough to deserve a wonderful woman like her.


With one hand grabbing the edge of the kitchen counter, she leaned back against it, listlessly sipping at the glass of water she had poured for herself. Joan drew in a deep breath, but it didn't do much in terms of calming her down.

She didn't know exactly what time it was, but judging from the murky light outside, it couldn't be any later than 4 AM. It had been that accursed, vivid dream that had awoken her, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake the images of a beaten and bloody Adam on a cold, dark floor in a dank, filthy room. She tried desperately to get to him, but there was a glass barrier between them. She pounded on it soundlessly, completely unnoticed. It had startled her out of a deep, paralyzing sleep.

Sitting there, hand over her mouth to stifle the scream that was only an inch away, she had looked over to find her love still fast asleep beside her. She slipped quietly out of bed and shivered all the way down the stairs and into her kitchen, where she felt grounded and safe. It was bad enough that she was having a rough night. She didn't want to wake him, after all he'd been through the day before. She realized that it was probably a good thing she had exhausted him earlier, since he could be a fitful sleeper and easily roused.

And now, standing there barefoot against the cold tile, her thoughts kept crashing into each other, and she hated herself for being such a worry wart. Adam was probably right, they'd all be on their toes now on the double. Going back to Juvy would be safer than ever for him. Still, the nagging feeling of dread remained. Deep down inside, she really did not want him to go back to that place.

Suddenly, she remember how all this started. In the end, it came back to Janitor-God. He had been the one to put Jamal back on their radar. How could He set Adam up like that? Again! Was that maybe His way of telling her that she shouldn't have brought him in on the assignment in the first place? That it should be her responsibility to carry them out, and hers alone? But what Adam was doing felt so right to him. He was putting his soul into this. It just didn't make sense that God wouldn't want it.

She put down the glass of water and said out loud, "God, are you listening? Why would you let Adam get hurt like that? What is this all about? Tell me!"

There was no answer. Of course there was no answer. At least not from God.

She heard that stupid stair at the top creak and then detected Adam's soft footsteps through the quiet house. He found her still standing at the counter. "Can't sleep?" he asked softly, joining her there where she stood.

She shook her head.

"Bad dream?"

She wasn't sure she wanted him to know. He had enough to deal with. She wanted to be supportive. So she kept quiet, and somehow she felt that by doing so, she was betraying him, betraying their trust. But stealing a glance at him, seeing that swollen patch of purple skin under his eye and his poor, fat lip made her ache. She wanted to be supportive, but she also wanted him out of that place.

Her weird acquiescence didn't go unnoticed by him, so he asked, "Jane, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said quickly, matter-of-factly.

He nodded and pushed himself away from the counter, rubbing his tired eyes. Instinctively, he wondered aloud, "You want me not to go back, right? You think what happened to me is God telling you that I shouldn't be helping with this."

Her head shot up, meeting his eyes. "What?"

His voice was still quiet, but it had an edge to it. He folded his arms across his chest. "You heard me."

She swallowed, "I don't know. I don't know... It kinda seems like that, doesn't it? I let you in on this one, and I almost lose you. What am I supposed to think?"

He was quiet for a while before he said, "That maybe sometimes things are just hard. You've had assignments go wrong on you before. Sometimes bad stuff happens when we put ourselves on the line for what we believe in. Life kinda sucks that way."

"That's a fine philosophical point, but the reality is, anything could've happened to you today. Why would He allow you to get hurt if you're supposed to be in there?"

"What if somehow He stopped me from getting hurt worse? The CO showed up before I could get more than a couple of bruises and a lumpy lip." He leaned in with a crooked grin, hoping he could bring her around to his way of thinking. "Come on, Jane... Maybe the reality is that He's looking out for me in there."

"Then why would He let you get beaten up at all? Even a little bit?"

He looked up to the ceiling for a brief moment. "Well, for one thing, maybe it was about getting Colby and his gang locked away. I think he's really got it in for Jamal. Maybe if he hadn't gone off on me, something worse would've happened to Jamal. I don't know. Maybe I was removing an obstacle for this whole thing we're trying to do here."

She watched his face change as he contemplated what he now seemed to feel was the larger meaning. He looked quite pleased with the idea that this could be God's reasoning.

"Wouldn't they lock him up if he hurt anybody? Not just you?"

"Sure."

"Then why did you have to be the one who got hurt? Why not one of the guards or something? Why do I have to stand here in the middle of the night, waking up from a horrible nightmare where you get beaten to a bloody pulp and I can't get to you to help you? Waking up with the fear in the pit of my stomach that you're half dead, and I can see you lying there but I can't do a damn thing about it."

She stopped, momentarily surprised by her own outburst. That wasn't what she had wanted to say.

His voice grew even more quiet, the way it would when he was trying to make sense of things. "Jane, who are you really angry with here? Me or God?"

"Both of you, dammit!" She couldn't hold back now, she hated it when she was getting more and more riled up and he would go quieter and quieter. "Because He's not here and He's not fucking talking to me! Because it doesn't make sense! Because I know I can't stop you from going back in there and I just can't take it. I can't take it anymore!"

He breathed out slowly, lifting his hands defensively. "Okay. Okay. I think you need to calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down," she said angrily.

He just stood and didn't say anything for a moment, then pressed his lips together before he spoke with resolve. "Okay, then you tell me, how do we do this if I can't keep working with Jamal?"

"Jesus, I don't know, Adam!"

"Well, that helps," he said sarcastically.

"We can figure that out later."

His face fell in disappointment.

"All I know is, I want you stop going there, stop going to Hogan," she continued.

"You know I can't do that," he said, his voice going quieter and lower still.

"You care more about Jamal than you do about us, about your own life, is that it?"

Why was she stuck in that loop? It was such a chick move. He hated that he felt that way when he knew she was only scared, but he did. Total chick move. Hell, he was afraid too, but not irrationally so. "I wish you wouldn't say that," he grumbled. He was really tired and they'd already tread these waters before. "You know it's not true."

"Well, it certainly feels that way to me."

"Oh, come on, Joan! Aren't you being a little selfish?" he said, and he regretted it the instant it was out of his mouth. She went silent and he knew he'd gone too far. He rubbed his face with one hand and whispered, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

With those words he left the kitchen and went into the living room, collapsing in an exhausted heap on the couch, head in his hands. Joan's shoulders slumped. Not only did she feel betrayed by God, she had also managed to upset Adam. And damn it, she only wanted to be supportive... But what the hell did that phrase even mean? What was supportive? How could she be that? Should she encourage him to go back into the lion's den? It was all too much. She had no idea what she was supposed to do. Like a balloon that was oozing air, she felt her strength dissolve and suddenly she had to fight back tears.

She hated arguing with Adam. And why in the hell were they doing this in the middle of the night? She just wanted to go back to bed, but she knew they couldn't until they made things right again, so she followed him into the living room and sat down next to him on the couch.

They didn't say anything for what seemed like a small eternity. She finally broke the silence. "Look, maybe you're right. Maybe I am being a little selfish. But can you really blame me? What would you do if you were in my shoes?"

He turned his head to look at her. "I don't know," he said honestly. "The only thing I do know is that I can't quit."

"Are you sure there's no other way?"

"I'm sure." He turned around so that he was facing her. "Look, I know you're scared. I know you don't want me to go back. But this is something that I really wanna do, Jane. If you could see what's going on in there, if you could see how sometimes all it takes for is someone to give these kids a little encouragement and they do things they never thought they had in them...

"Forget that God asked you to do this for a second. You see every day how much of a difference people can make if they just try. Everybody you work with accomplishes great things because they refuse to back down at the first sign of trouble. I'm not ready to back down either."

"That's all very commendable and noble of you, I just don't understand why it has to be this hard."

"Please don't take this the wrong way, but I really think you're blowing things out of proportion. Sure, there will always be a risk if I go back, but I'm telling you, the chances of something like that happening to me again are minimal." He paused for a moment, wondering how he was ever going to ease her mind. "I'd ask you to come and be my bodyguard, but then I'd only be worried about the kids, so..."

She smiled in spite of herself and a long, weary sigh and then a yawn overtook her. Her eyes filled with moisture. "God, you do try my patience, Mr. Rove."

He locked onto her bleary gaze, reading reluctant approval in them. "I know," he smiled quietly as he reached for her hand.

She edged closer and let him put his arms around her. They settled into the couch, too beat at the moment to take on the stairs. The silence engulfed them and muted the pain, muted the fear. A temporary balm. For the moment, it would have to do.


As Joan neared Skylight Books, and smelled the delicious aroma of the gourmet blend wafting out of the coffee shop that now held the space one door down, a brief melancholy washed over her. Every time she walked by the store, she was transported back in time. Those days long left behind when she had worked here seemed so much easier in retrospect. Well, one thing hadn't changed, loving Adam was still a complicated prospect.

The old doorbell was still intact and it made its familiar jingle-jangle as she entered. Sammy sat at the counter engrossed in a thick hardcover book. He barely paid any attention to her at first glance.

She wandered into the stacks and picked through a few books before finding exactly the one she was looking for.

She made her way back to the front to the checkout counter. When Sammy looked up, he finally recognized just who it was who graced his somewhat old-fashioned bookstore with her presence. He stood. "Joan?"

She laid the book she'd selected on the counter.

She was surprised to see him smile at her, like a real human being. "I haven't seen you in, what a few years?" he asked.

"At least. Don't really have a lot of time to read."

"So what brings you in here now?" He turned her book around on the counter to read the title and she just knew he was going to say something condescending about it. "The Lovely Bones," he read aloud.

"Lately, I've had this thing about reading the books that were adapted into movies I love."

"As pop culture goes, not a bad book. And I guess Peter Jackson did a pretty good job with the movie."

"Wow, Sammy, you've mellowed."

He looked appalled at that assessment.

"Or not," she snarked. "There's another one I'm looking for but I didn't see it. My Left Foot." Great movie. Adam had turned her on to it. One of his favorites.

"Biography."

"Right."

"It's, um, over there, down that row, and to the left."

"Oh, I think I remember where to look." She took a peek at the aisles. "Unless you've reorganized."

"You're joking. Why would I do that?" He glared at her, deadpan, as if what she'd said was obviously ludicrous. "Let me know if you can't find it." He sat down again and went back to his own reading.

"Great," she nodded, with a mildly amused smirk. Same old Sammy. "Thanks."

She scanned the biographies. What was Christy's last name again?Brown, that's it. She reached out toward the "B" shelf. Suddenly, she perceived a shadow out of the corner of her eye, so she lifted her head to see who it was.

She almost did a double-take when she recognized Him, the avatar she liked to call Soprano-God—a bulky middle-aged, man with dark hair, graying at the temples now. He smiled at her in that oh-so calm and wise manner of his. "Hey-ey-ey, Joanie."

Seeing him standing there, rather anviliciously holding a copy of In The Belly Of The Beast, she walked up to him, not hesitating one second to utter what was on her mind. "You have some nerve showing up now. How could you do that? How could you set him up?"

He just shrugged. "I didn't set anyone up."

"Then what do you call it? You sent Adam off on this assignment and got him hurt. How could you do that?"

"You're the one who chose to get Adam involved."

"You said it was okay if he helped."

"You're free to make your own choices about who you share our work with, you know that. But you have to remember that your choices have consequences. Just like Jamal's put him in jail, the choices you and Adam made put him in harm's way."

"So you're saying it's our fault he got beaten up?"

"Nobody is at fault for the beating but the kids who did it."

"And they'll pay for it, right?" she asked.

"Their actions have consequences too," He smiled at her with just the tiniest twinkle in His eye. He meant for it to be comforting, but it only infuriated her more.

"But why Adam? Why would anybody wanna hurt him?"

"For whatever reason, some people are predatory. The boy who orchestrated the attack on Adam is in terrible turmoil. If someone doesn't stop him, he's going to destroy himself, and anyone who gets in his way. Right now, as we speak, he's talking to a clinical psychologist for the first time in his life. He's learning that there may be a chemical reason that he can't control his rage."

Joan looked at Him first with confusion, and then with a grudging sort of understanding.

"And Adam's all right, isn't he?"

"He is now. I don't even wanna imagine how scared he must have been." Slowly, she calmed down. Adam was right. It wasn't just a pointless, random act of violence.

God regarded her inquisitively. "I know you don't want to hear this right now, but you should also consider the possibility that this whole experience has made Adam a stronger man."

Again, Joan did not hesitate to pounce. "You mean like that time he got lost in the woods? You said the same thing then. No one should have to go through the things he's been through."

"No one should have to go hungry, no one should have to be lonely, no one should have to suffer and die from cancer, no one should have to fight in a war. The world is what you make it."

"Oh, what's this? More of your circular logic?"

"Circular is exactly right. Think about it... There's enough food in the world to feed everyone, but selfish people routinely hoard it till it goes to rot. There's enough space and housing for everyone, but oppressive people keep others impoverished and unsheltered at will. There's enough people in the world for everyone to have a soul mate and yet more of you isolate yourselves every year. And war? Well, maybe if people would stop killing each other in My name..."

"You could fix all of that."

"Joanie, it's not up to me. It's up to all of you. That's the whole point of everything. It's why you're all here."

He gave her a few seconds to let it sink in before he went on, "Life is about overcoming obstacles and challenges. That's what it means to engage with the world. The more obstacles you face, the better you get at overcoming them."

"Can you at least tell me that no more bad stuff will happen to Adam if he keeps teaching at Hogan?"

"You know I can't do that. But you should've seen him in there. He was a tiger. He never flinched."

She could not suppress a smile at that image. After a moment, she sighed. "So we're on the right track?"

He gave her a reassuring smile. "Do you really have to ask? You've already accomplished so much."

"I'm just worried about him."

"I know," he smiled, touching her cheek ever so briefly and softly with affection. "You just need to have faith, Joanie. There's more work for both of you to do."


The next Sunday after class, when everyone was gone, Jamal paced the room, angrily grabbing up the supplies and trash. He knocked over the empty easel at the front of the room, reaching under it for a wadded-up piece of paper that had landed there. "Shit!" he spat, kicking it across the floor a few feet.

"What's wrong with you?" Adam asked carefully. He'd had enough of angry kids rampaging around classrooms.

Jamal stopped when he saw that he was making Adam nervous. "Why you doin' this man? Are you crazy?"

Adam leaned against the teacher's desk, crossing his arms. "No. I don't think so... I'm just trying to help you."

"By getting' yo ass whupped?"

"Well, that part wasn't in the plan." Adam looked at him for a long time.

Jamal approached him, his face stern and serious. "You need to get the hell outta Dodge while you can."

"Who says I can?"

"Oh, you most certainly fuckin' can! You don't owe me a damn thing."

"This was not your fault, okay?" Adam tried to explain to Jamal.

"Hell, I know that, dog. I didn't do it."

"You're not responsible in any way."

"I said I know that, man. You need to get your ass on up outta here. I don't need your rich white guilt."

Adam sat up a little straighter. "Jamal, that's not fair. I've never been rich."

"That ain't what it looks like from here."

"Okay, I know I've never been as poor as millions of people. But I've been living on the edge for most of my life. I lost my mom when I was really young. My dad never really recovered. I barely did, but I had to take care of him, so... He, uh, he died eight months ago."

Jamal felt rotten now, but all he could do was lower his voice and say, "Sucks, man."

"Yeah, my dad and me, we were tight, you know. We were all we had. He worked hard his whole life. When he couldn't anymore, it was my turn, that's all. That's what men do, you know? They take care of their families. And sometimes it sucks... and it's just, it's too fucking hard. But what choice do we have?"

Jamal nodded.

"You can't take care of your Mom and Malcolm from in here."

Jamal glared at him instinctively, but he softened quickly. "I know."

"What about your dad?" Adam asked Jamal.

"He split when I was five and Malcolm was a baby. He was way older than my mom and they fought all the time. I had a stepdad for about three years but he turned out to be a drunk and he… uh, he beat us. We moved up here from DC to get away from him."

"Damn," was all that Adam could mumble.

"You know, my mom's got a great job and all and she works her ass off, but it's just never enough. And I'm not one of these ridiculous brothers who need all that flashy shit to get over. I just wanna live someplace peaceful. Have plenty of food and more than two pairs of pants."

"There's nothing in this world that can stop you from having that if you really want it."

Jamal shook his head. "Talk, man. Just talk."

"More like living proof. OK, I didn't become a famous artist. But I get to do what I love to do commercially. And my job gives me the opportunity to help you. I'm where I am now because a series of events led me to an internship at a design studio, and to RISDE."

"Rizde?"

"Rhode Island School Of Design. Great school. I learned a shitload there."

"Lucky you," Jamal snickered bitterly. "They got scholarships?"

Adam maintained his calm, serious tone. "We can look into that."

"Why is this so important to you? Why you wanna save me so bad, man?"

"I've seen what you can do. Now you just need to get off your ass and do it."

"And what if I don't? You split too?"

"I'm your Big Brother. I'm not going anywhere."

Jamal's lip curled into a smile. "You are a little crazy, aren't you? You got a death wish or somethin'?"

Adam pondered the question. Finally concluding, "Nah. Not anymore. I'm too happy. I'm getting married in a couple of months. Work is good..."

"Yeah, but your face still hurts, don't it?"

Adam smiled. "Gotta take my lumps, I guess. We 're not gonna let this stop us from doing all the stuff we talked about, right?"

Jamal half-nodded, half-shrugged. Before he could say anything else the CO returned to take him away.


Joan finished setting the dinner table by putting out the condiments they were likely to need, including the Miracle Whip, which was Adam's favorite thing with sandwiches or bagels. She took a step back to quickly survey the table, determine if anything was missing. When she was pretty sure there wasn't, she went out the back door to call him in.

He had gone to the shed in the afternoon, saying he wanted to work on something. She hadn't seen him since. Which she was actually glad about because he had been stressed out from work all week. Henry had dumped a really big project on him and he'd done a lot of overtime. It hadn't been that bad, but bad enough for him to not do anything after he came home in the evenings except pass out on the couch in front of the TV. And nowadays, he often spent his Saturday afternoons preparing for his Sunday art class.

But today she was glad to see him feeling energized enough to work on something in the shed, stretch his own artistic muscles for a change. She'd left him to it, taking care of the bills and filing away everything that had been piling up in the inbox that they stuck everything in that need to be kept. Not very exciting, but she had put some nice music on and finished in time to make dinner for both of them.

She opened the shed door. He was sitting at the table, sketching something, looking up when she entered.

"Hey," she said.

He greeted her back with a soft, "Hey," of his own.

Joan approached the table and looked for whatever he was working on. She picked up a sheet of sketchpad paper that had multiple black and white drawings on it, separated by boxes. It looked very much like a comic.

She couldn't make out what it was about, especially since the speech bubbles were either only sporadically filled or not at all. He had scribbled some dialogue at the bottom, clearly still toying with ideas.

She smiled a little. This was unusual. "Wow, I haven't seen you doing one of these since high school."

"Nope."

"So how come you're doing it now?"

"Jamal. He's come up with this whole elaborate graphic novel idea. I guess going through it and talking about it with him inspired me. I sat down and I just went with it. I don't know if there's any rhyme or reason to it, it just flowed out."

"It looks really cool. What's it gonna be called?"

"I don't know. Mr. Blob And The Chicken Soup?" he suggested, his face deadpan.

She laughed out loud. "You're kidding, right?"

He laughed too now. "Yeah. How weird would it be if Jamal and I ended up collaborating on this thing?"

She shrugged as she took another page from the table and looked at it. "This has real promise. It could be something really cool. Maybe you could even get it published."

He smiled at her. "I think you're getting ahead of yourself there. Me and some kid in Juvy are gonna publish a graphic novel? Yeah, right."

"You never know. The possibilities are endless." She put the page with the drawings down on the table and pointed a finger at him. "You," she stressed the word, "need to come to the house now. Dinner's ready."

He obliged only too happily. "Perfect timing. I'm starving." he said as he got up to follow her.

"Well, then let's see if we can't do something about that."


All Joan wanted to do was curl up in bed and hide from the world for the rest of the night and not talk to anyone.

She slammed the front door shut behind her as she entered the house and swore loudly when it hit her in the heel and knocked her shoe half off because she hadn't moved it away from the doorstep fast enough. "Ow! Fuck!" she let out in frustration. Just one more perfectly fitting mishap.

Joan closed the door shut all the way even more forcefully, this time careful that her foot was not in the way. Very uncharacteristically, she just dropped her bag and jacket in the first convenient place she could find, which happened to be the couch she passed on her way to the kitchen.

She poured herself a glass of cherry juice—the first thing she could find in the fridge, because she had been thirsty all the way home in the car. Murphy's Law kicked in. Of course she had to slosh the bright red drink over the rim of the glass so that it left a nasty stain on the light blue table cloth that she had only just put on their kitchen table yesterday. "Oh, just wonderful!" she muttered. She didn't even bother to attempt any damage control.

Adam had obviously heard her come home, because he came into the kitchen through the back door, oblivious to the bad mood she was in. "Oh, hey, Jane, you're home. Come here, I wanna show you something."

He gestured in the general direction of the back garden, probably meaning the shed, but Joan just let out a frustrated, "No."

His brow furrowed in puzzlement. "No?"

"No," she repeated matter-of-factly. "You should probably leave me alone right now because all I'm gonna do is yell at you."

He didn't say anything for a few seconds, then offered a careful, "Okay. Can I ask what happened?"

"To say I had a bad day would be an understatement," she retorted gruffly.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"No, I don't wanna talk about it. I just want to be left alone for a minute. Why does everyone want a piece of me today?" She moved her head to one side and a vertebra in her neck made a popping noise. She drew a face. "God, I need to get out of these clothes."

With those words she went upstairs to the bedroom, leaving Adam helplessly standing in the kitchen.

In the bedroom she couldn't get out of her work attire fast enough, which somehow felt especially constraining and tight today. She didn't realize one of the legs of her jeans was still halfway turned inside out and she almost toppled over when she couldn't get her leg in. It was as if the whole world was against her tonight. Wrestling with the jeans, she finally got it on.

By then, she was so angry and frustrated that she stood there for a few moments and then just collapsed on the bed, lying on her back. The tears didn't take long to come, and she wasn't even really sure why she was crying. Maybe it was just her way of releasing all the stress of recent days and all her aggravation from this one in particular.

And at this moment she wanted nothing more than for Adam to gather her up in his arms and whisper in her ear that it was gonna be okay. She waited for him to follow her upstairs, but he didn't. God, why were men born without a radar? Because sometimes saying you wanted to be left alone actually meant you wanted a shoulder to cry on. At least in a woman's world. Obviously in a man's world it meant you indeed wanted to be left alone. Adam was usually pretty good with reading her, but not today, it seemed.

It made her even angrier, which made more tears flow down and drip onto the bedspread. She cried on her own for a few minutes until she realized that she needed to get a grip.

She sat up and wiped at her tears, then went to the bathroom to quickly wash her face and tie her hair up in a ponytail, all the while stewing over the fact that Adam didn't seem to be alarmed by her rapid exit. So he didn't care about what was bothering her, didn't care that she was feeling like shit?

Just at that moment, she heard his hesitant voice at the door. "Jane? Can I come in?"

"I don't know," she said, because she really didn't know what she wanted more—for him to stay away so that she could continue to pout and be mad at him, or for him to come in and comfort her.

"You can yell at me if you want," he told her, carefully entering the room. "You might feel better afterwards," he said half jokingly.

But she really wasn't in the mood for jokes, and he saw it in her face as soon as she came out of the bathroom. He sat down on the bed and said in a more serious tone, "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. I just wanted make sure you're okay. I can leave if you really want me to."

She sat down next to him, but not too close. "No," she sighed. "I just... I don't know. I just had a really long, really bad day."

He just nodded and waited. He didn't have to wait long.

"You know how some days just start off on the wrong foot and never get back to right again?" she asked.

He nodded again. "Yeah."

"Well, here I am, still waiting for "right" to happen. It's just this blasted project that has everyone working like mad. Turns out I made a mistake yesterday and not only did I have to spend half a day fixing it, I was also given a personal scolding about it from the boss. And then she dumped more shit on me that there was no way I could do all on my own. My phone never stopped ringing and I also had to cover for Darlene because she's sick and... I guess it was all just a little too much. And to top it off, I got in fight with Luke on the phone because he forgot to organize the birthday present for Dad that we agreed to buy together. That really tore it.

"By the end of the day, I was sitting there with a pitiful pile of stuff I had accomplished, a huge pile of stuff left to do, so I just caved in and came home. And I know my boss is gonna come to me tomorrow and demand an explanation about why I didn't finish everything. Jesus, what am I gonna tell her?"

She was near tears again because she knew she was up for a promotion and didn't want to let her boss down, maybe screwing up her chance at that promotion and a slightly better paycheck along with it.

Adam turned his head sideways to look at her. "You're gonna tell her that you did what you could today and that you're going to do your best to finish it as soon as you can. Better yet, go to her and tell her what's going on before she comes to you."

"Why does it sound so easy when you say it like that?"

His voice was deep and low when he said, "Because maybe I know what I'm talking about."

She raised her head and gave him a small smile. "Yeah, you would, wouldn't you?"

He looked at her with a sympathetic smile of his own and she felt the pressures of the day slowly ebb away. She sank sideways to lay her head in his lap, lifting her feet to rest on the bed.

When his hands reached into her hair and softly stroked it, she finally felt at home. He was smiling down at her—that sweet, Adamy smile that she hadn't realized she was longing to come home to all day. She reached for his hand and softly kissed his palm, saying, "Sometimes I think you're too good to be true."

He wisely didn't answer, just kept caressing her hairline until she sat up. The look on her face was much more relaxed. "You wanted to show me something?" she asked.

His mouth curved into another smile. "Only if you're not gonna yell at me."

"I promise."

"Okay."

He took her to the shed and stopped in front of the table. "Close your eyes."

She gave him a curious look.

"Do it," he instructed her again.

She did and heard him shuffle around with something near her. After a while he said, "Okay, open."

When she opened her eyes, her gaze fell on the easel behind the table that was facing her, and the colorful artwork that he had placed on it. It depicted four young men, comic-style, in what looked like some kind of space-faring uniform, and a young woman who bore an uncanny resemblance to... well... Joan, herself. At the top of the image it read in huge letters SKYWALKERS - An Intergalactic Journey, by Nick MacCready and J.T. Morgan. It looked like the cover art for a comic book.

"Whoa," she said. "That's... funky, but I like it." She took in the artwork in more detail and then remarked, "Nick MacCready?" A chuckle escaped her. "That's hilarious. But why a pen name?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. It just sounds cooler somehow than boring, old Adam Rove."

Still studying the image, she cocked her head slightly. "Now, look at me and tell me it's just a coincidence that the girl bears a striking resemblance to someone you know."

"What? You don't like her?"

"Well, she looks an awful lot like me." But looking at her overly-ample cleavage, she had to add, "Sort of," to her assessment.

"Okay, I would be lying if I said it wasn't intentional. Can you blame me for wanting my fantasy girl look like the coolest, most beautiful woman I know?" With a smile he added, "You know, Jane, you've got nothing to worry about. Zoe, the girl in the book, she's smart, she's funny, she's got a great personality. I promise you'll like her."

"Oh yeah?" Joan asked jokingly.

He beamed at her. "Yeah."

"Can I read it?"

"Sure. When we have something to read. This is all just still preliminary stuff. We're still toying with the basic ideas. Jamal's already so jazzed about the whole thing. I haven't seen him like this since he painted our shed."

She moved closer to him, happy to see him so energized himself. She planted a soft kiss on his lips. "Honey, this is great. For you, for Jamal. I'm so proud of you." Leaning back a little, looking at him, she added, "But did you have to make Zoe's boobs so... voluptuous?"

He leaned closer to the easel, pretending to study his creation, then he looked at Joan's gorgeous anatomy. "What? She looks perfect to me."

She gave him a playful slap on the arm. "Men!"

He just laughed and pulled her close for a long, sweet kiss, glad to have transformed her rotten mood into the giddiness they both now shared.


END CHAPTER