Chapter 23
Trials
by TeeJay
Author's Note:
McPunisher is at her best. I'm sorry to put Adam through this, especially since I've done it once before in another story. But I just can't help it. ADAMNEEDSAHUG! Good thing he has Joan for that.
Synopsis:
Adam comes down with the stomach flu while Grace has her own problems to battle. But help may be within grasp.
Rating: PG-13 for adult themes and language.
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.
"Adam," Christine addressed him. He was sitting at his desk at the studio, his head cradled in his hands. "Adam?" she tried again when he didn't react.
His head came up slowly. "Hm?" he mumbled.
"Geez, you look like death warmed over. Why don't you go home?"
Yeah, he sure felt like death warmed over. Somehow that bug that Karen caught the week before must have crawled into his system. But there was so much still to be done. He looked at the pile of design proposals that Henry had dumped on his desk earlier. He sighed. "I can't. Henry wanted me to do these by the end of the day."
"You think you can get anything done like this?"
"I don't know," he meekly admitted. "I can try."
"Okay, suit yourself," Christine gave up.
He did indeed try to concentrate on work, but it got harder when he felt his stomach getting more and more queasy. Lunch from earlier was certainly going to have to come out at some point. And that point might just be... right about now. He jumped up and hurried to the toilet, reaching the bowl just in time to double over and spill his stomach contents right into it.
It took him a moment to get up and make his way to the sink. Thankfully, he was alone in the bathroom. After he rinsed his mouth and splashed some water in his face, he went back to his desk, trying to ignore Christine's worried gaze on him. He smiled weakly, trying to convey to her that he'd be okay, she should just leave him alone.
A quarter of an hour later, he heard his Henry's footsteps approaching. His partner stood by his desk, watching him for a moment. "Adam, you look like hell. Go home."
Adam looked at him. "No, it's okay, I'll get these done today." He pointed at the designs, knowing full well that they had to be ready by morning.
Henry gave him a 'you're kidding' look. "Don't worry about those, Christine said she'll take care of them."
"No, really, I can—"
Henry interrupted him. "Adam, you're a partner now. You don't have to do everything yourself. You can delegate. Trust your team. Go home and take care of yourself. See a doctor if you don't feel better tomorrow."
He finally resigned to the thought of curling up in bed and just resting. And sleeping. Sleeping. "Okay," he said in a low voice, giving Henry a grateful nod.
Henry returned it and said, "Feel better," as he left to head back to his office.
Adam slowly packed up, gathering everything he thought he might need to work home. He hoped he'd feel a little better after some medicine and a nap. He took some of the preliminary sketches he'd done and went out to Christine's cubicle.
When he peeked his head in, Christine said, "Henry finally convince you?"
He managed a small smile. "This was your doing, wasn't it?"
She lifted her arms in defense. "Uhm... Not saying anything else without my attorney."
He handed her the sketches. "Will you see what you can do with these?" He explained the scope of work around them to her, pointing out a couple of things.
When he wouldn't stop telling her bits and pieces, she interrupted him, "Hey, relax, it's not my first time doing this, you know. Seriously, it's all good. I can handle it."
He gave her a small, grateful smile. "Thanks. You know... for this and—"
She waved him off. "No biggie. Now go home and collapse somewhere. And don't you dare come back before you're well again."
That made him laugh a little, he really liked Christine. Sometimes he thought she must have this mood radar built into her computer. She was often spot-on about what her colleagues needed or wanted.
"I get it, okay?" he said jokily.
"Go, Adam. Out with you already."
"Okay, okay," he backed up. "Leaving right now."
In the car, he got out his cell phone and called Joan. One of her colleagues answered, telling him she was in a meeting. He told her to give Joan the message that he was heading home sick.
At home, his first stop was the toilet. Again. God, why did he have to have that hamburger and fries earlier? Spending too long kneeling on the cold, tiled bathroom floor, he finally dragged himself up, got rid of his work clothes and climbed into bed in his boxers and t-shirt.
A while later, he was rudely awakened by the phone ringing too close to his ear. Groggily, he mumbled, "Hello?" into the receiver.
"Honey, did I wake you?"
"Yeah," he dredged up.
"I'm sorry." Joan's voice was compassionate at the other end.
"No, it's okay," he reassured her.
"What's wrong, Darlene said you went home sick?"
"Must have caught that bug of Karen's," he said by way of explanation.
"Oh no. Including the fever and vomiting and diarrhea?"
"The whole package, it seems," he sighed.
"Baby, I'm sorry. Want me to come home early?"
"No, I'll be fine. I'll just try to go back to sleep."
"Okay," she said softly. "Please call if you need me."
"I will," he replied. "Bye, Jane."
"See you later."
He felt another wave of nausea hit and stumbled back into the bathroom. Somehow a bucket would be good now, but he didn't have the energy to get it from downstairs. He'd ask Joan to find it later, he mused as he crawled back into bed, feeling miserable and severely sorry for himself.
Joan got home just after five, having left the office a little earlier than usual. She would be lying if she said she wasn't worried, so she had made it a point to quickly finish the urgent things on her to-do list and leave the rest for tomorrow.
Quietly, she went up the stairs and carefully entered the bedroom. She found him lying in bed, as she had suspected. He seemed to be asleep and she didn't want to wake him. Once had been enough, he needed his rest. She retreated to the kitchen and half-heartedly prepared some dinner. She knew she would eat alone tonight, but given the situation, she didn't mind. She just knew she couldn't cook anything with a strong scent because she remembered that when she was sick, the mere smell of food would make her nauseous.
She heard commotion upstairs a while later and went up there to check on Adam, who was obviously up. What greeted her were retching sounds from the bathroom and she lingered in front of the open door to the bathroom. Some things were private and should stay private and she didn't know just how much privacy he wanted right now.
But she couldn't stop herself from going in when after a moment's silence, she heard him saying, "Oh God, this sucks!"
He was still kneeling in front of the toilet, his hands on the seat, panting a little. She crouched down behind him, whispering, "That doesn't sound good."
He didn't seem to mind her being there. In fact, he seemed to be glad she was because he leaned back a little, his back making contact with her. Her hands softly came around him and he sagged into her bosom, looking for the comfort.
"Is there anything I can do?" she asked softly.
"No," he said weakly. "Except maybe get me a bucket."
That would be an easy one. "Guess I don't need to ask if you want anything to eat or drink, huh?"
He shook his head. "Oh God, the thought of food disgusts me right now."
Just what she had thought. "You wanna go back to bed?" she gently urged him. She could feel him shivering beneath her hands.
"Yeah," he whispered.
She helped him up and went downstairs to get the bucket. She put some water in to cover the bottom, which would make it easier to rinse later. She placed it next to his side of the bed, taking in her beautiful but very pale fiancé with the covers drawn up to his chin. How she wished she could make him better, relieve him of some of the discomfort.
"Okay, here's your bucket. Can I do anything else? You want me to stay for a while?"
"No. I just wanna sleep. I wouldn't be very good company right now."
"Okay." She left him to rest since there wasn't much else she could do. She would check in on him later.
Joan switched off the TV when Grey's Anatomy ended. As usual, it left her craving for more, even though most of the original cast had already left the show and her favorite character had died last season. She missed discussing the events with Adam, who was still in bed. She had asked him if he wanted to come watch on the couch, but he had groggily declined. The poor sod, she felt for him but knew it would be better to just leave him be.
She debated doing the ironing, but she was pleasantly tired and relaxed, so she might just as well go to bed. An early night couldn't hurt for a change. She hadn't really thought about it, but maybe it would be a problem sleeping with Adam tonight. It might be inconvenient to both her and him in his current condition. When she went into the bedroom he was still sleeping, but when she opened a creaky dresser drawer to get her pajamas, he stirred and asked tiredly, "You coming to bed?"
She went over to his side. "I think it would be best if I slept in the guest room tonight," she said in a low voice. "For both of us. You okay with that?"
He mulled the thought over in his muddy brain for a moment. "Yeah, maybe. I'd probably keep you awake all night, running to the bathroom."
"Okay. I'll just get my things and then I'll let you sleep."
When she was done in the bathroom, she took her pillow and crouched down next to Adam beside the bed. "You need anything? You think you can try to drink something? You haven't had anything all day. You need to stay hydrated."
"Oh God, even thinking about it makes me wanna hurl."
"Okay, we'll try again tomorrow."
"Yeah," he muttered.
She reached over to feel his forehead. It felt quite warm. "Honey, I think you're running a fever."
"Might explain why I'm feeling so wobbly on my feet," he stated.
"Hang on," she said and went into the bathroom. She came back with a digital thermometer which she told him to stick it under his armpit. After a minute or two, it beeped, indicating that the temperature wasn't climbing anymore.
When he withdrew it, it showed 101.4. Joan frowned. "You do have a fever. We should try to get your temperature down. Maybe it would be smart to see a doc tomorrow. Could be an infection. E. coli or something."
He sighed. "Jane. It's just the stomach flu. I'll be all right. I'll sleep it off in a couple of days."
"You couldn't take Tylenol right now with that stomach, so I think we should try something else. Will you let me rub you down with ice water?"
He didn't look too enthused by the idea. She felt his cheek again with the back of her hand. "Are you feeling hot? Or chilly?"
"Pretty hot," he said.
"Okay, then let's try the ice water. It might make you feel better."
He let out a breath through his nose, he didn't have the strength to resist. "Okay," he agreed.
Joan returned ten minutes later with a bowl of water with a few ice cubes in it, a washcloth and a towel. She drew back his covers and helped him out of his t-shirt. She told him to lie on his belly, which he did.
She dunked the washcloth in the cold water and wrung it out over the bowl. "Okay, this is gonna be cold," she warned him before she started to move the cloth over his naked back in soft strokes. When it became warm, she put it in the cold water again, repeating the process over his whole back and his legs. He just breathed in and out in regular intervals, but she couldn't really tell if it was giving him any discomfort. "Are you okay?" she asked after a while.
"Yeah," he said. "It actually feels kinda good."
She dabbed some of the moisture off his skin with the towel and said, "Can you turn around?"
He obliged and she started the washcloth rubbing over his chest. He first flinched a little at the cold, but his features looked relaxed enough to encourage her to go on. He had his eyes closed, and she thought he looked pretty pale and pretty pitiful.
When she was working on his legs, he suddenly opened his eyes and sat up, his face scrunched up in a pained expression. "Oh God," he mumbled before he bent over and retched into the bucket next to the bed.
Joan watched helplessly. What else could she do? She watched him ride it out and finally sink back onto the pillow, exhausted. He blinked twice. "Sorry."
She gave him a small, encouraging smile. "It's okay. It's not your fault. You don't have to apologize."
She handed him a glass with water to rinse his mouth, much like you had to do at the dentist's. When he was done, she took the bucket and discarded the contents. She mused briefly about how she wasn't grossed out by any of it. She loved him. Taking care of him when he was sick was just part of it.
Returning, she found him lying there on his back just as she had left him. When she saw the goose bumps all over his skin, she drew up the covers again and tucked him in, softly stroking his brow. She got the washcloth back out of the bowl and put it on his forehead. "You okay?"
He nodded gratefully. "Yeah."
"Do you feel any better at all?"
"I do. A little."
"I'll let you sleep now, okay? Get some rest, baby. Wake me if you need anything, all right?"
He nodded tiredly as she gave him a last affectionate stroke of his hair before she took up temporary residence in the guest room.
She didn't sleep too well, woke up more than once. She thought she heard him going to the bathroom a couple of times and the bed was both unfamiliar and dreadfully empty without him next to her.
The alarm she had set for work was too early and too loud and obnoxious, and she prayed that it had not awakened Adam.
She checked on him, also needing to get dressed. He was awake when she entered the bedroom. "Feeling any better?"
She took a cursory glance at the bucket, which was empty except for the water at the bottom. That was a good sign, but she figured there weren't anymore contents in his stomach by now anyway.
To answer her question, he said, "I don't know. Still not too great. I think I'm done puking. It's mostly diarrhea now."
She felt his forehead. "You don't feel that hot anymore. Think we got that fever down?"
"Yeah, I think it's gone."
"Should I call in sick for you?"
"No, I'll do it myself later, thanks."
She got the clothes she wanted and got ready in the bathroom. Half an hour later, she came back up to put a mug of chamomile tea on Adam's bedside table. "Please try to drink something if you can, okay?"
He gave her a brave smile. "Okay."
"Maybe take some Tylenol, to keep the fever away. I gotta go to work now. Call if you need anything. You want me to drop by on my lunch break?"
"Jane, I'm not a toddler. I can handle it."
She had to smile a little, backing up. "All right, all right. Get some more rest. I'll see you tonight. Feel better."
Joan called him on her lunch break, fully aware that she was mother-henning him. She also called her mom, sharing her concerns about Adam being at home all alone in his condition. Helen was immediately sympathetic. She offered to check in on him even before Joan could suggest it. Joan wasn't sure if he'd want that, but Helen wouldn't have it any other way.
Helen took two apples from the fruit bowl in the kitchen, after she had talked to Joan and listened to her telling her about Adam's illness. She put them in her bag and then got some chicken soup from the freezer—the "medicinal" kind with lots of garlic and ginger. She had to smile when she thought about how Will always said garlic could cure anything. The apples were for an old remedy her mom used to use on her. Grated apple was supposed to help with binding the fluids in the bowels when you had diarrhea. Plus it was very easy on the stomach.
She picked up the phone again. Adam's tired voice greeted her on the other end after a couple of rings.
"Adam, it's Helen. Joan called me and told me about you... How are you holding up?"
There was a short pause. "Okay, I guess," he said tiredly.
"Are you still running a fever?"
"I don't know," he said. "Comes and goes."
"Listen, I can come over in a while, would that be okay?"
He had to smile despite the shiver that washed over him. The Girardis were a tenacious bunch and he thought it was sweet of Joan to worry so much that she'd send her mother over to take care of him. "It's not like I'm dying or anything, but, yes, I'd like that. I mean..." he paused, "aside from the fact that I'm not exactly presentable."
"Oh Adam, I know that. You're sick, don't worry about it. I raised three kids. I've seen it all."
He nodded, even though Helen could not see it. "Right."
"Is there anything you need? Anything I can bring?"
"No, I think I've got pretty much all I need right now, thanks," he told her.
"Okay. I'll come by when I'm done here. I'll let myself in with the key, if that's okay with you. That way you don't have to get up."
"Great, thanks," he agreed.
Joan finally went home after a long and stressful day. She had wanted nothing more than to go home early and take care of Adam, but she was working on an important project with a hardcore deadline, so she really had no choice but to stay until it was done. And it was now already past 8 PM.
She entered the house and found him in a bundle of blankets on the couch, watching TV.
"Hey, my poor little sick puppy," she chirped. "I'm really sorry I'm so late. I tried to get out as early as I could. But they dumped a shitload of stuff on me every time I tried to sneak out."
He looked at her as she approached him. "Don't worry, it's okay. I've been sleeping pretty much all day anyway."
She went around the couch to sit down where his legs were. "How are you feeling?"
"I've felt better. But I can say with conviction that things are improving."
She nodded and looked at the TV screen. "Watch anything good?"
"I think I saw the rerun of last night's Grey's Anatomy earlier, but I can't say I remember much of it."
She feigned shock. "Come on, you must remember how Perry and Darnell got into that catfight. That was hilarious!"
"Oh, that," he said. "Yeah, that was pretty funny," he said without a lot of enthusiasm.
"Did you manage to eat or drink anything?"
"I tried keeping down that mug of tea, with limited success. I had some of the Gatorade that your mom brought earlier, that stayed down. For now."
She sighed. She wished she knew how to make him feel better, take away some of his discomfort. "Should you go see a doctor about this?"
He shook his head. "No, I already feel better than yesterday. Except now I've got this killer headache. But I'll be fine in a day or two."
She felt his forehead again. It was still a little hotter than she'd like. "You're still running a temperature, aren't you?"
"I might be. I'm a little sweaty." He smiled. "Sorry I'm so gross to be around."
She smiled at that. "Did you take the Tylenol."
"No, I totally forgot about that."
"Think you could? Maybe with a little more Gatorade?"
He sighed. "What's with the Girardi women and the fussing?"
"That's not just the Girardis, Adam. It's women in general."
"I can't see Grace doing it."
Now Joan laughed openly. "Well, you weren't there when Karen was sick, so how do you know she wasn't playing nursemaid too, just like me?"
He shrugged.
She laughed and got up to get the medicine and a glass of Gatorade. She sat back down at Adam's legs, handing both to him. "Here, try that."
She unscrewed the bottle and handed him two pills. He popped them into his mouth and washed them down with a swig of Gatorade. At that moment, the phone rang and Joan went to pick it up in the kitchen, where she found the cordless phone. "Hello?"
"Joan?" Karen's voice sounded somehow off. "Can I talk to Adam?"
"Well, to be honest, he's pretty out of it. I think he may have caught your stomach flu."
"Oh," Karen just said.
"Is there anything wrong? Anything I can help with?" Joan offered.
Karen sighed. "I... don't know. It's about Grace. Things got pretty messy."
Messy? What was she saying? "What do you mean, messy?"
"Well, we're in the hospital right now."
"Karen, stop making me drag every fragment of information out of you. What happened?"
"It's kind of a long story, but Grace... she ended up in a fight. Well, a brawl, more like." She paused briefly, then sighed again. "I was hoping to talk to Adam, because... well, I really don't know what to say anymore. It's like we've hit a dead end—" She stopped.
"Are you guys hurt?"
"I'm fine. Grace might have to get stitches."
"Stitches? What hospital are you at?"
"We're at Angel of Mercy, somewhere in the ER."
"I'm on my way."
"Okay," Karen said meekly.
"I can hand the phone to Adam if you wanna talk to him."
"He's not sleeping, is he?"
"No, he's awake."
"I don't know," Karen said carefully. "I don't wanna scare him if he's sick."
"I think he'd want to know about this. Hang on a sec." Joan went into the living room with the phone still to her ear. "I'll hand you over now. See you in a few."
She held the phone out to Adam, who had his eyes closed. He looked like he was dozing. "Honey?" she addressed him. He looked up at her. "It's Karen. Something happened with Grace, maybe you can talk to her. I'm gonna go see them up at the hospital."
Adam suddenly looked wide awake. "What? Hospital?" He took the phone from Joan and held it to his ear. "Karen? What happened?"
Joan went to put on some shoes and a jacket, then came back into the living room, finding Adam already off the phone and getting off the couch. "I'll come with you," he told her.
"Adam, you're in no condition to go out," she reminded him.
He got up from the couch, and realized that Joan was right. A stabbing pain when through his head and he felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. "I need to see her, Jane," he tried again.
"Okay, here's what we'll do. I'll go see about them and we'll come back here, so you can talk to her. How about that?"
He reluctantly nodded. "Yeah, all right."
She gave him a last reassuring look before she grabbed her car keys and left.
Joan found Karen sitting in the ER waiting room. Karen's gaze on her spoke of gratefulness and relief. "Joan. Thank God you're here."
Joan sat down next to her. "Are you okay? Where's Grace?"
"I'm fine. Grace is getting stitches. They said they'd let me know when she's done."
Joan's face took on a frown. "What exactly happened?"
"We went out for dinner, but we had to wait for a table at the bar. And the guy next to Grace was already raving drunk. He tried to buy her a drink, which she of course declined, but he just wouldn't back off. So Grace tells him flat-out that she's not interested. That really puts him off, he starts to grab Grace's arm. Grace just turned around and slapped him in the face. So he shoves her really hard. Next thing I know Grace is on the floor with a cut on her head, bleeding all over the place."
"Whoa," Joan said.
"Yeah, but it doesn't stop there. Grace was so angry, she got up and went after him again. I grabbed her and one of the waiters helped me hold her in check. I shudder to think what she would've done if we hadn't stopped her. I wanted to call the police and press charges against the guy, but she wouldn't let me. The restaurant called an ambulance and we ended up here."
"Jesus, that's..." Joan stopped. "I don't know what to say. Grace hit the guy? In the face?"
"Yeah. Totally unbelievable, right?"
"Yeah. Gutsy, though."
"Please, don't say that in front of her. Don't encourage this kind of behavior," Karen said, failing to mask the disappointment in her voice.
"No," Joan said immediately. "No, of course I won't."
Karen looked down at her lap, her voice quiet and heavy. "Joan, I don't know what to do with her anymore. That's why I wanted to talk to Adam. He knows her better than anyone. I'm sure it has to do with her mom. They're talking on the phone a lot, and there's a lot of yelling. It's really getting to her."
Joan sighed. "Yeah," she said simply, meaningful words failing her. After a moment's silence, she told Karen, "Adam's waiting at home, he wants to talk to her. I'll take you to the restaurant to get your car, but you think we can go by our place for a few minutes?"
"Sure. Maybe he can talk some sense into her. She's really scaring me." Then she remembered about Adam's condition. "Did I really give him my stomach bug? God, I'm sorry about that."
"Hey, not your fault."
"Is he doing all right?"
"All right would be a little optimistic at this point, but he's gonna be okay in a day or two. He wanted to come with me, but he could barely stand up."
"You sure we should take Grace to see him?"
"Yeah," Joan answered. "Stomach flu or not, he wants to talk to her."
"Okay," Karen agreed. "Okay," she repeated, more quietly.
A few silent minutes passed before the door to the waiting room opened and Grace walked in. Joan's eyes immediately went to the wound on her forehead and the white butterfly bandages that covered some of it. Was it Joan's impression, or did Grace look disapproving of her being here?
"Girardi, what the hell are you doing here?"
Ah, so it wasn't just her impression. Karen cut in, "I called her."
Grace shot her an angry look. "Why?"
Karen looked like she might be on the verge of tears, but anger was creeping into her voice as she spoke. "Because she's a friend? Because I wanted the company? Because I was scared?" Her raised arms fell to her sides.
Grace was taken aback. "Okay," she said. "Can we go?"
"I'll take you to your car," Joan said. "But can we stop by my place?"
Karen's eyes were pleading on Grace, who sarcastically said, "What, so you can sic Rove on me? Where is he anyway?"
Joan had to breathe in to keep her patience. In a neutral voice she said, "He's home with the stomach flu. He wanted to come, but he's too sick."
Grace was all sarcasm now. "Poor baby. Why are you wasting your time with me then?" She looked at Joan. "Shouldn't you be home, nursing him?"
Karen's voice was sharp. "Grace, that's enough."
"Yeah, whatever," she shrugged, clamming up as they left the hospital.
The ride to Adam and Joan's house was tense and taciturn. Joan hoped that Adam would be able to talk to her, but Grace's anger made her doubt that even he would have much success.
Joan was the first to enter their house, Grace and Karen followed. Adam was still on the couch, but he had thrown on a pair of jeans and a long sleeved tee. For an awkward moment, Joan, Karen and Grace just stood wordlessly. Joan finally said, looking at Adam and Grace, "I think you two—"
Grace interrupted her. "So, this is it, the Inquisition Of Grace, huh?"
Adam only looked at her, then gave Joan a silent sign to leave him alone with Grace.
Joan understood and signaled for Karen to follow her to the kitchen. Grace just stood there, glowering.
"Grace, how the hell did this happen?" Adam asked without preamble.
She said nothing, only stared at her hands that were folded in front of her.
"Talk to me," he demanded, softly but determinedly. He was way too rattled to have that kind of patience with her today.
"What do you need to know?" she said defensively. "The dude was sloppy drunk and he started insulting me. I couldn't just let him, so I didn't. He put his hands on me and somehow..." She indicated the wound above her eyebrow.
"Grace, this is crazy, you could've been really hurt. Why didn't you just tell somebody? They could've kicked the guy out before things got out of control."
She shot him a look. "He pissed me off! What kind of an asshole grabs a strange woman in a public place?"
"The dangerous kind," he sighed. It didn't do any good to put her on the defensive, that would not get them anywhere. "Okay," he gently said. "Why don't you tell me what happened? From the beginning."
She finally moved to sit next to him on the couch. "First of all, I didn't start it, okay? That lush came on to me, got pushy. I told him to back off and he wouldn't. Then he started grabbing at me and I just lost it. But I swear, Rove, I was only defending myself."
"Semantics, Grace."
"Maybe. But you weren't there. If he'd done that to Joan, you would've beaten the crap out of him."
"Let's stay on point here," he said sternly. "Is this about your mother?"
She fell silent again, and Adam knew he had hit a sore spot. Maybe the sore spot. He waited, hoping she would come forward.
After maybe a minute that seemed endless, Grace said very quietly, "She keeps calling. It's like every time she's drunk, she picks up the phone and calls me. Keeps yammering on about how she's gonna clean herself up, how this was the last time. How she loves me and how she's sorry. She keeps badmouthing Dad, but he's doing the best he can, under the circumstances. She keeps talking about everything that's wrong in her life and everything she's gonna do to fix it. But, you see, she never does fix it." She gave him a desperate look, then repeated in a whisper, "She never does."
"Maybe she doesn't know how," he offered.
"Yeah, so what am I supposed to do? Rove, she calls me five or six time a week, sometimes more than once a day. I've tried to talk to her, tried to get her to stop, get her into rehab. You remember how it was the last time, when we had to force her." She sniffled her nose once. "I don't think I can go through that again."
"Grace—" he started, then frowned as a shooting cramp hit his bowels. He drew in a sharp breath, which caught Grace's attention.
She made a move to get up. "Dude, you're all sick, I shouldn't be dumping this shit on you right now."
"No," he interjected, "please stay. I'm fine."
She gave him a look. "Oh, you so are not. But," she waved dismissively. "... whatever."
Adam tried to shake his head of the fog that seemed to still surround it. It was way too hard to form coherent thoughts, but he'd be damned if he wouldn't continue try. "Look, Grace... I'm not the authority on how to deal with this. But you can't go around getting in bar fights with strangers. Don't you think it's time you did something?"
"Like what?"
Yeah, what? He didn't know. Professional help? How exactly would they convince Grace's mom to seek professional help if she wasn't being rational about it? As if they hadn't already tried that. "Let me ask you this. Have you and your dad tried to sit her down together and talk to her about this? When she's sober? Have you told her that you're scared? Is she aware how much her actions affect all of you?"
She didn't look at him and took a moment to answer his question. "I've tried to talk to her. She's just... she's totally different when she's sober. It's like she's another person."
Yeah, he knew what she was talking about. When his own mother had her violent mood swings, she would be a completely different person from day to day. And he remembered how much that scared him.
"She needs to hear it, Grace. From both of you. She needs to understand that she's not just killing herself, she's destroying your lives too." When he saw the flash of fear in Grace's eyes, just before she tried to blank it out and shut down on him, he went on, "I know. I know it's scary to think about that. I know that's the last thing you wanna do. But it's true, and you have to face it."
He knew Grace wasn't exactly a touchy-feely person, but he lightly touched her arm to underline what he was offering next. "I'll be there with you if you want me to."
She looked at him with those intense blue eyes that were now filled with tears. She could only whisper, and it was a Grace that he rarely saw or heard that was talking now. "It might just be the hardest thing I've ever done."
He nodded, then asked, "What about Karen? Are you two okay? You know, she'll be there with you if you let her."
Grace wiped at the one tear that was sliding down her cheek. "Yeah, I know. And I don't know why I can't accept that. I can't explain it."
"What are you so afraid of?"
"I don't know. What were you afraid of when you found that letter and couldn't tell Girardi?"
Oh God, yes. What had he been afraid of? It seemed so irrational right now, looking back at it.
"Touché. Look, I know it's easy for me to say, but you gotta let her in. She can help you. Like Joan helped me. You don't have to be alone with this."
She just nodded.
Quietly, he added, "Didn't we already cover this? Out by the sewers?"
"Yeah." Her voice was more composed now.
"So why hasn't it sunk into that thick skull of yours yet?"
She only shrugged.
"Just remember the sewers then next time the shit hits the fan, okay?"
"The sewers, I got it."
"Good."
There was a short, uncomfortable silence before Grace said, "I should let you get some rest. A corpse would look more alive than you."
He smiled slightly. "Thanks a lot."
She got up and lifted her hands defensively. "What? Merely speaking the truth here."
He sighed. "Yeah, well, can't say I feel much more alive than a corpse."
"I'll go get your fiancé in here to mother-hen you. She's gifted at that, you know?"
He chuckled. "Dude, you have no idea."
"You love every minute of it," she teased him.
"Maybe. A little."
"Don't exploit her," she threatened mockingly.
"I promise."
She turned around. "Thanks."
He gave her a warm smile. "You're welcome. Let me know if you need me when you're ready. I'll be there."
She nodded and Adam watched her go into the kitchen, where Joan and Karen were hiding out.
He was sure they were okay, that Karen was in good hands with Joan. They were very much alike and he was sure Joan would have said all the right things to try and reassure Karen. He only wondered if she was beyond being reassured by now and stuck in worry mode.
He breathed out a long breath, then got up to let Joan know he was gonna go back to bed. He still felt weak and holding himself together to face Grace had drained the very last of his energy.
Joan dressed in her pajamas and crawled into bed beside him a couple of hours later. His eyes were closed but he opened them groggily when he felt movement beside him. After the events of the day, having dropped Karen and Grace off at their car, Joan felt exhausted and drained. She imagined he wasn't feeling much better.
"You all right?" she carefully asked.
"I don't know," he mumbled, glancing over at her as she settled into bed. "I'm pretty rattled."
There was a long pause before Joan said, "Yeah, me too."
"I mean, Grace was always outspoken, brazen, maybe even aggressive. But she was never a fighter. I just don't wanna believe it."
"Did she tell you what happened?" Joan asked.
"Not in detail, no. She told me why it happened, though."
She could already make an educated guess where this was going. "It's about her mom, right?"
"Yeah," he sighed. "She keeps bugging Grace when she's drunk, calling her on the phone, saying all these things. I can't believe how much of this shit she has to take. Can you imagine having to listen to your drunk mother on the phone every day? I mean, it's no excuse to get violent, but I can kinda see why she finally just snapped. No matter how tough she talks, she's just as human as the rest of us."
"I wish I could help her," Joan said. "I just don't know how. I mean, I've tried. I've given her the AA leaflets, I've offered to talk to Lydia about finding her a group, I even said I'd look into treatment programs for her mom. But she says she's handling it."
"Well, she is Grace, after all. I... I suggested something that might work if she'll do it. At least it's worth a shot." He then told her what he said to Grace, about her and her father sitting down for an honest talk with Sarah when she was sober. And that he offered to be there for it.
"You think she'll do it?"
"I hope so."
"Me too," she said in reply. "Maybe it'll help." There was silence for a long moment before she turned her head sideways, so she could look at Adam. He still looked so pale, so exhausted. "You know, life's really not fair sometimes."
Yeah, he knew all about that, but he didn't know what to say.
Gently, she asked, "Are you okay with me sleeping here tonight?"
He turned his head to face her too, opening his eyes. "Yes, please do. I missed you."
"Me too, baby," she very softly kissed his forehead. "You feeling any better at all?"
"A little. The Tylenol helped." he said. And just as if on cue, another stabbing cramp hit and he closed his eyes tight, held his breath and clenched his jaw for a few seconds until it passed and then released his breath.
It didn't go unnoticed by Joan. "Hey," she said, lightly touching the skin of his cheek with the back of her hand. "I think I know what you need right now."
"Oh yeah?" he said weakly.
"Yeah," she answered, getting out of bed again.
She came back five minutes later from downstairs with her hot water bottle in her hand. She drew back Adam's covers and placed it lightly on his stomach. "Here, that should help a little."
The weight on his fairly empty stomach wasn't all that pleasant, but as soon as he felt the warmth spreading through the fleece cover to his skin, he relaxed. It did indeed feel quite good.
"You want anything else? Some tea, toast? Water?"
He shook his head. "No. Just your company."
She was glad to hear that. She climbed back into bed. When he looked at her, she knew he wouldn't mind physical contact, so she scooted closer and lay next to him so that his head was resting on her collarbone. "Maybe tomorrow things will look up," she offered.
"I might even try to eat something. My stomach feels like a meteor crater filled with acid."
"I'll make you anything you want tomorrow, I promise."
He smiled a little. "Nice incentive."
She toyed lightly with the skin on his arm, letting her finger slide up and down very softly, feeling the fine, dark hairs there. She realized his skin was forming into goose bumps suddenly, and he shivered a little. She drew the blankets a little closer around him and enveloped him with her other arm. "Are you cold?"
He didn't answer with words, but he definitely snuggled closer. "Let's see if we can catch some sleep now. It's been a helluva day."
"Yeah," he mumbled, "that it has."
She gave him a tender kiss on his warm lips and made herself comfortable, holding him to her protectively, possessively.
At first she wasn't sure what had pulled her from her slumber, but after a muddy second, she realized that it must have been Adam moving and moaning next to her in bed. He was muttering unintelligible words and it sounded as if he was somehow in distress. Her concern grew when she watched him in the barely present light for a few unsure seconds.
He jerked away from her and released a desperate sounding, "No!" suddenly, and Joan knew she had to wake him from whatever nightmare had him in its grasp.
"Adam," she said softly. "Adam, honey, wake up."
When he didn't, she touched his arm, repeating her words. She finally got through to him and he startled and opened his eyes very suddenly. There was panic in them for a split second, even though Joan couldn't see it in the dark.
In a very soothing tone, Joan said, "Relax, baby, it was just a dream."
He sank back into his pillow, whispering, "Oh God."
She turned around to face him. "Bad dream?"
He nodded. "Yeah, you could say that. Did I wake you?"
She looked at him lovingly. "Yeah, you were kinda flailing around, muttering something."
"I'm sorry."
"Hey, you couldn't help it. Wanna tell me what it was about?"
He breathed out through his nose, long and heavy. "Actually, I'd rather forget about it as soon as I can. It was about my mom and my dad and... let's just say there were some pretty ugly things in it."
Her heart reached out to him. Sure he was coping better and better every year with the tragedies in his past, but some demons would never completely leave him be.
She reached over and took his hand where it lay on the blanket, draped over his belly. She intertwined her fingers with his. "It wasn't real, it was just a dream."
"I know," he said.
"You think you can go back to sleep?"
"Probably. I just hope I don't end up in the same dream again."
"Try to think about something positive before you drift off. That always helps me."
He smiled a little. "I only need to think of you in that case."
She smiled back at him, her voice becoming sleepier. "Whatever works for you. See you in a few hours," she mumbled, closing her eyes.
"Or in my dreams," he added in a deep, soft voice. How could he go back to that horrible nightmare if his beautiful Jane was lying next to him, all loving and caring. He turned to lie on his sleeping side, feeling hopeful that only good dreams would come to him for the rest of the morning.
The sound of raindrops beating against the window was the first thing Joan heard when she awoke on this Saturday morning. She was surprised that the alarm clock on her nightstand said 8:28, it looked like it was 6 AM, judging from the gloomy light. She quietly got out of bed so Adam could sleep a little longer. She grabbed a woolen sweater on her way out, shivering a little from the cold air.
She hoped Adam would feel a little better after a good night's sleep, maybe he could try to eat something. She had no idea what he might like to eat after all this. She tried to think back to what she ate when she recovered from her last illness. Maybe lightly buttered toast would be a good thing to try. If that worked, she'd make him some hard boiled eggs. She made herself a mug of coffee and had a bagel with jam because she didn't know how long he would be sleeping.
It was three quarters of an hour later when she heard movement upstairs. Before long, he ambled into the kitchen with his checkered robe on. He was still peaked-looking and very disheveled, but she was glad to see him up on his feet. "Feeling better?"
"Yeah. I mean, I actually feel something like a human being again."
"Anymore bad dreams?" she asked.
He shook his head. "No. At least not that I can remember."
"You hungry at all?"
He sat down at the kitchen table. "I think I could eat something. Or try, at least."
She was certainly glad to hear that. She put on the electric kettle, turning toward him. "What's it gonna be, peppermint, chamomile or fennel tea?"
He frowned at all three choices. "Coffee would be nice."
"On an empty, battered stomach? Nuh-uh, mister."
He sighed. "All right. Peppermint then."
She gave him a smile. "That's my boy. How would you feel about buttered toast?"
"Sounds good. I might actually manage to keep that down."
"If you do, I'll make you anything you want later."
He smiled at her questioningly. "Anything?"
She smiled back. "Anything."
"Sounds tempting." He drew his hand through his hair. "I think I'll take a quick shower."
She nodded. "Okay. Your toast will be ready when you get back."
"Thanks."
He came back a while later, dressed in a pair of gray sweat pants and a distressed navy t-shirt. Joan pushed down the toaster lever, so his toast would be fresh and warm. She put some butter and a plate and a knife on the table where he already sat.
She smiled a little as she started up the microwave. The toast was ready just then and she put the two slices on his plate. As he buttered them, she got the mug out of the microwave, stirred it with a teaspoon and placed it next to his plate.
He looked at it, this definitely wasn't peppermint tea. He sniffed it; it was a brown, milky liquid that smelled faintly of malt. "What's this?"
"Ovaltine. It's good for you. Lots of vitamins and minerals, just what you need to help you recover. It may not be coffee, but I thought you might enjoy it more than tea."
He took a careful sip, then raised his eyebrows. "It's not so bad."
"It's that or more tea."
He took another sip. "No more herbal tea. Please."
She laughed. "Okay. But you need to get re-hydrated. There's more Gatorade in the fridge for later. Promise me you'll drink some."
"I will."
"Good. I gotta run over to mom's real quick to pick up the slacks she shortened for me. I'll be back in half an hour."
"Okay," he acknowledged and Joan went to put on a pair of shoes and a jacket.
In the front garden, she found a surprise visitor in the form of a dog who was sniffing around the rock garden. She carefully approached him, saying, "Hey buddy, where'd you come from?"
A moment later, she heard the commotion of more dogs heading her way. She raised her head to see a familiar bearded old man surrounded by a pack of dogs.
"Hey, Hercules, there you are!" the man said, addressing the dog as he walked right into the front yard without timidity. "Sorry, Joan. He got away, the sneaky beggar."
"Shouldn't you be more adept at shepherding your flock?" she snarked.
"All living things have a will of their own," He said, completely unoffended.
She gave Him a look. "Why do I have the feeling you're not only here to recapture one of your dogs?"
"You're out of Pepto-Bismol. You should run by the pharmacy and pick some up."
"God's concerned about the contents of my medicine cabinet?" Joan frowned, although it did kinda make sense. Adam probably used up whatever they had in the house. "Adam's getting better," she said. "Isn't he?" Maybe not, if God was here to tell her he needed more Pepto.
"Lots. But you should still get the medicine."
She puzzled for second over why it would be so important if Adam didn't need it anymore. But she knew by now that it was best to just go along with whatever He was suggesting. "Okay," she agreed reluctantly. "And then what?"
"Just pay attention when you leave."
Ah, so there was something at the pharmacy He wanted her to see. And she knew that was all she was gonna get out of Him.
"All right. I'll keep my eyes open."
He smiled at her, following His dogs' cue to go back out in the street. "That's all I'm asking." He waved a little wave at her as much the dogs jerked him on down the street.
She shook her head. This could turn out to be any number of things. From something really small and easy to something really big and difficult. But she had learned not to let the uncertainty bug her anymore. So she made it a point to do as He said and figured she could try to decipher what exactly He had in mind for her later.
Inside the house, Adam noticed movement in their front yard. He stepped closer to the window, watching Joan speaking to a man with what looked like five or six dogs surrounding him. He briefly frowned, he knew he had seen the man before.
Then it dawned on him. Of course, this must be... God. In the form of the old dog walker that he remembered from Joan's neighborhood all those years ago. Another assignment for Joan? He would have to ask her about that later, hoping it wouldn't be anything too demanding. He was surely prepared to help in any way he could.
June 5, 2004
I'm so confused. I just don't know what's real anymore and what isn't. I mean, could God really walk around and talk to people? Talk to me? That's just too crazy to ever believe. Could it be that I've been hallucinating all of this, this whole past year? The more I think about it, the more confused I get.
Dr. Dan told me to write letters, to keep a journal. Guess that's what I'm doing. I wish I could talk to people instead of writing letters. It all seems so far away now, especially Adam. I mean, how could I ever expect him to believe me? And then again, why did it hurt so much when he didn't? And what am I gonna write to him? "Hi Adam, it's okay that you didn't believe me, because all this time I had these massive hallucinations and I don't know what I was thinking when I told you." So I talk about the weather and the girls at camp and our oh-so great therapeutic game sessions. I think it's about all I can handle right now.
Adam stared at that last paragraph, letting the journal sink into his lap. He hadn't thought about that summer in a long time. The summer when Joan was away at camp and he had read all those books about people to whom God appeared in one way or another. He remembered that he felt just as far away from Joan as she must have felt form him. And suddenly he wished he would have known back then what she had been going through. Maybe that would have made a difference. Maybe—
"Hey, can you lend me a hand?" he suddenly heard Joan's voice from the door.
He put the journal on the table, got up from the couch and went to the front door, where she handed him an armful of plastic bags with groceries. "Can you take these to the kitchen?" she demanded more than asked and went back outside to the car.
He put the bags on the counter and started unpacking them, sorting things into the fridge and cupboards. Joan came in a minute later with another few plastic bags. She smiled. "Okay, we're fully stocked for the weekend, I should think. I really feel like having a long and languid breakfast tomorrow, scrambled eggs and everything. How does that sound?"
He forced a smile, despite what was still on his mind. "Sounds great."
"Okay, then it's settled. Oh," she said as she put some things in fridge herself, "I even bought prawns for the scrambled eggs. God, I haven't had that in a while. My mouth is already watering."
When Adam didn't say anything, she turned to face him, hesitating for a second to read his face. He must've gone quiet for a reason. For a second she had a fleeting notion that this might be another one of those times where he was hiding out, where he would just bottle everything up inside and not talk. "Adam," she softly said, "Is anything wrong?"
He lifted his eyelids, looking at her, pressing his lips together. A few silent seconds passed before he spoke. "I was looking through some stuff in the living room closet, and... I found your journal."
She frowned. "My journal? I don't keep a journal." She had always considered keeping a diary a waste of time.
"The one from camp," he quietly explained.
It dawned on Joan and she let out a chortle. "Crazy Camp? My God, that's, like, a million years ago. Seriously, you know I wasn't thinking straight that summer. I'm sure it's all just messed up crazy talk."
His eyes took on that soulful expression, the one where they grew dark and seemed to be filled with a myriad of emotions that you thought would choke you if had to experience them. He focused all his attention on her and it almost made her shiver. Just above a whisper, he said, "No, not so crazy."
She realized that there was something more meaningful here, something they needed to talk about. She put the head of lettuce she was holding back down on the counter and turned to face him. "What do you mean?"
"I... didn't know what a big deal this was for you back then. What it meant to you. I'm... I'm sorry I didn't believe you."
Joan looked confused again. "You mean in the hospital? Adam, how could you believe me? I had Lyme Disease, they said I was hallucinating. How could I ever expect you to believe me?" she said in a very sober voice.
He chuckled sarcastically. "Funny. That's exactly what you said in your journal. And then you said it still hurt that I didn't believe you."
She suddenly had to swallow, growing more serious. "Yeah, I guess it did. But, you know, looking back on it now, there is really no way I can blame you for not believing. You believe me now, don't you?"
He nodded. "Of course I do. After what He did for Jamal. And just this morning, I saw you talking to the dog walker in the front yard this morning. That was Him, wasn't it?"
She nodded as well. "Yep, it most definitely was."
"So, what did He say?"
"He gave me a new assignment."
He looked curious now. "Really? What does He want you to do?"
"Oh, you know, of course it was cryptic, as usual. But I understood when I saw it. Hang on," she told him, getting her purse and extracting a leaflet from it. She handed it to Adam.
He took it and studied it for a moment. "Taltroxarone?" He read on, realizing what it was about. "This is about Grace's mom."
"Exactly," she agreed. "Has to be, right?"
"Yeah," he said, sounding a little in awe. His eyes were on her again. "So now what?"
"Guess we'll have to talk to Grace about this, see what she says."
"Sounds like a plan," he said.
"We could invite her and Karen over, I'll give them a call, see if they're game."
Adam nodded. "Okay, sure."
"Or would you rather go out?"
He touched his stomach. "Nah, I think I better stick to lighter food right now."
"Okay, then it's settled. I'll give them a call in a minute."
Two hours later, the band of four was grouped around the kitchen table, having dinner.
"Second time I'm here in as many days. This has to be a record," Grace snarked.
Joan grinned. "See how much we love your company?"
"Yeah, right," Grace said disbelievingly.
They had a pleasant dinner and Joan was glad to see Adam smiling and joking, even though he still wasn't back to his old self yet. She was also relieved to see that Grace had loosened up a bit since the day before. One still couldn't help noticing that nasty cut that reminded them all of the shock of the bar incident.
When they were finished with dinner, Joan waited for a break in the conversation to bring up the reason why they invited the girls over. "Uhm, Grace?" she carefully interjected.
Grace focused her attention on Joan. "What?" she asked.
"Actually, we invited you over for a reason."
Grace looked slightly surprised, so Joan tried to reassure her. "No, it's not like that."
"Like what?"
Joan just ignored the question and got the leaflet she had shown Adam earlier. "I just think you should look into this."
Grace took it and studied it for a few silent minutes, Karen looking over her shoulder. At first Grace looked confused, but the more she read, the more she understood. When she was finished reading, she handed it to Karen, who hadn't fully read it.
Grace's met Joan's eyes, but her expression was unreadable. Joan couldn't stand the tension any longer. "So?" she asked.
"I don't know," Grace signed. "It sounds good on paper... I mean, it's not like I know a lot about how this clinical trial stuff works."
"Well, let me shed some light on that," Adam cut in. "I know a guy who works in clinical research and I hit the web earlier to read up. This new drug, Taltroxarone, is supposed to help with alcohol withdrawal symptoms. Something about neurotransmitters in the brain. Patients are admitted to a sort of trial clinic for about a month. They're being monitored and there's a fixed schedule of tests and examinations they're gonna do. Of course there's, like, inclusion and exclusion criteria, so your mom would have to be tested to see if she's eligible. But from what I read online, it all seems to fit. I mean, as far as my knowledge about your mother extends."
Grace looked at the leaflet again. "But if I understood this right, she might also receive the placebo, right?"
"Yeah, it's placebo-controlled. But it might not be a 50:50 ratio, you know. Sometimes more people get the active drug than those who get placebo."
Karen looked almost in awe. "Wow, you sure know a lot about this."
Adam shrugged. "Well, Sam was thrilled to tell me all about it when I called him. And there's a lot about the trial on the internet. I can give you the URL if you wanna check it out for yourself. There's this whole online trial database. Anyway, even if she gets placebo, she's still getting detoxed and they'll be monitoring her closely. It's more or less as good as rehab, isn't it?"
Grace nodded. "Yeah, I guess. But..." she hesitated. "This all sounds great in theory, but how do we get Sarah to agree to it?"
Joan said, "You don't think she would be open to it? I mean, it's something that would make getting sober easier, right?"
Grace hesitated. "I... honestly don't know. I don't know much about anything anymore."
Karen touched her arm, which got her attention. "Let's talk to your father about it. I'm sure if we do this right, Sarah can be persuaded. I think she knows she's on a one-way street, running in the wrong direction. This might just turn her around."
Grace's look at Karen was grateful. "Yeah," she whispered, trying to muster the same kind of confidence.
Karen smiled. "Okay, then we know what we'll do. You guys, thanks so much for this."
Adam indicated his fiancé. "Oh, Joan found the flier, you gotta thank her." He knew full well that it wasn't Joan who deserved the ultimate credit, but it would have to do for his friends.
Grace's voice was surprisingly honest and soft when she said, "Thanks, Joan."
Joan gave her a reassuring smile. "Any time. I hope it works out."
"Me too," Grace said and pocketed the leaflet. "We should go, it's getting late."
Karen agreed. "Yeah, we should leave Adam alone to properly recuperate."
"Oh, no," he cut in, "I'm doing much better."
"Still," Grace said and got up. Joan and Adam both saw Karen and Grace to the door. When their two best friends had left, they got ready for bed. She had kind of enjoyed having to slow down because of Adam's illness. It was certainly a plus to get an early night every now and feel properly rested the next day.
But after more than a week, she had a moment where she longed for physical intimacy, but she pushed the thought away quickly. Surely, it was the last thing on Adam's mind right now. Maybe tomorrow morning, maybe tomorrow night. Whenever. She would be ready whenever he was. For now she would just look forward to that long, lazy breakfast with him the next morning. In bed. Yeah, she would try out those trays she had bought especially for such a purpose. It sounded like heaven.