Title:  Things Her Mother Told Me

 Description:  Post-ep for "A Thousand Cranes." Ninth chapter in "The Long Way," a series of Season 9 post-eps beginning with "First Snowfall."  Carter's POV.

Author: KenzieGal (a/k/a It's Always Something)

Disclaimer: Carter and Abby do not belong to me - they are the property of the wise and wealthy minds of TPTB at Warner Brothers.  No copyright infringement intended.

Notes:  This is the fourth in a series of crossover post-eps with SunniSkies' (a/k/a Lanie) highly acclaimed  "Reflections" series, which will continue throughout the remainder of Season 9.  Look for her to pick up the story thread in "Every Girl's Dream," her current post-ep (Chapter 14) to "A Thousand Cranes."  As mentioned previously, while the two post-eps are meant to be read in tandem and there is a common thread interwoven through our chapters, our work remains faithful to Abby (hers) and Carter's (mine) points of view.  Her chapters won't exactly parallel mine and vice versa.  

The song playing in the background is "Call It A Loan," by Jackson Browne.  For those of you too young to remember, no one did angst better than he did  in the 1970s.  Not only do the lyrics cued up for each scene offer a stunning backdrop for Carter's shifting thoughts, but the haunting strains of the melody are filled with an aching loneliness that was written all over his face by the end of the episode.  Give it a listen if you can find it somewhere ("Running on Empty," 1978) to download.

As always, epic gratitude to  Pemberley for her amazing attention to technical detail in all things carby.  That's why she's the official carby historian.   Thanks also to  DeeDee from the Carby Board for the info on the Cantare Restaurant (can you believe I sent my sister-in-law who lives in downtown Chicago to scope it out – and you were right, it wasn't the Sirloin Saloon, only the Cantare has a separate street entrance).  Also to Taylor Wise whose work and words of wisdom continue to amaze and inspire me.  And to Anna for her unflagging support and assorted witticisms from across the ocean.

After previewing the document at ff.net, it looks like I'm having trouble with the italics function in MS Word…so you'll need to imagine that Carter's lines at the restaurant which refer to his earlier conversation with Maggie are merely running through his head…he doesn't actually say them…he just thinks them.  Otherwise it can get a tad confusing…

 

Spoilers: Everything during Season 9 up to and including "A Thousand Cranes."

Read and enjoy.  This one was a tough nut to crack, especially from Carter's corner.  I'd love to hear your thoughts.

* * * * *

In the morning when I closed my eyes

You were sleeping in paradise

And while the room was growing light

I was holding still with all my might

Oh – what if it's true

What my heart says

Oh – what'll I do

What if this feeling becomes hard to part with

Alone in my apartment, I don a pair of wrinkled green scrubs in preparation for the graveyard shift, my eyes never leaving an unopened blue velvet box that had the power to change everything.

My wife.

I toss the word out there, my ears warming to the unfamiliarly delicious sound of it.

Chuckling to myself, I conjure up an image of her floating down the aisle in a cloud of white tulle to the strains of "Trumpet Voluntary" on Gamma's front lawn. 

"Do you Abigail take thee John…"

Coming back down to earth, I realize I'm probably getting a little too far ahead of myself. 

First things first.

First, I have to ask the question.  Properly this time.

Two nights ago, in a life-altering moment of enlightened exasperation, I had bared my soul by shouting my intentions above the din of a whirring helicopter from the rooftop of County General Hospital.

What had I told her really?

That I wanted to marry her at some as-yet-to-be determined date?

That I thought I'd fit right in with her crazy family?

Though I had nailed the moment, now it was time to close the deal.

Never mind the fact that I had no idea what her answer would be.

Slowly, I walk over to the spot on the kitchen counter where I had carefully placed the item in question. 

Picking it up, I open the box. 

Inside rested a sparkling oval diamond encircled by a ring of smaller diamonds on a hand-engraved band of platinum.  My great grandfather Carter had presented it to his intended bride shortly before heading to Europe to fight the Great War, long before returning to keep his promise and seek his fortune in the coal industry.  Although Gamma had worn it on special family occasions, its lineage had skipped a generation.  My grandfather had left it to me in his will, with the caveat that I present it to my future wife.

Smitten by the mirages of light that danced across the darkened room, I run my finger across the top of its colorless center, captivated by its simple, exquisite beauty.  Though there would be the invariable snickers about its size, which weighed in at just over two carats, it could hardly be branded gaudy.  It would suit Abby –- and her left ring finger – quite well.

My plans for a fairytale proposal had come together quickly.   Yesterday, I had bought out the Cantare Ristorante in the Seneca Hotel, recently voted by Tribune readers as Chicago's most romantic restaurant.  And earlier tonight, I had enlisted Alger's assistance in retrieving the ring from the wall safe in Gamma's library where I had stashed it a year and a half ago for safekeeping.  Though the bemused look on his craggy face had been priceless, he was too much of a gentleman to ask any questions.  I knew my secret was safe with him – for at least a little while.

Now came the hard part.

What to say that would leave indelible footprints on her heart? 

What to tell her on bended knee about the sweetest feeling I had ever known? 

Everything I had tried to string together up until this point had seemed hokey and inadequate.

Suspended in a sea of words somewhere between flatness and depth, reality and reflection, I had even resorted to reciting a series of classic movie one-liners in a desperate search of inspiration.

Here's looking at you kid.

Too clichéd.

You make me want to be a better man.

Too corny.

You complete me.

Too trite.

Suddenly, I recall a snowy night a couple of weeks ago when we had stopped at a video rental store in search of a movie that could put a better spin on a particularly grueling day.

Wandering through the aisles, she had playfully leaned in and asked me, "What's your favorite love story?"

I looked at her thoughtfully for a minute.

Ours, I wanted to say.

I took a safer route instead.

We rented Casablanca.

Yet, now, sifting through the meagerness of the words at my disposal, I know that my only real choice is to pick and choose among them to tell our story.

After all, it's the only one that really matters.

And so, in the back of my mind, the words begin to form.

Abby, I spend 23 hours a day wondering whether we're wrong for each other…

 

* * * * *

You were meant to play your part

In the design of a desperate heart

And while you gave your love to me

I was betting I was getting it free

Oh – if I'd only known

What your heart cost

Oh – can we call it a loan?

And a debt that I owe,

On a bet that I lost

I gaze out over the dashboard of the Jeep and into a foggy sea of crimson taillights backed up across the Eisenhower Parkway.  Several horns blared in the distance.

"I've never seen it like this," I mumble disbelievingly. 

Glancing at the dashboard clock, I estimate that we'd been sitting in traffic for at least forty minutes.  It was looking increasingly unlikely that I'd have time for a quick shower before my rendezvous with Abby.

Maggie's voice is quietly reassuring.  "It's okay. There'll be a later bus."  I nod my head in appreciation.

I had followed her into the ambulance bay after she had exchanged a frazzled, incomplete goodbye with her daughter.  Though she tried hard to compose herself through tear-stained cheeks and quivering lips, she had been overcome by the prospect of venturing back to Minneapolis and the indeterminate waiting for Eric to resurface.  The best I could offer her was a clean handkerchief and a ride to the bus station.

Looking for something to help pass the interminable wait, I pop in the disc that's sitting in the CD player.  The Jeep is immediately sensurrounded by the blaring sounds of Abby's band du juor – "Debaser" by The Pixies.

"Yaaaooo," I laugh as I hit the eject button and search for a more mellow selection.  For now, Sheryl Crow's "Diamond Road" would suffice.

"That's not your music.  That's Abby's.  She always liked that noise."  Maggie seems to find the renewed reminder of her daughter's musical tastes amusing.

"I'm getting used to it."

Suddenly, there's a knock on the window.  I zip open the plastic and am greeted by a female police officer who informs us that there's an accident up ahead.  Sensing my restlessness, she advises, "Sit tight and we'll keep you posted."  I thank her politely and zip the window shut as she moves on to the car in front of us.

Looking over at me, Maggie picks up the thread of our conversation in a repentant voice.  "Thank you for doing this, John.  I know it's a huge inconvenience."

If she only knew the half of it, I muse, stealing a glance at my watch.

"It's no problem."  I shake my head for added emphasis.

"I'm sorry for getting so upset.  I hate being so pathetic.  Just the idea of going home alone…waiting…" her voice trails off.

I look over at her and nod.  "Eric'll turn up," My tone is gentle.

"Yeah. Yeah, but I worry…about both of them."

I try to assuage her worry without tipping my hand too much.  "Abby's good," I smile at the mention of her name.  "You know, we're both good.  You don't have to worry about that."  I can feel myself bite my lip and then run my tongue across them.  Abby's habits were rubbing off on me.

"She told me…she told me you might get married?" 

"Is that what she said?" I raise my eyebrows, confident that more choice words had been used to describe my rooftop declaration.

Maggie laughs, catching on to where I was going.  "No.  She told me you proposed."

I waggle my hand at her.

"Oh, I know she's work, it runs in the family…but she's so worth it," she smiles.  I burst out laughing, thinking back to the reference I had made about "fitting right in."

"Yeah."  I nod knowingly.

I toy with the idea of telling her.

Earlier that morning, during our graveyard stint, I had shown Susan the ring, drawing confidence from the way she had been suitably impressed.  Later on, after she had overheard me surreptitiously ask Abby if she were interested in going out for sushi once we were both off, Susan, employing her best yenta imitation, had cautioned me to avoid any more misdirection in laying my cards out on the table.  Instead, she had encouraged me to "show my hand."

And so, I opt for a dry run of my proposal speech on Maggie.  If nothing else, it would help me test the waters and try the words on for size.  To see if they would fit.

I shift and sit up in my seat, inhaling a big gulp of air. 

Here went nothing.

Or everything.

"I spend 23 hours a day wondering whether we're wrong for each other, wondering whether we've got the energy that we need to get through everything that we seem to get into…" 

"…Whether the baggage we both bring would sink a small ship, but, um…" I gaze out the window at the brightening sky. 

Somewhere overhead, a helicopter illuminates the sky, the pulsing sound of its rotor reverberating across the roadway.

Once again, my very own personal eye in the sky.

I take it as my cue to continue.

"…In the 24th hour, I realize I've been thinking about her for 23 hours, and I come back to…there's something about her," I cast Maggie a soulful glance, "…that I can't stay away from.  Something about her that makes me want to…" I pause, chuckling, searching for the right word.  Wrenching it from the space between thought and reality, I roll it firmly into the thick night air.

"…love her…" 

There.  I smile and shake my head, amazed that I finally owned my feelings.  All of them.

I shoot her a look that begs the question, "How'd I do?"

She smiles, a far off look in her eyes.

For a moment, neither of us speak.

I pull the blue box out of my jacket pocket and hand it to her.  Then I climb out of the car for a better look at what's keeping us standing still.

Maggie is still gazing at the ring twinkling in the dusky glow of the dashboard lights when I return.  Having gotten the words right, I'm growing increasingly anxious to use them on their intended recipient.

"John, it's beautiful.  Absolutely beautiful."

I straighten my scarf and coat collar as she hands me back the box.

She picks up her knitting that had sat idle in her lap during most of our trip with a faraway look in her eye.  "Oh.  Marriage can be a great thing," she says to almost no one in particular.

"Can be."  Suddenly, I wasn't in the mood for any more deep introspection.

"Yeah."  She pauses, seemingly in the midst of a conversation with herself.  "What the hell do I know?  Mine failed.  For many reasons.  You sure as hell don't want my advice."

She was right.  I didn't.

She continues waxing nostalgic anyway.  "But I would think that kind of commitment to somebody – you have to be ready for anything."

I purse my lips, the strains of Tom Petty's "The Last DJ" filling my head.

"Or nothing."  I put my hand to my head.  "You never know what's going to happen."  I look out the window and rub my face.

The ever-present helicopter continues its cartwheels in the sky.

She returns my volley.  "Or you do."

I knock my hands on the steering wheel, suddenly claustrophobic.  "You mean the drinking?"  Our eyes met.  I wasn't sure where she was going with this.

"I drank, I smoked when I was younger."  She sighes.  "It took having a baby to make me stop.  Smoking, at least.  I always went back to the drinking.  Maybe Abby will be stronger." 

I look away, pushing my neck back into my shoulder blades.

"Have you two talked about this?" she asks. 

Babies?  Drinking?  Smoking?  I still wasn't quite sure what we were talking about.

I pick one randomly.  "About having kids?"  My eyes face front as I shake my head.

Maggie nods.

I choose the path of least resistance.  "I know she worries about passing on the disease."

"She and Richard never communicated, ever, I don't think."  Our conversation was veering wildly off the reservation.  A piercing pain shoots through my right eye at the mention of his name.  I rub it in a futile attempt to make it stop.

"Really."  Please, Maggie, let's not go there.

I shouldn't have given her the slightest encouragement that I'd hope she continue to regale me with stories of Abby's doomed first marriage. 

"I think that they loved each other at first, but he had all these expectations that she never realized."  I fidget with the ends of my scarf.  "He didn't understand her."

I stare straight ahead.  I'd tell her what I thought she wanted to hear.

"Well, I'm not walking into this blind."

"No, no, no.  I don't think you are.  I just don't…want…"

"Yes?"

"I…I just don't want you to fix her."

"Abby doesn't need to be fixed."  I feel as though I'm quoting from some agreed upon manifesto.  The gospel according to Maggie.

"Or heal her.  Or change her."

"I love her."

"I just don't want you to be waiting for her to change."

"I'm not."

"She's an amazing person."

"I know who she is."  I prop my hand up behind my ear as if to put her on notice that after spending the last three years with her, perhaps I was in a position to know her daughter better than she did.

She remains undaunted.  "She's an amazing person with certain weaknesses, and you'd be lucky to have her even with those weaknesses.  But you have to love her even if she never changes anything."

I look at her disbelievingly, my elbow still propped up against the door.  After cycling in and out of manic depression for the past 20 years, how could Maggie possibly deem her daughter incapable of changing?  She had been right the first time.  What the hell did she know?

Still, Maggie's cautionary words had rattled me.  If Abby and I were to take this quantum leap together, I had to know that there was a fluidity and grace to our movements, that we were partners in the same pattern.  Weren't all of the subtle and seismic shifts in our relationship over the past three years living proof of that?

That we could grow. 

We could change. 

We could become. 

Together.

Before I could ask her to spend the rest of her life with me, I had to hear her it in her own voice.

In her own words.

Suddenly, it was all I wanted to know.

And I was sure it was exactly what she would tell me.  

* * * * *

In the evening when you see my eyes

Looking back at you, no disguise

I'm not sure who you think you'll see

I'm just hoping you'll still know that it's me

Oh – what if it's true

Better ask the man inside

Oh, oh – there seem to be two

One steals the love, and the other one hides

As the waitress clears the last of our entrée dishes in the empty restaurant, we sweep the crumbs across the tabletop in unison. 

Seated across from me, she leans into the table, hands clasped.  She smiles demurely.  "Are you going to tell me what this is about?"

I had found her standing outside the hotel on East Chestnut Street shivering between two brightly lit topiary trees in the chilly night air.  Apologizing for the traffic delay, I spun her around into the restaurant entrance, my hand tingling with excitement as I pushed the small of her back through the doorway.

We had eaten our entrees in pregnant silence, the clanging of porcelain on silverware commingled with the ripe sounds of unspoken possibilities.

"We both just deserve a break, especially after a day like today."  I look down, examining my fingernails.  Despite the sounds of Susan's advice swirling inside my head, I was still keeping my cards close to the vest.  The conversation with Maggie had taken me out of my game.

She looks down at the table.  "Hmmm.  More like a month."  She peers around behind her before her gaze sweeps across the vacant room.  Undaunted by my caginess, she persists, "But what's it really all about?"

I raise my eyebrows and shake my head as I lean back in my seat.

It was showtime.

I spend 23 hours a day wondering whether we're wrong for each other…wondering whether we've got the energy that we need to get through everything that we seem to get into…whether the baggage we both bring would sink a small ship…

Or was it?

Before I can pour my heart out to her, I have to take her temperature.  Maggie had made sure of that.

"So you think this is a keeper?"  I look pointedly at her.

Hands still clasped, she smiles coyly.  "The restaurant?"

She certainly wasn't making it easy.

"Us.  You and me."  Music, almost as if on cue, begins to softly play in the background.

Her expression grows uncertain.  "Are you okay?"  She shakes her head and tucks her hands underneath her chin.

But in the 24th hour, I realize I've been thinking about you for 23 hours… Words I had never planned to say suddenly fill my head.  Awkwardly, I struggle to wrap my tongue around them.  I nod, staring into her eyes, lifting my eyebrow for emphasis.  "I've…uh…spent a long time looking for a relationship that I thought would stick."  My voice sounds tentative, halting, unfamiliar.  I make a sticking gesture with my hands.  She looks back at me expectantly.     

"Sometimes it was the wrong person.  Sometimes I guess I wasn't ready.  Or…uh…in the right place." I wave my hand dismissively and gaze downward.  "I think I am now."  I look up, fixing my eyes on her.  "I really think I am now.  Are you?"  My last words are barely audible.  Probably because I was barely breathing.

"John…" She smiles shyly and shifts her eyes, then opens her mouth to explain further. 

The rush of adrenalin pumping through me cuts her off before she can get the words out. 

…and I come back to there's something about you that I can't stay away from…something about you that makes me want to stick by your side 24/7…

"Because I really want this to stick."

She nods her head as her eyes bore into mine with uncanny certainty.  "Me too."

My heart leaps at her vote of confidence. 

"I know that…uh…"  I reach into the pocket of my jacket and pull out the blue box, resting it on my thigh. 

…something about you that just makes me want to…love you.  Love you forever….

"We've had a rough time and there's still a lot of stuff we have to get through.  But we're doing okay.  We're…" I couldn't help but chuckle.  "…growing…we're changing."

I grow heady at the thought that my journey is nearly complete. 

Will you marry me?

"Do you?"  I nod, willing her to answer affirmatively.

Instead, a faraway look settles upon her face.  She opens her mouth to answer, then thinks better of it and pauses for a moment, the words still forming on her lips. 

"I don't know if people ever really change."

I could feel my face falling.  As my eyes avert hers, I notice that the tint of the amber table lamp bears a striking resemblance to the color of Jose Cuervo gold.

"But I know what you mean."  She looks at me hopefully.

"You do?" 

"I think I do."

There is no doubt in my mind that the Abby I had pined away for since the night I was stabbed had changed irrevocably in the three years since. 

And not just her outward appearance as I drink in the blonde highlights in her hair and the soft way her silver satin blouse falls across her chest. 

No, the Abby sitting across from me had managed to stay sober for five years, embraced nursing as her career destination, accepted Eric's disease, mended fences with her mother and let me become the constant thing in her life.

She had grown.  She had changed. 

She just couldn't see it. 

Or wouldn't let herself. 

She wasn't in the same place as me.

Not yet anyway.

Until she could hold her face up to the light, until she could lay bare every last feeling, she could never fully commit to me. 

Nor could I fully commit to her.

Until then, the ring would stay where it belonged. 

In the box. 

And so I did the hardest thing that I had ever done.

I put the ring back in my pocket.

I hope she couldn't hear the wrenching sound of my heart breaking.

I do my best to regroup, smiling sweetly at her.  "Uh…mmmm…mmmm…mmmm.  Let's see what's for dessert."  I study the dessert menu, my eyes bulging to hold back an errant tear.

She purses her lips, then bites them.  She looks like she had missed something.  "That's it?  You bought out this whole place just for that?" 

I press my hand to my mouth and look at her, part of me still grieving for what might have been.

"That…and the chocolate soufflé."  I manage a wan smile.

I hand her the dessert menu. 

* * * * *

Yeah – can we call it a loan?

'Till I'm paid in full for the seeds I've sown

Yeah – can we say that I've grown?

In some way that we may have yet to be shown

"Feeling any better?"

Clad in a pair of loose fitting blue scrubs that I surmise had once belonged to Luka, I walk into the kitchen as she's evenly dividing the water from the red steaming tea kettle into two brightly colored mugs.

I wipe my cheek with the damp hand towel that hangs around my neck. 

"A little.  Showers have a way of working wonders."  There's a hoarseness in my voice that wasn't there earlier.  "Though it looks like the chocolate soufflé did me in."  I wince as I gingerly press my right fingers across my abdomen for dramatic effect.

I had faked an upset stomach with the hope of crawling quietly into bed and into the arms of solitude's hollow abyss.  Though the arctic char and chocolate soufflé were still haggling over which one would lead the roiling tango through my mid-section, it wasn't anything that would have prevented an amorous cap to the evening under different circumstances.

"Here.  Maybe this'll help."  She hands me a steaming mug.  I notice that she had moved my jacket and tie, which I had carelessly thrown across the kitchen table before heading into the bathroom, onto the back of the sofa. 

"I think I'm going to change now," Her face is a bemused mixture of weariness and melancholy.

I grab her shoulders as she attempts to scoot around me in the doorframe.

"Hey," I pull her close, catching a whiff of her sweet-smelling perfume.  While I still grieved for the moment that never materialized, it was hard to stay mad at her for very long.

She pulls away a little quicker than I would like.  "It's been a long day," she murmurs, before heading into the bedroom.

I flop down on the couch and sip my tea.

I must have dozed off, for the next thing I know she's sitting next to me wearing a red plaid nightshirt.

I can hear her voice in the far off distance as I open my eyes, talking to no one in particular.

"When I got the call from the ER this morning, about the shooting at Doc Magoo's, Maggie and I were sitting at the kitchen table, eating breakfast.  And all I could do was ask whether anyone was in there.  Anyone from the ER.  Anyone who might have been you."

I sit up and smile at her somberly, wincing for real this time as a sharp ache hammers my belly.  "Chen and Luka were pretty spooked by it all."

She glances over at me, surprised to see me awake.

"At least one of them survived."

"Maggie get home OK?"

"No, her bus pulled off the highway somewhere near Tomah, Wisconsin in the middle of a snow storm."

"How'd she sound?"

"Holding up as best she can.  Still worried about where Eric might be.  She's finding it hard living on the outside of the disease.  She never thought things looked so much differently from the inside."

"Maybe now that she's back on her meds, she'll get over fear of flying."

She rolls her eyes.  "She asked me to thank you again for the ride."

"It was no problem."  I rub my chin and settle back against the cushions with a shrug.

"How long were you two stuck in traffic?"

"About an hour."

"Wow.  What'd you guys talk about?"

A searing pain suddenly rips through my lower abdomen.  Be careful what you wish for.

"Everything and nothing.  Mostly we just listened to The Pixies."  I manage a weak smile as I clutch my stomach and grit my teeth, waiting for the ache to subside.

I cautiously rise off the couch.  "Listen, I'm still feeling kind of crappy.  I think I'm going to turn in."

Padding off to the bedroom, I stop and turn around, spooked by the silence.

"You coming?"  I toss it out almost as an afterthought. 

"I think I'm going to stay up for awhile.  You look like you could use the sleep."

I go over and lay a hand on her shoulder, brushing my lips behind her ear before heading back toward the bedroom.

For the first time in a long time, sleep comes instantly.

I awake during the quiet hour between darkness and dawn, feeling oddly refreshed.  The pain in my stomach had eased a bit, though the hole in my heart was still another story.  Abby lay next to me, her head burrowing into my chest, her arm slung protectively under my rib cage.

I disentangle myself from her grasp and wander into the living room.  I reach for my jacket, still neatly folded across the back of the sofa, and fish out the blue box from the left pocket. 

I can't bring myself to look inside.  It was supposed to be empty now.  I decide to transfer it to a safer haven, inside my satchel bag.  

After tucking it in the front flap, my fingers graze the edge of the familiar spiral bound notebook that I had taken to carrying wherever I went these days.  I open it to the first blank page, knowing full well the irony in the next entry waiting to be written.

Pivotal Moment #2:  Our First Hot Fudge Sundaes at Doc Magoo's.

I suddenly need to put pen to paper while the thoughts are still fresh in my mind.

I bring the journal over to the kitchen table and sit down.  Out of the corner of my eye, I see its twin companion on the counter with a pen crossed diagonally on top of it.  Someone else was taking the assignment seriously.  I take it as an encouraging sign.  Though I'm tempted to sneak a peek inside, I feel compelled to maintain the spirit of our unspoken agreement. 

Instead, I begin to write.

February 20, 2003

Abby,

I doubt I'll ever set foot in Doc Magoo's again without my thoughts turning back to this moment.  Like our first time on the roof, everything about it is still as clear as day.  I can still see you first come into view outside the window as you danced between the raindrops and skipped over a puddle.  I can still taste the nicotine in the cigarette I was smoking as you dashed in for your coffee to go.  I can still sense the unsettling, but now familiar, flip-flop that cascaded through my chest as I admired your new hairdo and funky scrubs.

I thought I must have been hallucinating when I saw you from a distance at the AA meeting that morning. I couldn't imagine what could have brought you there.  You had been on my mind so much of the time I was in Atlanta, mostly in the context of what might have happened if you had never caught me injecting the fetanyl. 

The day you saved my life. 

It's ironic that Pivotal Moments Number Two came up on the journal roulette wheel right now. 

Because there are so many interesting parallels between that night and last night.

Hot fudge sundaes and chocolate soufflé.

What was said then.  And what remains unsaid now.

That night, after climbing my way to the ninth rung, I asked your forgiveness for acting like a complete jerk when you just might have saved my life.  And, once I learned the real reason behind your appearance at the meeting that morning, I popped a spur-of-the moment question that certainly put you on the spot.

But with the typical aplomb that I was slowly coming to see and appreciate in you, you mulled it over and surprised me with your answer.  Although I know your role as my sponsor has been blurred at times over the years, it's something else that you've done for me for which I doubt I can ever fully repay you.  So once again, a belated thank you.     

Last night, was a little different. 

Last night, there was a question I meant to ask you, that for a variety of reasons never got posed. 

In hindsight, it was a question that you probably weren't ready to answer any more than I was ready to ask. 

So I've decided to table it for awhile. 

I hope the time is right again someday.  

Because it's a question that's been in the back of my mind for some time now.

It's a question in which the answer – your answer – has the power to change everything.

So, just like the night in Doc Magoo's, I'm begging your forgiveness one more time. 

This time for the question I didn't ask.  And the patience to take a leap of faith with me to get us to the next place.

A place where I hope it's once again on the table.

Abby, just as our first trip up to the roof will always be the moment when you first appeared on my radar screen, our first hot fudge sundaes in Doc Magoo's will always be the meridian in my relationship with you. 

The invisible line in the sand that irrevocably separates everything that happened before from everything that has happened since. 

Like water gaining momentum as it trickles downstream, all my feelings for you flow from that once upon a time. 

Since then, I've measured the longitude and latitude of my time on this earth by when I'm with you or when I was last with you or when I'll be with you again.

It's the only time that will ever really matter to me.

Yours,

John

I put down my pen and rub the back of my neck, my thoughts still filled with how far we both had come since that fateful night.

I'm reminded of something she had mentioned about Maggie before I went to bed.  Something about her mother having a hard time adjusting to living on the outside of the disease.

The same could be said about Abby's and my relationship.

For the most part, I was the one on the inside, down deep in the trenches, for months doing all of the chasing and most of the work, while she danced around the periphery, with her nose pressed up against the glass.  Up until recently, she had made no attempt to come inside.  

Now, as much as she may have wanted to, she still struggled to find the door that would lead her to the inner sanctum where I waited patiently.

There was no map, no blueprint I could show her to help her figure it out.

It was something she would have to do it all by herself.

Would she ever find her way?

And if she did, would I still be there waiting on bended knee?

There was no way to know for sure. 

The best I could do right now was sit back and continue on the long, long journey with her.

And hope that the answer somehow revealed itself to us. 

In that familiar place, the repository of all of my hopes and dreams and best laid plans for tomorrow and every day after.

In the 24th hour.

* * * * *

Oh – if I'd only known

What your heart cost

Oh – can we call it a loan?

And a debt that I owe

On a bet that I lost