Netherworld
AUTHOR: Emma Stuart CATEGORY: Romance/Drama/AU SPOILERS: First episodes of Season 10; the rest is all in my head. DISCLAIMER: I do not own ER, or any of the characters. This does not preclude me from playing with them, their psyches, their fates, and their futures.
SUMMARY: Abby, in search of Eric, gets some bad news from home.
ARCHIVE: Just ask. I dare you.
"Kathy, I said as we boarded a Greyhound in Pittsburgh, Michigan seems like a dream to me now It took me four days to hitchhike from Saginaw- I've come to look for America"
The road wasn't so bad, once you got used to it, she thought, sitting in her fifth Greyhound Station in a little over a week. Yes, riding buses did get old after awhile, but she was meeting such interesting people-people running away from or towards someone or something, people undecided what to do, people just moving along for fear of rooting in one place. Something to be said for having no roots, Abby thought. Taught you to travel light.
And all of these people wanted to talk, which was fine with Abby because it meant she didn't have to. She'd had enough talking at A.A. meetings to last her the rest of her life. After a while, baring your soul got old. She was tired of feeling naked, and wanted to wrap herself in extraneous details. With strangers, you got to reinvent yourself all over again. You were whoever or whatever you wanted to be-tinker, tailor, soldier.and then her mind snapped back to Eric again. Where in the world was he?
She was on her third week of bus trips headed west, moving briskly, and yet Eric always seemed to be one leg of the journey ahead of her. She had gone from Chicago to Minneapolis, on to Fargo, and from there to Bismark, stopping at small towns to stretch her legs and stay a day to show his picture to people at motels, truck stops, and other favorite haunting grounds of her brother. Now, she was about to head to Billings, Montana; Eric had purchased a ticket just hours before her, heading to the wild west where he had told the cute, blonde ticket attendant in Fargo that he wanted to work on a ranch, of all things. If Abby hadn't been tired, she would have burst out laughing. Cowboy Eric, as if he were five years old again and running around in the little red boots with fake spurs and the 10- gallon (well, 2 gallon for a child) hat Maggie had given him for Christmas. It figured.
She had visited diners and cafes, small hotels and bed & breakfasts, truck stops and bus stations, showing Eric's photo and asking if anyone had seen him, spoken to him, or knew where he was headed. And in every town, she heard the same refrain to her verse-yes, I saw that young man. He came in to buy gum, he stopped by for breakfast, he spent the night here, he got a ticket for the next bus out. He was charming, he was rude, he was clean and handsome, he was scruffy and surly. But he was always moving, staying ahead of her, as if he knew she was hot on his tracks.
And he was steadily moving west toward a childhood dream. Well, she thought, shaking off her bemusement, he's got to stop when he reaches the ocean. He doesn't have the money to buy a plane ticket. But he could turn back east. She groaned out loud at the thought.
"Are you all right?" a polite voice across from her inquired. She looked up and focused on an elderly couple smiling at her. The gentleman had spoken. She smiled in turn and responded, "I'm fine. I guess I was thinking out loud."
"Well," the man replied wryly, "I do a lot of that myself. I'm John, and this is my wife Hettie."
Abby smiled warmly. "I'm Abby."
"Pleased to meet you, Abby. Where are you headed?"
"Billings. I'm hoping to meet my brother. How about you," she hurried on before they could ask why she was only hoping and not certain of meeting him.
"Oh, we're heading east to Chicago. Our son is getting married, and we're going to meet the young woman." The man and his wife were smiling at her, expecting her to share in their joy and satisfaction. She couldn't disappoint them.
"Oh, how wonderful for you. Congratulations."
"Yes, Mike is finally getting married. To tell the truth, we'd just about given up hope. I mean, the boy is almost 40!"
Abby mentally winced. "That's not so old."
"You have to understand, we were married at 18, and have been married for 40 years," Hettie explained to her. "Mike is our only son. We've been hoping he would find someone to love, and now he has. All that's left is grandchildren!" She was positively beaming, Abby thought, now that she had Mike's entire future mapped out for him. As if hearing herself, Hettie laughed self-consciously. "But that's just selfish on our parts-we're really happy because he has found someone he really loves. And she loves him back. You know what that's like, don't you?" she asked gently.
"Yes," Abby replied slowly, "I do know how it feels to love someone." And how it feels to lose them, because of a stupid argument. And how it feels to see them every day, living their life as if nothing ever happened. "I hope Mike is very happy."
"Thank you, I'm sure he will be," John responded happily. An announcement blared over the loudspeaker. "Hear that, Hettie? That's our bus being called." Both rose unsteadily and gathered their bags. "You have a good trip, Abby, and have fun with your brother."
"Thanks. Safe trip," she replied.
She watched the couple trot off toward their bus, the husband's arm supporting his wife. Sitting back in her plastic seat, she glanced at the departure board. At least a half an hour before her bus left. Time to make a few phone calls.
She pulled her cell phone from her pack, the one luxury she had allowed herself on this traveling circus. She wanted Maggie to be able to reach her in case Eric should contact their mother. She would check in with Maggie; she knew that the latest news of Eric would ease her mother's mind, especially given she was worrying about Abby being on the road as well.
Maybe she'd check in with Susan, too. She missed her friend, and Susan was exactly the level-headed soul she needed to plug into occasionally to ground herself. Susan would think she was nuts to continue on this journey, but she would also understand. God knows she had done it enough herself with Chloe and Susie.
Dialing Maggie's number, she waited through several rings until the answering machine picked up. She listened to her mother's familiar message, and spoke after the tone. "Hi Mom, it's Abby. I've got a good lead on Eric, so I'm at the bus station getting ready to head out to Billings, Montana. The ticket seller at the bus station said he was heading that way, so I'm hot on his trail. I'll give you a call when I get there. Or you can call me." A pause. "I love you," she added, then disconnected.
She started to dial Susan, but heard the boarding call for her bus. It will wait, she thought firmly. I'd better go to the bathroom and get a cup of coffee. And maybe another paperback, she thought idly, swinging her backpack over her shoulder and wheeling her bag along behind her.
The bus was only half filled and quiet, as nighttime buses often were. They would arrive at Billings tomorrow morning, so it would be good to sleep on this trip. Sleep would be a welcome departure from all the thinking she had been doing lately. Idly, she wondered what Luka and Carter were doing. They must have been together in Africa for-what, 2 weeks now? She couldn't remember. Time was flowing together without the artificial boundaries created by work days and weekends. She wondered how Luka was-she suspected that he was suffering from depression, but had been so wrapped up in Eric's misery and the unraveling of her relationship with Carter that she had given little time, energy, or thought to Luka. Now, in the open spaces of time given to her as she traveled, she remembered their interactions and her observations, tied them together, and tried to make sense of them.
She remembered how lost he had been the first time he had volunteered for an assignment with Doctors Without Borders, and how he had come back with a sense of self-worth and purpose. But his sense of contentment didn't last very long. Given the smallpox scare and subsequent quarantine, she hadn't seen him for 2 weeks. When they crossed paths again, he was like a stranger. Restless and argumentative, Luka had been on a bender through nurses and women. When she had approached him about it (the last thing on earth she wanted to do, but damn Weaver!), he had been obnoxious. Honestly, she would have stayed miles away from the subject if Weaver hadn't foisted the nurse manager role upon her. When several of the nurses lodged formal complaints against him, she was forced to say something, he responded flippantly, and an even larger chasm was driven between them.
After that, she noticed that he was often late to work, and she heard gossip that he was drinking-oh, never on the job, but she could tell the signs-who better than her to tell the signs? His unhappiness ultimately culminated in the car accident that had injured a father and son, as well as Harkins. Abby knew that she had overreacted, that had been hard on him; when she tried to apologize, he brushed her off, and she didn't blame him. She was afraid for him, but in the end he chose to return to Doctors Without Borders for another assignment, more difficult and dangerous than the first. And Carter, lost in his own way, had gone along for the ride.
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Both were lost to her now, but why did the loss of Luka seem so much worse than her breakup with Carter? That breakup seemed clean, somehow; Carter had not tried to reach her once she had hopped on the airplane for Minnesota. Better that way, but she felt guilty for not being more upset about losing Carter. Confused and too tired to think it out thoroughly, Abby pulled her jacket around her and tried to sleep.
Day was breaking as the bus pulled into Billings. Abby stumbled off the bus, and headed into the station in search of a hotel room. A half hour later, she was ensconced in a small room at the Holiday Inn. It was more expensive than Motel 7, but she wanted a hot bath and a huge bed and a television that got more than three stations. The bath was wonderful, and the bed was hard as a rock-what luxury! She had called room service and had a club sandwich and bottled water delivered, as well as a carafe of coffee. Settling herself square in the middle of the bed, she turned on the television.
"-more turmoil in the Congo, Erica. Can you tell us what's going on?" A newsman was trying to look eager and somber at the same time. A woman in a candy pink suit with huge pearls appeared on a screen just over the newsman's right shoulder. She looked serious as well, but also excited with the evident bad news she bore. Hmm, Abby thought idly, where are the pickles? Gotta have pickles with a club sandwich.
"Well, Alan, we've just had word that an American doctor is missing in the Congo." Abby's head snapped up. "Apparently, a clinic run by Doctors Without Borders was overrun by rebels several days ago. A number of doctors escaped, but one is missing and believed dead. U.N. Troops are being deployed to the region to stabilize the population. That's all we know at this time."
Abby snatched at her backpack, and clawed through her possessions in search of her cell phone. Her hands were shaking so hard that she had difficulty dialing, and had to disconnect and dial again before the call went through. "Be home, Susan, be home," she murmured.
"Hello?" Susan's tired voice came over the line.
"Susan! Susan, it's Abby. I just saw the news on Africa, it's not-well, it can't be them."
Silence, and then she heard Susan take a shaky breath.
"You'd better brace yourself, Abby, there's been bad news," Susan replied, and Abby could hear the tears in her voice.
"Carter-" Abby said sharply.
"No, not Carter. It's Luka. There was an incident at one of the clinics in Africa."
"Incident? What do you mean?"
Susan cleared her throat. "Um, rebel soldiers invaded the camp." Susan stopped to clear her throat again.
"What about Luka?" Abby couldn't comprehend what Susan was telling her.
"Oh, Abby, he's missing, and the authorities think he's dead."
It was Susan's turn to wait for a response.
"Luka," Abby repeated in a long sigh, and the sound was like her soul escaping from her body, a ghostly sound that sent prickles up Susan's arms.
"Abby," Susan barked, "are you there? Did you hear what I said?"
Later, Abby would remember that they had continued the conversation, but she would not remember much of what Susan said. Abby registered that Carter had returned to Africa to look for Luka, that he had been following leads and the news so far wasn't good, but they couldn't give up hope. Then Susan had asked after Eric, which gave Abby purpose-at last, some good news she could share.
After a long silence, Susan asked, "Abby, what are you going to do now?"
"I don't know, go after Eric, I guess. What help could I be to Luka? Listen, Susan," she continued urgently, "if you hear anything, anything at all, please let me know. Call me anytime, all right? I need to know."
"I will," Susan replied soothingly, "but you stay in touch. I don't want to lose you-" she stopped abruptly.
Abby smiled weakly, "I know what you mean, and I will be in touch. Take care."
"You too."
Incredible, Abby thought numbly as she disconnected and cradled the phone in her hand. I might never see Luka again. I may not hear his voice, or see his grin or his hands. She remembered his hands best of all, long and thin, beautifully shaped, the palms slightly calloused so that when he ran them through her hair, a few strands would snag and linger, as if they couldn't bear for the contact to be broken.
His eyes, his smile, his concentration, his intensity, his love for his dead wife and children, his devotion to his profession-God, it couldn't be true, she thought, the panic rising within her, he couldn't be gone. Wouldn't she feel differently? Wouldn't there be such a large hole in the collective energy of the world that she'd feel diminished?
Without realizing it, she slipped to her knees next to the bed and clasped her hands in front of her. "Please, Luka, come back. You have to be alive- you must stay alive. Please God, don't let him be dead, keep him safe-bring him home. Luka, oh Luka, you have to come back. I can't stand it- it's too soon. We haven't had enough time-YOU haven't had enough time. I have things I have to tell you. Oh, please, God, anything but this."
A frightened, panicked part of her wanted to go back to Chicago and wait for news of Luka, but she knew there was nothing she could do. Susan, God bless her, would keep her informed. And Eric was so close, she could sense him in the eerie way they had been able to sense one another since childhood.
So, she ate her sandwich and drank her water, and went through the familiar jerky motions of dressing and brushing teeth and hair, and pulling out her notepad. She would sleep for a bit, then it would be time to look for Eric again.
"Kathy, I'm lost I said, although I knew she was sleeping I'm empty and aching and I don't know why Counting the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike, They've all come to look for America"
Song is America, courtesy of Simon and Garfunkel
AUTHOR: Emma Stuart CATEGORY: Romance/Drama/AU SPOILERS: First episodes of Season 10; the rest is all in my head. DISCLAIMER: I do not own ER, or any of the characters. This does not preclude me from playing with them, their psyches, their fates, and their futures.
SUMMARY: Abby, in search of Eric, gets some bad news from home.
ARCHIVE: Just ask. I dare you.
"Kathy, I said as we boarded a Greyhound in Pittsburgh, Michigan seems like a dream to me now It took me four days to hitchhike from Saginaw- I've come to look for America"
The road wasn't so bad, once you got used to it, she thought, sitting in her fifth Greyhound Station in a little over a week. Yes, riding buses did get old after awhile, but she was meeting such interesting people-people running away from or towards someone or something, people undecided what to do, people just moving along for fear of rooting in one place. Something to be said for having no roots, Abby thought. Taught you to travel light.
And all of these people wanted to talk, which was fine with Abby because it meant she didn't have to. She'd had enough talking at A.A. meetings to last her the rest of her life. After a while, baring your soul got old. She was tired of feeling naked, and wanted to wrap herself in extraneous details. With strangers, you got to reinvent yourself all over again. You were whoever or whatever you wanted to be-tinker, tailor, soldier.and then her mind snapped back to Eric again. Where in the world was he?
She was on her third week of bus trips headed west, moving briskly, and yet Eric always seemed to be one leg of the journey ahead of her. She had gone from Chicago to Minneapolis, on to Fargo, and from there to Bismark, stopping at small towns to stretch her legs and stay a day to show his picture to people at motels, truck stops, and other favorite haunting grounds of her brother. Now, she was about to head to Billings, Montana; Eric had purchased a ticket just hours before her, heading to the wild west where he had told the cute, blonde ticket attendant in Fargo that he wanted to work on a ranch, of all things. If Abby hadn't been tired, she would have burst out laughing. Cowboy Eric, as if he were five years old again and running around in the little red boots with fake spurs and the 10- gallon (well, 2 gallon for a child) hat Maggie had given him for Christmas. It figured.
She had visited diners and cafes, small hotels and bed & breakfasts, truck stops and bus stations, showing Eric's photo and asking if anyone had seen him, spoken to him, or knew where he was headed. And in every town, she heard the same refrain to her verse-yes, I saw that young man. He came in to buy gum, he stopped by for breakfast, he spent the night here, he got a ticket for the next bus out. He was charming, he was rude, he was clean and handsome, he was scruffy and surly. But he was always moving, staying ahead of her, as if he knew she was hot on his tracks.
And he was steadily moving west toward a childhood dream. Well, she thought, shaking off her bemusement, he's got to stop when he reaches the ocean. He doesn't have the money to buy a plane ticket. But he could turn back east. She groaned out loud at the thought.
"Are you all right?" a polite voice across from her inquired. She looked up and focused on an elderly couple smiling at her. The gentleman had spoken. She smiled in turn and responded, "I'm fine. I guess I was thinking out loud."
"Well," the man replied wryly, "I do a lot of that myself. I'm John, and this is my wife Hettie."
Abby smiled warmly. "I'm Abby."
"Pleased to meet you, Abby. Where are you headed?"
"Billings. I'm hoping to meet my brother. How about you," she hurried on before they could ask why she was only hoping and not certain of meeting him.
"Oh, we're heading east to Chicago. Our son is getting married, and we're going to meet the young woman." The man and his wife were smiling at her, expecting her to share in their joy and satisfaction. She couldn't disappoint them.
"Oh, how wonderful for you. Congratulations."
"Yes, Mike is finally getting married. To tell the truth, we'd just about given up hope. I mean, the boy is almost 40!"
Abby mentally winced. "That's not so old."
"You have to understand, we were married at 18, and have been married for 40 years," Hettie explained to her. "Mike is our only son. We've been hoping he would find someone to love, and now he has. All that's left is grandchildren!" She was positively beaming, Abby thought, now that she had Mike's entire future mapped out for him. As if hearing herself, Hettie laughed self-consciously. "But that's just selfish on our parts-we're really happy because he has found someone he really loves. And she loves him back. You know what that's like, don't you?" she asked gently.
"Yes," Abby replied slowly, "I do know how it feels to love someone." And how it feels to lose them, because of a stupid argument. And how it feels to see them every day, living their life as if nothing ever happened. "I hope Mike is very happy."
"Thank you, I'm sure he will be," John responded happily. An announcement blared over the loudspeaker. "Hear that, Hettie? That's our bus being called." Both rose unsteadily and gathered their bags. "You have a good trip, Abby, and have fun with your brother."
"Thanks. Safe trip," she replied.
She watched the couple trot off toward their bus, the husband's arm supporting his wife. Sitting back in her plastic seat, she glanced at the departure board. At least a half an hour before her bus left. Time to make a few phone calls.
She pulled her cell phone from her pack, the one luxury she had allowed herself on this traveling circus. She wanted Maggie to be able to reach her in case Eric should contact their mother. She would check in with Maggie; she knew that the latest news of Eric would ease her mother's mind, especially given she was worrying about Abby being on the road as well.
Maybe she'd check in with Susan, too. She missed her friend, and Susan was exactly the level-headed soul she needed to plug into occasionally to ground herself. Susan would think she was nuts to continue on this journey, but she would also understand. God knows she had done it enough herself with Chloe and Susie.
Dialing Maggie's number, she waited through several rings until the answering machine picked up. She listened to her mother's familiar message, and spoke after the tone. "Hi Mom, it's Abby. I've got a good lead on Eric, so I'm at the bus station getting ready to head out to Billings, Montana. The ticket seller at the bus station said he was heading that way, so I'm hot on his trail. I'll give you a call when I get there. Or you can call me." A pause. "I love you," she added, then disconnected.
She started to dial Susan, but heard the boarding call for her bus. It will wait, she thought firmly. I'd better go to the bathroom and get a cup of coffee. And maybe another paperback, she thought idly, swinging her backpack over her shoulder and wheeling her bag along behind her.
The bus was only half filled and quiet, as nighttime buses often were. They would arrive at Billings tomorrow morning, so it would be good to sleep on this trip. Sleep would be a welcome departure from all the thinking she had been doing lately. Idly, she wondered what Luka and Carter were doing. They must have been together in Africa for-what, 2 weeks now? She couldn't remember. Time was flowing together without the artificial boundaries created by work days and weekends. She wondered how Luka was-she suspected that he was suffering from depression, but had been so wrapped up in Eric's misery and the unraveling of her relationship with Carter that she had given little time, energy, or thought to Luka. Now, in the open spaces of time given to her as she traveled, she remembered their interactions and her observations, tied them together, and tried to make sense of them.
She remembered how lost he had been the first time he had volunteered for an assignment with Doctors Without Borders, and how he had come back with a sense of self-worth and purpose. But his sense of contentment didn't last very long. Given the smallpox scare and subsequent quarantine, she hadn't seen him for 2 weeks. When they crossed paths again, he was like a stranger. Restless and argumentative, Luka had been on a bender through nurses and women. When she had approached him about it (the last thing on earth she wanted to do, but damn Weaver!), he had been obnoxious. Honestly, she would have stayed miles away from the subject if Weaver hadn't foisted the nurse manager role upon her. When several of the nurses lodged formal complaints against him, she was forced to say something, he responded flippantly, and an even larger chasm was driven between them.
After that, she noticed that he was often late to work, and she heard gossip that he was drinking-oh, never on the job, but she could tell the signs-who better than her to tell the signs? His unhappiness ultimately culminated in the car accident that had injured a father and son, as well as Harkins. Abby knew that she had overreacted, that had been hard on him; when she tried to apologize, he brushed her off, and she didn't blame him. She was afraid for him, but in the end he chose to return to Doctors Without Borders for another assignment, more difficult and dangerous than the first. And Carter, lost in his own way, had gone along for the ride.
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Both were lost to her now, but why did the loss of Luka seem so much worse than her breakup with Carter? That breakup seemed clean, somehow; Carter had not tried to reach her once she had hopped on the airplane for Minnesota. Better that way, but she felt guilty for not being more upset about losing Carter. Confused and too tired to think it out thoroughly, Abby pulled her jacket around her and tried to sleep.
Day was breaking as the bus pulled into Billings. Abby stumbled off the bus, and headed into the station in search of a hotel room. A half hour later, she was ensconced in a small room at the Holiday Inn. It was more expensive than Motel 7, but she wanted a hot bath and a huge bed and a television that got more than three stations. The bath was wonderful, and the bed was hard as a rock-what luxury! She had called room service and had a club sandwich and bottled water delivered, as well as a carafe of coffee. Settling herself square in the middle of the bed, she turned on the television.
"-more turmoil in the Congo, Erica. Can you tell us what's going on?" A newsman was trying to look eager and somber at the same time. A woman in a candy pink suit with huge pearls appeared on a screen just over the newsman's right shoulder. She looked serious as well, but also excited with the evident bad news she bore. Hmm, Abby thought idly, where are the pickles? Gotta have pickles with a club sandwich.
"Well, Alan, we've just had word that an American doctor is missing in the Congo." Abby's head snapped up. "Apparently, a clinic run by Doctors Without Borders was overrun by rebels several days ago. A number of doctors escaped, but one is missing and believed dead. U.N. Troops are being deployed to the region to stabilize the population. That's all we know at this time."
Abby snatched at her backpack, and clawed through her possessions in search of her cell phone. Her hands were shaking so hard that she had difficulty dialing, and had to disconnect and dial again before the call went through. "Be home, Susan, be home," she murmured.
"Hello?" Susan's tired voice came over the line.
"Susan! Susan, it's Abby. I just saw the news on Africa, it's not-well, it can't be them."
Silence, and then she heard Susan take a shaky breath.
"You'd better brace yourself, Abby, there's been bad news," Susan replied, and Abby could hear the tears in her voice.
"Carter-" Abby said sharply.
"No, not Carter. It's Luka. There was an incident at one of the clinics in Africa."
"Incident? What do you mean?"
Susan cleared her throat. "Um, rebel soldiers invaded the camp." Susan stopped to clear her throat again.
"What about Luka?" Abby couldn't comprehend what Susan was telling her.
"Oh, Abby, he's missing, and the authorities think he's dead."
It was Susan's turn to wait for a response.
"Luka," Abby repeated in a long sigh, and the sound was like her soul escaping from her body, a ghostly sound that sent prickles up Susan's arms.
"Abby," Susan barked, "are you there? Did you hear what I said?"
Later, Abby would remember that they had continued the conversation, but she would not remember much of what Susan said. Abby registered that Carter had returned to Africa to look for Luka, that he had been following leads and the news so far wasn't good, but they couldn't give up hope. Then Susan had asked after Eric, which gave Abby purpose-at last, some good news she could share.
After a long silence, Susan asked, "Abby, what are you going to do now?"
"I don't know, go after Eric, I guess. What help could I be to Luka? Listen, Susan," she continued urgently, "if you hear anything, anything at all, please let me know. Call me anytime, all right? I need to know."
"I will," Susan replied soothingly, "but you stay in touch. I don't want to lose you-" she stopped abruptly.
Abby smiled weakly, "I know what you mean, and I will be in touch. Take care."
"You too."
Incredible, Abby thought numbly as she disconnected and cradled the phone in her hand. I might never see Luka again. I may not hear his voice, or see his grin or his hands. She remembered his hands best of all, long and thin, beautifully shaped, the palms slightly calloused so that when he ran them through her hair, a few strands would snag and linger, as if they couldn't bear for the contact to be broken.
His eyes, his smile, his concentration, his intensity, his love for his dead wife and children, his devotion to his profession-God, it couldn't be true, she thought, the panic rising within her, he couldn't be gone. Wouldn't she feel differently? Wouldn't there be such a large hole in the collective energy of the world that she'd feel diminished?
Without realizing it, she slipped to her knees next to the bed and clasped her hands in front of her. "Please, Luka, come back. You have to be alive- you must stay alive. Please God, don't let him be dead, keep him safe-bring him home. Luka, oh Luka, you have to come back. I can't stand it- it's too soon. We haven't had enough time-YOU haven't had enough time. I have things I have to tell you. Oh, please, God, anything but this."
A frightened, panicked part of her wanted to go back to Chicago and wait for news of Luka, but she knew there was nothing she could do. Susan, God bless her, would keep her informed. And Eric was so close, she could sense him in the eerie way they had been able to sense one another since childhood.
So, she ate her sandwich and drank her water, and went through the familiar jerky motions of dressing and brushing teeth and hair, and pulling out her notepad. She would sleep for a bit, then it would be time to look for Eric again.
"Kathy, I'm lost I said, although I knew she was sleeping I'm empty and aching and I don't know why Counting the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike, They've all come to look for America"
Song is America, courtesy of Simon and Garfunkel