CHAPTER 19
Three weeks later Rachel entered Bailey's office, and collapsed into a chair.
"I'm so tired," she said him, "I'm just waiting for Grace to finish her report on the autopsy, then I'm going home."
"Yes, that was a nasty case," Bailey replied, leaning back in his chair, and lighting up a cigar. "But provided things went o.k. today, John should be back on Monday, and that will lighten our load a little. Have you heard anything?"
"He rang me a little while ago, the doctor's given him the all clear. So he will be back on Monday, sending us all insane again," she said, smiling.
George, who was spread out on the sofa, also laughed a little.
"Has he been driving you crazy?" he asked Rachel sympathetically.
"Not all the time," she replied cautiously and both men smiled.
She stood up, and went back into her office, and sat for a while, staring at her computer screen, thinking about how her life had been turned around, in these last few weeks.
John had come home from hospital into her apartment, and into her life.
She was in turn exited, exhilarated, annoyed, angry, and very, very happy.
He was not a quiet person to be around, always tapping on the table top, or bench top, or whatever he could, humming or singing in time to the music he always played, loudly, or watching basketball or football on the television, sprawled out across her sofa, and yelling encouragement or swearing at the players. He had an overdeveloped sense of the ridiculous, and found the most unusual things funny, and in sharing with him the most mundane of things - cooking or eating dinner, watching the news on TV. - doing the dishes - picking up the dirty clothes he left strewn around the bedroom, or house cleaning together, she found a release of the stress she didn't realize she was carrying, and more happiness than she ever thought possible.
They argued over almost everything, and he nearly always ended their arguments by pulling her into the bedroom, and either tickling her till she begged for mercy, or making love to her, till she begged for mercy, especially as his health and strength returned!
He had accompanied her home, last weekend and suffered through her father's and brothers' interest and interrogations, and had quickly become the center of attention from her mother and sisters' in law, who had spent the whole time running around after him, making sure he was comfortable, or had enough to eat or drink, until he had begged her to rescue him.
It was a strange and wonderful feeling for her to know he was at home, waiting for her. It was a scary feeling to know what they had planned for this weekend, and to know that he was only going along with it, because she wanted him to do it!
She had finally talked, pleaded and argued him into going to Boston; they had just received an invitation for Molly's 6th birthday. She had pointed out to him that it was time he thanked his father for saving his life, and they could both attend the party while his father was at work, but he could also thank him in person, perhaps by visiting him at his offices.
He didn't want to do it, but had given in to her, and that made her feel enormously empowered, to think he would do something like that for her. She told him that he would feel much better about himself, and be able to move forward in his life a lot better if he confronted his father and put everything that had happened in the past where it belonged. That maybe the nightmares that he suffered from, the ones that woke her up in the night, with him shouting or shaking and sweating, that maybe they would lessen and stop, if he faced his father, from the perspective of an adult, not a child.
Over an hour later, she let herself into the apartment, and walked into the kitchen, to flick on her coffee maker. There was no sign of John, but his car was parked outside, so she walked into the bedroom, and realized the shower was running. On impulse she opened the bathroom door, and leaned on the wall, watching him rinse shampoo out of his hair.
"Do you want your back washed?" she asked, and he spun around to face her.
"Well if you are offering.." he replied, opening the glass door, and throwing a wet sponge at her. She jumped back, not wanting to get her suit wet, and he laughed, and started to come towards her, so she fled back into the bedroom, shutting the door on him. He followed her out, wrapping a towel around his hips, and using another to dry his face and chest.
"What did the doctor say?" she asked.
"It's all good," he replied, "everything works, that should work. He said I was boring now, and to go away, and not come back!"
"Well I should hope so," she said; privately thinking that he did, indeed look good, he had regained nearly all the weight he had lost, and there was no sign that only four weeks ago, he had nearly died, apart from the still red triangular scar on his abdomen.
"Our plane leaves in just over two hours, are you packed?" she asked, as she pulled out her overnight bag.
"Do we really have to do this?" he asked, as he dropped his towel and started dressing.
"Yes, we do," she replied "We have been over this lots of times."
"I know," he said "And you've told me lots of times why I should do this. But can you tell me again?"
She stopped packing, and walked over to him, putting her arms around him, and leaning her head on his chest.
"You are doing this because you know it's the right thing to do."
He rested his chin on her head, and sighed deeply. "This is going to be very hard for me. I don't know if I'll be able to go through with it, or if I'll be able to stop myself from killing him. It's what I want to do."
"John, I don't expect you to fall into each other's arms or anything. But surely you can say those words, 'thank-you' without coming to blows? You are not the scared child that he terrified all those years ago. Let him see the man you have become. Besides, Molly will be pleased."
Three weeks later Rachel entered Bailey's office, and collapsed into a chair.
"I'm so tired," she said him, "I'm just waiting for Grace to finish her report on the autopsy, then I'm going home."
"Yes, that was a nasty case," Bailey replied, leaning back in his chair, and lighting up a cigar. "But provided things went o.k. today, John should be back on Monday, and that will lighten our load a little. Have you heard anything?"
"He rang me a little while ago, the doctor's given him the all clear. So he will be back on Monday, sending us all insane again," she said, smiling.
George, who was spread out on the sofa, also laughed a little.
"Has he been driving you crazy?" he asked Rachel sympathetically.
"Not all the time," she replied cautiously and both men smiled.
She stood up, and went back into her office, and sat for a while, staring at her computer screen, thinking about how her life had been turned around, in these last few weeks.
John had come home from hospital into her apartment, and into her life.
She was in turn exited, exhilarated, annoyed, angry, and very, very happy.
He was not a quiet person to be around, always tapping on the table top, or bench top, or whatever he could, humming or singing in time to the music he always played, loudly, or watching basketball or football on the television, sprawled out across her sofa, and yelling encouragement or swearing at the players. He had an overdeveloped sense of the ridiculous, and found the most unusual things funny, and in sharing with him the most mundane of things - cooking or eating dinner, watching the news on TV. - doing the dishes - picking up the dirty clothes he left strewn around the bedroom, or house cleaning together, she found a release of the stress she didn't realize she was carrying, and more happiness than she ever thought possible.
They argued over almost everything, and he nearly always ended their arguments by pulling her into the bedroom, and either tickling her till she begged for mercy, or making love to her, till she begged for mercy, especially as his health and strength returned!
He had accompanied her home, last weekend and suffered through her father's and brothers' interest and interrogations, and had quickly become the center of attention from her mother and sisters' in law, who had spent the whole time running around after him, making sure he was comfortable, or had enough to eat or drink, until he had begged her to rescue him.
It was a strange and wonderful feeling for her to know he was at home, waiting for her. It was a scary feeling to know what they had planned for this weekend, and to know that he was only going along with it, because she wanted him to do it!
She had finally talked, pleaded and argued him into going to Boston; they had just received an invitation for Molly's 6th birthday. She had pointed out to him that it was time he thanked his father for saving his life, and they could both attend the party while his father was at work, but he could also thank him in person, perhaps by visiting him at his offices.
He didn't want to do it, but had given in to her, and that made her feel enormously empowered, to think he would do something like that for her. She told him that he would feel much better about himself, and be able to move forward in his life a lot better if he confronted his father and put everything that had happened in the past where it belonged. That maybe the nightmares that he suffered from, the ones that woke her up in the night, with him shouting or shaking and sweating, that maybe they would lessen and stop, if he faced his father, from the perspective of an adult, not a child.
Over an hour later, she let herself into the apartment, and walked into the kitchen, to flick on her coffee maker. There was no sign of John, but his car was parked outside, so she walked into the bedroom, and realized the shower was running. On impulse she opened the bathroom door, and leaned on the wall, watching him rinse shampoo out of his hair.
"Do you want your back washed?" she asked, and he spun around to face her.
"Well if you are offering.." he replied, opening the glass door, and throwing a wet sponge at her. She jumped back, not wanting to get her suit wet, and he laughed, and started to come towards her, so she fled back into the bedroom, shutting the door on him. He followed her out, wrapping a towel around his hips, and using another to dry his face and chest.
"What did the doctor say?" she asked.
"It's all good," he replied, "everything works, that should work. He said I was boring now, and to go away, and not come back!"
"Well I should hope so," she said; privately thinking that he did, indeed look good, he had regained nearly all the weight he had lost, and there was no sign that only four weeks ago, he had nearly died, apart from the still red triangular scar on his abdomen.
"Our plane leaves in just over two hours, are you packed?" she asked, as she pulled out her overnight bag.
"Do we really have to do this?" he asked, as he dropped his towel and started dressing.
"Yes, we do," she replied "We have been over this lots of times."
"I know," he said "And you've told me lots of times why I should do this. But can you tell me again?"
She stopped packing, and walked over to him, putting her arms around him, and leaning her head on his chest.
"You are doing this because you know it's the right thing to do."
He rested his chin on her head, and sighed deeply. "This is going to be very hard for me. I don't know if I'll be able to go through with it, or if I'll be able to stop myself from killing him. It's what I want to do."
"John, I don't expect you to fall into each other's arms or anything. But surely you can say those words, 'thank-you' without coming to blows? You are not the scared child that he terrified all those years ago. Let him see the man you have become. Besides, Molly will be pleased."