A/N: Just to let you know, this chapter serves two purposes: to impart some info about the rest of the JoA characters, but mostly, to set up the relationship between Grace and Luke for future stories. I hope you like it all right.

Joan entered Adam's bedroom, showered, dressed, and wary. He was in a strange mood today—angry but solicitous. When she'd awaken this morning, he had made her a breakfast of toast, applesauce and orange juice—in case her stomach felt weak, he'd said—and served it to her in bed. It wasn't unusual for Adam to make her breakfast in bed, but for him to do so with such hooded, watchful eyes unnerved her. After she'd eaten, he'd insisted that she shower. So here she was, clean and dressed in one of his t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants, and more nervous than she could ever remember being in his presence. She climbed onto his bed and settled in the middle, her legs crossed Indian-style. "Is something wrong?" she ventured into the silence.

Adam made no indication that he'd heard her; he just stood by the window looking out at the overcast November sky. "Adam!"

He turned his gaze to her face but didn't move from his place at the window.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"How do you feel?"

Frowning at the hollow distance in his voice, Joan shifted under his stare. "I feel better than I did last night. It's been a while since I've gotten a full night's sleep."

Nodding, he turned completely toward her. "I imagine so. With all of your new activities, you barely have time for Grace and me anymore."

So that's what all of this was about. He felt neglected. With a reassuring smile, Joan held her hand out to him. "I know I've been busy but . . ."

"We're worried about you, Jane."

Taken aback by his abrupt tone, Joan dropped her hand into her lap. "Oh. Why?"

"You're kidding, right?" he scoffed. "Grace and I, we're used to your sudden, inexplicable interests, but this is ridiculous. The newspaper, the radio show, the theater troupe, the girl you're mentoring and . . . God knows what else. This is our senior year of college, Jane, and it's hard enough without piling on a bunch of extra stuff."

"I know it's hard," Joan said, bewildered by his outburst, "but why are you so angry at me?"

"Because it's Sunday."

Sunday? That couldn't be right. She'd come over after her last class Friday afternoon. It couldn't possibly be . . . "Sunday?"

"Yeah." Adam collapsed into his desk chair as if he couldn't bear standing any longer.

"Why didn't you wake me?"

"I tried. You were . . . dead to the world."

Joan didn't know how what to say. She'd slept a whole day away—more than a day really. She hadn't even realized she was that tired.

"You can't keep doing this," Adam said quietly. So quietly that Joan glanced up at him. He stared at the seam of his jeans and picked at a stray thread. "It was one thing to go about trying things in high school, but it's not the same here. You can't keep doing this."

"Adam?" she asked, her voice uncertain.

"Just tell me why," he said.

"Why what?"

"Why you insist on doing things you don't even want to do?" he demanded. Why all this stuff is so important you'd risk your health like this?"

Joan raised her hands in a futile attempt to reach out to him. "I . . ."

"I can't do this again and not say anything, Jane." Adam stared up at her then, determination and fear mixed in his eyes. "I won't."

Suddenly, everything fell into place for her—Adam's mood, his anger, his concern. His mother used to sleep like this when she got depressed, wouldn't remember things, couldn't explain what was going on with her. Despite how close they were, there had always been a part of her he couldn't reach. The part that he felt may have saved her, if only she would have shared it with him. And the same thing was happening with Joan. She closed her eyes against the shame welling up inside her. How could she have been so blind? How much time had he spent trying to be strong for her while she'd forced him to relive the worst period of his life? Probably all semester and she'd been too wrapped up in everything else in her life to notice? She'd failed him. "Adam, I'm sorry."

"I don't want an apology, Jane. I want to know why."

Joan sighed. How was she supposed to answer him? What could she say that would make sense? She shook her head, trying to clear the mental clutter so she could give him a coherent response.

"No," Adam said when she shook her head, his voice low and angry. "Don't tell me that it's a secret or that I wouldn't understand or that it's best just to leave it alone. I'm scared, Jane. What if you hadn't made it here last night? Your apartment is on the other side of campus. Anything could have happened to you and nobody would know why. I deserve to know why."

"I know," she said, her heart breaking to see him so upset. "I just . . ." She stopped, not knowing what to tell him so he would understand.

"Just what?" he asked when she didn't continue.

Helplessly, Joan lapsed into silence. She'd always known that she would have to tell him one day, but she had never figured out how.

The silence dragged on for what felt like an eternity. Adam continued to pick at his jeans while Joan stared miserably at his comforter. Had it really come down to this? She took a deep breath. He'd believe her; she'd always said he would. You said it, an inner voice taunted, but did you believe it? Obviously not. She peeked at him; he was hurting, everything about him radiated pain. She had done that. She couldn't keep doing that. "You might not like what I have to say."

"I'm not asking you to tell me a pretty bedtime story, Jane," he said, still not looking at her. "I just want the truth."

"Okay," she whispered and held her hand out to him for the third time. He looked at it for a long moment before taking her hand and sitting on the bed in front of her. Taking his other hand in hers, she squeezed them briefly and took another breath. "I talk to God," she blurted.

Adam stared at her blankly. "That's the big secret?"

Joan's mouth dropped open. "What? You knew?"

"Lots of people talk to God, Jane. It's called praying."

"Right," she said. Smothering a fit of giggles, Joan smiled at Adam and shook her head. "I think I should try that again. The big secret isn't so much that I talk to God as much as He talks to me." Suddenly apprehensive, she dropped her eyes to their conjoined hands.

"God talks to you."

"Yeah." She risked a peek at him. He was staring at a point over her shoulder, considering what she'd just told him.

"And the things you do that you don't want to do . . ."

"They're assignments."

"Huh."

"He says that I don't have to do them. Big fan of free will. Not so much of explanations. I've ignored Him before." She shrugged and glanced back down at their hands in her lap. "It's better to do as He asks. Except when I . . . can't. There's only so much time."

"How?" he asked.

Somehow, Joan knew what he meant. "He comes to me in different forms. People forms. Some He uses over and over again, most only once or twice." She sighed; he hadn't said much. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? It couldn't possibly be good. "Please say something."

"'I just do what I'm told,'" he murmured, wonder in his voice.

Joan was peering into Adam's face, thoroughly confused. "What?" she asked.

Suddenly, Adam looked at her and smiled. "As reasons go, that's a pretty good one."

"You believe me?"

He nodded.

"You believe me or you believe I believe me?"

"I believe you," he answered with a small smile. "I mean, it explains a lot. Your general lack of enthusiasm for most of your bizarre undertakings. Your habit of yelling at strangers. Why your explanations, when you give them, never make sense."

Blushing, she said, "I thought you'd believe me, but, well, people have been committed for less than this and I . . ." She stopped as a look of awe came over Adam's face. "What?"

"When you said God gave us to each other, you really meant He gave us to each other, didn't you?"

Joan nodded.

Adam laughed. "I always thought you were my personal angel."

Wondering for the millionth time what she'd ever done to deserve him, Joan leaned forward and kissed Adam. He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her into his lap. "I love you," she whispered against his mouth.

"I love you, too," he answered before claiming her lips again. When the kiss finally ended, Adam tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and sighed. "Do me a favor?"

"Yeah?"

"Ask Him to ease up on the assignments for a while. I really am worried about you."

"I'll ask," she said as she rested her head on his shoulder, "but I make no promises."

"Hello, Joan."

Hand over her heart, Joan glanced up to find God in His cute, teenage boy form. "You're sneaking up on me now?"

He just smiled and folded His arms on top of her VW bug.

Joan glared at Him and copied His stance. "As I'm sure You already know, I'm late for Sunday night dinner. Mom hates it when I'm late, so could we just cut to the chase?"

"You're not listening, Joan."

"You haven't said anything yet."

"Your assignment, Joan," He said with infinite patience. When she stared at Him with a weary, blank expression, He chuckled and said, "The one I gave you a month and a half ago at the arts fair. 'Listen and be open.' Any of this ringing a bell?"

Joan rolled her eyes. "We're back to snippy, I see."

Cute Boy God just raised His eyebrows.

"So I've been a little preoccupied. Smite me, sue me, whatever. But I really need to go," she said as she opened her car door.

"No time for God, Joan?" The words stopped her cold. "As for smiting, I thought I made it pretty clear I don't do that."

"I know."

"And being preoccupied doesn't excuse you from the assignment."

"You don't understand . . ."

Cute Boy God laughed. "Joan."

She blushed in frustrated embarrassment. "I mean, it's been two weeks since he left and I miss him. Everything's so up-in-the-air with Adam and I've had a hard time focusing on anything else."

"That's why this is the perfect time for you to start listening to others."

"Okay," she said, clearly mystified.

"It's all about perspective. Adam's visit had a direct impact on you. But for others, it stirred up thoughts and feelings that have long been dormant."

"Who are You talking about?"

"Pay attention, Joan. Listen. Learn something." With that, He turned to walk away.

"Learn what?" she called after Him, knowing He wouldn't answer but asking anyway. He merely waved and walked out of sight.

Joan scoffed as she got into her car. "Why me?" She shoved the key in the ignition and headed to her parents' house. The last two weeks had been hard on Joan. She'd been given the one thing she wanted more than anything else in the world only to have it taken away again. The first time he left, she had known it was over. Now, she felt like she was in limbo, with him but not at the time. It didn't help that he had only been able to call twice since he'd left.

To help distract her, she'd filled her time with an assortment of activities. In addition to counseling the students, she'd taken it upon herself to coordinate a picnic for the end of the upcoming Seniors' Week. She spent her weekends babysitting Kevin and Rebecca's two-year-old daughter, Leila. The rest of the time, she dragged Grace to various events—the movies, festivals, exhibits—anything to keep her mind off Adam.

Pulling into her parents' driveway, Joan decided she just would not think about him. She went in the back door, dumped her purse and coat in one of the kitchen chairs and hurried into the dining room.

"Joan," Helen fussed in greeting as her daughter breezed by to her seat.

"I know. Sorry I'm late. I lost track of time." Kissing the top of Leila's head before she sat, Joan cast a quick glance around the table. Her parents sat at either end. Leila sat between herself and a hugely pregnant Rebecca. Across from them were Kevin and Grace. She was glad Grace had made it tonight. Even though they had been spending a lot of their spare time together, Grace had been unusually quiet. Maybe she'd open up tonight.

"What kept you?" Will asked, passing her a bowl of mashed potatoes.

She wasn't about to admit that she'd been waiting for Adam to call. That was beyond pathetic. It was just plain sad. "Just getting some late-minute work done. Did I miss anything?"

For the next hour, they caught up on each other's lives: Kevin's new column, the progress of Rebecca's pregnancy, Joan's plans for the senior picnic, upcoming topics on Grace's radio talk show, the latest drama at the precinct, even Leila's newest toy. Joan relaxed into the rhythm of the conversation, lulled by the comforting ebb and flow of their voices. She wondered what New York was like this time of year.

"Why so quiet, Joan?"

Looking up at Kevin's question, Joan was startled to find all eyes on her. "What?"

"You spaced out, Girardi," Grace said pointedly.

"Oh."

"Is something on your mind, honey?" Helen asked.

Joan opened her mouth to dismiss her mother's concern, then settled on shaking her head.

"Rove's on her mind."

Joan looked at Grace questioningly, thrown by her friend's caustic tone. "I'll admit I've been thinking about him a lot lately," she said carefully.

Grace scoffed, "You've been thinking about him a lot for the last month and a half."

"Does that bother you?" Joan couldn't remember Grace ever acting like this unless she'd done something major to piss her off. She didn't see where missing Adam would cause this confrontational attitude.

"No," she said facetiously. "It's just like high school all over again."

"If you have something to say, Grace, just say it."

"I don't need your permission."

Tired and perplexed by Grace's attitude, Joan said, "Then what's stopping you?"

"Girls, really," Helen interjected. "Is this necessary?"

"No," Joan said, ready to back down from what she knew would be an awful fight with her best friend.

Grace glared at Joan, then rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

"What is your problem?"

"You're my problem."

Wondering if she'd stepped into an episode of The Twilight Zone, Joan exclaimed, "What did I do to you?"

"You really what to know?"

"I just asked, didn't I?"

"The incessant moping."

This was about moping? "What are you talking about?"

"You have been sulking nonstop since Rove left and it's driving me crazy."

"So you pick a fight with me?" Joan asked, incredulous. "That's mature, Grace."

"Just like it was mature for you to push him away in the first place," challenged Grace.

"I wasn't ready."

"That's what you always say. Then you whine and moan about how bad you messed up with him. Geez, Girardi, haven't you figured it out by now?"

Joan's jaw dropped at Grace's bitter statement. If she was that bad, why hadn't she said something before now? It wasn't like Grace was shy. Anger bubbled in her chest. Whatever Grace's problem was didn't mean she got to take it out on Joan. She wasn't the only one who could be confrontational. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"I don't see you in any great, torrid romances . . ."

Grace gave her a this-is-me look. "Like you would."

". . . but then when you had the chance, you ran. So much for the great, fearless Grace Polk."

The sudden silence caught everyone off guard. Subconsciously, Joan realized Leila had crawled under the table to huddle in Kevin's lap. Rebecca and Kevin were staring at their plates and her parents were staring at each other. But Joan didn't care.

"Why don't we all just step back before someone says something they'll regret?" Helen asked with a peace-making smile.

Grace and Joan just stared at each other, livid and ignoring Helen. Deliberately, Grace threw down her napkin and got up from the table. "I have to go."

"Why? Does the truth hurt, Grace?"

With great, false calm, Grace said, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Then let me make it clear for you." Joan got up and followed Grace to the living room. "Luke. I'm talking about Luke."

"Shut it, Girardi."

"He liked you," she announced. "I think he even loved you. And what did you do? You shot him down every chance you got."

"My relationship with Luke is nothing like the one you have with Rove."

"That's right. It's not. You wouldn't let it." Unexpectedly, Joan felt tears fill her eyes. She impatiently blinked them away. "You may pride yourself on keeping your emotions to yourself, but I'm your friend. I'm not blind and I'm not stupid. You liked him back."

"You're delusional," Grace flung at Joan, but averted her eyes as she said it.

"And you're the reason I've only seen my little brother five times in eight years."

Grace's shocked eyes shot back to Joan's face.

"Joan, that's enough," Will said.

But Joan threw caution to the wind and shook her head. "No, it's not. Luke doesn't come home because it hurts him to see Grace. We all know it and so does she. "So, you want to judge me, Grace? Go ahead. But look at yourself first. You liked him. You probably even loved him like he did you. At least I was honest with Adam. He never doubted that I had feelings for him. I didn't shake his hand when he left for New York. I may have been afraid of hurting him, but I haven't been afraid to love him since eleventh grade. What's your excuse?"

Grace stepped up toe-to-toe with Joan. "Bite me," she enunciated, her eyes blazing with her fury. With that, she turned on her heel and marched out of the house.

The door slamming reverberated throughout the walls and sent a shudder through Joan. The anger that had moments before surged within her dissipated. Weakly, she rested a hand on the doorjamb. What had she just done?

"Joan?" Rebecca said gently.

She shook her head and covered her mouth. What had come over her? Way to listen, Joan. Comprehension dawned as God's words came back to her: . . . for others, Adam's visit stirred up thoughts and feelings that have long been dormant. Grace had been thinking of Luke. And, instead of commiserating with her, Joan had gone for the jugular. She felt sick.

Without a word, she plodded up to her old room and locked the door behind her before collapsing on the bed. She had to fix this. How could she fix this? The question churned mercilessly in her mind, but she came up empty.

Curling into a ball, Joan gave in to the tears she'd unconsciously held back. If only Adam were here. She laughed bleakly at the thought. Is that what had started this whole mess in the first place? Still, she wished he was with her now. Maybe then she'd have a hope of salvaging her friendship with Grace.

Sighing, she pulled the covers up over her head. She felt lost with Adam and Grace. So what are you going to do now? she thought. She didn't have a clue.