When Joan got back to the table, Adam was slumped with his head in his hands. She gently grabbed his shoulder.

"Adam, you're sick."

He looked up at her with glazed eyes. "Unchallenged. I need to get out of here, Jane."

"I'll find the waitress and get the check."

"But you didn't get your dessert."

"I don't care about the dessert. Go outside, get some fresh air, and I'll meet you by the car."

Adam nodded and stood up, holding onto the table as if the room were spinning. He gave Joan an apologetic glance with moist eyes, and she shooed him away.

The waitress returned first with the coffee, and Joan asked for the check and explained that they had to leave unexpectedly, prompting the waitress to say she'd take the dessert off the bill. Joan glanced at the creamy froth of her cappuccino but no longer had any interest in it. She took just a couple sips before the waitress returned with their bill. Joan paid it and got out of there as quickly as she could, which was not very quick by the time she got done calculating fifteen percent of thirty-seven dollars and then deciding that their next date would be at McDonald's. But with that minor delay, she got outside to find Adam sitting in the driver's seat of the car. She opened the passenger door.

"Adam, I should drive. You can tell me where to go."

"You know how to drive a stick shift?"

"Um, no."

"So that's out."

"We could get a taxi."

"Chah, we're miles from home, Jane. A cab would cost more than dinner."

"I'll call my dad to come pick us up."

"I can get us home. I've just got a fever. I'm not drunk."

Joan stared at him, aghast, and part of her almost wanted to slap him for saying that, for bringing up Kevin's accident. But she realized it was possible that he didn't mean that at all; it was like Adam to be clueless. Either way, she was forced to acknowledge exactly why she was so scared.

Adam read the look on her face and suddenly clued in. His mouth dropped open. "Oh, Jane, I didn't mean…"

"It's O.K."

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's O.K. You're right. I'm freaking out over nothing."

Perhaps it was to show him how much she trusted him that she got into the car next to him and closed the door. Adam pulled his hat back on, shifted into first, and they were off.

It was the decision they made next that would keep Joan awake, agonizing, through the wee hours of the night. Should they have taken the highway? Would that have been more dangerous? It was Joan who had insisted that they…

"Stick to the side streets."

"I don't know the way back by side streets, Jane."

"You shouldn't be driving on the highway if you're sick. This will be safer."

"I don't think getting lost in some whack neighborhood is safe, yo."

"Please, Adam," she begged, clutching his arm.

He looked at her with eyes she knew could not say no to her. "Fine."

So it was by side streets that they went, through the hip little neighborhood with its art galleries and candle stores and cozy restaurants. As dusk fell, the funky shops gave way to tattoo parlors and adult bookstores, and then to run-down and empty storefronts with broken windows and metal gates pulled down over the doors. There were fewer cars on the road now, and fewer streetlights, which were spaced farther apart. The roads were cracked and pot-holed, and with each bump they hit that bounced them off their seats, Joan looked to Adam to see how he was doing. His hands clenched the steering wheel, knuckles white, his jaw clenched with concentration as he focused on the road ahead. Once he turned to meet her gaze, and it was the faint squint of his soft brown eyes that conveyed so much sadness, and Joan recognized in that look how sorry he was for ruining their date, and a feeling shot through her stomach like she thought she would melt, so much did she want to wrap her arms around him in that moment and tell him that she didn't care about the dessert or the restaurant or the date, she only wanted him, and if he was sick she just wanted to make him better.

But as dusk gave way to night, her worry for Adam grew more into worry for the both of them, as Joan realized that they were driving through a neighborhood she did not wish to be in at night. Or during the day, for that matter.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"I think that's Brighton just up ahead, that big intersection."

"You think?"

"Or it might be Broadway. Either one should run all the way to --"

Adam stopped with a gasp, and Joan turned to see his face contort in pain. Then it looked like a spasm gripped his stomach, because he doubled over, his head almost hitting the steering wheel.

"Adam, watch out!" Joan screamed as they swerved, just missing a parked car. She reached out, one hand steadying the steering wheel while the other grabbed Adam by the shoulder. "What's the matter?"

"I don't know," he gasped, regaining a tenuous control of the car. "It hurts like hell."

"Let's pull over."

"I don't want to stop here. Not here."

"Adam, you can't drive like this."

"I can make it."

"Pull over!"

But it seemed that Adam didn't have time to pull over. He slammed on the brakes, and if they hadn't already slowed way down, Joan was sure she'd have whiplash. Suppressing a scream, she looked around for what they were about to hit, but she saw nothing in front of them. Before she could even ask why he had stopped, Adam had thrown open his door and jumped out. He disappeared from her view as he crouched next to the car, and Joan thought she could hear him vomiting.

She covered her mouth and closed her eyes, trying to think of what to do. She didn't know if she should give him his privacy or get out and see if he was OK. It wasn't until she opened her eyes again that she saw the red and blue flashing lights in the rearview mirror.

Joan turned around to see a police car pulled up behind them. The officer was already getting out of the car.

She sighed with relief. At least they were safe now, and she was pretty sure that they couldn't arrest you for driving while nauseated. Perhaps it was because her father was a cop, but the presence of police was always a comfort to her. She could see Adam trying to stand up, clutching the car with one hand and holding on to it for support.

As he approached, the police officer had his flashlight on, shining it on Adam and barking an order at him.

Joan opened her door and got out.

"Stay in the car, Ma'am," the cop ordered her. He was young, beefy and blonde with a buzz cut, and nearly twice Adam's size. Joan thought he looked more like a college frat boy than a police officer. He turned his attention from Joan back to Adam. "Now put your hands on the car."

Adam did as he was told. He was panting, trying to catch his breath.

The cop roughly grabbed Adam's head and shined the light right in his face. His aggressive manner was even more striking in contrast to the almost conversational tone of his voice as he asked, "What've you been using this evening, sir?"

Joan gasped, first at the physical assault and then at the question.

When Adam failed to respond, the officer grabbed him by the shoulder and flipped him over, pushing him onto his back against the trunk of the car. Then the cop leaned into him, pressing a thick forearm into Adam's chest just below his neck, nearly strangling him.

"Let's try this again. What did you take, kid?"

Joan felt like her heart had stopped. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. Did cops really act like this? "Wait!" she cried. "What are you doing? He didn't take anything!"

The cop flashed his light up at Joan, and the brightness was so blinding she had to shield her eyes. "Ma'am, I told you to get back in the car."

"But –"

"I saw you guys swerving down the road, and then this one jumps out and pukes? I'd say somebody's been partying."

"He's sick!" Joan could feel her whole body shaking. She thought she was going to be sick herself. It ran through her head that she wanted her daddy, and it was that thought that finally made her remember that she was prepared for this situation. Her father had told her what to do. And suddenly she felt calm.

"I want your badge number," she stated.

"What?"

"I want your name and your badge number. My father is Will Girardi, and if you don't get your hands off of my boyfriend this second, I'm going to report you."

"You're Girardi's kid? That makes this even more interesting. What's the former police chief's daughter doing in a neighborhood like this…" He looked at Adam and continued, "…with a hood like this?"

"We're just trying to get home. We didn't do anything wrong."

"There's only one reason nice white kids like you come into this part of town, and that's to score dope. But in your boyfriend's case, it looks like he's already had his."

"He's not high." Joan knew she was supposed to stay put, but she couldn't resist inching slowly along the side of the car, closer to Adam. "Listen to me, you're making a huge mistake."

But the cop wasn't listening. He had flipped Adam back onto his stomach and was patting him down, first pulling out his wallet. As the cop examined Adam's driver's license and then continued pulling things out of his pockets, Adam did not resist at all, or couldn't resist. He looked like he could barely stand. He lay against the trunk of the car, still breathing heavily. Joan wanted to run to him and grab him, but she could only keep moving slowly along the side of the car, hoping not to draw attention.

The cop now had a small pile of things that he'd extricated from Adam's pockets: copper wire, small pieces of metal and plastic, bits of paper, rocks.

"What is all this crap?" The cop kept digging until he found a small packet. "What's this? Rolling papers? I wonder what these are for."

Adam finally rasped out a response. "Those are for my art, man."

"Right, dude," the cop drawled, mocking him. "And these little baggies. These for your art, too?"

Adam didn't respond. He coughed, then made a couple hacking noises and covered his mouth.

The cop grabbed the back of Adam's hat, and his hair, and yanked his head up. "Are you gonna hurl again?"

Adam again said nothing. Joan had eased past the backseat door and was almost directly across from him now, but Adam wouldn't look at her. The officer let go of him, and Adam dropped his head back down and closed his eyes.

Finished with the pockets of Adam's jeans, the officer next dug his rough hands into the pockets of the hoodie. He pulled out some small white objects that Joan recognized immediately as mints from the bowl on the hostess station at the restaurant. Adam must've grabbed a handful on his way out.

"Whoah-ho!" the cop yelled triumphantly. "What're these?"

"Those are mints," Joan replied. "We were just at a restaurant."

The cop looked at Joan and sniffed the mints but still looked skeptical. Adam finally looked up at Joan, with an expression of embarrassment tinged with regret. She knew why he'd taken those mints; he may have been sick, but he'd still hoped they'd be making out in the car after dinner. Joan gave him a small smile, but it didn't last long.

The cop seemed angry that he hadn't found any drugs. "Look, are you gonna tell me where the stash is, or do I have to search the car?"

Adam shook his head. "All you'll find in the car is more of the same."

"So you don't mind if I see for myself? Step away from the vehicle, please." Again his faux-polite tone contrasted with the fierce physicality of his movements. He pulled Adam to his feet and shoved him aside. Adam stumbled in a losing battle to regain his balance.

Joan no longer cared about the cop's orders to stay put. She ran around the car and grabbed Adam in her arms just as he was about to fall over.

"Adam!" she gasped. As he leaned against her, the weight of his body was so much more than she was expecting, she almost fell over. But she took a step back, balanced, and silently promised herself that she wouldn't let go of him no matter what happened next. His breathing was still labored, as it had been before but no doubt was worsened by being pinned against the car. "Adam, are you OK?"

Adam wrapped his arms around her and pressed his cheek against hers. His mouth was right against her ear as he whispered, "Call your dad."

"What?"

"Your cell phone. Call your dad."

She hadn't even thought of it, but she hesitated only a split second to see that the police officer was preoccupied checking the glove compartment of the car. Still supporting Adam, she discreetly pulled her phone from her pocket and, cursing her own stupidity, dialed home.

It was her younger brother who answered. "Hello?"

"Luke, put Dad on the phone," she whispered. "Now."

"Joan? What's the matter?"

"What part of 'now' did you not understand? It's an emergency. Luke, please!"

It must have been that his sister said 'please' to him that drove home the urgency of the situation. "Hold on," he said.

She could hear Luke calling, "Dad! Dad!" and then the thud of his feet pounding down the stairs. It didn't take very long for him to get to their father, but it was long enough for the police officer to look up at them and see her on the phone.

"Hey!" the officer called. "Did I say you could make a phone call?"

This question was overlapped by her father's voice from the phone. "Joan, are you all right?"

"Daddy, I need help," she cried into the phone.

"Where are you?" he asked, with what she knew was forced calm.

"I – I don't know." She looked up at the cop storming toward her, and her heart pounded in her chest.

The growing fear in her father's voice compounded her own. "Joan, what happened?"

"We got pulled over –"

But that was all she could get out before the cop ripped the phone right out of her hand.

"Hey, that's mine!" she yelped.

The cop glared and stabbed a thick finger at her. "You – put your hands on the car."

Joan didn't move. She was terrified, having witnessed what 'put your hands on the car' meant for Adam. But even stronger than her fear for her own safety was her fear for Adam's. She wouldn't let go of him. She'd promised herself she wouldn't.

In desperation, she looked around for some means of escape. She noticed now that a small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk to watch the commotion. That comforted her, because she felt there was no way this cop would hurt her in front of witnesses. She realized what a strange sight she and Adam must seem to onlookers: two teenagers huddled together in the glare of squad car headlights, the girl supporting the boy.

"Put your hands on the car," the officer barked again. "Now."

When she didn't move, the cop grabbed her arm. Again fear shot through her, and again fear was overwhelmed by something else – this time, surprise.

Suddenly amassing strength, Adam had maneuvered himself in front of her, pushing her back behind him and placing himself squarely between Joan and the officer. "Don't touch her," Adam commanded, his strained voice barely above a whisper.

The officer was as surprised by this as Joan, and for a moment he just stared back and forth between the two of them. And that was when something even more startling happened; with a sudden groan, Adam pitched forward, doubling over just as he had in the car.

Interpreting this as an assault, the cop grabbed him and threw him to the ground.

"No!" Joan screamed.

Adam hit the pavement head-first, his arms barely able to catch his fall. He lay face-down in the street and didn't move as Joan dropped to her knees next to him.

"Adam!" she cried, digging her hands underneath his shoulder and pushing him up onto his side. He drew his knees up and curled into a ball, but he didn't open his eyes. His mouth was wide open as if struggling to get a breath, and he looked conscious but very much in pain. "Adam!" she shouted more urgently. She looked up at the cop. "What did you do?" she demanded. She looked at the gawking bystanders. "Somebody get some help! Please!"

"I'm calling this in," the cop stated abruptly. "He's an O.D." He went to his car and grabbed the radio.

"He's not O.D.'ing!" Joan yelled. "He's not on –" She stopped herself as she felt Adam clutch her arm. She looked down to see his eyes half-open.

He whispered, "Jane, if it'll get us to the hospital, let him think whatever he wants."

She nodded and looked up at the cop sitting in the front seat of the squad car and speaking into his radio. He finished and got out of the car.

"Did you call an ambulance?" she asked.

"No," replied the officer. "I'm taking him in."

"He needs an ambulance."

"That'll take a lot longer."

The cop walked over to them and bent down. Joan threw herself over Adam to shield him. "No!" she screamed.

"Listen, lady, I won't hurt him. Get up and help me, and this will all go a lot faster."

Joan looked down at Adam. He nodded his consent. She stood up, and she and the cop each grabbed an arm and pulled him to his feet. Then the cop bent and pulled Adam over his shoulder, carrying him to the car. He opened the back door of the squad car and dumped Adam onto the seat. Joan tried to climb in after him.

"You stay here," the cop ordered her back.

"You can't leave me here. I have no way home."

"You've got the car."

"It's his. I can't drive it."

The cop ignored her and went to get in the car.

Fear and desperation brought out Joan's resourcefulness. She snapped at the cop, "You know you can't leave me here. Do I have to remind you who my father is?"

This seemed to get through. The officer nodded and grabbed his radio again, this time calling for a tow truck. Joan climbed into the back seat, where she found Adam struggling to pull himself upright.

"OK," she whispered, feeling relief for the first time. "We're going to the hospital." In the darkness she could just make out Adam's eyes as he looked at her.

"I'm sorry, Jane," he said.

"Sorry? What are you sorry for?"

"I'm sorry this is happening. You were right. I was too sick to --"

"Adam," she interrupted. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I just want you to be OK."

He nodded. "I'll try." He leaned over and laid his head in her lap.

The car pulled out into traffic, and the lights and siren came on. Joan didn't attempt to speak again over the loud wail, so she just sat, looking down at Adam as his eyes closed again. She took his hand in hers and rested their entwined fingers upon his chest, close to his heart, so she could feel his heartbeat. Despite its swift pace, she found the sensation comforting, their one connection now as she could no longer see his eyes or hear his voice. With her free hand, she ran her fingers through his thick dark hair.

The car raced along, hitting potholes and tearing around corners. Joan didn't look out the window at the city flashing by; she looked only down at Adam.

Flying down the street under the blare of sirens, she was aware of how surreal everything felt. The moments passed by as if by sheer momentum, each pushing the next, falling like dominoes. It didn't feel like reality. None of this could be real. It passed through Joan's mind that it could be a dream, and the only counterpoint to that idea that she could reason was that dreams didn't have this many details. There were so many thoughts circling in her brain, and the biggest one, the one that was so weighty that she couldn't believe she hadn't run into it yet, was that she had no idea what was wrong with Adam.

She stroked his forehead, felt the heat that seeped from his skin. Her fingers drew trails of sweat across his brow. Adam, Adam… what's wrong with you? Is it the flu? Food poisoning? You were sick when you got to the house, weren't you? Why didn't you just tell me?

She was still puzzling it out when the siren tripped off with a loud chirp. They had pulled into a circular drive that took them right up to wide glass double-doors with fluorescent light shining through. Here they were -- the hospital, emergency room, doctors, safety. Adam would be all right.

He opened his eyes and looked up at her, no weak smile now, no sense of relief in his eyes, only pain and confusion. Whatever it was that was wrong with him, it was getting progressively worse. No words were exchanged between them, just that silent look in the dark back seat of a cop car, pale haze of fluorescence just allowing Joan to make out Adam's eyes. She squeezed his hand in the one gesture of optimism she could muster; he squeezed back but the weakness of his grip frightened her. The cop was out of the car now, reaching for the handle of the backseat door, and as Joan looked down at Adam, she did something that surprised both of them; she bent and kissed him, first intending to kiss his forehead but somehow finding her way down to his lips, or perhaps his lips sought out hers. His grip may have been weak, but his kiss was hungry. It was as if he wanted to drink some of her strength and she wanted to feed it to him, because they both knew what this was, a goodbye kiss, the kiss of two people who know that the path that lies before them is dark and dangerous and that they each must walk it alone.

The officer threw open the door to the back seat as Joan pulled her lips away from Adam's, the wetness on them could be sweat or saliva, she didn't know, but she licked her lips, wanting to drink in whatever it was. She didn't care if he was sick, if he was contagious, she didn't care about germs or disease or anything that could hurt her, she knew only that she loved her boyfriend, and in that moment, Adam Rove was the only thing in the world that mattered.

So lost was she in love, she was almost oblivious to the hands that reached into the back seat and grabbed Adam by the arms and ripped him away from her.