Her father may have wanted her to stay with him, but Joan couldn't just sit in that waiting room and count the tiles on the ceiling. Not with that big, blond frat boy cop sitting there, nursing a coffee in a styrofoam cup as if he were kicking back at the donut shop. Part of her wanted to hear what her father would say to him now that they knew what was wrong with Adam, now that they had proof that everything the cop thought and did was wrong. But part of her was past that; she had a new anger now, a new target for her frustration.

As she marched purposefully down the hall, she'd already forgotten what excuse she'd given her father. Was she supposed to be looking for a vending machine, or a restroom? Neither one was the real reason she'd walked away. She didn't know where she would find it, but she knew what she was looking for. Turning down one more quiet white hallway, she saw a sign for it at the end and hurried down to find a small room with a stained glass window and a half-dozen pews.

The chapel. Now where was He? The all-knowing, ever-present One, operator of a seemingly flawed but supposedly perfect system, like Willy Wonka and his chocolate factory.

"OK, where are you? I want to talk. I looked all over the ER, and you weren't there. So why don't you just poof, and then we can have a nice face-to-face?"

Silence greeted her. Joan looked around, turning her face up to the ceiling. "Are you hiding? That figures." She walked up to a podium at the front of the room, ran a finger over the polished wood, then lifted her hand and slammed her fist down.

The sound echoed through the room. Throbbing pain shot up her arm, but it wasn't enough. She wanted it to hurt. Why should all the pain be Adam's? Joan turned her face heavenward again. "I just have one question…" The anger that had spurred her rant thus far suddenly abated, and now grief welled up in her, and she felt the tears coming again. She was just barely able to speak it, and her lower lip quivered as she asked, "Hasn't Adam suffered enough?"

Again, silence. She walked over to a pew and collapsed onto it, burying her head in her hands. She sat like that for several minutes, anger, sadness, pain, love, all battling it out inside her mind.

And then she felt a tap on her shoulder. Wiping away tears, she looked up to see Orderly God in his blue scrubs, his thick, tattooed arms folded across his chest.

He stated matter-of-factly, "First of all, I do not 'poof.' And secondly, you do not summon me. I am not your genie in a bottle."

Joan stood up and faced him. "Answer my question."

"And I don't answer questions. But that one you knew already."

"You'll answer this one, because all of this was your bidding. You told me to go on a date with Adam and gave me that evil restaurant book so I'd get it in my head that we should drive across town. And for what, so we could get lost, and Adam could get beaten up? You threw us into harm's way, and it better not be so I could learn some stupid lesson about appearances."

Joan paused, waiting for some response, but none came. With a deep breath, she continued, "Do you have some cosmic vendetta against Adam Rove? Was he Joseph Stalin in a past life, and now he's on a karmic downward spiral into dung beetle territory or something? What is it? Why Adam? He's never done anything to deserve this."

"Few who suffer deserve suffering. That's not the way it works. Your brother didn't deserve to end up in a wheelchair."

"No, he didn't. But that was just one horrible accident, and Kevin lived this, like, glorified, prom-king existence up until that point. Adam has never had it easy. He was just a kid when his mom died. And you'd think that would make the school go easy on him, but instead Price is constantly on his ass about everything. And his only friends are this militant anti-establishment, secret-bat-mitzvah-having, 'Don't come to my house' subdefective, and me, the crazy girl who took a folding chair to the one good thing that ever happened to him."

"Selling that sculpture is not the only good thing that ever happened to Adam. I might argue that the best thing ever to happen to Adam is standing right in front of me."

"Me? The girlfriend he barely gets to spend time with because his dad got hurt and now he has to work all the time to support his family? Just how much are you going to throw at him? Why don't you just clue me in so I'll at least be prepared the next time tragedy strikes and won't totally fail him like I did tonight?"

"You didn't fail him. And although I don't like to prognosticate, I will tell you that an appendectomy is a very minor surgery, and you have every reason to believe that Adam will be fine."

"He won't be fine. Not after everything that happened tonight. What's he going to feel the next time he sees a pair of flashing lights in his rearview mirror? Maybe next time he won't pull over, maybe he'll just make a break for it. This is how a life of crime starts!"

"Joan, the thing about people who suffer a lot is that they learn to deal with suffering. They get past it. Adam will be fine, and he'll be fine because one good thing will happen to him tonight, and that's what he'll remember."

"What thing?"

"That's up to you."

"Argh! Do you have to go cryptic again? Can't you just tell me that Adam will be fine because you have the power to make it that way?"

"Joan, haven't you noticed that when I tell you to do something, things tend to work out for the best?"

"I can't see how this could possibly be for the best!"

"That's where faith comes in, Joan."

"Sorry, I'm fresh out of faith! Why don't you give me some?"

God looked at her carefully and nodded. "OK."

"OK?"

"OK."

"So… you're giving me faith. Like, right now? Because I don't feel any different. I still feel terrified."

"What are you so scared of, Joan?"

"What am I scared of? How much time have you got?"

"I'm not bound by time, so you go right ahead."

"Right this second I'm scared that my boyfriend is going into surgery, they're going to… to cut him open… to… How can I not be scared when he's getting sicker by the second and this stupid hospital won't operate on him until his father signs some stupid form? How can I not be scared when I have no idea how Adam's doing?"

"You know how he's doing, Joan. You always know, if you let yourself feel it. You're so much more connected than you realize."

"I can't feel it. I don't even feel like we're in the same building. I just feel far away from him."

God gestured to the nearest pew. "Sit down."

Joan looked at him, wondering what he was up to, hoping that this was the piece of faith he had promised her. She sat down.

"Close your eyes," he commanded.

Joan did as she was told. She felt God's rough fingers touch her forehead.

"You can see him, Joan, if you look the right way. Not with your eyes. Look inside."

And then she felt as if she were slipping into a dream, the kind of dream that comes quickly, in a light, cozy sleep, like dozing in an armchair by the fire. An image opened up before her of a large room, and she felt like she'd walked into it, but she couldn't see the entire room. Her field of vision became blurry around the edges, like looking through the bottom of a glass.

The room was a monochromatic greenish-white, brightly lit by steel fixtures that hung from the ceiling like upside down umbrellas. A steel counter and cabinets lined the wall on the opposite side, and in the middle of the room, underneath the lights, lay an operating table.

Adam was wheeled right past her. Joan was so close to him as he came through the door, she couldn't even see the people at either end of the gurney, she could see only him. His eyes were open, apprehensive, darting around to take in everything in the room. He was fiddling with his hands, as he so often did when he was nervous, his long, dexterous fingers weaving and unweaving. Joan wanted to grab his hands, hold onto him, but she couldn't move, she couldn't reach out to him, couldn't break through the screen of this movie she was watching that seemed so very real.

The gurney lined up parallel to the operating table. Someone grasped the sheet that covered Adam and pulled it back. Joan could see now that he was dressed in a hospital gown, white with a tiny blue pattern in it. It ran down past his waist and stopped just above his knees. Joan could almost make out the strands of soft brown hair that curled over the white skin of his legs. But that was where the edge of this picture became blurry. Her eyes traveled back up the length of his body, and that was when she saw the IV tube running into his left arm, the end of it disappearing under a white piece of tape that puckered the skin just below the inside of his elbow. The sight of it was disturbing at first, but then she realized that Adam was noticeably less feverish and more alert now, so whatever they were giving him was doing the trick.

The two people who stood at either end of the gurney lifted him and slid him onto the operating table, and then the gurney rolled away. For a moment Adam looked cold and alone on that freestanding slab, and he crossed his arms across his chest for warmth, but his right hand ran into the IV tube, and a nurse gently took his arm and laid it down straight at his side. Another sheet was laid over him, a heavy, turquoise-colored one.

The surgeon entered now and spoke to Adam, but Joan couldn't hear the words that were exchanged. Adam nodded and smiled unconvincingly, and the surgeon patted him on the shoulder. And Joan was sure that the surgeon and the nurses and everyone else in that room saw the nods and the half-smile and thought that Adam was just fine with all of this, but Joan could see what they couldn't. She could see the fear in his eyes, she could see that he didn't trust the surgeon or anything the surgeon said, that he wouldn't trust, couldn't trust, any authority figure who was supposed to help him, for all the same reasons Joan couldn't, because the world was a darker place now than it had been when they'd left the warm safety of the Girardi home that evening.

And now the anesthetist stood behind him with a clear mask and placed it over Adam's nose and mouth, and Joan couldn't hear the words but she somehow knew they were telling him to close his eyes, and he closed his eyes but then opened them almost immediately. The fear in his eyes had not abated but simply set into a steely resolve, and he would not surrender to the anesthesia. Joan recognized that expression, the stiffness of his shoulders, the tension in his jaw – it was the countenance that fell over him whenever he saw Vice Principal Price, that look that was Adam suppressing his own natural vulnerability, that look that said he would not be hurt again.

Joan wanted to cry; her chest ached with sobs that could no longer come. All the fear that she felt, she realized that it was nothing compared to what Adam was dealing with. She wanted to climb under the turquoise sheet, lie on that table next to him, wrap her arms around him, warm him with her body and tell him that everything would be all right.

"Adam," she cried, trying desperately to get through to him, "Adam, listen to me. Please just go to sleep, and everything will be fine."

His eyelids drooped and slid closed, then opened again, but not as wide now. He turned his head toward her, and suddenly his deep brown eyes were looking right into her own. Through the clear mask she could see his lips move, and then she heard his voice.

"Jane…"

"Close your eyes," she called softly to him. "It's OK, Adam, you can let go. It will all be fine, I promise… I'm right here, and… I love you."

Adam's gaze warmed and held to hers for a moment. "Jane, I…"

And then his eyelids slid closed again, dark lashes resting against pale skin, and the strain in his face and shoulders eased, the corners of his mouth relaxed, and his lips parted slightly. Joan felt a wave of contentment wash over her, and she realized she was feeling what Adam was feeling, the chemical calm of anesthesia mingling with the true peace found in faith and love. And with contentment came drowsiness, and the blurry edges of the picture seeped into the picture itself, until everything was blurry, and the picture darkened until there was no picture at all, just a feeling that he was near her and warm and at peace.

"Joan," a voice called to her. It was a voice far away, a voice she recognized but couldn't put a face with. "Joan!" it called again. It was a male voice, persistent, urgent. And then she felt pressure on her shoulder, someone was shaking her. "Wake up, Joan."

She opened her eyes to see her father leaning over her. "Dad?" she murmured.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," said Will. "I thought you were going to get something to drink."

Her shoulder blades aching from the hardness of the wood beneath her, Joan became aware that she was lying down on the pew. She pulled herself up, drowsiness still haunting the corners of her mind. "How long was I asleep?"

"It's been almost an hour since you left the waiting room."

She sprang to her feet. "What?! What happened? Where's Adam?"

"Adam is in surgery. Everyone's waiting upstairs."

Joan was furious at herself. "How could I fall asleep?"

"You've been through a lot tonight, honey. When we go through very stressful situations, it takes a big toll on our bodies, and it's perfectly normal to become suddenly sleepy once the trauma has passed."

Failing to process this explanation, Joan muttered, "I can't believe I fell asleep."

Will slid his arm around her shoulders. "Come on, pumpkin. Let's go upstairs."

Joan let her father guide her down the hall and into an elevator. He pressed the button for the third floor, and when they emerged, they were in another waiting room, this one more relaxing and quieter that the ER waiting room. The sign above the double doors to their right read SURGERY.

She noticed Kevin first, because the wheelchair stood out among the gray-cushioned armchairs. Grace and Luke sat opposite him.

Farther away sat her mother with Adam's father, Helen resting her hand gently on Mr. Rove's arm. He looked tired and tense, leaning forward with his hands planted on his knees for support. He appeared to have even more gray in his beard than he had the last time she'd seen him, and his shaggy hair hung down to his shoulders.

"There's Joan!" Luke announced. Everyone looked up at her.

"I found her asleep in the chapel," Will explained.

Helen shook her head at Joan in disbelief. "What is it about you passing out in chapels?"

"Funny you should ask," Joan mumbled, flopping down in the chair next to Luke.

"Maybe she's overcome by the Holy Spirit," quipped Grace.

Joan raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Kevin gave her one of his patented big-brother looks and asked, "How you doin' there, kid?"

"I'm fine," she sighed.

"That was convincing," said Grace. "So I heard you and Rove had a run-in with the law."

Joan nodded and glanced sideways at Adam's father, who looked away when she caught his eyes on her. She knew he must want some explanation of what happened, and she felt obligated to say something. But she didn't know what to say.

All she could come up with was, "I'm sorry, Mr. Rove."

He nodded and sighed. "Thank you, Joan, but it doesn't sound like you have anything to be sorry for."

Joan knew that wasn't true, and the guilt was too much for her to keep inside. "I'm sorry I dragged Adam all the way across town to that stupid restaurant he didn't even want to go to."

Mr. Rove shook his head. "I saw Adam just before he left, when I gave him the car keys. He was so excited to be going out with you to a nice place, he didn't seem the least bit reluctant to me."

That thought warmed Joan's heart a little bit, but it did not ease her guilt. "I should've noticed something was wrong. He was so quiet, and I could tell he had a fever..."

"You wouldn't notice. I think he made up his mind to hide it." This came from Grace.

"What do you mean?" asked Joan, turning to her.

"I mean, Rove knew he was sick. He called me this morning, and he was talking about canceling. But then he called back later and said he'd just talked to you and you were so into it and he couldn't possibly cancel because you'd be so disappointed and –"

"What are you doing?" Luke demanded, cutting her off.

Grace was startled by his tone, but she looked back at Luke coolly and replied, "Calm down, Girardi. I'm just relaying the facts."

"Joan already feels guilty. Why are you trying to make her feel worse?"

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are. You're making it sound like this is all her fault, just because she wanted to go on a date with her boyfriend."

"No, I don't think it's Joan's fault that Rove has an appendicitis. I'm simply pointing out that it was my understanding that he did not wish to go to that restaurant, because, let's face it, why would he?"

Luke nodded his head as if he'd just solved a puzzle. "So you're mad because no one asked your opinion on where they should go on their date?"

Her steel gaze still locked on him, Grace replied, "No one minds their own business as well as I do. So back off, Girardi."

"Kids!" called Helen. "Let's all just relax. It's late, everyone's worried about Adam, emotions are running high, let's try to be civil, can we?"

This plea was pretty much ignored by the kids in question.

"Grace, are you mad at me?" asked Joan.

"Who said anything about being mad? We were fine until your baby brother started in on me."

"He's just trying to stick up for me."

"Yeah," Grace scoffed. "How sweet."

"I'm sorry I never really talked to you about this whole date thing."

Grace threw up her hands emphatically. "For the last time, I don't care where you and Rove went for your pre-conjugal foodfest. I was talking strictly in terms of Rove's point of view. Forget I mentioned it. We'll just pretend this is The Bizarro World, where he's all about steak tartare and cloth napkins. There, ya happy?"

"Hey," Kevin interjected. "Leave Joan alone. She doesn't need this right now."

Grace folded her arms and snarked, "Wow, it's touching how the Girardis are all closing ranks." She turned her glare back to Luke for several seconds, until finally she jumped up. "I don't need this," she said, stalking away.

"Grace, don't leave!" Helen called after her.

Grace replied over her shoulder as she stepped into the elevator, "Don't worry, Mrs. G. I'm sticking around until I make sure Rove comes out of there in one piece. But in the meantime, I have a sudden craving for an overpriced candy bar."

Joan watched her go, ambivalent to what just happened. A spat seemed so irrelevant after something as heavy as mind-melding with your boyfriend. She looked at the doors that led into Surgery, and thought, I was inside there… wasn't I? Or was that a dream?

When the elevator doors had closed on Grace, Will turned to his wife and asked, "Did she say 'pre-conjugal'?"

Helen smiled and patted his arm. "No, dear. You heard wrong."

"Oh. OK, good."

One of the Surgery doors opened, and a nurse stuck her head out. Everyone looked up expectantly, but she directed her words only to Will. "Detective Girardi, we got a message asking if you could go back down to the ER."

"Thank you," he replied, standing up. "I'll be back in a minute. Anyone need anything? Carl, a cup of coffee?"

"No, thank you," Mr. Rove replied.

"Helen?"

"Oh, no, it's after ten. I'd never get to sleep."

Joan looked up at the clock. It read 10:20. Could it really be that early? She felt like she'd been at the hospital all night. So much had happened in so little time, and it was catching up with her. She closed her eyes, and she might have dozed off had she not felt an arm wrap around her. She opened her eyes to see her mother sitting next to her.

"You looked like you might fall over," Helen smiled.

"I'm so tired, Mom."

Luke turned to his sister and asked, "You want me to get you some coffee?"

"And now I'm scared. Luke is offering to do nice things for me. What's going on?"

Luke uttered an exasperated sigh. "I don't know why I bother. I try to help. I tried to help Grace, I called her to tell her what was going on, I got Kevin to go pick her up when she insisted that we go to the hospital. And now she's mad at me. I offer to get my sister a coffee, and she makes fun of me." He stood up. "I might as well just go and – "

"Sit down." Joan grabbed his arm and pulled him back down into his seat. "You're not going anywhere. No more storming off allowed."

"Luke, Grace isn't mad at you," said Helen.

"No," Joan agreed. "She's mad at me."

"Wrong again," her mother replied. "Grace is mad at one person. Grace."

"Huh?" said Luke.

"If you listened to what she said, she was trying to tell you that she knew Adam was sick. Joan, you didn't know, but Grace did, and she didn't do anything about it, didn't call you to tell you, because she was minding her own business, and she trusted Adam to do what was best. I'm not saying she did the wrong thing, but in this case, the worst happened, and I can see why she's upset." Helen brushed back the hair hanging in Joan's face and tucked it behind her ear, so she could look her daughter straight in the eyes. "Grace doesn't blame you for what happened, Joan. She blames herself."

Joan mulled this over and nodded. "Wow, Mom. That's deep."

"Yeah," Luke concurred. "How'd you read Grace so easily? You barely know her. I've been working on her all year."

"It comes with age. The great trade-off: you get wrinkles, you get wise to things."

"Hmm. Maybe you could write me a manual."

"Sorry, Luke. If I gave you the roadmap, your teen years wouldn't be nearly as much of a trip. But I will give you one piece of advice: Don't get so jealous. Grace loves Adam, but not the way your sister does."

Luke nodded. "Got it."

Joan reached over and patted her brother's hand. "I think I'll take you up on that coffee offer now."

"Sure." Luke stood up and walked to the elevator just as the Surgery doors opened again and the same nurse walked out.

"Mr. Rove, your son is in Recovery now, if you'd like to see him."

"Thank you." Mr. Rove stood up slowly, using the arms of the chair. "How is he?"

"He's perfect. He's still pretty sleepy from the anesthesia, but the operation was smooth as silk."

Joan watched anxiously as the nurse held the door open for Mr. Rove. "Wait – " she called, her voice more plaintive that she would have liked. "When can I… we…"

"Family only, right now," the nurse explained.

Mr. Rove gave Joan a weary smile and said, "Tell you what, I'll get them to bring him out ASAP. You'll owe me one." He winked at her and then followed the nurse. The doors closed again behind them.

The waiting room was very quiet. They were now down to Joan, her mother, and Kevin, and that was good, because these were two people Joan didn't mind crying in front of, which is what she was doing now.

"Hey, what's the matter?" asked Kevin, noticing the tears running down his sister's cheeks.

"I'm just… relieved," she explained. A smile spread across her face, and she started laughing.

Kevin shook his head. "You really are kind of nuts."

"Kevin…" Helen warned.

"In a good way," he added.

Helen helped wipe away her daughter's tears. "It's a lot to deal with in one day."

"Yeah," Joan sniffled. "Some first date, huh?"

"But everything's fine now. That's what matters. You heard the nurse -- Adam is perfect."

"Adam's always been perfect. I don't know why it took me so long to figure that out."

"Well," sighed Helen. "No argument here."

The elevator doors opened, and Will stepped out holding a cup of coffee. He walked over to join his family.

"Finally!" said Joan. She reached up and took the coffee out of his hands.

"Um…" Will started. Watching his daughter take a sip, he mumbled, "That was mine."

Joan swallowed and made a face. "I like cream and sugar," she said, handing it back to him.

"Duly noted." Will sat down next to Joan in what had been Luke's seat.

"What happened downstairs?" Joan asked.

"They got the toxicology report back."

"And?"

"No alcohol. No drugs. He was completely clean."

Joan nodded. "So what happens now?"

"Joan, I know you don't want to hear this, but Officer Grady feels terrible about what happened."

"He'll feel even more terrible when he's flipping pancakes at IHOP."

The elevator doors opened again, and Luke emerged, holding a cup of coffee and a large handful of sugar and creamer packets.

"Now, there's a guy who speaks my language," said Joan. She reached for the cup just as she noticed that Grace had followed Luke out of the elevator.

"I found her skulking around downstairs by the nursery," he explained.

"I was not skulking. I don't skulk. Shut up."

"I'm sorry," said Luke quickly. "I didn't mean to wrongly accuse you of… skulking."

Joan couldn't believe her ears.  "The nursery, Grace?  You like looking at babies?"

"Babies?  Yuck.  I bought a frozen burrito from a vending machine, but then the microwave was broken, so I went down to the neonatal unit to see if they'd let me put it in an incubator. They were so snotty. Anyway, where's Rove? Brainiac here said he was out of surgery."

"His dad is in with him," said Joan. "They're supposed to be coming out soon."

Grace walked over and dropped into a chair away from everyone. Joan grabbed the handful of sugar and creamers from Luke and went over to sit by Grace. Neither of the girls said anything, but Grace watched as Joan ripped open a creamer packet and dumped its contents into the steaming cup. This was followed by another creamer packet, then another, and then –

"Jesus, Girardi. Why don't you just have a glass of milk?"

Joan stuck a swizzle stick in the cup and stirred, then tasted. Still not right. Ripping open another packet she said, "Grace, I'm sorry we all ganged up on you. Brothers are like that. When they sense you're in danger, they attack. It's actually one of their better qualities."

"Whatever. You know I'm not into the whole apology thing."

Joan turned to face her friend and laid a hand on her shoulder.

Grace looked down at Joan's hand as if it were something that crawled up and died. "I'm even less into the hug thing," she warned.

"I love you, Grace."

"Oh, God."

Joan smiled and began the exacting process of adding the sugar to her coffee. Grace continued to watch her, helplessly fascinated.

After another minute of silence, Grace's tone turned solemn. "You know… he hates needles."

"I know."

"Needles, doctors, hospitals, all of it."

"I know."

"I know you know. That's my point. When I got here, and Rove was already under the knife, and your parents didn't know where you were, I was sitting here freaking out, and I'm thinking, Joan will get it. Joan's the only one who will get it."

Joan and Grace made eye contact, and they both nodded slowly. "Yeah," said Joan.

Luke sat down next to Grace. "Are we OK?" he asked her.

"Were we ever OK?"

"Good point." He looked at the giant pile of creamer carcass sitting on the arm of Joan's chair. "What is she doing?"

"Dude, shh," Grace whispered. "I think she's almost achieved alchemy."

"Joan," Helen called. Joan looked at her mother, who pointed to the Surgery doors.

The doors were opening electronically, revealing a hallway going straight back. Down the hallway came two nurses wheeling a gurney straight toward them, with Mr. Rove following.

Joan jumped up, almost spilling her coffee. Grace followed. They went to the doorway.

This was a different gurney than the one Adam had been on before. This one was deeper, more comfortable-looking, with railings up on all four sides making it resemble a large crib. Turquoise sheets enveloped the person beneath them, so much so that the gurney drew close before Joan could even tell that it was Adam inside.

The sight was intimidating, and rather than running into Adam's arms, as she had fantasized their reunion, she was actually afraid to touch him. Not that there was much of him to touch. His hands and arms were buried underneath the sheets, which were pulled up almost to his chin, leaving his face the only skin exposed. His eyes were closed, and the flush of fever that had been with him all evening was gone, and now he looked so pale that Joan was struck by the contrast of his dark pink lips against his skin.

"Is he awake?" she asked.

"Yeah," Mr. Rove replied. "He's been asking for you." He laid a hand on Adam's shoulder and raised his voice slightly. "Adam, Joan's here."

Adam's eyes slowly opened. He seemed disoriented at first, but then he found her face and focused on her. He smiled. "Jane. Hey."

Joan approached the gurney cautiously, and the nurse nearest her stepped back to make room for her at Adam's side. She rested her hands on the low railing.

"Hey," she said softly. She looked down at him and didn't know what else to say, so she went with the obvious. "How are you feeling?"

"I feel great. It's funny, actually…"

"What's funny?"

"Painkillers, yo. I spent so long trying to convince that cop that I wasn't on drugs, and now I'm high as a kite."

Joan laughed, and then stopped abruptly. "Adam, that's not funny."

Stepping up next to Joan, Grace laughed, "Well, Rove, save some for us, will ya?"

Adam smiled at her. "Grace. Cool." He raised his eyebrows and looked around at all the faces gathered at his bedside. "This is all very Wizard of Oz, yo."

Luke stepped up behind Grace. "Hey, Adam."

"Look, Dorothy, it's Scarecrow!" said Grace.

"Don't forget Tin Man," Kevin called, rolling over to them.

Luke leaned over Grace's shoulder and said to her, "I guess that makes you the Cowardly Lion."

"How do you figure?"

"All tough on the outside, soft and chewy inside."

Grace whipped around and stabbed a finger into Luke's chest. "Don't ever say 'soft and chewy' to me again."

Both of them laughing, Joan and Adam found each other's gaze again. "So am I Glinda the Good Witch?" she asked him.  "I always wanted to be Glinda."

"You're Auntie Em," he replied.

"Auntie Em? But she's so old, and… a relative."

"Chah, she's the one Dorothy saw in the crystal ball when she was trapped in the castle."

"What are you talking about?" Joan asked, but as soon as she said it, she knew exactly what he was talking about.

"I had a dream about you, Jane, while I was under, and it was so real, and you were --"

Joan laid her fingers on his lips and shushed him. "We'll talk about that later."

"Yeah, Rove, have a little decorum," said Grace. "Your dad is standing right here. And Joan's parents. And I just ate."

"OK, folks," said one of the nurses. "We have to get him upstairs. Visiting hours are over, but you can come back tomorrow morning at ten."

Joan's fingers still rested on Adam's lips. She didn't want to move. She wasn't ready to be separated from him again. He looked up at her, and then his lips parted and he kissed her fingers, almost taking them into his mouth. Joan gasped softly, and she looked around to see if anyone had heard her, but no one was looking at her. Her eyes fell back on Adam's; his gaze hadn't wavered at all. She slowly slid her fingers off his mouth, rolling his lower lip down slightly as she did so. She brought her fingers up to her own lips and blew him a kiss.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said.

"I'll be here."

A chorus of voices called, "Goodnight, Adam," and "Glad you're OK," as Joan's family members and Grace made their way back to the waiting room.

"Goodnight," he called to them. "Um… thanks for coming?" He grimaced at Joan, wondering if this was the right thing to say. She laughed.

The gurney started moving again, and Joan followed with it to the elevator.

"Can I go up with you?" she asked.

"I'm sorry," the nurse replied. "Tomorrow."

The elevator doors slid open. Joan let go of the gurney, and it rolled into the elevator without her.

"Wait!" Adam shouted.

"Adam," his father said, "we have to get upstairs."

"I forgot to tell Jane something."

Mr. Rove looked at the nurse, who nodded permission. He held the elevator door open and beckoned Joan inside. She stepped up and grasped the foot of the gurney.

"What?" she asked.

Adam lifted his head up so he could see her. He just looked at her for a moment, then smiled. "This was the best date I've ever had, yo."

Joan laughed. "You are high."

Adam nodded. "Good night, Jane."

"Good night, Adam." She stepped back, and the elevator doors closed right before her face.