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"So what do you say Larry?" Max asked outside of Al's hospital room. "Is Al going to be able to go home soon?"
"Well, physically Al is recovering quite nicely," Larry began. "But the emotional trauma of Gabrielle's death concerns me. He is taking this harder than I expected. He hasn't been eating very well."
"Well, he didn't want her to go through the surgery in the first place, remember?" Max said, rubbing his forehead with his hand, trying to prevent the headache that was looming.
"I would like to schedule an appointment with a psychiatrist for Al, so that he can work through this," Larry said.
"I agree with you on that, but do we have to do it here in the hospital? I promise that I will take him to his appointments personally if you let us take him out of here." Max said. "It has been two weeks since he found out, and Marcie and I would like nothing more than to get him out of here."
Larry thought for a minute, still having his doubts. He then sighed and said, "All right. I will get the paperwork started and he will be able to go home tomorrow. I will also get an appointment with a psychiatrist I know, she specializes in cases like Al's."
"Thank you, Larry," Max said. "I really appreciate it." Larry just nodded and turned to start the necessary paperwork.
He turned back again and said, "You have to promise me that Al will at least go and see the psychiatrist."
"I will drive him there myself, I promise," Max said. "Don't worry. I am sure that Al will say yes to this."
"No way."
"Al, come on," Max said to him. After talking with Larry, Max walked into Al's room and told him the good news. He then told Al about seeing the psychiatrist, and the small smirk that crossed Al's features fell immediately.
"Dad, I said no."
"Look at it this way. You would have to talk with her either way. This way you won't have to be stuck in a hospital room. You can go home with Marcie and be with her." Max said.
Al thought about everything that had taken place over the last two weeks. The first night after they had told him about his mother was very rough.
Marcie had been with him for awhile, until the nurse came around and kicked her out again. They decided not to risk anything by trying to sneak back into his room again, and she told him that she would be back first thing in the morning to see him.
Al ended up tossing and turning the entire night after he woke from constant nightmares.
Gabrielle's funeral had been a couple of days later. Al was not allowed to go because Larry felt he wasn't strong enough at the time. But Bo came by later in the day and told him about the service in great detail.
He also told Al that Gabrielle's living will stated that she wanted to be cremated and have her ashes spread in Argentina. Bo promised that as soon as Al was strong enough, they would fly down there and carry out Gabrielle's wishes.
Every day since that night had also been extremely difficult for him. He didn't want to talk to anyone. He just wanted to be left alone for awhile, but between nurses and well-wishers, it was difficult to get five minutes alone.
In the meantime, Marcie had gone out and found an apartment above Foxy Roxy's for them and had begun to move their belongings in there so that when he was released from the hospital, she would be able to take care of him. Roxy understood their situation, and allowed them to move in without signing a lease or paying a down payment right away.
"Al, I know that this has been difficult for you, it has been difficult for all of us," Max said as he moved to sit next to his son on the bed. "But you need to do this. It's the first step in order to help you heal."
"Dad, I am healing just fine. I don't need any help from anyone, especially a psychiatrist." Al said angrily. "Now I'm tired, and I would like to get some sleep." With that, Al rolled away from his father as best as he could without wincing as the pain from his stitches hit him like a ton of bricks and closed his eyes.
Max sat there for a minute, watching as his son pretended to sleep, then got up and left the room. He hoped that Marcie would be able to talk some sense into his son.
"All right Al, we got everything out to the car. Are you all set?" Marcie asked him as she walked in the hospital room the next day. She was so happy that Al was finally going home to their new apartment.
"I guess I am as ready as I will ever be," Al said, sitting in his wheelchair. He looked around the room and hardly recognized it without all the flowers and gifts that he had received during his stay there.
"Do you think that you will miss this place?" Marcie said. Al didn't respond, but gave her a look that said "Are you kidding me?"
"Right, I didn't really think that you would say yes. So, are you ready? Your dad is waiting outside." Marcie said.
"Yeah, Let's go," Al said, as he began to push himself out the door. Marcie tried to grab the handles of the chair to push him, but he refused. So she walked next to him as they headed down the hall and out of the hospital.
"So what do you think of the place?" Marcie asked Al as they sat in their apartment, eating Chinese food. Al looked around and said, "It's nice. It could use a layer of paint here and there though."
"Yeah, well for now we will focus of you. Then, once your completely healed, we can focus on fixing up the place." Marcie said as she took a bite of her food.
She watched as Al pushed his food around on his plate. She thought about what Max had said to her as he left earlier. He had talked with Marcie about the conversation he had with Al the day before, and about how stubborn Al had been about going to see Dr. Kren, the psychiatrist Larry had referred them to.
Max had said to her as he was leaving, "Please do everything that you can to convince him to go. He needs to talk about this with her in order to get over it."
Marcie decided now was the time to talk with Al about it, and said to him, "Your dad told me about your appointment with Dr. Kren next week."
Al choked on the bite of rice that he was chewing on. Marcie jumped up and handed his glass of water to him. He took it and swallowed a couple of huge gulps to wash down the food.
Once he had his coughing under control, he looked at Marcie and said as he raised his glass to his lips to take another sip of water, "Did he also tell you that I am not going to go to it?"
"Al, why not?" Marcie said as she sat back down and began to pick at her food.
"Marcie I don't need to see her or anyone else. I can deal with this on my own. I will be fine." Al said as he took another bite of rice.
Marcie asked him, "Why won't you go and see her?"
"What color do you think would look good in here?" Al asked looking around the room, trying to change the subject.
"Al," Marcie said. "Talk to me."
Al dropped his fork and pushed his wheelchair away from the table, saying, "I don't want to talk about it Marcie."
"Why not, Al?" Marcie said. "I thought that you trusted me. Why can''t you talk to me about this?
Al pushed the wheelchair toward the gigantic window and parked next to it, staring out at the street below. "I do trust you, Marcie. I just don't feel that it is necessary for me to go."
"Yeah, I know that, Al, you already told me," Marcie said, getting up and moving over to where he sat. "I want to know why you don't feel it's necessary."
Al looked up at Marcie, then down at his hands as he sighed. He couldn't keep the truth from her. She would force it out of him one way or another, so he might as well tell her now.
"I'm afraid, Marcie," he said, keeping his eyes on his hands. "I am terrified about what will happen when I talk to her." The tears began to pool up in his eyes, but Al did nothing to try and stop them.
Oh, Al," Marcie said, moving to hold him in her arms. "You know that is a completely normal feeling, right? Everyone has those feelings when they have to talk with a psychiatrist. I certainly did."
"When did you see a psychiatrist?" Al asked her.
"A few years ago, when I was in high school," Marcie said. "My dad sent me to one because my aunt told him to. She thought that I was depressed."
"Really?" Al asked, still in shock of Marcie confession.
"Yeah," Marcie said. "I thought that there was nothing wrong with me, but it turns out that I was holding a lot of pain from my past, like my mother dying, the way my dad treated us as kids..." Marcie trailed off, thinking about those unhappy memories.
"So why do you still have a hard time talking about those things?" Al asked. He did not mean to pry so much, but his curiosity was getting the best of him.
"My dad pulled me out of it after a couple of weeks because he thought that it was a waste of time and of money." Marcie said bitterly at the thought of that unpleasant memory.
She moved around so that she and Al were face to face and said, "I feel though that the time that I was there was really helpful for me, though, and I feel that it will do the same for you Al."
Al didn't say anything, but just looked into her eyes. "Please tell me that you will go at least one time Al," she said to him.
She moved forward and placed a light kiss on his lips, then pulled back to look into his eyes and said, "Please Al. For me?"
All Al could do was look at her as he debated what his answer would be.
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