Prolog 4

When Jamie was at Harvard, his sophomore through senior roommate was a guy named Courtney Halloran. He was short, stocky, had hair the color of an orange highlighter, and more freckles than normal skin. He was premed and apparently both his parents had gone to Harvard Med School. He was cheerful, gay as a picnic basket, and ended up being one Jamie's best friends on the East Coast. He also ended up being the person that recognized that Jamie's moodiness may not have been just normal angst.

His junior year, Courtney dragged him home with him for Thanksgiving, since Jamie's family didn't feel like flying him home. He hadn't wanted to go, kept telling Courtney he needed to study but the man could be extremely persuasive and maybe deep down Jamie wanted to be around family, even if they weren't his own. The invitation had turned out to be an intervention of sorts as Courtney had been worried that his roommate was suffering from depression, even as Jamie had tried to laugh it off as just being homesick. Courtney's mother, Dr. Hager-Halloran sat him down, asking him all sorts of questions that he tried to lie or weasel his way out of but eventually she had fallen prey to her greater skill and given her what she wanted. The end result was that she diagnosed him with Bipolar Disorder Type II with only mild hypomania. By the time they left, he had a prescription and strict instructions to call if a laundry list of things happened. He thanked her, put the pills in his bag, and didn't take them.

Jamie had been taught that there was no such thing as mental illness or at least not things like depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder, ect. They were all just a lack of discipline. He just needed to work harder, be more strict with himself. He needed to concentrate more on his studies and less on how he felt about them. He just needed to do better. So Monday, he started setting his alarm and hour earlier and going into the hall to study for an extra hour before going to the gym and starting his day. If he just worked harder, then, then, then things were bound to change.

The problem was, a month went by and it was Christmas break and everyone went home, except for him because his Dad said it was too expensive to fly him home and he needed to concentrate on his studies, even though he was between semesters, and that they didn't need him back right now. Jamie had hung up the phone and spent the next 3 hours trying not to cry. But then he told himself that his dad was right, so he went and bought his books for the next semester and started reading them. When he went to bed that night, he tried to stop the invasive phrase from rattling in his head, "we don't need you." That thought played over and over in his head for days.

On Christmas, no one called him so he called them. It went to voicemail and he wondered if he had messed up and called too early. Lee finally called him to wish him a Merry Christmas and a happy birthday. His father didn't want to talk to him and he understood. He understood better, when Beth sent him an email with a picture attached of everyone at the table laughing, smiling, looking so happy and Rip sitting in Jamie's normal seat. He curled up and went to sleep without finishing the pages he had allotted to read that day.

On December 26, Jamie woke up at 4 am, when his alarm went off, and decided things would be better today. He was just being moody, melancholy for no reason, and ungrateful for the opportunity to go to the best school in the country. He should be doing more to take advantage of the situation because they would need him later. So Jamie spent his birthday checking out books that were in the citation sections of his textbooks so he could have more context. He then made himself a schedule of how many of them he needed to get through before the semester started and what order to read them in. No one called him.

On December 27th, he woke up when his alarm went off and decided he was going to kill himself. It wasn't a new thought to him or a novel occurrence that he wanted to just not deal with life anymore. But something about that day just made it seem like it was time to take a more affirmative step on the matter. He was an ungrateful ass for not doing more to take advantage of this place and for wanting to be at home. If he couldn't hack it here, they would never need him, which they clearly didn't now. But he didn't know how to be anymore disciplined or work any harder and he still couldn't seem to not feel like life was a chore. He just didn't have enough willpower to get past it because he was weak and what was the point of keeping a weak member of the herd?

So he set about getting ready to do it. He didn't have his gun, because he was in a university dorm room. He didn't have any pills except for aspirin, which could kill him but there was just as much of a chance of him not being able to hold down the amount he would need in order to kill him unless he had alcohol with them, which he had none. He only had an electric razor and a small pocket knife that he would have to saw with to get through his arms. Box cutters, he needed some box cutters. There was a drug store not far off campus he could walk to and get some. The only problem was, it was sleeting and cold out. He headed back to his room to wait out the weather. He thought about calling Lee to say goodbye but figured his brother was busy.

The sleet and snow lasted the entire day and Jamie decided if he wanted to get it over with, he needed to just man up and go, so he dug around in his bag for his gloves and found the bottle of pills from Courntey's mother. He pulled them out and looked at them. Maybe he could try them at least for a week and if they didn't work, then he could go get box cutters. So he read the instructions, took out one, cut it in half and took it.

He spent the next 9 days feeling like a zombie with the worst stomach flu in history. Everything made him either puke or shit and when he wasn't he felt like he wanted to. Everything he tried to eat tasted like sucking on a battery and he passed out twice from either dehydration or standing up too fast. He felt so fucking horrible he couldn't go to the store for a box cutter but he kept on taking the pills because it said they might cause nausea so complaining about it would just make him a whiner.

On day 10, he felt slightly better as in he didn't feel sick or like he was walking around in a fog. Day 11 was even better even though he couldn't remember the last time he had felt hungry and everything still tasted weirdly metallic. By Day 14 he still didn't feel hungry and things still tasted weird but he felt better, not just physically but emotionally. He didn't feel like there was no point in trying because he was just going to fail. By day 20 and the start of the semester he actually felt like a normal person again.

Lee was the only person in his family he ever told about the pills. He had tried to stop taking them in Law School but within a few weeks he could feel himself slipping into despair and then bouncing back out into something different. He bit" the bullet over Christmas break, spent in Boston again, and started taking them. It wasn't as bad this time, he still felt sick but not as bad and his appetite completely disappeared again like it had for the last two years but he had eventually evened out again and decided that even though it was weak, he would indulge this weakness to not feel so out of control in his own head.

When Jamie was 29, the meds seem to stop working. Not entirely, he didn't feel himself swinging from depressed to super energetic but he felt himself falling into a hole of melancholy he couldn't seem to break out of. At first it was bearable with his usual routine of making sure he kept to a sort of schedule, which including taking time to workout, spend time with Spider, even though he was getting old, and keeping up with a good diet. Sleep was the one thing that he was failing at but that had more to do with how busy he was than anything else. Montana was a big state and if he needed to be in Helena one day and Billings the next it meant he was spending four hours in the car before he even started working.

But it didn't seem to be helping this time though. This time he just felt like he was living under a wet blanket that just didn't' seem to want to give. He tried to lose himself in worked sometimes but not always. He tried to think positively but he just kept coming back to the same invasive and annoying thought, that he was worthless. He felt himself withdrawing away from everyone for everything that wasn't directly ranch related. He skipped meals and social events for weeks.

He thought he had hid it well, but Lee started to notice. He made little comments asking him to cheer up or inviting him to the movies or out for drinks. He always declined, told him to go with the ranch hands because they were more fun or that he had too much work but really he knew Lee was just doing it because he was a nice person but because he really wanted Jamie around. Lee also tried guilt by saying how much he missed him or that Spider needed some company. Neither were true. Spider was perfectly happy to be turned out and left alone and Lee had plenty of friends. So Jamie just smiled and closed his office door and reminded himself he was doing the right thing.

Finally Lee cornered him and started a fight. In between blows and tackles he basically called Jamie every name in the book till he fought back. When they were done, and sitting on the couch, icing their various injuries and watching Family Guy on TBS Lee finally confessed he was worried about how withdrawn and unhappy Jamie had been lately and wanted him to talk to his doctor. Jamie felt guilty as shit that he had been so bad at hiding his weakness that he made his brother worry. He knew, he just knew he should have done a better job.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking down at his busted knuckles. They neatly matched a bruise on Lee's chin. "I should have done better."

"Don't be sorry, little brother," Lee interrupted him. "Just take care of yourself, please. If not for you then do it for me. I can't handle Dad or the rest of this family without your help." He nodded, not trusting his voice not to sound as choked up as he felt. Lee seemed to understand though and handed him a fresh ice pack.

The next week Jamie made an appointment with his psychiatrist in Helena. He was too afraid to go to one closer, because his Dad might find out. He didn't want his dad to know how weak willed and undisciplined he was. He never wanted his father or anyone else for that matter to know. He was too ashamed.

Dr. Bridger was a early 50s lady with mousy brown hair and two very prominent grey stripes in the front. She was short and someone plumb and had shrewd blue eyes that Jamie found it hard to lie to. He spent the first 10 minutes of their meeting trying not to catch those eyes. What was he doing here, he was being stupid. He just needed to power through this. Why was he so fucking weak and useless. All she did was sit patiently while he ran his finger along the non existent seam on the front of his slacks. It took him nearly 30 minutes to finally spit out the reason he was there and that his depression was getting worse.

Oh she tried to make him feel better. Told him that the drugs he was on only stopped major depressive episodes and that he was lucky he hadn't really had any moderate ones. And that it was perfectly normal for people with his "condition" to occasionally need a secondary anti-depressant. She also assured him that it was not his fault and that there was nothing he could have done to stop it. She also refused to give him a prescription until he agreed to therapy. He almost walked out but he couldn't get the look of fear on Lee's face out of his mind. He didn't want to make his big brother worry so he agreed to 8 sessions and got his prescription to Sertraline. This one he kept in an empty advil bottle in his bag along with the aspirin bottle that held his other medication, still too afraid his father might see them and lose and all hope for his son.

It took him another week to work up the courage to actually take his new meds. He kept telling himself that maybe if he waited longer he could just get over it on his own. He was also devilishly busy with a new land acquisition they were working on. Trying to figure out the taxation and change to easement rights was keeping him hella busy along with handling a case from the Sierra club that was basically arguing a form of anti trust to stop them from getting another 40,000 acres. He couldn't risk being drowsy or not on his game. But eventually he gave it and took them because he had spent a 2 hour drive home from Helena crying for no real reason and contemplating ramming an 18 wheeler.

On the plus side, the new drugs didn't make him feel too spacey or sleepy. On the down side they made his head spin like he had been on a tilt-a-whirl and made him nauseous, which was annoying since his original med suppressed his hunger response and made everything taste weirdly metallic. It kind of sucked but he could tough it out. On the downside between his depression and feeling sick from his new med, he had lost probably 10-15 pounds.

On Thursday, his Dad left him a somewhat angry message to meet him about the land deal at a diner in Paradise Valley, just off the north western side of the ranch. It was the standard rural diner that wrote the menu on a chalkboard above the counter because it never changed. Everything was greasy, the coffee always tastes burnt, and the seats made noises when you moved. Basically the type of place his dad loved and he tolerated at best. And right now wasn't the best and the smell of the place literally turned his stomach. He wasn't in the mood, especially since he was coming from Bozeman and had to be Billings at 3:30 and this was taking him 90 minutes out of his way, but he agreed because he did have some stuff to go over with his dad.

They were supposed to meet at noon and he rolled in at 11:58 to his father sipping coffee and looking annoyed. His wisdom of, "five minutes early is on time and on time is late," ringing in his ear. That was clearly thought up by someone that didn't have to city hop and have back to back meetings. He slid into the booth across from his father, leaving his coat on. He had forgotten his gloves that morning and he tended to have a hard time warming up if his hands were cold.

"Hi, Dad," he said, digging in his back for the contracts, projections, and budget numbers he needed to go over with him. He slid the neatly wrapped silverware out of the way so he could take his laptop out and didn't even bother looking at the menu, he wasn't planning on ordering anything. His hands were shaking, probably from too much caffeine and too little food but he ignored it. "I have surveys from the county finally and the easement runs a lot further east than we thought," he started as he tapped through tabs to show his dad what he was talking about. His father just sipped his coffee and smiled as the waitress came up.

"Hi, darling, what can I get you?" she smiled again and the skin around her eyes crinkled like old leather.

"I'll take a salisbury steak with mash potatoes and gravy, maybe some green beans on the side," John answered with a smile of his own.

"And what about you?" she asked Jamie who had quit paying attention to her, trying to find a breakdown for hiring a fencing company vs hiring more day workers to do it.

"Oh, just coffee, thank you," he said absently.

"Are you sure, sweetheart?"

"Yes, thank you."

"You don't eat anymore?" John asked and Jamie could feel his eyes boring into him even before he looked over.

"What?" Jamie asked, annoyed that his father was focusing on his eating habits instead of the 6 figures it was going to cost to fence the easement if they wanted to join the land with Yellowston.

"It's lunch time and you aren't eating," John explained, leaning back.

"I'm not hungry," he answered, not understanding why this was an issue. "I need you to figure out how you want to handle this so I can file the paperwork when I am in Helena tomorrow so we can get the environmental impact assessment started."

"According to you, you haven't been hungry since about 2001," John droned at him and he rolled his eyes.

"Dad, can we just," was as far as he got before his father turned back to the waitress.

"He'll have a club sandwich."

"Sure thing, sweetie," she noted and headed back behind the counter. Jamie fought not to roll his eyes.

Jamie managed to get his father to focus till the food got there then the man slammed the lid of his laptop shut on his fingers. Jamie huffed and turned instead to the contract that needed to be hash out and the motions from the the Sierra Club to try and block the sale and annexation. "Dad, I know you don't like the idea, but we should consider leaving this parcel separate from the main ranch. Tax wise it is going to make a huge impact on the numbers because of the improvements will roll into the overall acreage," he started to make his case when his father pointed at his sandwich.

"Something wrong with your food?"

Jamie let his eyes drift to the plate with the over mayonnaise, soggy bread, and limp lettuce disaster of a meal and felt bile rise in his throat at the thought of eating it. "No, I'm just not hungry," he turned back to his paper.

"Why don't you want to eat?" John said, forking steak into his mouth.

"I do want to eat, just not right now and not that," he sighed trying not to show how exasperated he felt.

"You haven't sat down for dinner with me and your brother in weeks, you ain't ever home for lunch, and Gator said he don't eat breakfast, even when he leaves you some in the fridge."

"I eat and wait what? Gator leaves me breakfast?" He asked, genuinely confused.

"Yes, he leaves you something made and wrapped up that you just need to heat up on your way out," John explained.

"Hmm, I did not know that," he shrugged, turning back to the contracts. "Like I said, I really don't think we should join it, at least until we can get."

"I said to eat," there was a bit of steel in his voice that made Jamie want to listen even though he wasn't interested in food at all.

"And I told you I'm not hungry," he groused.

"Are you on drugs?" John asked him point blank and his mouth went dry. Technically the answer was yes, he was but probably not the kind he was thinking.

"No, why would you think that?" He dismissed him, hoping he didn't dig any deeper. He couldn't tell his dad. The man already thought he was useless, weak, lazy, imagine what he would think if he knew his son had to take anti crazy pills because he couldn't snap out of feeling sad.

"You aren't acting like yourself, you look pale,"

"I'm always pasty, Dad." Jamie threw it. Though he had the darkest hair and eyes in the family, he had the fairest skin. It had always been a bit of a joke that he lacked the ruddiness to his complexion the rest of the family had.

"You don't eat, you've lost weight," John continued and Fuck was all Jamie could think. His dad had noticed he had been off. What should he say, what should he do. Part of him wanted, desperately, to tell his father the truth because he was tired of hiding and carrying around this shameful secret but he was too afraid, too ashamed. His father had finally started to trust him and that would all end when he found out his son was a weak willed, head case.

"I'm not on drugs, I've just been really busy and I think I picked up a bug or something," he left it at that, hoping John would too. He was pretty sure if he ate that he would throw it back up.

"I think you should eat it anyway," John said just as Jamie got a call telling him his 3:30 was canceled. Part of him was grateful and part of him was annoyed he didn't have an excuse to leave the table.

"Seriously, can we just," he tried again and John grabbed his papers and shoved the plate at him.

"Eat, this is your favorite place," John looked annoyed.

Jamie gave up and picked up a piece of the sandwich. "This is Lee's favorite place." He wanted to snarl, his favorite restaurant was in Big Sky but he didn't say that. There was no point, also no point in telling his father that Lee was the one that liked club sandwiches. He supposed he should be touched that his father was worried enough about him that he tried to take him to his favorite place to cheer him up and not dwell on the fact he had been utterly wrong on all counts about it.

He ate half the stupid thing before his father seemed satisfied and every bite seemed to sit like a giant lump of emulsified oil and gelatineous bread in his stomach. He was pretty sure he could feel them floating in his gastric acid, little doughy, slimy blobs crashing into each other. But at least it got his dad off his back and for once, he would be home that afternoon in his own office, which pretty much hadn't happened in months.

When he got home, he made a beeline for the kitchen and made some tea then left it to steep as he went to change. It would be a delicious luxury to get to work in sweats and a flannel shirt when it wasn't 1 o'clock in the morning.

When he came down, his father was putting his coat back on to head to the barn, even though he had agreed to finish going through the stuff Jamie needed decisions on. He called over his shoulder he would be back later to do it and left. Jamie sighed and retreated to his office. It was barely 10x10 feet and could only fit his desk, a filing cabinet and two chairs. There was a sofa and comfortable chairs in the call in front of it but his office was pretty much just a closet for him to lock himself into and right now he was thankful for it because he felt fucking awful.

The one luxury he had allowed himself in his office was a remote control space heater that was separate from the rest of the house's temperature control. His office didn't have any vents in it so it was always freezing cold or too warm. He could handle too warm but in the winter it could be brutal. And right now it felt stupidly cold in there and the fact he could see his own breath confirmed he wasn't a wuss for turning it on.

He then got to work figuring out how to counter the Sierra Club's filing that Yellowstone was single handedly impacting wildlife migration patterns. The problem was it was hard to concentrate on the minutia of federal environmental easement law when he was nauseated as fuck. He knew the new med he was on had a side effect of slowing gastric motility, which could lead to nausea but this was ridiculous. He pre emptilvely emptied his trash can and rested his head on his desk as his stomach seemed to be trying to crawl back up his throat.

He sipped his tea, in between episodes of swallowing his gorge but it didn't help settle his stomach, though it did help warm him up a little. After about 30 minutes he felt so fucking awful he took his trashcan and laid down on the couch in front of his office, hoping it would help. He had not counted on weeks of not sleeping for more than 4 hours at a time, seeming to catch up to him all at once and falling asleep in under 5 minutes.

John wasn't always the most observant or emotionally intelligent person on the planet but he did know his kids, especially his two oldest boys that still lived with him. And he damn well knew there was something wrong with Jamie before Lee had cornered him and asked him to give his brother some time off so they could go to Big Sky for a few days and go skiing. He rattled off something about needing his brother to work on the land deals but if they wanted to go to Big Sky, there were some people they should talk to about cattle regulations. Lee groused about overworking his son and huffed off somewhere to not talk to him again till dinner.

It wasn't that John didn't realize Jamie was working hard. He knew that he was. Jamie handled all the contracting, litigation, and negotiations, on behalf of the ranch in addition to handling all the hiring paperwork, administrative stuff like licenses, insurance, OSHA stuff, and had taken over a good deal of the financial work as well. His dad used to have three or four people for all those things and he just had Jamie. So yeah, it wasn't that he didn't realize that Jamie did a lot it was that he had a hard time equating the work Jamie did as being as tiring as the work Lee and Rip did. He just didn't believe in the concept of mental exhaustion being as taxing as physical exhaustion.

But John wasn't blind, Jamie was clearly having problems coping with everything and had started to act weird. John had offered to take some of it off his plate and his overly sensitive son had taken it as an insult. Jamie could act like such a fucking woman sometimes. You couldn't say anything to him without him getting all sulky because he thought you were insulting him. He didn't know how to make him understand he was trying to give him a break, not say he didn't trust him. Jamie's stupid insecurity could be so fucking annoying sometimes.

After that, Jamie decided he was going to punish John by not talking to him unless it was ranch related, never showing up for dinner and when he was there, taking calls or doing work while he ate. But then he started to notice the wait loss and pallor and the jitteriness, like he was constantly running on nothing but caffeine and adrenaline all the time. He also seemed to have secret meetings with people that John didn't know about. That shit was not usual and it worried him.

Jamie came from a family of addicts. His mother was a heroine junky and his father had been a meth head before anyone really knew what meth was. They had both been weak and unable to control their additions and John was afraid Jamie was going that route. He had to find out and either nip it in the bud or kick the kid out because he couldn't trust his ranch to a junkie.

He had mentioned it to Lee, who told him he was crazy and that nobody that was addicted to illegal drugs was as highly functional as Jamie and that if he wanted to find the pill popper in the family he needed to look at Beth. He ignored the later part of his son's opinion but still needed to look Jamie in the eye and ask him. So he told him to meet him at his favorite diner for lunch and he wanted to judge how he acted.

John made sure to be there a good 10 minutes early, knowing Jamie was probably going to be late. He always seemed to be late nowadays. Late and distracted like looking around for a phone he had just stuck in his pocket or pouring milk in a cup and forgetting the coffee or walking out of the house without his car keys. It was supposed to be 5 degrees for a high today and the kid forgot his damn gloves.

Jamie walked in typing something on his phone and walking into the door before he shook his head, seeming to just notice he had reached the entrance and opening it. What the fuck was wrong with the stupid kid? He slid into the booth opposite John, barely looking at him before he started and almost stream of consciousness diatribe about the parcel they were trying to buy.

John noted that his son opted not to order any food, just coffee. John ordered him his favorite anyway. The kid was skin and bones, he needed some food, some sunshine, and some hard work to straighten him out. They talked about the deal till the food came, which Jamie scrupulously ignored until John slammed his computer closed to get his attention. He balked about not being hungry and when pressed, seemed genuinely confused that John had a problem with his eating habits.

John flat out asked him if he was on drugs and he denied it. But there was something in the way he said it. Something in the way he looked like a deer caught in headlights with an undercurrent of shame made him wonder if he was being truthful. Part of him hated that with so little evidence he assumed Jamie was taking after his biological parents in a way that he would never, ever assume of his own children. What was it Evie used to say? "You want hardwork and loyalty from your kids and you want perfection and obedience from Jamie." He wasn't sure it was true because if it were, he should be even more disappointed in him because he was far from perfect.

When pressed Jamie came up with some lame excuse that he was sick or something but John forced him to eat anyway. He only ate half of it before he actually looked legitimately queasy so John relented. He also felt a little bad for not realizing that all the times they went to eat there were because it was Lee's favorite, not Jamies. He also felt a little guilty that he didn't actually know where Jamie's favorite restaurant was.

Then they headed home because his son's afternoon meeting was rescheduled for Friday. Jamie wanted to figure out the rest of the budget and such for the land deal but John wanted to go see Rip and Lee to talk about putting out some wolf traps. So he left with a promise they would talk later.

He actually hadn't been gone long, maybe an hour before he came back to finish going over the boring shit Jamie needed done. Of course he couldn't be in the dining room or the den, he was probably locked up in that closet he used for an office. John had mentioned building him one in a separate building but Jamie kept shooting it down pointing out the expense, tax ramifications, and that he wasn't there enough to warrant it, even though he seemed to spend more time in there than his bed.

That was why John was really surprised to see his son, not in his office but sleeping on the sofa in front of it with one hand on his stomach and one covering his eyes. He also had an empty trashcan beside him and was basically in his pajamas. John hated when he walked around the house in sweats or his pajamas, it just seemed so lazy and unmotivated to him to not even bother to get dressed. He must have brushed his hair because the gel holding it back was gone and it flopped around his face in a dark curtain. It made him look young, younger than he had been seeming lately. He noticed one or two grey strands in the black and it made him sad. The kid was going to be completely white headed by the time he was 40 if he didn't learn to fucking relax. He was always so uptight and anxious about everything. He always had been, even as a kid.

He basically had three choices on how to handle this. First was walk away and do nothing and let the poor guy get some sleep, even if it did really grind John's gears to see him napping in the middle of the day when other people were out there working. Second was to wake him and tell him to go to bed instead of sleeping like a hobo on a couch. Third was to wake him up and finish their business because he could sleep at night like everyone else. Of course he was well aware that from the time Jamie was a baby, he had always been a night owl. He was the only one in the family.

He opted for option one, but Jamie must have heard him and woke up. He blinked at him blankly for a minute before his brain seemed to catch up with the situation. It always alternately amused and annoyed him that Jamie couldn't just wake up and go. He always seemed to need to warm his brain up before he could function after waking up. Even when he was a kid.

He closed his eyes for a second, pushing himself up and running his hands down his face. "Dad, sorry, I guess I dozed off." Falling asleep midday seemed like something a druggy would do, he pursed his lips, trying not to fire him right then and there. He was so blood disappointed in him. After the way he had been raised, how had he fallen into such, such weakness.

He watched his son stand up and stagger slightly, closing his eyes and shaking his head before going to his office and grabbing a bunch of paper. He came back, spreading them on the coffee table in front of them. It took all of 3 minutes before John was bored with what Jamie was saying. He wished he could just let him decide but he didn't trust him, not like he trusted Lee. Maybe he should have Beth take a look at the financials. Make sure Jamie was doing it right.

They talked for another few before Jamie stood abruptly mumbling, "I'll be right back," and basically running to the bathroom at the end of the hall. John watched him go all the way up till he tried to slam the door but the latch didn't catch, and he puked in the sink. Maybe he did just have a stomach bug. He watched through the partially closed door as his son rinsed the sink out and then tried to clean himself up before coming back.

"Sorry,"he looked anywhere but at John. He swallowed thickly, still looking a little green and continued. "The fencing is going to be the biggest," was as far as John let him get before walking up to him and grabbing him by his left bicep and lifting his hand to check the kid's temperature. He flinched away, like he thought John was going to hit him. It pissed him off to see that one of his kids flinched away from a possible hit but not as bad as it hurt that one of them thought it would come from him.

"Relax, I'm just seeing if you have a fever," John growled and Jamie held still for his father to rest his wrist against his forehead. He didn't feel warm, in fact he felt clammy.

"Oh, I don't think so," he said, taking a step back from John. He then belched and covered his mouth before swallowing thickly and giving his father a half hearted smile. "The fencing," he started again and John stopped him again. He really didn't give one shit about fencing right now.

"If you feel bad enough to lose your lunch and fall asleep in the middle of work day, you might as well go upstairs and go to bed. You aren't any use to me like this," he told him and the kid actually looked confused and a little hurt.

"It's fine, I feel better now," he tried and John just stared at him like he was an idiot. "We need to finish these," he tried one last time.

"I'll look over them and we can talk about it later. You go upstairs and get some rest, I think you need it," he shoved him towards the den so he could go upstairs. Jamie gave him one more look and John met it with a look that said, "don't fuck with me, kid." It must have worked because Jamie headed up to his room. He really did look like he wasn't feeling well and needed sleep. He followed him out but split to head to the kitchen where he found Gator gathering his shopping lists.

"Hello, Mr. Dutton," the man greeted while writing down something. "Anything in particular you want for the next week?" he asked.

John normally left menus up to him but did rub his chin and ask. "Think you could make some chicken and dumpling soup for tonight?" He leaned against the counter as the man nodded. "Jamie's fighting a stomach flu," he explained even though the man hadn't asked. Gator had worked for them for over a year and scrupulously stayed out of everyone's business. It was a big step for him to admit that Jamie hadn't been eating breakfast because that constituted getting involved.

"Of course, Mr. Dutton, I have the perfect recipe. I can also make some slow cook oatmeal and maybe some fresh bread for him, if you think he'll like it. I also have an excellent gooseberry cherry jam that goes wonderfully with it." The man's eyes lit up and John poured himself some coffee.

"I think he would appreciate that." He walked out and left Gator to his new purpose but couldn't quite get rid of the nagging feeling as to why Jamie didn't feel well. A stomach flu he picked up the other day wouldn't account for the weeks of him acting jittery, erratic, moody, and withdrawn or the weight loss or lack of appetite. That was of course if his illness today wasn't withdrawl or something like that. He had to know if he was right because he couldn't risk the ranch on being sentimental about a potential addict. The office was also in his house so he had a right to look around it in, at least that was how he had rationalized it.

He ducked back into Jamie's office, which he hadn't locked for once, and snooped around. There wasn't much of interest, lots of papers, lots of lists and notes, many with doodles of dinosaurs, planes or horses on them because his son had a habit of drawing when he was thinking. He was a terrible artist, always had been. He wouldn't be able to tell what most of them were, if he hadn't seen him draw the same shit since he was a kid. Lee and Evie were the artists in the family.

There were also books, lots of them opened up to various places and with sticky notes on them so he didn't write in the margins. And tons of printed cases where he had highlighted and written in margins. There were also survey maps rolled up on his filing cabinet with calculations on the sides and other notes. Most of it didn't make much sense to him because Jamie tended to only write down things he thought he was going to forget or weird little unrelated details he thought might be important. The survey had one about elk herds.

He found the key to the desk and the cabinet and opened them, looking around for drugs. He didn't find anything except a bottle of acid reducers and some acetaminophen in the desk. In the filing cabinet he found a ridiculously organized history of cases and contracts against the ranch all color coded, alphabetized, and dated like a freakin' librarian had done. He would be impressed if he hadn't been a little distrubed at how hyper organized Jamie was. But there was nothing there that would explain Jamie's behavior.

He balked at looking through Jamie's bag. That wasn't his and his boy deserved some privacy. He was also a little afraid he was going to find gay porn in there or something. But the ranch was more important than risking hurting his son's feelings so he opened it up. It was more folders, papers, notes, a half finished bottle of water, a bottle of advil and a bottle of aspirin. Was about to put them away, when he noticed that the pills weren't white discs but were yellow and oblong. He took one out and saw it had XR 300 written on it. That wasn't aspirin. On instinct, he checked the bottles. The two in his desk were fine but the advil bottle that had been in his bag had more yellow pills, though these said "Zoloft" on the back. He didn't know what either of those were but he would find out.

He was about to leave, when Lee came in, yelling for his brother and catching him. "What are you doing? Where's Jamie?" he asked, looking angry on his brother's behalf. Before his eyes went wide when he saw what John was holding. So Lee had lied to him, he knew, knew his brother was an addict and was covering for him. He was livid.

"He was feeling sick, so he is upstairs sleeping. You care to explain these?" he threw the bottles at Lee, who caught them and looked at John guiltily.

"It isn't what you think," he started and John moved into his space. Unlike Jamie, he didn't yield.

"It isn't that your brother hides drugs in his bag and is an addict?" He snatched the bottles back from Lee. "Why didn't you tell me? We can't have a druggie in charge of the legal and financial sides of things," he fumed.

"He's not an addict, Dad. It's," he stopped, running his hand over his face. "It's not what you think, ok, it's nothing you need to worry about."

"The fact that he is lying about it and has you covering for him tells me I need to worry about." Lee looked down, clearly not happy with the situation.

"I promise, it isn't what you think. It's not bad, really, it isn't that bad. He needs them, they are medicine," he tried to explain and John felt his blood run cold for a moment. Was his son sick? Cancer made you lose a whole bunch of weight and act tired and spacey too. Chemo brain, he remembered it from his mother. But Jamie still had his hair.

"What kind of medicine?" He asked, slowly and deliberately.

"I, I can't tell you, he'll kill me," Lee answered and John made to walk right past him to wake up Jamie and find out out. "But it would kill him to tell you." John crossed his arms and stared at his eldest till he caved. "They are for bipolar disorder," he admitted, flopping down in one of the chairs in Jamie's office.

'What's that?" John asked and Lee looked uncomfortable all over again. Was it serious, was it fatal? With all the increased litigation they were getting everytime they did anything, he didn't know how he was going to afford an outside firm to handle it like his father did. It would bankrupt him.

"Dad, just promise me you won't tell him I told you." Lee asked, looking legitimately concerned with Jamie finding out he had spilled the beans. He nodded. "Also promise me you won't make him feel worse about it, ok. He is already so ashamed."

John narrowed his eyes. "Is it some sort of sexual thing? Is it like AIDS? Is your brother a homo?" he asked, not wanting to hear the answer. A strange look went over Lee's face before he shook his head.

"No, nothing like that and Jamie's not gay. It's a mental illness where people go from being hyperdepressed to being hypomanic," he started and John shook his head. Jamie wasn't crazy and he didn't need drugs because he was a little blue. "Dad, Dad, listen to me. It's real. It is a real illness and he really needs medication for it."

"No he doesn't. This is my fault. He needs to be out working the stock more. Doing a man's job then he'll be too tired to be 'depressed.'" John said, getting ready to dump the pills out. Tomorrow, Jamie was going to move to the bunkhouse. It was high time he started doing something other than sitting in offices or courtrooms. "I'll get rid of these."

"No, you can't," Lee stood up and blocked his way. "You can't just stop taking those things it can cause all sorts of problems like mania and psychotic breaks and stuff."

"I thought you said he wasn't an addict?" John countered.

"Ok, fine, he is addicted in the same way a diabetic is addicted to insulin," Lee snatched the bottles back.

"That's different," John said and Lee sighed.

"I used to think so too but it really isn't. Bipolar disorder is an actual physiological illness just like diabetes or Lupus or anything else. The only difference is that the symptoms are mostly mental. And just like you can't will your way out of being diabetic, you can't out of being bipolar either," Lee told him and he thought it was hooey. Lee seemed to be able to tell he still didn't believe him. "When Jamie told me, I read up about it and I talked to or doctor and everything said the same thing. It's a real illness and medication is the best way to treat it."

"How long have you known? How long has he been sick?"

"I've known for 10 years. As for how long he has been sick, after reading about it, I could see it starting when he was seventeen. The up and down moods, the constant worrying and obsessing about messing things up, thinking he is worthless," Lee whispered the last part. Why would Jamie think he was worthless?

"He's had this thing for a decade and hasn't bothered to tell me?"

"He's ashamed. He thinks you are going to react, well basically how you reacted. Tell him it is some kind of moral failing or that he is weak, undisciplined, or doesn't work hard enough. He thinks he should be able to deal with it on his own but can't. He's tried and every time it's been bad."

"What do you mean bad?"

"People with the type of bipolar he has are like nearly 20 times more likely to commit suicide and 33 times more likely to abuse drugs or alcohol when they aren't medicated." Suicide, addiction, those sounded like the weakness he inherited from his parents. It also scared him more than a little. He may be disappointed as hell in his son's weakness but he didn't want him dead.

"If he's had it for 10 years, why is he acting weird now?" John asked, disappointed beyond belief in his son, too much like his real parents.

"He was having a depressive episode," John snorted. "Dad, don't. It's real and he doesn't need your shit about it." His eldest snapped at him. "He's been off for a while, that was why he was withdrawn, losing weight, not wanting to do stuff. I know you think he is just being lazy or lacks control or something but it's actually the chemicals in his brain going haywire. Anyway, I begged him to talk to his doctor because I was afraid for him. He finally did and she gave him another prescription he just started taking. That's why he's all queasy and dizzy."

"What are those, what do they do?" John asked. Not sure why, maybe out of some morbid curiosity to see what his son had been bilked into taking rather than just manning up.

Lee held up the aspirin bottle, "This one is called Seraquel, it is an antidepressant and mood stabilizer. He's been taking it since he was 19. It worked really well for him until recently but he said it makes everything taste metallic and it affects the chemical in your brain that makes him feel hungry. Most people it makes them feel hungry all the time but for him, it makes him never feel hungry so he forgets to eat when he's busy.

"This one," Lee held up the advil bottle, "is the new one his doctor gave him. It's called Zoloft and it is just a straight antidepressant. One of the big side effects is nausea and he said it was making him feel like his head was spinning." John thought back to when he stood up earlier and had to catch himself on the chair. He had done the same thing in the diner but John hadn't thought anything about it. "He probably shouldn't be driving till he gets used to it but it is tough for him to be in three cities a day if he can't drive," Lee looked up at him.

John sat down in the other chair finally thinking over what Lee had said. His head kept telling him that this was hogwash, just doctors trying to sell pills to weak minded fools that couldn't discipline their own minds. But then he thought about Jamie's mother, his real mother, and how she would go days, weeks sometimes barely moving out of bed, not even washing her own hair much less her sheets or home. Then the next time John saw her she would trying to stand on the back of a barrel racing horse while it ran the pattern, convinced she could do it. Laughing and talking a million miles and hour.

"Does it run in families?" John asked.

"It can. It can also be caused by childhood trauma or just happen," Lee explained. John tried not to react to the news.

"If he really is that bad off, we can't have him with so much responsibility," John said.

"Yes we can, I mean I agree he probably needs a break after this whole annexation thing is finished, but he isn't any different than he has been for the last five years. If he could do the job yesterday, he can do it tomorrow." John needed to think on that, needed to think on all of this. But he didn't know if he agreed.

"He really thought he couldn't trust me to tell me this, you both did?" John asked, feeling hurt that both his sons didn't trust him enough to let him help.

"He's scared you are going to think less of him, not trust him," Lee paused, looking John right in the eyes, "not love him anymore."

"That's ridiculous, why would he think that?" John scoffed, an uncomfortable feeling settingling in his stomach. Did both his sons really think he would just disown Jamie for this? But even as he saw that, he knew he had been thinking just that.

"I don't know, Dad," Lee rolled his eyes as if the answer should be supremely obvious. "I answered your questions, now I want you to do me a favor, don't tell him you know."

"But,"

"Seriously, please, just act like nothing has changed because it hasn't, not really. I'm asking you to do this for me, if you won't do it for him." John nodded, not understanding why it was such a big deal but it was, wasn't it. His son was so weak he couldn't discipline his own mind enough to not need medication. He was crazy, he literally needed pills to stop him from going crazy. How was he supposed to trust him to run the place?

"You can trust him, just like you did this morning. He won't let you down. He's been managing to do a really good job for years like this and nothing that happened today changes that." Lee said as if he could read John's mind.

"I'll think about it." He took the pills and slipped them back into Jamie's bag. He had a lot to think about. So at 6pm, when he carried a try of ginger chicken and dumpling soup of the stairs and knocked on his second son's door, he wasn't sure how he was going to react.

His son roused slowly from under the fluffy duvet that he seemed to prefer over the quilts most everyone else used. He was met by two eyes, blue like the evening sky. John sometimes thought he might never see anyone with eyes that pretty of a color.

"Hi," Jamie croaked, clearing his throat and squinting at his clock.

"Hi, Gator made you some chicken and dumpling soup, if you feel up to it," he held the tray he was carrying up a little higher.

"That was nice of him," Jamie pushed himself up and cocked his head to the side. "Dinner in bed? What's the deal, we never get to eat dinner in our rooms." He smiled as he asked.

"Special occasion since you were feeling bad," John moved off and leaned against the door frame.

"I'm alright, really," he protested while only picking at his soup.

"Sure you are. Just eat what you can and come down if can and we can go over the parcel transfer stuff." Jamie nodded and John left him alone.

John decided to try and give him the benefit of the doubt and didn't say anything over the next few days when the most solid thing that passed his lips was oatmeal. He also kept his mouth shut when about two weeks later, Jamie asked his brother if he wanted to take some horses out to go fishing. John invited himself along and it was actually a pretty fun day. Jamie actually laughed and smiled and Lee looked like he was going to cry seeing it.

In fact, he didn't say anything for another 5 years until he and his son were driving home from a mammoth deposition in Helena and the alarm on Jamie's phone went off at 6pm. John handed him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich he had packed that morning. Jamie raised his eyebrow at that but accepted it with a thank you.

"That's what that alarm is for, isn't it? To remind you to eat since your medication kills your appetite?" He was pretty sure if his son could have turned to slime and oozed out of the door seams of the car, he would have.

"I don't, why would you say that?" He stuttered, looking tense and frightened, actually frightened.

"Because it's true, isn't it? The medicine you take your manic depression or whatever, it's makes you not feel hungry." Jamie jerked the wheel sideways and stopped the car on the side of the road, jumping out to pace and jitter.

"No, you don't know, you can't know, how?" he rambled, running his hand through his hair, he was shaking. John got out and took a step towards, only to see him back up away from him.

"Jamie," John started, but his son didn't seem to hear him.

"No, no, no, no, no, damnit." He finally stopped pacing and looked at John. "Just, just let me finish up with this case. Then I'll go," he said, looking completely defeated.

"Go, go where?" John couldn't honestly say he was confused. This was not at all how he expected this conversation to go. He had intended to casually let Jamie know that he knew and parlay that into telling him he was doing a good job with a bitch of a case against them. He had not expected his most even keeled kid to have a complete meltdown on the side of the road.

"I don't, I don't know, but I'll make sure the new counsel has everything they need, I promise," his eyes were wide, like a cornered animal. John realized in an instant that Jamie was terrified. He actually thought John was going to fire him or disown him or something. Why the fuck would he think that? Why did he have to be such a drama queen all the time? He was literally the most pessimistic person he had ever met. But a darker part of John remembered how he had felt when he first found out. How he had thought about firing his son, how he had thought all manner of horrible things about him.

"Hey, relax, I'm not firing you, or kicking you out or anything," John held his hands up and kept his voice gentle like he would to a frightened horse.

"Why?" If John had a fucking nickle for everything time his son had asked him that question he would be a billionaire.

"Why what?"

"Why aren't you firing me, kicking me out? Aren't you ashamed of me? Don't you find it completely humiliating that your son is so weak?" he dropped his eyes and John couldn't understand what the fuck was wrong with his kid. Why no matter what Jamie always thought the worst about himself? Why he couldn't ever just be confident about his abilities outside of the courtroom? Why he was constantly waiting for someone else to tell him he had done a good job? None of his other kids were like that. And he ignored the whisper in his mind that told him maybe it was because deep down he didn't think very highly of him, never had, and probably never would.

John pondered what to do. If it had been Beth, he would have hugged, not that she would have this type of crisis of confidence, kissed her and told her he loved her. If it had been Lee, he would put a strong hand on his shoulder and squeezed, telling him that he couldn't be prouder of him. Kaycee, he would have thrown an arm around his shoulder and ruffled his hair. But Jamie, he was never quite sure how to deal with him. He was just so emotional and weak sometimes and John knew he needed to get stronger.

"You really think I would get rid of you, after all the money I spent on your education?" John joked and Jamie nodded, not looking at him. "Come on, let's get going and I'm driving," he said, ushering Jamie back to the car.

They drove in silence for nearly half an hour, Jamie's forgotten sandwich like a wall between them. He wanted to tell him to eat it. He hadn't eaten all day. John hadn't meant for this to be such a big thing. He was trying to let Jamie know he didn't care but he didn't know how to say it.

"How did you find out?" Jamie broke the silence, his voice sounding hollow.

"Lee told me."

"I'm sorry," he said, fidgeting with his nails.

"For not telling me or for having it in the first place?" John asked, voice firm but feeling kind of guilty for screwing this whole thing up so badly.

"Both I guess," he said.

"Why?"

"I, I didn't want you to know. I didn't want you to think that," he stopped and John thought there may have been tears in his eyes but it was dark, too dark to tell for sure.

"Think what that you were crazy or that you were weak?" John threw in and Jamie nodded. "You really think I would?"

"I do, I think that," he said in a small, almost guilty voice. "I'm sorry, I tried, Dad, I really did but it's just so hard. It's not like just being a little sad, it's like the worst grief you have ever felt all day every day and it doesn't stop until you start going manic then it's like, I don't know, you feel like you can tackle anything and the world is moving too slow for you and you can't sleep or concentrate no matter how hard you try and then it stops and you drop again and it's worse every time," he said before looking at his dad again. "I tried to do it without medication, I tried, Dad, I really did, in college and in law school and, I just."

"I know," John said finally seeing again just how scared Jamie was for him to actually know. "And it's ok," he said and now he was sure there were tears in Jamie's eyes and he was glad for the dark because maybe there were some in his too.

Years later Beth would grill John on ways to derail Jamie's campaign to be AG. There was a part of him that almost told her, almost. She could use it, skewer him with it. Most people wouldn't understand, would think he was weak or crazy, just like John had at first, but he had learned his view hadn't been right, or fair. And in the end, he hadn't been able to bring himself to do it, to use something that was absolutely not his fault against him like that. Because even though he had said some horrible things to him, he was still a Dutton, even if only in name.