"You said I could pick a movie."
"Yes," Jo agreed. "But I didn't know you were going to pick a Christmas movie."
"Hey, now," Henry said defensively. "You said to pick a movie I like and this is one is my favorite; don't make fun of my choices."
"You're right. To be truthful, I'm surprised you even have a favorite movie."
"I'm not a caveman, Jo!" he said clearly affronted. He'd just returned from the bathroom again and, though his insides were still quivering from what had happened in there, he was surprised to find he still had enough energy to be offended. "How little you think of me," he said dramatically shaking his head.
"Alright. I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Jo said holding her hands up in surrender. "I just didn't take you for a movie lover."
"Alright," he said making a show of accepting her apology before speaking seriously again. "I'm not a movie lover but I like some movies. Besides, you're the one in the wrong here. Who has never seen It's a Wonderful Life?"
"Me I guess," she said with a shrug.
"But it's a Christmas tradition!"
"Well, my family wasn't big on traditions."
He could hear a very slight bitterness and heaviness in her words. Henry had a lot of secrets but Jo had a few of her own. A troubled family past seemed to be one of them. He briefly wondered how difficult it had been for her, growing up in the kind of neighborhood she said she had with a father on the other side of the law. But he quickly pushed those thoughts away; now was not the time to bring any of that up.
Instead, he said cheerfully, "That's a problem we will quickly remedy."
Henry let out a tired and weak but long moan his head resting once again against the toilet seat. Was he dead yet? Surely, he was almost dead. If he dropped dead right now he did not even think he could find it in himself be anxious about explaining it to Jo. His secret felt terribly small at the moment in comparison to the relief he could experience if he were to pass right now.
Jo had one of her hands resting securely on the back of his neck and the other was rubbing his back in relaxing circles. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply trying to fight off the nausea and focus instead on the comfort of her touch.
"I thought I was done with this. It's been hours," he said.
"Well, I guess it decided to give you one more firm kick in the stomach before it relented."
Henry groaned. "Don't say that," he said wrapping one of his arms around his stomach.
They had made it through more than half of the movie without any interruptions. He had almost hoped they were starting to get better. But just about the point where George and Mary were happily settling into their married life, Henry's stomach had decided it had had enough of being content. He'd been in here so long this time that Jo had checked on him. He'd shamelessly accepted the attention she offered. She seemed to be feeling better since the act of being next to him right now didn't send her back into a relapse of symptoms.
He felt her hands leave him but he didn't move an inch; he didn't trust his stomach with the movement. He heard her running water and then he felt her hand back on his shoulder.
"Sit back a little," she said.
He shook his head. "No," he said. He didn't want to move. The vomiting had stopped a few minutes ago but he wasn't sure it would stay that way if he moved.
"Come on. It will be fine," she encouraged.
He opened his eyes and looked at her and she had a washcloth in her hand. She didn't push him which he was grateful for. He took another deep breath before sliding very slowly and carefully away from the toilet just enough for her to face him. His face was once again covered in sweat and she ran the washcloth gently across his forehead and cheeks.
"You're a lot gentler than Abe would have been," he remarked with a smile. The washcloth was cool on his face and made him feel better as she ran it slowly across his skin. Maybe even good enough that he wasn't going to get sick again. It felt good to let her do this for him. He'd forgotten how nice it was to be taken care of especially when you were sick.
She smiled back. "Well, he doesn't have that nurturing female touch."
Henry laughed. "No, he doesn't. He has more of that tough-fend-for-yourself kind of love."
"He is a man," she said as she finished cleaning his face.
Truth be told, Henry wouldn't have been for sure if Jo had that nurturing female touch either before this night. He was a little surprised as he watched her, her face very attentive and close to his, her touch surprisingly tender. He was struck by how personal this was and in his weakened state he soaked up every bit of affection he could.
She looked up and he could tell she had caught him staring at her. He briefly wondered if that would bother her but she only smiled and sat the washcloth aside. "I am sorry about this," she said.
"It isn't you fault, Jo. There is no way of knowing these things."
"But it was my idea to eat at that silly stand. I...I only did it to bug you," she admitted with a half grin.
"I know," he said grinning back at her. "And still, I don't blame you. That being said, though, I have eaten my first and last gyro."
"Fair enough. Come on," she said putting a hand on his shoulder.
"Maybe it would be best if I just stayed here," he said uncertainly.
"No. Come on. I have to find out what happens to George Bailey."
"Well, you can go on. I'm getting rather fond of this room after all," he said with a grim sort of smile.
"If you're so worried," she said, reaching over to pick up a small trashcan that sat next to the toilet and handing it to him, "here."
He shoved it back at her. Though his stomach was still rocking, he loathed the idea of throwing up in a trash can. There was little dignity in doing it in the bathroom but there was a bit more. "I won't be needing that."
"Alright then. Let's go."
Despite the heavy wave of nausea and the worry that came along with it, Henry's stomach didn't give him anymore trouble and they were able to finish the rest of the movie without any interruptions. But as Henry watched the final scene of the movie fade away it was something else he was battling.
This darn movie; he should have known better than to watch this one with company. Movies rarely had such an impact on him but this one always left him a little misty-eyed at the end, watching George Bailey believe in life again. In his now sick, vulnerable and compromised state Henry found himself feeling a little more emotional than normal.
As Henry watched George open his gift copy of Tom Sawyer he felt more than just the usual glint of a tear in his eye. He felt himself deeply touched and reflective and drawing strong parallels between his life and George's as he read the note "No man is a failure who has friends."
Until recently, his life had not been unlike George's. It wasn't long ago that he wanted to give up on life. He had thought he had no place or purpose; he had actually believed that the world would be better off without him. He had felt alone and unappreciated. Of course, he couldn't end his plight so easily as jumping off a bridge but those feelings had been there and, beating heart aside, he had quite stopped living at all.
It was only at this moment he realized how completely those feelings were gone. It wasn't the movie that touched him nearly as much as realizing that it had been a long time since he had felt that hopeless. He didn't feel like dying anymore. He was actually happy. He didn't feel alone or unimportant. It may be a strange thing but he found himself feeling thankful for this night. He wasn't glad for the illness but he was glad for what it made him realize: He actually had friends again. He had one even willing to see him through all the indignity of food poisoning sitting right next to him. That was no small feat and it was not born out of a casual relationship but something much more than that. Jo really cared about him. Clarence was right; that really did make all the difference.
"Aww, you're a softie."
Jo's voice broke him out of his reflective state. He quickly cleared his throat and looked at her.
"Pardon me?" he asked.
"You cry at movies," she teased but it was in an affectionate tone and not at all mean-spirited.
His vision was blurred from the tears but he had hoped he would be able to conceal them if he didn't draw attention to them. Seeing as how she saw them anyway he took his hand and rubbed his eyes quickly. He forced a smile hoping to cover up the reaction that was sure to make him look weak. "Not usually."
"It's alright; I think it's sweet."
This wasn't exactly the reaction he would have expected from her but he could tell her words were genuine.
"It was a good movie."
"It is isn't?" he agreed. "Hope. Believing in life. Finding out you're not alone in this world like you thought, unnoticed and unappreciated..."
They were both quiet and reflective now. It was some time before Jo spoke and broke it again. "I should have guessed you would be an old black and white movie watcher."
"Why is that?" he asked feeling that brief twinge of worry be always did when he feared he'd let too much of himself show.
"Oh, come on. Just look at you; it should have been obvious. Most of the time you like we fell out of the past."
"Oh." He forced a laugh but it came out sounding nervous. He knew she was joking but that was just a little too close to the truth.
"So. What's next?" she asked.
"Ah, no. I picked the last. It's your turn."
"Hmmm," she paused thinking about it. Then she smiled. "Ah, I think I have a good one for you."
He didn't particularly like the way she looked so pleased; it felt like it was going to come at his expense. "What is it?" he asked nervously.
"Well, Mr. Old-Fashioned, this is an older movie, like about 20 years old so it's not up to date to the world as we know it. But even still it will probably stretch your mind in the ways of 'modern technology.'"
He cocked his head at her seeing where this was going. He repressed the urge to roll his eyes at the all too frequent need of others to taunt him about his dislike of technology. "I'll try to keep up," he said too sweetly and with a fake smile.
She laughed knowing, as she always did, that she had struck just the nerve she wanted to.
Jo started her chosen movie You've Got Mail and had instantly stopped the informational speech Henry had been about to give on how, according to the opening credits, this movie was based on an old black and white movie, coincidentally also staring Jimmy Stewart. She told him right away, in a firm but loving way, to shut his mouth and this was her time to choose; if he wanted to talk about it, the next movie would be his choice.
He had complied, not really having expected any other reaction from her, and settled into the couch. But he didn't benefit much from her intended lesson on online communication in the 20th century. Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks had only just begun their rivalry when he nodded off.
Amazingly, he remained sleeping through the rest of the movie because when he woke again the movie had returned to the main screen. His first thoughts were ones of delight that he had actually fallen asleep and stayed asleep for so long without a problem from his stomach. Then, a quick thought of worry that he might have offended Jo by falling asleep so quickly after her movie choice.
He looked over and was relieved to find her slumped over on the opposite arm of the couch fast asleep. He smiled and was just about to settle back in and maybe get some more sleep when he realized what must have woke him. Though asleep, Jo didn't not seem to be having the pleasant, undisturbed variety as he had experienced. She was stirring slightly, looking as though she were uncomfortable. She even whimpered quietly like she was in pain. He was sure that her stomach must be tormenting her even as she slept and he gave her a sympathetic smile even though she couldn't see. He actually felt much better physically but she was obviously still suffering.
He was still considering going back to sleep when Jo started to move around even more. Her face turned up in an expression of discomfort and she even cried out. Though he knew she needed her rest he wondered if it might be better to wake her so maybe they could find a way to relieve her pain. He was still debating which option would be better for her when she spoke.
"Sean," she whispered in her sleep. "Sean," she cried out again but more pitifully this time.
Henry froze. He'd been mistaken. She wasn't stirring from physical pain but from her memories and dreams. He felt guilty to be hearing this. He knew she wouldn't want him to. She would be embarrassed and he couldn't help but feel he was intruding on something private, something he hadn't earned the right to yet.
Jo rarely talked about her husband and when she did it always brought tears to her eyes. Though she had not yet mentioned his name to Henry, he had no doubt that this must be who her subconscious mind was searching for. The pain in her voice was a much amplified version of what he had heard when she had mentioned him before and it spoke of the true and unconcealed anguish she really felt inside. It tore into his heart and empathy flooded through him for her.
He knew that pain; boy, did he know that pain. It was so fresh and new in her; so potent. He remembered that. He couldn't help but feel he hadn't been a very good friend to her. He knew what she was going through and the best advice he'd had yet to give her was "the pain won't go away" and "get yourself out there more." He was ashamed of himself and endeavored to do better, to be a better friend and to be more supportive. He knew from his own experience he couldn't force her to talk about her pain and grief but he would offer her his ear and shoulder more often. She had already helped him in so many ways, changed his life even, and he would do more for her.
She struggled even more, still calling out for someone who would never answer again. He couldn't stop himself from reaching out for her and trying to comfort her; it was too dreadful to leave her calling out to the silence. He pulled her to himself and held her against his chest. He rubbed her back as he gently shushed her and found that it helped. She stopped calling out and she finally fell unmoving in his arms. He was glad she was resting now, untroubled, but his heart was heavy.
He had been holding her for several minutes, admittedly getting quite lost in the experience of her in his arms, when, with a start, he realized she was awake. She pulled back slightly looking around her with a confused expression on her face. He was embarrassed to be caught holding her, having never been in such a position before. Their relationship was relatively new and he felt the need to explain why he should be caught in what felt like a too familiar gesture.
"Jo, I-" he began.
But to his dismay a look of alarm covered her face and she instantly shoved him away.
"Wait, I can explain," he said losing his hold on her but not letting her go yet.
"No!" she said suddenly and with force.
"But I-"
"Henry!" she nearly shouted. "Let me go!"
It was then that he realized her need to get away had nothing to do with him and everything to do with her stomach. The second he released her she bolted for the bathroom as fast as her weak legs could take her, stumbling along the way in her still sleepy state.
He was feeling a bit stronger himself and he wanted to go and help her. But even though she couldn't move fast, he wasn't sure she would want help. She might want to be alone which he would certainly understand. For the sake of her dignity (what was left of it anyway) he allowed her a few minutes of privacy before he went to check on her.
"And I didn't think it was possible for me to get anymore embarrassed," she bemoaned, disgust in her voice.
"I should have helped you. I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault. I took off before you could."
"You were understandably in a hurry."
Jo's dignity, it seemed, didn't want to preserve itself. For all his consideration about giving her privacy, it would have been better if he had tried to assist her. As it turned out her fragile body hadn't been able to get her to her destination on time.
He had just cleaned the mess off the floor and was now rubbing her back the way she had done for him. She was already embarrassed and he cringed when he realized that he had to point out that her hair, which he had not been there to hold back for her, had found its way into the line of fire.
She looked like she wanted to cry or drop dead; perhaps both. She put a hand over her eyes. "This is so humiliating."
"Don't be embarrassed," he said with a small smile. "I think we gave that up several hours ago."
She smiled ruefully. "Yeah I suppose. I'm just so tired..." she said, her voice trailing off. The task of washing her hair seemed to be more than she thought she could bear at the moment.
"Let me help," he said scooting over towards the bathtub and motioning for her to follow.
She looked like she really wanted to protest but she was beyond the point of pretending she didn't need the help. She scooted over to the side of the tub and leaned her head over. Henry gently brushed her hair so that it all fell over the side. He started the water and tested it to make sure it was comfortable. Once it was at a good temperature he cradled her head in one hand and used the other to pour the water over her head.
He took a certain pleasure in doing this for her; he couldn't even remember how long it had been since he had washed a woman's hair. He was glad she was more willing to accept help than she usually was and grateful he was there to offer. She also seemed to be enjoying it. She closed her eyes as he thoroughly wet all of her thick dark locks and he felt her relaxing as her head became heavier in his hand. When he reached for her shampoo and started massaging into her hair she even smiled and sighed.
"That feels really good," she admitted.
He smiled, glad she felt comfortable enough to admit it. "Good."
"O.K. I admit it; you definitely have better bedside manners than any doctor I know."
He laughed. "Good to know."
He washed her hair and rinsed it out, taking much longer to do it than was necessary so she could enjoy it longer. When he had finished he gently squeezed the water from her hair and handed her towel. She took it gratefully and started patting her hair dry. "Thanks, Henry," she said genuinely.
"You're very welcome."
"I don't know of anyone else who would be willing to clean puke out of my hair."
She said it with a smile but her expression quickly transformed and he thought she looked like she wanted to cry. She looked away, paying extreme attention now to drying her hair.
"Jo," he started delicately. "Are you alright?"
She looked back at him. "I think it's quite clear that I'm not," she said with a smile gesturing around the bathroom.
He was remembering what had happened in the living before she had gotten sick. "I don't mean the food poisoning. I mean are you alright."
She looked into his eyes and she understood what he meant. She looked down at the floor. "Why would you ask me that, Henry?"
"Right before you woke up, you were...you were calling out in your sleep. For Sean," he said quietly.
She pressed her lips together still not looking up at him and he knew she was fighting the urge to cry. She was quiet for so long he wondered if he shouldn't have brought it up. Finally, she looked up at him and spoke, her voice, though wavering, sounded strong. "I'm not," she admitted. "But every day I think I get a little closer."
He smiled at her, her answer reassuring him. It was a good answer. They exchanged a long look and though he didn't feel he needed to say anything more right now he hoped his expression somehow conveyed to her that she would make it there someday.
She threw the towel on the floor. "Now, I think it's time for us get some sleep," she said, tiredly.
Exhausted and his body aching, he did not protest. They both wrapped an arm around each other and stumbled out of the bathroom. Jo pulled them along and Henry followed but he was surprised when he realized they were heading for the stairs and not the living room. His heart jumped a few times and his mind quickly went in about ten different directions when he realized she must be leading them up to her bedroom. She meant they were going to sleep in her bed.
It wasn't as if he thought this meant anything indecent. They were shaking with chills, so weak they could barely stand and they both probably smelled like vomit and sweat. But even though he knew this didn't mean anything improper, it still seemed intimate, too intimate for what they were to each other. Even though getting proper sleep was made a necessity by their circumstance it still felt like crossing some sort of line and he struggled to make sense of it and try to know what he ought to do.
When they finally managed to pull themselves up to the top of the stairs and to the door of Jo's bedroom he couldn't remain silent any longer. He held out a hand to stop her though he still wasn't sure what to say. She looked at him curiously, unsure of why he had stopped her. She thought for a second and then rolled her eyes with comprehension. "We need real sleep, in a bed. Not cramped on the couch."
"Yeah, but…" he said struggling uncomfortably.
"I promise I won't take advantage of you, Henry," she said teasing. "Trust me; you would know if I was trying to get you in bed."
He knew she was only playing but he was serious. What she was joking about what not the real issue. He needed to make sure that she was really alight with this, that she didn't feel pressured into offering just because he was here and ill. "Jo, are you sure?"
"Just lighten up," she said, sounding a little annoyed now.
"No, I mean it," he said looking in her eyes, hoping she would understand what he meant. Considering what they had just spoken of he wanted to make sure he wasn't going to do anything she wasn't comfortable with. She probably wanted to skim over the issue but he knew she needed to address it. He had personally dealt with this.
His cheeks burned and it had nothing to do with fever this time. This was such a delicate subject and he really hoped she would read in between the lines and that for both their sakes he wouldn't have to say the words out loud. "I would understand if you wanted to keep this...private. I wouldn't be offended if you would rather I sleep on the couch."
He saw as it dawned on her and her eyes took on a sad hint as they glanced towards the bed and back again. He knew the kinds of things she had gotten into, the things she had done to cover her grief. He knew the vices she'd turned to; they were the very same ones he'd turned to after he'd lost Abigail. He understood completely.
He just didn't think those things had happened at her home. He knew how these things went; you might seek out the company of others but you didn't bring them into your home. Not the place you'd shared with the one you'd loved. Certain things you kept sacred. At least, that was what he had done. He wasn't sure if she had done the same or felt the same. But if she did, even though everything her and him would be doing would be perfectly innocent, he didn't want to intrude. As evidenced by what he'd recently witnessed her grief was still fresh and he didn't want to be inconsiderate of that.
She thought for a long moment but when she looked back at him she looked certain. "Yeah. Don't make a big thing of it," she said with a shrug, still sounding a little annoyed. He could tell he'd embarrassed her but she didn't seem upset.
"Alright then," he agreed following her in. If she was alright with it then he wasn't going to fight it anymore. Maybe he did just make a big deal out of things. The bed did look so tempting now; he was much more exhausted than he had realized.
She sat him down on one side of the bed and turned on a lamp for a minute. She pulled a plastic trash can beside him and pointed at it. "Now, use that if you need it. Don't get back up unless you have to."
He tried not to grimace at it and firmly told his body they would not be needing it. "Yes, Doctor," he said nodding and smiling.
She smiled then studied him for moment. "Would you like another shirt?"
He glanced down at his now pretty sweaty shirt. This night really had been so embarrassing but he was so tired he hardly felt it anymore. "Yes, I suppose that would be a good idea."
She went to the dresser and pulled out another t-shirt. She handled it to him. "Now get some sleep," she said turning off the lamp and walking wearily to the other aside of the bed. He threw the dirty shirt off quickly, tossing it to the floor and put the clean one on.
He was so exhausted he didn't even have time contemplate how strange it was that he was sliding himself under the covers of Jo's bed. He wished he had a bit of energy to think about how it felt to be going to sleep beside her. But all he could think about was how soft the bed was and how a bed had never felt so good. His throbbing abdomen and aching body seemed to be soothed as he sank into it. He would be asleep in about a second.
Jo got in the bed and rolled over on her side facing him. He turned his head slightly so he could look over at her. It was dark but he could still make out her face faintly. He couldn't help but smile at her as he looked at her lying in the bed next to him her hand tucked up under her head.
"Sleep well, Jo," he whispered.
"You too, Henry," she said her eyes already shutting.
Despite the food poisoning and everything that came along with it, they both drifted off more easily and peacefully than either was accustomed to.
