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Designed Intent\
Chapter 28
Tuesday Night
Bobby returned to his mother's room from speaking with Dr. Shinto about her prognosis. He stopped dead when he saw the man sitting beside the bed. "Frank? What are you doing here?" Bobby said to his brother, sitting in the chair Bobby had vacated.
Frank stood at the greeting and turned, "Bobby. Glad to see you, too." He put out his hand and Bobby ignored it.
"What do you want? Money? How much are you down?"
"Jesus, Bobby, can't I just come and see Mom?" Frank turned and looked down at their mother, she hadn't moved. "What's wrong with her anyway? She isn't like this all the time, is she? She looks drugged up."
Bobby wiped his face with his hands. "Frank, why are you here?" He said this slowly, softly, with resignation.
"I had a feeling something was up. I wanted to see her. That's all. Is she ok? Did something happen?"
"You should probably talk with her psychiatrist. He will tell you what you want to know. His name is Dr. Shinto. He's in his office right now."
Frank looked at his younger brother; something's up, he thought. "I will, but not right now. You want to go talk? Come on, let's go sit somewhere and talk." He moved away from the bed and took a step toward the door. "You coming?"
Bobby looked at their mother, then at his brother; he turned and followed Frank.
They sat in the two wing chairs in the nearly deserted common room. "So, little brother, how have you been? What's new?"
"Our mother is heavily sedated and will be like this for the next ten days or so. That's what's new," Bobby scowled.
"Yeah, I figured this wasn't just a nap. What's wrong with her? Is she going to be ok?"
Bobby thought he heard genuine concern in his brother's voice. "She has manifested a new hallucination – visual and auditory. Dr. Shinto was talking with her about it and she got upset. She broke and they had to sedate her. It's a big set back."
"You mean she saw this hallucination? It's not just a voice in her head?" Bobby nodded and Frank asked, "What does she see?"
Why is Frank so interested, Bobby wondered. "She's seeing and talking with a little boy. The doctor said this hallucination was pleasant for her."
"A kid? She's seeing a kid? Why? What kid?"
"I don't know, Frank. I don't know." Bobby didn't trust his brother; Frank had never given anyone any reason to trust him. "Listen, why are you here anyway? When was the last time you came to see her? What do you want?" Bobby felt himself getting hot. Jesus, his brother could get under his skin.
Frank looked down, his head tilted to the left – just like his brother and mother. "Like I said, I just wanted to see her. Is that so bad?" They looked at each other. "So, you married or anything?"
That's Frank, the attention span of a gnat. Bobby considered just telling his brother to leave. But he wouldn't do that, Frank had a reason to be here; he just wasn't telling yet. "No, not married." Bobby wrestled with the idea of whether to mention Gleason or not, he wasn't sure of where their relationship was, or if they even had a relationship any more. "But, uh, I've got someone."
Frank's eyebrows shot up, he was not expecting to hear this; he always saw his little brother as a solitary freak. "Yeah? No kidding? So, tell me about her. What's she like?"
Bobby took a deep breath and began, "She's a professor at Northwestern. We've been together about six months."
"A professor, huh? How'd you meet her?"
"She was an expert witness on a case. We went for coffee and then we started dating." He didn't want to tell Frank the rest of that story – the stalking, shooting, nearly loosing her, his food poisoning, his abduction, her leaving him, the miscarriage, their current turmoil – it was too much.
Frank looked at his brother. He saw how Bobby's face brightened when he spoke of this woman. He really loves her, Frank thought. "So, is she the one?"
Bobby looked down, his face darkened, and he spoke to the floor, "I, I don't know; it's, it's not . . ., I think so; I, I hope so."
"So? You love her; does she love you, too?"
"It's, it's not easy," he responded, avoiding the truth.
"So, are you going to ask her to marry you?"
Bobby sat up, looked at his brother, and said quietly, "It's complicated, Frank."
"What? She married, got a kid?"
"Jesus Christ, Frank! No, nothing like that." Bobby was disgusted. He stood and said, "Why don't you go? Huh? Just go."
"What? Aw, come on. Lighten up, will you? Christ Bobby, stop being so sensitive. Sit down and let's talk. Come on, sit down." Bobby looked darkly at his brother; he twisted his head to the left, and then sat. "There, what's complicated?"
Bobby sighed and answered, "She's living in Chicago, Evanston, actually. She gets home every other weekend. I get up there one weekend a month. It's been hard, though. I'm, I'm called out a lot on weekends. We don't see each other so much. It's been hard, being apart."
"Hey, you love her, she loves you – that's all that matters. What's her name? She pretty?"
"She's beautiful, tall, red hair, blue eyes. Her name is Gleason Wintermantle. She's smart, kind, funny, Scottish." Bobby smiled sadly, thinking of her, wondering.
"So, why don't you marry her? Bring her home to New York. Get her pregnant. How old is she?"
Bobby sat back and exhaled deeply, "We're, we're not going to have kids, Frank," Bobby replied softly and gave his brother a sidelong look.
Frank said nothing, knowing exactly what his brother meant. Frank always used a condom; he was taking no chances. However, his reasoning was child support – he did not want to have to pay eighteen years for two minutes of feel-good.
"What about you? Why are you here? Are you in trouble?" Bobby gave Frank another sidelong look.
Frank looked at the floor. "I'm, I'm jammed up, Bobby. I know, I know," and he put up two hands, palms out, just like his brother does, "I, I just wanted to see Mom before I gave you a call."
Son-of-a-bitch, thought Bobby, I knew it! Goddamn him. He put his right ankle over his left knee and tilted his head into his right hand, elbow on the chair arm. "How much are you down?" he asked darkly.
Frank hated this part. Fuck, he hated coming to his little brother. Goddamn punk, always the good child – even now. "You know, Bobby, never mind. I don't need your help. I'm going to sit with Mom for a while and then I'll be gone." He stood up, turned and headed to the hallway.
Bobby sat slouched in the chair. He was miserable, he missed Gleason, he was worried about his mom, Frank was a nuisance again, Eames was being weird, and both cases had stalled. Shit. He pushed himself up and headed to his mother's room.
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Frank stayed with their mother only a few minutes and then left before Bobby got there. After thirty minutes of watching his mother vegetate, Bobby left and drove south back into the city growing angrier and more frustrated with each mile. Frank always provoked the worst from Bobby. His whole life, Frank had goaded Bobby into feeling bad, guilty, embarrassed, at fault; Bobby never measured up to his brother, the favorite son.
Talking about Gleason had ripped the scab off his feelings about their situation. He wanted to call her, why hadn't she called him? He hated playing games like this. He was tired of her sensitivities, everything had to be her way. Just like with Frank, everything was his fault. Bobby's mind and heart grew darker as he headed back to the city.
Once in town, he headed to the gym thinking he could run off this funk, clear his mind, and think about what to do. Bobby ran on the treadmill until he could barely stand. As had happened before, that sweet young thing wandered over and she handed him a towel. He took it, looked her up and down, felt his dick jerk alive and said, "Tomorrow, let's go for that drink." The sweet young thing smiled broadly.
On the way home, Bobby stopped at a package store and purchased more of his two new best friends – Jack Daniels and Glen Levit. He flipped open his phone and left a message for Dr. Stephens that he would have to miss his morning appointment. It was late when he finally got home. He settled in his chair with the last of the first bottle of scotch and a glass, the new bottle at the ready. He sat, drank, and hated himself all night long.