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Designed Intent
Chapter 44
Monday
Bobby woefully left Gleason at JFK and headed to the office. He needed to be available to head to court to give his testimony in the Bandelli trial. Carver said he would call if he thought Bobby would testify today. Bobby read and re-read the reports and continued to prepare; he had it all memorized, but he read it all again, nonetheless.
His mind kept straying to Gleason. Why will she not take care of herself, he wondered. Jesus. He knew there is no fighting with her about some things. She puts up walls, shuts herself off. She got no help when Clive burned her with the acid. She would not stay in the apartment and ended up shot, nearly dieing. She refused to go with him to counseling. She won't go see what's wrong with her heart. He felt powerless. Does she want to die?
Bobby stood and went to the vending machines.
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Gleason arrived at her apartment without incident. She called Bobby from the tarmac at O'Hare as she promised. She would call him again in a minute, once she made some tea. She was exhausted and this cough was making her nuts.
She considered grading the quizzes that she wanted to return tonight. She walked to the cooker to set the kettle to boil but was overcome with fatigue; just take a short nap, she thought.
Gleason went into the bedroom and stripped to panties and undershirt, she climbed into bed and tried to sleep, but the cough was irritating and she had no cough medicine. After half an hour, she got up, redressed and set the kettle to boil. She called Bobby and as she waited for him to pick up, she looked at her hands – her fingers felt tight, swollen. Great, she thought, what is this?
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Eames went with two uniforms and picked up James Doogan, the rare book counterfeiter. He didn't seem surprised when he opened the door and saw the police, "Why did it take you this long?" he asked.
"Well, you're not the only bad guy we're after," she replied. Alex read him his rights, cuffed him and the two uniforms took him away.
She followed the squad car back downtown, went to the eleventh floor of OPP and started the paperwork.
"Did you get him?" Bobby asked.
"Yes," Eames answered tersely.
Bobby's cell rang and he stood and walked away.
Eames watched him wander away and simmered. Her life sucked right now. She and Sledge were finished. That bastard! Bobby was getting kid-glove treatment again. Damn him! In addition, she was left to tie up loose ends, sweep up the bits, and put everything right. Shit! Eames considered taking some vacation. She had built up several weeks' worth. Go somewhere nice, warm, with a pool, and men. And anonymous sex. Yeah, that sounded pretty good.
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"Hi, Honey. Did you get in ok?"
"Yes," and she coughed a few times.
"Have you gone to the clinic yet?"
"No, Bobby! I just got in," she lied, "give me a chance, won't you?"
"Ok, ok." He didn't mean to harp, but come on. He heard her cough again and caught a definite wheeze. "Glea –, Honey, your coughing is worse and I can hear you wheeze. Gleason, something is really wrong. Go now, will you? Please."
Gleason was hungry; she needed to eat something and wanted to sleep. "I, – cough, cough – will, I will. I want to eat something and then take a nap. Bobby I am so tired." She coughed again.
"Baby, I know you are tired, that is part of what's wrong with you. Tell the doctor about your fatigue, that you passed out at home, that you have trouble breathing and you get a pain in your chest. Jesus Christ, Gleason, so much is wrong with you. You should have gone to the hospital last night."
She coughed and he heard her sniff. "Honey, Gleason?" She didn't answer and then he heard her cough, wheeze and knew she was crying. "Baby, are you all right? Glea –?"
The fatigue made her cry; she could not believe how tired she was. The tears stopped as quickly as they came. "I have to go, Bobby. I need to – cough – eat something and then I'll go to the clinic. I promise." She dragged a huge breath, exhaled and the wheeze sounded wet. "Ok? I'll call you after I talk with the doctor. I'll – cough, cough – call you."
Bobby had never felt such dread. He wasn't sure she would make it to the clinic. "Gleason, drive to the clinic. Park there; don't park in your usual lot and walk over, drive to the clinic and then go home. Cancel your class tonight."
She coughed and then answered, "I'm not going to cancel my class, Bobby. – cough – I'll drive to the clinic and depending on the time, I'll either – cough – come home or go to the office. – cough, cough, cough."
"Call me after you see the doctor, all right? Promise?"
"Yes, yes." She sounded so tired, so weak.
"I love you."
"I love you, too. I have to go, Love. I'll talk with you in a bit."
"Bye." Bobby flipped shut his phone and ran his hand down the back of his head. She did not sound good. He hadn't sent up a prayer of request in a long time. He did so now.
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Gleason hung up and just sat, then stood when the kettle began to sound. She prepared the tea, put bread in the toaster, ate a few grapes on the way to becoming raisins, tossed the rest in the bin and poured a glass of orange juice.
The juice was wonderful, no wonder Bobby loves orange juice, she thought. The toast popped and she slathered it with butter and the orange marmalade she kept for him when he came to Evanston. After she finished two cups of tea and the toast, she considered whether to head to the clinic or take a nap. It was still very early. She could sneak a nap and then head to the clinic, then go straight to the office and grade those papers before class. Gleason headed toward the bedroom.
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"Did Carver call while I was on the phone?" Bobby asked as he sat down.
"No."
Bobby stared at her. "You ok?"
"I'm fine. Just dandy," she answered without looking at him.
Bobby glanced over to Sledge's desk and saw that he wasn't there. Bishop was on the phone and writing. "Where's Sledge?"
Eames, stopped dead and said, "Why would you think that I'd know or care?" She stood, took her cup and headed off.
Bobby's eyebrows shot up and his eyes returned to the stack of Bandelli files. His mind returned to Gleason.
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Monday afternoon
"I don't think you'll be called today, Detective, perhaps tomorrow afternoon. The way things are going, you'll be on the stand several days. This is going very slowly. The defense is really taking their time."
"Ok, I'll be here. Thanks."
Bobby sat and considered what to do. He would go get some lunch; in fact, he would ask Eames if she wanted to go, too. He stood and went to find her.
"Hey."
She looked up from the printer and said nothing.
"Uh, I was wondering, do you want to go get some lunch? Carver said I won't be called today, so . . . I have the rest of the afternoon."
Eames knew her partner was trying to be nice, but she had so much to do. However, it would be good to get out. "Ok, thanks."
Bobby nodded and together they headed toward their desks.
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Gleason slept all afternoon and woke coughing and having to pee. She felt terrible – her head ached and she felt like she weighed a ton. Her hands felt funny and she saw that her fingers looked like sausages. She coughed and had to head to the bathroom before she wet the bed.
She finished and looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. My God! Her eyes were puffy and her cheeks looked fuller. What is going on? she wondered. After washing and brushing her teeth, Gleason returned to the bedroom and was shocked at the time. She had barely enough time to get dressed and head to class. Damn! She wanted to go to the clinic. First thing after tomorrow morning's class, she told herself.
She had to wear her tennis shoes as her feet were swollen and she couldn't get them into her loafers. This isn't good, she said to herself. She didn't rush, as she knew what would ensue. Gleason gathered her things and walked to the car, drove to the university, parked in her spot and walked straight to her class.
She kept them less than an hour, claiming her cough as the reason, then she sat in a seat in the first row with her head in her hand. After a few long minutes, she stood and gathered her things. She wanted to go home and go back to bed; then her cell rang in her bag. Bobby! She had told him she would call after her trip to the clinic. She dug it out and checked the screen. It wasn't Bobby.
"Gleason? Are you all right?"
"Malcolm."
"Lass, are you ok? What's wrong? One of your students called me and said that you let everyone go early, that you weren't feeling well. Where are you?"
A student had called Malcolm? "I'm ok, Malcolm."
"Why did you let your class go early?"
"I have a nasty cough and am very tired, that's all. I think I'm coming down with something."
Malcolm heard her cough and wheeze. "You don't sound good. Do you want me to drive you home?" He knew she wouldn't.
"No, no. Thank you, though." She coughed and wheezed wetly. "I'm going to go to the clinic after my morning class tomorrow. I need to see what's wrong."
Malcolm wanted to go to her, but he had promised Maeve that they would to a program at Gus's school. "I'll go with you."
"You can't, you have class at that time. I'll go and get a prescription or something."
He wanted to say more, he wanted to be with her, he wanted her. "All right," he said reluctantly, "I'll see how you are after class tomorrow. You take care."
"I will. Thank you, Malcolm."
Gleason ended the call and it immediately rang.
"Hello?"
"Jesus Christ, Gleason! I have been worried out of my mind! Why didn't you call me? Are you all right? What did the doctor say?"
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Bobby and Gleason argued on the phone. He was furious with her and she was exhausted. Gleason said barely ten words while Bobby screamed at her; she did not tell him about her fingers, feet, eyes and face swelling up. She knew he was frustrated and worried, and that he loved her. She also knew that she had been wrong not to see a doctor before this and not to go to hospital last night; and, she didn't give a shit. She listened to him holler, listened to him apologize, said goodnight and drove home. She went straight to bed and went to sleep.
Bobby, however, was still angry, still worried. He desperately wanted a beer, or better. However, he settled for a glass of milk. Bobby got online and researched chest pain, shortness of breath, coughing and wheezing and found out that it could be anything. Eventually, Bobby went to bed and thought of her, continuing to worry.