Author's Note: Thank you again from the bottom of my heart, to everyone who has taken the time to read this story. Tomorrow's Monday again, y'all. But I think we'll make it.

20: Will You Stay Just a Little While?

Helga woke the next morning with a throbbing headache. Her limbs felt like they were tied up in knots from spending the night on Arnold's slightly-too-short couch. Grunting to herself, she remembered the days when she'd actually been small enough to hide out for hours in the tiny space behind it.

Her eyes focused in on Arnold, who was snoring softly on the bed across from her. She suddenly forgot the ache in her back as she gazed longingly at him. He looked so beautiful, with his golden hair all splayed out in every direction, and his stupid head buried in his hands, and his pajama-clad body moving up and down in the dusty light -

A buzzing sound beside her pulled her abruptly out of her reverie. Helga looked over at her phone screen to see seven missed calls and a text from Curly.

ill go ahead and assume youre staying over with him. let me know if u need anything

"Love ya, Curly Q," Helga muttered out loud. Arnold rolled over on his mattress, blinking and rubbing his eyes before he sat up against the headboard.

"Hey," he mumbled thickly. She felt her heart swell up.

"Hi."

"You… sleep okay?"

She nodded. There was so much that she needed to say. Questions, about how he felt, and how his dad was, and what they should do next, were fizzing up in her brain like so many bubbles. But the lump in her throat seemed to be precluding her ability to say anything at all.

"My mom called me about an hour ago," he told her, before she could even open her mouth. "She's still at the hospital. I guess I fell back asleep after that."

She swallowed. "Why don't you go visit them?"

"I'm going to," he said, and began to comb his fingers fretfully through his hair.

She rose from the couch, tugging at the collar of the T-shirt he'd given her and looking determinedly down at the floor as the color rose in her face. "Well, I guess my parents might be wondering where I've been. I mean, that's not likely. But it's possible."

"Come with me," Arnold blurted out.

"I… Arnold, I… don't you think this is kind of a personal family – "

"We can get breakfast afterwards. Like those chocolate chip waffles from Bigal's," he suggested. "The ones you like, with buttermilk, not the gross ones with bananas added in."

She chewed on her lower lip as she considered him.

"Please, Helga. I really need you."

"…And additional blood tests to check for the presence of enzymes," Dr. Fisher was saying, his voice low as he read from his clipboard. Miles was still asleep on the bed in front of them. "We've made the decision to inject a thrombolytic agent, streptokinase, into the veins. A nitroglycerin treatment is already in effect."

"So what about the surgery?" Stella asked impatiently.

"We're going to wait a few days, if possible. We'll move him into a more comfortable room immediately."

She couldn't rip her eyes off of Miles, who groaned softly in his sleep.

"Coronary artery bypass surgery is a strenuous operation for the patient. It's ideally performed after the heart muscle has had some time to recover." Dr. Fisher looked carefully at her. With his velvety voice and thick white hair, he had the calming presence of someone knowledgeable and well-versed in care taking. More importantly, he gazed straight at her when he talked: a rarity in the medical field that Stella had learned long ago not to take for granted. Nevertheless, she found herself struggling to trust.

"How do we know how much time we have?"

"We're closely monitoring him at all hours, and we will continue to do so. Given his unique history, we need to take every extra precaution before we begin a procedure like this."

"It's been almost five years since we've been conscious again, Dr. Fisher," Stella said, trying her best not to sound defensive. "And we've both been closely monitored, for all of that time."

"I understand your point," Dr. Fisher told her gently. "But you know as well as I do that nine and a half years of vitamin deficiency alters the landscape of a human body. I have high hopes, Stella. I know you do, too. But the worst thing we could do would be to push him too hard before he's ready."

"Ms. Shortman," came a soft voice on the other side of the blue curtain. "Your son is back. With a friend. Okay if they come in?"

Stella sighed with the temporary relief that swelled in her gut. Her worry for her husband had only ever been matched by her worry for Arnold. She'd become so weighed down over the past eighteen hours that she'd almost lost sight of how to carry both.

"Please," Stella replied. "Send him in."

It was several seconds before the two teenagers wandered into the room. They looked distinctly disheveled, glancing at each other awkwardly and wearing pajamas underneath their coats. Stella blinked at the tall blonde girl, whose eyes began darting around in every direction as she took in the various forms of hospital equipment. It had been so many months since Stella had seen her.

"Helga," she said softly. "It's good to see you. How are you, sweetheart?"

Helga fumbled with her hands. "Okay. Good to see you, too. I mean - I wish under - different circumstances - but - yeah. How's Miles' heart?"

"It's still beating."

Arnold drew closer to the bed, running a hand through his clearly uncombed hair. He looked as tired as Stella felt. Her heart throbbed as she reached out and began rubbing slow circles into her son's back while he leaned over his sleeping father.

"Hang in there, Dad," Arnold mumbled. Stella leaned over and kissed his forehead.

"We had a fishing trip planned for the spring," Arnold continued. His voice was shaking so much that he broke off, covering his face with his hands.

"It's okay, honey," Stella told him, but he went on through his fingertips, "It was supposed to be you, me, and Grandpa. W-we can't go without you. Please don't forget."

"That's right, give it to him straight," Helga hissed beside him. She squeezed his shoulder.

"Hm?" Arnold mumbled at her.

"Men love catching themselves a good trout."

"M-men love catching ourselves a good trout," he repeated.

"Uh-huh, they sure do. So he better get his butt out of this hospital bed."

"So you better get your butt out of this hospital bed," echoed Arnold.

"And his heart better be pumping perfectly. No excuses."

"And your heart better be pumping perfectly. No excuses."

Stella shrugged at Dr. Fisher, who appeared to be continuing to take notes on his clipboard.

"Come on, Stella," Helga said. "I think you need to get out of this room, for just a little bit. We can all get some breakfast."

"Harold Berman, Gino would like to remind you that at the present time, he is not... uh... he is not… expecting visitors," Gino's tallest assistant looked nervously up and down from his palms, which had apparently been graffitied with several messages in ballpoint pen. He seemed extremely hesitant about the strangeness of the situation at hand.

"I want to see him anyway," Harold insisted.

"He'd also like to add that he... uh... he..." the assistant squinted at the writing on his thumb. ".. he is no longer respecting, I mean, no wait, requiring your assistance. Additionally all previous agreements are now null and void."

"I just wanna check in with him, okay? Come on, lemme through."

"This is a private residence."

"Nah, it's just a dumb old garage." Harold pushed his way past the skinny assistant and into the lair, which smelled vaguely like fresh paint. Gino seemed to have spruced the entire place up since the day before – giving it a new forest green color, dusting out the spare tools on the wall, adding an even larger set of tires to his collection. Reorganizing must've been a coping mechanism for Gino, much like it was for Harold's mom.

"Berman," the booming voice rang out from behind his mahogany desk. "What brings you here?"

"I, um... I was just in the neighborhood, sir. Thought I'd stop by."

"You thought you'd stop by."

"Yes," Harold croaked.

When Big Gino crawled out and into the muted light, Harold could see that his face was oddly devoid of color. "Nothin' to stop by for. You did yuh job about as poor as I expected. And now yous is finished."

"Well, sir, I just wanted to make sure -"

"Go home, Berman."

"I wasn't here to bother you or nothin'. I just wanted to make sure everything was alright, that's all. After what happened, I -"

"Go home!"

"Okay." Harold hesitated for a moment, shuffling back and forth on the balls of his feet.

"I have been disgraced and humiliated," Gino said in exasperation, throwing up his hands. "And you come to me, and you says, is everything alright?"

"Uhh... well –"

"I shoulda known a classy woman like Lila Sawya would neva go for the likes of me." His shoulders sagged with his words. "Big Gino was born to be feared, not loved."

Harold took a deep breath. He didn't know what compelled him to do it, but he straightened up a little, puffing out his chest as far as it would go. "Gino, sir. You're a man, and I'm a man. So I'm gonna go ahead and talk to you like one."

Gino blinked at him.

"You said from the beginning you wanted me to help you make Lila see the real you. The guy you are on the inside. The guy who likes poetry and flowers and, you know, dainty stuff like that."

"And look where that got me!" Gino thundered in anguish. "Big Gino bares his soul for all to see, and he gets nothin' but pain and rejection!"

"But she didn't reject you for baring your soul, sir. She said so herself. She rejected you cause of your big, stupid, raging jealousy issues. You coulda just asked to spend time with her. But you were too dumb and scared to do that, so you kept on hurting people instead."

"And you thinks it was easy for me? To just stand by and watch while the woman I love was swept up in the arms of anotha man?" Gino spluttered, enraged. "The kid with the head. He's lucky I didn't arrange for his murda."

"Well, Gino, I'm real glad you didn't." Harold scratched his head. "Hey – by the way - you're not gonna - hurt Lila or something like that, are you?"

GIno shook his head firmly. "Neva. Lila Sawya has made her wishes known. It's time for Gino to move on now."

"Oh," Harold breathed in relief. "Great. Anyways, I'm real glad my debt's all paid off."

"Berman, it's time for yous to leave my office now."

Gino's assistants immediately lunged forward and grabbed hold of Harold's arms, but Gino snapped his fingers. "He's a man. Let 'im walk out on his own accord. Gentlemen, as you were."

As Harold made his way out of the garage and into the fresh air, a wave of sweet, sweet relief undulated through his chest for the first time in forever. The feeling was so welcome, so freeing. Before today, he'd almost begun to wonder if he would ever feel it again.

Patty was still sitting on the sidewalk with her back resting against a garbage can, hands hidden away in the pockets of her jacket. Her breath spiraled out in white clouds in the cold. She looked up when she saw him, her eyebrow raised.

"Well?" she asked tentatively.

"It's all good," Harold told her, shrugging. Patty sighed as she stood up.

"You did a really, really stupid thing."

He hung his head. "Yeah, I did."

"You could've just told me you didn't have the money to take me out, you know. I would have understood."

"I know. I'm real sorry."

"We could have done a million other things. There are so many things that are free. Like throwing rocks in the water from the boardwalk."

"Yeah. I won't do it again."

"Good."

"Patty?" Harold rubbed his thumbs together nervously. "You wanna throw some rocks in the water from the boardwalk?"

He thought he saw the vaguest hint of a smile on her face as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Her knuckles brushed against his as she reached for his hand. But she dropped it again as quickly as she took it, moving past him instead to lead the way to the icy waters, and stopping every now and then to collect pebbles in the gravel along the way.

The doorbell rang early that day, sending Lila leaping to her feet.

"I'll get it, Daddy," she called as she skipped from her bedroom to the living room. She paused just before opening the front door, shaking her head at herself. What had her so eager about doing homework - and on a Saturday morning, no less?

Stinky was all bundled up and holding his usual red knapsack, which was filled to the brim with their weekend reading assignments.

"Mornin', Miss Lila. Sure is chilly out there."

She shut the door after him, shivering with the gust of wind that blew in. "It certainly is. Can I interest you in some hot chocolate or coffee?"

"Coffee? You sure do have grown-up tastes."

"Oh, no. I just suggested it in case you wanted it. I only drink hot chocolate. I'll ask my daddy to make us some. It's just delicious the way my daddy does it, because he always puts in extra cinnamon, and mini marshmallows, and oodles and oodles of whipped cream."

"That sounds downright delectable."

"Oh, it is."

"And I hope you're feelin' better," Stinky said carefully. "After tha ornery events a yesterday. Big Gino sure is a vile feller."

"Yes," Lila replied. For a moment, she felt her belly cave in with distaste again. To make everything worse, Arnold had seemingly completely disappeared from school after Gino had revealed himself as the force of destruction behind the disasters that had befallen their dates. Lila wondered if perhaps her friend thought that she had been conspiring with the mobster. She'd sent Arnold a text yesterday asking him if he was okay, and she had yet to hear back from him.

"Was Gino… was he writin' you them poems for a long time?" Stinky asked.

"Yes, he was. And I liked them for awhile."

"Well, you didn't know who they was from."

"No, I didn't."

"If'n ya ever get the chance," Stinky said slowly. "Would ya wanna date someone who courted ya anonymously with love letters like that?"

"Oh, Stinky," Lila sighed. "You have no idea. I thought it was romantic, just ever so romantic. I just wish the person really writing them had been decent."

"Chocolate chip waffles," Helga demanded to the waitress taking their order, tossing her menu down to the edge of the table, where Arnold caught it with one hand. "But not the gross banana ones, please, alright? Just straight up chocolate chips."

"I think I'll just – I'll just have –" Stella said quietly, groping for her glass of water. Beside her, Arnold gave his mother's hand a tight squeeze.

"Come on, Mom, you have to eat something. What about the oatmeal with fresh fruit? You always liked that," he reminded her.

"The oatmeal," Stella agreed. "With fruit."

"And… I'll have pancakes," Arnold said. He collected all three plastic menus neatly and handed them over.

"We should sneak something back to Miles," Helga said hoarsely, after their waitress had disappeared to the kitchen. "Hospital food really sucks."

"Hey, yeah," Arnold agreed, nodding.

Stella glanced warily at the kids. "I don't know that he's up for eating anything, at this point."

"Well, what's his favorite?" Helga asked.

"Biscuits and gravy," Stella muttered. Through her grief, and her sleeplessness, and her utter exhaustion, she could feel the shadow of something like a crazed giggle at the tip of her tongue.

Connie Hayden was the kind of girl who glittered. With her stick straight blonde hair, meticulously applied lipstick, and perfect high cheekbones, her appearance left little to be desired. Plus, her collection of leather Prada handbags was simply to die for, Rhonda thought resentfully.

But Rhonda Lloyd was also the kind of girl who glittered. And though her story with Samuel was nothing short of finished, as far as she was concerned, her story with her new friends was not. If she was going to be charcoal grilled by a person she had trusted, she had finally decided, she was going to make damn sure said person could taste how badly she'd been burned.

"I hate to say it, Rhonda, but this is just how Connie is," Maria told her. She was applying red toenail polish with her feet stretched out across Rhonda's bed. "She just likes to have guys wrapped around her finger, especially the football team. She doesn't even like Samuel. She just likes one-upping all of us."

"Well, that's a horrible way to be," Rhonda said crossly. "A petty, horrible way to be."

"I know."

"Why has nobody ever called her out for it?"

Maria rolled her eyes, blowing daintily at the wet polish.

"Well?" Rhonda prompted, hands flying to her hips.

"Because," Maria said. "You don't call Connie out. You just get back at her."

"And how am I supposed to do that?"

"Jesus, I don't know. Just – like, hook up with Wolfgang, or something like that."

Rhonda felt her insides coil up in disgust. "Wolfgang?"

"Or one of the members on that team, I don't know. It doesn't really matter who it is, as long as they're big and strong and athletic. Then Connie'll be jealous."

"I will not hook up with Wolfgang."

Maria exhaled testily. "Then don't. Find someone else on the team instead."

"Fine!" Rhonda snapped. "Maybe I will."

"Slip it to him," Helga whispered, handing the Styrofoam box of unhealthy treats to Stella. Arnold chewed on his lower lip, but he nodded.

"Alright, honey," Stella said finally. "Maybe I will." She hugged each of the kids, whose faces hadn't grown any less exhausted over the past hour. "Get some sleep, please."

"You too, Mom," Arnold told her. He offered her a wave before he and Helga set off down the sidewalk, their footsteps slow in the bronzing afternoon light.