February 2
He was an ass. Right now, all he wanted to do was hop in the car and drive to Providence and finally show Monica that he cared for her. But he couldn't do that, of course.
Back home, he found that he hadn't snuck out unnoticed. Barbara was waiting for him in the kitchen.
"Where were you?"
"I needed some air. Went for a jog. I'm going to shower now."
She followed him wordlessly back to the bedroom, ignoring him along the way, and started to get back into bed. He wasn't sure what drove him to do this – was it the fact that she looked so good, or did it have something to do with his desire for Monica? – but he called her to him, and she came, recognizing something in his voice. He pulled her into the shower and made love to her until there was no more hot water. Curled up in bed together naked and still damp-headed, she whispered a thank you into his ear.
"What for?"
"For making love to me. You haven't initiated sex in weeks. I was nervous. I guess, maybe that's why I was so upset tonight. I'm sorry about that."
"No apologies. I'm the one who should apologize. I really have been out of sorts lately."
"Shh. No apologies, right? We should sleep. Luke will be up in a few hours."
He pulled her closer and felt relief for the first time since this began. He wouldn't blow his second chance after all.
His tranquility did not last long. He awoke feeling ill to his stomach, images of a teenage boy drowning in a river of blood, his own hands too slippery from the blood to save him. The boy felt familiar, though John could not see his face. He knew that it had to be related to their predicament, and he knew that he should let Monica know, but he certainly couldn't call her now, and he fell back asleep telling himself he'd call her from the station the next day . But work was busy and there never was a chance to get to the phone, and then it was the weekend and he took his wife and child out to the beach, and then it was Monday , and busy again. On and on he continued to put it off until the dream was forgotten.