Chapter Five

By Sunday morning, Tony and Angela looked like zombies. Zombies who had shared a meal of very rancid brains. Staring at Angela across the bathroom floor, Tony couldn't help noticing her skin was the same blinding shade of white as the pristine tiles beneath her. Her eyes were so badly sunken he could make out the contours of the bony sockets behind them, and the soft pink lips he'd had the privilege of tasting on a few special occasions were dry and cracked. He didn't even want to know what he looked like. Thankfully, the mirror was well out of reach from down here.

"Mom? Tony?" he heard Jonathan call out in the distance.

"In here, buddy." Tony rasped semi-intelligibly. Whoa. Is that my voice, or have I been possessed by the ghost of a ninety-year-old chain-smoker?

"Guys, why didn't you wake me up for breakfast? It's after eleven, and I'm hun—" Tony was too far gone to look up, but he could see from the shadow falling over the floor that Jonthan had appeared in the doorway. "Yikes, what happened to you two?"

"No idea," Tony replied honestly.

"I'm calling 911!"

Tony couldn't tell whether the boy's words were meant as a threat or a reassurance. Either way, he had no intention of fighting Jonathan on this. He'd decided hours ago that they needed medical attention, but getting to the phone was beyond him and he was too hoarse to scream for help. "Okay," he said without protest.

That was when Jonathan really seemed to get scared. "Don't move, either of you! Mom, you haven't said anything. Can you still hear me?"

"Yes," Angela croaked. "Don't worry, Jonathan. Everything's going to be okay."

Tony wasn't entirely sure that was true, but he nodded in agreement anyway. This was Jonathan's second big scare of the week, and the last thing he needed to hear was the truth.

The boy's footsteps pounded down the hallway and down the stairs. A few minutes later, Samantha reappeared, kneeling on the floor between their makeshift beds. "Guys, Jonathan's out in the driveway waiting to wave down the paramedics. I'm supposed to stay here in case either of you need CPR."

"Sam, for heaven's sake, we don't look that bad. Do we?" Tony fretted.

"If I look anything like you do, you don't want her to answer that question honestly," Angela groaned.

"Listen to Angela, Dad," his daughter recommended. "Anyway, I tried to get Mona to stay on the line with the 911 operator, but she didn't come to the door when I banged on it. I think she might be out. Or just really asleep."

"Or sick of us and our drama," Angela guessed.

"If so, I wouldn't blame her," Tony sighed.

The paramedics turned up with all speed, first rolling Angela onto a stretcher and carrying her away, then strapping Tony to a backboard and placing him in their ambulance with her, lying him on the crew bench beside her gurney. Tony and Angela's hands immediately found each other again, fingers clasping weakly.

They were placed on parallel gurneys in the same isolation room at the ER, out of fear that whatever they had might be contagious. "We're very sorry, but it's been a busy morning," their nurse apologized from behind her surgeon's mask and paper gown. "We'll try to get you into private rooms as soon as possible."

"It's okay, we don't mind sharing. We're married," said Angela. Despite the circumstances, despite his misery, Tony wanted to grin like an idiot upon hearing her admit to it. Once the nurse was gone, Angela hung her head self-consciously. "Sorry. I just didn't want them to separate us. I'd really rather not be alone right now."

"Same," Tony agreed, retaking possession of her hand. It was funny how, though there was obviously nothing she could do to help him, or she'd have done it for herself, just having her near him made him feel better.

The nurse reappeared a few minutes later with a pair of syringes and a rack of test tubes, and Tony's grip on Angela's hand tightened frantically. "What's all that?"

"We need to do some blood tests. Check for pathogens, or toxins. Who wants to go first?"

"Ladies first," said Tony, pointing at Angela insistently with his free hand.

"Hey!" She feebly smacked the hand she had been holding. "You're the man, here. Aren't you supposed to be the head of the family? Get out there and lead by example, why don't you?"

"As a fellow girl, I'm siding with your wife," the nurse decided, perching on a stool at Tony's bedside and seizing his arm.

"Shame on you women, ganging up on a fella like this while he's bedridden!" He was too weak to fight, and too dizzy to run, so he had no choice but to lay there like a lobster waiting for the pot, while the nurse slapped the inside of his arm in search of a good vein.

The nurse looked across his near-corpse, shaking her head at Angela. "Men are the worst patients, aren't they?"

"No, that distinction belongs to boys," replied Angela.

"Oh, you guys have a son? Me too." She was far too relaxed and conversational for someone approaching his flesh with an oversized needle, Tony thought to himself. "Mine's seven. How old is yours?"

"Twelve," said Angela. "But I remember seven. Such drama queens at that age."

"Cut Jonathan some slack, Angela," Tony felt compelled to admonish her. "He kept it together and called 911 for us today. Probably saved our lives, the way we were headed."

"But you'll notice, it was Sam who actually took care of us beforehand."

"Sam?" asked the nurse.

"Sam's our daughter," Angela explained. The words sounded really nice in her mouth, Tony had to admit. He shut his eyes and tried to focus on that, rather than the enormous needle slowly disappearing into his elbow joint. "Sixteen. And more responsible for her age than I think we've been giving her credit for."

"After the roller coaster we've been putting our family through, I think both our kids deserve ponies," Tony admitted.

Angela didn't even flinch when the nurse prodded her own arm. Tony found her resilience incredibly annoying, though if the nurse had hurt her, he would have likely been just as annoyed. I guess I'm just in the mood to be ticked off at someone, Tony realized unhappily. Then again, after these last few days, who the hell could blame me?

"You two are definitely dehydrated, though that's more likely a symptom than a root cause of your problems," the nurse reported. "Neither one of you was a particularly easy stick. Your veins are like raisins. Apologies in advance, you're both going to have bruising at your injection sites. And look at this stuff." She twirled two vials of blood in the air, making Tony more nauseated than ever. "Thick as molasses." She taped down their IV ports and warned them not to remove the tape. "We're going to be using those again in just a minute. You two need a saline drip for hydration, and you need it yesterday."

Their doctor was tall and dark, with a rakish mustache. Angela found herself relieved that they had been denied access to visitors until the source of their illness was determined. If her mother were to set eyes on this handsome, successful man, there would likely be a second drunken wedding in Niagara Falls in their family. "Hello, I'm Dr. Perez," he introduced himself. She allowed herself to be relieved when he removed his surgeon's mask and shook each of their hands without bothering to don gloves. "I have good news. Whatever you've got, I don't think it's catching. Your blood tested negative for influenza, E. coli, salmonella, botulism, and all common parasites. As far as the toxicology report goes, the only thing we found was that your blood alcohol level was somewhat elevated."

Dr. Perez sat on a stool between the two gurneys, tapping his clipboard with a pen. "The paramedics who dropped you off noted in your chart that your son had mentioned you might have been drinking? Is that information accurate?"

"I know this is gonna sound like a cop-out, Doc, but we really don't know," said Tony.

The doctor looked confused. Join the club, buddy, she wanted to tell him. But her good manners prevailed, and she tried to explain, instead. "You see, we were at a party on Thursday evening, and we think someone may have put something in the punch."

"Something?" The doctor repeated quizzically.

"If we knew what, we'd tell you!" Tony snapped.

"No disrespect intended, of course. I'm just trying to get an accurate picture of your physical condition."

"It stinks," said Tony. "If you can't figure that out by looking at us, I wanna see a different doctor!"

"Tony, that's not helping." Angela squeezed his hand, trying to calm him, but part of her was relieved. The fluids and electrolytes being dripped into them must have done him good, if he was feeling well enough to pick a fight.

"And you haven't consumed any alcoholic beverages since Thursday?"

"We haven't consumed any beverages, period," sighed Angela. "At least none that have stayed down. I think that might be at least part of the reason we were feeling so awful. Tony seems a lot better since the nurse put these IVs in us."

"You look better too, Ange," Tony observed with a hint of a smile on his wan face. "You've got some color in your cheeks again, and your lips have plumped back up."

"I think I know what's going on, here," Dr. Perez stroked his mustache thoughtfully. "If your blood alcohol content is still this high after three days without any alcohol consumption, my guess would be that it was indeed alcohol that went into that punch bowl. It would have had to be a very strong form of alcohol, or a very high dose. Or both."

Angela and Tony exchanged knowing looks. "Yes, that checks out," Angela admitted. "Based on everything else we know at this point."

"Well, alcohol at certain levels of concentration can cause serious damage to the stomach lining. It can also kill off gut bacteria that are crucial to gastrointestinal health. You two could be dealing with either, or both, of those things. Do you remember vomiting up any blood? Any red streaks? Or black streaks? Or dark substances resembling coffee grounds?"

"No," said Angela, casting a worried glance at Tony.

"No, I definitely would have remembered that." Tony shuddered.

"Good. That's an excellent sign. Any hiccups? Indigestion? Bloating"

"Yes," said Angela.

"Three for three," Tony confirmed.

"Well, it sounds like the lining of your stomachs is badly inflamed, but you've managed to avoid any internal bleeding or severe structural damage. Good news, we won't be cutting you open to stitch up any perforated ulcers today."

"I'm gonna call that a win," sighed Tony.

"I'm going to prescribe you some sucralfate to protect your damaged stomach lining while it's healing, and I'm also going to send you home with some probiotic supplements to help restore your digestive flora. For the next couple of weeks, try to stick with bland, low-fat foods, and drink lots of fluids. You need to get your blood volume back up, and also flush out the rest of that alcohol hanging around your circulatory system."

"See?" said Tony. "The doc agrees with me on that one." He grudgingly nodded at Dr. Perez. "I guess you're all right."

"Uh…back at you, Mr. Micelli. Anyhow, the main threat to your safety right now is the dehydration. I think I'm going to prescribe you both an antiemetic as well, to make sure you can keep your fluids down while the sucralfate and the probiotic are working to heal your insides. The side effects should be fairly minimal."

"Will I be able to go into work tomorrow?" Angela asked hopefully. After everything she'd been through, she was eager to get back into her usual routine.

The look on the doctor's face made her feel absolutely ridiculous. "What a question to ask, here on your deathbed in the emergency room!" The doctor laughed for a moment and then turned to Tony. "Is she always like this?"

Tony wasn't laughing, however. He looked like he might deck the guy at any moment. "Is she always dedicated to the many people who count on her, incredibly hardworking, and passionate about the things she loves? You better believe she is. Every day of her life. And you can't have her, 'cause she's already married."

Upon noticing that Tony's large hands were bunching into fists, and the muscles in his arms were bulging with tension, the doctor quickly rose to leave. "Sorry, I didn't mean any offense. If you'll excuse me, I've got some prescriptions to write out."

"Yeah, I'll just bet," Tony muttered as the curtains swished shut behind Perez.

Angela became aware she was gaping at him when he gave her an embarrassed shrug. "Look, I'm sorry. I know you didn't want me snapping at the guy, but he had it coming."

Before she could tell him she'd kiss him if she only had the strength to stand up, the curtains parted again. Jonathan and Samantha, followed by Mona. Angela's mother jabbed an accusing finger at her, then at Tony. "If you two don't quit scaring me like this, I'm going to shoot you both in the head! You'll still be dead, but at least the kids and I can have some closure."

"We're not gonna die," said Tony around an armful of Samantha.

"Oof! Actually, I might, if my son keeps squeezing me this hard," Angela gasped, rubbing Jonathan's back reassuringly. "Thank you, by the way, for calling 911. I know it must have been scary, finding us like that, but you really kept it together."

"And Sam, thanks for looking after us last night, even though I'm sure that icky bathroom was the last place you wanted to be." Tony stroked his daughter's hair. "We're real proud of both of you."

Just then, their nurse slipped through the curtains. "Mr. and Mrs. Micelli? Great news, Dr. Perez gave me the go-ahead to remove your IV ports, and we should have your prescriptions and your discharge paperwork ready within the hour."

That was a pleasant surprise, given how busy the ER had been when they'd arrived. The doctor must have been eager to get rid of Tony after the way Tony had snapped at him. "That's wonderful. Thank you for letting us know." The woman slipped the needle from Angela's wrist with ease and rolled a tight gauze bandage around it, before giving the same treatment to Tony's elbow.

"Thanks for the much-needed drink, though I would have preferred a nice Coca-Cola," said Tony with a grin.

The woman laughed. "I actually wouldn't recommend Coca-Cola, under the circumstances. Stick with plain water, cranberry juice, or caffeine-free tea until you're feeling stronger."

Angela's face fell. "Does that mean no coffee?"

"No coffee for at least a week," the woman replied firmly.

This poison she'd ingested may yet kill her. "God help me."

As the nurse made her exit, Mona sat on the edge of her daughter's gurney. "So, Mr. and Mrs Micelli? What was that about? Did you guys hit up the hospital chaplain because you thought you were about to die and wanted to get married in your last moments?"

"Mother, that's ending of The African Queen."

"I know, wasn't that a great movie?" Mona gushed. "Bogart was positively delicious in it, with that scruffy stubble and the disheveled hair." She gave Tony a once-over. "You even look the part. All you need is a little engine soot on your face."

"Flattering as it is to be compared to Bogie, we told them we were hitched because we didn't want them separating us," said Tony. "Hospitals are scary, and they wouldn't let us have any visitors, so we figured we may as well at least have each other."

His words were true. They just weren't quite the whole truth. She gave him a nod of respect. You're good.

Tony smirked back at her. Yeah, I know.

In the end, Angela decided against going into the office when she awakened on Monday morning. She still felt pretty awful, but another dose of the trio of pills Dr. Perez had prescribed had her to a functional, if not terribly pleasant, level, by the time she finished showering and dressing. The buttery smell of waffles drifting up the stairs indicated Tony's condition had similarly improved.

Her mother and the children were seated around the table, happily digging into stacks of homemade waffles topped with whipped cream, bananas, and strawberries. "Mmph! I'm fo gwad yo' back, Tony," said Jonathan, his mouth stuffed to capacity.

"We miffed you, but we miffed yo' cooking even mo'," Samantha agreed.

"Cud I haff some mo' whipped cweam, Tony?" her mother wheedled.

Tony took a bowl from the fridge and heaped another big spoonful onto her plate. "How's that?" Mona, having already crammed a second bite in on top of the previous one, just gave him an approving nod.

Angela was relieved to see her family together, looking happy and more-or-less untraumatized. "Good morning, everyone!" she greeted, trying to keep her tone cheerful. The acid burns all over the inside of her throat killed the effect, though. "Ugh, sorry. I sound like Joan Rivers with a cold."

Mona snapped her fingers theatrically. "That's who it is!"

Angela ignored her mother's jibe and took a seat next to her son, eyeing the heap of waffles on his plate with trepidation. It was encouraging that she could now look at them without immediately being sick, but she wasn't sure if she was brave enough to actually eat any. And the doctor had forbidden her her usual juice and coffee…

Tony answered her question before she could ask it, sitting a homemade fruit and yogurt parfait and a cup of granola before her, with a glass of skim milk. "Eat up, Angela," he commanded. "You and me have doctor's orders to follow."

Angela saluted him sarcastically. She didn't care for being ordered around, but it was probably for the best, this time. Left to her own devices, she'd have been too scared to take another bite of food for the rest of her life. And given her passionate love of brownies and cake, that would have been a tragedy too horrible to contemplate.

"Yes, you'll want to keep up your strength after what Tony put you through," said Mona. Her words could easily be misconstrued as a reference to the ill-fated party Tony had escorted Angela to. But her eyes lingered meaningfully at one of the thick patches of concealer Angela had applied to the bruises on her neck. They were fading, but not nearly quickly enough.

Angela tugged up her collar, looking like a hunted animal. "I'm feeling much better this morning." She took a bite of her fruit and yogurt. Her empty stomach gurgled at the rude awakening, but didn't perform any gymnastics.

Angela could tell the kids were still shaken from their parents' disappearance, followed by their parents' serious illness. When the school bus arrived, they initiated the round of morning farewell hugs that she and Tony normally had to force on them. As the front door closed behind Sam and Jonathan, Angela looked at Tony and found him wearing the same mask of guilty horror she knew she was. "Ouch," she said.

"Yeah, that about sums it up." He was twisting the dishtowel in his hands as if it were the neck of someone who had deeply offended him. "Who'd have thought a hug from your kids could ever make you feel this lousy, huh?"

"Well, I've never particularly enjoyed my daughter's cold, bony hugs, but I think you two ae dealing with deeper issues, here." She eyed the food sitting in front of her daughter. In the time it had taken Mona to polish off three enormous waffles covered with twice their weight in toppings, Angela had eaten maybe three bites. She had bite number four in her mouth, where she had been chewing it for an inordinate amount of time. "Angela, really. Eating like that, it's no wonder you're built like Skeletor."

"Mona, ease off," said Tony.

Angela and Mona both stared at him. He'd never interrupted their banter before. And he certainly never took sides in it. He'd always seemed to find their little fights entertaining, watching with the same rapt attention and rapidly-moving eyes that he did a good boxing match on cable. "Excuse me?" said Mona.

"Your daughter's trying to be tough, as always, but she feels like hell. Don't get me wrong, I love your jokes, but this ain't the time for them."

Mona seemed more amused by the gentle reprimand than enlightened, or intimidated. "Well, well, well! I think someone's got an admirer, Angela," Mona snickered. "Maybe you showed Tony a better time than I gave you credit for."

"Mother!" Angela moaned, laying her head on the table with a loud bang. An easy out presented itself, and she grabbed it with both hands. "Don't you have to get to work?"

"What, you're not going with me?" All traces of levity fled Mona's face, and she laid a gentle hand on her daughter's shoulder. "You're going to let a little thing like being hauled away by an ambulance keep you from your job?" She looked up at Tony, worry written all over her face. "Tony, are you sure you brought the right woman back with you?"

"Like I said, Mona, she's not in great shape. Neither am I, for that matter." Though his face wasn't the mask of living death it had been yesterday, his eyes were still ringed with dark smudges and he was a shade paler than he should have been.

Mona's eyes drifted from her daughter to her housekeeper-in-law, then back; slowly, calculatingly. "Either you're telling me the truth, or you're trying to get rid of me so you can give boinking another try. Either way, the only decent thing to do is get out of your hair." She bent down to kiss her daughter on the top of the head. "Angela, if you're really that sick, feel better. And if you're not, knock his socks off. Remember, you're a Robinson and you have a family name to uphold."

Tony grabbed his car keys off a nearby hook, looking as eager to end this conversation as Angela felt. "Just give me a few minutes to warm up the car, all right?"

Mona held up a hand to stop him. "No, no need to drive me this morning. If you're sick, you have no business operating heavy machinery. And if it's an act, please put your energies to better use." She clucked her tongue sadly. "This poor child of mine hasn't had any action since Geoffrey. And let's face it, he barely counts."

At that, Angela's embarrassment briefly gave way to anger, and she found the strength to lift her head. "Mother, bite your tongue! What did Geoffrey ever do to you?"

"The same thing he did to you—absolutely nothing." And on that cheeky note, Mona disappeared out the back door.