Special thanks to Kate for all her input on the inner workings of Brian’s mind, especially for reminding me of the whole "Playing God" Complex. Don’t worry—you’re bigger-n-better than that nasty Writer’s Block! Thank you Yankeegirl for doing that bit of research for me, thereby preventing me from making a boo-boo. Y’all wouldn’t BELIEVE how busy this woman is, and she took the time to help me. And as always, thanks for all the ego-boosting comments, posts and emails. Do we have the best internet community in the world or what? Get those deposits in to HeatherM—I want to meet you all!J

Honey managed to get Katy to sleep at a decent hour and was reading one of Trixie’s Lucy Radcliffe books when her cell phone rang. She set the book down and eagerly reached for it. "Trix?"

"Please don’t hang up." Honey’s stomach twisted into knots at the familiar voice. When she didn’t speak, he said tentatively, "Honey? You there?"

Her gut finally untangled, enabling her to answer. "Yes," she said shortly. This isn’t a competition! She gritted her teeth, her anger like a small angry dog shaking its head, surprising her with its intensity.

"Are you at Trixie and Jim’s?"

"Yes."

A sigh. "Honey, I want to tell you that…"

"You don’t want to have children," she finished flatly, tasting metal on her tongue. "I get it, Brian."

Silence. Honey bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.

"No, I don’t." Brian’s voice was heavy. "I’ve been afraid to tell you. But Honey…"

"This would have been a very good thing to know before we were married," Honey said icily.

"I didn’t know then."

"Well thank you so much for telling me now. Good bye." Honey disconnected the call, the phone falling from her nerveless fingers into her lap. Her eyes felt like burning coals, a metallic taste filling her mouth, making her gag. She stiffly rose and went into the kitchen, staring into the refrigerator for so long it began to make an angry sounding hum. When the phone in the kitchen rang, she slammed it shut, startled.

"Hello?" She hoped it wasn’t Brian. Please let it not be Brian. Please.

"Hon? Is everything all right?" Trixie’s voice sounded so concerned that Honey wondered just what she sounded like.

"Mmm," she replied. "What’s going on with Sammy? Is he okay?"

"The doctor thinks he had a seizure, but he’s all right now." She quickly filled Honey in on everything that happened after they left, finishing with "I still want to talk to the ex-husband. He’s been out of town, but he finally called me back; I just got the message off my cell." Pause. "Honey, are you sure you’re okay? Katy didn’t give you any problems, did she?"

Honey reassured her again that everything was fine and that Katy was asleep. She knew if she said one word about her conversation with Brian she’d start crying and never stop. She hung up the phone and slowly walked to her room, mentally preparing herself for another lonely night; for many lonely nights.

*     *     *

"Something isn’t right," Trixie said flatly, shutting her phone and dropping it back into her purse. They were driving back from the hospital, mostly silent as they let the evening’s events sink in.

"With Katy?" Jim asked, concerned.

"No, no—with Honey. I’ll bet she talked to Brian tonight and it didn’t go well." Trixie sighed noisily. I just want everybody I care about to be happy. Is that asking so much out of life?

"What’s going on with Honey?" Joeanne asked. "Not that its any of my business," she added.

Dan chuckled. "That never stopped any of us!"

"I’m not sure, Joeanne. Some kind of fight with Brian, but what it’s about, nobody knows." Trixie chewed on her thumb. What could Brian have done that was awful enough for Honey to leave him? She and Jim had fought plenty during their marriage—their tempers were well known among their family and friends—but she could honestly say that she never thought about leaving. It was incomprehensible.

"Relationships are so hard to have." Joeanne jumped when she realized she had voiced her thought aloud. "I mean, you don’t always know what you’re getting yourself into." She studiously avoided looking at Dan, simultaneously worried that she was scaring him off and that she wasn’t scaring him off.

"But that’s half the fun," Dan said slyly. He had made up his mind to pursue it, and there was no time like the present as far as he was concerned. He leaned in and pitched his voice low. "Have dinner with me tomorrow." He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until he let it out as she replied.

"Okay," Joeanne said. She didn’t know if it was residual relief that Sammy was okay, but suddenly she was ready to throw caution to the wind. It was time to get on with it; it was time to put Richard out of her mind once and for all. It was time to forget about…no, she wasn’t going to think about that.

Instead, she stole a sidelong glance at Dan’s good profile, wondering what he’d think if he knew that she hadn’t stopped thinking about him since they met, unbelievably, only a few days before. Would it never end, this longing for him? He’d never touched her, never even kissed her. It was nuts.

They arrived back at Ten Acres, Trixie watching them as Dan and Joeanne drove off, waving as they headed for the lab that might finally shed some light on what was happening with baby Sammy. "It’s getting a little warm in here!" she said to Jim, fanning herself as they unlocked the front door.

"Those two are headed for an interesting time," Jim agreed.

"I guess Honey went to bed," Trixie observed as they hung up their jackets. "I’m too wired to sleep—tell me what happened with Neil."

Jim flopped on the couch with a dramatic sigh. "Ah Neil," was all he said. He closed his eyes and leaned back, appearing to be deep in thought.

"Jiiiiiiim," Trixie said, standing over him. "Do they pay you to torture me?" She let out an eep! when he pulled her down onto his lap.

"Nah, it’s just one of the perks," he replied, locking her into his embrace. "You know, if I was somebody who worried a lot, I’d say you need to be really careful until we know what’s up with the dark haired guy. But luckily for you, I’m nothing like that."

Trixie snuggled into a ball, pressing her cheek into his shoulder. "Luckily for me, I’ve had FBI self-defense training and never take stupid chances anymore, otherwise I’d wonder if my husband still thinks I’m that foolish girl who went off by herself in New York City."

"Your husband would never dare underestimate you," he responded, hugging her to him. "And will now prove it by shutting up!" He hoped she knew how hard he was trying.

Trixie grinned. "Good boy. Now tell me how Neil’s day went." She listened as he told her about how well Neil scored on the placement tests and how happy he was to see Ashton.

"He says he hasn’t gone to school for awhile, his father is in jail and that his mother recently died. When I asked him where he’d been staying he was pretty vague about it. I put him in Ashton’s room and he’ll start regular classes tomorrow." Jim’s voice was matter-of-fact; as bad as Neil’s story sounded, he’d heard worse. And he was no use to anybody if he allowed himself to get overwhelmed.

"Did Ashton have anything to say?"

"You mean other than ‘hey Neil, wassssup!’? Nope." Jim looked amused. "I’ll give it a few days and then ask him what he knows. In the meantime…" he rubbed his chin on the top of Trixie’s head, "I kind of thought maybe a certain half of the Belden Wheeler Detective Agency might consider doing a little digging. If she’s not too busy to squeeze it in, that is." And I didn’t even ask you to take somebody with you! Jim mentally congratulated himself.

"Hmmmmm….." Trixie drawled. "Well. I suppose I could work something out. Do you have the name of the motel Ashton used to live in?"

"Oh yes," Jim replied, remembering the squalid place with something approaching horror. It was the kind of place that specialized in renting rooms by the hour to those who should know better, and by the week to those who didn’t want to know better. It was a million miles away from the clean, comfortable, airy dorms at the school. "I could never forget that place—it even manages to make the Hawthorne Hotel look good."

"Ewwww, great. You’re gonna owe me big for this, Frayne!" Trixie nipped his jaw playfully.

"Guess we’d better discuss rates. Do you have any payment plans? Or how about a family discount?"

"Tell ya what—how about we just take it out in trade?" Trixie said suggestively, sticking her tongue in his ear.

"Works for me," Jim replied happily as he quickly stood up, throwing her over his shoulder.

"Unhand me, ruffian! Is this any way for a responsible person to behave?" She couldn’t stop smiling to save her life.

"You’re the one who’s always saying that being responsible all the time is bad for your health," he jested, so enjoying the warm softness of her as he carried her up the stairs that he made a mental note to pick her up this way more often.

*     *     *

"I guess you’ll be wanting to go home," Joeanne said as they left the Universal Diagnostic Labs on Tarrytown Road. She felt oddly dreamy, caught in a combination of fatigue and the aftermath of stress, as if nothing else were quite real.

"Unless you want to get a cup of coffee or something," Dan replied. He reached over and took her hand. "Joeanne, can I say something?"

"Of course," she replied, thrilling at the simple contact.

"I don’t play games, and I get the feeling you don’t like to either. So when I tell you that I’m incredibly attracted to you, it’s not meant as a come on."

"It isn’t?" she blurted, sounding so disappointed that she was embarrassed. "Oh God, did that come out wrong or what?" She stopped by the car and gently withdrew her hand. "You’re right—I don’t play games. Which is why I am now going to tell you that I’m very attracted to you too. And I’m not sure if that’s a come on or not!"

His heart was doing odd things inside his chest at that confession. He didn't know until afterwards, when they were staring at each other, that he had kissed her. "Oh boy," Joeanne said, a little breathless.

"I’m sorry," Dan said, hoping against hope he hadn’t ruined everything.

"Not me," she murmured. She moved her arms around his neck as he pulled her into him, lowering his mouth to hers. As he deepened the kiss, a low hungry noise came out of her throat, surprising her. She had never felt this way before—not with Richard, not with the few boys she’d dated in college. She had never known that a kiss can be felt all the way down to your toes. It was at once wonderful and frightening.

"Good," he said as the kiss came to a natural and sweet end.

"I’d call it great!" Joeanne said, her lips still tingling. "But I’d better take you home. I have a long day tomorrow. Can you pick me up at the office?" She felt like her entire body was throbbing in time to her heart beat, and she giddily wondered how she was going to concentrate on her work tomorrow when all she wanted to do was kiss Dan until the day she died. Whoa, slow down girl. You’ve got work to do. Important work. Sammy. Remember Sammy? The thought of the sick child depending on her was just what she needed to return her to herself.

"I’ll meet you anywhere you want," Dan replied. It took everything he had not to kiss her again, instinctively knowing that he needed to take it slow. She’s obviously just gotten out of something that ended badly. If you move too fast you’ll scare her away. God I need to kiss her again. Shut up, fool!

She stared at him for a moment. "I believe you will," she said softly. "Is six-thirty okay?"

"Fine by me." Dan wondered how he was going to live with himself until then, ignoring the warning thump that always told him not to get involved. In the same way he knew it was time to leave the White Plains Police Department, he understood that his time-honored rules governing relationships no longer applied. It’s time, he realized with a pang of recognition, to join the land of the living. He thought back over some of the relationships he’d been in and fathomed something about himself he’d never before known.

They drove back to Sleepyside in silence, the feelings still too new to withstand the disruptive force of explanations, of justifications, of wondering just why out of an entire world of people, it was only with each other that they had a chance of finding any answers.

*     *     *

Brian gave up on trying to sleep and went into the kitchen, hoping that his mother’s old warm milk remedy might do the trick. He stood blinking in the sudden brightness that filled the dark kitchen as he opened the refrigerator. It was just as he feared—once Honey knew he didn’t want to have children, she hated him. This would have been a very good thing to know before we were married… the uncharacteristic anger in her voice was a painful as a blow, but he didn’t blame her.

He slowly closed the refrigerator door, knowing that there was no way he could swallow anything past the lump lodged in his throat. What he told her was true—he didn’t tell her before they were married because he didn’t know. He didn’t know then that he was a coward…

He sank down at the table, his forehead resting in his hands. All his life he’d been the big brother, the one Mart, Trixie and Bobby looked up to. He was the calm and steady one, the one who helped navigate through the rough seas of life. He wasn’t supposed to feel scared—he wasn’t supposed to wonder where God was when small children came into the hospital sick, hurting, sometimes dying. He wasn’t supposed to worry that he wasn’t doing enough for them, that he was just a big joke. He knew this was something that most doctors have to face—he’d been warned enough times in medical school about the dangers of "playing God"—but he was unprepared for how inadequate he’d feel during the times his best just wasn’t good enough. "First, do no harm" was the oath he took, and he took it seriously. Logically he knew that some people just can’t be saved, but in his heart of hearts he didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to believe that he couldn’t beat back death. He’d been tormented ever since the incident with the little Singer boy a few months earlier.

He’d been driving into work when it happened. He saw the rolling soccer ball first and was already slamming on his brakes when the young boy darted in front of his car. His relief in not hitting him was short lived as the boy continued moving, the car in the left lane next to him hitting the small boy with a sickening thud.

For one startled instant his eyes met the panicked eyes of the driver next to him, watching in disbelief as he backed up, quickly driving around the still body and heading northbound. Brian lunged out of the car, rushing to the small form that lay writhing on the ground.

"I know it hurts—I’m a doctor, I’m going to help you," he said, quickly and gently squeezing the boy’s extremities. He could see his leg was badly broken. "Try to breathe slow and easy. Tell me your name and where it hurts."

"Jacob," the little boy managed to gasp. "My leg…my chest," he moaned.

"Jake!" A little girl was suddenly at Brian’s side. "Jake. Jake!" She had big frightened eyes and long, light brown hair.

"Are you his sister?" At her nod, he said, "You need to cross the street very carefully and get your mother. Tell her to call 911."

"Okay Mister," she whispered and fled, first looking both ways.

"Try to keep still," he said to the little boy whose hazel eyes were just like his sister’s. He took his pulse, cursing inwardly. Chest pain, thready pulse—he had to get this boy to the hospital immediately.

"Where’s my mom?" Jacob whimpered.

"She’ll be here—your sister went to get her," Brian said reassuringly. He patted his pocket, but he’d left his cell phone on the passenger seat in the car. He debated about leaving Jacob long enough to get it when the little girl returned with her terrified mother.

"I called 911," the woman panted, dropping down besides the boy. "Jakey, sweetie? Mommy’s here." She took his hand.

"His right leg is broken and maybe a rib too," Brian said. He could hear the wail of the approaching ambulance and was relieved.

"Oh God," the woman moaned. "God, God, God."

"I can’t breathe," Jacob suddenly wheezed, his back arching desperately.

"What’s happening?" Jacob’s mother screamed, clutching Brian’s much needed right arm.

Brian managed to extract himself, putting his stethoscope to the little boy’s chest. "A rib may have punctured the lung. Jake, look to the left. Jake?" Suddenly Jacob’s eyes rolled back as he fell unconscious.

"What’s the situation?" Brian welcomed the crisp, no-nonsense voice of the paramedic who suddenly appeared at his side. Brian had been so intent on helping Jacob he didn’t hear the ambulance stop.

"No breath sounds; a collapsed lung pressure is keeping his heart from beating." He helped the man quickly and gently lift Jacob onto the stretcher. "What’s his bloodtype?" he asked the mother, as they following the stretcher to the ambulance, the paramedic already starting CPR.

"Um, it’s, oh god, it’s O. O-Negative," she managed to gasp.

"When you call this in, tell them to clear a room and get four units of O-Neg," Brian said to the paramedic, climbing in after him. He gently stopped the young mother. "I’m sorry—you’ll only be in the way. Follow us."

"I don’t have a car," she wailed, pulling the sides of her hair, her little girl crying at her side.

Brian quickly pointed to his abandoned car. "The keys are still in the ignition." As she ran towards it, he pulled the doors shut, turning his attention back to the boy.

"It’s no good," the young paramedic panted, still performing CPR. "I think he’s gone."

He couldn’t be. He couldn’t.

They did everything they knew to do, but the paramedic was right. The boy’s heart had simply stopped and nothing they tried made it beat again. He was pronounced dead on arrival by the harried attending doctor, Brian stunned and senseless as he groped his way down the Emergency Corridor, his legs feeling like they weren’t attached to his body.

He went over what happened again and again and could think of nothing he could do differently, yet was unable to shake the conviction that he should have done something differently. Obviously he should have, or Jacob would be alive, coming to in a hospital room filled with relieved family, going home to cake and ice cream, "Welcome Home Jacob!" written in wobbly crayon on butcher paper, his cast signed by all his classmates. Walking graffiti. Trying to take a shower with his leg awkwardly propped away from the cascading spray…

Brian stopped short, staring at the man who was sat on the gurney having his minor forehead wound cleaned and bandaged by one of the male nurses. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing and wondered if the shock of the boy’s death had done something to his brain. He looked again and knew, walking quietly over to the nearest nurse’s station.

"Call the police," he said, his voice low and urgent. He glanced over at the man to find him struggling off the gurney, pushing the male nurse away.

"I’m not done yet," he protested. "Hey!" he said as the man pushed him harder, starting to run.

"Call them now!" Brian said, no longer needing to be quiet. He sprinted after the stocky man awkwardly dodging stretchers and people, easily catching up with him. "You’re not leaving," he shouted, grabbing the man. "What the hell is the matter with you?!"

"Leave me alone!" the man snarled, trying to shake him off.

"You just left him there!"

"I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"You hit him and then you left. Call security," Brian said to the startled nurse who’d joined them.

"You’re crazy. I don’t know what you’re talking about," the man repeated.

"Yes you do. I saw you and I can identify you," Brian hissed between gritted teeth. He felt the man slowly stop his struggling and carefully loosened his grip.

"It was an accident," the man said softly, going very still. His ruddy face had a trapped look, his watery eyes darting to the left and to the right.

"And you just drove off—that’s hit and run." Brian looked at him steadily, but he wouldn’t meet his eyes.

"Ah dear God," the man moaned. "I panicked, all right? I…I had a couple of DUIs, but I wasn’t drinking today, okay? God, it just all happened so fast. I didn’t know what to do."

"You knew enough to run away," Brian said heavily. He stood back as security took the man into custody.

"You brought him here? Is he all right?" the man asked, breathing heavily.

"You don’t have the right to ask, but I’ll tell you all the same. He’s dead," Brian said grimly, taking a bitter satisfaction in the look of utter despair that crossed the man’s face. Why should I be the only one who feels like his life may as well be over? He stood impassively as the man was led away screaming, "I didn’t mean to do it. Christ, I didn’t mean to do it!"

"Didn’t mean to do it," Brian muttered out loud, sitting at his kitchen table in the dark. He tapped his fingers restlessly. He didn’t mean to sink into a depression or drive his wife away either, but sometimes that’s how the ball bounces. It was after that day that he became afraid of what becoming a parent could mean, the sickness and suffering he dealt with on an almost daily basis taking on a hideous new meaning…

And how could he tell Honey any of this when she’d always looked up to him too? Maybe she would pity him, the pity eating away at her love little by little until there was nothing left.

And as if what happened to Jacob wasn’t enough, there was what happened the day he and Honey got into the fight...

Brian rose from the table, rummaging in the cupboard above the refrigerator until he found what he was looking for—a bottle of scotch his father-in-law had brought over one time. Other than the one drink Matthew Wheeler had, it had remained untouched ever since. Brian poured himself a drink and took a long swallow, welcoming the burning sensation that hit his gut, sending numbness up into his brain. He drank the rest and poured out more, leaning against the refrigerator, unable to stop the flood of dark thoughts that just kept coming and coming.

Suppose, just suppose, he and Honey had a child. And then he got sick. Really sick. Maybe there was nothing that could be done, and all they could do was watch helplessly while he left them forever. Would Honey despise him for not being able to prevent it? Brian returned to the table, dropping into the chair, biting his lip. She despised him anyway, didn’t she? It all seemed so hopeless.

It was hopeless. She was gone, he was alone and there didn’t seem to be a thing he could do about it. She didn’t want to talk to him and she obviously no longer wanted to be with him.

He poured himself yet another drink, knowing it was going to be another long, sleepless night.

To be continued…

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