by P.D. Workman
CHAPTER 10
URSULA TOOK A DEEP breath when she got off of the elevator, and approached the nursing station. She told the nurse receptionist that she was Abe’s wife.
"He was pretty agitated when he got here," the nurse remarked, tapping keys on the computer as she brought his record up.
"That's what the agent said," Ursula agreed. "I'm not surprised, he's had a lot of unusual stresses lately. Even just today..." she trailed off.
"Okay. So he's been given a sedative, but that's all. We wanted to find out what he was taking before adding anything in."
Ursula put the paper bag full of prescriptions on the desk. The nurse glanced at it.
"Just his current regimen," she advised.
"This is it."
"Okay, then."
She made no sign of surprise. She picked up the back and reviewed each bottle, noting the contents and instructions.
"Has he been taking them?" The nurse questioned.
"No."
"Any non-prescriptions? OTC's, vitamins, herbs, homeopathics?"
"No."
"Illegal drug use?"
"No."
"Drinking, smoking?"
"Drinking," Ursula admitted.
"How much?"
"Enough in the evening to pass out. I don't know how much during the day, at work."
The nurse noted her answers.
"Any weight loss? Anything else we should know about?"
"Some weight loss…” Ursula admitted. "He's been under incredible stress. Just... an incredible amount of stress."
"Okay," she tapped it into the computer. "We'll evaluate him and see if we can get him back on track again. Is he usually compliant about his meds?"
"As far as I know, this is the first time he's ever decided to go off them."
"Any reason why?"
"No, I don't understand why he would. He’s got to know it wouldn’t make things any better."
After she finished with the nurse, Ursula went to Abe’s room. He was asleep, but not in restraints as she had feared. She moved to the side of his bed.
"Abe," Ursula called softly. "Aberahama..."
His eyes opened, and he stared at Ursula without moving a muscle.
"Hi, sweetie," she whispered. "Do you know where you are?"
"Crazy, not stupid," he dead panned.
Ursula smiled.
"How are you feeling?"
“Groggy. You didn’t let them give me a lobotomy, did you?”
“Not this time. They just sedated you.”
He nodded slightly.
“When can I go home?” he questioned.
“You’re on a seventy-two hour hold. So not for three days.”
Abe closed his eyes again.
“I wasn’t going to hurt anyone. Lovett said I was a danger. He’s wrong.”
“He was trying to do the right thing, Abe. You were pretty… agitated this morning. He was worried about you.”
Abe looked like he was going to start arguing again. Then his eyes drifted to the side, his expression slackening. Ursula waited for him to speak again, but he closed his eyes and fell back asleep. Ursula stroked his hair, and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
Ursula put down her briefcase and surveyed the children with a sigh.
“How’s everyone doing?” she questioned generally.
Juneau and Crispin shrugged and didn’t answer immediately. Meggie launched herself at Ursula, giving her an enthusiastic hug.
“Mommy, can I join the soccer club at school? I want to play soccer at lunchtime with the other kids!”
Ursula gave her a hug and picked her up, setting her on the edge of the counter, something Abe would never have countenanced.
“Well, maybe. Do you have a form or flyer from the school about it?”
“Yes! It’s in my backpack!” Meggie reached out her arms for Ursula, then jumped to her. Once she was back on the floor, she ran upstairs to fetch it.
“How about you guys?” Ursula questioned, looking at the other two. "Are you okay?”
They nodded.
“Fine, Mom,” Juneau said without enthusiasm.
“Crispy? How’s school going? No more seizures?”
Even though she knew the answer, even though the school would certainly have called her if he had another, she had to hear it anyway. Some kind of good news. Something positive.
“No. Everything is good,” Crispin said.
“You don’t sound too happy. Are you sure?”
“I just… I’m worried about Dad.”
“I know, honey. We all are.”
Ursula went over to him and gave him a hug.
“But it’s not your fault,” she said. “This isn’t anything to do with you. You’re a good boy, Cris.”
“I just think that if I didn’t have seizures… if I didn’t forget and wake him up when he’s sleeping… all that other stuff… he wouldn’t be so upset and he’d be okay.”
“It’s not you, Crispin,” Juneau interposed, her voice strong and firm, broaching no argument. "It’s his work. It’s not anything to do with you.”
Ursula nodded, looking down at his face.
“Maybe he should stay home for a while,” Crispin suggested, “until he’s feeling better. He could get away from work for a while, couldn’t he? We wouldn’t… lose the house or anything?”
“He may have to take some time off,” Ursula agreed, not wanting to think about the financial straits they would be in if he stopped working altogether. “He’ll be taking a few days off, anyway, once he’s home again.”
“Is there anything we can do to help?” Crispin questioned earnestly, looking up at her.
“Just keep doing what you have been,” Ursula said. “Be supportive and try to get along. He’s the adult, not you, so you don’t have to take care of him or tell him what to do. I don’t expect you kids to be responsible for telling him to take his medication or anything like that. Stay out of the way if he is upset. Just like you always do, nothing new.”
“Okay,” Crispin agreed, with a sigh and a nod.
Ursula went to the fridge and poured herself a glass of milk.
“And how about you?” she questioned Juneau. "Are you managing? I don’t like to leave you in charge so much of the time. You need time for yourself and your friends too.”
“I’m okay,” Juneau said heavily. "I know you guys need the help.”
Ursula studied her closely. Juneau looked away, uncomfortable with the scrutiny.
“You’ve lost weight,” Ursula observed.
“A little,” Juneau said with a shrug.
“How much?”
“I’m not sure. It’s nothing.”
“Are you getting enough to eat? I know Dad’s not making his usual fare, but there’s still plenty around here. I’ll get you something else, if there’s something special you want.”
“Ice cream!” Crispin exclaimed.
Ursula shushed him.
“Juneau?” she prodded.
“No, I’m fine. I can make my own dinner. I keep the kids fed, don’t I?”
“Yes. But I’m a little concerned about this sudden weight loss. If you’re sick-”
“She doesn’t eat,” Crispin offered.
Juneau swatted at him, shooting him a fiery glare. Crispin danced back out of her reach.
“What do you mean, she doesn’t eat?” Ursula demanded, glancing from Crispin to Juneau and back again.
“When she makes us dinner, she doesn’t eat. Or breakfast or nothing.”
Ursula looked at Juneau, who rolled her eyes and looked away.
“Why don’t you go work on your homework?” Ursula said to Crispin. He looked at the two of them, shrugged, and went upstairs. Ursula motioned to the table. “Let’s talk.”
Juneau sat down uncomfortably.
“I’m just not really hungry lately,” she offered with a sigh and a shrug.
“Because of the stress? Is that what’s going on?”
“I guess. I
don’t know.”
“What, then?”
“Well…” Juneau traced circles on the table with her fingertip. “It’s not really safe…”
Ursula cocked her head thoughtfully.
“You’re worried you’re going to have a reaction?” she questioned.
Juneau’s eyes brimmed with tears, and she nodded.
“I just keep having them lately, and I don’t even know why… it doesn’t seem like anything is safe anymore.”
“You can eat here and be pretty sure that it’s all safe,” Ursula pointed out. "I won’t buy anything that you’ll react to.”
“But it could still be contaminated,” Juneau argued. "I don’t even know what I reacted to last time, I only had our food.”
“There are always risks,” Ursula admitted. "But you can’t just not eat! Something being uncontaminated isn’t certain, but starving yourself is. You can’t live without eating.”
Juneau shook her head, looking down at the table, tears running down her cheeks.
“Let me get you something,” Ursula said. "What do you feel like? Spaghetti? Cereal? Toast and soup?”
“I’m not hungry,” Juneau protested.
“Juneau. You have to eat. Now what can I get you?”
“I don’t know. I’m too scared.”
Ursula held Juneau’s hand, trying to figure out how to help her.
“Abe, my friend,” Banducci greeted jovially. "How are you?”
Abe grimaced. He looked Banducci over, and tried to go on without answering the question.
“You look like your diet is finally agreeing with you,” he suggested, as Banducci’s expression was calm and cheerful, and he hadn’t yet started complaining about his meal plan.
“Yes, yes, I think you’ve finally nailed it,” Banducci agreed. “But what about you? You’ve lost weight. You didn’t put your own food into my meal plan did you?”
“I’ve been a little under the weather,” Abe said evenly. "So everything is good? No complaints this time?”
Abe studied the items on the table next to Banducci’s bed. There was a new bottle of antacids, the fruity ones this time. It was nearly full, so Banducci must not be having as much indigestion. The table was cluttered with reading material, Banducci’s phone, writing implements, breath lozenges, and wrappers from Banducci’s various snacks
“Not from me. Which usually means that the warden will have complaints,” Banducci teased.
Abe shrugged his shoulders.
“Fingers crossed,” he said, displaying crossed fingers.
“What’s going on with you?” Banducci questioned. “Why are you sick?”
Abe waved his hand.
“Nothing, nothing.”
“You having problems with your other jobs?” Banducci questioned. "Something going on?”
Abe sighed, seeing that Banducci would not be put off the topic easily.
“I asked you before about the jewel heist,” Abe said tentatively.
“Yeah, I remember that,” Banducci growled.
“I just… things have been pretty stressful. They tried to… I’m not going to let them ruin me. They’re going to jail. And then, I’ll be okay. Then everything will be normal again.”
Banducci studied him closely.
“Is that some kind of threat?”
“I want these guys behind bars. All of them,” Abe gestured at Banducci’s cell. "Just like this.”
“You say they tried to ruin you.”
“Yes.”
“Then what do you think they’re going to do when you still don’t give up?”
Abe looked at him.
“What else can they do?” he demanded.
Banducci cocked an eyebrow.
“Threaten you family. Hurt them or you physically.”
“They wouldn’t dare,” Abe said. "The police are already watching me. If they try to hurt me, they’ll just reveal themselves to the police. They wouldn’t want to do that, would they?”
“I’m sure they could find their ways around it,” Banducci said calmly. “Accomplished jewel thieves; they’ve been doing it for years. A couple of feds aren’t going to deter them.”
Abe eyed Banducci, frowning. Abe was back on his meds and trying hard not to listen to the paranoid whispering of his brain. But Banducci wasn’t paranoid, and he said that the thieves would come after Abe or his family. It wasn’t just the voices. Banducci was a mobster, he knew how these things worked.