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Sand and Water
Installment 2
by Maryilee
 

Chapter 11

"Excuse me. Gentlemen?"

"What?  Huh?"  Chuck started awake. Taking a deep breath and opening his eyes wide, he glanced around,  realizing that he had fallen asleep in the chair next to Gary's bed. He self-consciously checked to see if he  had drooled while dozing. He searched for Crumb, and wasn't surprised to see him still standing in the corner, eyes glued to the heart monitor.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Nielsen.  The nurse told me that you were here, and I wanted to catch you before you left."

Chuck stood and turned around to face the voice. He greeted the tall, balding doctor with an outstretched  hand. "Nice to meet you, Dr. Nielsen. I'm Chuck Fishman and-"

"Fishman?" Dr. Nielsen's eyebrows shot up in puzzlement.  "I thought you were Gary's brother."

Chuck's eyes opened wide, and, gulping, he flicked a glance towards Crumb.  The older man was rolling his  eyes and shaking his head at Chuck's gaffe.  Chuck cleared his throat, "Uh...we're step-brothers...sort of."

Dr. Nielsen held his hand up, a half-smile on his face.  "Hold it.  I really don't care if you are related or not.   That's the hospital's rule, not mine.  Anyway, Mr. Fishman, if you and Mr. Hobson could step out in the hall  with me  for a moment, I'd like to discuss Gary's condition with you."

"Mr. Hobson is here?" Chuck asked, looking behind the doctor in hopes of  seeing Gary's dad.

"Aw, jeez, Fishman." Crumb snorted.

Dr. Nielsen gave a short laugh. "So, I take it you aren't Gary's dad, either."

Crumb shook his head.  The gig was up. Holding out his hand, he introduced  himself. "Zeke Crumb. I hated to mislead you, Doctor, but Hobson's real  parents are traveling, and we can't reach them."

Chuck bit his lower lip, hoping they weren't going to be tossed out on their  ears.

Dr. Nielsen nodded, clasping Crumb's hand.  "I understand. However, I'm in  kind of an awkward position, here.  I shouldn't discuss a patient's condition  with anyone but the patient's family."

"Look, Doc, other than his parents, we're all the kid's got." Crumb gestured  towards Gary.  "We're almost like a family," Crumb finished gruffly,  studiously avoiding Chuck's astonished gaze.

Dr. Nielsen sighed.  "Let me see if I can get Gary's permission.  If you'll  wait in the hall, I'll be right out.
 

                  *****************************
 

Chuck paced restlessly outside Gary's room.  "Sorry, Crumb.  I should have  kept my mouth shut."

Crumb pursed his lips, his hands in his pockets. "Forget it, Fishman.  The  truth would have come out sooner or later."

Chuck shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."  He ventured closer to Gary's door, craning  his neck to see what was taking the doctor so long. The doctor was adjusting  some equipment attached to Gary's finger. Chuck still couldn't believe how  sick Gary looked.  Even though he had been warned by Crumb, he hadn't been  fully prepared to see his buddy lying so still, all his energy being consumed  in the effort to breathe.

Seeing the doctor headed towards the door, Chuck pulled his head back around, not wanting eavesdropping to be added to his list of crimes.

Dr. Nielsen approached Chuck and Crumb, his expression neutral. "Gary did grant me permission to discuss his condition with you both, though the sooner you could reach his parents, the better."

"W-what do you mean?" Chuck said, in alarm.

The doctor sighed. "I just don't like the way things are going right now, but let me begin by explaining Gary's condition."

Chuck swallowed hard.

Crumb lifted his chin up slightly, then nodded. "Okay, Doc."

"As you know, Gary has a severe pneumonia.  We've cultured the bug causing it, and, as I suspected, it's a pneumococcal pneumonia."

Chuck glanced at Crumb, shrugging.  He hadn't a clue what the doctor was talking about.

The doctor continued.  "Now, normally, a guy Gary's age probably wouldn't get this bug.  It occurs most often in people over sixty-five, but Gary has had a splenectomy, and the spleen is involved in fighting infection.  Without it, his natural defenses were lowered, making him susceptible to the bacteria."

"Can you treat it?" This really doesn't sound good, Chuck thought, frightened for Gary.

"Oh sure.  It's fairly simple to treat.  We just give antibiotics like penicillin.  The problem is that it moves so quickly--within hours--that by the time Gary was brought in most of his right lung was already full of pneumonia."

"So, what happens now?" Crumb asked, arms crossed in front of him in a determined stance.

"We continue treating him with antibiotics, and try to maintain his oxygen level until the penicillin starts winning.  Unfortunately, it can take up to five days for the drugs to begin to win the war." Dr. Nielsen rubbed the back of his neck. "The problem is, I'm not sure how long Gary can continue *his* fight."

Chuck and Crumb shared uneasy glances, Crumb being the one to voice their fears. "I don't understand.  It's been three days already.  That means in just two more days, he should start to get better, right?"

The doctor nodded. "Yes, but Gary's been breathing at a clip of forty-four to forty-eight breaths a minute for a couple of days now."

"Forty-eight is bad?" Chuck felt clueless in medical matters. It seemed to him that the more someone breathed, the better off they were.  "What's normal?"

"Forty-eight is definitely not good," Dr. Nielsen explained. "Twelve to sixteen breaths per minute would be considered normal."

Crumb cleared his throat, "Uh, Doc, what will happen if Hobson's breathing doesn't get any better?"

"The way he's going at some point his body will be too exhausted to continue. If that happens before the meds kick in, he'll go into respiratory failure."

"What does that mean?" Chuck felt his stomach clench. He really, really didn't like the sound of this.

"It means we would have to insert a tube and put him on a ventilator to help him breathe. That comes with a whole new set of risks-which include lung damage-risks that  I'd like to avoid if possible."

Chuck blanched, remembering Gary's condition after the Sears Tower bombing. How Gary had hated it.  Not being able to communicate had nearly driven him crazy.  "Do you think it will come to that?"

"I don't know, Mr. Fishman.  Right now, his oxygen level is still very low. If it gets any lower-well-", the doctor bit his lip and shook his head, "let's just say that any lower and it's not compatible with life. We already have him on one hundred percent oxygen.  The only way to give more is to put him on a ventilator.  By adding pressure, we can hopefully increase the oxygen level in his blood."

"And what if you can't?" Crumb asked quietly, his gaze boring into the doctor.

The doctor took a deep breath before answering. "Let's hope we won't have to deal with that scenario, Mr. Crumb."

Crumb nodded, smoothing a hand over the top of his head, "He's a tough kid. He'll come through it."

Chuck cleared his throat nervously.  He had to know. "Dr. Nielsen? Would...could--stress have made Gary sick?"

Dr. Nielsen cocked his head to the side in thought, "Hmmm, I'm not sure.  It could have helped to lower his immunity.  There are studies out there that claim that stress plays a factor in many illnesses.  It could have, I suppose."

Chuck crossed his arms; turning away from the doctor.  He didn't risk a glance at Crumb; afraid of what he would find in the old cop's eyes.

Chapter 12
 

"Gary?  You awake?" Chuck gently shook Gary's shoulder. After the doctor had left, Chuck and Crumb had sat with Gary for another hour.  Chuck had started to tell Crumb about everything that had been going on in California, but finally shut up when it became apparent that Crumb wasn't interested. He listened to Gary's breathing-every rasping breath scraping at the festering guilt he felt for not being there to help when Gary had needed him.

Crumb had stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, his face stoic as though he were Gary's personal guard. Gary's condition hadn't changed. He was still breathing like he had just run a marathon.  A nurse had explained that the number that was flashing on the monitor should normally be around ninety-six, but that as long as Gary's number eighty-eight didn't fall any lower, he was at least holding his own.  Chuck tried to take comfort in that. "Hey, Gar, the nurses are kicking us out now.  I'll be back tomorrow, okay?"

Gary nodded, opening his eyes, "Thanks for coming, Chuck. Sorry I'm such lousy company.  Take care of the paper for me, would ya?"

Chuck pasted on a grin. "No problem, buddy." He blinked hard, looking away. He started to ask if he should call Marissa, but Gary's eyes had already drifted closed.  He'd call her, Chuck decided.

Back in the ICU waiting room, Chuck retrieved his suitcase, amazed that it had remained untouched throughout his visit.

"So, where are you staying, Fishman?  Can I give you a lift?"

Chuck turned towards Crumb.  That was a good question, one he hadn't even thought about.  What was he *thinking*? That he could just go back to his old apartment?  Chuck took a deep breath, cursing his lack of planning.  "I really don't know, Crumb.  I guess I wasn't thinking that far ahead."

Crumb snorted, "Don't surprise me none.  Listen, why don't you stay in Hobson's apartment?  I doubt he would mind."

Obviously, Crumb didn't know Gary quite as well as he did, Chuck thought wryly.  Of course, since Gary wasn't home, there was little chance that Chuck could annoy him, so what the heck, he might as well stay there.  Besides, that way it would be easier to help out at McGinty's while he was here.
 

              *********************************

Chuck dropped his suitcase inside the door to Gary's apartment. He glanced around the room.  Gary's bed was unmade, with the comforter balled up in the middle.  Walking into the kitchen area, Chuck noted an empty container of aspirin sitting out on the counter next to a bottle of cough medicine.  Silent testimony that Gary had tried to treat his illness himself.

Several days' worth of laundry was strewn near the bed, most of it having a just stepped out of appearance. Chuck sighed.  It wasn't like Gary to let dirty clothes lay around.  He was usually a fairly neat person.  Chuck kicked most of it out of the way and it into a corner.  He'd deal with that later.

First thing he wanted to do was to call Marissa; unfortunately, he had no idea what her mother's phone number was.  Knowing Marissa though, she had probably left the number, as well as a complete list of everything that needed to be done in her absence, in a note down in the office. He turned to go downstairs and check when his eye caught the flashing light of the answering machine.

He hesitated, feeling somewhat like an interloper. Chuck shrugged, that had never stopped him from being nosy before.  Besides, this time he had a good excuse to listen to Gar's messages. He took a few steps to the table where the machine set.

"Hey Gar! Where are ya, buddy? I've been trying-"

There must be something wrong with the machine to make his voice sound so bad, Chuck mused as he skipped the rest of the message that he had left on Gary's machine when he had called from California.

"Hello, Gary? This is Renee. I was just thinking about you, and-"

Chuck paused the tape, tempted to listen to the rest of Renee's message. Finally, he sighed and hit the skip button.  Even he wasn't so nosy that he would listen to personal messages.  He grinned, he could always come back to it later.  Right now, though, he hoped that Marissa had called and left a message. He hit the play button again.

"Bingo!" Chuck smiled as he heard Marissa's serene voice.

"Hi Gary. I guess you're out saving the world, huh?  Anyway, I just called to tell you that my mother is doing well.  I'm not sure of when I'm coming back, but it looks like it could be towards the end of the week.  I hope things are going smoothly, and I'll be back as soon as I can. Call if you need anything. Here is the number to my mom's, in case you lost it."

Chuck grabbed a pencil and a piece of scrap paper and quickly jotted the number down.
 

    *******************************************
 

"Mama?  What are you doing?" Marissa could hear cans scrape the shelf.

Her mother sighed, "I'm trying to reach the can of tomato soup."

"Why didn't you let me get it, Mama?  You know you're not supposed to be lifting your arms above your head," Marissa gently admonished.  Sometimes her mother could be so stubborn.  "Just tell me if I have the right can."  She carefully reached up towards the shelf.

"Two to the left, Marissa."

Marissa handed her mother the soup just as the phone rang. "I'll get it.  You go ahead and make your soup.  If it's one of your church friends, do you feel up to talking with them, or do you want me to tell them you're resting?"

"I'll talk."

"Okay." Marissa answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Hello, Marissa?"

She smiled at the familiar voice. "Chuck?  Is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me.  How are things going?  Gary told me about your mother."

"Everything is going really well.  My mother is back on her feet and just as stubborn as ever." Marissa flashed a grin towards the stove, where she could hear her mother stirring the soup. "So, did Gary give you my mom's number? Have you talked to him recently?"

There was a hesitation on Chuck's end, followed by a sigh. "Um, no...not exactly."

A prickling apprehension crept through Marissa. "What is it, Chuck?"

"Gary's sick, Marissa.  He's in the hospital with pneumonia."

Marissa felt around for the kitchen table, and slid onto a chair, her head resting in her hand. "Gary's sick with pneumonia?  How bad is it?"

Her mother's hand gently squeezed her shoulder and Marissa reached up to cover it with her own trembling hand.

"It's bad.  Really bad.  They're thinking of sticking that tube down him to help him to breathe.  You know, like he had before."

Marissa gasped.  Chuck sure didn't pull any punches.  "Oh my God! When...when did he get sick?"

"Crumb said that Gary collapsed at a parking garage a few days ago."

"How come nobody called me?"

"Well, what am I?  Chopped liver?  *I'm* callin' ya."

"I'm sorry, Chuck.  It's just such a shock." Marissa shuddered, blinking back a tear. Her mother walked away, but returned a moment later with a soft tissue that she placed in Marissa's hand.

"I know.  I know, Marissa.  Sorry about that.  I only found out last night when I called McGinty's.  Crumb told me but I guess Gary made him promise not to call either of us.  He didn't think it was a big deal. You know Gary."

Marissa *did* know Gary, and knew that it was just like him to not want to bother anyone.

"I flew out this morning and went directly to the hospital.  I only just now got back to Gary's and got your number."

"You're in Chicago?  You've already seen Gary?  How-how did he seem?"

"He's sleeping a lot.  In fact, he hardly spoke at all.  I think he lost some weight."

"How did he get so sick?  Didn't anyone notice?"

"Well, according to Crumb, the both of them were so busy that they barely saw each other."

Marissa swallowed, guilt flooding through her.  It was partly her fault that Gary had been so busy.  Even before she had left, Gary had been running himself ragged.  Why had she hoped that it would be any different just because she was gone?  The paper had never given Gary vacation time before. " I should have been there, Chuck." Maybe if she had, things would have been different. At least, she would have noticed if Gary had been sick.  Maybe.

"No, Marissa.  It wouldn't have made any difference.  The doctor said that the kind of pneumonia that Gary had comes on really quickly."  There was a slight pause, "Besides, you had a good reason."

Chapter 13
 

"Have you heard anything more, Chuck?" were Marissa's first words when he picked her up at the airport early the next morning.

"No.  I called this morning, and they just told me that he was still critical but stable."

Marissa was silent for most of the drive to her apartment, and Chuck didn't seem in a talkative mood for once in his life. Grateful for small favors, Marissa wondered how her mother was doing. Had she had been able to get her hair washed by herself? Sighing, Marissa rubbed her temples.  She had felt torn between staying with her mother and coming back for Gary.  She smiled slightly as she recalled her mama's words. "Marissa, honey, I appreciate everything you've done, but if you don't get your self on a plane tomorrow and go back to Chicago to be with Gary, I'll disown you." Marissa had hugged her mother, loving her even more for her understanding.

"What's so funny?"

Marissa jumped. The silence in the car had stretched for so long, she had almost forgotten about Chuck.  "Oh, nothing. Just something my mother said."

"Is she gonna be okay without you there?"

Smiling, Marissa nodded, "Let's just say that if I hadn't come back here-I wouldn't be okay."

Chuck laughed softly.

                       ******************************
 

Marissa had Chuck stop by her apartment first, and asked him to wait while she put her suitcases away and quickly changed.  As it was still too early to go visit Gary, they ate breakfast at a small diner, then went to McGinty's.

Chuck opened the door to the bar, surprised to find Crumb already there getting the bar ready to open for lunch. "What are you doing here so early?"

"What do ya mean?  Who else did you expect to get the place ready for lunch? The tooth fairy?" Crumb rolled his eyes, but then smiled as he saw Marissa walk in behind Chuck.

"Well, I just figured Gary would have hired someone by now."

"Nope."

"Oh."  Chuck swallowed. Crumb's simple answer spoke volumes. In an abstract sort of way, Chuck had worried about how Gary would find time to run the bar and take care of business with the paper. But, in all the excitement of moving and starting his own production company, the worry had been pushed to a far corner of his mind, a corner so remote that Chuck guiltily tried to recall the last time he had really thought about it.  He had just assumed that Gary had hired someone to help with the day to day operations, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized how difficult a position it would be to fill.

How would Gary explain his frequent absences to a new manager?  Not that he had to explain, exactly, as Gary was the owner.  But wouldn't a manager--new one at least, expect Gary to be around a bit more?  What if, somehow, the new manager found out about the paper?  What would happen then?  What would he or she do with the information?

Chuck began to understand, maybe for the first time, the dilemma that Gary had faced. The situation that he, Chuck, had forced Gary to deal with.

He sat quietly on a barstool while Marissa and Crumb greeted each other. Chuck plucked a few peanuts from a dish on the bar, feeling ill at ease, as though he should be doing something. He had an urge to check the bar stock, to see if there was enough of everything, but shook it off. He didn't belong here anymore.  It wasn't his job.
 

               ******************************
 

Marissa followed Chuck into McGinty's.  The familiar scents of furniture polish, wood, and beer enveloped her and were comforting. She was home.

"Hey, young lady, C'mere! It's good to see you."

Smiling, Marissa felt herself being enveloped in a hug, and returned the embrace. "I'm glad to be back--but not under these circumstances.  How is he, Crumb?"  Marissa's voice trembled on the last sentence.

Crumb gave Marissa another squeeze before releasing her and stepping back. His hands rested on her shoulders, "Hobson's tough, Marissa. A lot tougher than you or I even know.  He'll be okay."

Marissa nodded, "Yes, I know, but I can't help worrying.  What does the doctor say?"

Crumb sighed, "He's had a rough time of it, the last few days, that's for sure, but the doc says that by tomorrow the penicillin should start to take a noticeable effect."

His hand on her elbow, Crumb gently guided Marissa to a chair, and they both sat quietly for a moment.

"How come you never called me?  Why didn't Gary want me to know?"  The words were spoken softly, but the hurt in them was loud and clear.

"I think, Marissa, that Hobson really *thought* that everything was under control.  That there was no need to bother anyone."

"Bother?  Why would he think he was bothering anyone?  Doesn't he know that there are people that care about him?"  Marissa swallowed back a sob.

Crumb reached over, and awkwardly grasped her hand. "I should've called you. I'm sorry, Marissa.  I'm not trying to make excuses, but until I actually saw him, I didn't think he was that bad either."

Marissa swiped at the tears that were running down her cheeks, shaking her head, "You don't have to apologize, Crumb.  Neither does Gary.  I guess I'm just angry at the whole situation.  I'm mean, why Gary?  What has he ever done to deserve this?"
 

           ************************************

Chuck had prepared a lengthy excuse to get Marissa into Gary's room-something about a second cousin twice removed-but found it wasn't necessary.  When they had buzzed the intercom, there was no answer for several minutes, finally, a technician exited the ICU, and Chuck caught the door before it had a chance to close again.

"Are you sure we should be doing this, Chuck?"  Marissa whispered.

"Uh, no, but do you want to get into Gary's room or don't ya?  Don't worry, if we're not supposed to be there, they'll kick us out."

Chuck led Marissa to Gary's room, noting in passing that the nurses seemed busy.  Several were on the phone, and writing in charts. One especially harried looking nurse was speaking loudly to someone on the phone.  Chuck heard her say, "No, we need someone down here right now to intubate."  The nurse slammed the phone down, muttering something about anesthesiologists.

They entered Gary's room, and Chuck stopped in his tracks, causing Marissa to inadvertently bump into his back.

"What is it, Chuck?"

"I-I don't know." Chuck stared at Gary.  The day before, Gary had been breathing rapidly, and but now his breathing was slow and gasping.  There were long pauses between breaths.  Was that good or bad?

"Is he sleeping?"

"Umm. I think so."  Only Chuck feared it was worse than sleep.  He walked to the bed, one hand steering Marissa around the IV poles.  "Hey, Gar!" Chuck shook Gary's shoulder.  There was no response.  Not even an eyelid flickered.

"Who are you?  Who let you in?"

Chuck looked up to find the nurse that had slammed the phone down, now glaring at him.  From the expression on her face, he should have been worried about what she would do but all that entered his mind was here was someone that could tell him what was wrong.  "How come I can't wake him up?"

The nurse's face softened, "Are you friends?"

Chuck nodded, and Marissa answered, "Yes."

"He's gotten worse in just the last forty-five minutes.  I've called the doctor with some lab results, and we've decided to insert a tube to help him to breathe.  In a moment, someone will be here to do that procedure.  If you could go to the waiting room now, I'll come and get you as soon as possible, okay?"

"Oh my God!" Marissa gasped, one hand coming up to cover her mouth.

Chuck put an arm around her to support her, and to guide her out of the room. He glanced back at Gary. "Hey?" he turned to the nurse, his eyes wide, "I don't think he's-"

"Damn!"  The nurse took one look at Gary and rushed to the head of the bed, her hand slapping a button on the wall.  The button started flashing as the nurse grabbed a purple thing from a hook on the wall.  The purple thing looked similar to a football, with a few additions to it and the nurse pulled the oxygen mask off Gary, and slapped a different mask that was connected to the purple football over Gary's face.  She began squeezing the football thing.

"What is it, Chuck!?"  Marissa whispered, clutched at Chuck, "Tell me!"

"I don't think Gary's breathing, Marissa." Chuck said, his voice low and worried. He pulled Marrisa back towards a corner as suddenly the room was swarming with people.  He knew that they should leave, but their exit was blocked by the people and equipment that had invaded the room.

He watched in horrified fascination as Gary's bed was laid flat and the rails lowered.  All the while, someone continued squeezing the purple thing--obviously trying to pump air into Gary's lungs.

Gary lay limply through it all, his arms spread-eagled as nurses took his blood pressure and injected his IVs' with medication.

A woman in dark blue scrubs strode to the head of the bed, barking out questions, "How long has he been down?  Who's his doctor?  What's his diagnosis?" Grabbing a shiny metal piece of equipment from a red cart that had been wheeled into the room, she then nudged the nurse who was pumping the purple thing out of the way, and flexed Gary's neck back.  She snapped the metal object open so that it resembled an L, and  inserted it in Gary's mouth, using it to pull up his lower jaw.

Chuck almost gagged when he imagined what that would feel like. Miss Blue Scrubs reached out for a plastic tube that someone handed her, and stuck it in Gary's mouth.  Apparently, she was having difficulty getting it to go where she wanted, as she maneuvered the tube back and forth several times.

"His heart rate is dropping, doctor."

Miss Blue Scrubs glanced up at the monitor, and pulled the tube out. "Shit! Bag him!"

The nurse placed the mask back on Gary's face and resumed squeezing the purple thing, or bagging Gary, as Chuck figured out.  He couldn't believe nobody had noticed Marissa and him still in the room.  He was afraid to say anything now as he didn't want to get in the way. Marissa's fingers were digging into his arm.

After a moment, Doc Blue Scrubs tried to again stick the tube down Gary's throat. She used a blue plastic device like a dentist used to suction Gary's mouth, and Chuck cringed when he saw the bloody looking stuff that was being sucked through the tubing. After clearing Gary's mouth, the doc placed the tube in his throat again.  This time, apparently it went in without a hitch, and the purple bag was attached to the tube.

After several moments of watching the monitors and using a stethoscope to listen to Gary's chest, the doctor appeared satisfied.  She turned to the nurse and said, "Let's get a vent set up."  Chuck heard her rattle off some numbers, but he was no longer paying attention.  Marissa was still in his arms, her eyes wide, her body shaking.

"Chuck? Is Gary...?" Marissa couldn't finish the sentence, and it took a Chuck a moment to realize what she was asking.

"Oh, God, Marissa!  No! He's not-" Chuck couldn't bring himself to say it either.  He gulped, and finished, "He's okay--I think.  They stuck a tube in and are breathing for him."

Marissa let out a sob of relief, tears coursing unchecked down her face as she sagged against Chuck.  He put his arms around her, "Hey, it's okay." He gave her a little squeeze. "Let's get out of here so that we aren't in the way."

Chapter 14

Chuck paced the ICU waiting room.  A nurse had told them that some tests needed to be done, but that so far, things were going well.  Gary appeared to be doing much better now that the ventilator was helping him to breathe.    Chuck took small comfort in that news.  He still felt sick inside when he thought back to the scene in Gary's hospital room.  Marissa had been quiet for the most part, only asking Chuck to guide her to the hospital chapel.  He'd done so, standing in the back while Marissa sat in pew in the front of the tiny chapel.

He'd never been the religious type-even after Mrs. Danforth had given him the bible with the check inside.  He'd said then that he was going to change--but other than moving to California- had he truly changed?  Sure, he'd started his production company and maybe had given some people jobs, but in the process he'd abandoned Gary and a chance to do some real good right here in Chicago. Chuck wished, guiltily, that things had gone differently; that he had stayed here and helped Gary.  He couldn't change the past, but he vowed to change the future.

                 *************************
 

Gary became aware of a gagging sensation in his throat.  He started to sit up, his hand reaching towards his mouth, as his mind still fuzzy, he reflexively sought to remove the offending object.

"No, Gary.  That's helping you to breathe."

Gary put his hand down.  He vaguely recalled the doctor saying that it might become necessary to put a tube down into his lungs. He couldn't remember anyone doing it, though.  He opened his eyes, recognizing the nurse as the one who had taken care of him a few days ago.

"Do you know where you are, Gary?"

Gary nodded and started to speak, but found that no sound came out.  He remembered that feeling from the other time he'd had a tube put in.  He felt a momentary panic, and started to choke again.

"Whoa, take it easy.  Don't fight it, Gary.  Just let the machine do all the work, okay?"

Gary closed his eyes, battling the panic inside, willing himself not to gag. It was a strange feeling to have air forced into your lungs without making any effort.

When he had defeated his fear, he opened his eyes again.  He made a motion with his hand as though he was writing.

The nurse understood at once, and produced a scrap of paper and a pen from her pocket.  She grabbed a clipboard from a shelf for to Gary to write on.

Gary fumbled with the pen, but finally managed to scrawl 'How long?' on the piece of paper.

The nurse looked puzzled, "How long, what?"

Gary pointed to the tube.

"Has it been in?"

Gary shook his head no, then shrugged, frustrated.

"Oh, you want to know how long until it comes out?"

Gary nodded.

The nurse shook her head. "Sorry, Gary.  That's not up to me, but probably a few days."

His shoulders slumped as he closed his eyes in dejection.

"Hey, don't look like that.  How about if I let a few of your friends come in? They've been waiting all afternoon."

Gary's eyes snapped open.

"Do you feel up to seeing them?"

Gary nodded eagerly.  If he'd had the energy to grin, he would have.

The nurse laughed.  "Okay, hold on.  I'll send them in just as soon as I change this IV solution."

                ******************************

Gary heard soft murmuring coming from somewhere near the bed.  He realized that it he must have fallen asleep.  He opened his eyes and  turned his head, searching for the source of the whispering.

Chuck and Marissa were standing huddled at the end of his bed.  Marissa looked terrible, Gary thought, puzzled.  Her eyes were puffy and swollen.  Had something happened to her mother?

His face drawn and tense, Chuck had his arm around Marissa in a comforting gesture, and was saying something in a quiet voice to her.

Gary shifted in bed, drawing their attention.

Chuck smiled and moved closer to the head of the bed, "Come on, Marissa, he's awake finally."

Marissa reached over the rails and found his hand.  "Hello, Gary."  She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, which he returned. Marissa smiled, "I know you can't talk to me, and I can't see you, but I can tell that you're getting better, Gary.  I can feel it."

Gary squeezed again to let her know that he heard her.

"Yeah, Gar, you're looking a lot better since they stuck that tube in.  How are you feeling?"

Gary shrugged and nodded.  He gently pulled his hand from Marissa's and made the writing motion again, hoping Chuck would be as astute as the nurse had been.  The paper and clip board were no longer in sight.

Chuck appeared puzzled for a second, "Oh!  You want something to write with?"

Gary patiently nodded.

Chuck searched until he found the paper and clipboard hanging on the rail on the opposite side of the bed.  "There ya go, buddy."

Gary propped the clipboard on one bent knee.  He wrote, "What's wrong with Marissa?  Is her mom okay?" Gary showed Chuck the note, concerned that Marissa had come back to soon-that her mom still needed her.

Chuck glanced at Marissa, surprise on his face.  "What's wrong with her?  Gar, what's wrong is that several hours ago we were here when you stopped breathing.  Watching, or hearing your best friend get a tube stuck down his throat can be pretty upsetting, ya know?"

Gary shook his head, confused. He scribbled another note. "Here in the room?" He frowned at his handwriting.  It was barely legible, but it was the best he could do for now.

Nodding, his face grim, Chuck shuddered, "Yeah, buddy.  I hope I never have to see something like that again."

"It was horrible, Gary.  We were so worried." Marissa's voice wavered, and tears shimmered in her eyes.

Gary laboriously wrote another note, "I'm sorry."  He leaned back and shut his eyes.  Embarrassment and sorrow flooding through him at having put his friends through so much. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and opened his eyes to find Chuck standing over him, his face full of emotion.

"Gar, you have *nothing* to be sorry about.  I'm the one who's sorry for not being here.  That's going to change, though, 'cause from now on I'm right here." Chuck pointed emphatically to the ground.  "I'll do whatever you or the paper needs me to do."
 

Chapter 15
 

"I can't believe it.  Look at this, Ellen."  A nurse's aid held a newspaper up for the nurse to see.  "Every day I've been on, he's had a paper on the bed. You'd better have a talk with the volunteer who delivers them.  I didn't even know that they were allowed to come in to the ICU." The aid put the paper on a shelf behind some supplies, pulling out old newspapers and tossing them in the garbage.  Shaking her head, she said, "Looks like I'm not the only one finding them."

Gary opened his eyes, his attention caught by the mention of the word 'newspaper'.  He watched anxiously as the aid put the paper on the shelf.  So that was where they had been going to.

Ellen frowned, "That's strange. I've never seen the paper guy come by, but maybe he comes through when we're in report.  I'll have a talk with the nursing supervisor.  He's a sweet old man, but I don't like the idea of people coming by disturbing my patients.

Uh-oh, Gary thought, hoping that the innocent volunteer didn't get in trouble. He pushed the bed controls, moving the head of the bed up as far as the tubing connected to the ventilator would allow. He wanted to attract the nurse's attention to clear up the confusion. The slight re-positioning of the tube, however, caused him to gag and choke, setting off alarms on the ventilator. Well, that was one way to get the nurse's attention, he thought wryly, when he was finally able to breathe calmly, and the alarms had silenced.

"Morning, Gary.  How are you feeling today?"

Gary nodded impatiently, and snatched his clipboard off the bedside table.  He wrote quickly, before the nurse walked away, 'I asked for the paper to be delivered every day.'  He held the note up for the nurse to see.

She cocked her head to the side, "You did?"

Gary nodded, wondering if anyone had ever noticed the date on the papers.

"Well, okay, Gary.  Do you want the one that came today?  Do you feel like reading?"

Gary scribbled furiously, underlining the two words for emphasis, 'Yes. Please.'

Laughing, the nurse grabbed the paper off the shelf with hardly a glance, and handed it to Gary.  "Here you go. I'm glad to see you feeling well enough to read it."

Trying his best to smile around the tube, Gary eagerly took the paper and started leafing through it. He hadn't known it until now when he finally had the paper back in his hands, but the last several days, when he'd been alert enough to think clearly, he'd had a vague sensation that something had been missing.  Now, he felt complete.

He couldn't wait for Chuck and Marissa to visit.
 

                   *****************************
 

"Hey, Marissa, he's looking good."  Chuck grinned when they entered Gary's room.  It was good to see Gary sitting up in bed, his face alert and his eyes bright.

Marissa smiled, "Does he still have the tube in?"

Gary face fell slightly, his eyes meeting Chuck's in a silent plea to put a good spin on things.  "Um, yeah, Marissa.  He still has the tube in, but he's wide awake and grinning."

At that, Gary did grin, or at least tried to.  His eyes danced as he held the paper up for Chuck to see.

"Is that--?" Chuck grabbed the paper out of Gary's hand and checked the date. "Oh, my God."

"What?  Is something wrong?"  Marissa stiffened, her face frozen in fear.

Gary's eyes widened and he quickly shook his head, reaching for Marissa's hand on the bed rail. He gave it a reassuring squeeze.

Chuck glanced up from the paper in confusion, "Huh? Oh, no Marissa.  It's nothing bad.  Gary just handed me the paper."

Marissa sagged in relief, then a smile spread slowly across her face. "Tomorrow's paper?"

"Yeah.  I wonder where it's been going, Gar?"  Chuck looked to Gary, puzzlement on his features.

Gary jotted down the answer and pointed to the shelf.

"You gotta be kidding?  It's been here all along?" Chuck sounded slightly miffed.  "I thought it would come to your place, but I hadn't seen it."

"The paper's been coming to the hospital?" Marissa's face took on an amused expression.  "I can't believe the paper would come here when Chuck's been staying at your place, Gary."  She shook her head, trying to stifle a grin, "But, then I guess the cat knows best."

"Hey, I resent that!  I'll show you guys.  Just wait.  Until you're well enough to do it, Gar," Chuck rolled the paper up, and shook it in Gary's direction, "I'll do everything that you would do."

Gary smiled and nodded. He wrote another note, 'I'm counting on it.'

Chuck read the note out loud. "Ha!  See, Marissa.  *Gary* trusts me."

Marissa laughed, "It's not like he has a choice, Chuck."
 

Chapter 16
 

"Got the paper, Gar?"  Chuck grinned, practically bouncing towards Gary's hospital bed.

Gary eyed him dubiously and withdrew the paper from under his pillow.  "Yeah. Hold on.  I've got it right here."  He held it out, but then pulled it back slightly. The last few days, Chuck hadn't returned the paper in the evening, though he swore he had done everything that he was supposed to-and nothing that he wasn't supposed to.  Gary could only take his word for it.

"You're not gonna do anything with it that I wouldn't do, are ya?"

Chuck withdrew his outstretched hand, and slumped comically, "Hey, I'm hurt, buddy."  He rubbed his chest as though it pained him.  "I'll be a regular Boy Scout with the information. I swear." He reached for the paper, his fingers moving in a 'give me' motion.

Looking from the paper to Chuck and back again to the paper, Gary finally, reluctantly, handed it over. He hoped he wouldn't be sorry.  He knew that he should have made a list of things to be done. Why did it feel like he was handing the keys to the hen house to the fox for safekeeping?  "I've...I've read most of it, so I'll know what's going on, Chuck."

"You're worrying too much."  Chuck looked ready to salivate-like a dog with a juicy bone-as he leafed through the paper.  "You're not gonna be sorry, Gar. You'll see.  I can do this."  He glanced up long enough to shoot Gary a wide grin

"Hmmm" Gary grunted.  Chuck was being entirely too helpful.  Something was up. "What's the deal, Chuck?  Why all this..." Gary gestured towards the paper, "...interest in helping people all of a sudden?"

"I promised you, remember?  I said that I would help out with *whatever* you needed."

Chuck's expression seemed sincere, and remembering how Chuck had sat by his bedside until he'd been out of the woods, Gary felt guilty for ever doubting him. Gary acknowledged Chuck with a short nod of his head.  "Right.  Well, I guess you better get going, then. There's going to be a bank robbery at nine- thirty on the north side."

Chuck gave a playful salute. "Yes, sir.  I'm off."

Smiling in spite of himself as Chuck's strode jauntily out of the room, Gary ignored his misgivings.  Chuck would do a great job.  Just dandy.
 

             *********************************************
 

Chuck glanced up at the sign on the building.  Okay, he had the correct bank, now to figure out how to prevent the robbery.  What would Gary do in this situation?  Maybe he should have asked.
Pursing his mouth to the side, Chuck thought hard.  The paper said that the robber implied that he had a gun, but that the teller had never actually seen it.  It was probably a bluff.  Chuck nodded. Yeah, just a bluff, he concluded before strolling into the bank.

He scoped the lobby looking for someone acting suspiciously.  There!  A man in line kept checking his watch and putting his hand in his jacket pocket! Probably nerves, Chuck thought gleefully as he crossed the lobby to stand behind the man. He tried to hide a grin.  The man had better be nervous, 'cause Charles Fishman had the drop on him.

Just before it was the man's turn to go to a teller, Chuck tapped him on the shoulder.  "Excuse me?"

The man turned, "Yes?"

Chuck cleared his throat, and in his deepest, most authoritative voice said, "Don't even think about it, Jack!"

The man pulled back, startled, "What the hell are you talking about?"

Pointing with his chin, Chuck whispered loudly, "I know what you're doing here.  I know all about it."

The man shook his head with disgust and took his turn in front of the teller.

Just as Chuck was about to shout a warning, there was a commotion three booths away from where Chuck stood.  A different man was raising his voice, "Give me the money, and no one will get hurt!"

"Shit!" Chuck said under his breath.  He'd had the wrong guy pegged.

The robber had his hand in his right pocket, the outline of something long and cylindrical evident through the material.

Chuck took a step forward, yelling, "It's a bluff!"

The robber whirled, his expression incredulous. "Who the fuck are you?!" He pulled a gun from his pocket and aimed it at Chuck, then holding the gun steady, he grabbed the bag of cash that the teller handed over and dashed towards the exit.

Chuck stood frozen, eyes wide, sure that at any moment he would be shot. Fortunately for him, the gunman was more concerned with escape than shooting him.

As the robber fled the bank, Chuck's knees buckled, and he found himself tangled in a red velvet rope that formed the barrier for the teller line. Someone reached down and pulled him to his feet.  Chuck looked up to thank the man, and was speechless as he met the slightly amused eyes of the guy he'd accused first.

"Are you okay?"

Chuck nodded mutely.

The man pulled a cell phone from his pocket, and used it to call his office. Chuck cringed, feeling like an idiot as the heard the man's end of the conversation.

"Yes, Brenda, tell the mayor that I'll be a few minutes late to our meeting. Give him my apologies please, and explain to him that I was caught in a bank robbery."

As soon as the police were done questioning everyone, Chuck slunk away.  He pulled the paper out.  The bank robbery story hadn't changed one iota.  He sighed.  Gary was not going to be happy.
 

                  ************************************
 

"Oh no!" Chuck shook his head and held his hands up. "I am *not* going to stop a port-a-potty from being blown up.  I have to draw the line somewhere, Gar."

Gary sat forward on the couch.  It was his first day home, and all he wanted to do was crawl in his own bed and sleep.  But, first, there was the little matter of the port-a-potty.  "Chuck, there's an old man in there when it explodes.  You gotta stop it."  Gary held the paper up to show Chuck the picture.  The commode was blackened near the top, with its whole roof blown off. "Look, Chuck.  That...that old man suffers damage to his hearing and--"

"Okay, fine.  I'll do it.  Just give me the paper," Chuck sighed with exasperation.

"Sorry, but why don't I keep the paper this time?  I made a list for you, instead."

"A list?  You made a list?  What?  You don't trust me?"

Gary cleared his throat and looked away, "Well, not exactly, but the last few days you haven't given the paper back in the evening, and well-"

"You don't believe I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing?  Is that it?" Chuck crossed his arms, daring Gary to contradict him.

"Umm," Gary finally nodded reluctantly, "that's about it, in a nutshell, Chuck."

"Hey, I goofed up one lousy save and you're gonna hold it over my head forever aren't you?"  Chuck shook his head, his expression bitter.  "And I suppose you've never screwed up a rescue?"

Guiltily, Gary conceded that Chuck was right to be angry.  It had only been one minor bank robbery that Chuck had blown.  No one was hurt, just a little money was taken.  Gary handed over the paper.  "You're right, Chuck.  Here. But you've got to promise that you'll do the port-a-potty save."

Chuck rolled his eyes, "Yeah, I'll do it."
 

               ****************************************

Gary roused to the most noxious odor he could imagine.  What the hell was that?  Had the plumbing backed up?  His nose twitched, then he felt something cold and slimy drip onto his hand.  His eyes flew open to meet Chuck's angry glare. He was standing beside the bed, little globs of goo splattered all over him.  Gary wasn't sure, but he thought that there was a piece of soggy toilet paper hanging from Chuck's ear. Gary bolted up in bed, "Wh-what happened to you?"

Chuck stood silently for several long seconds, eyes shooting daggers, then finally spoke in a clipped tone. "I rescued the old geezer in the john."

Biting his lip to keep from laughing, Gary scrambled out of bed, careful not to come in contact with any part of Chuck's anatomy.  "But...but how-" Gary began, wrinkling his nose and gesturing to Chuck's appearance.  Was that *steam* rising from some of the mucky ooze?  Gary's shoulders heaved as he strove to contain his mirth.

"I was running a little late," Chuck started, eyes narrowing, "and I didn't get there in time to stop the old man from entering the john."

"You were late?"

"Well, yeah.  There was a festival in Grant Park, and do you know how *many* port-a-potties were set up?  Over a dozen, Gar.  I had to search toilets for fifteen minutes until I was sure I had the right one.  And I only found that because I saw the old timer go in it."

Gary gulped, trying unsuccessfully to swallow a grin.

"Quit your smirking."

Gary cleared his throat, making a weak attempt to erase the impending grin. "Uh, sorry."

The stench was becoming overpowering, and Gary hurried to open a window. Eyes watering, he leaned out, gratefully gulping in the fresh air. He pulled his head back in, and turning, found Chuck standing so close that Gary could make out individual shades of brown gunk that decorated Chuck's face and clothing. He jumped back, bumping his head on the window in his haste to put as much distance between him and Chuck.  "Umm, could you back off a little bit?" Gary waved his hand in front of his face, coughing slightly.

Chuck ignored the request. "So, I'm standing there.  I see the man hobble into the commode, and I head towards the toilet hoping that I'll spot anyone who seems to be hanging around with explosives in their hands."

"And?" Gary encouraged.

"And I notice a couple of teens goofing around and looking really sneaky. I guess he didn't fasten the lock properly because before I had a chance to say anything, they open the old man's door a crack, and toss in an M-250. I ran up as fast as I could, and yanked the door wide open.  I grabbed the guy's arm and flung him out of the port-a-potty."

Chuck paused, the corners of his mouth turning up into a slight smile.  "I'll never forget the startled expression on his face as he came tumbling out with his pants around his ankles."  Chuck shook his head, attempting to regain his former indignant anger, "Then, just after the old man was safely on the ground, the firecracker exploded."

Chuck paused, leveling a thoroughly revolted glare at Gary, "Gar, I never saw so much shit fly."

Chapter 17
 

Gary flipped though the channels.  Talk shows, soaps, and a couple of game shows-nothing that captured his interest.  He pushed the "off" button and tossed the remote on the coffee table.  This enforced idleness was driving him nuts. He was going stir-crazy.  He picked up the newspaper, searching for anything more that needed to be done.

"Ah ha!" Gary leaned forward, reading the tiny little blurb out loud. "A small fire in the kitchen of Lucy's Diner caused a lunchtime commotion yesterday. The fire was caused by a worker who accidentally set a stack of napkins too close the grill.  The diner was forced to close for several hours, but was able to open in time for the dinner crowd."

Gary picked up the phone and hit the first speed dial button. "Hey, Chuck? How'd you know it was me?" Gary grabbed a pencil and circled the article. "Yeah, well, anyway-I found another one for you." He paused and winced, pulling the phone away from his ear.  He shook his head and gingerly placed the receiver next to his ear again. "What do you mean, no?" Gary scratched his head, "It's just a small fire in a diner--ah--no, nobody gets hurt but-"

Gary stared at the dead phone in his hand.  "Yeah, well you're the one who said you'd stick around and help out, buddy," Gary said to the phone as he slammed it down.

It had been nine days since Gary's release from the hospital.  The first few days had been rough.  He'd been so tired that just walking to and from the bathroom wore him out.  Taking a shower expended so much energy that he'd needed a two hour nap after taking one.  Slowly, though, his strength was returning.  The last couple of days he had spent time in the office downstairs trying to help Marissa get caught up on some of the paperwork.  Tonight he planned to tend bar for a few hours to give Crumb a break.  He grinned at the thought; he could hardly wait.  He'd finally be back among the living.

Gary looked around the loft and decided that it needed  a good cleaning. With Chuck staying with him until he found a new place, the small apartment felt overcrowded with suitcases, shoes and newspapers scattered about.

Gary got to work, stacking old papers neatly, and tucking the suitcases under the bed.  He lined the shoes up near the door, and was just collecting drinking glasses from the end-tables, when the door burst open.  Gary looked up in surprise to see Chuck enter, slamming the door behind him.

"What are you doing back so soon?" he asked, puzzled. There was no way Chuck could have finished all the rescues that Gary had listed.

"I'm hungry!  Is that okay, buddy?  Doesn't the paper allow a person a chance to eat?"

Gary flinched at the venom in Chuck's tone. "Well, yeah, sometimes it does. But what about all the stuff on the list?"

Chuck stalked to the kitchen and opened the fridge, pulling out a can of pop and some lunchmeat. "I edited the damn list."

Following Chuck into the kitchen, Gary reached into a drawer to retrieve a loaf of bread.  He thrust it at Chuck. "You edited my list?  But, but there are things on it that need to be done.""Then you go do them.  I'm eating." Chuck snatched the bread from Gary's hands and slapped a sandwich together.  He grabbed a bag of chips off the counter and tucking it under his arm, took his lunch over to the couch.

Gary stood in stunned disbelief, then trailed Chuck to sofa, standing over him. "But what about your promise to help out?  You didn't say, 'I'll help out only if it fits my schedule.' You said, 'Gary, I'll do whatever you need me to do, buddy.'"

Chuck looked up, guilt and something else flitting across his face. Resentment? Gary held out his hand. "Give me the list."

His mouth full, Chuck shrugged and reached into his shirt pocket, tossing the list onto the coffee table.

Gary slowly picked it up, noting the rescues that had been crossed off--and the ones that hadn't.  "What about the teen that drowns at the North Ave. Beach?" Gary glanced at the clock.  The drowning would take place in only thirty minutes.

"The kid was drunk, Gary.  I'm supposed to risk my neck because he went swimming when he was totally blotto?" Chuck glared defiantly at Gary.

"So you'll just let him die?" Gary hastily stuck his feet into his shoes. "Never mind! I'll do it myself!" He seized the paper and rushed out the door ignoring Chuck's cries to wait for him.  He'd be damned if he'd beg Chuck to save the kid, or worse, use guilt to force him to do what was right.

Gary decided to take McGinty's van.  It would be faster, and hopefully he'd find a parking space.  He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove, seething at Chuck's irresponsibility.  How could he let a kid drown? It was one thing to ignore a small, harmless fire in a diner, another thing altogether to blow off someone losing their life.

Gary raced through traffic, weaving in and out and blaring his horn at taxis. Stuck at a stoplight, Gary ran his fingers through his hair, "Damn him!" He pounded his fist on the steering wheel, muttering, "Come on, light." When the light turned green, Gary gunned the engine, releasing his pent-up frustration.

What was Chuck's problem, anyway?  Just because the paper had been especially busy, that didn't give him the right to take out his anger on an innocent kid. Gary remembered the article in the paper.  Okay, maybe Jeremy Chapman wasn't totally innocent.  The paper said that alcohol had been a factor in the drowning, but that didn't mean he should die because of it.  He was only seventeen, for chrisake. He made a stupid mistake, that shouldn't mean that he should pay for it with his life.

Ten minutes later, Gary was at the beach.  He had only five minutes to find the kid and prevent him from drowning.

Gary lurched through the sand, his feet sinking in the soft surface, feeling his energy being sapped by the effort.  "Jeremy!  Jeremy Chapman!" he called loudly.  The beach was crowded and most people ignored him.  He made his way towards the water, his hand shielding his eyes from the glare as he scanned the surf.  He squinted as he spotted a head bobbing about fifty feet from shore.  There was something about the way the person was flailing his arms. Gary glanced around.  Nobody seemed to be paying any attention to the swimmer. He started to turn away, convinced he had the wrong person.

Abruptly, the head dropped from sight.

"Shit!" Gary turned, searching for a lifeguard.  He located one posted about forty yards away, but the guard was looking the other way, yelling at some kids to stop horsing around. He didn't notice Gary's frantic waving.

Gary caught the attention of some girls who were strolling nearby. "Hey!   Go get the lifeguard! There's a kid drowning out there!" He pointed to the kid's head, which had popped back up momentarily only to go back under a second later.

The girls raced off towards the guard.  Gary pulled out the paper.  The article was still there. "Damn!" He hesitated for a moment, not sure if he was up to rescuing the teen himself, but realized there was nothing else he could do. He tossed down the paper and hopped on alternate feet as he ripped off his shoes and then taking long running strides through the waves, he plunged into the water.

Gary swam as hard as he could towards the bobbing head. Frantic when he lost sight of the kid only a few feet from where he had last seen the him, Gary tread water, quickly turning in a circle as the tried to find the boy. Taking a deep breath, he dove under the surface, swimming down as far as he was able. Visibility was poor, and after only about twenty seconds, Gary was forced to come up for air. Cursing his inability to hold his breath any longer, Gary gasped. His lungs felt like they were on fire and dark spots swam in his vision.  Sucking in another lung full of air, Gary submerged again. A flash of white just off to the left caught his eye and grabbed at it.  He was rewarded with the feel of a cold hand in his.

He tugged on the hand as he kicked for the surface.

Gary coughed and sputtered as he pulled the boy up, finally able to maneuver the kid's head above water.  Wrapping his arm around the boy's neck, Gary started towards shore, his arms and legs feeling like someone had poured lead into them.  He choked on mouthful of water and almost went under. Laboriously side-stroking, his breath ragged, he slowly drew closer to the beach.

"Gary!  Hang on, man!"

Gary turned onto his back, struggling to maintain his grip on the kid. He thought he heard someone calling to him, but the sound of his breathing and the water cascading over his head with every wave muffled the voice. He kicked his feet with the last of his strength, hoping the final surge would carry them to safety.

Suddenly, several pairs of arms were reaching towards him.  He relaxed as he felt himself and his burden being pulled in, though he maintained his hold on the boy until he felt sand shifting under his back.  He released the teen into waiting hands, and weakly turned over; retching water onto the sand.

Gary crawled a few feet up the beach, the water lapping at his ankles, and collapsed on his back, his breaths coming in great heaving gasps. Someone was shaking his shoulder.

"Hey Gar, you okay?"

Gary nodded without opening his eyes.  What was Chuck doing here?  He was supposed to be eating lunch. Gary started shivering,  slowly at first, but then his whole body began trembling so hard he had to clench his jaws to keep his teeth from chattering.

"I need a blanket or towel here!"  Chuck bellowed to somebody.

Gary struggled to sit up, pulling his knees towards his chest, arms locked around them and he rocked slowly back and forth, eyes tightly closed.  A sun- warmed warmed blanket was draped around his shoulders, and he was sure that nothing had ever felt so good.

"I'm sorry, buddy."

Gary opened his eyes. Chuck was sitting next to him, his expression bleak. "I- i-it's ok-k-kay."

"No, it's not.  I blew it." Chuck hung his head in dejection.

All around them chaos reigned as the lifeguards performed CPR on Jeremy Chapman.

There was a choking cough behind them, and Gary  turned in time to see Jeremy begin to move and spit water out of his mouth. The teen opened his eyes and attempted to sit up.

Grinning at the sight, a new warmth spreading through Gary.  "Don't worry about it, Chuck.  It all turned out okay."

Chuck glanced at Jeremy, then dropped his head again. "Yeah, but only because of you." Chuck scuffed a toe in the sand, avoiding Gary's gaze. "I'm just not cut out for this sort of thing, Gar.  Look at you-" Chuck finally turned, gesturing at Gary's bedraggled appearance, "you're sitting here cold, wet, and half drowned, and you're loving every minute of it."

A cough overtook Gary before he could reply and he winced at the lingering pain in his chest.  "I'm not exactly loving it, Chuck."

Chuck snorted, then chuckled, "Maybe not the half-drowned part-but you love saving people, Gary.  It's what you live for."

Gary focused on bug crawling through the sand. "No, I don't.  It's just something that I have to do."

"That's just it, Gar.  It's something you *have* to do. Like other people need food and water. That's why you get the paper. Not me. Not anyone else.  I'll never be like that no matter how hard I try."

"Yes, you could Chuck.  Together we could-" Gary protested, knowing in his heart that Chuck was right.  Chuck picked up a small twig and started shredding it. "No, Gar. I think I first realized it when you were stuck in that movie theater and the paper went to your parents instead of me.  I was never meant to be a part of this thing. You were. I've just been along for the ride."

Gary was silent, staring out at the water.  He could feel what was coming next and his gut clenched.

"I can't stay here, Gar." Chuck cleared his throat, tossing the shredded stick into the surf, "I'm going back to L.A. next week.  I hope you understand."

Gary opened his mouth, but no sound emerged.  His throat had a lump in it the size of a ping pong ball.  He swallowed hard, dropping his head.  He wanted to rant and rave and beg Chuck to stay.  He shuddered when he thought of the future.  The years ahead of him with no one to help share the burden. The loneliness. He pulled in a deep breath, finally lifting his head.

"I understand, Chuck." And Gary was surprised to find that he *did* understand.  The paper had never been important to Chuck. It had been a lark. An adventure while it lasted, but one that Chuck was more than ready to put behind him.  This was the way it was meant to be.

"If you ever really need me, though, just give me a holler, buddy."

Gary nodded, smiling.  He knew that.  "Yeah, Chuck. I will."

Chuck stood, offering Gary a hand and hauling him to his feet. "Come on, let's get you out of here."
 

Email the author:  Maryilee
 
 

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