Do Not Go Gentle (8 page)

“What?” Jamie exclaimed. “All that over the flu?”

“No,” replied Jasinski. “All that because this ‘flu' won't go away. Plus, it's not the flu, Jamie. The flu would have run its course by now. I know you're not a fan of tests, but in this case, I'm not giving you any choice. We need to find out what's going on. The specialist will do a CBC, complete blood count, and check for any type of blood borne illness, like Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever or Lyme Disease. If you're lucky, they'll only need about a gallon or so of your blood,” Jasinski joked. “I want the MRI to make sure you've got a brain up there and it's working properly.”

“Alright,” Jamie said, holding up his hands. “You sound like my wife, not my doctor.”

“Oh, I don't know. Sometimes they both know what they're doing.” Eileen shot Jamie a prim look of satisfaction, but said nothing. Jasinski began writing out orders. Then he said, “Jamie, do you know how many psychiatrists it takes to change a light bulb?”

“No, but I'm sure you've got an answer.”

Jasinski finished his last notes with a flourish—his scrawl was infamous, even for a physician. Then he looked at Jamie with a straight face. “Only one, but the light bulb really has to
want
to change.” His face split into a broad grin as Jamie and Eileen both groaned.

“Jerry, where do you come up with these?” Eileen asked.

“More importantly, why do you inflict them on us?” Jamie asked, hopping down from the table.

Jasinski stood and shook Jamie's hand. “Hey, even the bad jokes make us laugh, even if it's only to express how bad they are.” Looking at Eileen, he added, “and I subscribe to the Physician's Bad Joke Forum. Eileen, take care of this character.” He shook Eileen's hand.

“'Tis a full time job, Jerry. Good to see you again.”

“Like I tell my favorite patients, you don't have to get sick to see me. We can always do dinner. Give these to Alice on your way out and she'll get everything set up.”

Fifteen minutes later, they were back in the car and headed for home. “Happy now?” asked Jamie.

“No, I'm not ‘happy now.' I won't be ‘happy now' until you're better. Right now we're going home, and you're going to get some rest.”

“Okay, you win.” Jamie rubbed the back of his wife's neck and she smiled. “Let's go home.”

* * * *

Jamie awoke with a start. He'd been sleeping deep and without dreams. The jangling of his cell phone sliced into his head and it took a minute for Jamie to clear his mind and answer it. “Yeah?”

“So, that's how you answer your phone, is it? I thought you were staying home, brother.”

Jamie sighed inwardly. “Did mother tell you to call, Jeanne?” Siobhán “Jeanne” Griffin-Taylor was Jamie's older sister, though only by ten months, as he liked to point out. She was a stay-at-home mother of two—Francis,seventeen, a high school senior and Marie, thirteen, in junior high. “Don't Frankie and Marie keep you busy enough? I've already gotten a voice mail from Patrick.”

“So? What did our big brother have to say?”

“What do you think?” Jamie growled in response. At forty-five, Patrick was the eldest child of the Griffin clan and a cop just like his father and younger brother. Patrick never missed an opportunity to pull rank on Jamie. Patrick was a Captain Detective, while Jamie was still a Lieutenant Detective. “Paddy
ordered
me to get better so it wouldn't reflect badly on him or Dad.” Francis Michael Griffin was the Deputy Superintendent of the Bureau of Investigative Services (BIS) of the Boston Police Department. The BIS consisted of the Homicide Unit, Drug Control Unit, Family Justice Center, and Forensic Science Division. So both Patrick and Jamie were under Francis' command. “As if I want to be staying home like this.”

“Now, now,” Jeanne remonstrated gently. “You know Paddy. He can't help being the way he is, anything to please Da, and the rest of us a distant second.”

“Yeah, well, I don't need him to lecture me on being a good cop. Trust me. if I wasn't feeling like utter crap, I'd be on the job.”

“So, have you seen the doctor?”

“Yeah, this morning. He's ordering a bunch of blood work and an MRI.”

“So, he thinks it might be something more serious?” A note of concern crept into Jeanne's voice.

“Well, it's something more than the flu, but there's no clue so far as to how serious, if at all.”

“I figured as much seeing as how you were staying home. I'm sure you're driving poor Eileen crazy with your patient demeanor.”

“Don't you start, too.”

“Ah, I see I'm right. Well, the youngest ones elected me to beard the lion rather than everyone pestering you, but don't be surprised if Seanán stops by sometime later today.” Siobhán and Jamie had four younger siblings—Seanán or “Johnny,” a priest, the Parochial Vicar at Saint Paul's Church in Cambridge; Brighid, a high school teacher; Ceara, a self-styled “entrepreneur” who managed to do well financially although no one understood what she actually did; and Conán, the baby and black sheep of the family, since he had no career as far as they were concerned. Conán was a professional musician.

“I'm sure. Conán probably isn't even awake yet. It's only two in the afternoon.”

“True, but it's the thought that counts,” said Jeanne.

“So why is Johnny stopping by? He's a priest, not a doctor.”

“My, my—you really are in state. He's your brother and he wants to check in on you. He's like mother that way, and I'm not going to risk eternal damnation by arguing with him.”

Jamie sighed loudly. “Me neither, so I guess I'll have to answer the door if he does show up.”

“Especially if he drives from Cambridge.” Boston traffic was never good, and Cambridge was north of the Charles River, so it was a long drive to Dorchester.

“Indeed. Well, tell the others for me that I'm being a good lad. I've seen the doctor, I've got appointments next week that I'll keep if I'm no better, and I'm staying at home and resting.”

“Well that all sounds well and good, but I doubt it really makes you a ‘good lad,' not with all your other shortcomings.”

“Love you too, Sis.”

“Jamie,” added Jeanne, her voice now serious. “Try not to be your usual stubborn self. If you need anything, I'm not far away. The kids are in school and I can bring you something if you need it.”

“I will,” Jamie replied, softening his voice. “Bye.” Jamie closed his cell phone, and then stumbled to the landline and turned the ringer back up. Eileen had lessons this afternoon and she had silenced the house phone, but had forgotten to get his cell. There were no messages, but Jamie could see several missed calls, from his sister and his mother. “Great. I'd better call Mother before she stops by too.” Jamie called his mother and gave her a status report.

Jamie lay back down and picked up the latest Tom Clancy novel.
I don't think much of the man's politics, but he sure can spin a good yarn.
The next thing Jamie knew, the doorbell was ringing. He opened his eyes and saw the book lying beside him.
Crap. I've taken more naps the past few days than I have before in my entire life.

Jamie got up unsteadily and crossed to the door. He opened it to find his brother standing at the door, wearing a black collarino shirt and cassock. “Johnny. I'd say I'm surprised, but Jeanne called earlier and gave me a heads up. Come on in and put in your two cents worth.”

At thirty-seven, Johnny Griffin still looked very youthful—slender yet well-muscled, and at six feet two, he presented an imposing figure in full regalia. “Listen, big brother, that act may play well with the women folk, but not your younger brother.”

Jamie gestured for Johnny to join him on the sectional. “I dunno—Conán seems to buy it.”

Johnny shook his head. “I said your
younger
brother, not your
youngest
. Conán doesn't pay attention to much beyond his music.”

“Well, you really didn't need to drive down from Cambridge,” replied Jamie. “The doctor doesn't know anything yet. He's ordered a whole battery of tests for me next week.”

“So, you're still feeling no better? That speaks volumes in and of itself, big brother. Besides, I had a lunch meeting down at the diocesan offices, so I figured I'd stop by since I was halfway here.”

“I appreciate it, I do,” said Jamie, “but you know how fond I am of people fussing over me.”

“True, but any time you're sick, it's noteworthy, especially when you don't bounce right back. Brighid wanted me to bring you some herbal tea and other such truck, but I talked her out of it.”

“Smart lad. I'm not about to start using any of her ‘new age' crap.”

“That's what I told her.” Johnny gave his older brother an appraising stare, “but you don't look good, Jamie.”

“I know, I know. That's why I'm cooperating with all this nonsense. I just want to get better.”

“Well, I'd advise listening to our mother and your lovely wife. After all these years, you surely know that it's a losing battle to fight them in any case.”

“I do indeed. Really, Johnny, I appreciate you taking time out of your busy schedule to stop by. You keeping everyone honest at Saint Paul's?”

“Ah, I just help out where I can and do whatever the archbishop's staff tells me to do.”

Both brothers laughed as Johnny stood. Jamie lurched to his feet and his brother grabbed his arm. “Whoa there, big brother. You really
are
having balance problems. I've never seen you like this.”

“Tell me about it,” growled Jamie. “It's only been a week, and I'm already way past ready to be done with this crap.” He walked his brother to the door. “Listen, like I said, I really appreciate you stopping by. Between Eileen, the girls, Mom and Sis, I've got no lack of people fussing over me.”

“I hear you. Just make sure you listen occasionally, and take care of yourself Jamie, okay?”

“I will, thanks for stopping by, Father.” Seanán waved his hand and walked back to his car.

Jamie walked back to the sectional and collapsed, sighing and closing his eyes.
I know everyone is just concerned, but I'm getting sick and tired of being sick and tired, but what the hell happens if my nightmare is more than just a dream? What if Eileen's right and my body is telling me that I'm seriously ill? That I might not get better?
Jamie closed his eyes and fell asleep again.

* * * *

Tuesday morning dawned bright and clear, with a gorgeous forecast, sunny and warm. However, it didn't help Jamie's mood. He still felt like crap, and according to the women in his household, he had been a pain in everyone's ass all weekend. When Jamie had talked with Cal after coming home from church, they had agreed that Cal should do the driving, even though Jamie claimed to be feeling better.

Cal arrived promptly at eight. Jamie let him in and said, “Good morning, Sunshine.” While Jamie usually woke up happy and full of energy, Cal had to drag his ass out of bed every morning.
Well,
Jamie amended—
at least I
used
to get up that way.

Cal looked around the living room and kitchen. “Eileen and the girls still here?”

“Nah, they left about half an hour ago, why?”

“Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, Griffin.” Cal walked over and filled his travel mug with coffee, then added sugar and creamer.

“Damn, Cushing, why do you have to go and ruin good coffee that way?”

“You must be better if you're giving me so much shit so early in the day.”

Jamie shrugged his shoulders and studied the light streaming in through the kitchen windows. “Yeah, I'm a little better. I have more tests tomorrow.”

Cal put his cup down after making sure he'd gotten the mixture right. “You're still sick? Sully told me that I couldn't take you along if you weren't cleared yet.”

“Ah, Christ, the doctor can't find anything wrong with me, so that means I'm cleared for work, doesn't it?”

Cal shook his head. “If something happens to you while we're out, it'll be my ass on the line.”

Jamie made a rude noise. “If this is the worst thing you do all day, Sully will count his blessings. Now get your ass in gear, and let's head downtown.”

“Just because that's true doesn't make it right, Griffin.”

They got into their dark blue Dodge Charger, Cal driving. “So we're heading to some place on Newbury Street?” he asked.

“Yeah, believe it or not, that's where this group has their storefront.” Newbury Street, located in Boston's Back Bay area, was an eclectic mix of shops housed in renovated nineteenth century brownstones. Running roughly east-west from Boston Public Gardens to Massachusetts Avenue, it has been called one of the most expensive streets in the world.