Hand In Hand
By Shotzette, Old Time Fan and Missy

Episode Ten
By Shotzette

Thank You To Chesh For Tireless Hours of Betaing!

Episode 10

"What do you mean, changes?" Rhonda was relieved to see their conversation had awoken Lenny and Laverne from their cozy cocoon on the couch. The two separated clumsily and walked stiffly towards them as Dr. Taylor continued.

"Now, I don't have a lot of experience with MS patients, but while Mr. Squiggman is doing better today than he was yesterday, his general condition will continue to decline exponentially."

The young doctor blinked as he looked at the three blank faces in front of him. "He's just going to get worse," he elaborated.

"What do you mean by worse?" asked Rhonda.

"We're currently treating Mr. Squigman with a regimen of steroids. While there are some significant side effects, weight gain, bloating, sleeplessness, and mood-swings; we feel that it's one of the most effective treatments available."

"Okay," Lenny interjected, "so that means it's working, right?"

"It's working for now," the doctor clarified, "unfortunately, patients eventually build up a resistance to steroids, and the side effects become more intense, thus negating any sort of benefit to the patient. Today, Mr. Squigman can move around with the aid of a cane. Tomorrow, he may need a wheelchair. That's why I wanted to speak with you," the doctor said to Rhonda, "Mr. Squigman will be unable to live independantly, and will need to be transferred to a convalescent hospital. There's an excellent facility in Barstow--" he said, proferring a brochure.

"Be quiet."

The doctor started at the harsh voice coming out of the pretty starlet's face.

"You heard me," she repeated, "Ever since Andy got here, all we've heard from you people is how much you don't know about MS. Everytime one of us asks you a question, you give us the runaround--"

"Rhonda," Lenny began.

"Shhh," Laverne cautioned, "let her go."

"Yet, with all you don't know," Rhonda continued, her voice rising,"you smugly tell us that Squiggy has to turn his entire life around, leave his friends, and move to goddamn Barstow!"

"Miss Lee," the doctor began.

"Don't give me that Miss Lee bullshit! You've been so diligently recording the negative aspects of Andy's condition, do you have anything on your little clipboard about the improvements he's had? Do you?" Without letting the doctor reply, Rhonda resumed her tirade. "Do you know that the steroids don't make him as moody when he drinks a lot of water? Did you know that when Lenny was helping him in shower yesterday and accidently turned on the cold tap, Squiggy said his legs felt better, and weren't numb anymore? No, I'm sure you didn't. All you did was gather up the bad news and give it to us, and now you're ready to send him away so he'll be someone else's problem, instead of yours."

"Squiggy ain't going to no Barstow," Lenny said flatly.

"Sir," the doctor said condescendingly, "I know he's your friend, but the crux of the matter is that Mr. Squigman can no longer live independantly. Both of his recent flare ups were compounded by falls, and his apartment is down a flight of stairs."

"Squiggy don't live alone no more!"

"So you're there with him all day, every day, eh?" the doctor queried.

"One of us can be," said Laverne through gritted teeth. "We can take turns."

"And if stairs are a problem, he can stay in Rhonda's apartment!" said the statuesque blond. "Don't!" she said sharply to a leering Lenny.

"Listen!" Dr. Taylor's voice rose above the din, as the three friends started clamoring all at once on what was in Squiggy's best interest. "I've already explained the situation, to Mr. Squigman, and given him his prognosis. I just didn't want him to have to tell all of you the news."

"You gave Sqiggy a prognosis?" Rhonda said sharply, with an unfamiliar, yet chilling look in her eye.

"Yes, and he handled it better than you people. He said he'd need a week to wrap up his affairs before he was off to Barstow, and--"

The doctor stopped short, as he watched Rhonda run down the corridor to Squiggy's room on her impossibly high heels.

*****

The waiting room in the Camp Pendleton infirmary was a bland, cold, room with white cinderblock walls. In an alcove to his right, Walter Meaney could see two chairs with a kneeler in front of them, a plastic cross, crucifix, and star of david resting on the top. Good old Army, he thought wryly, one size fits all if the color is green. Looking at the empty styrofoam cup in his hand, he groaned as he stood up and made his way back to the coffee pot.

Eight hours. Far too long for a doctor to be stuck in this end of the waiting room. He'd give anything to be in the emergency room with Shirley, with his child. But, regs were regs. Hell, he wouldn't be allowed back there if he was a civillian and it was Cedars Sinai. Physician, heal thyself, but don't touch a family member, he paraphrased Hippocrites.

So he waited. And wondered. Wondered how or why the beautiful stranger he married last month had drained a fifth of scotch in three hours. Wondered how his child was. Wondered where the hell that Ragusa guy was, and why did he show up on his doorstep that day.

Then wondered what kind of idiot marries a total stranger. "You play, you pay," his father's voice echoed in his head. Dad was right. He got a nice girl in trouble, he had to marry her. That's what stand up guys did.

He couldn't remember much of their first night together, some passionate embraces in the front seat of his Dodge, the squeak of the boxsprings in the cheap motel he took her to, the broken condom he had guiltily hid from her in the morning. He'd worried ever since that night.

When Shirley first started showing the unmistakable early signs of pregnancy, he had prayed his intuition was wrong and what he had known of medicine was wrong.

He had also prayed he could somehow fall in love with her. That he could think of her as more than a fun party girl, a distraction. Someone he had planned to enjoy and learn the ways of love from before he met the girl of his dreams.

Now, he was a married to a stranger he didn't understand. Someone who was a danger to herself and their child.

The door leading to the emergency room swung open, revealing Dr.Larry Feldman. Walter breathed a sigh of relief. He'd interned with Feldman back at Ft. Bragg four years earlier. He was a good man and a talented physician, someone you could trust.

Walter opened his mouth to ask about the baby, about Shirley--then stopped cold. Feldman wore the look. The look all doctor's get when they have to deliver bad news to the next of kin. He felt the color drain from his face as he sat down numbly on the plastic chair.

"Walt, I'm sorry..."

"Oh, Jesus..."

"Your wife will recover. Her blood-alcohol level was very high. We had to pump her stomach," he stopped at the look on Walter's face, "She miscarried hours before you brought her in. She must have been in a lot of pain all day--"

"Oh God," Walter said, burying his face in his hands. He felt a hand on his shoulder, as he let his tears flow freely. "I thought I had locked all the liquor away. I should have just poured it all down the drain, should have known she couldn't control herself--"

"Walt," Feldman interrupted, "the alcohol didn't cause the miscarriage. It was not a factor. I know spontaneous miscarriages are much more common in first trimester fetuses, but Shirley was only thirteen or fourteen weeks along--"

"What?"

"I said spontaneous--"

"No, damnit! How many weeks did you say she was?"

"Thirteen or fourteen. Why?" Feldman asked as Walter ripped Shirley's file from his hands.

His practiced physician's eyes scanned the necessary pages on the chart. Measurements, fetal development, chemical levels; the facts were all there in black and white.

Walter Meaney knew only one thing in life. Numbers don't lie, people do.



*****


Carmine leaned against the metal railing of the swingset across the street from Frank DeFazio's trailer. He had volunteered to keep Amy occupied while Edna tested the waters with Frank. Personally, he thought Amy and Edna would be bunking at a motel that night, instead of in the home Edna used to share with Laverne's father. He loved Frank DeFazio like a second father, but in his heart of hearts, Carmine didn't think Frank's stubborn pride would ever allow him to forgive Edna.

How did things get so screwed up? Four months ago, things were basically fine. Granted, he wasn't working and didn't have many prospects. However, he had good, and until recently, borderline sane friends he could count on.

And a beautiful girlfriend he loved with all his heart.

How could one night in his bed change Shirley from that sweet, innocent, principled girl who he treated as gently as he would a porcelain doll, into the drunken, angry, bitter, slut he had seen earlier? Was the mere act of being near him enough to drive another person to piss her life down the toilet? He had thought his leaving would have saved Shirley, would have protected her from being saddled with a no-good, bum for the rest of her life.

Well, she now had everything she said she had ever wanted in life. Married to a doctor, baby on the way, living in a nice house instead of some crummy apartment; it was a better life than he could have ever offered her. Yet, he had never seen her as miserably unhappy as she had looked today.

Miserable, and most likely carrying his child, not Walter's.

Never in a million years would he have imagined that Shirley "Wait til the Wedding Night" Feeney would have done the horrible things she confessed to having done.

"Carmine," Amy's gentle voice interrupted his mental self-flagellation. She was sitting on one of the swings, smiling up at him earnestly, her blue eyes guileles and pure. "Push me," she begged, "I want to go higher."

He smiled automatically, and walked behind her, grabbing the chains of the swing and pulling her close before pushing her towards the blue sky. It was peaceful in the playground. No hard decisions, no ugliness. Amy reminded him of Shirley at that moment, the way Shirley looked when he first met her in fifth grade. The same innocence, the same trust in him. Amy's world was simple, as his and Shirley's used to be. All things were black and white, the messy muddled tones of gray, that's what mess you up, he told himself, grimly.

The higher he pushed her, the more loudly and uncontrollably Amy laughed. Carmine closed his eyes and tried to lose himself in the childlike simplicity of her laughter.

Dear God, he prayed silently, don't ever let poor Amy meet up with a bum like me.


*****




Laverne DeFazio scoured her kitchen sink as though her life depended on it. Funny, when Shirl lived there, she couldn't get Laverne to clean with threats or pleading. Now that she was gone, cleaning was the only thing Laverne could stand to do when the insomnia hit her. Usually, sleeping in Lenny's arms made it go away. Tonight though, they had both been too drained and exhausted to make love for the first time. His gentle snoring reverberating from upstairs, was proof that Lenny didn't need to get off to get sleep, but she was apparently a different manner.

Like either one of you were really in the mood when you got home, anyway, she chided herself.

They off course, had run down the hallway after Rhonda, only to be stopped by a closed and locked door. They listened outside for nearly an hour, before giving up in frustration and going home.

Poor Lenny, she thought. He'd been so busy trying to be there for both her and Squiggy, and now strain was starting to get to him. His guilt over running away to New York and leaving Squiggy on his own was almost palpable. She'd tried to reason with him, tried to let him know that no one--not even Squiggy-- knew he was sick at that point, and that he couldn't have done anything that Rhonda hadn't done. Her words had fallen upon deaf ears.

Reason and Lenny Kosnoski didn't exactly go together, she reasoned.

Then again, Lenny was upstairs sleeping in her bed, like a reasonable person would do at three in the morning, and she was having a Hazel moment.

She glanced at her reflection in the toaster and winced. The days of worry and the nights of insomnia were catching up to her. The face in the reflection looked a helluva lot older than it did four months ago. The strain was starting to affect other aspects of her life as well. Her new job, the job she worked her tail off to get, was in jeopardy. Try as might, she could barely keep her eyes open at work. A great job, a wonderful opportunity, and she was on the verge of blowing it because she was too tired and too unfocused to give it her all. Her coworker, Chuck, had been covering for her as best he could, but even he had his limits.

Losing her job would be the last straw.

It could always be worse, a perverse little voice inside her said, you could be married to a stranger and carrying another guy's baby.

Laverne quickly shoved her guilt over the way she treated Shirley earlier that day--yesterday, she corrected herself as she glanced at the clock on the stove--to the pit of her stomache. Why should she feel guilty for speaking the truth? After all, hadn't Shirley stood on her moralizing soapbox and preached to her nearly non-stop since she had known her? Then overnight, Shirley decided to break all of the rules she had laid down for herself, and even a few that hadn't been invented yet.

And still, Laverne thought with a flash of temper, she gave me that oh-so-superior look when she found out I was seeing Lenny. Her anger at Shirley's hypocrisy galvanized Laverne. She threw the sponge in the sink and started pacing angrily back and forth across her linoleum.

All of those years, telling ME not to be a loosey-goosie, she thought. Telling ME not to vodey-oh-do without a wedding band on my finger. Telling ME to shoot for the moon, and reach for the stars. What a crock!

A noise outside of her front door stopped Laverne in her tracks. Who the hell could it be at this hour, she wondered. Sonny? Rhonda? Her Pop?

The last possiblity filled her heart with hope. As angry as her father's words had made her, she couldn't bear to stay angry with him for too long, especially with everything else that was going on. Smiling for the first time in what seemed like forever, she dashed to the front door and threw it open.

Disappointment warred with surprise as she squinted through the darkness to see Walter Meaney grimly unloading Shirley's possession's from his Buick and dumping them onto the stoop.

"What the hell--" she began, as she took in his reddened eyes and painfilled expression.

"Shirley will be released from the Camp Pendleton infirmary at 1500 hours tomorrow."

"Infirmary? What--"

"She's being treated for alcohol poisoning and post-operative observation," he said, his clinical verbage at odds with the wild look in his eyes.

"Walter," she said, her voice rising despite her desire to never let this guy get to her, "what the hell is wrong with Shirley? Is the baby--"

"There is no baby, Laverne. Shirley miscarried this afternoon."

"Oh, Jesus!" Laverne sank back against the doorjamb in shock.

"Please have someone pick Shirley up at the base tomorrow. Since she is no longer a military dependent, she cannot receive the treatment she needs there." All the while, Walter kept walking back and forth from his car to the stoop, depositing Shirley's clothes, suitecases, radio, and shoes in an untidy pile.

"What?" She had to be hearing things wrong, Laverne thought. None of this was making any sense. Time to wake up from the nightmare now, she chided herself.

"I said," Walter replied as he methodically continued to rid his car, and apparently his life, of all things Shirley, "she will need to receive treatment elsewhere after tomorrow. I strongly suggest placing her in a facility with a strong substance abuse program."

"You're leaving her?" Laverne's tired and overstressed brain tried to make heads or tails out of the mish mash of events in front of her. "She just lost the baby and you're abandoning her?" She angrily took a step towards him, fists clenched. The mild dislike she had felt for Walter upon meeting him was being rapidly replaced by outright hatred. "You can't do that!"

In a flash, Walter had leapt up the steps to the front door and was holding her painfully by her upper arms. "It's interesting how you said *the baby* instead of *your baby*, isn't it?" He hissed menacingly at her.

Suddenly, she was incapable of looking him in the eye. He ain't the bad guy, she said to herself, he's as hurt and angry as we all are. "I-I suspected," she mumbled, her eyes on the ground.

Abruptly he released her and stepped back. "Well, your suspicions were correct. The baby Shirley lost today," he said, before swallowing and continuing hoarsely, "was conceived nearly two weeks before we met."

Laverne, hadn't realized she had been holding her breath, praying that she had been wrong all along.

"What's going on?" said Lenny, from behind her. Wearing nothing but a pair of hastily donned jeans, he regarded Walter suspiciously.

"Shirley lost the baby today," Laverne said softly.

"Jesus," Lenny said, as he sat back againsted the iron railing that partially surrounded the stoop, with a look of stunned amazement on his face.

A movement to her left momentarily caught her attention. A light had switched on in the corner apartment that overlooked hers. Sonny's apartment. Great.

She forced her attention back on Walter, who at that point was talking more to himself than either one of them. "...then I did some further research. Shirley's blood type is O, the same as mine. The fetus's blood type was B. There is no way in hell that I'm the father." He looked at her sourly before continuing, "I don't suppose you know what Carmine's blood type is, eh Laverne?"

Stunned, she just shook her head.

"Not that you'd tell me if you did," Walter muttered bitterly. He slammed the trunk of the Buick shut with an air of finality. "I'm moving back on base tomorrow morning. I've already cancelled the lease on our house with the landlord. Had to pay a hefty penalty fee, but in light of everything else, I feel like I'm getting off cheap," he said, obviously oblivious to Lenny's glare. "Laverne, I'm going to arrange to have the annullment papers sent here, unless Shirley will be staying elsewhere." She opened her mouth in protest, but he cut her off. "Fraud is grounds for an annullment in California. The baby wasn't mine, and I have the medical evidence to prove it."

"Shirley ain't gonna sign any annullment papers!" Laverne blurted.

"I've already spoken to the base's JAG. He said if she won't sign the papers, we are both in for a long, humiliating, court case. Now," he said, leaning in towards Laverne, "I had a very interesting talk with one of the bartender's at the Officer's Club earlier while I was trying to drink your best friend out of my life. The bartender is willing to testify under oath that he has seen her leave with several different guys on several different nights."

"Walter, you can't do that!"

"Don't tell me what I can and can't do!" He raged at her. "I was the stand up guy who married the girl I thought I got in trouble. I was the one who took responsiblity, who tried to give her a better life, wanted to take care of her..." his tirade trailed off, interrupted by a sob.

"I'm sorry she hurt you," Laverne said softly, as Walter and Lenny looked at her in amazement.

"Don't worry about me," Walter snapped, defensively. Shoving his hands in his pocket's, he immediately took on an air of false bravado that eerily reminded Laverne of the way Squiggy used to be. "I guess I'm lucky," he continued flippantly, "at least I didn't catch the clap."

Laverne felt herself shoved roughly to the side as Lenny lunged at Walter. In a flash, he had the smaller man by the lapels and was pushing him backwards against the metal railing. "The only reason you are not lying on the pavement right now, is that you've already been through hell today," Lenny growled, "Leave. Now," he said, as he shoved Walter towards the steps.

Walter stumbled back to his car, eyeing Lenny warily, before gunning the engine and speeding out of the parking lot.

Laverne reached out to touch Lenny's arm in comfort, but stopped short. There was an anger in his blue eyes that she had never seen before, almost a palpable electric current exuding from his pores. He brushed past her, as if she were invisible, and walked back into her apartment, slamming the door behind him.

Knees shaking, she sat down heavily on the stoop, burying her face in her hands before allowing herself to shed the tears she had held in for far too long. Her entire world was crashing in, and everytime she turned around things had managed to get worse.

Laverne didn't know how long she had sat there crying her heart out, when the sound of a shoe scraping gravel garnered her attention.

She looked up, startled, into the face of the man standing in front of her.

Sonny kept his eyes firmly focused on the patch of pavement to her left. "When you see Shirley, please let her know I'm sorry for her loss," he said. He then turned away abruptly, and walked briskly back to his apartment.

FIN






To Chapter 9

On To Chapter 11











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