Sunday: Reeling

I thought I should write a brief note of explanation re: the 'Cubs curse' in the previous chapter. This is primarily aimed at those of you who are not baseball savvy (read: not American). The Chicago Cubs are a baseball team who, years ago, were cursed by an irate fan. I think it had something to do with the fan not being able to bring his goat to the game. Since then, the Cubs have been perennial also-rans. Anyway, when I set the story in the greater Chicago area, the idea of making the Cubs 'curse' a true wizard's curse was just too much to pass up.

Chapter 4, Sunday: Reeling

It wasn't what you would call a good night. After the lights were out, I spent a long time staring at the ceiling while Remus tossed and turned for what seemed like hours. I finally drifted off, but awoke around two a.m. to find him standing at the window, staring at nothing. At one point, as I drifted in and out of sleep, l thought I heard the shower running. When the wakeup call jerked me straight from dreams into full alertness, Remus was already sitting up in bed, looking as though he'd been on a weeklong bender.

"Are you all right?" I asked, absolutely hating the idea of leaving him to spend the day at the hospital.

"Never better," he said dryly. "Can't you tell?"

I took my shower and dressed, and when I came back into the room, Remus had made a pot of coffee with the hotel room courtesy coffeepot and was gripping a cup as though it were a lifeline.

"They don't give you nearly enough coffee grounds," he remarked. "Think I'll drop a note of complaint to the management."

"I don't think there are enough coffee grounds in the whole city of Rockford to help you this morning," I retorted, sincerely meaning every word.

A smirk. "Tell me about it."

"Just how much sleep did you get last night?"

"I don't know. An hour. Maybe. And it wasn't exactly restful, either. Would you mind terribly if I didn't go with you this morning?" Remus asked hopefully. "I feel horrible."

"You don't look too good, either. Lie down," I ordered. Remus stared at me as though I'd lost my mind.

"It's no good, Kailin. There's no point in trying to sleep now. I'll have my days and nights so mixed up I won't be able to think straight."

"I'm not sure you're able to think straight as it is. Lie down."

Remus sighed, put down the coffee cup, and flopped onto the bed.

"On your stomach, R.J.," I called over my shoulder as I went to retrieve the little bottle of complimentary hand lotion from the sink.

One thing on my agenda, providing I ever had the time for it, was to take a massage class. Early on in our marriage, I had noticed that Remus limped around like a cripple following his werewolf transformations. It was inevitable, he told me; you couldn't change from human to animal to human again without hurting like hell afterwards. I had begun giving him backrubs as soon as he grudgingly agreed to company again. Sometimes the backrubs led to other fun and games if he wasn't too exhausted, but more often they were simply a relaxing way for us to reconnect after the full moon was past.

I returned with the lotion, knelt next to Remus on the bed, and greased up. I'm no masseuse, but even I could tell that there wasn't a loose muscle anywhere on his long frame. I rubbed and pushed and pummeled, while Remus grunted his appreciation of my efforts. The tension was slowly ebbing away; at one point, he muttered something under his breath that sounded very much like a heartfelt expletive.

"What did you say?" I inquired. Remus rarely cursed.

There was a brief silence, and then, "I said 'goddamn it'."

I blinked. "Did I hurt you? I'm sorry."

"Of course not, Kailin." Another silence. "I'm just so angry."

"You should be," I said softly. My normally affable husband was accustomed to suppressing his fury and had done so for years. Spending most of your life dealing with the fact that you are a social outcast must be horrendous, and I suspect that Remus has done a better job of it than most. Yet no matter how well-adjusted you are, there has to be that kernel of anger lying buried and dormant until the Lucius Malfoys of the world come along and provoke it into flat-out rage.

I continued to rub Remus' back. Several more minutes went by, and I noticed that his breathing became slower and deeper, the grunts fewer and fewer. Eventually I noticed a tiny bead of drool at the corner of his mouth; his eyelids seemed glued shut and his facial muscles, slack. As quietly as I could, I crawled off the bed and pulled the sheet lightly over him. He didn't stir, and I decided that Remus Lupin would be asleep for a very long time if left undisturbed.

Which reminded me... I placed the Do Not Disturb sign on the outside of our door, then tapped lightly on the adjoining door to Hermione's room. She opened it shortly, and at once I put my fingers to my lips.

"Can I come in?" I whispered.

Bleary-eyed, her curls standing every which way, Hermione nodded and stepped back to allow me access. With the door shut behind me, I finally spoke.

"Sorry to wake you," I began.

"Not at all. I was already up," Hermione insisted, yawning. "What time did you get in last night?"

"About ten, I think."

"How is your grandfather?"

"He's doing splendidly," I told her. "I'll be going over there shortly, but Remus is still in bed."

"In bed? Is he all right?"

"Frankly, no." I told her about the Ministry owl and the ban on Remus' re-entry into Britain. Hermione gasped aloud, horrified.

"Oh, no! What you going to do?"

"I don't know," I said, "but if any owls come by today, hang onto one so we can get a message to Dumbledore."

"Malfoy... He was the one behind my parents'... uhm..." She gulped, a stricken look suddenly crossing her face.

I nodded. "I know. Look, could you let Remus sleep this morning? You can order room service and charge it to the room, or go down to the restaurant or the pool or whatever you want to do; I just want him to get some rest."

"Of course, Kailin."

I gave the name of the hospital and my cell phone number to Hermione, then left through her room.

* * *

Hospitals come alive very early in the morning. Doctors usually start their rounds by six or seven so they can see their patients before office hours. Therefore it wasn't unreasonable to assume that Billy had already been moved from the ICU to his room. Normal visiting hours wouldn't start until noonish, but I wanted to get there early to help with Billy's care and free his nurse up for other patients. It was the sort of gesture I would have appreciated, had I been his nurse.

As I suspected, Billy was already in his new room and staring at a breakfast tray when I arrived.

"Hey, handsome," I teased, walking into the room and putting down my purse on the windowsill. "Looks like you lost half your IV lines and gained a plate of rubber eggs."

My grandfather waved a piece of toast at me rather weakly. "Good morning, honey. Want some?"

I grinned, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek before settling into a chair. "I believe they meant for you to eat it," I pointed out.

Billy put down the toast, inhaled deeply, and leaned back against the pillow. "It smells good, but I'm already full and I only ate three bites."

"Don't worry. The appetite comes back. Have you had your bath yet?"

"No. They just moved me in here a little bit ago."

"Good. I'll help out, then." I paused, regarding Billy Mitchell in all seriousness. "How are you feeling, Grandpa?"

"Like I've been hit by a truck. 'Course I've never been hit by a truck before, but I bet this is what it'd feel like. Damnedest thing: I never had so much as a twinge in my chest before now, but the doctor wanted me to have a stress test before he operated on my hip, and here I am."

"And it's a good thing he did, too."

"Did Remus come with you?"

"Not this morning. He'll be here later on, I think."

"Oh." Billy wrinkled his nose, deep in thought. "Did I meet him last night?"

"You did."

"Oh. Yesterday's kind of a blur. Did I like him?"

I laughed. "It seemed like it," I said.

Billy picked up his fork and poked listlessly at the scrambled eggs, which were beginning to crust over by now. "I suppose you're going to tell me I have to eat this so I can get well."

"That's the official line," I agreed.

"Humph." He tugged the napkin from where it had been tucked inside the neck of his hospital gown and tossed it on the breakfast tray. "I think I'm done."

I tried to coax Billy into a few more bites of toast, but I might as well have asked him to drop to the floor and give me fifty. His nurse came in moments later. I introduced myself, and as I suspected, she jumped at the chance to let me provide Billy's morning care while she saw to her other patients.

"You work at a hospital in England? Really?" she asked, intrigued. "I'd like to hear more about it. When I get a few minutes, maybe we can chat. Are you going to be here for a while?"

"This morning for sure, and later on today," I assured her. "And I'll be here until this cranky old geezer goes home."

"I'm not cranky," Billy muttered. "I may be a geezer, but I'm not cranky."

"First sign of recovery," the nurse said, "is when the sense of humor comes back."

She left to attend to her other duties, and I began to fill a basin with water for Billy's bath. He looked at the basin when I placed it next to the bed, clearly distrustful.

"I don't want a bath," he muttered. "I don't have the strength."

"Trust me on this one. You may not want one, but you need it, and you'll feel a whole lot better afterwards."

"You're not planning on washing everything, are you?"

"Frankly, no. This is a participation sport. You get to help out."

"Good. I'm not sure I would have even let your grandmother do this," he added.

I laughed and said nothing, still collecting bath supplies.

"You know," Billy continued, "that it would have been okay if I hadn't pulled through, right? Because I would have been with Marva."

"I know." My eyes filled abruptly. "I'm just not ready to let her have you yet, Grandpa."

Billy's own eyes became teary. "Yeah," he said gruffly. "Well, on with the bath."

Half an hour later, Billy was bathed and feeling better, although he was loathe to admit it. With the help of his nurse, I moved him to the bedside chair and bustled about, making his bed.

"So how is it?" he demanded when the nurse left.

"How is what, Grandpa?"

"Being married to one of them wizards."

"Just fine," I lied. I'm a bad liar. I must have 'guilt' written in capital letters all over my face, because I can't carry off a fib worth a darn.

Billy looked at me sharply. "What's wrong? Is there a problem between you and Remus?"

"No," I said quickly, shaking my head for emphasis. "No, nothing like that." I glanced around to make sure the door was mostly closed and that no lights indicated an intercom system which might be on. "It's the wizarding officials in Britain. They're trying to make life difficult for him."

"Marva used to say that the wizards liked to put idiots in positions of power. Something like that still going on?"

I burst out laughing in spite of myself. "Something exactly like that."

"Does it have to do with that wolf business?"

I had not told Billy about Remus' lycanthropy until we'd been married more than a month. Our courtship and subsequent marriage had taken place so quickly that there had never been a good time to broach the subject. A transatlantic phone call probably isn't the best way to announce that someone's a werewolf, but it seemed a better choice than putting the news in a letter. Letters allow no immediate feedback for either party, and I wanted to be able to reassure Billy on this topic at once. As it turned out, Billy's reaction, bless him, was both reassuring and endearing.

"A werewolf?" he'd echoed last summer.

"Those wizards and their magic. Damnedest things I ever heard of."

And that had been that. Billy hadn't brought up the subject again until today.

"It's partially because of that," I admitted now. "They're horribly prejudiced against werewolves. Now they've discovered that Remus left the country and they've forbidden him to come back. And to make matters worse, the American wizarding rep came to the hotel last night and took his wand away, because he's supposedly a dangerous dissident."

Billy looked thoughtful. "You mean you two might have to stay here?"

"You sound way too happy about that."

"Well, it wouldn't break my heart."

I sighed. "I know, Grandpa. To be honest, I don't know what we're going to do. Remus barely slept at all last night, and I didn't do much better. We're too tired to figure anything out right now."

"Would it help if he could use Marva's wand?"

I stared at my grandfather, my pulse quickening. "I thought you told me last year that you hadn't seen it in years."

"Well, that's true. I haven't seen it in years. But if you wanted to search the house, you could."

It was the first ray of hope in the past twelve hours. I didn't want to get my hopes up. Surely if the wand was easily accessible, Billy would have seen it. On the other hand, it was possible for something to lie about for so long that it went unnoticed after a while.

The nurse returned just then. We marched Billy around the hospital room for a bit of exercise, and he complained bitterly the entire time.

"I thought I was supposed to get my rest," he grumbled.

"You'll be ready for a rest after this," the nurse informed him.

She was right, of course. It was only ten-thirty a.m., but Billy was exhausted from all the morning's activities and ready to go back to bed. I helped tuck him under the sheets and was settling down to read the newspaper when Uncle Roger walked in.

"Well, this is a fine sight," he said. "Here I was expecting you to be running down the hall today, Dad."

"I just did," Billy muttered darkly. "You missed it. Come back tomorrow."

I explained to Roger that Billy had had a busy morning and was ready for some down time.

"Wish I could have some down time like that," Roger teased. "Breakfast in bed, a bath and a walk with a pretty woman, nothing to do but watch the TV..."

"No, you don't. Listen, why don't you two run off for a while? I could use the peace and quiet."

Roger looked a bit put out at being asked to leave when he'd only just arrived, but I took his arm and steered him out of the room. "We'll go get a cup of coffee," I said, and five minutes later, we were settled at a cafeteria table, nursing steaming Styrofoam cups of coffee.

Of all my uncles, I was closest to Roger Mitchell. He had come along barely a year before my mother Louise was born, and the two of them had an exceptionally strong bond. Plus, Roger had remained in the greater Chicago area, while uncles Frank and Martin were scattered about the rest of the country. He had never married, and it hit him hard when my parents were killed in the car accident, and again when Marvy died. Then I went off to Britain, and I think it struck Roger as another desertion of some sort.

"I'm glad you were able to come back for this, Kailin," he told me. "It means a lot to Dad. And to me, for that matter."

"I know. I really wanted to be here, Roger," I said.

"And Remus seems like a really nice guy. What is it again that he does?"

This was the sticky part. I had overheard Remus giving Roger the standard, vague information last night, and now I repeated it. "He's self-employed. Right now, he does defense consulting for a group in Britain."

"Ah." Roger Mitchell nodded sagely, as though that explained everything. I hid a smile and sipped my coffee. "Dad told me that Remus and Mom went to the same secondary school in England," he continued.

I nodded. I had no idea what, if anything, Marvy had told him about her past, and I wondered now just how much Roger knew about his mother's background. "Roger, did Marvy ever talk much about her life in Britain?"

"Not a lot, why?"

"I was just curious."

"I think she told me some stories, but I've forgotten a lot of them. Was there anything in particular you wanted to know?"

Yes. Do you know where her wand is? I tried hard to think of some way to get the information I wanted without opening the proverbial can of worms. "Did she keep any keepsakes from when she was growing up?"

Roger frowned, looking puzzled. "Well, I think Mom had a trunk of stuff up in the attic. You might want to look for it while you're here."

"A trunk? Really?" I sat up straighter.

"You'll need to take it downstairs, though," Roger said. "It'll be hotter than hell in that attic. Which reminds me: I need to talk to Dad about getting some repairs done on the house. He's let things slide since Mom died. Of course, that's the way it is with old houses, always something going wrong."

I didn't hear the rest of Uncle Roger's tirade about the problems with old houses. My mind was on Marvy's trunk.