Page 23 of Notorious

Johnny’s face blanches, and he stands, pointing to the door. God, he’s glorious—bare chested, in cutoff gray sweats and nothing else. His tone is firm. “I think you should go.”

I stand, too, and cross my arms over my chest, feeling ridiculous with no pants on. “No.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re pushy?” he says.

I take a step closer. “All the time.”

We stare at each other in a standoff.

He chuckles mirthlessly and turns his head to the side. “Why do you even care what I do?”

“For fuck’s sake, I can’t let you kill yourself!” With a finger under his chin, I turn his face back to me and give him a weak smile. “Besides, you’re my husband now. You’re mine to look out for.”

“Oh, no,” Johnny says. “No, that’s not okay?—”

“Babe,” I say, the endearment coming out naturally, since he is a babe. Since I like him. Since I want him to feel better. Since I ache for him. “That’s not going to cut it. While you’re like this, I’m not letting you out of my sight. You’re not taking your life on my watch. We’ll find another way to get your mom help.” My voice is pleading. “I promise you.”

Johnny opens his mouth like he wants to argue with me, but he holds his hands out helplessly. “I can’t,” he whispers.

I want to push him. I’m gonna push him. But I have to do this delicately, because the last thing I want is for him to storm off and shut me out. Or … finish things.

Yes, I barely know him, but it doesn’t matter. He’s my husband, at least for now. It’s my job to keep him alive, at a minimum. And I’ve never been satisfied with doing the minimum. “You said it yourself: You sold all your possessions, right? And you gave up your lease?”

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “It was just an old apartment in the Valley. Nothin’ special.”

“Then come home with me. I recently moved to the Palisades, and the condo has enough room for both of us. We can find you a place to go where you can get some treatment?—”

“I ain’t got medical insurance?—”

“I do. I work at a big graphic design firm. And we’re married,” I remind him—which reminds me. “My friend was telling me how one of his coworkers married a guy to get him health insurance. The same thing can work here.”

He holds up his hands. “I can’t take advantage?—”

“And I can’t have your death on my conscience, John Huckleberry Haskell,” I say fiercely. I squint at him. “Is that really your middle name?”

Johnny shrugs and looks fondly into the distance. “Mama’s a character.”

“Well, good. Fine. But…” My voice drops. “Will you do it? Will you come stay with me? Just for a little while. We can work out the details of everything else later.”

Johnny looks over at the pill bottles on the bed. We’re gonna have to get rid of those, stat. And anything else that he could use to self-harm. Shit …

“Where’s your gun,” I demand.

Johnny doesn’t pretend not to know what I’m talking about, and to my relief, he doesn’t argue about it. He points to the holster that’s under his suit jacket. I take it and hold it on my lap for now. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do with it.

“Was the gun for …” I ask.

“Plan B,” he says. “Well, also plan A.”

I want to ask, but I think I can guess.

“Why?” Johnny asks again.

“Why what?”

“Why do you care?”

The forlorn note in his voice makes my eyes sting. “Because every human life matters. That’s why we send massive search parties to find children who get lost in the woods. We care. Your life has value, Johnny. I’m going to show that to you.” I blink. “But this isn’t about some human in the abstract. It’s you. You matter, Johnny. You’ve affected so many people you don’t even know.”

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