Panic Attack

“Did Clements call?” she asked as if she hadn’t heard him.

“No,” Adam said.

“That’s not good.”

“It’s not good or bad,” he said, “but isn’t it crazy? First TV and now a magazine interview?”

“Sorry,” Dana said flatly, turning away. “I guess I just can’t get as excited about your fifteen minutes of fame as you are.”

“I’m not excited,” he said, ignoring the not so subtle put- down. “I’m just surprised. I really didn’t think this would get this kind of attention.”

“Is that what you’re looking for? Attention?”

“Of course not,” he said.

Dana glanced at the outfit laid out on the bed.

“So I want to look good on TV,” he said. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” she said. “I just don’t understand why you have to go on the show in the first place.”

“What do you mean? They asked me to. It’s helping me emotionally, with my glossophobia. And, besides, it could be some good publicity. Maybe I’ll get a few new patients out of it.”

“You could’ve said no. I don’t know why you want to bring more attention to us, I don’t see how that’s going to help make things any better.”

Adam, frustrated because he knew she was making sense but he didn’t want to hear it, said,“I thought we made up downstairs. Can we just stop this nonsense?”

“That’s a good idea, let’s stop the nonsense,” she said. “I’ve been through a lot today, and I really don’t want to get into this again right now.”

Adam was thinking, And what was that supposed to mean? I haven’t been through a lot? It was so typical- making him out to be the bad guy- but he didn’t want to argue anymore so he took the high road instead, taking a long deep breath, then saying, “Look, I understand how you feel, okay? You’re afraid, and I’ll admit it, I’m afraid too. I mean, I think it’s highly unlikely anything’s going to happen, but I admit I won’t feel one hundred percent safe until it all blows over. But, honestly, I really don’t think ru

“What about the gun?” she asked.

He breathed deeply again, then said, “Okay, I’m willing to compromise. Right now I want it in the house, just in case, but when this blows over, when the police make an arrest and figure out exactly what’s going on, I’ll get rid of it.”

“You really mean that?” she said.

“Promise,” he said, raising his right hand as if he were on a witness stand. “I still think the gun saved our lives last night, but if you really don’t want it in the house, if it makes you this upset, I’ll get rid of it, okay?”

She was teary eyed again.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Aw, come here,” he said, and he hugged her.

Now she was crying. He had no idea why she was so upset. Maybe she was just letting out stress.

“Come on, don’t be sad,” he said. “Everything’s going to be okay. We’re going to get through this, I promise.”

She cried even harder, and then he moved his hands lower, around her waist. She seemed like she’d lost weight; felt a lot firmer, too. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d had sex. Jesus, had it been a month? Two months?

He undid her robe with one hand and started to slide his other hand up over one of her breasts.

“Not tonight,” she said quickly, pulling away a little. “I’m just so worn out. I mean, because of the long day and everything.”

“I understand,” he said, moving his hand away, “but let’s definitely do it tomorrow night, okay? It’s been too long, you know?”

He stayed with her for a while longer, holding her, and then went downstairs to let her get some rest.

Adam was tired, too, but there was no way he was missing watching the news later tonight. He set the upstairs TiVo to record the Cha

At around nine thirty Marissa came home. “I was just about to call you to see when you were go

“Cool,” she said, and he could tell she was drunk.

“Went out drinking again tonight, huh?” he asked, trying his hardest not to get angry at her and have a repeat of last night.

“I met Hillary at a happy hour,” she said flatly.

“Seems like a happy five hours.”

“I’m allowed to have a few drinks at a bar with a friend, Dad.”

“I want you to cut down on the drinking, okay?”

She shook her head and went upstairs.

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” he said. She didn’t stop, and he added. “No smoking tonight, and I mean it.”

A few seconds later he heard her bedroom door slam. He didn’t care if she got angry at him; he was going to stay on her case, keep giving her tough love until she got the message and straightened out her life.

At ten o’clock he watched the Cha

During the next hour or so he watched the other newscasts, including the ones he’d TiVo’d. They all covered the story similarly, with only minor variations. The Cha