For someone who spent months on end living away from home, he had managed to accumulate an unholy amount of clutter, Josh decided. His spare room seemed to contain everything but the kitchen sink.
It was a day's work, to sort through it all, but he was glad to see it done. He'd managed to come across the Scrabble board Emma had left him in the process, and he couldn't decide if that made him happy or sad.
Many of his clients had left him small items of sentimental value over the years, which he proudly displayed in the living room; Emma's Scrabble board hadn't deserved to be relegated to oblivion, but it had brought up too many memories of nights spent playing it and laughing with her and Emery. Josh could handle the bittersweet remembrance of the dead perfectly well; the living were a different story entirely.
For the rest of the week he felt like he was in a holding pattern, everything suspended until he knew for certain how things would play out. That didn't mean he didn't make effective use of his time, though Mark had a differing view on the meaning of the word 'effective'.
Pestering Mark for news was at the top of Josh's daily routine, even on days where the man wasn't on call, prompting an irritated "you realize I don't actually live in the hospital, right?" from his usually patient best friend. The rest of the time was mostly taken up by shopping — Emery had nothing, and he'd need a few necessities — complete with battles of will over delivery schedules and mishaps.
He'd gone as far as to track down Emery's ophthalmologist, where, after much explaining and cajoling, he'd managed to get two copies of the prescription for Emery's glasses. Then he'd gone to the same optometrist Emery had once used for the main pair. Those glasses would take three to four weeks, but they'd be an exact copy of the ones he'd once had, from the lens treatments to the frame brand. With the other prescription, Josh got a cheaper, more generic pair — though still in the same sort of heavy black frame Emery favored — that he could pick up in 24 hours; it turned out he needn't have worried about the 24-hour time-frame, since he wasn't allowed to visit Emery to drop them off.
Zoe called him — a startling development, considering Josh didn't even know she had his phone number. She'd heard he'd been by earlier, and she wanted to tell him not to fret over the glasses — Emery didn't need them while sleeping, which was what he did most of the day.
Talking to her about this was a refreshing change. Mark never sugarcoated anything when talking to Josh, and had no qualms when it came to voicing his general disapproval of Emery; Zoe seemed to think that there was some grand love story behind what little she'd witnessed the week before and, not knowing any particulars, was gentle and encouraging on the matter of Emery.
Sam, he was told, had arranged for a nutritionist to make a meal plan for the duration of Emery's treatment at home; that way they could make sure he regained his weight with minimum upset to his stomach. Dan also texted him — again, Josh didn't think he'd given the man his number before — with updates whenever he was on call. Josh felt moved beyond words that Mark's friends were going out of their way to take such good care of Emery.
Throughout the week Emery continued to do well, despite a little nausea that delayed his return to solid food by a day or so, pushing his probable release to Monday.
Josh had a key made for Emery, then disliked every key chain available in the known universe. On a whim, he went with a cheap plastic one, made to insert a picture into, and printed out the phrase "I caught TB and all they gave me was this lousy keychain" to fit in there. At least that would earn him a laugh. He also bought an assortment of boxers, briefs, and trunks worthy of an entire regiment. Emery certainly wouldn't need that many, but there was no way Josh was going to ask him "boxers or briefs?" so he had to cover his bases.
On a more somber note, he'd made an appointment with a lawyer to have a will drafted. It was something he'd never bothered with before, but the thought that Emery would once again be left out on the streets if anything happened to Josh had been haunting him, not to mention that most of it had been Emma's money. He felt as if a weight had been lifted, having taken that step.
With all the important things taken care of, he was relegated to more waiting.
Josh had always enjoyed his time off, his solitude, the time to do whatever he wanted while finding his center again in between one client and the next, but this much waiting was claustrophobic.
It was high time he observed his own rituals, instead of everything being about Emery. That included taking the time to carve the latest piece for his charm bracelet — a steering wheel to remember Mr. Cohen by — or putting on his earphones and going for long jogs in the evening; nothing helped him settle the way it used to, which only served to unnerve him which, in turn, unsettled him further.
Emery was still tolerating both his regimen and solid food on Sunday morning, and he had finally been taken off the IV drip. It was all but certain he'd be discharged on Monday.
When Mark showed up on his doorstep at lunchtime without warning, with some takeout and a comment on how he figured Josh was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, he could have kissed the man. He'd always known Mark knew just when to leave him to his own devices; it came as no surprise that he turned out to know when not to with the same precision.
#
"Well," Mark deadpanned, eyeing Emery's bedroom, "you didn't go overboard at all."
Looking at the pile of new things that had accumulated in the room, Josh had to admit he might have skipped over 'a few necessities' straight into 'stress shopping' territory.
He'd gotten all new furniture for the room, in clean sleek lines that he knew Emery would enjoy. He'd have preferred to have Emery choose it himself, but he knew the man; if given the choice he wouldn't have let Josh spend a single dime on his behalf.
Josh had gotten him a high-end phone with a good data plan and an equally high-end laptop. A few clothes: comfortable ones to sleep in and stylish ones — though still a far cry from the tailored shirts and suits he'd once worn — to wear whenever he felt like it. Slippers and shoes; a toothbrush and an electric shaver. An e-reader in case he wanted to read in bed without straining his eyes with the phone's glare; headphones for privacy. A flat-screen TV. A soundbar for said TV. A smartwatch for his phone and a mouse for his laptop; a laptop tray for when he didn't feel up to sitting at his desk. The list went on.
"So," Mark continued, "you've finally managed to make a dent in the inheritance you didn't want. Is your conscience appeased now?"
Neither the words nor the slightly despairing tone were what Josh had expected Mark's reaction to be. He opened his mouth to deny it then closed it again, deflated. "Damn it. How is it you can see through what I'm doing even before I can?"
Mark gave him a pitying smile and patted him on the back. "You didn't realize? Really? You've barely touched that money since you got it — money that, I should add, the woman clearly wanted you to have — and now her brother shows up and you spend a small fortune in a week?"
"I didn't think... In my defense, he's going to be stuck in this bedroom for a long time." Josh's argument sounded beyond weak to his own ears.
"Josh."
Uh-oh. He hated it when Mark's voice turned calm and collected outside of work. It never bode well. "What?"
"You didn't do anything wrong. She liked you enough that she left you money in her will. What's wrong with that?"
Josh threw him a baleful glare. "Don't give me that. How would you feel if a terminal patient named you in their will after you were the one to treat them?"
"I'm a doctor." Mark used that as a shield sometimes. "The potential for abuse is different—"
"Is it? Is it really? I was with her every day for the last eight months of her life. I like to think I made those months much better than they would have been without me, but I didn't do it out of the kindness of my heart — I was offering a service." He walked further into Emery's bedroom if only so he could pace. "I got paid for that service. Obscenely well in her case."
"And she knew that," Mark retorted, trying to placate him.
"Does that mean I'm in the clear, then?" Josh hadn't realized how much he still agonized over it. It was as if Mark had opened the floodgates and now everything Josh had kept bottled up came flowing right out. "The first thing I tell people is that I'm not a doctor, or a nurse, or a shrink, or a priest, but sometimes I wonder if it wouldn't be better if I were. You have ethics commissions and review boards and whatever else to keep you honest. I answer to no one. If I don't keep myself accountable no one will. And that's supposed to make it better?"
"Josh." Mark stepped in front of him to keep him from pacing. "How many people have named you in their wills over time?"
"I don't know. A lot."
"And how many of those did you actually accept?"
Josh exhaled. He knew what Mark was hinting at, but it didn't make him feel any better. "Just Emma. Usually the families are more than relieved when I say I don't want to keep it. Emery had to go and be a stubborn ass about it. And it was a lot of money."
"So the one time you caved and accepted money was from someone who was of sound mind, was not easily manipulated, had no one in particular who would benefit from it, and with the enthusiastic agreement of her next-of-kin to boot. Who would have taken that money if you'd turned it down? Hall? At that point wouldn't that have been like bequeathing a grain of sand to someone who owned a desert?"
"I know all that, but... It doesn't mean it feels right. And she wanted to be able to take care of Emery if something happened to his firm. Being named an heir, it... Isn't it just wrong?"
Mark smiled. "If it were a common practice I'd be very concerned. But this isn't a general situation, this is you; I know you. I know you wouldn't have taken advantage of anyone. Didn't you say she was highly intelligent?"
"She was brilliant. Smartest person I've ever met by leaps and bounds, present company included." Josh found points of connection with each of his clients, and he always missed them once they were gone; he refused to work with anyone with whom he didn't click. Emma, though, she'd been different from the get-go. She'd left a far deeper mark. He missed her acerbic wit and lack of patience for fools something fierce sometimes, and he knew what she'd say of his moral conundrum.
"There you have it. A brilliant woman, of sound mind, with a millionaire for a brother and no other next-of-kin, decided to leave you her money. There's nothing to feel guilty about. Buying him everything you can carry just so you'll have less of what you think of as her money in your bank account isn't taking care of him, and it isn't what his sister would have wanted, I'm sure."
"I wish he'd just accept it back."
"Well, you're the one who knows him. What are the odds of that happening?"
"Slightly worse than the odds of Hell freezing over."
"Then work with what you have." Mark could make anything sound reasonable when he put his mind to it. "I'm not even mad you want to take care of the guy anymore, not after seeing his medical records. And clearly she'd have liked that, so let that be what appeases your overactive sense of righteousness. Use the money to take care of him, but don't throw it down the drain just because. And don't fall in love with the man again."
Josh looked away and said nothing, which turned out to be a mistake.
"Josh?" Mark waited until their eyes met. "Are you still in love with him?"