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"Did you wet the bed?" Abby whispered in his ear.

"Yes," replied Jake, his voice still very shaken.

"When you can get to your feet, go to the bathroom and change your clothes," she instructed him, noticing for the first time that he had worn his day clothes to bed. "Put the soiled ones outside the door, in the hall."

As Izumi worked at cleaning up the vomit on the floor, Jake struggled to his feet and did as he had been told. Abby removed the bed sheets and, together with Jake's wet clothes, placed them into the washing machine in the tiny room just off the kitchen.

Now that the screaming had subsided, Terry ventured back into the little yellow house and joined John, who was recovering in the kitchen.

"Thank you for never putting me through anything that bad," sighed John, gratefully.

"I'm sorry I wasn't any help," apologized Terry. "Did you have a really hard time with him?"

"I couldn't get near Jake, without him becoming worse," related John. "Abby was the one who calmed him down."

"I should have been there," said Terry, kicking himself for not being stronger. "I have an idea of what Jake's going through, and I could have spared Abby."

"Stop beating up on yourself," John assured his friend. "You would have had the same success as mine. You're a man, and apparently, Jake needed a woman. I'm so proud of our Abby. She did good."

When the cleanup on the bedroom floor was finished, Izumi joined the two men in the kitchen. John made room on his lap for her, and his wife readily accepted it. She leaned her head on John's shoulder and yawned. As the men talked, she drifted to sleep.

After getting dressed into dry clothes, Jake appeared from the bathroom and lingered at the bedroom door, while Abby cleaned the wet spot on his mattress.

"I can do that," he offered.

"No need," smiled Abby. "I'm almost finished. Are your nights always like this?"

"They're not usually this bad," replied Jake, looking awkwardly down the hall to where Abby's parents and Terry were waiting in the kitchen.

"There," she said, finishing the mattress, "all done."

Jake watched Abby as she remade his bed with clean sheets and made sure the room was in order.

"Your laundry is in the washing machine," said Abby, preparing to leave.

"Do you have to go?" Jake asked, wistfully.

"I have work tomorrow," replied Abby. "And I have to talk to my boss about getting you a job. Will you be all right by yourself?"

"I've made it this far," he shrugged.

"Okay then," said Abby, turning to go, "I'll see you when I see you."

Since Izumi had fallen asleep in John's arms, he gently carried her back to the house without waking her up. Terry and Abby followed, relieved that the night's ordeal was over.

The next morning, John found a spotless casserole dish on their front door step. Tucked inside the dish, was a sheet of drawing paper with a penciled sketch of a woman fly fishing.

"Look what I found when I was getting the morning paper," announced John, as he brought the dish into the kitchen.

Abby looked over her father's shoulder at the sketch.

"I didn't know Jake could draw!" she gasped in surprise.

"I think this was meant for you," said John, presenting Abby with the drawing.
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