Chapter 288: Pinkman's Relationship Trouble
"Does Skyler know about the test results?" Frank asked.
"We went together," Walter replied. "But Skyler still has hope. She insisted on doing a full PET scan and a bunch of other tests."
"The detailed results will take a while," Walter added. "The doctors will explain everything later."
"So that means… there's still hope," Frank said.
"I don't really have much hope left," Walter said calmly. "I've already prepared myself. After I'm gone… I'll have to trouble you to look after my family. Little Walt has always been close to you."
"Don't worry," Frank said firmly. "I won't let your family suffer. I'll find a way to pass on the money that belongs to you to Skyler—and I'll try my best to make sure they never learn what you did."
"Thank you," Walter said, taking a sip of his drink.
"By the way," Frank added, "Skyler's due date is coming up soon. At the very least, you should be able to see your daughter born."
"I hope so," Walter murmured, watching the insects fluttering around the streetlight.
---
Frank didn't head back to Chicago right away.
Transporting Peggy's body from New Mexico to Chicago wasn't a simple matter. Arrangements had to be made on both ends—contacting hospitals, handling paperwork, and coordinating logistics.
While Frank was on the phone, dealing with these matters, Pinkman suddenly came home in a foul mood.
Bang!
Pinkman slammed the door shut, hard enough to make it sound like he was trying to knock it off its hinges.
"What's wrong with you?" Frank asked, hanging up the phone and turning toward him.
"Nothing," Pinkman muttered.
He collapsed onto the couch, pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and started smoking. His leg bounced nonstop—he looked anything but fine.
"What actually happened?" Frank pressed.
"I already said it's nothing," Pinkman snapped, irritation creeping into his voice.
"..."
Frank just stared at him.
"…Jane's dad showed up," Pinkman finally said after a long pause.
Jane was the landlady's daughter.
Someone had died in the house. No matter how busy he was, the landlord had to come take a look—after all, a death on the premises could seriously affect property value. If it had been a violent death, it would've been even worse.
Fortunately, Peggy was nearly eighty and in the late stages of cancer. Frank had paid some money, and no detailed examination was done. It was recorded as a natural death.
The landlord found it a bit unlucky, but he didn't make a fuss. The dead deserved respect. He didn't say anything unpleasant, nor did he try to kick Frank or Pinkman out.
"I know," Frank said. "And then?"
From Frank's perspective, Pinkman had basically just met his future father-in-law a bit early.
Frank had met the landlord himself—a gentle-looking middle-aged man. They'd exchanged a few polite words.
He was easy to talk to, clearly a decent, upright guy. From what Frank gathered, he was a pilot—someone who flew planes—constantly traveling, always busy. That was why Jane usually handled matters related to the house.
Pinkman, however, was clearly bothered by something much deeper.
Although their conversation hadn't lasted long, Frank—himself a father—could clearly sense the landlord's deep care for his daughter.
"When her dad was there, Jane treated me like a complete stranger," Pinkman said bitterly.
Pinkman had believed that he and the landlady's daughter were officially together—proper boyfriend and girlfriend.
Since he'd met her father, shouldn't she have introduced him? Something like, "Dad, this is my boyfriend."
Instead, in front of her father, she'd acted distant and cold toward him—almost unfamiliar—and even urged him to leave. Pinkman simply couldn't accept that.
As mentioned before, Pinkman was deep in the throes of infatuation. And when you're in that stage, you're extremely sensitive to things like this.
So he stewed in silent anger.
Knock, knock, knock.
Just as Frank and Pinkman were talking, there was a knock at the door.
Frank went to open it. Standing outside was the landlady's daughter.
"Is Jesse home?" she asked.
"He's inside," Frank said, stepping aside to let her in.
"Hey," she said casually, as if nothing had happened. "Wanna go see a movie later?"
She directed the question to Pinkman on the couch.
"What was that about earlier—when your dad came?" Pinkman couldn't hold it in anymore.
"Oh, that? Nothing," she said lightly. "I was actually doing you a favor."
"A favor?" Pinkman straightened up.
"I told you—my dad's a scary guy. I was protecting you. Letting you smoke freely in the house like that? Normally, that'd never be allowed."
"The less my dad knows about you, the better things are for you," she said matter-of-factly.
"You acted like you didn't even know me," Pinkman said, frowning. "You shouldn't have—"
"What was I supposed to say?" she cut in.
'Hey Dad, this is the junkie who lives next door. Oh, and by the way, we sleep together all the time?'"
"I'm not a junkie," Pinkman protested.
"Oh, come on," she laughed. "Look at you—your state, your vibe. Anyone can tell. My dad would never support us being together."
"I've quit," Pinkman said, his brow tightening.
"Sure," she shrugged. "Let's say you have. Even then, if I told my dad we were together, he'd force us to break up—and probably kick you guys out."
"By the way," she added, puzzled, "why do you even care so much about my dad?"
"I don't," Pinkman denied instantly.
"Great," she said coolly. "If you don't care, then why are we even having this conversation?"
She picked up the cigarette pack on the table and pulled one out.
"What I'm asking is—what are we?" Pinkman stood up, voice tight. "You and me. What is this?"
"What is it?" She lit her cigarette. "It's exactly what it is."
"…I need some air."
Pinkman took a deep breath, grabbed his jacket, and stormed out.
Her stance was clear now.
She and Pinkman were just fooling around. They weren't in a relationship at all.
What they had was no different from what Lip and Karen once had.
And clearly, Pinkman couldn't accept that.
Watching it all unfold, Frank couldn't help but sigh—Peggy really had been spot-on about people.
Pinkman left. The landlady's daughter, not particularly close to Frank and with nothing more to say, soon left as well.
It wasn't until night fell that Pinkman finally came back—reeking of cigarettes and alcohol.
"Try to look at it differently," Frank said, patting Pinkman on the shoulder as he lit up a cigarette alongside him.
"Do I really look that much like a junkie?" Pinkman asked quietly.
"Have you looked in a mirror lately?" Frank shot back.
"..."
Pinkman lowered his head and smoked in silence.
"You used for too many years," Frank said calmly.
"Even though you've quit successfully, the habits—the way you carry yourself—haven't changed yet. They're ingrained."