That evening, after Charlie was awake and lucid again, Don told the story for the third time. Alan, who'd already heard the unbelievable tale once that day, listened quietly and without interrupting, hoping to catch something he'd missed the first time around.
"So," Don looked carefully at Charlie, "Colby was under the whole time, for the DOD. They pulled rank on us and closed down the investigation. Merrick fired Granger." He glanced ruefully at his skinned knuckles. "Although he told me this afternoon that he may have fired the wrong guy."
Alan made a clucking noise of distress and Don looked over at him. "He wasn't serious, Dad. Colby crossed the line, here. He crossed it when he held a loaded gun to your head, when he hurt Charlie. He crossed it again when he showed up at the hospital. He had to know Charlie wouldn't have the whole story, yet, he had to know the kid was going to freak out. Merrick just suspended me to appease the DOD. It's only five days, and it's with pay … plus, I have to go back to the shrink."
Charlie let out a breath. "Poor Colby."
Don looked at him. "What?"
"I'm just saying, he lost a lot himself. All those old friends. All his new friends. His job." He was silent for a while. Then, "Do you know why he came to the hospital?"
Don couldn't believe his brother felt sorry for Colby. "He's … well, he's leaving town. He said he wanted to apologize."
"You broke his nose?"
Don nodded. "And his jaw. Look, I didn't know why he was here. I came in and he had his hands on you, and you were struggling. To be honest, I'm not sure it would have mattered if I had known. The guy pissed me off."
Alan finally spoke. "You do have anger issues."
Charlie shifted his broken wrist on its pillow. " 'The kid was going to freak out'?"
Don grinned at him. "Yeah. That's what I said."
"I did not freak …" Charlie flickered his eyes from Don to his father, back again. "Okay. So maybe I freaked out. But I am not a kid."
"Always will be in this group," countered Don.
Charlie sighed. "I never got a turkey sandwich."
"Tomorrow," his brother promised. "Apparently I have a few more days off. We can have lunch tomorrow."
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Over the next several days, Charlie continued to improve. He poured over the brochures from spinal cord injury rehab facilities, as well as recovery information downloaded for him by Larry. He talked extensively with the physicians and therapists at the hospital.
While Don was glad to see Charlie taking an active role in his recovery, there were still times when he couldn't get his brother to talk, when he found him staring at the wall, or pretending to sleep. He tried to accept those times, and give Charlie the space he needed to accept what had happened to him.
Once, after Don had finally returned to work, he came by the hospital one evening while Larry was visiting. He could see lines of fatigue around Charlie's eyes, and wondered how long his friend had been there.
"Hey, Larry."
"Don! It's good to see you. I've told Charles that I'm surprised we've managed to miss each other these last 8 days. I would, of course, be happy to offer you assistance, should you come across a case for which you would usually consult Charles."
"Thanks, Larry. I'll keep that in mind."
Larry began to gather himself together. "I don't want to tire you, Charles. I'm sure you'd enjoy some time with your brother." Larry stood, offering Don his chair. "Oh! Yes, I intended to inform you, Charles. I spoke with Amita, today. She inquired as to your progress, and asked that I advise you of her intention to telephone, soon."
Charlie, now blessedly free of the IV, lifted his hand to rub his temple. "I guess it's a good thing she went to Boston. It's not like I'd be of much use to her now."
Don was shocked by Charlie's words, as well as the dejected tone of voice, and he could see that even Larry was nonplussed. Not that he let that stop him.
"Nonsense, Charles. This is simply a roadblock, a hurdle, if you will. If your paralysis had proven to be permanent, it wouldn't matter to those of us who love you. It is not your legs alone that draw us to you, young friend."
"Larry's right," Don added, and Charlie nodded his head a little.
"I'm sorry. I'm just a little tired tonight. I had my first PT this afternoon. I guess it took a lot out of me."
Larry raised a hand to his mouth. "Oh, dear. And here I've stayed too long, and made it worse."
Charlie smiled a little at his friend's distress. "It's okay, Larry. You weren't here that long."
"Nevertheless, I will take my leave at this instant. Rest well, Charles. I have a faculty meeting tomorrow evening, but please telephone if you require something before I return in a few days."
Don walked Larry to the door, assuring him that he would call if he needed his help on a case, then crossed back to the chair by Charlie's bed. Charlie was resting his head on the pillow, and his eyes were closed. Don sat quietly. "Hey. What's really wrong? Amita hasn't even called you?"
Charlie remained in position. "It's not that," he said. "Well … not entirely. I still have regrets about Amita, about not moving soon enough. So it is that. And PT. It's just … disconcerting. Being faced with all I can't do. Ten days ago, the weather was great. I rode my bike to school. Ten days ago. A lifetime ago."
His voice was fading, and Don knew he really was tired, but he couldn't let him sleep yet. "Buddy, you're going to get through this. If anybody can do it, you can. I know you. You've got it in you, Charlie."
Charlie smiled a little, eyes still closed. He yawned. "Thanks, Do…"
He was asleep before he finished the sentence.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Alan peered into the hydrotherapy room. "After all those torture devices we saw in physical therapy, I can imagine that this would feel pretty good at the end of a long day."
The admitting clerk laughed. "We do get a lot more cooperation in this room. But all of our residents work hard at PT; they all want to go home as soon as possible. I'm sure your son won't be any different."
Alan leaned over and stuck his fingertips in the water. "That's warm!"
"It's kept at the optimal temperature for muscle relaxation, and it is warmer than your average backyard pool. The residents don't just lounge around like it's a hot tub, though. There's hard work in here, too."
Alan straightened and looked at Don. "A hot tub. Maybe we should get a hot tub for when Charlie comes home."
Don smiled. His father seemed to be accepting the idea of a rehab facility a little more. "If you get a hot tub, I may have to move back home."
The clerk indicated the corridor, smiling, and they moved back into it. "You can talk to his case manager and therapists about that. It's not an uncommon recommendation." She led the way back past several PT rooms and into another section of the building. "This is our residential wing," she said. "Residents are allowed televisions in their rooms, but many find it easier to come here to the rec room. It's a social outlet. We also have a pool table, as you can see, and many other activities are available."
"The table is so low," Alan started, and then reddened. "Wheelchair height."
"That's right. There's also a small library down the hall. Some computers are available there. We have internet service in that room, although I'm afraid we don't have direct access in each living unit yet …"
They continued walking until she paused at another door. "This is a typical living suite. This one happens to be empty right now, but we have a resident scheduled to arrive this afternoon, and another in the morning."
She led the way inside. Walking beside his father, Don felt Alan stiffen. "Charlie would have to share a room?" He looked at Don. "I'm not sure he'd do well with that. You boys only shared a room when we were on vacation, and he never even had a college roommate…"
"We do have two-bed living areas, but both beds aren't always occupied. Residents rarely come in at the same time, or share the same length of stay. It wouldn't be strange for the other bed to be empty at least part of the time your son is here. And remember, residents really spend very little time here. Physical, hydro and occupational therapy take up most of the day, and there are often additional sessions in the evening, if staff and resident feel it can be tolerated."
"You know Charlie, Dad." Don tried to reassure Alan. "He'll work harder than anyone wants him to. If they don't schedule him for an evening session, he'll find a way to talk them into it." He looked around the room again. "Besides, it'll do him good to have a roommate." He caught his father's look and shrugged. "Briefly."
Alan ignored him, and turned to the clerk. "I haven't noticed any sort of communal dining room."
"No, there isn't one. We find that lends to an institutional, permanent feel that we'd rather not foster. Meals are served in a resident's living area. Many then choose to eat elsewhere. There's a nice garden in back, for instance. We don't use a planned menu, either. Residents order their meals, much as you would at any restaurant." She smiled. "Just a little further in advance."
The three began to walk back toward the admitting office. Alan asked another question. "You use the word 'resident', instead of patient?"
"Yes…although policy tends to change on that. On the one hand, we want the people who come here to feel like it's their home for the time they are with us. On the other, 'patient' has a more temporary feel to it, and we also like them to know that it's everyone's goal for them to go home."
"Does everyone?"
She shook her head. "Some are transferred to other, long-term facilities. But over 80 percent learn the daily living skills they'll need here to return to an independent life. We have a very high transition rate."
They entered the clerk's office and she indicated chairs for them, then removed a sheet of paper from the fax as she passed on the way to her own chair behind the desk. "Ah. Dr. Reston estimates that Charlie will transferred in three days…that's…" She looked at a file. "Twelve days after his surgery. That's excellent. I can see that you're right, he's a hard worker."
She turned a file around to face Alan. "These are his admittance papers. You can help him fill these out — I understand his wrist is broken also — and fax them to us, as soon as possible."
Alan reached out for the papers, and both Don and the clerk noticed that his hand was shaking. She reached out to lay her own hand gently on top of his. "I understand how difficult this has all been. But coming here is an important transitional step. You told me he's done the research. Trust your son. Let him tell you what he needs, right now."
Alan sighed and looked at Don. "I've always trusted both of my sons." He took the papers in a now-steady hand, smiled at them both. "I'm sure Charlie knows what he's doing."