Chapter 5
It was after 3 in the morning before Dr. Reynolds appeared in the waiting room. Alan had come back about half-an-hour after he left. He didn't seem specifically angry at Don, anymore, but he was still distraught, and he was internalizing his anguish. It sometimes made Don laugh, how much alike his Dad and Charlie were in that regard. They both hated it when the other one would enter a funk and refuse to talk about something — but they both did it. It sometimes amused Don — but not tonight. Nothing was funny tonight.
The two Eppes men rose when the weary doctor entered the room. Too tired to be polite, Dr. Reynolds simply sank down in the closest chair he found, so Don and Alan sat down again as well.
The doctor smiled grimly. "I'm not going to sugar-coat this," he said. "That was grim…the size of Charlie's largest ulcer and the damage caused by the perforation was extensive. We were able to repair the stomach, but it's about two-thirds the size it should be, now. It's absolutely vital that we control his remaining ulcers."
"Were…" Don's voice sounded odd in his own ears and he cleared his throat. "Were you able to do it laproscopically?"
The doctor shrugged. "Not exactly. But it's not a full conventional opening, either. Sort-of something in-between. We tried to be as minimally invasive as possible."
"How is he? Can I see him?"
"He's in recovery, Mr. Eppes, and he'll be there for at least a few hours. He's already had four units of blood, and we have more in back-up if he fails to rally tomorrow. He's receiving a saline solution, an antibiotic 'cocktail' of three different antibiotics, intraveneous morphine for the next 12 to 24 hours or so. Then we'll try to switch him to Demerol. The more rest he can get, the better. Why don't you go home and get some rest yourselves…"
Both men shook their heads, and the doctor sighed. "Look, I almost got kicked out of my residency because I lacked bedside manner, so I'll just apologize right now for my abruptness. But the fact is that you guys will do Charlie more harm than good if you stay here tonight and insist on seeing him. He's gravely ill, but he pulled through the surgery and is in no immediate danger. If your concern is for him, it's safe — even best — to go home for a few hours. If your concern is for making yourselves feel better, than by all means, wait around until he's out of recovery."
Alan made a small noise and Don started to stand. "Almost kicked out of your residency? I want to talk to the asshole who didn't kick you out when he should have!" He felt his father's arm pulling him down.
"Donnie, Donnie, he's right…"
Don sat down again and looked at his father. "But…"
Alan cupped Don's cheek. "I'm sorry, son. For everything. We have to do what's best for Charlie, now." Alan dropped his hand and looked at the doctor. "I'm sure the hospital will contact us if there's a change?"
Dr. Reynolds nodded. "Absolutely. And please understand, I know how badly you need to see him. I'm just asking you to wait a few hours." He looked at his watch. "It's 3:30 now. Come back at 10. Charlie should be settled in his own room by then."
Alan looked at his hands in his lap, holding each other. He stared at them for a moment, trying to figure out what was wrong with that picture, and then a light went off in his head and a barb was thrust into his heart. He shouldn't be holding his own hands.
He should be holding one of Don's.
Almost afraid of Don's reaction, he snuck one hand towards his son, closed his eyes and let his fingers move on automatic pilot. When they touched the warm skin on Don's hand, resting on his leg, Alan opened his eyes again and looked at him. "I…"
Don quickly moved to grasp his father's hand between both of his. "It's all right." He squeezed Alan's hand tighter, and Alan squeezed back. Don spoke again. "It's gonna be all right, Dad."
The two sat and held hands for awhile. Alan let the comfort of his son's touch travel up his arm and spill over his heart, and Dr. Reynolds knew that he had reached the point of no return in his tiredness when he could have sworn he saw a splash of light come off them.
Don gave his Dad's hand a shake and Alan looked at him again to see a small grin. Don stood and pulled Alan to his feet. "Come on, old man. I'll give you a ride home if you let me sleep in my old room."
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Charlie watched the Ring Master, waiting for him to call the elephants to the center ring. If he would call for the elephants, then the one sitting on his chest would have to leave.
A man selling cotton candy filtered past his line of sight, and Charlie looked further into the crowd to find one selling peanuts. If he could buy some peanuts, he could throw them away from himself, and maybe the elephant would leave then to go after them.
His eye was drawn back to the cotton candy. It looked like strawberry ice cream on a stick. Maybe he should buy some of that. He didn't just want to eat a little, feel it melting down his burning throat, he wanted to lie in it. He was sure it was soft, and cold, and he was sore, and hot. It would feel good to lie in ice cream.
He looked around for his mother. She would never send him to the circus alone — she knew the clowns scared him, a little. But he couldn't find her, and when he looked back at the man selling cotton candy, he was getting closer, and had turned into a clown. His face was an unnatural white, his bright red mouth unnaturally large, his hair unnaturally wild around his head and a neon shade of yellow that hurt Charlie's eyes and reminded him that he had a headache. He wanted to run, but the weight of the elephant held him down. Why had mama left him here alone?
He began to whimper a little as he continued to search for her. He wanted to be brave, like his brother Donnie, wanted to be a big boy, but this was all wrong. It was too much. Without thinking about it he knew that there had been 317 faces he had looked at, and none of them belonged to his mother. 1,225 colorful pennant flags hung from a rope strung around the top perimeter of the circus tent. A second clown, this one selling peanuts, appeared behind the first and dropped the bag he was extending toward Charlie. 37 dry roasted peanuts — in the shell — spilled onto the hard-packed dirt beneath his feet, and when Charlie looked at them he saw a line of 23 ants marching by.
He had to stop counting — it was making his head hurt worse — but he couldn't. He wasn't doing it on purpose. The elephant shifted its weight a little but still wouldn't get off his chest. It seemed to be leaning back, as if he were a lounge chair, and its broad gray back blocked his vision a little. He would never find his mother now. He would never get out from under this elephant, and he was hot. He was hot. He wanted his mother. He was hot, and the elephant was hurting him and the clown was leaning over, leering at him, trying to touch him…
Charlie wondered what it would take for him to die.
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"Mmmmm…"
Don looked up quickly from the morning newspaper in his lap, at Charlie's face, didn't see anything new and looked across the bed at his father. "Did you just hear something? Or say something yourself?"
Alan dropped his section of the paper on the floor, almost spilling the coffee cup sitting there already. "I thought that was you!", he said, and pushed himself quickly out of the chair to approach the head of Charlie's bed. Don was soon at the other side.
"Charlie…Buddy…you awake?"
"Mmmmmm…" The eyes stayed closed, but the sound was definitely louder, and definitely coming from Charlie. Don smiled in relief.
"Son, wake up." Alan was talking now. "It's all right, Charlie. Donnie and I are here."
Don could see movement behind the eyelids. "Can't…" A word, barely, escaped Charlie. It sounded like it hurt to talk, and Don thought about giving him some ice chips, but decided he wasn't awake enough yet.
"Yes, you can, Charlie. Come on. It's okay to wake up now."
"Clown. Hot."
Alan's eyes met Don's in a question. Clown? He straightened from his leaning position over the bed. Well, at least he could deal with hot.
Alan stepped into the bathroom and soaked a washcloth with the coldest water he could, then came quickly back to the bed and began to bathe Charlie's face. He frowned. Charlie was hot. Very hot.
Charlie leaned into the coolness. "Find Mama," he mumbled. A wince of pain crossed his features, his eyes almost opened and he seemed to be trying to move. "Clown", he said again, and Don could hear the fear in his voice.
He remembered, then, a birthday party for a cousin the two of them had gone to, before Charlie was even old enough for school. There had been a clown, and Charlie had hidden under the dining room table for hours. "Charlie, it's okay. The clown is gone. You can come out now."
Alan glanced at Don and then back at Charlie, saw his eyelids flutter a little. Charlie tried to take a deeper breath, but grimaced and it turned into a groan. He sought out the cool washcloth again. "Forgot his elephant," he whispered.