Chapter 9
Charlie had slept solidly for two hours, and Cecile was back three times while he was out. He never even stirred when she would check his temperature, and the third time, instead of watching silently from the chair, Don stood and walked to the other side of the bed, so he could face her. He crossed his arms. "Is there a problem?" Alan had left a few minutes earlier to run down to the cafeteria and bring them back some lunch, and Don figured this was as good a time as any.
She tore her eyes away from the digital readout on the thermometer and looked at him, smiled a little grimly. "The fever is climbing rather quickly. I've notified Dr. Reynolds."
"What is it?"
She pocketed the instrument. "103."
Don just looked at her. Maybe Charlie was the math genius, but even he knew that a degree up every hour wasn't good.
She turned for the door. "I'm getting his next dose of Demerol. It's a few minutes early, but the fewer resources he spends fighting pain, the more he'll have left to fight the infection."
Don nodded his thanks and continued to stand over the bed. He must have stared too hard at Charlie and awakened him, because pretty soon his brother moved a little. His hands worked on top of the sheet and he cracked glassy eyes open.
Don reached for the cup of water on the bedside table and offered Charlie a drink. Charlie sipped weakly at the straw for a moment, then let his head fall back on the pillow. "Thanks." He sounded exhausted.
Don replaced the glass and leaned over the rail. "You okay, Buddy?"
Charlie started to nod his head and stopped when Don put a hand on his arm. He looked first at the hand, then into Don's face. "Truth, Charlie. New family policy."
Charlie blinked at him. "I'm a little cold," he finally said.
Don nodded and started to massage his brother's arm. "Anything else?"
Charlie swallowed and closed his eyes. "My stomach hurts."
"Inside or out? I mean, is it a 'I'm going to lose my orange gelatin all over the bed' hurt, or a sore incision hurt?"
Charlie turned a little green and Don had his answer. He looked around for the emesis basin, spotted it, then looked back at Charlie. "Cecile is getting you some Demerol right now. You'll feel better soon."
Charlie sighed. "Is there a…never mind…"
Don frowned. "What? Is there a what?"
Charlie opened his eyes again. "Blanket. I was going to ask for a blanket. But I'm hot, now."
Cecile bustled back through the doorway, bearing a syringe and a small plastic bag that she piggybacked onto Charlie's IV. Then she began to inject the contents of the syringe into the IV port. She smiled at Charlie while she did it. "Dr. Reynolds called. He's ordered a new antibiotic. That's what's in the bag I just hung."
Don nodded toward the syringe. "Demerol?"
She nodded. "Right." She pulled out the syringe and walked to the far wall to place the needle in the sharps container. She came back to the bed and touched Charlie's wrist, regarding her watch for a few seconds. Soon she lowered her watch hand, but instead of removing the fingers of her other hand from Charlie's, she let them circle his lower arm. "Are you upset, Charlie? Your pulse is pretty rapid."
He closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at either of them. They were both sliding out of focus, anyway. "I just don't feel good," he mumbled.
She stood for a second and seemed to be considering. Then she looked at Don. "I'll be right back. I think I have something in my locker."
After she left, Don started to wander away from the bed, but heard a low moan come from Charlie, so he went back. "Charlie?"
His brother kept his eyes closed. "Spinning," he whispered.
Don decided to stand within reach of the emesis basin. Within minutes Cecile was back, carrying an ipod. She reached to settle the earphones over Charlie's ears and he opened his eyes again, startled.
"You can borrow this for awhile," she explained. "I've got it on my 'I really feel like crap today' playlist. Jim Brickman, John Tesh, Kenny G…or do you hate that kind of music as if it was green gelatin?"
Despite turning a little green again himself at the mention of gelatin, Charlie smiled and shook his head. "This is nice," he said softly, and his eyes closed. "Thank you."
Cecile smiled at Don, who smiled back and decided that maybe his father was right about this one. She glanced at her watch again. "I'm going on my lunch break," she said, "but just call the nurses' station if you need anything." She started for the door and checked her watch again. "Andrew is going to kill me. I'm late again." Don watched her leave and hung his head.
Andrew. Just his luck.
He stood over the bed until he heard Charlie's breathing even out, and was headed for a chair again when the door opened and his father walked in carrying a bag and two coffee cups. Don rolled the table in between the two chairs and helped his father set things down.
Alan saw the ipod, and also Charlie's flush. He looked at Don in concern. "Did something happen?"
Don thought about not telling him, but stopped himself as soon as he realized what he was thinking. He had told Charlie the truth. He wanted honesty to be a new family policy. He sat down and opened the bag, took out a sandwich. "His fever is climbing, again. Dr. Reynolds ordered a new antibiotic — up to four, now — and Cecile gave him some Demerol and loaned him her ipod. He just fell asleep, again."
Alan wandered over to the bed and stood over his son, put his hand out as if to touch him and drew it back again. He didn't want to wake him. He stood there for a moment, then thought 'the hell with it', and reached out his hand again. He smoothed some curls off Charlie's forehead. Then he wandered back to the sandwiches, sat down and looked at the one Don had left him.
He really wasn't all that hungry, anymore.
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The furnace was on the fritz, again. It must be stuck in the 'on' position. The house was unbearably hot. It got hotter the closer Charlie got to the furnace, he noticed as he descended the basement stairs. He removed the front panel so that he could hit the reset button, but was shocked to see that Jim Brickman was sitting in the furnace, playing a piano. Charlie couldn't figure out how he had gotten in there, or how he could stand being that close to the heat. He was sweating just standing here on the outside. He was sure the heat was affecting the instrument, because the music didn't sound right. The piano looked expensive, and Charlie found himself feeling sorry for it. The discordant notes were starting to hurt his head, and he leaned the panel against the wall so that he could put his hands over his ears.
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Don was leaning back in the chair, his feet up on the end of Charlie's bed, and he saw his brother toss his head on the pillow and reach in his sleep for the headphones of the ipod, so he managed to lean forward and catch it as Charlie threw it off.
"Stop it," his brother mumbled, and Don checked his face again to make sure that he was asleep.
"Uh-oh," grunted Alan, standing from his chair and heading for the bathroom. "We put that basin of cool water away too soon."
Don placed the ipod on the table and stood, leaned over the bed rail again. He watched Charlie silently, watched his father silently when he came back with the basin of water and set it down, and drew out the washcloth to start bathing Charlie's face. Charlie turned away from it. "Piano's on fire," he said into the pillow. "Call 9-1-1."