Chapter 15

By late afternoon Cecile had convinced the Director of Nursing Services to go along with her plan, and had supervised Charlie's move from recovery into Don's room. There was just enough room between the beds for Alan's chair, and he sat, relieved, one hand on a part of each son, for exactly 19 minutes before he began to put his worries into words. "Shouldn't he be awake?"

Cecile was standing at the foot of Don's bed, watching his new floor nurse prepare the traction. Since Don was back in the general patient population and the crisis was over, Cecile was no longer acting as his nurse. She would, in fact, return to her regular schedule the next day, and was planning to leave soon, although she hated to go. She knew she needed to get some rest…but she was waiting until she was sure everybody was settled.

She left Don to his nurse — taking one last, quick glance at his sleeping face — and walked to the far side of Charlie's bed. She put a practiced hand to his forehead, then checked his respirations, and pulse. She leaned over the bed to adjust the pillows under his leg, which was encased in a nearly full-length brace, locking his knee at a slight angle that would be adjusted daily for a while, until he graduated to a different, more lightweight brace and began his physical therapy. When his doctor had told Alan that Charlie would begin PT within a week — and that was a slower schedule than usual, because of the infection — Alan had been stunned.

Cecile smiled at Alan. "He's fine. The doctor told you he's probably be out for the rest of the night."

Don began to stir as the traction process began, and Alan turned his attention to him. He patted Don's arm soothingly. "It's all right, Donnie."

Don turned his head carefully toward his father's voice. Too much head movement, and the room still spinned. Presently, he opened his eyes. He grinned a little. "Shark's back."

"Would you like…", his nurse began, but he cut her off.

"No. I'm fine. No more morphine. Ever."

She shook her head and headed for the door, calling over her shoulder. "I'll be back in 11 minutes!"

As she left the room, Don let his gaze seek out Charlie in the bed a few feet away. He looked again at his father. "Awake?"

Alan shook his head. "Not yet. Cecile says that he's fine, though."

Don moved his head again and saw Cecile on the other side of the bed. He smiled dreamily. "You're still here…"

She smiled back. "I wanted to say 'good-night' before I left. I've been waiting for you to wake up."

Alan watched his son watch Cecile, glanced quickly at Charlie, then stood from his chair and stretched. "I'm going for some coffee," he said, and was out the door before they could protest — although he noticed that neither one of them did. Alan walked slowly down the corridor, rubbing the back of his neck. Well, he mused, smiling, Donnie won't take any more morphine…maybe Cecile can help him concentrate on something besides the traction for awhile…

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Having been kept from both sons for over three days, Alan would entertain no discussions of his leaving, and he slept in the chair between their beds. Don would never admit it, but the sound of his father's snoring actually helped him sleep, and made the transition from Morphine to Demoral a little easier.

When Charlie began to stir around 4 a.m., Alan jerked awake. He stood so he could get a good look at Charlie's face. From the side, all he saw was the tape on his nose. Both of Charlie's eyes were black and swollen, but they cracked open, and focused on his father. His mouth started to work, but no sound came out, and he swallowed painfully. Alan noticed and offered him a sip of water.

Charlie automatically drank when the straw was placed in his mouth, and his eyes opened a little farther. Alan replaced the water on the rolling table and smoothed Charlie's curls from his forehead. He was relieved that although warmer than he should be, Charlie wasn't burning up. He spoke quietly, so he wouldn't disturb Don. "How are you feeling, son?"

Charlie blinked a few times, seemed to turn and see Don, then looked back at his father. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Alan frowned. "Sorry? This wasn't your fault, Charlie."

Charlie started to shake his head, and closed his eyes again. "You're not real," he said, "I know neither of you are really here. I wish I could tell you…"

Alan leaned over the bed rail a little. He put a hand on Charlie's arm, above the bandage on the wrist, and gently squeezed. "We're real, son, we're here…" To his dismay he saw one large tear squeeze out of Charlie's closed eye and run lazily down his cheek, until Alan caught it with his other hand.

"No…", Charlie was insisting. "I had to. I'm sorry. There was no time…and…and Merrick was going to kill you next…like…like…her…" His eyes opened again, wide this time, and he looked pleadingly at Alan. "I didn't want to leave, Dad, but I had to do something to…to save you…and Don. Larry."

Alan's moved his hand and placed it lightly over the bandage on Charlie's wrist. Even through it he could feel his son's pulse increasing. "Shh…son, it's all right…"

Charlie feebly raised the wrist his father wasn't holding a few inches, then dropped it to the bed again. "I used the metal," he said, closing his eyes again. "I knew when I was dead, he wouldn't have…any reason to go after you anymore…I'm sorry…I'm sorry…" His voice began to fade as he drifted toward sleep again. "I wish I wasn't dead…"

Alan felt his knees suddenly give out, and was glad the chair was right behind him. He sat down hard, still watching Charlie for a few moments. Then he lowered his face to his hands. What had Charlie done? What had Merrick driven Charlie to do? He rocked back and forth in the chair, hands still in his face, trying not to scream out his rage. When he was calmer, he lifted his face again, sighed and settled back in the chair. He turned his head to check on Don, and, startled, looked directly into his eyes, which were brimming with tears. Don's hand stretched out toward him, and Alan snaked his own hand through the rail and took it.

The two sat, silently. There was nothing to say. Anything at all would somehow dilute the enormity of Charlie's sacrifice.

So Alan sat, and Don lay, and they held hands, and waited for the sun to come up.