Chapter 20
As Charlie steadily improved, Don decided it was time to end his leave of absence. He would at least put himself back on-call to his team, even if he didn't show up for work on a regular basis yet. The days developed a routine. He would bring donuts and coffee to the FBI office every morning, and have a breakfast meeting with Megan, David and Colby. Most of the time, Megan did not wear the wig she had made. She really meant it when she told Charlie she was enjoying being bald. Don knew one thing — the sight of her coming into an interrogation room sure threw suspects off their guard.
Around 10:00, he would head for the hospital. Sometimes he picked his father up first, and they went together. Charlie still couldn't spend much time away from his bed, so the visits were short — but frequent. Charlie began to understand that any time he woke up during the day, he would see someone through the window in the anteroom. Don, his dad, Larry, Amita, Megan, David, Colby — they all made the trip, sometimes together, sometimes separately. When he thought about it, he decided they had probably made another schedule, like when he first started chemo.
After seven days, Dr. Stevens declared the infection just that — an infection, and Charlie was taken off oxygen. Soon, he began to spend several hours a day in the chair by the window, sometimes working on his laptop, but usually, just thinking.
Two weeks after the bone marrow stem cell transplant, Dr. Stevens met Don at the anteroom door. "You're late," he said.
Don looked at his watch — 1:00 p.m. — and frowned. "I know," he said hurriedly, trying to get past the doctor to the window. "I wanted to be there when Megan and Colby brought in Carpenter…" he heard himself rambling, and stopped to look the doctor in the eye. "Why?"
Dr. Stevens smiled. "We did a blood count this morning," he said. "Charlie's bone marrow is producing white blood cells."
Don barely felt it as the doctor grabbed his arm and guided him back to a chair. "You okay? You Eppes guys pass out a lot."
Don looked up at him, stunned. "But it's only been two weeks," he began. "Charlie was so sick…"
"Yes, well, I've asked him to run the numbers on the odds of this whole thing," the doctor answered. "I'll put the results in the case file."
Don didn't even smile. He still couldn't believe this was happening, and he just looked at the doctor, who drew up another chair to sit down opposite him.
"It looks good, Don," he said gently. "Charlie's isolation will be lifted tomorrow, although he'll stay here for another week or two while his counts go up." He glanced up toward the window in Charlie's door. "At least, that's what I keep telling him."
"What do you mean?" Don asked, and he jumped from the chair to rush over to the window. He knew there was another shoe to drop, of course there had to be more bad news…and then he stopped. Charlie had on his headphones, his gym bag on top of the bed. He appeared to be packing.
NUMBERS NUMBERS NUMBERS NUMBERS NUMBERS
Charlie sat cross-legged on top of his hospital bed, playing chess with his father. He glanced at the clock.
Don laughed. "It's not going to work, Buddy. Can't go home until tomorrow."
"Check-mate," said his father. "You're really not concentrating. I'm not sure I've beaten you at chess since you were 7."
"I'm thinking of giving up my tenure at Cal Sci," Charlie said, nervously.
Don choked on the coffee he had been sipping. "What?"
"But you love teaching," Alan added. "It was only one chess game, son!"
Charlie smiled slightly. "I didn't say I'd give up teaching. I could continue there as an adjunct professor, teaching one or two classes per semester."
Don looked at his father, then down at the stain the choked coffee was making on his jeans. "Why would you do that?"
Charlie slowly got up off the bed and wandered over to the window. The sun was setting outside. "I've had a lot of time to think," he said quietly. "There are so many things I love to do…this would give me time to do more of them."
"Like what?" Alan asked, studying his still-too-thin son. "Eat, I hope?"
Charlie shot his father a withering glance, then looked back outside. "Very funny. This could actually expand my teaching, for one thing. I could do more guest lectures at other universities. Spend a lot more time on my own research." He looked at Don. "And consulting. I love consulting. I'll have to take my time getting back into everything, so it would probably only be locally, for you. At least for awhile."
The men were silent. "I'm not opposed to this, son," Alan finally said. "But are you sure you should be making big decisions right now? You've been through a lot. And Dr. Stevens says you're still very susceptible to complications for at least the next three months, and full recovery is at least two years away…"
"Well I'm not going to do nothing for two years, Dad," said Charlie sharply. Then he sighed, and walked over to the bed again. He sat on the edge and faced his father. "I'm sorry," he said gently. "I'm not making the decision right now. I have thought about it a lot, and I'll take the summer to think some more. I just wanted you to know what I'm considering."
Alan smiled, and reached out to touch his son's hand. "Thank you, Charlie. You know I'll support whatever you decide." He cleared his throat, and then continued. "Charlie? The letter you wrote…"
Charlie looked away uncomfortably. "I probably shouldn't have done that," he said. "It was a really bad night."
"No, no, son," said Alan, leaving his chair to sit on the edge of the bed with his son. "I just wanted to tell you that I'll treasure it always. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever read."
Charlie blushed, and, remembering the letter, Don felt his throat begin to close up. Determined to lighten the mood again, he addressed his brother. "So Charlie. Teaching, researching, consulting…is that all you're going to do?" He was surprised when Charlie's color deepened even more.
"Well, actually," his brother answered, not looking either of them in the eye, "I was kind-of hoping to take up dating."
