Don cleaned up the hallway, too, because he was a good tenant. Taking everything back to the closet, he glanced at the clock. 5:30. Had it only been half an hour? He washed his hands, then held a glass of cold water to his head. He walked past the bathroom — the shower was still running — , went to the bedroom and changed his clothes. It didn't help much. He tried to think. 5:30. A limo was supposed to pick up the three Eppes men at 4:00 p.m. at Charlie's house. That meant his dad would be in a panic by…probably by now. He had to get Charlie in bed, leave him there until about noon and then start pouring coffee in him.
He padded back to the bathroom. He didn't hear the water anymore, and he knocked on the door. "Charlie?"
"Mmmfphh."
"What?" No answer. He opened the door cautiously. Charlie sat on the floor, near the toilet. Don didn't have to guess why. His eyes were drawn again to his brother's leg. Blood was already seeping into the sweats. Don opened the medicine cabinet again and took out the first aid kit, then sat on the floor himself. He pulled the soft material up past Charlie's knee, and winced. "Do you know how you did this?"
"Stairway," mumbled Charlie.
Don looked at the cut on Charlie's shin. "Did you have to pull your leg out or something?"
"Don't remember. Don't feel good."
"All right, all right, just let me clean this up." Don gently cleaned the cut on Charlie's leg, as well as his two skinned knees, applied antibiotic cream and bandages, and finally tried to hand him some Tylenol. "You're gonna want this," he said.
Charlie pushed his hand away. "Not now," he groaned.
Don stood, knees protesting and creaking — like he was a 40-year-old man who had no business doing this kind of thing to them anymore — and managed to persuade Charlie up as well. He steered him into the bedroom and sat him down on the edge of the bed. "Didn't have time to change the sheets," he apologized, but Charlie had flopped down on the pillows as though he had no bones. Don tried to speak fast, before his brother fell asleep. "I'll call Dad," he said. "Tell him we'll be at the house around 1. He may come over here after us anyway," he warned. "He's pretty manic about this wedding."
Charlie rolled painfully over onto his stomach, clutching a pillow and talking into it. Don wasn't sure he heard him right. It sounded like Charlie said "no wedding. 'Mita's gone."
