Chapter Thirteen: Canon in D
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A blanket had been placed over him. No idea when. While sick, Charlie missed a lot going on around him. It was disconcerting. He pushed the covers away. Finally, feeling somewhat better, in daylight.
In retrospect, he appraised the broken window—maybe he'd overreacted. Someone had busted it deliberately, but Reylott? How about a delinquent kid looking for easy cash or a person who mistook their house for someone else's? And the scratches on the lock...theycould've been there previously. All possible scenarios which, at this point, could not be brought to a conclusion. Yet, if he continued to turn himself inside-out, speculating each time something out of the ordinary occurred, he was going to find himself in a private, locked room considerably more frightening than his own bedroom was at present. Somehow, however, he didn't seem able to control those reactions or predict when they'd happen.
It'll be over someday—Dad promised. If Don can get it together, I can, too. Work at it.
Charlie sensed his fever had diminished, but it persisted. Food. He might be amenable to an iota of sustenance. After morning ablutions, he tested his temp around 102 and found Alan in his own bedroom, tidying up.
"Don gone?" Charlie said.
"Yup, bright and early." Alan dusted his wife's photo with a cloth. "He didn't want to wake you."
"No, I guess he wouldn't." He found comfort in the fact that Don had delayed his mission longer than he'd intended in order to talk with him. That's respect. But there'd been no apology for the other day, about being a scaredy-cat. Let it go. Megan's assessments of human nature are often right. Don's projecting onto me; try not to take it personally.
And Don says he's got to act alone.
Alan said, "You're looking less droopy."
"Droopy? Down a degree. I feel like I've been run over by a freight car."
"Don't rush yourself."
While his father fetched him a bite to eat, Charlie showered, imbibed his meds and crawled back into bed.
Alan brought the snack. "Your room's still off-limits, I see."
"Ignore it."
"You know, Donny had a bad reaction from early on." Alan gave Charlie the plate. "When we retrieved his car from the ski lodge. Wasn't but a few days since he'd been in the hospital. I think being back where it happened set him off. He got very quiet, with this heavy look on his face, didn't hear me when I asked what was wrong. To me, it was just a parking lot. To him, it was where it all started."
"I wanted to go with him today."
"I know. I'm worried he's up there by himself." Alan eyed a paper on the dresser and picked it up. "And you and your guns."
"I don't have a gun, Dad, Don has the gun."
"Why didn't you tell me before it came to this?"
"Say I was seeing things? Dr. Charles Edward Eppes doesn't see things that aren't there unless he intends to."
Downstairs, the doorbell rang. "Probably Mrs. Lenns," Alan said, going to answer it. "Cup of sugar, or eggs, or lemon…"
Mrs. Lenns would mostly like a cup of Alan, Charlie presumed, to console her in widowhood. Shortly, he'd finished his snack when Alan reappeared and asked permission for Jacobi to come up. He declined initially, realizing he was getting drowsy, then decided it would be fine to see her cheerful eyes. Alan told him he'd be out for groceries while she visited and Charlie kidded, asking, Do you trust me?
Alan said, of course, you're my son. Charlie was sure it was meant as a compliment. He and Don had been raised to be gentlemen.
While waiting—he could hear Jacobi chatting with his father at the bottom of the stairs—he put on his robe and tamed his hair as best he could, carefully arranging himself on the pillows for the maximum sympathy effect. Two days ago he hardly would've known she was there.
She tiptoed in like the scent of sweet peas from the garden and peeked in, set her flute case on the floor and asked how he was, shyly came in close to feel his face. "So warm," she said, shaking her head.
Charlie replied he thought he'd never improve.
"I won't stay long," she said. "Your dad says you're not over this yet. This your room? It's a little sparse."
"Used to be Don's but most of his possessions are long gone. More of a guestroom."
"I didn't get to meet him. He's the good-looking one I saw at the window, right?"
"Must've been me," Charlie said. "He's the homely brother."
"You're both nice-looking." She examined a photograph. "He's here now?"
"Out of town. Wanted to get out of the city."
She said that was a wise plan and asked him if his bedroom were being painted. He told her about the Tortuous Trinity, how he knew it was irrational and inane and idiotic but he couldn't get over it by wishing it away.
Jacobi had brought a boxful of homemade chocolates shaped like Halloween pumpkins. He accepted the box and ate one, thanking her—they were good—and she told a joke and talked about her lost cat, how he'd probably eloped with his feline girlfriend and was now vacationing in Tuscany to a Pavarotti aria.
The drug was clicking in and Charlie regretted he'd taken it. He preferred to keep visiting but her voice grew distant, his brain cloudier. Before he knew it, he'd given her the go ahead on a musical performance.
You have a generous heart.
She'd taken out her flute, and, as she attached the joints, stated she was glad he'd enjoyed the serenade the other morning, how she'd always wanted to do that and could start a side business for Valentine's Day or birthdays. After a brief set-up, she dragged the desk chair out and introduced the piece.
You have patience.
"I'll play pianissimo. When we're sick sometimes our ears are a stitch tender. You tell me if it's too loud for you, okay?"
And a serene face.
Charlie nodded and turned to his side with head propped on a forearm to listen. She lifted the instrument to her mouth and lightly lit her fingertips on the key pads, as lightly as if it were a piece of straw, and curved her lips to blow into it. Pachelbel, Canon in D, began ploddingly then slowly increased tempo, sustaining a dignified but unsad mood for a two or three minutes. In another minute, Charlie had fallen under the spell of the dulcet notes and shut his eyes.
"Can I peek in your room?" she said. The Canon was over.
"Huh?"
"Curious. I won't touch anything," she said, "unless you…no, forget it. We don't know each other that well. It's impolite. Sorry."
Charlie opened his eyes lazily. "Go ahead," he said, and dozed off. It was wonderful to rest comfortably. Should thank her…later.
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He heard his mother as though she were there, felt the dipping of the mattress when she sat next to him: Sweetie, wake up, and her hand stroked his temple. How're you feeling? she asked
I miss you, mom. Where have you been?
Charlie, feel better.
If you're here, I will be.
You'll always be my little boy.
It hasn't been the same without you.
I want you to be well.
We need you, mom.
Your father loves you.
We want you both here.
Can't be, Charlie.
Your music—why a secret?
It wouldn't have changed anything.
It might have changed me.
You grew up beautifully.
Dreams, mom, yours…
Time for me to go, Charlie.
I'm not ready.
We're never ready.
I'm sick, you can't go.
Remember Charlie, I love you.
Then why go?
You'll be better soon…this I know.
Stay, please.
I can't. I have a concert to go to. For credit.
"Jacobi?" Charlie rolled to his back. The illusion of his mom's touch had been convincing and he looked her over twice. "What time is it?" he said, sweeping away the vivid loss; the haunting disappointment that his mother had never been there and would never be again.
"About one. Your dad's home."
He noticed her eyes were wet and she held a framed photo of him and Don with their mother. "Grand Canyon," he said. "A millennia ago."
"It's hard to be upbeat, isn't it?" She replaced the photo on the nightstand. "When anything changes, the hole they left feels bigger. Doesn't matter whether it's a season or a semester or something else in our lives."
"I won't say there won't be times it's tough, but…if you want to talk, night or day, you have my number."
"You know, I'm just a gal who came looking for her cat. The rest…I didn't expect." She was disassembling her flute and restoring it to its case. "Did you like the piece?"
"You're an enchantress with that thing." He slid his legs to the floor. "What did you expect?"
"A chubby old guy bald as a baby rat."
"Then you were right." They laughed and Charlie rephrased his question: "What didn't you expect?"
"To find a friend," she said and with her case in hand, approached and gave him a light kiss on the forehead, a gentle hug. "Take care, Charlie."
He had an idea, asked her to wait. In his room, he hauled out a plastic storage box filled with mineral samples from the upper shelf in the closet where it'd been collecting dust for years. Carefully, he selected a three centimeter piece of peacock ore, its surface as iridescent as ever, and rejoined her in the hallway.
"This," he said, "is from my old collection. Mom always favored the peacock ore. For the rainbow colors, she'd say. If you're feeling blue, take a look at it, someone knows what you're going through."
She scooped it out of his palm and held it up to the light. "It's amazing. I never would've imagined…I'll play Telemann next time. Very sprightly."
"I'd look forward to it."
"I'll walk myself out," she said. "You rest, you don't look well."
Charlie watched her go, adjusting the belt on his robe.
At the landing, she paused and blew him a kiss. "Score's almost even now."
He nodded absentmindedly, enamored, and reflected on her last remark, then dismissed it, supposed she was talking about repaying him for lunch. No bother. Tired. Like a slap in the face, exhaustion hit suddenly; exertion had worsened the fever. Back to bed, don't worry about it. Next time I see her, I'll ask what she meant.
As he fell asleep, an eight-note melody from the Canon repeated itself in his mind, growing off-key, irritating, while his thoughts capsized into confusion. Faces appeared and his mother and Don and Jacobi merged, displaced by a fourth, unique individual. A stranger…a cup of Alan…a fat old guy bald as a baby rat…very sprightly…Dr. Eppes, watch out for mean marmots, they'll steal the food right out of your hand, be careful…Don, where have you been?...
It's a secret.
I knew you'd say that.
oooooOOOOOooooo