Chapter 9

Megan made a face. Stake-out coffee. Did the places that sold this stuff know its destination? Did they keep a special pot of week-old grounds in the back? She looked over at Don. He didn't seem to be having any trouble with his.

"So how's Charlie? He hasn't been by the office since he's been back."

"Yeah, I was glad we didn't need him on this case. It's been almost two weeks, but he's still…not really Charlie."

"In what way?"

"He's not even going to work every day. Well, he missed one this week, anyway. He told Dad he just didn't feel well. He gets a lot of headaches, complains of something hurting almost all the time. You can see it in the way he walks, the way he holds himself. He's not making this stuff up."

"I'm sure he's not. Is he still sleeping a lot?"

"I was there for dinner a couple of nights ago. He almost fell asleep in the plate, again. Even when he tries to stay up and get something done, he says he can't concentrate."

Megan was frowning. "His appetite?"

"Not normal. Well…what's normal, for Charlie? I'm pretty sure he's lost weight, though."

"How's his…equilibrium? Is he irritable, anxious?"

"He was okay the other night, just quiet…last week he let me have it once, though." Don looked at Megan steadily. "Why are you asking all these questions? He's just having a hard time."

"Don, when this sort of thing goes on too long, it could be signaling a major depression. Psychosocial events like the traumatic death of a loved one — or two, in this case — they take away a sense of self control. You told me about his withdrawal into math when your mother died."

"He hasn't done that this time, " Don assured her. "Right after he got back, he almost did, and we talked about it a little. He said that he remembered his promise to me."

Megan tried some more of the coffee, regretted it. "That's good. But what is he doing instead, what coping mechanisms is he using?"

Don felt some apprehension. Had he been wrong to tell Charlie not to use his numbers? "I'm not sure."

"Just keep an eye on him. Like you said, it hasn't even been two weeks, yet. Spend some time with him." She grinned. "If we ever get off this stake-out."

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By the time he got out of the office, it was too late to call anybody, but he made sure to call Charlie early the next morning.

"Don, is something wrong? It's not even 7, yet."

"I know, I'm fine, Charlie. I just wanted to talk to you before we both headed off to work. You're not at work yet, right?"

"Actually, yes. A departmental meeting is starting in five minutes."

"Oh. Sorry. Listen, I'll make it quick. I just wanted to hear how you are."

"Fine, for the moment. Not exactly prepared for this meeting, though."

"Still trying to catch up on everything?"

"Did you need me to do something for a case? I'm not sure I can, right now."

"No, Charlie, I just wanted to talk. Let yourself off the hook a little."

Don grimaced. A few months ago, during the brothers' vacation with Sam and Jenna in Oregon, Charlie had ended up with Don's fishhook in his arm. Not the memory he wanted to invoke. "Sorry. I mean, take it easy."

Charlie cleared his throat. "I know. Don't worry so much. I don't want to be so much trouble to everyone."

"Trouble? Charlie, you're not trouble, really…"

His brother's voice got quieter. "Meeting's starting."

"Right, you've gotta go. I'll try to get by the house this weekend, or before. Call me if you want to talk?"

There was a sudden edge of panic in Charlie's voice. "Be careful at work."

"I will, Charlie. I'll see you soon."

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"Soon" turned out to be Saturday. Don had stopped by the house again Thursday night, but Charlie was sleeping again. Don shared dinner with his father. "Does it seem like he's getting any better to you?"

Alan put his fork down. "I think it's getting all mixed up, for him. The other day I found him with one of the old photo albums, from when you were kids. I think he was looking at pictures of your mother."

"I'll come by this weekend, see if I can get him to talk to me."

Saturday morning, Don arrived as Alan was leaving. "Groceries," said the father to the son as they met in the driveway. "He's in the garage."

Don entered the kitchen and crossed to the garage door. When he opened it, he was relieved to see that Charlie wasn't back at the "P" board. In fact, that board was gone again. Charlie wasn't working on anything at all. He was just standing, looking at the sporting equipment mounted on the wall. He heard Don behind him. "Hey."

"Hi, Charlie. Whatcha doin'"

"I was going to clean the garage. I actually had a moment of energy. Which I should spend on all the papers I still have to grade, but I was getting a headache again. I thought something physical might help."

That all sounded good to Don. Except the headache. He tracked Charlie's gaze, then, and saw that he was looking specifically at his fishing pole. While Don watched, Charlie reached out and plucked it from its mounts.

"What are you going to do with that?"

"I was going to throw it away," Charlie said. "Unless you want it? I know you lost yours in the river last Spring."

Don was surprised. "Throw it away? You love that pole. You love fishing."

Charlie brushed a hand over the fiberglass. "You can have it," he said again. "I won't be fishing again." He looked at Don. "Ever since I caught that hook, I've been pretty sure I couldn't do that to another fish."

Don smiled tentatively. "You'll get over that. Maybe."

Charlie hung the pole back on the wall. "No. I won't be fishing anymore." He turned toward Don. "We'll keep storing it here, I know you have a storage problem. But it's yours, now, okay?"

Don wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. This was unchartered territory. He decided to avoid the subject of the fishing pole entirely. "Do you want some help cleaning the garage?"

Charlie pushed past him for the stairs back into the house. "No, thanks. I changed my mind."

"Well…we could do something else, then. A movie?"

By now they were both back in the kitchen. Charlie's eyes strayed to the papers on the dining room table. "I should work."

"Come on, Charlie, a movie. A couple of hours. Getting out will refresh you, you'll get more done later."

"I'm sorry," his brother said. "I'm being too much trouble, again." Before Don could protest, Charlie opened the kitchen door. "Let's go."

Don was having trouble keeping up with Charlie's mind again, but not in the usual way. "Okay," he finally sputtered, "but wait, Charlie…"

Charlie was already halfway to the SUV.

"Charlie!"

His brother finally stopped and faced him. "What?"

Don pointed at Charlie's feet. "I think you might need some shoes."