Chapter 4
Charlie shifted uncomfortably in the theater-style seat. "I shouldn't have had so much to eat."
Don smiled. "This is a cruise. I'm an FBI agent. I can tell you, it's a federal law. Besides, have you ever had better lobster?"
"I just hope I don't have it again," Charlie grumbled, and Don laughed.
"You don't have to stay for the show. Maybe you should walk the deck for a while. There's another show, later." He shoved something at Charlie. "Find the shore excursion desk. We'll be in Ensenada in the morning — sign us up for something."
Charlie looked over the list quickly. "You should go to the golf resort. You'd love that."
Don's eyes lit up. "Yeah. I haven't gone golfing in…I don't remember the last time I went golfing. I'd probably embarrass myself." He glanced at Charlie. "And what about your leg?"
Charlie smiled at him. "We're not glued together this weekend, Don. You should do what you want — it's your vacation, too." His brother looked at the ship newsletter again. "I see a couple of mostly bus tours, here. I'll go on one of those." He started to push out of the seat, but Don stopped him.
He waited until Charlie was looking at him. "Seriously. This is a tiny cruise, one port of call. I don't mind a bus tour."
Charlie smiled again, and it reminded Don of before. Before the shooting. Before Charlie started hiding.
"Seriously," Charlie said. "I'm thinking of the winery tour." His smile broadened at the look on Don's face. He pushed up again, grabbed Don's shoulder to steady himself as he teetered between the rows for a moment. He looked down, still smiling. "I'll sign you up for golf."
He started to turn and leave, but Don reached out and stopped him again. "Charlie. Don't forget our agreement."
The smile faltered. "Not even e-mail?"
He shook his head. "Stay out of the internet café. Walk the deck. Gamble. Swim. But stay out of the internet café."
Charlie regarded him coolly. "That is not…that is not…"
"That is exactly what we agreed, last night. No lap top or use of the ship's computers for you, no badge or gun for me. Three days, Charlie. We can do it."
Charlie smiled again. "Right." He groaned a little, rubbed his stomach. "I really have to walk."
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The cabaret show was more risqué than Don was expecting for seven at night, although this was not an entirely unpleasant discovery. Afterwards, he strolled the ship for a while himself. He was surprised to see Charlie sitting on one of the poolside lounges on the Lido deck; more surprised to see him eating an ice cream cone. He walked over and stood in front of him. "I thought you already ate too much."
Charlie looked up, a little guilty. "Me, too." He regarded the ice cream dripping down his hand. "I don't know how this happened."
Don laughed, watched a young woman walk by with an enticing-looking…drink. "I'm finding a bar," he decided. "Not driving, tonight." He looked back at Charlie. "Catch the next show, it's pretty good."
Charlie nodded, his mouth buried in ice cream again. Don grinned and turned away.
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He didn't hear Charlie come back to the cabin, thanks in part to the alcoholic content of that drink. It had been a long day, and he only managed one. The drink and exhaustion served as an effective one-two combination, and he was out as soon as he hit the sheets. He barely felt the gentle roll of the ship.
He wasn't sure at first what woke him up. He grabbed his watch off the bedside table and squinted at it. 3:30. In the morning?
Then he heard it again. His brother's low moan. He climbed out of the bed and walked around the slight partition that divided the room, to where the couch had been converted to a bed by some cruise ship fairy before he got back to the cabin last night. Moonlight from the window showed Charlie curled on his side, hugging a pillow. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, and at first Don thought he was talking to him. Then he realized that Charlie was talking in his sleep. He wondered if he should wake him up. He was still contemplating this when Charlie moaned again, flopped onto his back. He threw an arm over his face, moved his legs a little under the sheets. "Please." His voice was almost a whisper, but in the still of the cabin Don heard a fear than translated itself into his own heart. Had Charlie been reliving the shooting every night for six weeks? Don approached the bed.
"Charlie?"
Closer, he saw his brother shudder, and leaned over to touch his shoulder. Charlie almost slammed into his face when he suddenly sat up, gasping, eyes wide. This close, even in the dark, Don could see the terror. He sat down carefully on the bed.
"Charlie," he repeated. "You awake?"
Charlie blinked a few times, tried to control his breathing. His fists clenched in the sheets. He looked away. "I'm awake."
Don waited for the breathing to become more even. "That was intense."
Charlie drew in a breath, ran a shaking hand through wild sleep hair, looked at Don again. "I've had worse."
Don winced. "Want to talk about it?"
Charlie started to move the covers. "No. Do you know what time it is?"
"A little after 3:30."
Charlie shivered. "I think I'll just go take a shower and get dressed. I'll sit on the deck until we go to breakfast." He climbed out of the bed, looked down at Don. "I'll be okay," he assured him, sadly. "I do this most nights, now. You should get some more sleep." He tried to smile, failed. "I don't want you to embarrass yourself on the golf course."
Don reached out to grab his wrist as he passed, and Charlie jerked back hard enough to lose his balance, swore quietly as he put more weight on his injured leg than he wanted to. He looked at Don again. "Sorry. Not a good time to surprise me."
Don grimaced. "My fault. It's late, Charlie, or early…you sure you can't get back to sleep?"
His brother turned, limped toward the bathroom. "Oh yeah," he said. "I can pretty much guarantee that."