Chapter 8
Charlie relished the peace.
No-one was watching his every move.
No-one was judging every breath he took, every gesture he made.
The decrease in stress felt like a vacation.
Every morning he convinced himself that he felt a little better, physically. By the time he was halfway through a therapy session, he was ready to admit that it could be just the freedom of being able to feel however he felt, without guilt.
He was tired, there was no denying that. Four hours of physical therapy and exercise a day, another hour-and-a-half negotiating the bus system…and he wouldn't let himself nap in the daytime, anymore. Which meant that he was usually asleep for the night by 8 in the evening, but that was all right. Sleep was good. Now that he had been back to campus, the nightmares were all but history. These 12-hour nights were the first uninterrupted sleep he'd had since the shooting. Unless you counted being unconscious…
He took care not to hermitize himself. He spoke with his father and brother on the phone daily. On Wednesday he let Alan pick him up from therapy and had dinner with him. On Thursday he walked to campus and had lunch with Larry in his office. When he told him the part of the story where Archie had destroyed his cognitive emergence work, Larry's eyes got so round Charlie found himself giggling again. On Friday he met Don for an early breakfast.
Twice during the week, when he called the house, he talked with Archie. Briefly…but the second time, Thursday evening, they spoke long enough to agree to meet on Saturday morning and talk. They picked a park. Neutral ground.
On Saturday morning, he was a little apprehensive as he got off the bus at the park. In some ways, it was hard to believe he hadn't seen her, and had barely talked to her, in a week. He spotted her sitting alone at a picnic table overlooking the playground. By the time he was halfway there, she had seen him, smiled nervously. When he reached the table he sat down on the opposite side, keeping the table between them. She spoke first.
"Wow. You look great. And here I thought you'd be pining away."
He didn't know what to say for that, settled for "I feel pretty good. Especially in the mornings. I kind-of wear out as the day goes on."
She nodded, suddenly cut to the chase.
"What do you want to do? About us."
He decided that two could play at this honesty thing.
"I want to not be afraid of you, and how much you can hurt me."
She looked at him, looked away, then looked at him again.
"You have Larry's apartment for three more weeks?" She saw the surprise on his face. "Was it supposed to be a secret, where you were? Alan told me."
He shrugged. "No, no, I guess not. It's not like I asked anyone not to tell you. I just didn't know you cared enough to ask."
She winced and looked away again briefly, then back. "You're enjoying it." It was a statement, not a question.
"Yes," he admitted.
She began to trace patterns on the wooden table top, watched herself do it. "Maybe it's a good idea. Spend some time grounding yourself, deciding what's real, what you want."
"I think so."
She looked up suddenly, decision made. "I'll do it, too. I'll leave the house, live by myself for three weeks. We won't see each other. In three weeks, we'll meet again, here. See if we know more, by then."
"You don't have to do that."
"I want to. I think it's a good idea for both of us."
Charlie wondered how to couch his next question, finally decided that honesty had been working pretty well so far. "Can you afford it? Do you have somewhere to go?"
"I know just the place," she answered. "A hotel close to the office."
He frowned. "A hotel? Downtown? That will be expensive."
"It's all right. The manager is a friend of mine — you met Cecil at the reception your Dad gave us after we got married."
Mention of the reception, of the brief time they were actually happy, dried up all of Charlie's questions, so he just sat there for a while.
She shifted. "We got married so fast. I need to think, myself. But there is one thing I know, already. One thing I can say, for sure."
He looked at her and waited.
She blushed. "I never should have slapped you. At the koi pond. That was completely wrong, and I'm sorry."
"Is this the part where I say it was okay, not to worry about it?" Charlie's question surprised even him. He hadn't known he was going to say that.
She crossed her arms over her breasts. "No. You don't have to say anything. I just needed you to know that I realize how wrong that was. I would take it back, if I could."
"Would you give me back my cognitive emergence work? Would you respect me enough to talk to me first, before you blindsided me in front of my doctor?" Where were these questions coming from? He really hadn't intended for this to happen.
She stood, climbed over the picnic table bench, and looked down at him. "I don't know," she said. "Those are some of the things I need to think about."
He nodded. "Fair enough."
She surprised him with her response. "Nothing about this is fair, Charlie."
He looked down at the table top. "No. I guess not."
After a moment, she spoke again. "Same time, same place? Three weeks?"
Still looking at the table, he managed a quiet, "Okay." When he was sure she had left, he raised his head and watched her walk away.
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Both Don and Alan came to Larry's sublet that night, bearing pizza and rented movies. Charlie had not been expecting them, but was glad to see them anyway.
It didn't take Alan long. After two slices of pizza, he settled back on the couch with his glass of wine. "I was uncomfortable at the house," he said. "Archie is moving. A friend of hers is there, helping. I think I met him at the reception."
Charlie sighed. "Subtle, Dad."
Alan just raised his eyebrows.
Charlie stood to go to the kitchen and get Don another beer. He paused, and regarded them both. "Okay. No questions. The friend is Cecil. Yes, you met him — and his same-sex partner, so don't try to make me jealous. Archimedes and I met this morning and talked. We agreed to each live alone for three weeks, and then meet again. Cecil manages a hotel downtown, near the F.B.I. office, and she'll stay there."
"What else did you talk about?" demanded Alan.
Don cleared his throat. "I think he said no questions, Dad." He looked at Charlie. "That's why I'm putting this next statement the way I am. Get me a beer."
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Charlie sank into the chair behind his desk and smiled.
It had not been hard to get part-time work clearance. The doctor could see the improvement that had been made after just one visit to campus, and sensed the change in Charlie's attitude. Of course, it didn't hurt that Cal Sci was in its dead weeks, between the end of the semester and the start of the first summer session, next week. Charlie was allowed two hours per morning, this week, to reacclimate himself, work on his syllabus and lesson plans. When the first six-week summer session began, he could teach one M-W-F morning class, and conduct office hours on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. His afternoons through the summer were to be devoted to PT.
If the first session went well, he could teach two classes during the second session.
Although the doctor wouldn't commit beyond that, at least not until more was known about Charlie's arm, Charlie's own plan had him back to a full load by fall semester. That would be almost six months since he had been shot. Long enough.
Long enough.
He opened his lap top and booted it up, started a new folder. Applied Mathematics 212. One of his most popular undergrad courses, this was the one the Vice President for Academic Affairs had asked him to teach next session, because so many students had been left on waiting lists. He had designed this course just two years ago for the student hoping to break into the entertainment industry — which, in California, even at a college that concentrated in the sciences, was no small number. He pulled up a syllabus template and typed in the title: Math in the Reel World.
He found himself smiling, again.
Sitting here, at his desk, surrounded by books and boards and classrooms … sitting here, he was happy.
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That night, the e-mails began.