Chapter 8
Cecile sat on the couch, holding a bag of frozen peas to her temple. Alan sat on her left, offering the occasional reassuring pat to her knee. Don alternated between pacing the living room and hovering directly over her head. Right now, he was pacing. "I'm so sorry," he repeated.
Cecile lowered the peas. "Honey, calm down. It's only a bump."
He stopped pacing and looked at her worriedly. "You should go to the hospital. You hit the edge of that bucket pretty hard."
She laughed. "Not that hard. The bucket didn't even tip over, and the skin isn't broken. At most, I'll bruise. Trust me, I'm a nurse."
Don started pacing again. "I should have been ready, I shouldn't have gone to that corny 'on-your-knees' position...Dad, what do you think? Should she go to the hospital?"
Cecile spoke before Alan did. "Don. Don. Please stop walking and look at me."
He did, but now his concern was turned up a notch higher. "Why? Baby? Are you dizzy?"
Cecile started to roll her eyes, but caught herself. He really would think she had a head injury then. "No, No. I'm telling you, it's fine. It's perfect."
Don looked like he was thinking about calming down, but confused. "Perfect?"
She smiled. "This is the story I will be telling our children, and grandchildren. How you proposed, on your knees, and how I passed out and fell into a bucket of golf balls... It would be almost too romantic, without that touch of humor at the end. This way, it's perfect."
Don smiled a little, finally. Cecile relaxed and felt Alan holding her hand - the left one. She looked over to see him studying the ring. When she woke up after she passed out at the driving range, she had made Don put the ring on her finger before she would let him look at her head and help her up. "I think it's the most beautiful ring I've ever seen," she said shyly.
Alan answered quietly. "I always did, too."
Cecile looked back at Don, who was watching his father. "It was my mother's", he said simply.
Cecile involuntarily gasped a little, and looked back at the man beside her on the couch. "Oh, Alan…"
He smiled into her eyes. "She would love you, Cecile. As I do. This ring belongs on your finger, not stuck away in a safety deposit box somewhere. It meant so much to me when Donnie asked if he could give it to you..." He frowned, suddenly. "But of course you should have one you really like. You'll be wearing it a long time. Don't hesitate to say if you'd like something else."
Cecile looked from one man to the other, and imagined the woman who had been so important to them. She remembered the family photos she had seen, and heard again the tone of Alan's voice whenever he spoke of Margaret... They wanted her to wear Margaret's ring. They loved her that much.
She reached up to touch Alan's cheek softly. "I keep telling you guys. Everything is perfect."
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Two days after Memorial Day, Charlie woke up in Florence, Oregon with a headache that convinced him to reconsider his plans to continue up the coast. He had splurged for a nice motel in Florence, and he sat on the balcony of his room overlooking the beach, waiting for the energy to actually walk across it and approach the ocean.
At noon, he managed to get himself as far as the motel's in-house restaurant, but the instant he entered and was assailed by the smell of food, he found that he had to veer quickly to the restroom, where he lost the lunch he hadn't had, yet. He decided food was not a good idea, and headed for the beach.
The motel featured a courtyard facing the ocean, and Charlie settled on a bench, queasy again. The beach was full of activity since the first official holiday of the season, and soon the shouts of children melded into a cacophony of dizzying proportion, zeroing in on Charlie's headache, and he gave up and headed for his room again.
After he had gotten there, and fallen on the bed, he wished that more Oregon beach motels had air conditioning. He was much too warm to be comfortable. He remembered vaguely being told at check-in that he could get a fan from the front desk, but he was too tired even to roll over and call to request one.
He had almost fallen asleep anyway when a sudden urgency provided a spurt of energy, and Charlie stumbled into the bathroom to throw up again. Without a knee cap, it was difficult to kneel on the floor, so he sat on the edge of the bathtub, leaning over the toilet, and heaved until there was nothing left in his stomach. He was certain he had seen part of those meatloaf sandwiches from a month ago. Then, he heaved some more, ribs soon aching from the effort. During a break, still feeling as if it might not be over, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. When he began to shiver, he finally risked standing long enough to rinse his mouth out, then carefully made his way back to the bed, where he wished there were more blankets. He was freezing.
He shivered some more and huddled in a ball under what blankets there were, and waited for the room to stop spinning.
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Megan admired Cecile's finger. "It's beautiful," she agreed. "Have you set a date?"
Cecile shook her head, and stirred her strawberry milkshake absently. She was on a break, and strawberry milkshakes were actually very good in the hospital cafeteria. Megan had been at Huntington interviewing a victim, and she had looked up Cecile to see the ring, having heard from Don of the engagement. Cecile was more than happy to give up the chance at a decent dinner offsite to pass some time with Megan. The two had become fast friends since Megan had helped Don arrange his "dancing date" last fall, when he had still been in traction with a broken tibia. "We're waiting for Charlie to come home," Cecile answered. "Don wants to be able to read his face while he tells him."
"How's Charlie doing? He's been gone over a month, now."
Cecile took a drink, then sighed. "I know. He still only calls them once a week, but Don says he talks a little longer each time. He was in Coos Bay, Oregon last week."
"Alan must be missing him."
Cecile frowned. "He's such a sweet man. He said the loveliest things to me when Don proposed and I passed out in the golf balls." Megan started to laugh, then stopped as Cecile went on. "I love Charlie. I'm sorry he's in such a difficult place. I want to help him. But sometimes...Don and I try to have dinner with Alan at least once a week, and when I see how sad he is, I try not to, but I get a little angry at Charlie."
"I'm sure it's very difficult for everyone," Megan murmured. She waited a moment, chewing on her sandwich, then smiled mischievously. "I never would have guessed Don could be so romantic, until he got me involved in that dance thing last year."
Cecile blushed a little. "You know what he said?" Megan shook her head. "He said he was going to ask me to move in with him, but it just felt wrong, like I deserved more than that. 'I don't want to ask you to spend some time with me', he said, 'I want to ask you to spend forever with me."
Megan smiled. "Have you told Andrew?"
Cecile shook her head. "He's coming up over the 4th of July - finally gets a holiday off - and we might have a date, by then. Plus, I'm kind-of like Don, that way. I want to see my brother's face when I tell him."
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For three more days, Charlie alternated between hot and cold, never comfortable. His body ached at first when he got out of bed to lurch into the bathroom, then it ached when he just lay there and did nothing. In his fever dreams, he felt his father's cool hand on his forehead, and when he awoke, he wished his Dad was really there, urging him to eat chicken soup and green gelatin.
During the worst of it, he promised that if he lived, he would go home. As he started to feel...if not exactly better, less bad..., though, he began to fight the urge. He wouldn't run home just because he had been sick, and wanted someone to take care of him.
He was proud of himself on Monday when he managed to stay upright long enough to shower, but tired enough for bed again immediately afterwards. His eyes settled on the clock radio, and he realized with a start that he had not called Don the night before. It was the middle of the day, but he didn't want to risk waiting for the evening. He might fall asleep, again.
Don answered his cell on the third ring. "Eppes."
"Hi."
He could hear a mix of relief and anger in Don's voice. "Charlie! You missed your call last night."
A wave of clarity and panic suddenly overcame Charlie, and he realized that not bringing his cell phone had been a mistake. How could he have been so stupid? Don and his Dad couldn't reach him, if something happened. How could it have taken him this long to figure that out? "Is Dad all right?", he asked, frantically.
His brother sounded exasperated. "Yes. He's worried. You were supposed to call."
The panic wouldn't leave him. He knew that Don would never really be safe, as long as he worked for the FBI. Even as Assistant Director, he still got into the field now and then. "You're all right? Have you been in the field? Did something happen?"
Don could tell Charlie was losing it, and it calmed his own anger, a little. "I'm fine, Charlie. We're fine. We're just worried about you. Why did you miss your call?"
Charlie was still too upset to think before he talked. "I've been a little sick," he admitted. "Better, now."
Don felt all of his anger drain away, replaced with concern. "Sick? Too sick to call? Buddy, you need to come home. I can come and get you, help you drive back. There must be someplace I can fly in there. Where are you now?"
The anger Don was giving up somehow found its way through the phone line, and started invading Charlie. How could a smidgen of the very comfort he had craved for days so quickly turn into suffocation? "I'm fine," he said, more harshly than he had intended. "I'm sorry I missed my call. Please tell Dad."
Don tried to hang onto him, tried to keep up with the mood changes. "Charlie, call him yourself. He needs to hear from you."
What Don had intended as guidance hit Charlie like a ton of guilt, and he almost sobbed. "I'm sorry," he said, desperately, "I'm sorry. Please. I'll get one of those prepaid cells, this afternoon. So you guys can call me if something happens, okay?"
Now he was back to panic, which worried Don, but at least his brother was willing to be contacted now. "Okay. You call when you have the number."
"I will." Charlie suddenly sneezed into the phone. "Sorry."
His voice was getting raspy, and Don wondered just how sick he had been and how much better he really was. "Sure I can't come and get you?"
There was silence, and then Charlie spoke in a firm voice, his mood turning to anger, again. "I have to go," he said, and abruptly disconnected.
Don found himself staring at the phone, wondering what he'd said wrong this time.
