Chapter 9

Charlie settled into a fitful nap, full of psychedelic images of Don flying, then descending upon Charlie from the sky, like some kind of human kite onto Charlie Brown. When he woke, he was hot and sweaty again, but he managed to get to the car and find a convenience store nearby, where he bought a prepaid cell, a box of saltine crackers and a bottle of 7-Up. Back in the room, he set up the phone and called his father.

His Dad caught the call in the middle of the fourth ring, just before the answering machine picked up. "Yes?" He sounded anxious. Charlie hoped that wasn't his fault — but he knew he hadn't helped, any.

"Hi, Dad."

"Son. Thank God." Charlie could imagine Alan sinking down onto a chair. "Are you all right? Donnie told me you've been ill."

Charlie sighed. It was his own fault. He shouldn't have asked Don to tell their father he had called. "I'm okay, Dad. It was only the flu."

Alan fretted. "The flu. I've seen you with the flu. I wish you were here, so I could…" He stopped himself. "Well. I just wish you were here."

Charlie heard his father's sadness, and just as he had absorbed Don's anger, he felt the sadness enter him. "You guys are both okay, right? I'm so sorry, Dad…I know I'm being selfish…"

This time it was Alan's turn to sigh. "Sometimes we have to be, son. Is it helping?"

"I don't know. Sometimes, I think so. Sometimes…not so much."

"Larry called the other day. He asked me to pass on his…greetings, and concern, next time you called. You're not in touch with him?"

"I sent him a postcard, from somewhere…"

"He mentioned that. He said that it was blank."

"Couldn't think of anything to say."

Alan changed the subject. "Don said you would be getting a cell phone."

"Right. I have it now. I have the number for you."

"I should call if there is an emergency."

Charlie hesitated. He knew his Dad wanted him to say that he could call him anytime, but he felt pressure rising within him at the very thought. He didn't want to hurt Alan anymore than he already had, either. He decided to neither confirm nor deny. "Here's the number," he said simply, providing it to his father.

Alan repeated it back to him, then decided to risk the question always on his mind. "Charlie, when do you think you can come home?"

Charlie was sitting on the bed, leaning against the wall by now. He was starting to regret the crackers he had eaten, and he was too tired to edit himself. "I'm afraid," he said quietly. "I'm still afraid."

Alan spoke gently. "Of what, son?"

"Everything," Charlie whispered.

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He moved to a less expensive motel off the beach in Florence, and after a few more days, felt ready to continue up the coast.

Thursday evening, near Lincoln City, he sat on the guardrail of a scenic viewpoint, watching the sun set into the ocean. He heard another vehicle slow and pull into the viewpoint, turn off its engine. Eventually, he heard a door open, and a woman's voice commanded good-naturedly, "Well, come on then." Next, he heard snuffling nearby, and Charlie turned his head slightly to see an ancient dog sniffing at one of the support posts of the guard rail, before deciding it was good enough to pee on.

He was turning back toward the ocean when the woman spoke again. "So. Taken any sledge hammers to the knee, lately?"

He tracked the dog's leash back to an arm, then a face — and saw the woman from the log, back in Bandon. Charlie found himself smiling as she settled herself further down on the guardrail, and the ancient dog, finished peeing, planted himself firmly between Charlie and his mistress. "You know, it's June, now," Charlie said. "Did you make it through May in one piece?"

"Give or take a hit-and-run on the beach, yeah."

Charlie reddened and looked at the dog, who hadn't stopped staring at him. When Charlie met the dog's eyes, it growled.

"Don't mind him." She spoke nonchalantly. "He hardly has any teeth left. He's just trying to intimidate you."

"It's working," Charlie answered, and she laughed. This time, it didn't make him want to run away.

"He's very protective of me. He was originally my husband's dog, and after he passed away, Munchkin appointed himself my guardian."

Charlie stopped looking at the dog and glanced at the woman, who was staring out at the ocean. "I'm sorry."

He saw the corners of her mouth curve in a half-smile. "Thank-you. He's been gone several years."

"You look so young," Charlie began, then stopped, embarrassed.

This time the smile was broader. "Thank-you again," she teased. "Jamie and I went to high school together, then off to the same college. We married as sophomores, and still managed to both graduate on time. But by then, he was already sick. I went on to get my Master's, though." She spoke a little wistfully, obviously remembering. "I defended my thesis successfully two weeks before Jamie died. He was so proud."

Charlie couldn't think of anything appropriate to say to that, but it didn't seem to matter to the woman. After a few seconds she continued her story. "Anyway. That was six years ago. What with falling apart for a while, and this last 'Year of the Plagues', it's taken me that long to finish my Ph.D. It was finally conferred in January," she finished proudly.

That Charlie could respond to. "Congratulations."

Her tone lightened. "Thank-you yet a third time! I'm finally going to work for a living, now." She laughed. "Or rather, work to pay off all those student loans. I negotiated for a few months and finally accepted a position. I'll have to relocate, but that will help it feel like a new start, I think. I decided to spend a few weeks on the Oregon Coast, first. Jamie and I worked out here at a state park the summer after we were married, and we loved it so much."

"It is beautiful," Charlie agreed, eyes drawn back to the setting sun. He thought about her story. "You're so…well-adjusted," he finally said lamely.

She chuckled. "Trust me — didn't happen overnight." She looked at his profile for a long moment, and must have seen something in the growing dusk that helped her make a decision. "Have you ever been afraid? I mean, really. Really afraid."

Charlie nodded slowly, apprehensive.

She looked back at the ocean. "Me, too. When Jamie got sick. Then what I was afraid of actually happened. When it was over, and I looked back, I saw something that hurt me more than the realization of my fear."

Charlie wasn't sure his whisper could be heard over the steady roar of the ocean, but he couldn't seem to speak any louder. "What?"

"All the time I wasted, being afraid. I could have made those last months better, for both of us, if I hadn't let fear take control." She waved an arm toward the waves and the dog perked up his ears, so attuned to her that he heard the whisper of her skin. "That's when I decided to see life like this ocean. It's tide is constant, and sometimes, things get taken out with it. Just as often, when it rushes back in, the tide brings us treasures and drops them at our feet. All we have to do is look for them." She looked at Charlie again and smiled. "Don't you see? The tide works both ways."

Charlie sat and thought of the last three months of his mother's life. He had known she was dying, and it had terrified him. He had retreated to a world where things didn't die. P vs. NP would live forever. He had let it take over his life, and he would never get those three months back.

He thought of the months he had wasted with Amita, before she was even offered the position at Harvard. He had let fear of the unknown variable slow his steps, and now that chance was gone forever, too.

He realized with a start that his father, though healthy now, would not live forever. Don's risk factor, even with his new position at the FBI, was off the charts. Larry was 15 years older than Charlie, and statistics said his friend would leave this earth before he did. All Charlie had, with each of them, was now. Now was time he could never reclaim, either.

The sky was full of pinks and reds, and the sun had become a burning orange sphere against the dark water. He stood, grabbing his cane. He would have approached her, but he didn't want to set off the dog. Instead, he simply looked and her and said, "I'm sorry to keep doing this to you. I have to go, now. Thank-you."

She reached out a hand to scratch the dog's head. "For what?"

Charlie shrugged. "Everything."

When he got back in the car, he started its motor and waited until a passing vehicle cleared the road. Then he made a u-turn, and headed for California.