Chapter 3

It was Saturday when Peter Henderson was buried, and Alan came home from the cruise. Don continued to stay at the house until Sunday afternoon. Charlie fluctuated between distant and clingy, his constant mood changes a challenge to both his brother and his father.

While Charlie was sleeping Sunday afternoon, Don and Alan sat at the kitchen table. Don slowly spun the coffee mug before him in a circle on the table. "I need to get some things done at the apartment," he finally said.

Alan drew his attention away from his own coffee and looked at his son. "I'm sure you do. Thank you for staying here with your brother this week."

Don shrugged. "I'm not sure…maybe I could have done a better job, or something, those first few days. He was quiet, but I thought he was just accepting things. Yesterday, and this morning, though, I don't know."

"Your brother has always had…unique coping capabilities," answered Alan. "It's nothing you did, or didn't do. It's just Charlie. The world needs to make sense to him."

Don grinned ruefully. "That's got to be a bummer. The older I get, the less sense it makes to me."

Alan smiled at him. "Trust me, my boy. That's not going to change."

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On Monday, Charlie insisted on going back to work. His eye was fully functional again, and all facial swelling was gone, although the dark blue bruises stood out against his pale complexion harshly. He would probably only be in the sling a few more days. He convinced his father it was time to move on. Alan was both reluctant to see him return to work and anxious for Charlie to find some normalcy again, so he gave in without much of an argument. Besides, Alan was feeling – a little "ship-lag", or something. He had a headache and was tired, and he looked forward to a slow day at home when he wouldn't have to try and hide that from Charlie.

After his father had dropped him off – he wouldn't he able to drive himself until he lost the sling -- Charlie was corralled immediately by the Division Chair, Dr. Randlebaum, who was just coming out of the math and sciences building. "Dr. Eppes, Good Morning. I'm relieved you feel up to teaching, again. I'm in a bit of a tight spot."

Charlie waited, silently.

Randlebaum went on, a little disconcerted by Charlie's lack of even a perfunctory greeting. The man had experienced a difficult week, however, so he let it pass. "I know he's a close friend, so you're probably aware of the fact that Dr. Fleinhardt is very ill."

Charlie felt something, again. For the last several days, he had experienced difficulty feeling anything but occasional panic at the idea of Don or his father being out in the world. Now he realized that he had forgotten to worry about Larry. "What's wrong with him?", he asked anxiously.

Dr. Randlebaum observed him, a little surprised that Charlie didn't already know. "If you'll recall," he finally said, "Dr. Fleinhardt spent a great deal of time with the Henderson family last week. Apparently he contracted a rather virulent strain of influenza from one of the grandchildren. By Saturday evening he was exhibiting all the joys the flu has to offer. He attempted to come in this morning – losing Henderson already has us in a bind in the physics department – but the poor man fainted dead away trying to unlock the door to his car. A neighbor called 9-1-1, and Dr. Flenhardt is being examined at the hospital now."

Charlie halfway turned, as if to go back to the faculty parking lot and his car. "I need to go," he said. "Which hospital?" He remembered that he couldn't drive and didn't have a car as Randlebaum continued.

"I need your assistance here, Dr. Eppes, and as I stated. Dr. Fleinhardt is still being examined. There is nothing you could do at the hospital."

Charlie looked back at the Division Chair as if he expected him to suddenly sport a second head. "What can I do here?" he countered. "I'm a math professor."

Dr. Randlebaum nodded. "Yes, yes, I quite agree. But you do have a Master's in Quantum Physics as well."

Charlie shook his head. "I got that when I was 17, and I've never used it, except in relationship to applied mathematics…"

"I know," Randlebaum interrupted, "but even without it, you're more than capable of handling Dr. Fleinhardt's freshman class. It's introductory, quite rudimentary, even." He glanced at his watch. "And meeting in half an hour."

"So is my first class," Charlie pointed out.

"Associate Professor Tanner has agreed to handle that this morning. He covered quite well for you in your absence last week." Dr. Randlebaum considered the conversation over and started to push past Charlie. "Ah, if only Dr. Rajmujen was still with us," he noted. "Yet another reason to be sorry we lost her to Harvard."

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It was almost noon before Charlie could get a cab to the hospital to check on Larry. A quick phone call around 10, between classes, had confirmed that Larry had been admitted, but the hospital wouldn't tell him anything else.

He had less than an hour, now, and he hurried to get directions from the volunteer at visitor information, then rushed toward Larry's room. Rounding the last corner, head down, he almost plowed directly into Megan, barely hearing her startled "Charlie!", hardly registering her hand on his arm.

He automatically mumbled, "Sorry," and tried to keep going, but she tightened her grip.

"Charlie. It's me."

He heard her that time, and looked up. Megan had taken time off to come to see Larry in the hospital? It must be serious. He paled a little. "Why are you here?"

She blushed slightly, and dropped her hand. "You know Larry and I are…friends. I just wanted to check on him. He called me a few hours after he was admitted this morning, to cancel a lunch da- appointment."

Charlie looked apprehensively down the hall. "How is he?"

She smiled. "He says he's much better. He was dehydrated, running such a high fever he was practically delirious. A few hours of fluids and IV antibiotics –and a shot of anti-nausea medication -- and he says he feels like a new man." She frowned then. "I wish he had called this weekend, instead of lying there sick and alone…anyway, his temperature is still elevated. He'll probably be here at least until tomorrow."

Charlie nodded silently, and began to chew on his lower lip. Megan tilted her head and looked at him closely. "How are you doing, Charlie? I called Don a few times last week to check on you."

He tore his eyes away from the corridor and looked at her. "Thank-you," he said, politely. "I'm all right."

She pressed. "Don says you went back to work this morning?"

"Yes."

Don had also said he was worried about Charlie, and she was beginning to see why. He was acting as if they had just met. "Listen, Charlie, if you need to talk…"

He was already shaking his head. "I'm all right," he repeated.

"I understand that," Megan answered. "But the offer is always open." Charlie didn't say anything, so she tilted her head toward Larry's room. "He was asleep when I left," she said, "but I'm sure he'd love to see you."

Charlie stood, immobile. "Okay," he said, and didn't move.

Megan put a hand on his arm again. "I've got to get back to the office, Charlie," she said apologetically.

He answered somewhat mechanically. "All right. Be careful."

She smiled, assured him that she would, urged him to see Larry again, and then left. Charlie watched her leave and then leaned against the wall. He suddenly had to concentrate on breathing – slowly, evenly, repetitively. He leaned there long enough, and was pale enough, that a nurse finally stopped to ask if he was all right.

Charlie saw her name tag, and pushed himself out from the wall. "Yes, I'm fine. Could you give Dr. Fleinhardt a message? Do you know who he is?"

She smiled. "Actually, yes. He's one of my patients."

"Please tell him that Charlie was here, but he was sleeping. All right?"

"Of course," she agreed, "but I was just in his room, and he's awake now…"

Charlie didn't hear her.

He was already halfway to the parking lot.