Chapter 6
Dr. Peterson had Charlie's chest tube pulled and three stitches in the incision before Don really accepted what was happening. He swore to all that was holy, if Charlie had problems later and had to come back here again, heads would roll.
The doctor snapped off his gloves and started speaking to Don while a nurse dressed the incision on Charlie's side. "That was a little more rugged than most chest tube incisions. Back of the ambulance and all that. Most only take one or two stitches – this will leave a small scar, I'm afraid."
"Scars are nothing. We can handle scars. But if Charlie stops breathing again…"
"He won't, Mr. Eppes," the doctor assured him again. "The incision will be painful for a few days, so I'll write a scrip for Vicodin and give you a packet containing a few pills with the discharge papers. They should last until you fill the prescription." He grinned ruefully. "Or they could last forever, knowing your brother's distaste for pain medication."
"Hey," Don heard Charlie say, apparently – hopefully – to the nurse still working on him. "You really are beautiful. Do you like strawberry ice cream?"
She laughed. "Don't have much of a tolerance for pain meds, do you? And yes, I do."
Don watched Charlie grin up at her. "I'm weak. Weak-kneed. Blown over by brunettes."
Don rolled his eyes. If he didn't get Charlie out of here soon, the poor bastard would be engaged.
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Charlie continued to flirt shamelessly with the nurse until she helped Don get him in the passenger seat of the SUV. Don buckled him in and heard Charlie still talking over his shoulder. "My name is Chuck," he said, and the seat belt slipped out of Don's hand, he was so surprised. He shook his head and retrieved the belt, leaned over to try again. "I your name can have I?"
Don straightened and turned to look apologetically at the nurse. His brother was stoned on Demoral, of all things. "He doesn't get out much," he shrugged.
She laughed. "Not a problem. They never remember me later, don't worry." She looked at Charlie. "Amanda," she said.
He grinned goofily. "That rhymes with panda. Didjou know thish country ish tryin' to mate pandas?"
Checking first to make sure Charlie was safely tucked inside, Don slammed the door in his face. It was for his brother's own good.
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He hadn't meant to slam the door on Charlie's happiness.
Yet before Don even got his own belt buckled, the brooding silence was back, Charlie staring morosely out the window in front of him. To add increased pressure to Don's already frayed nerves, they hit six-o-clock traffic on the freeway, and there was a pile-up that shut down two lanes. After it had taken 40 minutes to drive five miles, Don flipped open his phone again and called Alan, assuring him that they were on their way. His father had seemed reluctant to believe him again, and Don was starting to wonder how much he lied to the man – and how successful he had been at it. Charlie was asleep in the passenger seat now, head leaning against the side window, and Don almost had to wake him up to talk to his Dad before Alan finally accepted what he was saying.
Don flipped the phone shut and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. There was a sudden rush in traffic, and he made seven miles in only 20 more minutes. At a standstill again, he glanced at his watch. He couldn't believe they had left the hospital over an hour ago.
"You never finished," Charlie suddenly said, and Don started. Charlie's head was still leaning against the window, and Don hadn't even realized he was awake.
"Hey. How are you feeling?"
"Stupid," Charlie answered, and Don grinned. Of all the possible answers, that was probably the best. They'd been stuck in traffic for so long, Charlie was starting to sober up.
Might as well attempt a conversation. A man could only blow the horn so many times. "Finished what?"
Charlie lifted his head. "What you were saying, in my office."
Don tried to remember what they had been talking about. Had that just been today? Then, he remembered. Mom, sort-of. "Oh. That." He hedged. "I was done. I just didn't want you to think I was angry."
Charlie spoke like a frightened child. "I know you were angry at me…for hurting Mom."
Don sighed, impatient with the hold-up and unwilling to have this conversation. "Charlie, I said I don't want to talk about that. It's over.You need to let it go."
Charlie turned his head towards him, and Don could see that he was surprised. "I do?" He turned away again, looked out the front window. "You're falling behind," he noted, and Don quickly closed the gap between him and the car full of kids in front of him.
"I just don't want it always there between us," Charlie said. "Unacknowledged. Like an elephant in the living room." Don didn't answer. Charlie took a breath, hand reaching for the place in his side where the tube had been. "I don't want to drag it out any more. I want to let it go…I'm just not convinced I can do that as long as you are angry with me. As long as you don't understand why I did it."
Don laid on the horn again, for absolutely no reason – except it kept him from saying something to Charlie he would regret. He had noted the hand creeping to Charlie's side, too. "Fine. We'll do it tomorrow. The day after. Don't talk so much."
Charlie dropped his hand and leaned his head on the window again. In profile, he looked almost as sad as Don had ever seen him. Damn. He was going to have to talk. "Look, I know why you did it, okay? It wasn't easy for any of us, seeing her that way."
The car behind Don honked and he jolted forward another inch. Charlie raised his head, again. "That wasn't it. Not completely, anyway. I mean sure, that could have been part of it…I was tired, Don. Nothing was making any sense. Dad and I had been watching Mom go downhill for almost two years already before you came home."
Don stiffened. "Neither one of you asked me to come, before then."
Charlie looked at him and rushed to reassure him. "No, Don, please. Don't get defensive. You're right, we didn't – and I'm not saying now that you should have figured it out on your own. I'm just trying to explain…explain that I didn't just go off the deep end overnight."
Don gripped the steering wheel and reluctantly considered that. Had he not given Charlie any kind of understanding at all over this?
Charlie went on – and so did the SUV, almost approaching 20 miles per hour this time, for nearly a quarter of a mile. "It's just that I know now how ridiculous this will sound, but then, it all made sense."
Don made a noncommittal grunt.
"Okay. First, I wanted the money."
Don took his eyes off the road and looked at Charlie for a second; he hadn't been expecting that one. "What money?"
"The prize, for solving one of the seven unsolveable problems as defined by the Clay Mathematics Institute. Solve one, and it's a million dollars. I thought I had the best chance with 'P vs. NP'."
Don looked away and gripped the wheel harder. So help him, if Charlie had done that to their mother over money…Don would kick him out of the SUV and make him walk the rest of the way home. He'd probably get there sooner that way anyway.
Charlie interrupted his thoughts. "I thought with a million dollars, I could buy Mom a second chance. Her insurance was good and everything, but insurance won't pay for things they consider experimental. I was convinced I could take her to Mexico, or Europe, or damned Antarctica or somewhere, and fix everything. If I had the money."
Don's grip loosened. Oh. He hadn't expected that, either. Oh. He hadn't quite gotten past "Oh" yet when Charlie went on. "Then, the longer I worked at it, the more tired I got, the less sense everything made. I thought if I could do it, if I could use the years of nurturing and education Mom and Dad gave me, God would see. He would see that she was a good person, and that she had done a good job with me. She helped create a genius so astronomical he could solve 'P vs. NP'. God would see that power in her, and He wouldn't take her so soon. He would see that the world needed her longer. He would see that I needed her longer."
"Shit," Don breathed, giving the SUV some gas. He could finally see the sign for their exit; it was coming up in another mile.
"Yeah," Charlie agreed. "I told you it wouldn't make sense. When you came out to the garage, and told me she was gone, it all came crashing down on me. I knew there was no reason to try, anymore."
"I remember," Don whispered. "You stared at me for a full minute, never said a word, walked into the house and slept for 30 hours."
"I'm sorry," Charlie said, miserable.
"Me too," Don answered, as unhappy as his brother.
They had finally reached their exit, and they were silent the rest of the way home.