Chapter 7
Sitting in the driveway of Charlie's house, Don turned the key off in the ignition of the SUV and heard Charlie reaching for his door handle. He put a restraining hand on his arm. "Wait," he said. He hadn't meant for that to sound like a command, but it did.
"I've got it," Charlie answered quietly. "I can do it."
"That's not what I mean," Don countered. "I want to talk, now." Charlie was silent, staring out the front window, looking a little frightened. Don pushed ahead. "You're right, Charlie, but only half right. Sure, I was angry because I could see that your withdrawal was hurting Mom. The two of you were always so close, and all of a sudden you can't spare five minutes for someone who's lying in a house dying, 25 feet away."
"Please don't say that," Charlie sniffed. He backhanded a tear off his check and then let his hand rest on his side, where the chest tube had been.
Don tried to reassure him and offer him a way out. "I'm not, not anymore. You were right to explain where your head was at to me, I didn't really get it. Now, I'm just doing the same. Tell me if this is too much, right now. We can do this later."
Charlie shook his head. "It's been too long already. Go on."
Don shifted in the seat so that he more fully faced Charlie, and inhaled a deep breath. "Okay. Since your accident Friday night, Charlie, how have I been handling things?"
Charlie seemed to grin a little in the growing dusk. "I think 'crazed' would describe it well."
Don smiled, too. "Exactly. I hate seeing you hurt, Charlie, I always have. It makes me crazy. Feel crazy, do crazy things, say crazy things. When Mom was dying, I wasn't just angry about what you were doing to her. I hated seeing what you were doing to yourself. I hated that you were denying yourself time with her that you would never get back, and I hated knowing what that would do to you, once you figured it out. You weren't the enemy just because you were hurting my mother, Charlie. You were hurting my brother, too. That's why I haven't wanted to talk about it; I haven't wanted to help you prolong that pain."
Charlie's hands had dropped to his lap and were clasped together tightly. "Do you forgive me?" he whispered.
Don reached across the SUV and grasped the back of Charlie's neck. "I'll go you one better, Buddy," he said, massaging gently. "I understand you. Can you offer me the same? Can we bury this, now?"
Charlie turned to look at him and nodded his head, but did not speak. One hand slowly crept toward his bandaged side, again.
The two of them sat in companionable silence for so long that Don felt Charlie shiver a little, and started to feel guilty. He should get the kid in the house. "I'm surprised Dad hasn't bolted out here to see what's going on," he remarked.
Charlie grinned at him. "He's been standing at the kitchen window for at least 10 minutes."
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Alan wanted to pace, but that would mean giving up his place at the window. What were his sons doing out there? He wanted to race out and take matters into his own hands, but something kept stopping him. Don had gotten Charlie all of the way here, he should be able to get him into the house safely. Besides, it looked like their lips were moving. Don even appeared to be touching Charlie.
Alan looked up at the ceiling. "Good Lord, Margaret," he breathed. "I think the boys might be talking."
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Don finally deposited Charlie in the space-heater-warmed kitchen, directly in front of Alan. "Be careful, Dad," he warned. "I think his side is a little sore."
Alan glared at him and wrapped Charlie in a soft embrace anyway. Once he had his arms around him, he couldn't seem to stop, and his squeeze tightened until he heard a small grunt. He pulled back quickly. "I'm sorry. You're all-right? No more surprises?"
Charlie smiled tiredly. "I'm supposed to let my personal physician check me out every morning on the way to school. He has x-ray facilities there and he can keep an eye on things. I've got the first appointment every morning for the rest of the week. Dr. Peterson set it up while I was at the ER."
Alan frowned. "You think you're going to school tomorrow? Or any more this week? You're prepared to take me on over that?"
Charlie shrugged. "Actually, no. When I get upstairs I'll call the Division Chair and see what we can work out."
Don and Alan were both a little taken aback. It wasn't like Charlie to give in so easily. Of course, Don remembered, Charlie seemed to have adopted a new honesty policy, today.
Alan recovered first. "Well, I have the space heater on in your room. It should be nice and warm now, if you want to go up. I'll heat up some soup and bring it up later."
"I thought I had a furnace guy coming, today."
Alan winked at Don over Charlie's shoulder. "Yes. There's his bid, on the kitchen table. He says that they can do it this week, if you decide to go for it."
Charlie approached the table slowly, and looked down at it so forlornly that Don finally took pity on him. He leaned over and retrieved the paper from the center of the table, where it was anchored by a salt shaker. He handed it to Charlie. His brother's eyes widened as he studied first one side, then the other. He looked up at his father. "Should I get another bid?"
Alan shrugged. "Competing bids are never a bad idea, Charlie, but they're all going to be in this ballpark. Why do you think I didn't replace the furnace with a heat pump years ago? You probably should have had your real estate agent ask about things like that."
Charlie looked back at the paper. "I may have to cash out a CD."
Don started. "You have CDs?", he asked.
"That's one form of investment I have, yes." Charlie dropped the paper on the table and looked at Don. "Don't worry -- you're the beneficiary. After all, thanks to you. I made almost a hundred thousand dollars off the FBI just last year."
Don's mouth gaped. "How the hell much do we pay consultants?"
Charlie grinned. "Not nearly what we're worth. If I were in this for the money, I would work exclusively with the NSA."
Alan snorted behind them. "You do still occasionally teach, correct?"
Charlie took his hand off his side long enough to run it through his hair."That's right. I have to go call Dr. Endicott about my schedule this week." He started for the door that led into the dining room, and the stairs beyond, but paused beside Don long enough to drag him into an awkward, sideways hug. "Thanks, Donnie," he whispered into his ear. "I love you." Don barely had time to squeeze back, didn't have time to say anything in return. He was busy, memorizing the moment.
Don wanted to carry it with him forever.