He swallows, his own eyes beginning to well.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he rasps.
“Shh. Of course I should be here.”
Charlie’s fingers twitch as if he’s trying to move them towardme. I lean forward in my chair, setting my hands on his upper arm, away from all the gear he’s hooked up to. He closes his eyes again.
“You look good in yellow,” he mumbles.
Moments later, he’s asleep.
50
Thursday, October 2
Two Days After Charlie’s Surgery
Sam texts me the next morning to say that Charlie has been moved out of the ICU. He tells me he’ll be in the hospital for another week but that he’s doing well. I ask Sam if I can come in the evening after I’m done with work. He begins to type out a reply, but then my phone rings.
“Hi, Alice.” He hesitates before he says, “I’m sorry, but he says he doesn’t want you to visit again.”
I stand in the middle of my kitchen, an icy chill trickling down my spine.
“He said he doesn’t want to waste your time.”
Before this summer, I might have agreed to keep my distance. But I know Charlie, and I don’t believe that’s what he really wants. It’s not what I want, either.
“Well, too bad for Charlie,” I say to Sam. “Tell your brother I’ll give him a couple days to catch up on his beauty rest, but that I’ll be there on Saturday.”
“Good,” Sam says. I can hear his smile. “It’s about time Charlie met his match.”
I arrive at the hospital on Saturday with a bouquet of balloons and an envelope.
Charlie is sitting up, his color far better than it was a few days ago. He’s in a private room, whether by luck or Sam’s intervention, I’m not sure.
I stand in the doorway, our eyes locked together.
“I meant it when I said you shouldn’t be here,” he says. His voice is clearer than it was earlier in the week.
“I won’t stay long,” I tell him. “But I won’t stay away, either.”
“I don’t want you seeing me like this. There’s a reason I didn’t tell you.” He closes his eyes briefly, gathering strength.
“We don’t need to talk about that today,” I say. “But you can’t stop me from worrying or wanting to help. You need support, Charlie. You need your people, and like it or not, I’m one of them.”
Charlie stares at me. He doesn’t argue.
“All that matters right now is that you get better. And then I’ll yell at you.”
His lips curve. “Fair enough.”
I hand him the envelope. “These are for you. So you don’t forget.”
His eyes move between mine. “Forget what?”
“Us.”
I visit Charlie every day for four days. I don’t mention the photos I gave him, and neither does he. Instead, he tells me about the day last spring when he walked into his doctor’s office, thinkingSam was making a big deal about him being short of breath, and walked out in shock. His doctor had heard a heart murmur. More tests led him to a cardiologist’s office and the diagnosis of two heart conditions that could prove fatal. The first condition, an aortic coarctation, was taken care of with a stent soon after.
