The Henson Brothers: Two Complete Novels

by Girard, Dara

  "It's time to get ready for bed," she said.

  She was about to argue, but thought otherwise. "Good night, Uncle Eric."

  He managed a smile. "Good night."

  "He's probably tired from a long day," Adriana said, walking with Nina down the hall.

  Nina looked at her, anxious. "He has a bad cough."

  "He'll be okay." Once Nina was settled in her room, Adriana returned to the living room. She saw Eric resting his head to the side, his eyes closed. She turned off the TV and nudged him. "It's time you went to bed as well."

  He glanced at his watch. "No, there's something I need to get done."

  "You can get to it later." She pulled him to his feet. "You need to sleep."

  "I won't argue." He followed her to the bedroom, stumbling twice but quickly catching himself. Adriana's anxiety grew. That wasn't like him.

  "How long have you had this cough?" she asked, unbuttoning his shirt.

  "Don't know."

  She took off his shoes and socks and helped him into bed.

  He grabbed her wrist as she pulled up the covers. "I'm just tired. No worries." He rested his head back and immediately fell asleep.

  Adriana went to sleep three hours later. Just as she was slipping into a wonderful dream, Elissa jumped on her side.

  "Not now," she muttered. She gently pushed her aside and rolled over. Elissa meowed and jumped on her head and climbed down to her legs. Adriana moaned and raised herself on her elbows. She turned on the light, squinting in the glare.

  "Come on, Elissa. It's too early to eat. And you know where your litter box is. Do you hear a noise?" She reached for her robe and headed for the hallway. She expected Elissa to follow but the cat jumped on top of Eric instead.

  "Get down," she ordered.

  Elissa meowed.

  "What is it?"

  She climbed on top of Eric's back and meowed again.

  Adriana lifted her off. "Bad girl." The cat let out a disgruntled sound and jumped on the bed again. She climbed on Eric's back. Adriana knew there was a reason for her cat's unusual behavior. "You want him up too? This had better be good."

  He was sleeping so peacefully she hated to wake him. Most of the covers had been pushed away, leaving his back bare. He was sleeping soundly. Too soundly. She touched his shoulder and snatched her hand back. He was burning with fever. She placed a hand on his forehead. Beads of sweat gathered under her fingertips. He lay so still she feared he'd stopped breathing. She hit the middle of his back with the flat of her palm. He took a deep breath and began coughing violently.

  "Eric, wake up."

  He continued coughing.

  "Eric?"

  The coughing soon subsided. He looked up at her, narrowing his eyes against the light. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

  She sat next to him. "You have a fever. Let me take your temperature."

  He rolled on his back and wiped his forehead with the side of his hand. "Don't worry, it will go away. I'll be—" A fit of coughs interrupted.

  She stood and headed for the door.

  "Where are you going?"

  "I'll be right back." She raced to the kitchen and called her brother Winston.

  He answered after the third ring. "Do you know what time it is?"

  "I need you to bring over your doctor's bag."

  "Adriana—" he warned.

  "Please, this is important." She hung up before he could argue.

  She grabbed a towel and dipped it in cold water. She placed it on Eric's chest.

  He sat up and swore, grabbing his head. "What the hell was that?"

  She picked up the towel. It had slipped to his lap. She placed it on his chest again. "It's to help your fever."

  He tried to push it away. "It's just dripping cold water on my trousers."

  "Don't be stubborn. I don't have a large ice bucket to drop you in. Lie down." She held up her hand. "And don't say you're okay."

  He lay back.

  She fetched a rag and rested it on his forehead. "Now be still."

  He closed his eyes and soon fell asleep again.

  Adriana couldn't be still. She went to the living room and organized things in her cupboard, started a word find, looked at a Vogue magazine, and flipped through TV channels until someone knocked on the door.

  "So who is it this time?" Winston asked by way of greeting. "A trapeze artist with no health insurance? A musician who forgets his yearly checkups?"

  "This is serious." She took his bag and pulled him toward the bedroom.

  He released her hold and took off his coat. He tossed it over the back of the couch. He was a tall, neat man of medium build and impatient brown eyes. "Adriana, I told you, no more charity cases."

  "When he's well, he'll be able to pay you. I promise."

  He shook his head and went to the bedroom. He stopped in the doorway and studied the man in bed.

  "What are you doing?" she demanded.

  "Observing him."

  "But—"

  "Shh. Let me do my job." Winston went to the bed and let his eyes gaze over the man then turned to Adriana. "He's not going to like this, is he?"

  "He's sick."

  "Mm-hmm. I'll make sure to send the bill to you." Winston narrowed his eyes. "He looks familiar. What's his name?"

  "Eric." She said his name quickly, hoping he wouldn't make the connection to Cassie and Drake. He'd been at their wedding and probably had met Eric at some point. She didn't wish to discuss their relationship right now. Thankfully, Winston was in his professional mode and didn't recognize him.

  He nudged Eric awake. "Hello, Eric. I'm Dr. Travers. Adriana told me you have a fever."

  Eric sat up, then held his head. He glared at him. "Who the hell are you?"

  "I just explained it to you."

  His voice was a low grumble. "Explain it again."

  Winston sighed. He hated belligerent patients. "I'm Dr. Travers, Adriana's brother. She called me because she's worried about your fever."

  "I'm fine."

  "Let me do a quick analysis." He reached to feel Eric's lymph nodes.

  Eric seized his wrist. "I said I'm fine."

  Winston loosened the grip and folded his arms. "Do you have any sisters?"

  He blinked. "Yes, one."

  "A younger one?"

  He nodded.

  Winston's lips thinned as he glanced at Adriana. "Then humor me."

  Winston checked for swollen glands, asked how long he'd had the cough, asked what medicines he was taking, and took his temperature. He later warmed the stethoscope on his palm, then placed it on Eric's chest and back. He finally folded the instrument.

  Eric waited for the diagnosis. The silent examination was maddening. Seeing a doctor was like admitting weakness, admitting that you're sick, that you're helpless.

  He said, "I'm not going to the hospital."

  Winston lifted his shoulders in a casual shrug. "Then I guess I'll have to treat you myself or at least Adriana will."

  They both began to protest.

  He held up his hand. "With rest and the right medication you'll be fine."

  "But—" Eric began.

  "Are you allergic to penicillin?"

  "No."

  He searched through his bag. "Do you have any needle phobias?"

  "No."

  "Good. This will get the medicine into your system faster." He looked at Adriana. "But I also suggest tea to loosen up what's in his chest."

  "What's wrong with him?" she asked after he had administered the shot.

  "My guess is bronchial pneumonia. I can't know for sure without an X ray, but I see little chance of that happening. If the penicillin works we won't worry about it, but if it doesn't, I'll have to insist."

  "Doesn't pneumonia kill people?" Adriana whispered to him.

  "He'll be fine, if he rests."

  "How long will it take to work?"

  "With his luck, probably two days."

  Eric shook her head. "I don't have two d
ays."

  Winston lifted a brow. "Planning on expiring on us?" He smiled. "You don't have a choice if you want to get better."

  "But—"

  He closed his bag. "I'll be back in a few days. In the interim, my nurse..." He pushed Adriana forward. "Will look after you. Good night."

  Adriana followed him to the front door. "He can't stay here."

  Winston slipped into his jacket. "Why not?"

  "I've never taken care of a sick person before."

  "You'll be fine. He's so exhausted he'll probably sleep the two days away and only eat toast when he wakes. Make sure he rests, eats, and drinks."

  "But what if he gets worse?"

  "Then take him to the hospital."

  She grabbed his arm as he opened the door. "Please, don't leave him here."

  "Adriana, you can do this. You're a Travers, remember?"

  "I'm the dumb Travers."

  His face became serious. "Never say that again. You're one of us and that means nothing's too complicated." He kissed her on the cheek and left.

  She rested her forehead against the door. Pneumonia. Not a cough or a cold or even the flu. Eric had pneumonia—an inflammatory disease of the lungs. What if he stopped breathing or started gasping for air and she could do nothing? She shook her head, she would not overdramatize this. Winston didn't seem too concerned and neither would she. Eric would stay with her and she would have to take care of him. Too bad she didn't know how.

  He was asleep again when she returned to the bedroom. Her anxiety quickly turned to anger as she stared at him. A large male consuming her room with his sickness. So far an affair with him had been anything but casual and fun-filled. He was sweating on her sheets, taking up most of the bed, even the smell of illness permeated the room. Why hadn't he just stayed home? Why had he put her in this position? Did he expect her to take off days of work to take care of him?

  She opened the window and sighed. No, he had come because he hadn't wanted to disappoint a little girl on Halloween. Adriana sat on the ottoman and rested her chin in her hands. She wondered how much of a nuisance he would be. Whenever Laurence got sick he reverted to infancy, or acted as though the shadow of death was a new bedfellow. How would Eric behave?

  Quite unexpectedly, she discovered. As her brother had predicted he slept all the next day. He woke briefly to grumble something before slipping off again. His exhaustion held him prisoner. The second day she tried to get him to eat but he refused, and she finally convinced him to drink some tea by threatening to choke him with it. He drank his tea on the ottoman as she changed the sweat-soaked sheets. That afternoon he still refused to eat, but had tea. His cough had subsided, but his fever remained and he kept quiet. She called Cassie. She and Drake came to visit that evening.

  Drake headed straight to the bedroom, leaving Cassie and Adriana to chat in the living room. He opened the door and saw Eric gazing out the window. He sighed, relieved. His brother usually had massive flus in the winter and would disappear for days, later emerging when he was better. He was glad that this time Eric hadn't been able to. His skin was sallow, his eyes heavy, his jaw tense, making his shame evident. Eric hated illness and Drake knew why. He hoped to make light of the situation. He closed the door. Eric turned to him. He managed a grin. "So you caught a cold from Nina. Why didn't you warn Adriana that you could catch a disease in a sterilized room?"

  Eric pushed the blankets aside and grabbed his shoes. "About time."

  "What are you doing?"

  "Getting ready to leave."

  "Why?"

  "You're here to take me home, right?" He put on one shoe, then the other.

  "No, I'm here to check on you."

  "I'm fine."

  "You're staying here."

  "No, I'm not." Eric stared at Drake, envious of his strength, his health. He stood by the door large and looming. His vitality sucking the energy from the room. Eric felt his illness strap his body down, stripping him, making him helpless. His weakened body lay bare, ready for mockery. Drake didn't understand. He'd never been truly sick. His body never betrayed him. Eric rested against the headboard and studied him. "Remember how much fun it was taking care of Dad?"

  Drake's jaw twitched. Their dad's illness and ultimate death still filled him with a mixture of anger and sadness. "It's not the same."

  It was. Like their father he was consuming Adriana's life, taking her freedom from her. He couldn't—wouldn't—do that. "I'll pay you."

  "You know I'm immune to bribery."

  "I don't want them to see me like this."

  "It's too late."

  Eric's voice became harsh. "No, it's not."

  "She doesn't mind you here."

  "I'm a burden." He saw all he'd struggled to build—namely his affair with her—slowly collapsing. "She has a life of her own. She's already missed days of work. I won't be like Dad... please." The last word was forced from his lips.

  Silence descended as they were transported back in memory to the small room where their father had died. They remembered the weeks before his death, changing the sheets under his skeletal form, feeding him, wiping his chin when food would seep out from the sides of his mouth.

  They recalled the love that brought them to do it and the anger that kept them from looking into his eyes. The anger of knowing he was leaving them, as their mother had, in a country that was supposed to give them riches. In a country that, in tales, had promised a bright future.

  Eric knew the burden of being a caretaker. He didn't want Adriana in that role—to ultimately despise not the illness, but him.

  Drake sighed, empathy overcoming sense in the silent language of brothers. "Promise me you'll rest at home." He helped him to his feet.

  Eric sagged against him, grateful. He just needed a week and then he'd see Adriana and fix the damage his illness had caused. Drake helped him into his shirt and opened the door. Cassie stood there. Both men recoiled.

  "Get back," Drake demanded. "A new mother can't enter the room of a sick man."

  Cassie frowned at him. "Of course she can."

  His voice was firm. "No, she can't."

  She rested a hand on the door frame. "I won't come in, if you put Eric back."

  Eric spoke up. "Cassie, wait."

  She stared at her husband. Drake put Eric on the bed. She rested her hands on her hips. "I should have known I couldn't trust you two."

  Eric pushed up his glasses. "Cassie, listen—"

  She shook her head. "I don't care how you were able to convince your brother, you're not convincing me. It's cold outside and you're going to stay here until you get better. Your behavior is ridiculous."

  Drake coughed delicately. "Excuse me, but I remember a certain young woman crawling out of a man's apartment when she was sick."

  She folded her arms, flashing a sheepish grin. "All right. I sympathize, but he's still staying here."

  Eric's spirits fell. "You don't understand."

  "I do understand," she said softly. "More than you know." She blew him a kiss. Then dragged her husband out of the room. "Now rest." She gently shut the door.

  How could he rest when he felt imprisoned? Eric waited until the house was quiet to slip away. Adriana was in her office and Nina in her room. He grabbed his shoes and trod softly to the front door. The living room lights were dim. He carefully took his coat from the closet, and then a beam of light struck him. He turned. Nina and Adriana glared at him. Nina turned off the flashlight. Adriana turned on the lights.

  "You're becoming a nuisance," she said.

  "I know. That's why I'm leaving."

  Nina tapped her foot. "You're supposed to stay in bed."

  "I have things to get done."

  Adriana took his coat. "Yes, getting better being a top priority. You're making it worse. You won't rest, you won't eat." She tossed his coat over her shoulder. "At least eat something."

  "Please," Nina said.

  He rested against the closet, his legs feeling heavy. "Fine."

/>   He followed them into the kitchen. He sat and waited as Adriana cooked. A few moments later, Adriana placed a plate of runny eggs in front of him. The sight of the yolk bursting through the white and seeping onto the plate like yellow blood didn't agree with his system. He closed his eyes.

  Nina moved the plate and whispered, "She's better with toast."

  He managed a cup of tea—sweetened to perfection—and two slices of toast.

  He set his empty cup down. "There. Can I leave now?"

  "No!" they chorused.

  He fell forward, holding his head. "But they're dying."

  Adriana stared at him, wondering if his fever had reached his mind.

  "Who's dying?" she asked.

  "I'm sure Margarite and Charlotte are withering away," he mumbled, his thoughts distant. "Louis will hang on."

  Adriana frowned. "Who are you talking about?"

  "His plants," Nina said.

  He continued to mumble. "I didn't water them. I should have watered them."

  "Such drama," Adriana scoffed. "I'm sure they'll be fine."

  He shook his head. "No. They—"

  "All right, all right. I'll check on them," she said before he argued. "While I'm there, what else do you need?"

  * * *

  They went to his apartment after Nina returned from school. Adriana checked on him before they left, taking an extra precaution to prevent his escape.

  His apartment was a jungle. A lush labyrinth of plants—crouching, standing, climbing, and sitting as welcome occupants to the apartment. An ivy climbed a far wall, tapering off into flowering blossoms near the window, a hanging plant had its leaves crawling out of the pot like an octopus, a large palm towered over the room as a waiting soldier, the air was fresh and vibrant. So alive with energy that she half expected a large cat to pounce. She grinned to herself. No, the cat was away, sleeping in her bed.

  "Wow," Nina said.

  Wow was right. The type of man who kept these plants alive was no ordinary, dull mathematician. Branches weren't broken, limbs hadn't been chopped. In his limited space life grew wild. She couldn't understand it.

  Nina suddenly ran forward, waking Adriana out of her thoughts. She closed the door behind her. She heard the water running and found Nina in the kitchen, filling the water pot and dropping in plant food.