by David Horne
“Oh, I see it,” Brett murmured. “There.”
He placed his finger right next to Lewis.’ Not touching, but very close.
“Yeah,” Lewis said apologetically. His mouth was drier than it’d been all day. “Sorry, it should be in color, but I only had black and white ink on me, and they don’t sell it in town.”
“It’s okay,” Brett said quietly. “So, what were you saying?”
“That right there is what we call a cerebral hemorrhage,” Lewis explained, getting up and striding back to his armchair. “Like a bruise on your brain, or internal bleeding.”
“Right,” Brett nodded.
“When you hit your head, the impact gave you a cerebral hemorrhage on your frontal lobe,” Lewis said. He reached out and placed the tip of his finger against Brett’s forehead.
“Right there. What we call Broca’s Area. It’s your brain’s speech center. I suppose that’s why it’s often hard for you to use your words.”
Brett nodded. “That’s not all.”
Lewis nodded right back. “I thought as much. You get headaches? Dizzy spells? Sudden bursts of confusion?”
Brett nodded again, eyes lighting up in recognition. “Yes, yes and yes. So how can you help me?”
“Well, I’m not a neurosurgeon,” Lewis admitted. “I can’t get a bag of tools and fix you like an engineer fixes a car. But what I can’t do is no use to me or you, so let’s talk about what I can do. What I can do is what I’m good at. What I’m good at is being a therapist. I can show you ways to…retrain your brain, I suppose you could say. Ways to work around your…disability.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I hope you’re ready,” Lewis said. “Because, Mr. Evans, we are going to get you well again.”
Chapter Twelve
For the next few hours, it seemed to Brett like Lewis was throwing every test in the book at him. According to Lewis, putting him through a series of brain teasers and problem-solving scenarios would help Lewis better gauge where Brett was, mentally. For Brett, however, it wasn’t much fun. He hadn’t exactly been a dab hand at this kind of thing before the accident, so after it was all but impossible.
The first thing Lewis did was dig out an old “Where’s Waldo” puzzle book. Brett was almost offended at first; he knew he wasn’t in the best place mentally, but he thought he was a bit more advanced than Where’s Waldo. It turned out, however, that Brett was wrong. Where’s Waldo was a lot more difficult for Brett than he’d thought it would be. It was only looking for a dude in a stripy jumper, that sounded like the world’s easiest job. But gazing at the pages full of miniature people fried Brett’s brain and made his head spin.
After nearly forty minutes of staring at the pages, Lewis reached over and jerked the book from his hands. “Found him,” he said, within forty seconds.
“Hey,” Brett frowned. “I’m trying, you know.”
“I don’t think this is a problem with your brain,” Lewis said. “I think you just need glasses.”
“Oh yeah I do,” Brett nodded. “Well, so the opticians say. But I never wear those things, I can see just fine without them.”
Lewis raised his eyebrows. “Is that right?”
Brett grinned.
Lewis shook his head. “I think we need to focus on something that gets you thinking a bit more. Do you know any riddles?”
Brett screwed up his face. “A few.”
“Okay, great,” Lewis’ face lit up. “So, I’ll give mine to you, then you give me yours and we’ll switch back and forth like that, okay?”
Lewis frowned as Brett stifled a giggle. “What’s funny?”
Brett bit his lip to stop himself laughing.“Nothing, it’s just…you said ‘give me yours, then I’ll give you mine’—”
Lewis rolled his eyes. “Everything’s a dirty joke, with you young people. Let’s have it, then.”
Brett laughed again, and Lewis quickly cut in. “I meant the riddle!”
“Okay,” Brett screwed up his face again like he was thinking. “The more of me you take, the more of me you leave behind. What am I?”
“Footsteps,” Lewis said immediately. “Come on, I meant a hard one.”
Brett made a face. “I thought that was a hard one. What’s your one, then?”
Lewis thought for a moment. “Okay, I’ll start with an easy one. Mary’s father has four children. Three of the children are named Nana, Nini, and Neenee. So, what’s the fourth one called?”
Brett arched his eyebrow. “I’m going to take a guess and say it’s not Noonoo?”
“Why would it be Noonoo?” Lewis asked.
“It sounds like it should be Noonoo,” Brett admitted. “Wait, read me the riddle again?”
Lewis smiled and repeated the riddle and Brett grinned. “I’ve got it. It’s Mary, isn’t it?”
“Bingo,” Lewis shot him with a finger-gun. “The key to that riddle is to pay attention rather than letting your instincts make your decision. I can see I’m going to have to up my game. Which is lucky because I have just the riddle for your next—”
“No!” Brett barked. “It’s actually my turn.”
If it were anyone else, Lewis would’ve been annoyed at being interrupted, but the indignation on Brett’s youthful features was so adorable, Lewis was charmed into laughing. “Go on then,” he smiled.
“Okayyyyyy,” Brett hummed, drumming his fingers on the table. “Ooh! I remember one now! So, a boy and an engineer are fixing a car. Now the boy is the engineer’s son, but the engineer is not the boy’s father. How?”
Lewis sighed exasperatedly. “Brett, I thought I said you should make them hard…” Lewis suddenly trailed off. He frowned. “Wait, what?”
Brett giggled and then repeated the riddle. “You don’t know the answer?” he grinned.
Seeing Brett sitting there giggling made Lewis even more frustrated that the riddle made no sense. “Brett, that’s impossible!”
“Fine, I give up, just tell me,” Lewis said. “Because I don’t see how a boy can be someone’s son and not their son at the same time.”
“I didn’t say that,” Brett reminded Lewis. “I said the boy was the engineer’s son, but the engineer was not the boy’s father.”
“C’est impossible, dear boy,” Lewis said knowledgeably. “How can the engineer have a son if he’s not a…” Lewis trailed off again. He rested his forehead in his palm and sighed. “The engineer is his mother, isn’t she?”
“You got it,” Brett grinned. “Took you long enough.”
“That was a lucky one,” Lewis said sourly, though he couldn’t help smiling. “Okay, my turn. I have one that you will never get.”
“We’ll see,” Brett smirked. “I’m already doing better than I thought.”
“Okay, let’s see,” Lewis leaned forward. “You ready?”
Brett nodded and leaned forward too. “As I’ll ever be.”
“All right,” Lewis said. “Here it is. It is greater than God, it is more evil than the Devil. The poor have it, the rich need it, and if you eat it, you’ll die. What is it?”
Brett had been wearing a confident smile, but Lewis watched the bravado drain from his face. “Greater than God,” he murmured to himself. “The poor have it, the rich need it…money? No, then they wouldn’t be poor. I know!”
“Hmm?” Lewis asked, half disbelievingly.
“Diamonds!” Brett snapped his fingers.
Lewis frowned. “Okay, what?”
“You said the poor have it and the rich need it,” Brett said. “I read somewhere about how like all of the world’s diamonds are mined from Africa.”
“Africa’s a poor country is it?” Lewis drawled.
Brett cocked his head from side to side as he thought this over. “I mean…aren’t like all the starving kids from Africa?”
Lewis sighed in exasperation. “Brett, that is a stereotype, and it’s actually quite racially insensitive. Africa isn’t a third-world country anymore. Shame on you.�
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“Third-world country?” Brett echoed. “Isn’t Africa a continent?”
Oh God. Take my degree away now, Lewis thought inwardly. “It’s not diamonds, Brett.”
“But if you eat diamonds, you’ll die—”
“Diamonds aren’t greater than God,” Lewis reminded him. “Or more evil than the Devil. So, looks like it’s back to the drawing board on that one.”
“Are you going to tell me what it is?” Brett raised his eyebrows.
Lewis narrowed his eyes. “No. You have to figure it out. That’s the point of this whole exercise.”
He checked his watch. “You can keep thinking about it while I make dinner. Stir-fry okay?”
Brett nodded. “Yeah, thanks.”
Lewis got up and started heading toward the kitchen, leaving Brett sitting in the armchair. As he left, Brett called after him.
“Is it death?”
Lewis stopped and turned on his heel. “Why would it be death? How do the poor have death…oh, wait, yeah that checks out. But the rich don’t need death, and you can’t eat death. Seriously, would you think?”
All the while Lewis was cooking, Brett was throwing him crazy theories about what the answer to the riddle could possibly have been, each more wildly convoluted than the last until finally, he stopped. As Lewis was serving out the stir-fry into bowls, he reached for a pair of cellophane-wrapped chopsticks from the counter top.
“Hey, check it out, we could use chopsticks like actual Chinese people.”
Brett snorted. “Right, because that’s not racially insensitive.”
Lewis scrutinized him. “You’re getting a bit cheeky, you.”
Brett beamed at him and blew him a sarcastic kiss that made the hairs on the back of Lewis’ neck stand up on end.
Lewis unwrapped one set of chopsticks. “Okay so these can be a bit tricky to use, so what you do with these babies is—”
He stopped dead in his tracks, gazing across the kitchen counter as Brett stood there, twirling a chopstick effortlessly between his fingertips. “So, you’ve used these before?” Lewis guessed.
“Once or twice,” Brett admitted. “But I also did pen-spinning in school.”
“You did pen what?”
“Pen-spinning,” Brett repeated. “It’s a thing where you…never mind.”
Neither Brett or Lewis had realized how hungry they were - both had skipped lunch, and the stir fry smelled great, so for the first few moments they ate in silence. Then Brett asked Lewis a surprising question.
“Are you religious?”
Lewis took his time chewing a piece of fried broccoli and swallowing before he answered. “Well…I’m not sure, to be honest. I was raised as a Christian, but…I kind of questioned that after—”
“After you came out?” Brett guessed.
Lewis nodded.
“So, you were a Christian when you were a kid?” Brett asked.
Lewis nodded. “Very much so. My family still is. Why?”
“What’s the most important thing to a Christian?” Brett asked innocently.
Lewis shrugged. “God. Faith. Obedience, I suppose. Living a good life. Love, which is ironically the most evil force of all. Being charitable. All that jazz.”
“Is there anything more important to them than their faith?” Brett asked, no longer making eye contact.
“Not as far as I know,” Lewis shook his head. “Why do you ask?”
He suddenly scowled. “Are you trying to ask me what’s greater than God, but in a covert way?”
Brett grinned. “I pulled a little sneaky on ya.”
He reached up and brushed his chocolate brown hair out of his eyes and smiled. “It was worth a try, right?”
Lewis smiled wryly, and for the briefest of moments, he allowed himself to gaze into Brett’s hazel eyes. “Yeah,” he said gently. “Worth a try.”
Chapter Thirteen
In Lewis’ opinion, things had gone way too far. Brett was hardly underage, but what he was, was Lewis’ employee. His client, for that matter. Having any kind of sexual relationship with a client was against one of the AMA’s (American Medical Association) most fundamental rules. Not to mention it was about as unethical as it could be.
Yet, Lewis couldn’t deny that there had been a moment in the study. A moment of…razzle dazzle was the only term he could use to describe it. Brett had laughed the most intoxicating laugh and brushed his hair back in that cute way that only he could. When he had, Lewis had felt his heart literally skip a beat. He’d locked eyes with Brett and it was like his tongue had tied itself.
Lewis had been on one or two dates since Harvey had broken off their engagement, and no matter how cheesy it sounded, he’d never felt anything like this. There was something about Brett, something that made Lewis care deeply for him, the same way he cared deeply for all his patients, but then there was something…more.
But every time Lewis had the inkling of a shadow of a thought about any kind of future that he and Brett might be able to have together, a nasty little voice popped up in his head and said ah, but you promised to spend all your time trying to help Brett, didn’t you? So, which is more important to you?
Lewis rolled over and punched his pillow into a more comfortable shape. Only two things were certain to him at that point. One, Lewis had to get his hormones under control. And two, he had to find a way to help Brett Evans.
Chapter Fourteen
Brett stumbled in through the back door and kicked off his mud-caked wellingtons. It had just gone four in the afternoon, and after a long day of milking cows, feeding chickens and grooming horses, Brett was tuckered out. He stumbled up the stairs to his room, nudged the door closed behind him with his foot and collapsed forward onto the bed. Brett found himself inwardly thanking God for the soft, comfortable bed that awaited him every night. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so tired.
Suddenly, Brett heard footsteps on the staircase. Next second, his bedroom door was thrown open.
“Rise and shine, you,” Lewis said brightly. “Come on, shake a leg!”
“What?” Brett croaked. “It’s not morning already!”
Lewis laughed and checked his watch. “No, it’s quarter past four in the afternoon, Brett. Did you forget about our little sessions?”
Brett groaned. “Not now, Lewis, I’m so tired.”
“Now, now,” Lewis scolded playfully. “I thought you said you wanted to get better.”
“Of course, I do—”
“Then you’ve got to work at it,” Lewis said preachily. “So, come on, drag your fanny out of that bed and meet me downstairs in the study. Pronto. Brett, maybe give your clothes a wash, eh? It smells like sweaty balls in here.”
Twenty minutes later, Brett walked down the stairs as slowly as humanly possible, wearing a fresh checkered shirt and khakis. He dragged his socked feet across the carpet into the study, where Lewis was sitting, looking classier than ever. He wore khakis almost identical to Brett’s, and a deep blue blazer over a cardigan.
His legs were crossed over each other as he sat in his favorite armchair and swirled a tumbler of scotch whiskey in his right hand. In front of him, his aunt’s glass chess set was assembled on the little table.
“Evening, dear boy,” Lewis said snootily.
Brett arched his brow. “What are you doing?”
Lewis frowned. “I’m being classy. Why, what does it look like I’m doing?”
Brett shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”
Lewis scoffed. “I was supposed to be smoking a pipe, but I couldn’t find one. Anyway, how are you feeling?”
“Do you mean ‘am I tired’ or ‘how’s my head’?” Brett checked.
Lewis shrugged. “Either or.”
“Well I’m still tired,” Brett shrugged, as he sat opposite Lewis. “My head is never constantly hurting. It just has…”
“Episodes?” Lewis supplied.
Brett snapped his fingers. “Yeah. That’s the perfect
word. It has episodes.”
Lewis shrugged. “It’s kind of what I do, no big deal.”
Brett rolled his eyes. “So, I see you’ve had your humble pie today.”
Lewis pretended to look stung. “You’re getting a bit cheeky, you are.”
Brett grinned toothily.
Lewis indicated the chess board. “So. You ready?”
Brett shrugged. “As I’ll ever be. I’m not sure I see the point of playing chess with you every day, Lewis. I’m not getting any better, it’s just not my thing.”
Lewis shook his head. “You’ve got to trust it, Brett. Chess is not as complicated as a lot of people think it is. You just have to take a beat and think about your moves. It helps to know your opponent and a little bit about how they think too.”
Brett frowned. “What do you mean ‘how they think’?”
“I mean the greatest chess players can often predict what their opponents are going to do,” Lewis explained. “Because they understand how their opponents think about certain situations.”
“I don’t know how you think, though,” Brett pointed out.
Lewis shrugged. “Only one way to find out,” he gestured toward the chessboard. “White moves first.”
Brett looked down at the board. Chess really wasn’t his thing. All the pieces and their positions and moving patterns just helped to confuse him even more than he already was. He reached out across the board and moved the knight over his front row of pawns.
Lewis sighed.
Brett froze. “What?”
“You can’t do that,” Lewis shook his head.
“What?” Brett exclaimed. “I thought you said the horses could jump over pieces!”
“They can—”
“They have to move in ‘L’ shapes,” Brett cut across him. “Which I just did.”
“Well, yes, technically—”
“So, what’s the problem?” Brett laughed.
“You moved one square too far,” Lewis pointed out. “The ‘L’ shape has to be one square over, three squares up or down. Or vice versa. You moved four squares up, one square over.”
Brett frowned. “So…I have to move down one?”
