Chasing Charlie

by C. M. Newman

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO: CHARLIE’S LAST NIGHT

  The inevitable finally happened a few weeks later. Harry was there for it. Vince sat up in the bed that he barely left now, and just sitting was a struggle in and of itself. Angela habitually set her hand to his forehead. “Whoa. You’re burning up.”

  “I’m fine,” Vince insisted, but in reality he was on fire, his feet sweating through the sheets. Knowing Angela would do it for him if he didn’t, he took the ear thermometer she handed him and stuck it in his ear, handing it back without reading it. A fever would explain the wave of chills he had experienced not long ago but about which he had told nobody.

  “How long’ve you been feeling feverish?” Harry asked once Angela was down the hall, calling a nurse to come check on Vince and asking what was safe to give him to bring down his fever. Harry sat next to Mitch on one of the dining room chairs that had been stolen from its home down the hall.

  “Just a few hours,” Vince admitted, stopping to cough. Over the last few days, his lungs had grown drastically less capable of getting him through a thought in one breath. “I really can’t get away…with anything. Between her and the nurses…”

  “I’m the only one that leaves you alone,” Mitch said. “Does that make me a bad brother or the good guy?”

  “Knowing Vince, I’d say that makes you his best friend in the whole wide world,” Harry said.

  “Thanks,” Vince said when Mitch helped him pull off his bedding. He was clearly embarrassed, feeling exposed even though he was fully clothed. Part of it, he knew, was that he had to receive visitors in his bedroom now. “How’s everything at the office?”

  “All right,” Harry said. “Agent Hirsch is doing well. All of us are trucking through. How’s Charlie doing?”

  “It’s hard to tell.” Vince wished Harry hadn’t asked. He could sit with Charlie at bedtime and read every book in the world, and it would never feel like enough. Some nights he longed so earnestly for Charlie to stay by his side that he would let him sleep in his and Angela’s bed. Vince needed more space than he used to, so this didn’t leave enough room for Angela, who understandingly would take the recliner for the night. His eyes were soon lined with tears that he had meant to save for a more private time. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” Harry said firmly. “Is there anything at all that we can do to make this a little easier for you? Give you less extraneous stuff to worry about?”

  Vince shook his head. “Between Mitch and Angela…the household’s running fine. Them, I’m not so sure.”

  “We’re fine,” Mitch said, tapping his foot anxiously.

  Vince swallowed and winced in pain. He searched through the mess on the nightstand next to him—something else he hated about having visitors in his bedroom—and found the third bag of cough drops he’d opened that week alone.

  “How’s your pain? Need a pill?” Mitch asked.

  “I just took one,” Vince lied.

  “Answer my first question. Scale of one to ten.”

  “Two, maybe.”

  Mitch gave him a look.

  “Five, six,” Vince said, still fibbing.

  “Come on, Vince,” Mitch spat, his patience gone. “You can’t just sit there in pain. You have to say something.”

  “I don’t want to be all doped up when I have visitors,” Vince said gently, hoping his tone would calm his brother down.

  “Sorry,” Mitch muttered, running his hand over the soft fuzz on his head. Fuzz the same length as his brother’s, whose had been growing back in completely grey after putting an end to the chemotherapy.

  “You gave up a lot to be here. You have a right to go off once in a while. You even quit smoking,” Vince said as lightheartedly as he could. It was then that he could see the look in Harry’s eyes. He was at the point in a typical visit when he didn’t know whether Vince still wanted him there. Vince needed peace, he needed rest, and Harry was uncomfortable intruding past a certain point but didn’t want to bail on his friend, either. Vince decided to let them off the hook. “Thank you for coming, Harry, but I’m…”

  “Say no more. I’ll get out of your hair,” Harry said, standing. He waited for Mitch to leave the room. Then he took his chair.

  Vince chuckled softly. “Liar.”

  “Talk to me,” Harry said, sitting back to indicate that he wasn’t going anywhere just yet.

  Vince licked his parched lips. “About what?”

  “Anything. I can take it—so can your wife, for the record, but I understand you wanting to spare her. What’s on your mind?”

  “Angela’s so tired. It’s not just the…waking up every time I do, not getting to nap during the day like me. It’s…seeing it all happen. Seeing me sick. She hates it, even if…she never admits it. And Charlie does, too, but he feels…sorry…” Vince paused to give his throat a break.

  “It’s all right.”

  “He feels like he has to be a big boy, so he doesn’t tell anyone when he’s upset. He wouldn’t even say…much to his grief counselor the other week.”

  “What about you? Are you ready? Relatively speaking, anyway.”

  Vince shook his head and the tears finally spilled. “Not even close, Harry. I’m not ready on any level except…maybe physically. Of course I’d be glad to be…rid of my pain without having to drug myself, but…I’m not ready to say goodbye. I keep thinking it’ll get easier the worse it gets, that I’ll just…want to give up, but that hasn’t happened yet. Spiritually, I think I’m ready too, I guess, but I’m still not eager to go. I’m just so…tired…”

  Harry nodded, his own eyes glistening. “Do you want me to stay or go? Be honest. You won’t hurt my feelings.”

  “Honestly, both. I want…I want to sleep, but I can’t anyway until I…actually take one of my pain pills and let it kick in. The patch isn’t enough on its own anymore. And if someone comes by to check on me tonight, that’s even more…time I can’t sleep. But even when I’m ready to sleep, you know…the last thing I see before I close my eyes is Charlie, or Angela, or Mitch, or you guys. The people I only have so many days left to see. Makes sleeping feel like…I’m taking bags of money and just burning them.”

  Harry couldn’t seem to come up with an argument for that. “I think I understand the feeling, to some extent, anyway. But…people enjoy your company much more when you’ve got some sleep in you,” he poked. “You do need your rest, my friend.”

  “I know,” Vince said halfheartedly. “I’ll pop a pill once you leave and hope that if someone comes by tonight, it’s sooner rather than later.”

  Harry nodded. “Get your rest. I’ll drop by tomorrow. You still eating?”

  “Not much,” Vince said.

  “Got a hankerin’ for anything?”

  “Not really, but thanks.”

  Harry frowned. “Anything I can get for you on my way out?”

  “Yeah, my brother, if you would, please.”

  “Roger that. Sleep tight.”

  “What’s up?” Mitch asked when he answered Vince’s summons.

  “While I have you feeling guilty for blowing up at me in front of my friend, and I know you’ll do or tell me whatever I ask, I have a question.”

  Mitch plopped down in a chair and licked his lips. “Uh-oh. What is it?”

  “I was debating not bringing it up, but I need to know…do you have money put away?”

  “What do you mean?” Mitch replied, swallowing.

  “Well, you’re not pulling in any income right now, and I don’t think you will be right away once you go back to Chicago, either. Kind of hard to make money without a job.”

  “Leaving was my choice, man. I didn’t do it because I felt obligated. I wanted to. So just…drop it. I’m not worried about money.”

  “I can’t drop it, Mitch. I feel bad enough for not…being a good brother to you for so long. For leaving so suddenly now. Don’t let me die feeling guilty about you being broke, too.”

  Mitch rolled his eyes at his brother’s tactics. “Come on, Vi
nce, don’t pull that.”

  “What?” the older brother said innocently. “I could guilt you into a million other things, but I’m restraining myself. This is really important to me. How are you financially right now?”

  “Fine,” Mitch said, seeming sincere.

  “You sure you don’t need anything?”

  “Vince, you’re not an ATM. Your job paid almost nothing for what you did. I’m not taking money from you.” Mitch crossed his arms stubbornly.

  “I do have cash. Please, take it.”

  “No. Put it away for Charlie.”

  “At least…take my car. It’s almost paid off. You can sell it and take the difference.”

  “You could give that money to Charlie. I told you,” Mitch said with authority, “I’m not taking money from him. Or Angela.”

  Vince let out a hiss of a laugh. “Angela won’t let me leave her a dime.”

  “Then why should I?” Mitch challenged him.

  “Because, she has a job to go back to. You have to start fresh. So just let me leave you a little to get by on, and…if it bugs you that much to take money from Charlie, then call it a loan…and deposit it back into his account when you’re back on your feet. Please?”

  “Is this the last thing you’ll guilt me into doing?”

  Vince smiled. “Can’t promise I won’t think of more.”

  Mitch returned his brother’s smile and got up. “My turn to manipulate you. Now that you got your way, will you take some morphine already?”

  “Yes, I will. Anyone from hospice coming to poke and prod?”

  “Rosie’s on her way,” Mitch said brightly.

  “Oh, good. She’s nice. Doesn’t poke, only prods a little…”

  “Somebody’s got a little crush,” Mitch said mischievously from in the bathroom, where he went to get Vince his medicine.

  Vince chuckled at the thought. Rosie, his favorite hospice nurse, was almost old enough to be his mother. When Vince seemed to be in the mood for a story, she would tell him about the misadventures of her brood of six.

  “Thank you,” Vince said, accepting water and a pill from his brother.

  “Yup.” Mitch folded up a wet cloth and laid it on Vince’s forehead to cool him.

  “No, I mean thank you. For everything. We both know I wouldn’t have let you come stay here had I figured out your game right away, so I guess I’m happy you snuck it all past me. Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “I know you’ve been coming to church with us, but can you tell me why?”

  Mitch frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Is it just because you think I want you to? Which I do, by the way. But I want you to go because you want to.”

  “You sound like Mom,” Mitch cracked.

  “I’m serious. You’re my baby brother, Mitch. I don’t care how…emasculating it is to hear me say that. The condition of your soul is important to me. So how’s it doing?”

  Mitch sighed and rolled his shoulders. “Your faith is…inspiring. I’m not to your level yet, but I promise I’ll try.”

  “My faith is young and immature,” Vince argued. “You can do a lot better. Just don’t waste time. Promise me.”

  It appeared as though this felt like too much of a goodbye to Mitch, who nodded and patted his brother’s shoulder. “Okay.”

  —

  “How we doin’, baby?” Rosie asked when she waddled into the bedroom.

  Vince smiled languidly. “Hi, Rosie. I’m feeling okay. How are you?”

  “Nuh-uh, nice try, mister. Pain, one to ten?”

  “Four now, but it’s still going down. Mitch made me take some morphine.”

  “He’s a good boy,” she said with a chortle. She moved her husky figure toward the bed and took the damp cloth away to feel his forehead. She then took a legitimate reading under his tongue. “Your breathing’s not soundin’ good, and you’re still a little warm. Angela said she gave you an aspirin?”

  “Yeah, just a little bit ago.”

  “Well, let’s let that kick in a little better. I’ll have Dr. Peters come check you out in the morning, find out for sure why you’re so warm. Hate to say it, but we might be getting ourselves a case of pneumonia, in which case the fever’ll get worse than this. Want me to give you a suppository while I’m here? Could bring the fever down a little faster.”

  “I have a choice?” Vince asked.

  “Of course you do. Come on now. Be honest with me.” Rosie sat in a chair, patted Vince’s hand, and softened at his uncomfortable stare. “It’s still a low-grade fever, so if you feel okay waiting till morning, it should be fine. It’s nothing that makes me feel the need to call Dr. Peters tonight, as long as someone takes your temp again every couple of hours and lets us know if it gets any higher.”

  Vince nodded. “I’ll just wait till morning then, see what he says.”

  “Okay, baby,” Rosie said, getting up to change Vince’s top sheet. The fresh one had been sitting near the air conditioning vent and felt delightful against his fiery skin. “Wanna change the bottom one too while I’m here?”

  He shook his head. “Not right now, but thank you. I’m semi-comfortable. Rather stay that way.”

  “I know what you mean. So, how’s Charlie?”

  “He’s doing all right. They won their game yesterday…and he actually hit the ball a couple of times. Proud dad,” he said, raising his hand slightly off the bed. He hadn’t been to a game in a couple of weeks now. He’d had to settle for video recordings. At least, this way, he could watch them over and over again and take breaks when he got tired.

  “Well, good for him. You must be proud. He’s such a good little boy, even if he looks at me like I’m killin’ his puppy every time I come to help you.” She began to tidy Vince’s nightstand. “Tell me more. How far are you on that book? Angela says he’s a pretty good reader.”

  —

  Angela knew Rosie was the one hospice staff member whose company Vince actually enjoyed, so she didn’t follow Rosie back to the bedroom. Instead, she waited with Mitch in the living room, chomping on a hangnail while they hardly watched a baseball game.

  “Can I ask you something?” she said to Mitch when she realized he’d chosen the farthest place to sit from her.

  “Sure,” he said, giving her only a moment’s glance before turning to the television again.

  “Have I been too…cold toward you?”

  “Naw,” Mitch said, waving her off.

  “You could at least try to be convincing, you know,” Angela said, crossing her arms over her waist. “Seriously, I haven’t been very receptive lately. I think we started out on the right foot, before things got bad, and then I closed up.”

  “Hey, if that’s how you cope…”

  “It is, but it’s not fair to everyone else. Vince isn’t the only one in the house who’s an emotional wreck.”

  “He’s certainly better off than you,” Mitch said with a cautious smirk.

  Her eyes closed to slivers. “Not funny.”

  “Yeah, I was thinkin’ it might not be. Sorry.”

  “Listen, I’m glad you’re here. And I’m going to try not being an ice queen from now on.”

  “Seriously, what brought this on?” Mitch asked. “Did I say something? Did Vince?”

  Angela shook her head. “No, I just…the more I’m forced to think about what it’s going be like when he…you know…the more I wonder how I’ll cope. I know I will—I’ll have to—I just don’t know exactly how. And then I get to wondering how you’re going to deal, and I start to feel like I’m not leaving you with many options. Even if I don’t want to pour out my heart and soul to someone, that doesn’t mean I can’t…be there for you if that’s what you need. So before this sounds too silly, just know that I’m here. I’m not the best at sharing but I’m a really good listener. I promise.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Mitch offered a peaceable grin.

  Rosie came down the hall looking a bit
solemn and gestured Angela and Mitch toward the front door, out of Vince’s earshot. “You gotta work on convincing him to use a urinal. Getting up to go even a few times a day is puttin’ him in a lotta pain. Soon enough he’s not gonna be able to get up at all, and once he has to move his bowels in bed, he’s gonna be embarrassed about needing to be cleaned up after. So just try and ease him into being okay with urinating so the rest isn’t so traumatic for him when it happens.”

  “I’ll talk to him,” Angela said quietly, nodding.

  “I’ll have Dr. Peters come by in the morning. He’s showing signs of pneumonia. I didn’t give him anything else for the fever now because nobody likes suppositories, so I just changed his sheets for him. His temperature’s not too high, but someone needs to check it every couple of hours. Let us know if it gets higher than one-oh-one tonight, okay?”

  “Of course. Thank you so much for coming out so quickly,” Angela said somewhat breathlessly.

  “It’s my job, honey. And it’s my pleasure. ’Night, now.” Rosie flashed a little grin and let herself out the door.

  “How bad do you think this is?” Mitch murmured to Angela, bracing his hands behind the back of his neck.

  “I don’t know. I don’t want to know. I’m not ready.” Angela dragged a hand through her hair, forcing herself back down the hallway. The pedestal fan was already running and aimed at Vince, who lay there with his eyes closed, still looking flushed and even more miserable.

  —

  “Can I sleep in your bed again tonight, Daddy?” Charlie asked as they closed their book the next evening. Charlie had a hard time with some of the words, and Vince now got drowsy when in bed with a book, so sometimes a chapter would take a few nights. The printed words and Charlie’s sweet voice had the effect of a double dose of painkillers at times. But they were getting there.

  Vince’s heart hurt again for Angela. He wished there was still room for all three of them, but he moved around more at night now, not sleeping so soundly anymore. “You’re going to have to ask Angela very nicely…and she and I have to go through my nighttime stuff before we can go to sleep. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Charlie said. “I’ll go get her. Can I have a cookie?”

  “One,” Vince said.

  When Angela came back to their room, Vince swallowed down his nightly round of pills, which included a new antibiotic for the pneumonia his doctor had done his best to diagnose without any lab tests or chest x-rays.

  Angela was a good sport, as always, about being evicted from the bed. She did take some extra time in washing Vince up, though, glad that he was past most of the embarrassment of that aspect of care, at least. She had gently brought up the issues of bodily functions that morning, and Vince, seeing how much it flustered Angela to talk about such a private issue with him, had swallowed back his pride and agreed to transition away from using the toilet. He had given up his last bit of dignity so he didn’t have to see that scared look in her eyes.

  Another difficult and much more important conversation had occurred earlier that day, as well. Jenna had approached Vince with something Charlie had brought up to her. The words “sad” and “scary” had been involved. Charlie had all but said directly that he didn’t like living at home anymore because, as was unpleasant to a child his age, it wasn’t fun anymore. Perhaps that was why the indignity of the entire hospice situation wasn’t getting to Vince as much as he or anyone else had expected. He was slowly losing something worlds more important to him than his self-esteem or his body. As much as it killed him even faster than biology did, he decided that he couldn’t hold off on broaching the subject with Charlie. Not if Charlie was suffering.

  Once Vince said goodnight to Mitch and Angela, the latter of whom said she wasn’t ready for bed yet, Charlie came back in with Chip. Vince’s heart panged momentarily for Frankie, who still crossed his mind often during his wallowing. “Hey, buddy, there’s something I think we should talk about before we go to sleep,” Vince said. He was suddenly puzzled by the fact that Charlie didn’t want to be at home anymore, yet he had begged to sleep here. Maybe Charlie felt this was his last opportunity, if his aunt listened to his complaints—maybe he wanted to leave, but wanted one more night with his father.

  “Okay,” Charlie said, lying back on the pillows.

  “Auntie Jen said you’re not very…happy living at home anymore,” Vince choked out. Keeping his face neutral when he said this was one of the more difficult tasks he’d taken on as of late.

  Charlie nodded shamefully.

  “It’s okay,” Vince whispered, stroking Charlie’s cheek with the back of his hand. “I understand. It is a little scary to be around here, isn’t it?”

  Charlie nodded again. “But Auntie Jen said I should sleep here one last night.”

  Vince’s lips thinned. “Do you not want to?”

  “I want to for one more night. But then I wanna go stay with Auntie Jen. I have more fun there. Can I?”

  Vince nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry it’s not any fun here, buddy. But can you do me one big favor?”

  “What?”

  “I love when we read together. Can you still…have Auntie Jen bring you over at least once a day…so we can finish our book? We only have one chapter left,” Vince asked, trying to swallow.

  “Yeah,” Charlie said with a smile. “I wanna see how it ends.”

  “Good. That’s the one time a day that I’m always happy, you know. Reading with you.”

  “Really?”

  “You bet,” Vince said with a sniffle.

  “How come you’re crying, Daddy? I said I still wanna come see you. Is it ’cause you’re gonna die soon?”

  “I’m crying because I miss you already…and I’m pretty tired, so sometimes I cry pretty easily. As for when I’m going to die…I don’t know. It all depends on if the medicine helps with my pneumonia. If it doesn’t help, then…well, I could be going to heaven soon. I know that’s sad to think about…and I need you to promise me that you won’t hide it…when you’re upset, okay? Auntie Jen, Mitch, Angela, and I…and Dr. Birmingham, too…we’re all here for you. We’re pretty upset, sometimes, so it’s definitely…okay for you to be, too.” Vince was out of breath and had to stop. He was surprised he was able to get out that much. He felt lightheaded.

  “Okay, Daddy.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise. Here, you should hold Chip. He makes me stop crying sometimes.”

  Vince took the stuffed dog and held him fast to his chest, then wrapped an arm around Charlie. “Me, too. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. I love you.”

  “I love you too, kiddo. You know what else…helps make me feel better?”

  “What?”

  “Hearing about your day. Practice went well today, right?”

  Charlie nodded with more energy than Vince typically had in an entire day. “It was really hot out but it was fun.”

  “That’s good to hear. Ready for your next game?”

  “Yup.” Charlie knew better by now than to ask if Vince could come. “Can we read now?”

  “We sure can.” Vince pulled out the hardbound copy he’d bought with the thought that it would be nice for Charlie to be able to keep it as a memento. “My throat’s pretty sore. Think you can read tonight?”