Chasing Charlie

by C. M. Newman

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE: FAR BETTER FOR HAVING LOVED YOU

  The look on Vince’s face the following morning was heartrending for everyone who saw it. He had to listen from bed as the rest of the family packed up Charlie’s clothes, toys, and books and moved them to Jenna’s, wanting to make his new room as comfortable as his old one to smooth the transition. Charlie had furniture at Jenna’s, so his bed and dresser remained in the otherwise empty room to be swapped out later if he so desired.

  “I’m gonna miss you,” Angela said, crouching down in front of the couch where Charlie sat, waiting for Jenna to return and take him to his new home.

  “I’ll be back before bedtime to read with Daddy,” Charlie reassured her, leaning forward for a hug.

  Angela held herself together for him, kissing both his cheeks and pinching his nose. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too. That’s them!” Charlie chirped when he heard a car door shut outside. He leapt down from the couch.

  “Why don’t you go say goodbye to your daddy and let him know you’ll be back later?” Angela whispered. He heeded her request but was back in a flash, eager to get to some happier place.

  Finally, with the closing of the front door, Charlie no longer lived there.

  Angela and Mitch exchanged worried looks back in the bedroom after taking a sleepy Vince’s temperature. “It’s way up since this morning,” Angela murmured, wanting to drop the thermometer down and crush it with her heel.

  “Go call the doctor,” Mitch said apprehensively. But Angela was already on her way down the hall.

  Vince was barely alert when his doctor examined him. The pain in his chest had required quite a bit of medication to subdue to the point of tolerability, keeping him rather groggy.

  “Angela wasn’t exaggerating, it’s gotten much worse,” Dr. Peters said. Neither Vince nor Angela ever said it, but he was much more pleasant than Vince’s oncologist had been. Dr. Peters was just what one would expect in a doctor—old, wizened, soft in the eyes. “It’s probably viral. Either that, or your immune system is just too far gone. Chemo will do that to you.”

  “Is there anything else we can do?” Angela asked. All she could think was, One to two months. One to two months. It’s been six weeks.

  “To fight off the pneumonia? No. And unfortunately, that’s not the only problem. You said you’ve been experiencing some worse than normal diarrhea today?” he asked sensitively. Vince nodded once. “Well, that, and with some yellowing I noticed in the whites of your eyes—indicative of jaundice—and a bit of swelling I noticed in your abdomen, all point to imminent liver failure, which, given the fact that you have tumors on your liver, was a possibility we discussed,” Dr. Peters said.

  Angela almost fell into the chair next to Vince’s bed, holding his hand tightly as if he could somehow imbibe some strength from her. “How did I not notice your eyes? And the swelling?” she asked in quiet horror, looking to Vince. Sure enough, the whites of his eyes were tinged yellow. “That could be anything, though, no?”

  “It’s jaundice, and it’s strange that you made it so long without showing it sooner. But with…a fever this high, and with your breathing as difficult as it is,” Dr. Peters said, “I think it’s the pneumonia that’s going to…let’s just put it this way. Your liver seems like it will outlast your lungs. Expect the jaundice to turn up in your skin, too, but no matter what takes you, it’s our job to make sure you’re prepared and you’re not in any pain. Those are the most important things.”

  “How long?” Mitch asked, his lips contorted. Vince lay there quietly, stilly.

  “A few days, maybe a week. It all depends on if the fever stabilizes and if his immune system is able to kick in a little.” He turned back to Vince, politely addressing him instead of pretending he wasn’t in the room. “Keep your head elevated, drink as many fluids as you can, go on a clear liquid diet if you can eat anything—Jell-O, popsicles, we’ve gone over that before—and keep that humidifier on. If you want to cough and it doesn’t cause you too much pain, go ahead and cough, get it out. If you’d rather suppress it, we can do that, too. It’s completely up to you. Whatever makes you comfortable. Now, on the more business side of things, Your DNR and durable power of attorney are both in order now. We will not resuscitate you should you stop breathing or your heart stop beating, and should you be unable to communicate your needs, your wife has the legal right to make all medical decisions for you. Do you understand?”

  Vince nodded, stroking the back of Angela’s hand with his thumb. “I understand.”

  “Another thing. Have you had the bed to yourself at night? You really should. It’ll help keep your fever down and you’ll be more comfortable.”

  “Angela usually lies with me…until I fall asleep.” Vince stopped for a breather, holding his hand up slightly to indicate that he wasn’t done speaking. “I move around a lot during the night lately…trying to get comfortable…so she usually ends up moving…so I have the space I need,” he said, cocking his head toward the recliner.

  Angela wondered just how much sleep she’d had in that recliner. It was a bit of a miracle that she was even awake right now. A full night’s sleep was unheard of lately, and even her naps were non-existent now.

  They were soon left alone with a nurse visit scheduled for four hours later. Vince feigned an urgent need for a nap so that Angela would shower. He knew she wanted to. In reality, though, he’d had enough sleep for now. He was suddenly as alert as ever. Once he heard the water running, he called Mitch for a pen and some paper and to get some help sitting up. He wrote with fervor, trying to keep one of many love letters neat but trying to squeeze in everything he had to say. He got it all down easily, which was lucky for him since Angela rarely took more than ten minutes in the shower, even if it was to cry when she thought no one could hear.

  “Hey, I thought you were tired,” she said, coming out of their bathroom already dressed in fresh clothes. She lay beside him and placed her hand on his stomach.

  “I slept for a few minutes.” Vince had shoved the envelope in between the pages of his Bible just in time. At least the tears he’d spilled while writing weren’t incriminating. The day’s news could have broken the toughest of men.

  “Good. That’s better than nothing, I suppose. How are you, otherwise?”

  “Far better for having loved you.” Vince’s lips curled up and his eyes begged for a kiss from his wife.

  She gladly gave him one. She scrutinized him as she backed away, but finally returned his smile. “I love you so much,” she said, taking his hand and kissing the tip of his forefinger.

  “Right back atcha,” he said with a wink.

  “I think your phone’s ringing, Angela. Can’t find it, though,” Mitch said, ducking into the room. She walked off briskly to answer it only once Vince insisted with a nod.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Vince said to Mitch with a liquefied heart. He handed over the letter, which Mitch stuffed into a shoebox hidden deep within Vince’s side of the closet.

  “Like what?” his brother asked with bloodshot eyes.

  “I don’t know. I’m sorry. Look however you want. Can you do me a favor?”

  “Of course.”

  “Can you find me my phone? I need to make a call.”

  Just as Vince was about to dial his pastor a few moments later, Angela walked somewhat frantically back into the bedroom. “It’s Fitz,” she said. “They probably have to leave for a case in the morning. They’re just waiting for an invite from the police. He wants to know how you’re doing.”

  Vince at first abhorred the ever terrible timing of cases, but as he had risen considerably over the last few minutes from his drug-induced stupor, he realized that now was as good a time as any to start saying his goodbyes. He knew for sure that he didn’t want a dozen people circled around his bed to hear his death rattle. This almost made things easier. “Did you tell him?” he asked Angela.

  She shook her head. “Do you want me to?”

&n
bsp; Vince held out his hand. “I can.”

  Without being asked to, Mitch vacated the room while Angela stayed by Vince’s side.

  “Harry, hey,” Vince said listlessly.

  “How’re you feeling, all things considered?” Harry asked.

  “Things became a little more…real tonight,” Vince said, his words separated by a couple of breaths. “My pneumonia’s gotten a lot worse and my liver’s starting to give out. Doctor said a few days, a week tops.”

  Harry cursed on the other end. “I already talked to Hanson. She said no other teams are—”

  “It’s okay,” Vince sputtered before the urge to cough overtook him. “One second,” he croaked between coughs. It was a full minute before he could talk again. He continued with Angela running a hand back and forth behind his neck. “It’s almost—it’s almost better this way. I can say my goodbyes while I’m still lucid, and you guys can leave and work the case.”

  “You really think we’re gonna be able to focus knowing what’s going on back here?” Harry asked.

  “You’ll have to. You know that. It’s just a matter of…convincing everyone else.” Vince took the cough drop Angela opened for him. “Do you think you can call around, see if everyone can stop by tonight?”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to see if there’s a way we can get out of this one?”

  “I don’t want an audience at my deathbed, Harry. I want to say goodbye while I still can, and I want that to be the last thing people remember of me. And there are people out there who need your help.”

  “Well, I respect your wishes even if I hate them. Do you need anything else right now?”

  Vince could think of plenty of things he needed, but not even his best friend would be able to give them to him. Time, health, Charlie. “No, I think we’re good. Thanks, though.”

  “All right. Can you put your lovely wife back on the phone for me? I need to talk to her really quickly.”

  Vince didn’t have the energy to care that Angela took her call from Harry in the living room instead of where he could hear her. She wasn’t gone for long, anyway. She came back with a mass of wadded up tissues in her hand and, without a word, slid into bed and rested her head on the pillows next to his. It was her choking sob that finally yanked him over the edge with her. The shooting pain in his chest that came with every breath returned full force with his weeping, but he knew he wouldn’t be taking another pill for the pain until he had spoken to his friends.

  Angela didn’t cry for long, soon sniffling a final time, not wanting to distress Vince too much. It wasn’t yet time for her tearful goodbye, anyway.