Chapter 50
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, thinking Sam 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.
“A stent isn’t even considered a surgery,” Charlie says. “Doctors do them all the time, and I was in and out the same day. But there were still risks. And even though Sam is a cardiologist and assured me that I was getting the best care, I could tell even he was getting anxious as my surgery date got closer.”
Charlie tells me the surgery means he has a normal life expectancy. He’s healing as he’s supposed to, but it will take a few months until he’s fully recovered. He won’t be able to return to work right away, but he’s not sure he wants to go back at all. He tells me how his diagnoses threw him, how worried he was when they waited for the results of Sam’s screening, and how anxious he’s been about the baby.
I bump into Sam in the hallway, and his hair is smooshed up on one side, like he’s been running a hand through it. Stress radiates from him—his daughter is coming any day. I ask what I can do to help, and he gives me the keys to Charlie’s condo.
I fill Charlie’s fridge with obnoxiously healthy foods; sort through his mail; water his single plant, a fiddle-leaf fig; and put fresh sheets on the bed.
The day before he’s released, we walk the halls of the hospital together.
“I couldn’t focus at work,” Charlie says as we turn back toward his room. “Recovery after the stent was straightforward, but waiting for this surgery really threw me. There was no reason not to work, and I was supposed to stay active, but I couldn’t bring myself to care about my job, so I took the sabbatical.”
“That sounds like it was the smartest thing to do,” I tell him. “Getting some time away to think, to relax.”
He looks at me, his eyes dancing. “Until I met a very troublesome redhead.”
“Careful,” I tell him. “I’m still furious you didn’t tell me.”
We reach his room, and Charlie’s voice softens. “You would have wanted to take care of me. You would have worried.”
“Yes.”
His eyes search my face, and even if I hadn’t told him how I feel, he would see it now. “You would have stuck with me, through all of it.”
I lift my chin. “Yes.”
“And I couldn’t ask that of you. You’ve given so much of yourself to other people. You told me once that you lost yourself in your last relationship. I wanted you to have the freedom you deserve. It wouldn’t have been fair to ask you to be tethered to someone like me.”
“Someone like you?”
“I’m broken, Alice.”
When Charlie said he’s not built for relationships, he meant it literally.
“I’m sorry,” he says, eyes pleading. “For everything I said that morning. I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you the truth. I didn’t want you to feel like you had to stand by me because of pity or a sense of loyalty.”
“I could never feel sorry for you,” I try to joke.
But Charlie steps closer, eyes darting between mine. “What if something had gone wrong? Or what if something does go wrong in the future? It’s possible. There could be complications. I may need another surgery in twenty or thirty years, and I won’t be as strong as I am now. I watched what losing my dad did to my mom.” He looks to his feet. “I’m not worth that kind of pain, Alice.”
“You can’t live in the what-ifs, Charlie. You’re here. I’m here. I wish your mom were here, too.”
His brows knit together. “Why?”
“Because I think she’d tell you how wrong you are. I think she’d tell you that all the pain and grief were worth every minute she had with your dad.” I put my hand on his cheek. “You’re worth it, Charlie. Whether you believe it or not.”
The next day, I get a phone call from a frantic-sounding Sam. “Alice? Hi. We’re on our way to the hospital.”
I jump to my feet. Charlie is being released today. “What’s happened? Is he okay?”
“Yes. Shit. Sorry. Percy’s water just broke, and her contractions are only a few minutes apart. We’re not going to Charlie’s hospital. We’re on our way to Mount Sinai.” Percy lets out a string of profanities in the background. “I’m supposed to pick Charlie up in thirty minutes,” he says, panicked.
“I’ll be there,” I say. “Don’t worry about any of it.”
“Thank you. I owe you.”
“Take a deep breath, Sam,” I tell him. “You’re going to be a dad.”
I hear him breathe. “Thanks, Alice. I’ll keep you posted.”
I find Charlie in his room. In the days he’s been here, his hair has become shaggy. He has a beard. He’s wearing the clothes I packed for him to come home in—his favorite comfy pants and a loose-fitting buttoned shirt that won’t aggravate his incision site.
“Upstaged by your niece, huh?”
He smiles—a gorgeous, golden Charlie smile. “The nerve of that girl.”
“Complete monster,” I agree.
“I was hoping she’d arrive on my birthday. I had big plans for an annual October sixteenth party.”
“I know. But you’ll only be a week apart. I’m sure you can split the difference.”
“Thank you for coming,” he says.
“I told Sam we should just put you in a cab, but he was insistent.”
Charlie laughs, and I pick up his overnight bag. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”