Chapter Six Hundred and Seventy-two - A friend will cheer for you, grieve, and help. (part five)
Chapter Six Hundred and Seventy-two - A friend will cheer for you, grieve, and help.

Chapter Six Hundred and Seventy-two - A friend will cheer for you, grieve, and help. (part six)


(part six)

“I spent the rest of the night working on the doctors and nurses,” Blane said. “Drayson set it up. I will tell you — it was an honor to treat these people who’ve been working so hard to save people.”

“But?” Heather asked.

“They . . .” Blane shook his head. “This is such a fucked up time. Who assaults a doctor trying to save you or your family member’s life? It’s unimaginable to me, but every single person has some story of how they were punched or screamed at or threatened or their children threatened or . . . It’s like the worst thing. I have these kind, smart people sobbing on my table. I’m working in three rooms to treat them all and . . .”

“Sounds exhausting,” Heather said.

Rather than respond, Blane ate his piece of three layer coconut cake. When he finished, he drank down his water glass and turned to Heather.

“So sad,” Blane said. “So very sad and infuriating. I mean why? Really, why is assaulting doctors and nurses a thing?”

Heather nodded. Blane looked at her.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” Blane asked. “I don’t think I’ll sleep otherwise. I’m too upset.”

“You’re always welcome to sleep with me,” Heather said.

“You’re not due in Olympia or deal with something important?” Blane asked. “Take care of the kids?”

Nothing in this world is more important to me than you,” Heather said. “Tres agreed to monitor the kids tonight. If they need anything, he’ll take care of them. We all want to care for you.”

Rather than cry hysterically, Blane bit his lip and nodded.

“Come on,” Heather said. “Let’s get you in the bath. You’ll feel more sane when you’re warm and clean.”

Blane nodded. She got up and held out her hand.

“What about the dishes?” Blane asked.

“What dishes?” Heather asked.

Blane looked and his dirty dishes were gone.

“It kind of freaks me out that you can do that, but right now?” Blane shook his head. “I’m so glad that you can.”

He got up and took her hand. They walked up the steps. Speaking softly not to wake the children, he asked, “Why ‘Holmes’? Why did he pick that name?”

“His father’s name is ‘Homer,’” Heather said. “He just goes by Troy. It’s not a huge stretch. Plus, it kind of fits him. The boy is a brainaic, a true genius.”

Shrugging, Blane nodded. Heather led him to her large bathroom. She had the largest bathroom because she usually took care of the children. Blane went into the room with the toilet and she prepared in the big bathtub. He got out, stripped, and stepped into the tub. She let him soak for a half hour before getting him out, drying him off, and bringing him to bed.

He slept as he used to when he was sick with AIDS and Hepatitis C — with his head in her lap while she sat up against the headboard. She held him close.

Around two in the morning, Nelson poked his head in to see how Blane was. Heather gestured for him to take the comfortable chair she nursed the boys in. Nelson took off his shoes. He fell asleep the moment his head hit the back rest of the bed.

When their boys awoke at five, Tres brought them through the adjoining door and climbed into bed. Tres lay across the bottom of the bed and Nelson dropped down next to Heather.

When Blane awoke, he felt strangely refreshed, surrounded by those he loved the most.

There was nothing better.

Denver Cereal continues on Monday...


The comments to this entry are closed.