The Henson Brothers: Two Complete Novels (60 page)

"My guess is bronchial pneumonia. I can't know for sure without an X ray, but I see little chance of that happening. If the penicillin works we won't worry about it, but if it doesn't, I'll have to insist."

"Doesn't pneumonia kill people?" Adriana whispered to him.

"He'll be fine, if he rests."

"How long will it take to work?"

"With his luck, probably two days."

Eric shook her head. "I don't have two days."

Winston lifted a brow. "Planning on expiring on us?" He smiled. "You don't have a choice if you want to get better."

"But—"

He closed his bag. "I'll be back in a few days. In the interim, my nurse..." He pushed Adriana forward. "Will look after you. Good night."

Adriana followed him to the front door. "He can't stay here."

Winston slipped into his jacket. "Why not?"

"I've never taken care of a sick person before."

"You'll be fine. He's so exhausted he'll probably sleep the two days away and only eat toast when he wakes. Make sure he rests, eats, and drinks."

"But what if he gets worse?"

"Then take him to the hospital."

She grabbed his arm as he opened the door. "Please, don't leave him here."

"Adriana, you can do this. You're a Travers, remember?"

"I'm the dumb Travers."

His face became serious. "Never say that again. You're one of us and that means nothing's too complicated." He kissed her on the cheek and left.

She rested her forehead against the door. Pneumonia. Not a cough or a cold or even the flu. Eric had pneumonia—an inflammatory disease of the lungs. What if he stopped breathing or started gasping for air and she could do nothing? She shook her head, she would not overdramatize this. Winston didn't seem too concerned and neither would she. Eric would stay with her and she would have to take care of him. Too bad she didn't know how.

He was asleep again when she returned to the bedroom. Her anxiety quickly turned to anger as she stared at him. A large male consuming her room with his sickness. So far an affair with him had been anything but casual and fun-filled. He was sweating on her sheets, taking up most of the bed, even the smell of illness permeated the room. Why hadn't he just stayed home? Why had he put her in this position? Did he expect her to take off days of work to take care of him?

She opened the window and sighed. No, he had come because he hadn't wanted to disappoint a little girl on Halloween. Adriana sat on the ottoman and rested her chin in her hands. She wondered how much of a nuisance he would be. Whenever Laurence got sick he reverted to infancy, or acted as though the shadow of death was a new bedfellow. How would Eric behave?

Quite unexpectedly, she discovered. As her brother had predicted he slept all the next day. He woke briefly to grumble something before slipping off again. His exhaustion held him prisoner. The second day she tried to get him to eat but he refused, and she finally convinced him to drink some tea by threatening to choke him with it. He drank his tea on the ottoman as she changed the sweat-soaked sheets. That afternoon he still refused to eat, but had tea. His cough had subsided, but his fever remained and he kept quiet. She called Cassie. She and Drake came to visit that evening.

Drake headed straight to the bedroom, leaving Cassie and Adriana to chat in the living room. He opened the door and saw Eric gazing out the window. He sighed, relieved. His brother usually had massive flus in the winter and would disappear for days, later emerging when he was better. He was glad that this time Eric hadn't been able to. His skin was sallow, his eyes heavy, his jaw tense, making his shame evident. Eric hated illness and Drake knew why. He hoped to make light of the situation. He closed the door. Eric turned to him. He managed a grin. "So you caught a cold from Nina. Why didn't you warn Adriana that you could catch a disease in a sterilized room?"

Eric pushed the blankets aside and grabbed his shoes. "About time."

"What are you doing?"

"Getting ready to leave."

"Why?"

"You're here to take me home, right?" He put on one shoe, then the other.

"No, I'm here to check on you."

"I'm fine."

"You're staying here."

"No, I'm not." Eric stared at Drake, envious of his strength, his health. He stood by the door large and looming. His vitality sucking the energy from the room. Eric felt his illness strap his body down, stripping him, making him helpless. His weakened body lay bare, ready for mockery. Drake didn't understand. He'd never been truly sick. His body never betrayed him. Eric rested against the headboard and studied him. "Remember how much fun it was taking care of Dad?"

Drake's jaw twitched. Their dad's illness and ultimate death still filled him with a mixture of anger and sadness. "It's not the same."

It was. Like their father he was consuming Adriana's life, taking her freedom from her. He couldn't—wouldn't—do that. "I'll pay you."

"You know I'm immune to bribery."

"I don't want them to see me like this."

"It's too late."

Eric's voice became harsh. "No, it's not."

"She doesn't mind you here."

"I'm a burden." He saw all he'd struggled to build—namely his affair with her—slowly collapsing. "She has a life of her own. She's already missed days of work. I won't be like Dad... please." The last word was forced from his lips.

Silence descended as they were transported back in memory to the small room where their father had died. They remembered the weeks before his death, changing the sheets under his skeletal form, feeding him, wiping his chin when food would seep out from the sides of his mouth.

They recalled the love that brought them to do it and the anger that kept them from looking into his eyes. The anger of knowing he was leaving them, as their mother had, in a country that was supposed to give them riches. In a country that, in tales, had promised a bright future.

Eric knew the burden of being a caretaker. He didn't want Adriana in that role—to ultimately despise not the illness, but him.

Drake sighed, empathy overcoming sense in the silent language of brothers. "Promise me you'll rest at home." He helped him to his feet.

Eric sagged against him, grateful. He just needed a week and then he'd see Adriana and fix the damage his illness had caused. Drake helped him into his shirt and opened the door. Cassie stood there. Both men recoiled.

"Get back," Drake demanded. "A new mother can't enter the room of a sick man."

Cassie frowned at him. "Of course she can."

His voice was firm. "No, she can't."

She rested a hand on the door frame. "I won't come in, if you put Eric back."

Eric spoke up. "Cassie, wait."

She stared at her husband. Drake put Eric on the bed. She rested her hands on her hips. "I should have known I couldn't trust you two."

Eric pushed up his glasses. "Cassie, listen—"

She shook her head. "I don't care how you were able to convince your brother, you're not convincing me. It's cold outside and you're going to stay here until you get better. Your behavior is ridiculous."

Drake coughed delicately. "Excuse me, but I remember a certain young woman crawling out of a man's apartment when she was sick."

She folded her arms, flashing a sheepish grin. "All right. I sympathize, but he's still staying here."

Eric's spirits fell. "You don't understand."

"I do understand," she said softly. "More than you know." She blew him a kiss. Then dragged her husband out of the room. "Now rest." She gently shut the door.

How could he rest when he felt imprisoned? Eric waited until the house was quiet to slip away. Adriana was in her office and Nina in her room. He grabbed his shoes and trod softly to the front door. The living room lights were dim. He carefully took his coat from the closet, and then a beam of light struck him. He turned. Nina and Adriana glared at him. Nina turned off the flashlight. Adriana turned on the lights.

"You're becoming a nuisance," she said.

"I know. That's why I'm leaving."

Nina tapped her foot. "You're supposed to stay in bed."

"I have things to get done."

Adriana took his coat. "Yes, getting better being a top priority. You're making it worse. You won't rest, you won't eat." She tossed his coat over her shoulder. "At least eat something."

"Please," Nina said.

He rested against the closet, his legs feeling heavy. "Fine."

He followed them into the kitchen. He sat and waited as Adriana cooked. A few moments later, Adriana placed a plate of runny eggs in front of him. The sight of the yolk bursting through the white and seeping onto the plate like yellow blood didn't agree with his system. He closed his eyes.

Nina moved the plate and whispered, "She's better with toast."

He managed a cup of tea—sweetened to perfection—and two slices of toast.

He set his empty cup down. "There. Can I leave now?"

"No!" they chorused.

He fell forward, holding his head. "But they're dying."

Adriana stared at him, wondering if his fever had reached his mind.

"Who's dying?" she asked.

"I'm sure Margarite and Charlotte are withering away," he mumbled, his thoughts distant. "Louis will hang on."

Adriana frowned. "Who are you talking about?"

"His plants," Nina said.

He continued to mumble. "I didn't water them. I should have watered them."

"Such drama," Adriana scoffed. "I'm sure they'll be fine."

He shook his head. "No. They—"

"All right, all right. I'll check on them," she said before he argued. "While I'm there, what else do you need?"

* * *

They went to his apartment after Nina returned from school. Adriana checked on him before they left, taking an extra precaution to prevent his escape.

His apartment was a jungle. A lush labyrinth of plants—crouching, standing, climbing, and sitting as welcome occupants to the apartment. An ivy climbed a far wall, tapering off into flowering blossoms near the window, a hanging plant had its leaves crawling out of the pot like an octopus, a large palm towered over the room as a waiting soldier, the air was fresh and vibrant. So alive with energy that she half expected a large cat to pounce. She grinned to herself. No, the cat was away, sleeping in her bed.

"Wow," Nina said.

Wow was right. The type of man who kept these plants alive was no ordinary, dull mathematician. Branches weren't broken, limbs hadn't been chopped. In his limited space life grew wild. She couldn't understand it.

Nina suddenly ran forward, waking Adriana out of her thoughts. She closed the door behind her. She heard the water running and found Nina in the kitchen, filling the water pot and dropping in plant food.

Adriana nodded in approval. "You don't seem to need any help."

Nina tried to lift the pot. "I could use help taking it out of the sink."

She obliged.

As Nina watered the plants, leaving tiny puddles in her wake, Adriana looked around. Except for the plants, the place held no other luxuries—paintings were absent, there were a few account manuals and a TV set, but nothing to give the place a feeling of home. In his bedroom, the bed was stark with tight brown sheets pulled military style, his refrigerator was filled with leftovers from Drake's restaurant. The only thing he had in abundance was sugar, pineapple soda, and vanilla sandwiches.

Something about the place bothered her. He seemed to give all the luxuries to the plants—dressing them in handsome terra-cotta pots and porcelain vases but gave nothing to himself. He didn't splurge on clothing, shoes, music, or videos. Not even a subscription to a business magazine.

She packed a few items. She found his drawer to be extremely tidy—socks properly rolled and sorted by type and color, shirts pressed and organized by sleeve length and style. She went to his desk and grabbed some papers he was working on, then zipped up the bag. As she slung it over her shoulder, the front door opened.

Chapter 10

"You don't need to worry, Gerta, I'm sure he's fine," a male voice said with tired patience and laden with a Norwegian accent.

A woman's voice replied, "When I see, I will know."

An older couple dressed in heavy gray coats, long scarves, and wool hats entered the room. For one panicked instant Adriana feared she had entered the wrong apartment. The couple turned and stared. Shrewd green eyes studied her. They looked vaguely familiar.

"Who are you?" the woman asked.

"I'm Adriana Travers. I'm sorry, I thought this was Eric's place."

The woman came forward, seeming to shrink as she came closer. "It is. Is he not here? Why are you here?"

Adriana blinked, looking down at the woman, wondering why she had to submit to such an inquisition if this was the right place. "No, he's not here," she said in the same brusque manner. "He's at my place. He's sick."

The woman turned to her husband, self-satisfied. "Did I not tell you that something was wrong?" She turned back to Adriana. "What is your address?"

"Why?"

"Because we plan to visit him."