When I came in from the library just before nine the next night, Hartley’s room door stood open. I put my head in, finding him seated on his bed, his desk chair propped under his leg. “Hey, Callahan,” he said, tearing a piece of paper out of his notebook and balling it up.
“Hey yourself.” I studied him, taking in the pale face and the weary look in his eyes. “You don’t look so good.”
“Thanks for the compliment.” He shot the wadded paper toward the distant trashcan. It went in, of course. Because Hartley was Hartley.
I crutched further into the room. “Seriously, are you okay?”
“I will be. The second day is always the worst, right? I just need a good night’s sleep. You know how hospitals are.” He squinted up at me.
“Yeah, I do.” I maneuvered over to sit down next to him, careful not to bump him at all. “How many times did they wake you up to check your vitals?”
“Lost count.” He leaned down for his water bottle on the floor, and then drained it. “Callahan, would you mind refilling this for me?”
“Of course I wouldn’t.” I jumped up. Hooking the bottle’s strap over my finger, I crutched into Hartley’s bathroom and refilled it. “Can you take another dose of ibuprofen yet?” I asked, spotting the bottle on the sink.
“Hell, yes,” he said.
I took two tablets out of the bottle and tipped them into my pocket. Then I brought the water back over to him. It scared me to see Hartley in pain and vulnerable. He looked all wrong. Before I could stop myself, I reached up, pressing my palm against his face. Big brown eyes rose up to study me. “You don’t feel feverish,” I said quickly. “Post surgical infections can be scary.”
He closed his eyes, and let the weight of his head tip into my hand. For a long moment, I didn’t move. I knew I needed to pull away, even though I wanted to do just the opposite — to wrap my arms around him and hold on tight. If I thought he’d let me, I would have done it.
With a sigh, I slid my hand down to his shoulder and put the water bottle in his hand. When he straightened up, I fished the pills out of my pocket.
“Only two?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“But that’s the dose! How many would you usually take?”
“Three or four, of course.”
“The bottle says two, Hartley.”
“Tell you what, Callahan. I’ll sit on you, and then you can tell me why it makes sense for your dose to be the same as mine.” His mouth smiled, but his eyes were too tired to join in.
“You’re a pain in the ass, Hartley,” I said to cover my concern for him. I made the trip back to his bathroom for one more pill.
“Thank you,” he whispered when I came back. And after he’d swallowed all the tablets down, he leaned back on his hands, a grimace on his face. “What time is it?”
I checked my watch. “Just about nine.”
“We have to go sit with Dana,” he said.
I blinked. For a moment, I’d completely forgotten that it was supposed to be Dana’s big night. Very shortly, all the singing groups would begin running across the Freshman Yard, tapping their favorite First Years in a mad dash for the best singers. “Right. Are you sure you want to move?”
He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them again. “Good thing it’s just across the hall.”
“Hang on,” I said. “Let me set up first.”
I crutched back into my room, moved a bunch of books off the sofa, and lined up the coffee table for Hartley’s knee. Then, struck by inspiration, I nudged my wheelchair out my door, across the hall, and into Hartley’s room. This was perfect, because I’d gone to the Beaumont library (which had only three stairs) on my braces, and didn’t need it myself.
He was standing when I found him. “Check this out,” I said. “You don’t even have to walk.”
“Well, thanks,” he sighed. I kicked the chair around behind him, and he sat. Quickly, I adjusted the footrest out in front of him, raising his bad leg into the air. He put his hands on the wheels and pushed. “So this is how the world looks to Callahan,” he said, heading out the door.
“Dana, we’re here!” I said as we entered my common room. “And it’s nine. What do we do?”
She came skidding out of her bedroom. “We just wait.”
“Can I turn on the football game?” Hartley asked.
My roommate frowned. “On mute. I need to be able to hear them knock.”
Hartley was kind enough not to point out that since Dana had cranked our windows all the way open, and the door to the building was right outside, we’d never miss them. He picked up the remote in silence. When he found the football game, he backed my chair up near the couch and began fumbling for a way to transfer.
“Hey guys!” Bridger said, walking in with a bag of ice. “Special delivery. I’m gonna put it in your mini fridge, okay, bro?”
“Thanks, man. I could use some now, actually.”