SIXTY-SIX

June 10, Washington, DC

The second day after Derek’s return home, he was horrified at what he saw when he went to pay a visit to Cas. His bony frame was now beyond skeletal. Gordon’s death had deeply affected him, obviously, but Derek wondered if anything else was wrong. Cas was coughing continuously—a ghastly, phlegm-filled cough.

“Should I take you to the ER?” Derek suggested.

Cas shook his head, trying to get through another fit of hacking. “It’s just a cold,” he managed to get out. “What’s the doctor going to say? Rest, drink plenty of fluids.”

“The results of Dad’s autopsy should be ready this week,” Derek said when Cas managed to quiet the paroxysms for a while.

Derek was sitting opposite him in the sitting room. Outside, even before the official start of summer, DC’s heat and humidity were already brutal.

Cas grabbed a handful of tissues and dabbed at his eyes. “It’s tough to lose a friend.” His voice quivered. He looked at Derek and smiled wanly. “And a father, of course.”

“Yes. Thank you, Cas. This isn’t easy for either of us.”

“I’m sorry, Derek. I’ve done an awful thing.”

“How do you mean?”

But Cas had doubled over in another fit, so violent that it sent him to the floor.

“Cas?” Derek got to his feet. “Cas?”

Cas tried to sit upright. “I shouldn’t have—”

But there was no point his trying to talk any further. As the paroxysm worsened, he slumped forward with a kind of whimper, his face now ashen and lips slightly blue.

“Oh, fuck,” Derek said.

It had been a long wait outside in the ER waiting room at MedStar Georgetown University Hospital. Derek had called 911 and after getting to the hospital had to explain his relationship to Cas. They asked, did Cas have any next of kin?

“You’re looking at him,” Derek said. “His wife’s in a nursing home with dementia, his only child hasn’t spoken to him in thirty years, and neither he nor I know where the hell she is. So whatever policies and procedures you have regarding next of kin, you better make this work.”

For two hours, Derek had no idea what was going on in there. Staff came and went, people got called, patients went in and came out. Derek’s butt got so sore from sitting he had to get up and walk. He was numb with misery. His father dead, his father’s friend sick with only God knew what.

Finally, a young—very young—female doctor came out to Derek. Was he getting old or was this a child prodigy?

“We had to intubate Mr. Guttenberg,” she explained. “He was hypoxic breathing on his own. Looks like he has pneumonia, or it could be lung cancer, or both. He’ll be going up to the ICU as soon as we get a bed.”

“Is he going to be okay?” Derek asked. “In other words, should I stick around for a while?”

She wiggled her lips around. “We’re not sure of his prognosis just yet, but I would say he’s stable for now. I mean, you could go home and get some rest, come back in the morning. If anything comes up, we can always call you, but at this point there’s not much you can do.”

Derek nodded. “Thanks. I’ll come back tomorrow, then.”

As he drove home, Derek wondered how and why life had become so sad and grim. Had he been a religious man, he would have asked if God was punishing him. Now Derek recalled something that had been buried in the excitement. Cas had been trying to say something before becoming completely overwhelmed by his coughing fits. “I’ve done an awful thing,” he had said. And after that, he started to say he shouldn’t have . . . what?