Second Spring by Greeley Andrew M

Author:Greeley, Andrew M. [Greeley, Andrew M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Historical, Mystery
ISBN: 9781429912358
Amazon: 1429912359
Goodreads: 12147766
Publisher: Forge Books
Published: 2003-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

Rosemarie

1978

“I don’t know why, Rosie,” Dr. Kennedy, the internist at Oak Park Hospital, had said to me. “Maybe it is connected to the extraordinary sensitivity that makes him a great artist. However, Chuck’s organism reacts very badly to virus assaults. He recovers of course, but they are traumatic experiences for him.”

“He doesn’t think he’s a great artist … I mean he won’t cut off his ear like that Van Gogh did, will he?”

“I think not. Yet even an ordinary cold will deplete his energies and leave him severely depressed.”

“Is there any threat to his life in these events?”

“I don’t think so. His health is excellent, as the tests at Northwestern indicated. A serious incident of viral pneumonia might present some problems but nothing we couldn’t deal with.”

I wouldn’t be a wife and a mother if that were enough to stifle my worries.

I called Dr. Kennedy from Rome while Chucky was in the shower and described his symptoms.

“No difficulty breathing, no dark sputum, no tightness in his chest?”

“None of those.”

“It sounds like a simple upper respiratory infection. Keep treating the symptoms. Remember lots of water and orange juice.”

“He says that Sicilian orange juice doesn’t count because it’s so red.”

He laughed.

“That’s what Chuck would say … You might warn him about the depression which is inevitable with virus attacks, especially for him.”

“I will.”

I would not, however, quote the doctor. There was no point in my husband knowing that I was worried. Life would be very difficult without him.

Then I called April Rosemary. Jamie Nettleton answered.

“Hi, Rosie,” he said, “there’s a glow back in your eldest’s eyes. She’s doing fine … She says her dad is sick?”

“Her father’s organism reacts badly to viruses. He has truly awful dreams.”

“What’s going on over there?”

“Awful stuff.”

“Sounds that way … Here’s April Rosemary.”

My daughter was contrite for having caused so much trouble.

“It wasn’t you, kid. It was your damn hormones. No one is responsible for their hormones. Don’t worry about Dad. He’s doing fine.”

“He was so funny on the phone … Give him my love.”

“And ours to Johnny.”

Johnny’s grandfather, Colonel John Nettleton, and his wife, Polly, had been Chuck’s commanding officers during his time in Germany back in the nineteen forties. Apparently my husband had even then been too much.

He emerged from the shower, wrapped up in a terry-cloth robe, and collapsed on our bed.

“Woman,” he said in his fake Irish brogue, and sighed. “I’m not long for this world. I need me tea and me praties.”

“I can call room service and order tea and praties.”

“And yourself taking me metaphors literally.” He closed his eyes and smiled beatifically. “A dish of chocolate-chip gelato would do nicely, however, wouldn’t it now?”

He was in one of his silly phases, which I adore and it’s a good thing I do or I’d kill him.

“Ah, no, won’t we go downstairs to have something more substantial, just as soon as I catch me breath.”

“You should remember what Dr. Kennedy said to you.”

He frowned.

“Which thing he said to me?”

“About depression during and after viral attacks?”

“Depression? Me depressed?”

“Yes, you depressed.

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