Wildest Dreams (Thunder Point #9)(33)

She was actually relieved. There was no room in her life for a man, not even a man as wonderful as Scott. But she was deeply grateful for his friendship.

It being Saturday morning, there wasn’t anyone there, just Scott. When she walked in he was waiting and of course Scott asked where Charlie was. “He’s more interested in a game of chess with Mikhail than another doctor’s appointment. Especially just for test results.”

“Can’t say I blame him,” Scott said. “Well, the results are good. Not excellent but improved. We gave him a lung capacity breathing test before discharging him and another a week later and there was marked improvement once he was fully recovered from his asthma episode. Of course, Charlie will never have the capacity of a healthy fourteen-year-old who has never suffered asthma and bouts of pneumonia. But he’s in pretty good shape. His problem is—he isn’t going to fare well if he’s thrust into the need for a burst of physical stress like he was. It’s time for him to change that as much as possible, Lin Su. Charlie has to train. A steady buildup of physical exertion to strengthen his circulation, muscles and breathing endurance. It’s important he grow stronger.”

“Oh... I don’t know... We live in a better place right now.”

“Don’t think in terms of keeping him safe from bullies and a doctor’s pass from PE—think of other situations he could find himself in that can create the same disastrous results. What if he comes across a person in peril and has to run for help? Or what if he’s chased by a dog? Or what if he wants to test into a police academy? If he improves his stamina he can be ready for anything.”

“You mean, no more medication or inhaler?”

Scott shook his head. “Charlie will probably be on medication at least into adulthood and might be reliant on an inhaler forever, at least as necessary. But he can get much better than he is. More independent.”

“He already romps around the beach! He plays volleyball, he hikes.”

“He needs more training in controlling and understanding his asthma. I have a booklet for you—it’s really just an average overview for the typical asthma sufferer and...”

“But Charlie’s not typical!” she said, feeling a little panic set it. It felt like turning him out, setting him free—free of her care, her help. “He landed in the hospital, almost intubated! Very recently!”

Scott was shaking his head. “Not because his asthma is more critical than most, because he’s out of shape. Listen, an average kid with good lung capacity could exert himself and be weak and winded for a while, then recover. A kid with exercise-induced asthma is going to collapse, maybe suffer worse consequences. Charlie has been kept still too long, Lin Su. It was necessary, I understand. Now he has to build his strength, then he has to maintain his stamina. He stays on medication, uses his inhaler once a day, or maybe before or after some monitored exercise, improves his capacity slowly...”

“I have no idea how I’m supposed to do that,” she complained. “I’m working, and he’s in school all day...”

“Stop,” Scott said. “Charlie can have a better experience, a safer life. There are Olympic athletes with asthma. They control it with medication and training. Charlie can...”

“Oh, it’s him!” she said. “This is his idea!”

“Whose?” Scott asked.

“Blake Smiley! That first day Charlie rode his bike and got severely short of breath, Blake told him to research famous athletes with asthma! This is his idea! Why doesn’t he stay out of my business?”

Scott frowned. “It wasn’t Blake’s idea, as a matter of fact, but if it had been I would have agreed. I know Charlie and his asthma is the center of your universe but we have many patients who have to be rehabbed, build their strength again to avoid relapse—heart patients, patients with muscle and bone repairs, transplant patients. I guarantee if you sit in front of a TV for two years, even you will have to start over with rehab to get back in shape. Charlie needs to be stronger. And if you have trouble figuring out a plan, Winnie’s house sits between two professional trainers—Blake and Spencer. Spencer is the athletic director at the high school and I volunteer as his football team doctor. Either one of them would help you develop a program for Charlie. You could consider it professional help.”

“Will you be monitoring this program, as well?” she asked.

“I’ll always be around. I’ll continue to look in on Winnie every week and if you’d like I can try to time my visits for afternoon, when school is out.”

“That might help. Let me read about this a little,” she said, holding out her hand for the pamphlet.

“Read about it. And maybe talk to either Blake or Spencer about beginning a training protocol for a kid who hasn’t been active all this life.”

“Sure,” she said. “Thanks.”

“You’re not losing control, Lin Su. You’re helping to manage a chronic condition.”

Somehow that wasn’t how it felt. “I understand,” she said.

* * *

Sunday morning Charlie saw Blake go out on his deck with his bike, pick it up and carry it down the stairs to the beach and lean it against the stair rail to put on his helmet. When he looked around, Charlie waved.

Perfect. Blake would be gone at least two hours, probably more. His mother was in Winnie’s bedroom. The door was ajar, which meant they weren’t doing anything too serious—probably some exercises or morning tidying. She expected him to keep himself quiet and busy. He grabbed his laptop and slipped out onto the deck and down the stairs.