Caffrey Aloha

Chapter 11

Sunday evening. January 2, 2005.

"Tell me about it," Henry said after Peter left.

"He already told you," Neal said.

Yeah, Peter had told him, but Henry hoped to hear it in Neal's words to get a clue as to how to help him get past it. "You gonna keep staring at that menu, or call room service?"

"Food'll get cold in here," Neal said, gesturing toward the air conditioning vents. "Let's hit the beach."

Henry followed. They both often found it easier to relax outdoors, especially when they felt trapped, and he thought that was part of the reason Neal was happy living in his loft with the massive terrace – easy to get outside and think stuff through. Neal was almost on the beach when he suddenly turned and ordered a banana shake from one of the beach-side shacks that sold drinks.

For a while they sat on the sand, listening to the crashing waves, while Neal drank his shake.

There was something familiar about this, and Henry kept trying to figure out what it was. He'd never been to Hawaii before. In the years he'd traveled with Neal, they hadn't spent a lot of time on beaches. Last time had been in the Florida Keys, and they'd tried paddle boarding and snorkeling. They'd been busy and active, not chilling on a beach, so why did he feel a sense of déjà vu?

Neal finished the shake and lay back on the towel, staring up at the stars.

"I'm gonna get a burger from that restaurant down the beach," Henry said. "Want anything?"

Neal handed him the empty cup.

"Refill?"

"Yeah."

Henry scrambled to his feet. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back." A few minutes later he returned and handed Neal a fresh shake. He'd eaten half his burger on the walk, and sat down to devour the rest. The teriyaki sauce was fantastic. "You sure you don't want to try one of these?" he asked Neal as he crumbled up the wrapper. "I could get you one fast. Line's real short right now." He put the wrapper in the bag and drew out a package of fries. "And these fries, man. C'mon, take one." He looked at Neal, who was sitting up again and savoring the shake.

Neal shook his head.

"More for me then," said Henry. He thought he saw Neal shiver, which was odd. The sun had gone down but it was still in the mid-seventies. He almost warned Neal to take it slow and avoid brain freeze, but honestly he was drinking that shake so slowly you'd think he was trying to make it last all night. And then the memory that had been eluding him popped into place.

Oh, no.

"Peter said you did great work this afternoon. He was impressed by your con. Said he'd never seen anyone act so cold."

"Mozz was worried I'd lose my touch, but I've still got it. I'll always have it."

At last, a response. And he heard it now. It had probably been there all along, but Neal had been suppressing it and Henry hadn't been listening for it. Neal's voice was slightly raspy. It wasn't just overuse from the concert, not two days later. "Maybe it's easier to act cold when you're feeling chilled?"

"What are you...? Hey!" Neal turned away but wasn't quick enough, not now. Henry got a hand on his forehead.

"You're running a fever. I should have realized. Not hungry, not talking, just wanting to be alone. Classic sick Neal." Henry stood up and walked over to a trash bin to get rid of the remnants of his dinner, and then returned to Neal, both hands extended. "We're not two runaways anymore, Neal. We've both got jobs with health insurance. Time to visit a clinic."