Free Fireflies by David Morrell Page A

bare feet on the floor. He gasped and wavered, while David held him up and at the same time held the IV stand.
    David groped for a plastic urine bottle and supported it under Matt’s penis.
    David waited, it seemed forever.
    Matt’s knees began to buckle. David gripped his left shoulder more firmly.
    “Hurry, Matt.”
    “I’m trying!” The force in Matt’s voice must have been agonizing to him. “It doesn’t want to come!”
    “Then we’ll try another time.”
    “No!” Matt almost sobbed. “I don’t want another catheter! I don’t want any more pain!”
    Dribble.
    The sound, so commonplace, made David’s heart break.
    Dribble.
    David felt the warmth of the urine through the plastic bottle he held. That warmth was the most intimate sensation he’d ever known.
    Dribble.
    Thank God!
    The dribbles stopped.
    No!
    Matthew’s face contorted with strain. “That’s it. Can’t … make myself go anymore … tired … have to … get back in bed.”
    “Twenty-four hours out of major surgery and you’re standing, peeing? You’re the strongest, bravest person I’ve ever known. I’m proud of you.”
    “Have to get back in …”
    “Bed? I know, son. Just a minute, and you can rest.”
    David set the urine bottle on the floor, eased Matt toward the bed, and that’s when they discovered the huge mistake they’d made.
    When Matthew’s gurney had been wheeled down from Intensive Care, the nurses in the Pediatrics Ward had raised the bed in his room, gripped the sheet beneath him, and gently pulled him across from the gurney onto the bed. That bed, from which David had helped Matt to stand, had not yet been lowered. The mattress was as high as David’s chest and Matthew’s shoulders. Matt couldn’t set his hips on the bed and lean back to rest.
    Matt wavered, close to falling. David clutched Matt’s left shoulder, released the IV stand, and reached for a button to summon a nurse.
    But the button was too far away, David couldn’t reach the button unless he let go of Matt. The IV stand started wobbling. David grabbed for it. Matt wavered so fiercely that David couldn’t possibly expect him to try to edge toward the button that would summon a nurse.
    The oxygen prongs fell out of Matt’s nostrils. The tube that drained blood from Matt’s huge incision stretched taught as Matt wobbled.
    “Matt, I don’t have the strength to hold your IV stand with one hand and use my other hand to lift you onto the bed.”
    “I can’t stand any longer.”
    Why did I let myself listen to him? Twenty-four hours out of major surgery, and he’s out of bed, clutching me, the two of us wavering like two drunks trying to dance. How could I have been so stupid?
    “Dad, that chair.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “Can you reach the chair?”
    “But why? ”
    “Do it.” Matthew wheezed. “Pull it over here. I think if I can stand on it …”
    That’s when David knew he wasn’t as smart as his son.
    “Yes!”
    David frantically released his hold on the IV stand. He grabbed the chair, jerked it toward him, and desperately regrabbed the IV stand just before it toppled, all the while using his left hand to hold up Matt.
    “Do you really think you …?”
    “Just keep holding me, Dad.”
    Matt strained. Gasping, he raised a foot to the chair. David eased him up.
    With a greater gasp, Matthew raised his other foot to the chair. David eased him higher.
    Matt’s hips were now level with the bed. He sat, clutched David’s shoulders, and with the most terrible groan David had ever heard, lay back in bed.
    David quickly reattached the oxygen prongs to Matthew’s nostrils.
    “So cold,” Matthew said.
    At that moment, as David pulled a sheet and blanket over his shivering son, the door to the room swung open. The surgeon stepped in, followed by Donna, Sarie, and a nurse.
    “The call I had to return wasn’t important,” the surgeon said. “But your mother and sister and I had a good chance to talk. As I was saying, Matt, I