I Can See for Miles (2 page)

Maggie studied him from beneath lowered lashes as he slid his arms into his jacket. “It’s a good thing I love you so damn much, otherwise I’d be tempted to beat some sense into that stubborn head of yours. That gorgeous guy who was in here was just about perfect for you, but you won’t even allow yourself to see it.”

Charlie snatched up his keys from off the counter, then unfolded the white stick he had pulled from his jacket pocket, and said, his tone flat as he walked to the door, “Well, I tend to see less and less these days.”

Chapter Two

T
HE
scents of the forest around him filled Charlie’s nostrils as he walked up the trail to the main house. He didn’t need to look at any of the signs, hardly needed his stick either; he knew these trails like the back of his hand. Charlie had grown up on a neighboring farm, where his parents still lived, and he’d spent his childhood among these trees. They were his quiet place.

When he climbed the three steps up onto the porch that ran the length of the large main house, Charlie pulled open the screen door and stepped straight into the living room. The front door was only closed at night and, even then, it was never locked. The room was furnished with huge comfy sofas, easy chairs, a large flat screen TV, and a music center for the campers to enjoy, as well as one whole wall decked out with floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with various genres of books in large print, Braille, audio—he had it all.

The living room was where they would hold their meeting in a couple of hours. He would give his patented welcome speech, and then he and the other guides would go through the rules and regulations of the camp, so everyone could enjoy their week safely.

Folding his stick, Charlie wandered into the kitchen and put it down on the counter before he poured himself a cup of coffee. He didn’t need it here; he could walk around this house without bumping into anything. He rubbed the back of his neck and then curled his index finger over the edge of the cup as he poured, until he felt the warmth of the coffee brush his skin. Putting the coffee pot back in the percolator, he walked down the hall and into his office, closing the door behind him.

Firing up the PC, Charlie pulled his reading glasses out of his pocket and exchanged them for the prescription sunglasses he was currently wearing. He sighed heavily. His visual acuity varied from day to day. On good days he didn’t need his stick, only his glasses. On the bad ones he felt his way around the house enveloped in a hazy fog. But if he told anyone the truth; that the bad days were beginning to far outweigh the good, he would have to admit it to himself—and Charlie wasn’t ready for that. Today was a middle-of-the-road kind of day.

Refusing to allow himself to be bogged down by the mire of self-pity, Charlie pushed his glasses farther onto his nose and opened his inbox. In the middle of checking his e-mail, the phone rang, and he reached out to pick it up.

“Camp Aisling, Charlie Cooper speaking.”

“Have you eaten today, Charlie Cooper?” The gentle tone of a female voice vibrated down the line.

Charlie’s lips curved upward in a soft smile. “Yes, Maggie made me eat a tuna sandwich for lunch. Are you two ganging up on me?”

“I’m allowed to gang up on you. I’m your mother.” Sharon Cooper chuckled fondly. “Have all the new campers arrived?”

The question was innocent enough, but Charlie rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “Maggie didn’t waste any time, did she?” he drawled sarcastically. “Did the door at least close behind me before she was dialing your number?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Charles William Cooper, and don’t you roll those eyes at me,” his mother replied. “I was simply asking if all the campers had arrived yet and whether or not they seemed like a nice crowd. That’s all.”

“Sure you were, Momma.” Charlie chuckled and rubbed a fist in his left eye; it was aching again. “They seem like a real nice crowd.
All
of them seem real nice.”

“That’s good, dear. Well, your father and I will be able to see for ourselves soon enough. What time do you want him to come down to start the barbecue? You know how excited he gets; he’s been wearing his “Kiss the Chef” apron since eight thirty this morning.”

Charlie could hear his father obviously smacking a kiss on his mother’s cheek in the background. “Eww, I
can
hear you. I’m going blind, not deaf.” The words were out before he could stop them, and if he was sure he wouldn’t fall over while he was doing it, he would have kicked himself. “Mom….”

“Baby, we’re concentrating on the here and now, remember?” His mother’s tone was gentle but firm. “But since you brought it up… have you heard from Dr. Morgan yet?”

“Yeah, I got an e-mail last night. I’ve got an appointment on Wednesday.” He sighed, hearing his mother relay the information to his father and smiling as he heard Bill’s voice on the line.

“Wednesday? That’s good, Charlie. Did he have a cancellation or something?” Bill’s tone was gruff, deep, and no-nonsense.

“Yeah, he managed to fit me in at the last minute. Dad… tell Mom….” He trailed off, knowing he didn’t need to formulate the words for Bill to understand what he was trying to say.

“I will… but you know that woman has enough hope in her soul for everyone. She’s your mother, Charlie. It’s her job to hope for the best until someone tells her different,” Bill replied.

“I know.” Charlie smiled softly. “But she does know that I’m thirty-two, right? She managed to let me go long enough to work in LA for eight years.”

Bill’s voice became serious for a moment. “Charlie, we’re your parents. We wished you well and watched you spread your wings… but it doesn’t matter whether you live in LA or across the field… we will
never
let you go, boy.”

“I love you, Pop.” Charlie smiled, blinking against the sting behind his eyes.

“Me too. Now, let’s talk barbecue before I need to check I still have my balls,” Bill deadpanned.

Charlie chuckled loudly, his mirth escalating when he heard his mother remonstrating with his father for his language. “Okay, meeting is at three, so if you and Mom could get here about two thirty, I can introduce you to everyone, and then we can get the barbecue set up. Everyone will probably be pretty hungry, so I’m guessing if we’re ready to start filling plates around four, that’ll be cool.”

“Great, we’ll see you in a while. Oh, and just to warn you, your mother has made some of your favorites to put in the freezer—apparently you’re too thin,” Bill said in a stage whisper.

“Tell her I’m wiry, not thin. I’ll see you later, Pop.” Charlie grinned and hung up. He adored his parents and knew everyone probably thought they had the best parents in the world, but he actually did… honestly. He knew they’d insist on coming with him on Wednesday to see Dr. Morgan. Not that he minded. He never liked to go by himself anyway, but he had a feeling that this time the news wouldn’t be what they had been hoping for. He already knew for himself that his latest operation hadn’t worked as well as they’d thought it would, so whatever Morgan said wasn’t going to be a big surprise to him.

The operation had been eight weeks ago, and he had already been for his six-week checkup, when everything had been promising. Morgan had been happy with his progress, and they had all crossed their fingers that this time it had been a success and the cataracts wouldn’t grow back. Even Charlie had been hopeful, until three days ago when he woke up with the telltale clouded vision, clouds that hadn’t disappeared when he was fully awake or when he used his drops. He remembered the resignation in Morgan’s tone when he’d spoken to him on the phone and told him his symptoms had reoccurred.

All Charlie had ever wanted to do was be an architect. Even as a young boy, he had spent hours building intricate constructions and drawing out designs for weird and wonderful buildings he wanted to create when he grew up. He had been in his sixth year with Gentles & Mitchell, working on a stylish, modern, new-age house for a movie star with more money than sense, when he’d noticed the first distortion in his vision. Charlie had shrugged it off at first with the usual excuses: he was tired, he didn’t wear his reading glasses enough, burning the candle at both ends—he’d used them all. Until he could hardly see his drawings six inches from his face with his glasses on.

“Cataracts,” the doctor had pronounced immediately and referred him for surgery. It was rare in someone his age but not unheard of, and all they would have to do was a simple operation to remove them, and he would be fine—and he was. But then they grew back again, eight months later. The blurred vision returned and the tiredness, along with the pounding headaches—and a second operation to remove them. Then a third and a fourth and a fifth. By this time, Charlie had become resigned to the fact he was never going to be able to continue with his lifelong dream. How could he create buildings from nothing if he couldn’t see? That’s when he’d returned to the comfort of his momma’s arms and her peach cobbler, letting the familiarity of home go some way to healing his broken heart.

Camp Aisling had been his father’s idea. He’d come across a similar retreat on the Internet and had mentioned it to Charlie: how there must be other people out there who’d had to give up their dreams and turn their lives in another direction; how they must long to be able to go somewhere to relax and meet like-minded people and just be treated like everyone else and do things that sighted people took for granted.

So here they were, four years later. Their reputation was first-class, and they had regulars who came back year after year. Charlie loved it. Loved hearing the children’s laughter as they splashed in the lake, not a care in the world. Loved the sound of joy in someone’s voice when they were astride a horse and joining in a trek through the woods, after thinking it was something they would never experience. It gave him back some of the purpose he’d lost.

During the four years he had built up Camp Aisling, Charlie had had three more operations, ending eight weeks ago when he had been given “experimental” laser treatment. No one could give him or his parents an answer as to why the cataracts kept returning… everything was always a supposition. Always with the vain hope that each operation would be the last.

A knock on the door brought him back to the here and now, and he turned in his chair, calling out to whoever it was to come in. “Hey, Mike, what’s up?” Charlie asked when the door opened to reveal Mike Peters, one of the guides.

“Nothing, boss,” Mike replied. “Your momma and daddy are here. Do you want me to fire up the barbie?”

Charlie shook his head ruefully at Mike’s choice of words. Mike had been to Australia last month for two weeks and now everything had an Australian twang to it, and he didn’t have the heart to tell Mike his Australian accent actually sounded more South African than anything else. “Sure. Jeez, is that the time already? Must have got away from me there.” Charlie stood up and stretched his arms over his head, feeling his back crack and his muscles complain at the movement. “Any campers making their way up yet?”

“Yeah, the Brody clan are already swinging on the porch, and the Johnsons are entertaining themselves in the living room. Maggie is in the kitchen making the drinks.”

“What about the three guys in cabin seven? Any sign of them yet?” Charlie grabbed his stick and slipped it in one of his belt loops so it was easy to grab if he needed it. He ignored Mike’s thinly veiled snort.

“No, not yet,” Mike said, waggling his eyebrows at Charlie. “I heard the tall one was pretty hot.”

“Good God, do you people ever stop?” Charlie drawled, playfully nudging Mike in the stomach as he passed. “Besides, don’t let Tom hear you say that. He’ll be giving you the cold shoulder tonight.”

Mike guffawed loudly, clapping Charlie on the back as they walked down the hall together. “As long as it’s only the shoulder; it’s the ass I’m interested in.”

“Dude, do not talk about Tom’s ass—images are now bouncing around in my head and making me want to bleach my brain,” Charlie rejoined, pushing through the saloon doors into the kitchen. “Hey, how’re the drinks coming?”

Maggie turned from where she was stirring a large jug of homemade lemonade and smiled brightly. “Almost done, just need to do one more jug. I’ve made six, so that should keep us going throughout the meeting. The temperature’s picking up again; it’s gonna be another scorcher this afternoon. Wanna taste? I think I might have put too much sugar in this one.”

“Sure,” Charlie said with a grin as he stood beside her at the counter. He lifted his hand to take the glass she held out to him, his fingers gripping thin air as his depth perception failed him and he missed the glass completely.

“Charlie?” Maggie queried softly, taking his hand and curling his fingers around the glass. “You got something to tell us?”

Charlie lifted the glass to his lips and took a couple of swallows. “Yeah… there
is
too much sugar in this one.” He put the glass down on the counter and clapped his hands together. “Let’s go and get these campers riled up! Where’s Jason and Tom?” He didn’t need to see the look that passed between Mike and Maggie to know it was there.

Mike cleared his throat and followed Charlie out into the living room. “Tom is just checking over Lady Jane with the vet and then he’ll be up. Jason is out back filling the water butts for the beer.”

“Hey, guys,” Charlie said cheerfully to the three people looking through the bookshelves in the living room. The Johnson family had arrived yesterday and had been settling into their cabin. Their youngest son, Davey, was twelve years old, and he had been a victim of trachoma, losing his sight completely four years ago. This was Davey and his parents’ second visit to Camp Aisling, and Charlie knew Davey was itching to get on a horse again. “How’re you doing, Wavy Davey?” Charlie teased, holding up his hand and nudging Davey’s arm. “You gonna high-five me, dude? I’m looking forward to our first ride tomorrow.”

Davey grinned widely and raised his hand so Charlie could gently slap their palms together. “I cannot wait, man. Are we gonna go up the high trail again? Do you think the eagles will still be there?” Charlie couldn’t help but chuckle as the words tumbled from Davey’s lips.