The Traitor's Stain (wattys 2019)

Chapter Thirty-Nine: New York, New York

"Are you certain you're up for this?" Robert asked. "It hasn't been that long since you were shot. Or since we thought you weren't going to make it, for that matter."

"I know," Abraham said, positioning himself on the edge of the bed, grimacing at the pain in his side. "But if I stay in this bed for one more second, I'm going to go insane."

"Let him try," Sally said. "Frankly, I don't know that he could hurt himself any more than he already has. That, and I'd like it if he could walk to the bathroom on his own."

Abraham had been bedridden for almost a week, now. And he hated it. Hated the endless prodding by the doctor, having Sally feed him and help him use the bathroom, having nothing to do all day except stare out the window and wish he was out there. Even if it meant freezing his toes off, or nearly choking on the nauseous fumes of New York. All he wanted to do was get up from that bed and leave that room.

"I'm going to be mad if you pop those stitches," Robert said.

"You're not the one that has to starch the sheets if it happens," Sally said. "I'll help you, Abraham: we'll get you walking, today."

Abraham nodded as he took her by the hand. Tightly. He was surprised that she didn't flinch, or try to pull away.

"Ready?" Sally asked.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Abraham said.

"Okay: one, two, three."

Abraham slowly - painfully - stood up.

He almost fell right back over. His legs felt weak and wobbly from a week of disuse, and if it weren't for Sally's strong grip in supporting him, he probably would've fallen.

"Good job," Sally encouraged him. "How about we take a few steps? Just a little stroll around the room."

"Sally, Abraham's a grown man, not a toddler," Robert said.

Sally glared at her cousin. "You know, you could try being more supportive; he's recovering from being shot and on bedrest for a week, for God's sake."

"I just think you're talking to him like a child," Robert said.

"I don't mind. Really-"

"At least I'm helping!"

Someone knocked at Abraham's bedroom door.

Robert walked over and opened the door.

Standing on the other side was James, a young man who worked in Robert's store as a sort of courier. He was a nervous lad, the kind who jumped a foot in the air at sudden noises, grew frustrated with himself at the slightest mistake.

"Is everything alright?" Robert asked.

"Mr. Brewster and Mr. Mulligan are here, sir," James said. "They're asking to see you."

"Of course," Robert said with an annoyed sigh. "Send them up."

James nodded and went downstairs, again.

"I won't lie: I was rather hoping to not see those two for awhile," Robert said as Abraham sat back down on his bed.

"Let me guess: I'm about to get kicked out," Sally said dryly.

"You're certainly in a mood, dear cousin," Robert observed. "I don't care if you stay: it's not as if there's any way to keep a damned secret from you.

Sally got a look on her face as if she'd just smelled something foul, but she didn't say anything; it wasn't as if she could argue that point, seeing as she knew far more about the network than she should've. Without Robert telling her anything voluntarily.