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“Just so we’re clear,” I grumble. She laughs again.
“Your grandfather is coming over tonight to check on you.”
“Really? I thought he was coming over for dinner next week.”
She sighs. “Pax, you’re his only grandchild. You were just hit by a car. He’s coming to check on you. Also, your father called to check on you, too. You might want to call him back.”
“Did you call everyone on the planet?”
She’s sheepish. “I was worried. There wasn’t much to do in the waiting room other than pace.”
I kiss her nose, even though the movement is torture. It feels like my ribs are scraping each other, the bones digging into flesh. I ignore it.
“I love you. I’m sorry you were worried.”
“I love you so I’ll always worry. It’s my job.”
She bustles out, and I love watching her go, because my wife has a perfect ass. At the door, she pauses and glances back.
“I felt you staring.”
I grin, and she’s gone.
The pain pills make me sleepy, and so I lay my head back. The next thing I know, Mila is waking me up again. I know time has passed because shadows creep along the walls now.
“Babe, dinner is in an hour. Do you want to shower?”
I’m groggy from sleeping during the day. I’m not one for naps.
“Yeah,” I mumble. “That’ll be good.”
Mila kisses my cheek, and her lips are warm. “Your grandfather is on his way. I’ve got a new bottle of Glenfiddich for him.”
I shudder. “Gah. I don’t know why he loves that shit.”
She shrugs. “Me either. But we have a bottle for him.”
My ribs feel like they are going to spring from my sternum as I get to my feet, and I imagine them tautly tuned, one by one springing free like overly tightened guitar strings. It makes me cringe, and Mila notices.
“You ok?”
“I’m perfect.”
“Need more pain medicine? I think it’s time.”
“After I shower.”
She nods and I hobble down to our bathroom. It’s large and from the door, it seems that the shower is a million miles away. Each step is painful, and with no one watching me, I limp pathetically. My knee is killing me, too. But I’m only a pussy if someone sees.
I let the hot water pelt my head and back, and the heat relaxes some of the pent-up tension. My bruised up body feels like it is coiled around an iron spool. I won’t be hitting the gym this week, that’s for sure.
Gingerly, I lather up and rinse off.
Even more gingerly, I use the towel to dry.
Lord have mercy, everything hurts. Even my scalp.
I bend slowly to dry off my feet and as I do, I glance at the wastebasket. I don’t know why. My eye is just drawn to the wicker shell, and the crumpled tissues within.
