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“Better me than...her or one of...the boys. Christ, this bed sucks.”
He found the remote for the bed and raised it inch by inch, watching me as he did so.
“Thanks.” I sighed, the position a little better. He gave me water to sip, another blessing. Who knew warm, dusty water was so damn good? “Guess we’ll be skipping...that get together today,” I teased as he placed the sippy cup back on the side table. The sun outside shone on him, making the gray strands in his ebony hair glisten like spun silver.
“You’ll do just about anything to get out of having guests, won’t you?” Tony asked, but then broke down and cried. My heart shattered into bits. I reached for him with my good arm, tugged him to my side, and held him as he shuddered and sniffled.
“Shit, oh shit, I’m sorry. Sorry.” He wiggled free, using care to leave the bed and my arms, then jogged into the bathroom. I lay there staring at the ceiling, shoulder throbbing, listening to the man who I loved—always had—sobbing silently in a hospital crapper. It tore me the fuck up.
Sure, I knew in some far-off corner of my brain that the spouses of cops and firemen paid some heavy mental fees. Not knowing if your husband or wife was going to come home, getting the call in the middle of the night saying your loved one was shot or burnt, or just the daily day-to-day knowledge that every moment could be your last because some asshole with a gun and a grudge had put a target on your partner’s back.
Yeah, I’d known all that. Read about it. Watched it on the news. Felt bad but in that kind of distracted way that one does watching an earthquake in another country. Wow, that sucked, but life here in my world chugged on. This right here, though? Tony hiding away in a sterile bathroom with an emergency pull cord was real. And it ripped my insides to shreds.
He emerged, face blotchy and dark eyes red. His hair was lank, his clothes wrinkled, and his face covered in thick black whiskers. He looked like ten miles ofreallyrough road.
“I am so sorry. That was...” He paused at the foot of the bed and shoved his hands into his already wild hair. “That was not supposed to come out in front of you. I’m here to cheer you up, not snot all over your cute little hospital gown.”
“Idiot,” I murmured, unsure of what to say or do. I patted the bed. He returned to me, sitting tenderly on the bright white sheets as my heart monitor beeped along steadily. “You can cry in front of me. If I...” I paused to gather my thoughts as they were starting to get squirrelly again. How could I be this tired? I’d just woken up, for fuck’s sake. “If you had been shot, I’d cry.”
“You sweet man.” He bent over to kiss my face. The rub of whiskers on whiskers was nice. A rap on the door saw him stiffen, like a drill sergeant, stalk to and then out the door.
“Huh,” I said, wiggled around just a bit, moaned at the incredible pain shooting out from my shoulder holes, and then simply lay there and watched the sunrise. Pretty incredible things those sunrises, even the dull winter ones. Made even more incredible by the fact that if that round had been a few inches to the left, I might not have seen Ole Sol climbing into the crisp, winter sky.
Tony reappeared after a moment or two, looking stern as he began moving around the room tidying things up. Not that there was much to tidy.
“Did you send the Avon lady packing?” I asked, my gaze following him as he opened the vertical blinds an eighth of an inch wider.
“That was Sergeant Viso of the Pennsylvania State Police. He wants to talk to you. He wanted to talk to you last night, but I told him no. I told him no again this morning. Imagine the gall of that man asking to talk to you when you just woke up.” He began arranging each slat as he spoke. “They know what happened. I told them. That asshole who shot you told them. That should be enough. You need to rest and get better. Why is this stupid slat bent?”
A spicy string of Italian curses hit the steamy glass.
“They need my statement,” I said, smiling just a bit despite the throbbing now overtaking my entire upper torso. Getting shot hurts. “Let him in.”
He spun to stare at me as if I had just said to let a hungry tiger into the room. “He will come back tomorrow. And if I judge you to be in shape to speak to him, then he’ll speak to you.”
“Bossy,” I said, wincing. He rushed over, worry etched all over his face. “Fine. Hurts. Might...sleep some.”
“Okay, baby, you sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up. I love you.”
“Love you...mangoes.”
***
The next week was spentsleeping, eating soft foods like a frigging infant, and accepting visitors when the Doberman in Dior menswear allowed them entrance. Nothing had ever sounded sweeter than when my surgeon gave me clearance to go home.
Tony packed up the dozens of bouquets and cards as I struggled to get dressed. Honestly, it was stupidly hard to just pull up my jogging pants with one functional arm, but I was going to get home today no matter what. I even endured being pushed through the hospital in a wheelchair and helped to my waiting car where it took me five minutes to get settled, to buckle the belt, and to catch my breath.
“Would you like to stop anywhere for anything?” Tony asked as he maneuvered my SUV out into traffic. “I mean, other than the pharmacy to pick up your pain meds.”
“I’m not taking those. They make my mouth taste like Ellery shit in it and they make me feel stupid. I’ll be good with some acetaminophen.”
“Of course you will,” he muttered, smiling as sweetly as he possibly could.
“Will you still want to live with me in Greece after having to wipe my ass for the next few weeks?”
He looked over at me after pulling up in front of the bakery. “Yes.” With that, he kissed me on the lips and ran in to pick up the order he had called in ahead.
Staring out the windshield down Main Street I watched the snow falling gently as a few folks ran into various stores. Rockmount was pretty quiet in the evenings. The Christmas decorations were still up. I’d missed celebrating that holiday unless you counted being high as a 747 celebrating which, you know, it kind of is in its own way. Still, now that I reflected on it, and the flowers and gifts in the back—including the bag of pork rinds Teddy had brought me—it might have been nice to have some friends over for a meal. It would havehadto be better. Would next year’s Christmas be anything like this year’s? In some ways, I hoped to hell not. In some ways, I hoped so.
