by K A Moll
“A new recipe I’ve been working on,” Coby said. “For now, I’m calling it Baked Vegetable Soup,” she added, “but I’m sure it’ll have a fancy name by the time I feed it to guests.”
“So, it’s made in the oven?” Coy clarified with the raise of an eyebrow.”
“It sure is,” Coby responded. “It’s baked and brimming with all the things you love: artichokes, mushrooms, zucchini, and black beans.”
“Yum,” Coy purred, taking one, and then a second bite. She looked to the doorway as her daddy joined them.
“What’s that good smell you got drifting through the house?” Cyrus asked, stepping up to the stove, and gently pinching her shoulder.
“Baked Vegetable and Black Bean Medley,” Coby responded as she handed him a spoon. “See what you think.”
“Well, the naming didn’t take long,” Coy said with a wink. “Another recipe for the Chef Coby Cookbook.”
“I think you should call it, Cooking for Coy and Cyrus,” Coby countered, smiling.
***
With the bed and breakfast emptied out for a few days, the foursome settled in front of the flatscreen for an after dinner movie, a romantic comedy. Coby popped popcorn, easy on the butter, and iced a pitcher of peach tea. Cyrus held Marigold’s hand; Coby held Coy’s, and they laughed as a family. After the credits, both couples made their way upstairs to their respective bedrooms.
“That was fun,” Coy said as she slipped out of her street clothes and into her nightgown. “We should do it more often.”
“We should,” Coby agreed as she stripped to boxers and a t-shirt. “It’s funny how we all like the same kind of movies.”
“Yeah,” Coy chuckled, “it is.” She tucked her legs underneath her body, curling up at the end of their sofa. As she lifted her book off the end table, Coby sat down next to her. She slipped her arm around her shoulder.
Coy gave her a quick kiss and opened her book.
Coby shifted her position to face her, leaning close as she brushed a lock of hair from her cheek.
Coy marked her place with her finger, smiled, and kissed her again. When Coby began fingering patterns on her thigh, she set the book aside and met her gaze.
“We should get married,” Coby blurted out. Her eyes were all sparkly and gleamy.
Coy’s head began to shake.
“I don’t mean right now,” Coby went on, “just someday.”
“No way,” Coy responded, her mouth hanging open. “I’m not doing that again. Fergie was enough. No way.”
Coby gulped in a breath, dazed. Her eyes moistened, and she backed away.
“Honey, I’m sorry,” Coy said, moving toward her. “I didn’t mean it that way.” Her stomach hardened, and her heart raced. “You just caught me off guard; that’s all.”
“Caught you off guard is right,” Coby said, her voice breaking, “so you could be honest and tell me what you really think.” She jumped to her feet, pacing.
“No, honey,” Coy said. “Come here and sit down. Let me explain.”
“I heard all I need to hear,” Coby yelled, rocking from one foot to the other, and tugging at the back of her hair.
“Come here, darlin’,” Coy said gently, patting the place next to her. “Come talk to me. I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Yeah, right,” Coby screamed, tugging up her jeans. Her neck corded and her jaw clenched. “You meant it, alright.” Tears streamed steadily down her cheeks. “I just wish you’d have been honest about how you felt before I moved all my stuff down here.” She shook her head. “But I can’t blame you,” she added. “Because I knew it all along.”
“You knew what, baby?” Coy asked softly.
“That a woman like you,” Coby sobbed, “would never go for one like me.”
“Oh, sweet baby,” Coy responded, “that’s so not true.” She moved to touch Coby, but she flung out her arm to push her away. “I love you, honey. Come on, settle down, and talk to me.”
“You don’t love me,” Coby screamed. “You love Fergie!” She glared through tears. “I knew it all along. I just didn’t want to see it.”
“No, baby,” Coy countered, her eyes wide, “I don’t love Fergie, I love you.”
“Bullshit!” Coby shouted as she tried to stifle another wave of sobs.
Coy sucked in a breath. She’d never seen her like this, never dreamed it was possible.
“Fergie’s everywhere!” Coby continued, her face taking on the brightest shade of red. “She always has been.” She shook her head, curling her upper lip. “God, even since that first time,” she yelled, “she’s been in our bed during sex. Oh, my, Coby, Fergie never did this or that.” She yanked the shoelaces of her tennis shoes tight. “Her foul mouth bird sits in the corner of our bedroom, cussing like a sailor. Oh, but I have to keep her, Coby, because she was Fergie’s. I haven’t got the foggiest idea why that woman wouldn’t have wanted you to be a doctor, but she obviously didn’t. And even though I know you want it more than anything, if Fergie didn’t want it, then by God, you’re not gonna do it.” She swallowed hard, glaring. “So, I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that you feel like marriage to her was all you need.” She locked gazes as she moved toward the door. “She’s dead, Coy,” she choked, “and I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry that I don’t measure up to her standards. I’m sorry that I can’t be Fergie for you!” With that, she stormed into the hall and slammed the door.
***
Coy sat, stunned, crying. How could she have been so stupid? And insensitive, she thought. Don’t forget that one. She nodded to herself. Yes, definitely insensitive. Stupid and insensitive, that’s what you are. She lowered her face into her palms. If only she’d talked with Coby early on, maybe as far back as when they were in Antarctica. At least then she’d have had some understanding of where she was coming from. With a deep breath, she tugged up her jeans, pulling on a t-shirt without bothering to put on a bra.
Marigold met her gaze when she came down the stairs.
“I suppose you heard all that,” Coy said, sheepishly.
“It would’ve been hard not to, honey,” Marigold responded, holding her eye.
“Where’s Coby?” Coy asked, expecting to find her near the liquor cabinet.
Marigold nodded toward the door. “She went right out,” she answered, “didn’t say a word as she went by. I stepped over to the window, saw her jerk the lock off her bike, and ride off.”
Coy shook her head, sighing. “In this storm?” she asked. “Dear God.” She took a long breath, shaking her head as she made her way to sit down beside her mama. “I suppose you heard what we were fighting about,” she mumbled.
“Fergie, and you turning down her proposal,” Marigold answered. “I tried not to listen, but…”
“I know,” Coy sighed, “it got pretty loud.” She met her gaze, teary-eyed. “You think I’m wrong, Mama?” she asked.
“That’s not for me to say,” Marigold responded.
“I mean, I said no,” Coy continued, “but not because I don’t love her, and definitely not because I’m in love with Fergie.” Her lip curled as her head shook. “God, I never felt about her like I do about Coby.”
“Then what is it?” Marigold asked as she pulled her close to hug her.
“It’s more what marriage did to me,” Coy answered. “It crushed me, Mama.”
“I know it did, honey,” Marigold cooed with a kiss on her temple.
“But it wasn’t just Fergie,” Coy admitted. “It was me too. God, was I ever a dismal failure at being a wife.” Her eyes lifted. “You think a person should try something again after they fail so miserably at it?”
Marigold looked off for a moment. “You and Fergie,” she began, ever so softly, “you never met one another in the middle like couples that love each other do.” She pressed her lips together, shaking her head. “Never, not even on your wedding day, honey,” she went on, “did you pay attention to what the other one wanted or needed.
” Their eyes met, tearful and serious. “I didn’t say anything to you,” she continued, “and I’m sorry about that. I just let you go on like you knew what you were doing.”
Coy glanced at the clock and the door, fidgeting.
“You and Coby,” Marigold continued with a thin smile, “well you two, you’ve been meeting in the middle since the very beginning.”
“So you think I’m wrong then,” Coy responded as she got up to look out the front window.
“You don’t need your mama to tell you what to do,” Marigold answered. “Not this time.”
Coy opened the door, looked out, and then returned. As the minutes passed, she found it increasingly difficult to focus on their conversation. “I’m sorry,” she finally blurted out, “but I have to go. I have to go look for her.”
“Not by yourself you’re not,” Marigold responded. “Your daddy’s asleep and I’m coming with you.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Coby pedaled, hard and fast, sobbing. She bounced down the steps, skidding as she hit the driveway. She couldn’t settle with her world ending. She thundered across the sidewalk as a bolt of lightning lit up the sky, putting out the streetlights. She stood, jamming the pedals toward the ground—over and over and over—as torrential rain and tears distorted her sight. She didn’t see it, the storm drain, until her front tire dropped between the iron slats, throwing her off.
***
Coy backed up as far as the porch. With her foot on the brake, she waited impatiently for Marigold to board. There was no reason to feel scared like she did, no reason at all.
“I’m in,” Marigold announced. “Go on.”
Coy looked over her shoulder, struggling to see through the darkness. “Lightning must’ve knocked out our streetlights,” she said. “I can hardly see where I’m going.” She shook her head, swallowing. “Dear God, why’d she have to go out in this devil of a thunderstorm on that darn bike?”
“She was upset, honey,” Marigold answered. “Don’t worry; she’s probably under someone’s porch waiting for the rain to stop.”
“I hope so,” Coy responded, fighting off the urge to cry. She drove the block, slowly, with her bright lights on. “I don’t see her up ahead,” she said, feeling nauseous. “Dear God…I don’t know where she’d go. It’s too late for a meeting, and she doesn’t know anyone well enough to drop in on ‘em.” She turned the corner and then another, shaking her head, and muttering, “I have no idea where to look for her.”
“What’s that? Over there,” Marigold blurted out, pointing.
Coy’s next breath caught in her throat. “Dear God,” she whimpered, “that’s her bike, but she’s not on it.” She struggled to slow her breathing and her racing thoughts. “It’s stuck in the storm drain at an angle. Look for her, Mama! She has to be around here somewhere.”
“Over there,” Marigold shouted, “I think I see something.” She rolled down her window for a closer look. “It’s her! Oh my goodness, she’s laid out on the sidewalk. Pull over!”
***
Coy closed her eyes, summoning strength from a place deep inside herself. It was like reliving a nightmare; a nightmare that she prayed would have a different outcome. She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, before pulling the lever to open her door. “My bag, Mama,” she called out, “It’s in the trunk…and the blanket…and the umbrella.”
“I’ll get ‘em,” Marigold called back, already on the move.
Coy ran, drenched, toward Coby. She was laying on her back, sprawled out, her head at the foot of an old oak, and her feet in the middle of the sidewalk. She dropped to her knees in the grass, closing her eyes for a split-moment. A-B-C-C-S assessment, she reminded herself, airway, breathing, circulation, consciousness, and safety. Dear God, she’d stepped into the same friggin’ nightmare. She touched Coby’s cheek. “Coby,” she said, much calmer than she felt, “can you hear me?” She fingered through her hair and down her torso, assessing with each touch. She wasn’t choking and appeared to be breathing normally. “It’s Coy, baby,” she said, a bit louder. “Can you open your eyes for me?” She swallowed hard when she got no response.
“Here you go,” Marigold said, handing over the medical bag. “You want me to cover her?” she asked.
Coy shook her head. “No, not yet,” she responded, “but hold the umbrella above her the best you can.” She looked up. “You have your cell?”
“No,” Marigold responded, “it’s at home.”
“Alright,” Coy sighed, “lay the umbrella down and go use mine to call for an ambulance. Tell them the patient is a twenty-nine-year-old female, unconscious after a fall, but breathing normally. Tell them she has a medical professional with her.”
“Okay,” Marigold said, “I’ll come back as soon as I’m done.”
Coy nodded, closing her eyes as she palpated Coby’s carotid artery to take her pulse. “Coby,” she said, “can you hear me? Come on, honey; it’s time to wake-up.” When she reached inside Coby’s shirt, pressing the diaphragm of her stethoscope just under her left breast, Coby stirred, and her eyes fluttered open. “You’re okay, baby,” Coy cooed. “Lay still. I want to take a listen.”
Coby nodded as the ambulance arrived.
“You need to go to the hospital, baby,” Coy said. “You took a pretty hard fall.”
Coby shook her head, saying, “no.” She squinted, pain in her eyes. “I don’t need to,” she slurred, “I’m good to go.”
Coy placed her palm in the center of her chest, gently holding her down. “No, honey,” she said firmly, “you’re not.” She locked gazes. “And you’re going to the hospital.”
Coby took a breath, nodding. “Alright,” she said, “whatever you say.” She clamped her eyes shut, reached to hold her forehead, and opened them. “You know best,” she added.
***
“Hey there,” Coy cooed with a gentle smile.
“Hey there, Packer-backer,” Coby responded, grimacing, and pinching the bridge of her nose. “Boy, do I ever have one hell of a headache.”
“I’ll bet you do,” Coy answered, palming her cheek, and kissing her tenderly. “You also have a small subdural hematoma that’ll keep you here overnight for observation.”
Coby nodded, holding her eye. “I’m sorry,” she said, “for acting like I did.”
Coy lifted Coby’s hand, brushing it against her cheek. “I’m the one who’s sorry,” she responded. “I have things to tell you when you feel up to it.”
Coby propped up, ever so slightly, holding her eye. “Now’s good,” she said with a hard swallow.
“Okay,” Coy responded. She got up, closed the hospital room door, and sat back down on the edge of Coby’s bed. “So…I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to tell you what I’m about to tell you,” she began, “but I guess it’s better late than never.” She swallowed, determined not to cry. “You mentioned several things that troubled you.” She took a deep breath. “And I feel the need to respond to all of them.”
Coby nodded, clenching her jaw.
“I’ll start with Kathy Bird,” she said. “I know it’s probably hard to believe, but I hated her for the longest time, years in fact. I hated her right up until the day Fergie died. It wasn’t until afterward, I’m not sure how long, that I came to recognize how much we had in common. I don’t keep her because she was Fergie’s, Coby, I keep her because we were mistreated side-by-side.” She went on to share her story of being the victim of domestic violence. “She cusses like a sailor,” she added, “because that’s what Fergie expected of her.” She brushed Coby’s cheek as she held her eye. “And she wouldn’t do it as often if you didn’t say my name so much.” She swallowed hard, nearly losing her struggle not to break down. “She’s just doing as she was taught.”
“I hate her,” Coby choked, “not the bird anymore, but Fergie.” She closed her fists tightly. “If she weren’t already dead,” she added, “I’d kill her.”
“Okay, so no more talk like that,” Coy said, pressing her lips together.
Coby nodded, allowing her to carry on.
“I’m sorry I made that comment when we were making love,” Coy continued. “I don’t know why that blurted out.” She locked gazes. “But I didn’t mean it in the way you took it. “It was just nice to be touched with gentleness; that’s all.”
Coby fingered through the back of Coy’s hair, pulling her down to kiss her. “I can’t imagine touching you in any other way,” she said softly.
“So, on becoming a doctor,” Coy continued. “I was almost finished the day Fergie had her accident.” She took a breath. “And the night I let her bully me into leaving her to die. She’d been on a ladder putting up Christmas lights, fell, and a subdural hematoma took her during the night. I tried to get her to let me check her out, tried to get her to let me take her to the ER, but she wouldn’t have any part of it. She said what you did that night, almost word for word—You don’t need to worry; I’ll see someone if I need to in the morning. She always found a way to knock the wind right out of me. I was a PA, almost a doctor, but she treated me like I knew nothing. That’s why I got so upset,” she added. “It just struck a raw nerve; that’s all.”
“I’m so sorry,” Coby offered.
Coy smiled thinly. “It’s okay,” she said quietly. “At least you had a good reason for it.” She leaned in for a kiss. “Tonight,” she added with a slow shake of her head, “I don’t know how you did it, but flat on your back, you managed to return what she stole from me, my confidence.”
“I’m glad, honey,” Coby responded, “because you’d make one hell of a doctor.”
“Stop now,” Coy said, lifting her hand to her mouth. “I need to finish without crying.”
“Okay,” Coby said with a smile, “you gotta be close to being done.”
“Close,” Coy responded, “but not quite.” She patted Coby’s thigh. “The last two are kind of intertwined. “I told you I wouldn’t marry you because I couldn’t stand the thought of ruining what we have. I couldn’t stand the prospect of going through what I’d gone through before.” She bit her lower lip. “I don’t know what made me think it was going to be like it was with Fergie.” She kissed her, adding, “Because you’re not at all like her, and never will be. Her eyes teemed with tears. “If you’ll still have me,” she choked, “I would very much love to be your wife.”
