by Susanne Beck
So I smiled, effectively putting the ball back into the doctor’s court once again.
He caught my look and scowled, but to his credit, did the best he could. Which, unfortunately, wasn’t very good at all.
With tentative hands, he lifted one of the mugs after setting the other down near the hearth. I wasn’t sure who was shaking more, doctor or patient, but the end result was that Ice was receiving a very impromptu, and by her expression very unwelcome, tea bath. After a few more fumbling attempts, he pulled the mug away, his eyes beseeching me to give in just this once.
Ruby chose that moment to step in, moving him out of the way and kneeling in his place. "Let me take care of this," she said in a voice just a hair short of disgusted. "Make yourself useful and go get some more blankets to warm by the fire. They’re in the closet right down the hallway there."
I was sure I could detect his sigh of relief as he rose to his feet and hurried off to do Ruby’s bidding.
"Men," she muttered to herself while wiping the tea off of Ice’s skin. "Worse than a pack of half-blind sled dogs, they are."
Right then, she sounded so much like Corinne I couldn’t help but laugh, even given the gravity of the situation I was in. She looked at me and winked before applying herself back to the task at hand.
Finished with her mopping job, Ruby lay down the towel and used her left hand to firmly grasp Ice’s quaking jaw. She raised the mug to my lover’s lips with a steady hand. Tilting the mug just slightly, she poured the liquid in in tiny bits so that, before I knew it, Ice had finished half a mug without choking or sputtering even once. The second half went even quicker as the tepid tea began to work its magic on her insides, warming them slightly and allowing blood to spread to the rest of her body.
A quarter of the way through the second mug, Ice had had enough and turned her head away from the offering. "No more," she whispered.
To my surprise, Ruby didn’t push, just wiped Ice’s lips and handed the mugs back to Steve, who’d come in sometime between the first cup and the second, and was staring at us dumbly, hands on hips. "I think she’s earned a bit of a rest, don’t you?" she asked no one in particular.
I looked up at Steve, who half-smiled, half-shrugged, the way a pet dog might who’s trying hard to get back into your good graces, yet not knowing quite what to do to get there. "I ...um ...should check her temperature again."
"Ok," I replied, drawing the word out as I wondered why he was looking so hesitant.
He winced. "She’s ...um ...still shivering too hard to take it by mouth."
I winced in empathy as his little problem became clear as crystal. The man had suffered a black eye from sticking a tube down Ice’s nose. Where he needed to place the thermometer would probably rate emasculation. "Oh. I ...see your point." I smiled weakly. "She feels a lot warmer. Does that count?"
"Not really, no."
"Just get on with it already," Ice’s rough voice chimed in.
Spurred into action as if struck by a whip, the doctor literally jumped to his bag, removed his thermometer and most likely took the fastest temperature in the history of humankind.
* * *
Silently closing the door to Ice’s room, I padded back down the hallway and descended the stairs, a curious mixture of relief and dread coursing through me.
As evening claimed the day, Ice began to recover, slowly becoming warmer as my arms continued to enfold her, pressing her close to my body. Steve and Ruby had talked quietly, their words unheard over the fireplace’s cheery crackles, and I felt my lover slowly begin to relax in my arms, finally falling into a deep, and I hoped restful, sleep.
The stresses of the day caught up to me, and I gave in to the insidious craving for sleep that seemed to envelope me like the blankets laying over both of us, only to be awakened what seemed to be a second later by a gentle touch to my shoulder.
After taking another temperature and proclaiming her safely in the land of the living once again, Steve helped me take Ice up the stairs and into her bedroom, escorting her to the bed and piling her high with blankets to ward off whatever residual chill that might have been lingering unseen by the two of us, waiting to take hold of her body once our backs were turned.
After handing me a bottle of antibiotic pills for the pneumonia he was sure would follow Ice’s icy swim, he smiled, still slightly embarrassed, and took his leave, gently shutting the door behind him, bathing the room in a gentle darkness.
I sat on the side of the bed for long moments, stroking Ice’s hair and trying desperately not to allow my mind to replay the events of the day. I needed to shut down, to tune out, to forget, even for a moment, how close I came to losing her.
Again.
Will it always be like this for us? Are we destined to forever stand at the precipice, gazing down into its gaping maw and praying for a gentle wind?
Shaking my head at my sudden attack of the blues, I placed a kiss on Ice’s forehead, then stood and smoothed clothes, taking in a deep breath and mentally preparing myself to face the music, which this time came in the form of a diminutive woman named Ruby.
What is it with me and my penchant for attracting, and having to answer to, elderly matrons, anyway?
Too deeply asleep to hear my silent question, Ice had no answers to give on this particular subject, though no doubt her advice would have been wryly humorous, had she deigned to give any at all.
I snorted softly. "Probably the same as yours for attracting blondes, psychotic or otherwise."
I, of course, did not count myself among that particular genus, blonde though I am, though I’m sure some, maybe even some of you reading this right now, would beg to differ with my rather glowing self-assessment.
Alright, Angel. Enough stalling.
If there was one thing I’d learned during my time behind bars, it was to do today what otherwise would get you killed tomorrow. Bravery had taken its sweet time in coming, but it had finally arrived and changed my way of thinking, and doing, for good.
"Wish me luck," I whispered to the silent figure on the bed before letting myself out of the room and into the line of fire, such that it was.
I came to the foot of the stairs like a condemned inmate—and given my experiences, that analogy isn’t exactly foreign to me, let me remind you—and walked into the den, which was lit only by the still blazing fire. Ruby was sitting on one of the couches, a cup of coffee in her hand. Her eyes met mine immediately as I stepped into the room, as if she’d been expecting my entrance all along, which, in truth, she probably had.
I summoned up a smile from somewhere and continued my advance, detouring over to the fire and holding my hands out to warm them, though they were already quite warm. Sweating, in fact.
"Everything’s quiet, I trust?"
Her voice was flat, uninflected, and therefore difficult to read.
I stood, still turned away from her, and nodded, staring into the flames, my muscles almost as tense as they’d ever been during my time in the Bog, when my life, and not just my pride, was at stake.
"Would you like some coffee? I just made a fresh pot." Her voice was warmer this time.
Damning my cowardice, I continued to stare into the flames, shaking my head slowly in the negative.
"What’s wrong, Angel?"
I stiffened further, then turned, sure my face was an open-mouthed mask of shock. "How did you ... ?"
"She called you that. When you were both sleeping." Ruby’s smile deepened, her eyes bright with understanding. "It fits you, somehow."
"Ruby, I ... ."
She held up one hand. "No need to explain, Tyler. I might be old and gray, but I know love when it’s staring me in the face." Her smile warmed the craggy plains of her face. "And you love her very much, don’t you." It wasn’t a question.
Beyond stunned, I could only let my heart answer. "Yes."
Nodding sagely, she took another sip of her coffee, her eyes never leaving mine. "She’s a very lucky woman."
Someh
ow, I knew she wasn’t talking about Ice’s escape from what seemed to be certain death.
"You’re wrong," I countered, feeling the sting of fresh tears as they pricked at my eyes. "I’m the lucky one."
"Perhaps you both are."
And, just like that, I managed to find acceptance, and even love, in the one place I most needed for it to be, in the eyes of my childhood confidant. Noticing my tears, she held open her arms and I rushed into them, burying my face and body in the abundant and fragrant warmth of her, allowing myself the emotional catharsis I so desperately needed.
My tears fell in a cleansing rain, dampening the front of her housecoat. She just held me and rocked me, humming like she used to do when I was young and had been put off by my parents.
And so, a day that had started off wonderfully and gone steadily, horribly downhill from there, ended on a note much sweeter than I had any right to request.
And for that, I was very thankful.
* * *
The events of the next two weeks would have tried the patience of a Saint, and since I’m not about to be canonized anytime in the foreseeable future, let’s just say that every day brought to me new and inventive definitions for the word ‘frustration’ and leave it at that.
True to the good doctor’s word, pneumonia did indeed decide to pay a little visit to my beleaguered partner. To say that Ice was a poor patient would be somewhat akin to observing that Mother Theresa is a nice woman; technically true, but an understatement of extreme proportions.
That’s not that she was the whiney type, because she wasn’t. Whiney I could have dealt with easily, having had more than my share of exposure to it while still a young girl living under the roof of two parents who elevated that particular sickbed response to somewhat of an art form.
No, Ice was more the "don’t tell me I’m sick, because I’m not" type. The "you’re the one who needs to see a doctor, because I feel just fine" type. The ...well, you get the picture.
It took all my not inconsiderable powers of persuasion to convince her that fevers rising above one hundred three degrees, coughing until blue in the face after such strenuous activities as sitting up or yawning, and vomiting up one’s toenails at the mere mention of food was not normal in the course of human events.
Of course, my lover also suffered from selective hearing loss, and there were times where I was sure my voice was the perfect decibel level to activate that particular condition, much to my extreme vexation.
She showed enough presence of mind, however, to take the antibiotics I nearly shoved down her throat and, just prior to my appropriating some rope from Ruby and earning a question and answer session on our bedroom habits, the illness began to lose its interest in my partner and the light at the end of the tunnel stopped being an oncoming train.
Spring began to show her colors during my week of enforced isolation, and by the time Ice was again ready to step outside and wash the jailhouse pallor from her face, the snow had melted completely, revealing a verdant carpet underneath.
One morning, I decided that a walk into town was in order and, probably because she’d grown somewhat used to my more dominant position during her illness and convalescence, Ice followed without much comment.
I knew that situation would change, and soon, but I was determined to enjoy it for as long as I could.
We walked slowly through a forest coming alive with spring’s bright blessing. Birds, animals and insects were everywhere and flowers bloomed in a riot of color. The tree-fractured sun was warm on my shoulders and the smile on my face was as wide as they came.
The sky was May soft and stitched with clouds which cast friendly shadows over the ground as they strolled their slow lover’s promenade across the vast expanse of warming blue.
The last row of trees gave way and the town opened up beyond the woods. The initial sight of it made me stop and stare, astounded by how much of a difference three weeks could make.
Gone was the gray of a desolate community dying by slow inches. In its place stood something fresh, vibrant, new. Even the church, always the first building you passed no matter which way you came into town, looked inviting instead of imposing with its new coat of whitewash and its open, beckoning doors.
The Silver Pine looked as if the tornado of Oz had spun it away and replaced it with Glenda’s house. Big men on tall ladders washed windows and painted shutters Some were even hanging honest-to-god bunting from the eaves, as if the Queen were expected to pop by for a visit sometime in the very near future.
From the corner of my eye, I caught something very large and very yellow sail around the corner of the Inn, leaving a high falsetto voice and mumbled orders that caused the working men to redouble their efforts. I wondered about that for a moment, suspecting I had at last seen the much-maligned (by Ruby, at least) proprietress of the place, but before I had a chance to step forward and indulge my always rampant curiosity, Ice stiffened beside me and I looked up, catching the scowling expression on her face.
Following her gaze, I took in the scene presented me. A large, beefy and florid-faced man wearing a brown suit which screamed ‘discount department store’ was standing beside the driver’s door of a battered silver Volvo with Indiana tags and screaming into the impassive face of a man who’d been ancient when I was a young girl; Mr. Willamette, the owner of the town’s only gas station.
When the large man pulled back his fist and made as if to punch kindly Mr. Willamette, Ice stepped into action, getting there just in time to save the old man from eating dinner through a straw for the rest of his life.
I slid to a stop before the group just as Mr. Fist turned to stare disbelievingly at my partner, his rubbery lips parted to reveal crooked, nicotine-stained teeth and the flesh of his hand blanched white where Ice’s fingers were gripping it.
She gave him that smile that makes you wonder if she’s contemplating adding homo idiotus to her list of dietary delicacies.
"What seems to be the problem?" I asked brightly, more to keep Ice from turning the man into a human stew then because I really wanted to know.
As I’d learned from long, and painful, years of experience, asking the obvious question is sometimes the way to go in situations like these. While the bully in question is straining his somewhat less than vast mental resources to come up with a witty comeback, you usually have more than enough time to get your lips out of the way of his fist.
"Car’s broke," came the voice of Mr. Willamette from my right.
"Brilliant deduction, Mr. Fixit," the stranger replied, pulling his hand loose from Ice, who was willing to let it go. "My question is: what are you gonna do about it?"
"Can’t do anything about it. Like I told you, my mechanic’s laid up till fall, at least."
Temple vein throbbing, the man lunged forward again, only to be caught by his lapels by Ice, who shoved him back against the car and stared deep into his eyes, that little smirk still curving her lips.
"Who are you? The old goat’s bodyguard?"
Ice’s smile widened. "Nah. Just someone who likes to see how many limbs she can rip off before her victim starts screaming." She made a show of looking the man up and down. "I think one will do just fine here."
Wanting to stop this before the stranger stained his trousers, I stepped up to Ice and laid a hand against her lower back. "Maybe we could hear his side of the story?"
When she turned to look at me, her eyes were filled with mirth, and I relaxed slightly and looked around her broad back and into the face of the man who I was sure was going to be dashing off a very nasty note to the Volvo people at his first available opportunity. Assuming he managed to get through this with all parts intact, of course.
Which, at this point, looked to be a toss-up.
Releasing the man’s lapels and brushing them flat against his natty suit jacket, Ice stepped back a pace and crossed her muscled arms over her chest, her raised-eyebrow expression leaving no doubt in the man’s mind that if he were even to start thinking
about acting stupid again, she’d take great pleasure in pulling his spine up through his throat and beating him to death with it.
His mouth opened. Then closed. Opened. Closed.
Then hung open like a trap door and stayed that way.
"Okay," I said, breaking the silence and drawing the word out when it became obvious the man didn’t have the presence of mind to say anything at the moment. (And having your bowels turned to water by six feet of muscled beauty will do that to you every time, believe me.) I turned to Mr. Willamette. "What are his options?"
"Well, like I told him, there’s a phone in the station that he’s welcome to use to call a tow that’ll take him up the road to the next town over. They got a mechanic works full-time there. Have him fixed up quick." He shrugged. "Believe me, I could use the money, but I ain’t no mechanic so it’d be useless to keep the car here. It’d only gather dust."
I turned back to the stranger. "Sounds pretty reasonable to me."
"It’s not reasonable. I can’t afford to wait around this two bit little town while some toothless old geezer decides to dust off his ’23 pickup and jaunt down here to tow my car to another two bit town. I have a meeting that I’m already," he looked at his watch, "three hours late for." He looked back up. "I want my car fixed and I want it fixed now, damnit!"
"And I already told you that I can’t fix it, Mister. Now or ever. I don’t know what part of that ain’t getting through, but the mechanic fairy ain’t gonna crap on my head just because you’re whinin’ about it like some kid that lost his mommy, eh?"
Stepping forward before Ice could carry out her unvoiced threat, I pushed the man back against his car myself when it looked like he was going to damn the torpedoes and push foolishly ahead. "Look. We’re all human beings here, right? Now, if you just relax and act like the gentleman I know is down there somewhere, I just might be able to help you out here, alright?"
