“Uh, I mean…a little.”
She nods and then whispers, “Cool.”
Cool?
And here I thought she was steaming with anger.
“Cool?” I ask her. “Are we going to have to check your head again?”
“No. I’m fine.”
The nurse cleans up while I say, “Can you explain to me why it’s cool to have a black eye?”
“I’ve always wanted one,” she says in a dreamlike state.
Okay, I do think we need to check her again. Because I’ve spent maybe a few hours of my life with this lady, and I can tell you right now that there is no way that the woman who wanted to murder me after our first therapy session would find a black eye at a company marriage retreat dreamy.
Continuing, she says, “I’ve been hit in the head many times, but never a black eye. Always such a letdown. I thought my eyes were incapable of blacking out. But looks like it only took a rock and a two-hundred-plus-pound man behind me, pushing me into said rock, to make it happen.”
“Uh, what do you mean you’ve been hit in the head many times?” I ask. “And who the fuck hit you?”
She looks up at me and tilts her head to the side. Cupping my cheek, she says, “Aww, look at you caring about me.”
“Who hit you, Scottie?” I say, a hard edge to my voice.
“No one.” She shakes her head. “But you know, like a ball or a can of beans, something like that.”
“Did you get hit in the head with a can of beans?”
“I’m not a very good catch.”
The nurse leans in and says, “She might be a bit off for a little while. I arranged a golf cart to take you to your cabin, and I believe Sanders is waiting out front. Would you like me to help you carry her out?”
“No, I can do it,” I say as I stand and then go to pick Scottie up, but she whacks me away.
“I can stand and walk myself. I can’t possibly be carried out of here. Humiliating. I need to look tough. Scare people with my bloody, black eye.”
“I think it would be best if I carry you,” I suggest.
“I think it would be best if you listen to my request,” she counters. And there’s determination in that swollen black eye, telling me she’s going to get her way no matter how hard I try.
So not wanting to get into another fight, I nod but then wrap my arm around her so she doesn’t wobble and walk her carefully out to the front, where Sanders is waiting in a decked-out golf cart. Christmas lights wrap around the poles and roof, fuzzy pink seat covers jacket all the seats, and a pair of plush diamond rings hang from the rearview mirror.
And then there’s Sanders, in his same outfit from earlier, but this time, he’s added moose antlers to his head and a neck pillow around his neck.
I mean, to each their own, right?
“You got her okay?” Sanders asks.
“Yes,” I answer as I help Scottie into the back seat with me.
“Glad you’re okay. That was quite the fall.”
“Yeah, I kind of forgot we were tied together when I was celebrating,” I say, guilt still consuming me.
“I could see that,” Sanders says as he pulls out and starts driving toward the cabins. “Something we tend to forget when married, that we’re tied together in all aspects. What one partner might do affects the other. Whether good or bad. One move tugs on the other and vice versa. That’s why when we’re making our way through life, we need to be aware that our every move is tied to our loved one. We need to be conscious of that.”
Huh.
