Sam was waiting at Beth's apartment for her to return. She motioned him into his chair when he would have risen to greet her, and stepped around behind him. She had promised him a massage, and would start with his shoulders. She raised up on her toes, bore down as hard as she could but there was so much muscle there she could scarcely feel any difference. He seemed much happier, though. He dropped his head onto her shoulder and turned his face into her neck, sighing deeply. Beth rubbed her cheek against his hair.
Beth: Tired, big guy? Sam: Beat to shit, honey. Next time somebody shoots his ass... Beth: Stop. There. Sam: Sorry. Beth: Hungry? Sam: Nope. Just tired. Where've you been, hospital? Beth: Took her straight up. Didn't want to go to the house. Didn't want to get something to eat. Just Bill. Now. Sam: I don't get it. Beth: You don't have to. Come on...time for bed, little man. Sam: I like the sound of that. Beth: Tonight we sleep. I'm done in. Sam rose and took her hand to lead her back to the bedroom. Beth trailed along behind, her free hand gently stroking him along the spine in a continuation of the massage. Sam: She still up there, or did they make her leave. I hope. Beth: God, God, God...we smuggled him out. Sam: Jesus wept. You what? Beth: He wanted to go. He got hold of her and turned her into a puddle of goo and the next thing I know I'm doing the Mission Impossible thing and trundling him out in a laundry cart. She's in it with him and they're playing a hell of a game of slap and tickle under a pile of sheets. Damn near dumped them in the trash. People going by me listening to this racket coming out of a pile of linens...Oh, by the way, could you sweep the place for bugs? Sam: Bugs!? He at that shit again? Beth: Never quit being at that shit. Said he stuffed a wire in my purse here not so long ago and got an earful. Sam went on a quiet rampage. He found state of the art listening devices in every room but the bedroom. There he found two, one attached to the bedframe and the other to the headboard. He held one in his hand, staring at the tiny pinpoint of green light that told him the bug was live and online. Sam: Damn you, Strannix...you have to let go, you bastard. She chose me. You hear me? She chose me!! Violently Sam flung all the little devices into the toilet to be fried by the water. Beth hurried to soothe him, feeling intense jealousy and frustration coming off him in waves. The past history she shared with Bill infuriated him. Odd, odd, odd...Sam was one hundred percent sure of her and enraged with Bill, while Deb seemed to accept their shared past. She embraced Beth as friend and comrade in arms, and wasn't the least bit sure of William. Beth: Sam...honey, let it go...it doesn't matter. Sam: If he doesn't back off I swear... Beth slipped close, winding her arms around his neck and stroking him gently. He quivered beneath her hands. Beth: He can think whatever he wants, he will anyway, because it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter. I made up my mind, and you're the only man on it. Quit letting this bother you. Sam: I don't give a good goddam what you did, it's what he wants to do. Beth: Sweet boy, he doesn't want a thing. We're friends. That's all. Sam: We started as friends. Beth: Bill and I ended as friends. Sam's look was black as he swept Beth up into his arms and carried her into their bedroom. Sam: Ending, beginning, makes no damn difference to me. He moves wrong I'll put the sonofabitch away for so long his grandchildren will be retired. I've got something for you. Beth: What? Sam seemed to stop in his tracks, reconsider, regroup and calm down. Sam: I nearly ruined this for you. I'm sorry. Beth: Nearly ruined what? Sam removed a small box from his pocket and sat beside her on their bed. Sam: This. He opened the box to reveal a ring in the style popularly called an 'anniversary band'. Beth had also heard them called 'eternity rings' and she suspected this was what her lovely man had had in mind when he bought it. It consisted of a simple band of channel-set baguette diamonds, definitely not an engagement ring, but certainly...certainly a promise of things to come. Sam: Wear this for me? Beth's hand was rock steady as she extended it. Her answer was in the smile she gave him as she watched the little ring take its place on her hand. She looked it over, smile widening...and then crawled into his lap to regard it from the best seat in the house. Billy sat on the bottom of the boat and leaned against my knee. I handed him a boat cushion (which could serve as a flotation device) and instead sitting on it he pushed it against his belly. I knew he was in pain, I could tell. The average person would have been hard pressed to see where anything was wrong, but to someone who considered his every move a work of art, it was pretty obvious he was a hurtin' unit. I took it slowly across the choppy lake, so as not to bounce him and I threw an extra blanket across his shoulders. Sam had described the look of the island to me so that all I needed was the sight of the waning moon reflecting off the highly polished windows to know I was in the right place. I eased the boat up to the landing and tied it up. Deb: Billy...hey, come on, we're here. Billy: Where's here? Deb: Where we're going. Billy: Tells me a lot. Think I might need some help here. Deb: First I've ever heard you admit to something like that, big guy. It was no surprise. The average man would have been dead from the wound, Billy was ticking along on all eight cylinders...but he was in some serious pain. If I'd had any brains I would have marched him to the nearest hospital and forced him, if I could, to sign in. Instead I had several bags full of dressings and creams and pills. He would refuse to go if he had to seek help. Deb: Come on, there, let's get you up on the landing. It'll be easier to stand. Billy: Hurts like hell. Deb: Wouldn't hurt so much if you'd stayed in the hospital where they could give you a steady drip of painkillers. God, I thought Beth was gonna rowf when you pulled that IV shunt out. Billy: How'd you feel? Deb: Me? Didn't bother me any. I wanna take a look at that hand when we get you settled, though. I supported most of his weight as we moved slowly from the landing to house and up to the bedroom. While Billy busied himself removing his boots and pants, or trying to, I hauled several armloads of wood and built a fire. I added one of the comforters to the flannel sheet, then ducked into the bathroom to change and to get some of Billy's painkillers. I decided on two of the Darvon, and I brought them to him. He was more awake than he had been, and ready to give me crap. Billy: Where are we, rural Hooterville? Deb: Here's you painkillers, your antibiotics and your Tylenol. Sam and Beth very graciously lent us their cabin for two weeks. About thirty miles that way...you're in Canada. Billy swallowed his pills and lay down in the wide bed. Billy: What the hell's with the flannel...and socks? You're sleepin' in socks? Deb: Gets cold in here. Billy patted the mattress. Billy: Won't be cold in here. Deb: Never cold where you are, too much hot air. Billy: Shut up and get in here. Deb: Guess I'd better say yessir to the marines. I hopped in beside him and stretched out on my back. The Darvon and the penicillin were kicking in and knocking out even Billy, who had proven beyond doubt that he had the constitution of a brass eagle. His pupils were hugely dialated, his speech was slurring and his eyelids drooping. Deb: I'll get the lamp, there, fella. Way you're going you'll knock it over and torch the place. Billy: I'm fine, dammit. Deb: You will be, baby. Just give me time. I turned out the lamp and moved as close to him as I dared. I was acutely conscious of his stomach, and I didn't want to touch it at all. He took my hand and thumped it down on his chest. Billy: This's damn nice. What're those birds called? Deb: Which ones, I'm not really familiar with birds... No fear that Billy would turn into a nature loving treehugger. Billy: Them bastards screamin' their heads off out there. There...that one. What's that? He, too, had noticed the annoyance factor in the haunting, piercing cry of the loon. Deb: 'S a loon. Billy: Wring it's damn neck. Shut up, bird! Deb: Sshh, don't get worked up. It can't be good for you. Billy: Hell with that, I'm damn near out. I waited a few minutes, lightly stroking his chest and listening to the deep groans that came whenever I brushed my fingers across a flat, firm nipple. He was nearly asleep, and far too zonked to be on his guard. Deb: Billy? Honey? You awake? Billy: Am now. It's one...two...hell, it's damn early in the mornin', what the hell you want? Deb: Can I ask you a question? Billy: Just did. 'Night, punk. Deb: Knock it off. Can I? Billy: Awright. Make it fast. I hesitated, wondering what he would say to answer the coming question. Deb: Billy... Billy: 'S my name, don' wear it out. Deb: Billy...who do you love? Billy: What 'n hell kinna question zat? Deb: I'm serious, Billy. Who do you love? Billy: Don' bug me 'th 'at shit now. Deb: Just answer me, then we'll go to sleep. Who do you love? Billy: You thinkin' 'm gonna say Beth? Phhht. Few yearzgo mighta, not now. Pipsqueak, like sister I never had. Not her. I was counting on him being so whacked out he wouldn't be able to do anything but answer truthfully. Deb: Then who's left? Not the Dixies, I hope. Billy: Not Dixies...dumbags. You know who... His voice was fading, getting softer as he slipped further into sleep. But he managed an answer, just the same. Billy: Damfool woman...gotta ask. You know...love you. TO BE CONTINUED...
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