Marcus went on, “I didn’t tell you that I’ve known Sadie for ten years and I’ve known what kind of woman she was since I first saw her. I didn’t tell you that she would no more talk about you behind your back than I would.”
Marcus watched his wife’s face grow pale.
He continued, “I also didn’t tell you that after you thought she did, she called the house and came by and tried to explain and I didn’t let her.”
That’s when Marcus watched his wife’s face go red.
He carried on, “Then I forced her father to warn her off.” When Daisy’s face looked in danger of turning purple, Marcus kept explaining (quickly). “I did it to protect you.”
Daisy’s brows were drawn and her eyes were narrowed when she said, “Is that it?”
“No.”
“Well then, finish it.”
Marcus blew out a sigh. “Lastly, I didn’t tell you that she was the reason Nanette’s husband left her for the pool boy. Which, if I read Sadie’s actions right, considering she outed Charles Hardy in front of a room full of people and he was so relieved, he didn’t give a damn but Nanette was so humiliated, she hasn’t shown her face in society since, was Sadie’s retribution for Nanette being mean to you.”
Daisy glared at him.
Marcus waited.
Then Daisy spoke. “Let’s get to the goddamned hospital.”
Chapter Two
Stretch My Legs A Bit
Sadie
I knew I was in the hospital before I opened my eyes.
Hospitals had a certain feel and a certain smell and, before I opened my eyes, I experienced both.
The first thing I saw was the ceiling. Then I decided, if they had a suggestion box, before I left I’d suggest they should get a ceiling cleaner. Sick people were on their backs a lot and the ceiling looked filthy. Major gross. Sick people didn’t need to see that.
Then I realized I had to go to the bathroom, like, bad.
This kind of stunk considering when I looked down at my arm there were tubes and stuff sticking in it. Not easy to get to the bathroom with tubes stuck in you.
I also saw my wrist was in a cast but I blanked that out as quickly as I saw it.
I was kind of hoping some of those things sticking in my arm were what was taking the pain away.
I remembered the pain. I would never forget the pain. But I had the strength of mind borne of loads of practice to set the pain, and what caused it, aside.
For now.
As I looked down at my arm, on the floor I saw something weird.
It looked for all the world like a pair of cowboy boots. Not just cowboy boots but jeans and cowboy boots. Not just jeans and cowboy boots but legs in jeans and feet in cowboy boots. The legs were crossed at the ankle and stretched straight out.
I followed the legs up, up, up until I saw Hector “Oh my God” Chavez sleeping in a chair by my hospital bed.
Maybe I wasn’t awake. Maybe I was dreaming.
I stared at him. His hair was a mess, his clothes were wrinkled (or, more wrinkled than normal) and he needed a shave.
What was he doing there?