felt the same way about you. They've wondered why I haven't let you go. You know, Lily, you're not everybody's cup of tea."
I felt an intense desire to laugh. The medication was undoubtedly kicking in.
"You're a mysterious and violent woman," McCorkindale prodded further. "Some people have wondered out loud to me if you should still be working in Shakespeare, or at least at our little church."
"I don't care if I work at your little church or not," I said. "But I'll tell you, if I catch you pressuring my employers to fire me because I'm 'mysterious and violent,' I'll sue you. Anyone who cares to can look up my past. And as for violent, present me with a list of fights I've started, or times I've been in jail, and I'll be real interested to read it."
Ashamed of myself for offering even that much defense of charges that were indefensible, I waved the minister out of the door and locked it firmly behind him.
My bed was screaming now, and I never could ignore a scream. I floated down the hall and didn't even register the painful process of lying down.
When I woke up, there was a note on my bedside table.
I'd have to admit, were the Reverend McCorkindale to chance by, that this did scare me.
It was from Marshall.
"I came by at six to take you to supper in Montrose," the note began, in Marshall's tiny angular handwriting. "I knocked for five minutes, and then you came to the door. You let me in, walked back to your bed, got in, and went back to sleep. I was worried till I found the little envelope with 'For Pain' written on it. Call me when you wake up. Marshall."
I read it over twice while I recovered from my flash of fear.
I looked at the clock. It read 5:00. Hmm. I rolled over somewhat gingerly to exit the other side of the bed. I peered between the blind slats. Black outside. It was five in the morning.
"God Almighty," I said, impressed with Dr. Thrush's medicine. I took a few steps around the room, and I was pleased to discover that I felt much better after my long rest. The worst of the soreness seemed to be gone. It worried me that I'd let Marshall in. Had I known it was Marshall? Would I have let just anybody in? If so, it was lucky that no one else had knocked. Or had they?
Suddenly anxious, I went through the whole house. Everything was exactly as it had been the day before; the only addition was Marshall's note and the pill envelope, still containing two capsules.
After I stowed the remaining pills away with great respect, I made some coffee and wondered what to do with the day. Sunday is my day off, not because it is a church day, but because it is the least desirable day of the week to clean, from my clients' standpoint. And I feel I deserve one whole day off every week. Usually, I clean my own house or mow my lawn in the morning. When Body Time opens at one, I walk in the doors. I often stay for two hours, then come home to cook for the week. I rent movies from Rainbow Video ("Cinema across the Spectrum"), and every once in a while I call my parents.
Since I'd risen so early, and since all week had been unusual, somehow none of this sounded appealing at all.
After I had skimmed through my big Sunday Little Rock paper, treading my difficult reading path around stories of battered wives, neglected children, and starving, abandoned elders to arrive at those I could actually read (which pretty much boiled down to escaped dangerous pets - this week a boa constrictor - politics, and sports), I dressed in a gingerly way, hoping the bending wouldn't wake up my side. To my pleasure, the terrible ache did not return; there was a certain amount of tenderness, and leaning in some direction was painful, but nothing nearly as bad as it had been the day before.
All right, then. I'd just quell those rebellious feelings I had, this discontent.
My house needed cleaning.
I put on my rubber gloves with what was very nearly pleasure. It crossed my mind to call Marshall, or to drift through the dawn to his house and share his bed again. But I put those thoughts aside; I was in danger of counting on him, of thinking of my life as substantially changed.