Chapter 7
The tide reached for us as he stepped onto the stairwell to the walkway. He paused, looking down at the seawater caressing the wooden steps and said, “See how high the tide gets. Make sure that you keep an eye on it when you’re out. Next time I might not be watching.”
He carried me inside the house, depositing me onto the couch. “You're pale. Do you need anything?”
I hated to admit that I was in agony but why should I play the heroine. “Yes, thank you. I have some pain pills in an orange medicine bottle in the bathroom on the sink. Can you bring them to me?”
He did in record time, pausing only to get me some water. He hovered over me as I took them. Taking the water from me, he said, “Lie down and rest. I’ll check on you in a while.”
He was opening the door, when I said, “Thank you, Perry. I am sorry for being so much trouble. I’ll be more careful next time. I promise.”
An unreadable expression briefly passed across his usually stoic face. “It was no bother. You need to be more careful and slow down, woman. You have lots of time to cover the beach. Don’t try to do it on one afternoon.” He left. It didn’t take long for the pain pills sedative effects to kick in. I slept.
I awoke hours later with fresh tears on my cheeks from crying in my sleep. The horrible nightmare had returned to haunt me. I threw back the blanket that someone had placed over me while I slept. I noticed the darkening sky. Dusk was upon me. I wiped my face in my sleeve, trying to shake the terrible feeling of loss that had crept into every pore of my being.
“That was some dream that you had.” Perry’s voice in the darkening room startled me.
“Holy Mother of Saint Peter,” I said, “Scare me, will you?”
“Sorry. Do you dream like that every time you take those pills?”
I lied, “I don’t remember dreaming, so I don’t know the answer to that question. I’m keeping you from your work, aren’t I?” I said rudely, wanting to be alone.
But my tone didn’t sway him. “No, you aren’t. I’ve stopped for the day. I’m cooking clam chowder. I don’t think that you need to cook super. You’re still pale, and one sandwich a day is enough. Give me thirty minutes and I will bring you some of the chowder. It's simmering now.”
I started to protest, but my stomach made a rumble much like Wade’s had at lunch. He laughed, “The body doesn’t lie, woman. See you in thirty.”
I stood up slowly when he left. The pain was gone but I felt drained from the effects of the drug. A shower would revive me. I quickly took a hot one. I dressed in jeans and a sweater. The night air had a chill in it, so I wrapped a blanket around me and sat cross-legged Indian style on the couch. I was brushing my hair when Perry returned carrying a huge thermos full of the promised chowder.
“You’re looking better,” he said, after a moment of intense inspection.
“I feel better. Showers work miracles,” I replied with a hint of a smile. He took the chowder into the kitchen.
Returning to the den, he commented. “I left the chowder on the kitchen counter. I’ll get the thermos later. Don’t need it anytime soon.”
I nodded, “Thanks for everything.”
His solid frame seemed to fill the room. He humorously said, “You know, for a woman you don’t talk a lot.”
I laughed, “No, I guess I don’t. I found out years ago that men don’t listen, so why waste the energy.”
He smiled, “Woman, you’re right. Goodnight.” Then he was gone and I was alone with the chowder, which was surprising good.
He carried me inside the house, depositing me onto the couch. “You're pale. Do you need anything?”
I hated to admit that I was in agony but why should I play the heroine. “Yes, thank you. I have some pain pills in an orange medicine bottle in the bathroom on the sink. Can you bring them to me?”
He did in record time, pausing only to get me some water. He hovered over me as I took them. Taking the water from me, he said, “Lie down and rest. I’ll check on you in a while.”
He was opening the door, when I said, “Thank you, Perry. I am sorry for being so much trouble. I’ll be more careful next time. I promise.”
An unreadable expression briefly passed across his usually stoic face. “It was no bother. You need to be more careful and slow down, woman. You have lots of time to cover the beach. Don’t try to do it on one afternoon.” He left. It didn’t take long for the pain pills sedative effects to kick in. I slept.
I awoke hours later with fresh tears on my cheeks from crying in my sleep. The horrible nightmare had returned to haunt me. I threw back the blanket that someone had placed over me while I slept. I noticed the darkening sky. Dusk was upon me. I wiped my face in my sleeve, trying to shake the terrible feeling of loss that had crept into every pore of my being.
“That was some dream that you had.” Perry’s voice in the darkening room startled me.
“Holy Mother of Saint Peter,” I said, “Scare me, will you?”
“Sorry. Do you dream like that every time you take those pills?”
I lied, “I don’t remember dreaming, so I don’t know the answer to that question. I’m keeping you from your work, aren’t I?” I said rudely, wanting to be alone.
But my tone didn’t sway him. “No, you aren’t. I’ve stopped for the day. I’m cooking clam chowder. I don’t think that you need to cook super. You’re still pale, and one sandwich a day is enough. Give me thirty minutes and I will bring you some of the chowder. It's simmering now.”
I started to protest, but my stomach made a rumble much like Wade’s had at lunch. He laughed, “The body doesn’t lie, woman. See you in thirty.”
I stood up slowly when he left. The pain was gone but I felt drained from the effects of the drug. A shower would revive me. I quickly took a hot one. I dressed in jeans and a sweater. The night air had a chill in it, so I wrapped a blanket around me and sat cross-legged Indian style on the couch. I was brushing my hair when Perry returned carrying a huge thermos full of the promised chowder.
“You’re looking better,” he said, after a moment of intense inspection.
“I feel better. Showers work miracles,” I replied with a hint of a smile. He took the chowder into the kitchen.
Returning to the den, he commented. “I left the chowder on the kitchen counter. I’ll get the thermos later. Don’t need it anytime soon.”
I nodded, “Thanks for everything.”
His solid frame seemed to fill the room. He humorously said, “You know, for a woman you don’t talk a lot.”
I laughed, “No, I guess I don’t. I found out years ago that men don’t listen, so why waste the energy.”
He smiled, “Woman, you’re right. Goodnight.” Then he was gone and I was alone with the chowder, which was surprising good.
penned by Painter Lady at 12:43 AM
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