I glance over at Tom and feel guilty for having been rough on him earlier. Grief, anger, fear, and depression are difficult emotions for us. We used to have specialists for each of those feelings because none of us could cope with them as a package deal.
In the past, we had well-defined lines, but therapy, the healing power of time, and dare I say integration mucked it up for us big time. We are becoming a melting pot of less defined personalities and everyone feels a bit of everything. It’s bewildering because half of the time we are not sure how to handle feelings.
I’m not a depressive person. I might feel down, but never for long. Fear, on the other hand, is a different story and I move in and out of being fearful for Scottie’s life. I can get angry, but not as good as Amadeus. Half of the time I’m overreacting or under-reacting. Just as I did with Tom a while ago when his safety nonsense was making me mad.
“Why can’t you be sensible?”
Tom gets one of my super lethal glares.
“I refuse to argue at Scottie’s bedside.” I hate arguing but when it comes to a stranger living with us in our house, I draw a line. It’s a definite no. I’ll stick to my guns.
“Then come outside with me. We’ll grab something to eat and discuss it there.”
Food sounds good. Over the last twenty hours, I’ve not taken my eyes off Scottie, willing him to live. I forgot all about food. Now Tom mentions it, I realize there is a churning ache in my stomach. But I don’t want to leave. Tom tries his best to draw me away.
“The nurses promised to ring us the moment Scottie gains consciousness.”
I know they did. However, that could be days away or happen at any moment. Induced coma is such a scary concept for me. I’m worried silly. Even the doctor’s reassurance that it was needed to keep Scottie comfortable and pain-free, and to give his battered body the chance to heal, didn’t help.
Doctors always give a string of clever justifications for their treatment. It doesn’t mean I trust them any more than I trust that frogs turn into princes if I kiss them.
“I don’t want to leave.”
“Your distrust isn’t helping.”
Tom’s right. I know but I rather he’d shut up.
We have to go, even though I don’t know how I’ll cope leaving Scottie behind. That way I avoid alienating the nursing staff. After all, I want them on my side until I can leave the hospital with Scottie at my side. So Hogshead it is. We are talking Port Somer’s finest and only pub. Besides decent, down-to-earth food, people get free of charge a generous helping of political news, enough gossip to fill a paper, and doggy-bags for the left-overs.
We both ordered fish and chips and waited in silence until the waiter brought us the food. Tom sits opposite me, still looking annoyed because I’m not rushing to hire a bodyguard.
“So what’s your response? Shall I send for a bodyguard?”
He’s like a Jack Russell who’s not letting go of a bone and about to launch another argument. I hold up my hand and stop him. By now he should see that we go by a different set of rules than the average person. Me living with a stranger who is present when we switch and the children come out to play? Not in a million years.
Tom rakes his hands through his hair. I’m sure he’d like to shake me if he could get away with it and if there wasn’t a table between us.
“Scott lies half-dead in hospital. And it’s not because his cabin was valuable. You are in real danger; don’t you get it? Real danger. I can’t stay and look after you. It’s time for me to return home. My work is waiting for me.”
“Let it go. It will not happen. I have Prince, that’s enough.”
Tom does have a strong, protective streak. Bless him. Since Scottie’s cabin burned down, he holds himself responsible for my safety. Nevertheless, he will not push me into doing something I hate.
“Don’t you see, Scottie’s example demonstrates it doesn’t matter who is in the house. If someone puts their mind to harm, they will do so.”
I lean back and take a deep breath.
“It’s sweet, Tom, that you worry about me. Please stop. I will not change my mind. Scottie installed a sophisticated alarm system and thanks to you I now own a gun. That’s all I need.”
“You have a burglar alarm you don’t use. It’s never switched on.”
“I will use it from now on. I promise. Anyhow, I’ll probably put the house on the market. As soon as Scottie is back on his feet, we’ll move. That should be the end of our problems.”
He’s taking a breath to say some more when I kick him under the table.
“We have an audience!”
People at neighboring tables are showing great interest in our conversation. I close my eyes and try to stay calm. The last thing I want is to feed the local gossip mill.
“We’re done here. I get up and walk out of the pub.
“Lilly, stop. Don’t you walk out, I’m not finished talking.”
Amadeus must be close because anger is building up inside me. I swing around.
“But I am.”
The air outside is crisp and I take a few minutes to collect myself. I hate being at odds with Tom but the times when someone could pressure me into doing something that doesn’t feel right are over. He probably doesn’t understand how important being in control is for my recovery. But he can read up on it in every handbook about the recovery from abuse.
I’m relieved when the car door opens and he slips into the passenger seat. Are
