tell me?”
“I just did.”
After a heavy pause, I said, “Did she ever follow through?”
“She did. And I’m fucking lucky as hell I didn’t get canned. That woman has a viper mouth and a vengeful streak, I’m telling you. Bitch needs to stay in her lane! Why do you think I always give it back to her?”
I drained my scotch in one gulp and stared into my empty glass.
Perhaps I was wrong about Sadie.
Could she be this spiteful? This malicious? It just seems so cruel and callous.
“She is,” Tim said, already reading my thoughts. “She’s fucking spiteful.”
The bartender returned to pour me another scotch and I sat in silence, nursing my drink. Thinking.
All the while, I could feel Tim watching me. Judging. Assessing. Weighing.
“So she can do what she wants, but how the fuck is that empowering?” he demanded. “Is that the kind of thing that makes her think she’s achieved equality? I don’t fucking understand why she’s so eager to paint herself as a victim, blaming us for what happens to her. If she wants to be treated as an equal, then she should put out what she’d like to get back and not hide behind sexual harassment when we don’t treat her with kid gloves. I mean, how many damn times is Sadie gonna cry wolf with all her fucked up allegations of sexism and harassment before one of our asses is on the line? Huh? How many?” His voice pitched higher. “Just lies, I tell you! Fucking lies that come out of that lying liar hole!”
A hot sickness churned inside me and I felt my gut clench like a fist.
Have I made a horrible miscalculation about Sadie?
Tim let that uncomfortable thought sink in before speaking again. “I told you, man. “Stay away from that sadist bitch. Do yourself a favor and go watch that movie Gone Girl .”
I expelled a weary sigh. “What’s it about?”
Tim snorted. “A raging, ice-blooded, manipulative psychopath who completely ruins a guy in the most fucked up possible way.”
His words rumbled all the way down to my bones. I threw back my scotch and slammed the glass on the counter.
The warning was clear and this time I took heed.
Chapter Twelve
“How are you feeling, E?” I remarked casually as we started down a well-worn path off the hospital grounds. We rounded a corner that curved into a lush garden where we found ourselves surrounded by hibiscus in bloom, hanging orchids, and beds of bougainvillea. The air was heavy with humidity and the heady scent of jasmine.
A nice change, I thought, after being cooped up in the car for the two-hour drive to St. Margaret’s Children’s Hospital, followed by the hour-long wait in the stuffy ward before Evan’s lengthy checkup.
“I’m okay,” Evan said. “Just tired.”
By now the sun was sinking behind the clouds and our shadows were lengthening.
I took a moment to appreciate the strawberry sorbet sunset.
Relief came with the dusk, a sense of everything being all right, at least for the next six months until Evan’s next cardiology checkup.
His sats (oxygen saturation levels) were great, his heart sounded good, and there were no significant changes to his last echo. I almost whooped with joy when Dr. Bonner cleared him for the next six months.
“You were so brave today,” I told Evan.
He blinked at me, his expression cautiously hopeful. “Do I get a prize for being brave?”
I laughed. “Whatever you want, buddy.”
When we neared a park bench, Evan ignored it in favor of sitting on the lawn. He flopped onto his back on a thick patch of grass with his arms and legs flung apart, like he was about to make snow angels.
I smiled, thinking back to when he went through a phase of ripping the grass out by its roots and shoving it into his mouth.
When I told Evan about this phase, he pulled a face. “Ew! Gross! You mean I was a Grass Monster?”
“Yep.” I joined him on the grass. “Before you became my little Cheese Monster, you were my little Grass Monster,” I
“I just did.”
After a heavy pause, I said, “Did she ever follow through?”
“She did. And I’m fucking lucky as hell I didn’t get canned. That woman has a viper mouth and a vengeful streak, I’m telling you. Bitch needs to stay in her lane! Why do you think I always give it back to her?”
I drained my scotch in one gulp and stared into my empty glass.
Perhaps I was wrong about Sadie.
Could she be this spiteful? This malicious? It just seems so cruel and callous.
“She is,” Tim said, already reading my thoughts. “She’s fucking spiteful.”
The bartender returned to pour me another scotch and I sat in silence, nursing my drink. Thinking.
All the while, I could feel Tim watching me. Judging. Assessing. Weighing.
“So she can do what she wants, but how the fuck is that empowering?” he demanded. “Is that the kind of thing that makes her think she’s achieved equality? I don’t fucking understand why she’s so eager to paint herself as a victim, blaming us for what happens to her. If she wants to be treated as an equal, then she should put out what she’d like to get back and not hide behind sexual harassment when we don’t treat her with kid gloves. I mean, how many damn times is Sadie gonna cry wolf with all her fucked up allegations of sexism and harassment before one of our asses is on the line? Huh? How many?” His voice pitched higher. “Just lies, I tell you! Fucking lies that come out of that lying liar hole!”
A hot sickness churned inside me and I felt my gut clench like a fist.
Have I made a horrible miscalculation about Sadie?
Tim let that uncomfortable thought sink in before speaking again. “I told you, man. “Stay away from that sadist bitch. Do yourself a favor and go watch that movie Gone Girl .”
I expelled a weary sigh. “What’s it about?”
Tim snorted. “A raging, ice-blooded, manipulative psychopath who completely ruins a guy in the most fucked up possible way.”
His words rumbled all the way down to my bones. I threw back my scotch and slammed the glass on the counter.
The warning was clear and this time I took heed.
Chapter Twelve
“How are you feeling, E?” I remarked casually as we started down a well-worn path off the hospital grounds. We rounded a corner that curved into a lush garden where we found ourselves surrounded by hibiscus in bloom, hanging orchids, and beds of bougainvillea. The air was heavy with humidity and the heady scent of jasmine.
A nice change, I thought, after being cooped up in the car for the two-hour drive to St. Margaret’s Children’s Hospital, followed by the hour-long wait in the stuffy ward before Evan’s lengthy checkup.
“I’m okay,” Evan said. “Just tired.”
By now the sun was sinking behind the clouds and our shadows were lengthening.
I took a moment to appreciate the strawberry sorbet sunset.
Relief came with the dusk, a sense of everything being all right, at least for the next six months until Evan’s next cardiology checkup.
His sats (oxygen saturation levels) were great, his heart sounded good, and there were no significant changes to his last echo. I almost whooped with joy when Dr. Bonner cleared him for the next six months.
“You were so brave today,” I told Evan.
He blinked at me, his expression cautiously hopeful. “Do I get a prize for being brave?”
I laughed. “Whatever you want, buddy.”
When we neared a park bench, Evan ignored it in favor of sitting on the lawn. He flopped onto his back on a thick patch of grass with his arms and legs flung apart, like he was about to make snow angels.
I smiled, thinking back to when he went through a phase of ripping the grass out by its roots and shoving it into his mouth.
When I told Evan about this phase, he pulled a face. “Ew! Gross! You mean I was a Grass Monster?”
“Yep.” I joined him on the grass. “Before you became my little Cheese Monster, you were my little Grass Monster,” I
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