Paula Wilshe

   I was sittin’ on the couch, thinking, mostly, although I did have the t.v. on, and there was a football game playin’ or something. I wasn’t paying all that much attention, and honest, I wouldn’t be able to tell you now even who the teams were. I’d had a pretty good day, I think I mighta mentioned that before, like it was the first day that I really started feelin’ like myself again, after everything that had happened…and it was such a relief.

   The evening had been pretty good too, but I could really tell I’d been doin’ more stuff, because I was awfully tired, and it was getting hard to keep my eyes open. But it was such a good kind of tired, for the first time in what seemed like forever to me. I’d picked up Hutch at work and brought him home. Made him dinner, too, although he didn’t eat much, and he kept apologizin’ for not eating, like it was gonna hurt my feelings or something, the big dope.

   He’d been kinda dozey in the car, you know, and I actually had to wake him up when we got to my place. When we came in and I flipped on the living room lamp, he kept blinkin’ hard, and he said the light made his eyes hurt. His voice was all hoarse, and I knew he didn’t feel good, but you know how Hutch is, getting him to own up to that is mostly not worth the effort. Finally he admitted that his throat still hurt, and his head some, but he kept just tellin’ me it was because he was tired.

   Whatever you say, partner.

   Me and Hutch have this really cool kind of partnership, and friendship too. We’ve been through an awful lot, at work, and family stuff, together, for years and years. I think the way we go at things is different sometimes—Hutch says we have "dissimilar styles," but he usually says that when he doesn’t agree with something I’ve done, or he’s pissed off about whatever. The basic thing is, it’s each other we depend on, trust, look after—me and thee, we always say, and we mean it.

   Me, I’m easy. I’m not feelin’ good, like Hutch wasn’t that night, you can fuss over me all you want. Make me soup, wrap me up in a blanket, wait on me hand and foot. That stuff’s kinda makin’ up for the not feelin’ good, especially the waitin’ on hand and foot bit. Especially if there’s ice cream involved. And Hutch is really, really good at that. Like, he always seems to know what I need before I do.

   This last time, of course, it was different; I hated being dependent on him, hated that he had to help me do everything, hated that I couldn’t…But he’d been cool about it, I think he did understand what I was feeling.

   He never said a word about it, what he was doin’, just did it all like it was the most natural thing in the world, no big deal, and never acting for a minute like it was always gonna be that way. Hutch’s whole thing was, do what we have to do, and everything will be back to normal soon. Somehow, he made me believe him, and I’m pretty sure that’s why things started to turn around for me.

   So anyhow, that night we’re sittin’ here after dinner. Hutch tried to clean up, but I wouldn’t let him, it was only a coupla dishes for God’s sake. He was bein’ real quiet, like there was something’ on his mind he wanted to talk about, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to spill it. I wished he would, because the longer we sat there pretending to watch the t.v., the deeper that furrow between his eyebrows got, and it was startin’ to give me a headache.

   "Starsk…I…uh…"

   "Hm?" I asked, and I wasn’t lookin’ at him, you know, trying to be casual.

   "I was thinking today about the…you know, about…"

   I knew what he was thinking about, and I also knew why. Between me bein’ in the hospital right afterward, and all the stuff that’d happened since I’d come home, you know, all the doctor’s appointments, and tryin’ to figure out how I was gonna manage when he went back to work and all that, he hadn’t had a whole lot of time to think about all the stuff he’d been through. The stuff we’d been through.

   Thought about me all the time, as usual, but didn’t give himself the same consideration. He never does, you know?

   He cleared his throat, but it didn’t help too much, he sorta sounded like he was gonna lose his voice.

   "Hutch, I got some cough drops someplace," I offered.

   He ignored me, of course. "I mean, I keep thinkin’…if you…what I…"

   I glanced over at him. "You’ve got a fever, I’ll bet." It wasn’t that I didn’t want him to work through whatever it was that was buggin’ him, that wasn’t it. It was…I didn’t want anything to be buggin’ him at all, which sounds dumb, but there it is. At least not that night. There’d be time for that later, you know? That was the best thing. We had time.

   He shook his head. "No, I don’t, honest, I’m just tired," he said in that croaky thing he was usin’ as a voice. "I’m okay, really. I’m not sick." He grinned at me, kinda sheepish. "Not that sick, anyway. It’s just...whatever..."

   "I know." And I did. Knew he was mostly okay, more upset and drained than anything else.

   "Then don’t make a big deal out of it, Starsk. It’s fine." He was kind of pullin’ on the back of his hair.

   "Hutch," I told him seriously. "You need a break. You need a night off. Not just from doin’, but from thinkin’ too." I made my voice as soft as I could. "I’m okay now. I promise." I tried to look him in the eyes, but his were, movin’ around the room, looking at me, but then looking away again.

   He sat up straighter. "Can I get you anything? Where’s your sling? Did you take your pills?"

   Oh, great, autonurse.

   "Nope, no idea, and nope, I’m fine, and I don’t need ‘em tonight," I told him, and I was smiling. "Hutch, go to bed," I said. "You’re startin’ to sound bad."

   He was sitting there rubbing his forehead, and just looking totally exhausted, like he didn’t even have the energy to get up or anything. I patted him on the knee as I walked past, and I brought him back some juice and some aspirin. "Take this," I told him, "and go stretch out. You need the rest."

   Hutch took the pills and drank the juice, and I know he kinda winced when he swallowed, then the big lummox looked up at me and said, "Starsk, why don’t you go to bed, I’m just gonna flop on the couch here."

   Yeah, right.

   So there I was, about an hour later. He’d given in, probably just as much because he thought he was upsettin’ me as anything else, and I figured by now he was sound asleep in my bed. I had a coupla pillows, and the t.v., and I was as happy as could be to be sleepin’ on the couch like a normal person.

   But then there was this noise.

   It was coming from the bedroom, and I don’t think I can really describe it. At first I thought it was a car going by outside, you know, hittin’ the puddles from all the rain we’d been havin’, maybe the engine whining or complaining a little bit.

   But then I realized it was coming from my room.

   I went to the doorway, as quiet as I could, and I gotta tell you, it scared the shit out of me.

   Hutch was lyin’ there, his arm draped across his face. Weeping. Sobbing. Almost silently. Like his heart was gonna break.

   And mine did.

   "Aw, Hutch…" I sat down on the bed next to him, real careful. "What’sa matter?"

   He didn’t say anything at all, and the crying got harder, but no louder, which was just…upsetting. He kind of reached out the other arm for me, and I held his hand real tight. It didn’t seem to help, though, so I figured I’d better do something.

   "Come on," I urged him, "come on…" I kind of tugged on him, and he sat up, and one arm went around me, and the other just kept holdin’ my hand, and he melted into my shoulder. Turned his face into my neck, and I could feel the heat from his face, and the hot tears against my skin.

   I let go of his hand, and wrapped both my arms around him, as tight as I could, even though it hurt a little—I was still havin’ trouble raising my arms up some. I started rubbin’ his back, real light. "Sh…babe…sh…."

   "S’okay, you’re okay…sh….."

   I’m not sure, I think I mighta kissed the top of his head real soft, but I didn’t know what else to do. It was like holdin’ a little kid whose world just broke apart. I could hear myself crooning like my ma used to do. "Sh…Hutch…sh…s’okay, Hutch…."

   I could feel myself startin’ to cry just a little bit too. I tried not to, I wanted just to be there for him. But my eyes were full of tears too, you know? I could hardly see.

   We sat like that for a long time. A real long time. He kept weeping, burrowed there in my neck, and I kept…doing whatever it was I was doing, didn’t seem to be helping, but he was holdin’ me so tight, I had no choice.

   Thing was, I knew exactly why he was crying like that. I knew what it was all about. Now that I was feelin’ better, and things were startin’ to get back to normal for us, well, suddenly there was time for all the fear, all the feelings, all the emotions he hadn’t had time to deal with when he’d been so busy. Part of it was maybe that he wasn’t feeling so hot, but I don’t really believe that, I think this woulda happened anyhow.

   Now he wasn’t thinkin’ about how lucky we were, how we’d cheated death one more time, how we were almost us again. He was thinking about the what ifs, like, what if I’d…what would he…

   He was thinking about all the things that were too scary to think about, ‘cause if we did, we’d never be able to do our jobs right, ever. I understood it all, because I’d been through the same thing a coupla times myself.

   There was nothing I could do, really. Just be there. Just hold him. Just let him cry.

   So I did.

   And he did.

   And finally, it seemed like he was slowin’ down a little bit, which I guess was because he was so exhausted by that point there was nothing left in him. He was sniffling and hiccupping, and he sighed a little, and my shirt was soaking wet.

   I didn’t mind.

   I kept stroking his hair. I wanted to tell him how lucky I felt to have him in my life. I wanted him to know how much it meant to me to know he cared about me so deeply. I wanted to let him know how much I love him.

   "You want some ice cream?" I asked.

   I felt him smile, pressed there against my neck.

   He knew.

THE END