“I just got a little dizzy. It’s the weather.” Saylor is grasping at straws to try to hide the obvious reason she is laying here on the floor. And I don’t know why. I suddenly get the feeling she is hiding something from me, but before I can ask what it is, the horny bag boy tells his side of the story.
“She was fine one second, then I saw her swaying. The next, she went down like the Titanic. Bam! Her head hit the handle on the freezer door, and it hit pretty hard when she landed too.” His theatrics piss me off. I don’t like him trying to make a huge spectacle of Saylor.
“Sir, she needs to go to the hospital and get a CAT scan, but she is refusing. I’ve been trying to convince her, but she won’t even let us put her in the ambulance.” The medic’s concerned face worries me and I look down at Saylor, hoping I can talk her into going. Or I can just force her to go. Either is fine with me.
She is shaking her head, and tears are brimming in her eyes. “Dirk, I don’t want to go to the hospital.” The determination in her voice makes me feel like shit for even trying to talk her into it.
“You need to go get checked out,” I try, and my shitty attempt falls on deaf ears.
“I’m asking you, Dirk. I’m begging you. Please, don’t let them take me. I’m fine.” By the look on her face and the desperation in her voice, I know this is a battle I need to let her win. But I have to try.
“Please, baby. Something could be wrong.” I’ve pulled out all stops. I even try to make my eyes do that puppy-dog shit, but it doesn’t faze her. It only pisses her off.
“Dammit, Dirk. I said no. Have I ever lied to you? No, so take me home. I’m not going to the hospital. I’m not out of my head. I know who I am, I know where I am, and no one here is authorized to make decisions on my behalf.” She turns to look at the medic, and I can’t help feeling a little sorry for him.
“Now get that damn blood pressure cuff off of me so I can get the hell outta here.” The medic begins releasing the cuff immediately. I help Saylor up and surprisingly she is steady on her feet, despite the huge goose-egg knot that has formed on her head. I want to carry her, but she glares at me, so I settle for my hand around her waist—not that she needs it. Determination alone could let her walk out of here unassisted.
The store manager appears, wearing a shirt that’s too small and a badge that states his title. He is holding a clipboard in his hand and looks almost pissed when he sticks it out to Saylor. “You need to sign this. If you are refusing medical attention, then we ain’t liable for anything that happens down the road.” I’m two seconds from grabbing the clipboard and smashing his nose with it when Saylor gladly signs it and thrusts it back in his hands. She walks out and I have to practically jog to keep up with her.
When we get outside, Shady is there with two other patch holders and I tell him to take my bike back to the house. He nods without any questions, giving Saylor and me a once-over before leaving. I help Saylor in the truck before getting in and pulling out of the lot. When we are almost home, I chance a look at her, and her anger has faded. She just looks tired.
“You okay?” I ask, wondering why I’m treading so lightly. I feel like I’m walking on eggshells. I haven’t felt like that in years.
“I’m fine. I don’t like hospitals,” she mumbles, and I don’t push further. She has her reasons and I’m sure they’re good ones. I pull up at the house, jumping out to help her, but she is already out and moving to the bed of the truck. I see bags of groceries and things from the hardware store and give her a quizzical look. “I told the bag boy to go ahead and check me out. No need in all that shopping going to waste because my stupid head don’t wanna act right.” She doesn’t notice her slipup, but I do.
“You do that a lot?” I ask, referring to her head that is anything but stupid.
“What? Pass out? No. It’s happened before but not often. It’s part of the reason I have migraines too.” She doesn’t elaborate and I don’t ask any more questions. I don’t want to admit it, but the truth is I’m afraid of the answer.
She grabs a bag and I take it from her, then take her hand and lead her inside. The house still smells good and I’m thankful that she got a notion to clean today, although I’m sure that cleaning is as far as it’s gonna go for now.
“You wanna lay down?” I ask, while she fishes receipts and my card from her pocket.
“No, I wanna stay up for the furniture.” That gets my attention, and, as if she summoned them, a truck pulls up the driveway with the town furniture store’s logo on the side. “I was mad at you when I left. I might have spent too much money trying to get back at you. We can take it back if you want.” I shake my head at her words.