Dire Crossing

“Well, at least Carlos doesn’t have your friends,” Ty said. “That’s two people we can eliminate from our ‘missing’ list.  Besides, do you honestly think that your husband would leave the country without you? Or maybe I’m not asking the right question. Does your husband love you enough to stay and look for you?”

“Stop it! Stop it! Of course he loves me!” she shouted. “Why, he would give his life for me!” A tear rolled down her cheek.

“Maybe he already has,” Ty said under his breath, turning back to the desk.

His words made her stomach do a flip flop. Covering her mouth she ran for the bathroom.

“I think I’m going to be sick . . .”

He tossed his pen at the closed door and raised his voice: “And that’s another thing to add to my trauma list over finding you . . .”

In a few minutes, she opened the bathroom door, wiping her mouth with a towel. “You don’t have to worry about taking care of me. I’m a doctor, remember?” she reminded him.

“Yeah, well. The only doctoring that’s been going on so far has been mine, if you’ll recall.”

“And a mighty fine job you’ve been doing, too, I might add,” Robison said, attempting a smile. She was truly grateful; she knew she could count on him to see her through this.

He handed her a pink pill. “Take this; it will settle your stomach.”

“What am I taking?”

“A pink pill. What the hell does it look like?”

“What’s the name of it?”

He looked at her, puzzled. “Hell, I don’t know; the pink ones are to settle your stomach and the little white ones are for Montezuma’s Revenge and they both work. What else do you need to know? If you don’t want to take the goddamn thing, then put it back.”

Swallowing the pill, she said, “Your bedside manner could use a little adjustment.”

“Get your wig back on glamour girl; we’ve got to get you out of here, pronto.”

She tossed the towel towards the bathroom where it landed on the floor.

“Well . . . now see . . . that’s another problem,” he admonished. “Did you see any towels thrown on the floor before you went in there?”

“Sorry,” she said picking up the towel and walking it into the bathroom. She wiped the sink, folded the towel and put it on the floor next to the tub, then ceremoniously turned off the light.

“If you’re going to live with me, and I might add you have no choice at the moment, you’ll have to learn the drill: A place for everything and everything in its place.”

“Yes, sir!” Robison said, saluting as they walked out the door. “Maybe you need a wife around here to change your values.”

“Yeah, well, . . . you learn the drill, and I’ll work on my bedside manner,” he said, ignoring the “wife” comment. “You’re probably right. I should be more hospitable towards any vomiting, runaway doctors on the lam whom I may find in one of my containers who just happens to be indicted in the murder of a presidential candidate of a foreign country.”

“Are you always so sarcastic?” she asked.

“Only when I’m trying to ‘aid and abet’ someone. I hope you realize I could also be thrown in jail. That’ll be two keys they’ll throw away, thank you very much!”

“I hadn’t thought about that,” she said pensively.

“Yeah, well, I think it may take more than some goddamned white and pink pills and a great bedside manner to get us out of this predicament . . . unfortunately.”

He was hurrying her down the street, guiding her by the arm. They weren’t far from the amphitheater now. As they passed the café, he asked her, “Want some pancakes and oatmeal now?”

“Ugh, no.” She shuddered, remembering she’d just tossed her cookies into the toilet.

“You delight in torturing me, don’t you?”

“Yep. It’s part of my new bedside manner. How do you like it so far?”

“It’s not exactly hunky-dory,” Robison fired back.

“That wasn’t quite the reaction I was after,” he said as gave her arm a gentle squeeze.

Despite his occasional sarcasms, she found his touch reassuring. Intuitively, she knew Ty liked her . . . and would never desert her.