Box

15

Trudy Lake.

“I’ve got some good news and bad,” Dr. Box says, after preparing the syringe.

“Bad news first,” I say.

“It takes a full thirty minutes for the morphine to take effect.”

“Shit.”

“I thought you should know.”

“We can’t wait thirty minutes to do this,” I say. “Please. Try not to hurt me too much, or ruin my face.”

He says, “I’m uniquely qualified to rough you up.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m a surgeon. I understand how to cause the most bruising with the least possible tissue damage. You’ll want some heavy bruising, maximum swelling, profuse bleeding in areas that can be easily stitched by a qualified plastic surgeon.”

“Try not to sound so enthusiastic, okay?”

“Okay. But you’ve got to admit, doing this in the dark is an exhilarating challenge!”

When Dr. Box talks like that it creeps me out worse than the way he ejaculates.

“What’s the good news?” I ask.

“Good news is, by injecting you now, we’ll stay ahead of the pain. When the sheriff and EMS get here I can honestly say you received the injection the same time Darrell did.”

“Keep an eye out for Cletus and Renfo.”

“Who are they?”

“Darrell’s crackhead meth partner twins. If Darrell’s here, Cletus and Renfro can’t be far behind. Unless they’re stoned.”

“Is that likely?”

“It’s almost a certainty. But just in case.”

“Okay. Will do.”

She says, “Let’s do it. Give me the morphine.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, then. Turn around, bend over, pull your pants down.”

“What?”

“That’s how it’s done.”

“Bullshit!”

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t inject Daddy or Darrell in the butt.”

“It’s the fastest, most direct way to administer morphine into the drug stream.”

“You’re lying through your teeth.”

“No. Seriously.”

“If you want this relationship to work, you’re gonna have to tell the truth.”

“I am?”

“Yes, of course. And not just once-in-a-while. Always.”

He pauses a minute, then says, “Okay, I’m lying. But how did you know?”

“I was a candy striper for two summers at county. No one got morphine shots in the ass.”

“True, because they used a drip.”

“Yes. In the arm. Because as any heroin addict knows, the crook of the arm is the most direct route to the pain centers.”

“That’s never been proven,” he says.

“Yes it has.”

“Not definitively.”

“Arm,” I say. “Not ass.”

He sighs, gives me the shot. In the crook of my arm. Then he kisses me on the lips.

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” he says.

He puts on Darrell’s work gloves, takes a step back, and starts punching my face. After a few hits I beg him to stop, but he tells me what I already know, that we’ve got to really sell it. It bothers me that he’s able to keep hitting me when I’m sobbing like this, but I guess it’s easier for him because he’s a doctor. I’m putting my trust in him not to fuck me up too badly.

But I can’t help but wonder if he’s enjoying it a little too much.

Finally he stops. Then he grabs me by the neck and throws me down. He helps me up, then carefully hits me in what he calls strategic places to cause bruising and swelling on my torso without breaking my ribs.

Then he does something that surprises me.

He walks over to Darrell, who’s unconscious, and makes his hands into fists. Then he slams Darrell’s hands into the gravel. He’s realized Darrell’s fists should look like they hit me more than once.

He comes back to me, puts his arm around me and gives me a hug. By now I’m in excruciating pain. I can’t stop crying.

“How much longer before the drugs kick in?”

“Nearly thirty minutes.”

“What?”

“I only started hitting you two minutes ago.”

“That can’t be true.”

“Seems longer, right?” he says. “I should call the ambulance now.”

He does, then calls the sheriff to report our version of what happened, so I can hear it from start to finish.

When he hangs up I say, “I’ve got some good and bad news for you.”

“Good news first,” he says.

“I’ve got your money.”

“What money?”

“Daddy picked your pocket. But I got it back for you by pretendin’ I needed it. It’s in my purse.”

“It is?”

“Yes, sir. The full thirty-six hundred.”

He checks his pockets and gives me a funny look.

“I don’t want to sound ungrateful,” he says, “but I had five grand in my other pocket in an envelope.”

I shake my head. “I’m sorry, Gideon. Before the ambulance gets here, you should go through Daddy’s pockets.”

He takes the money from my purse and stuffs it in his medical bag. Then heads back into the barn to check Daddy’s pockets.

He comes back out holdin’ the envelope up so I can see it. Then he says, “What’s the bad news?”

I sigh. “When the sheriff gets here, and the questions start flyin’, you might hear talk of a legal issue.”

“What type of legal issue?”

“It’s more of a technicality than an issue.”

“Does it affect you?”

“Partly.”

“Tell me about your legal technicality.”

“Well, don’t laugh, but legally…”

“Yes?”

“Darrell’s my husband.”

“What? Excuse me? What? Darrell’s your husband?”

“Technically.”

“You said he was your brother!”

“He is. Technically.”

“What? But you said…you said-”

“He’s my brother and my husband.”

Dr. Box jumps back like he’s come up on a snake. “I’ve heard of inbreeding before, but this-”

“Oh, relax,” I say. “There’s a perfectly simple explanation.”

“This I’ve got to hear,” he says.

I open my mouth to tell him, but then I pass out. Over the next few minutes I go in and out of consciousness. At one point I hear him yell, “I can’t understand you!”

I try to tell him I’m starting to fall in love with him, but the words seem to float into the air before they get to his ears. I feel like I’m a kid again, in my mother’s arms, and she’s rockin’ me to sleep. When I open my eyes I’m aware I’m lyin’ on my back on a bed, in an ambulance. There’s a guy sittin’ above me, talkin’ words I can’t make out.

When my head clears a bit, I say, “Where you takin’ me?”

“County hospital. You know where that is?”

“Starbucks, Kentucky.”

“You been there before? As a patient?”

“Six times.”

“Guess this makes seven, huh?”

“I guess it does.”