If he was pleased I came over and bandaged him up and listened to him moan, he didn’t show it. He was lucky I got off work early that night and felt good enough to come see him, because if I was tired or if it was real late I was going home to get in bed and watch TV. But instead I came over to his place and found him on the ground outside his trailer, all bloodied and passed out.

“Ron, Ron,” I said. When he looked up I saw blood coming down his face. I got some tissues from my purse and put them to his head. “Can you get up?” I said, but he just blinked at me and moaned. “Can you get up?” I said again. Somehow I got him to his feet and inside the trailer to his couch. He was still moaning and looking at me like he wasn’t sure if he should be afraid of me. “I didn’t hit you,” I said, “if that’s what you’re thinking.” He reached up and tried to touch the cut. I was trying to hold the tissues to his head, since he was bleeding so much, and when the tissues were soaked through I bunched up my work apron and pressed it to his head. I brought up his hand and said, “Hold this, Ron, put pressure to it,” and went to look for any bandages and ointment. When I came back he’d let the apron fall and blood was getting all over the couch.

“Were you knocked out?” I said.

“What?” he said.

“Were you knocked out?”

He just looked at me confused, like he didn’t know who I was, and that’s when I knew he must have got a concussion. That happened to our son Bobby once when he was playing football in high school. His helmet came off during a play and another player rammed him in the head. He didn’t recognize me or Ron until a few hours later.

I took off the apron to look at the cut and, God, it was a big gash. I didn’t even try to clean it—it was bleeding so bad. I knew he was going to need stitches. I taped the bandages best I could and got a towel for him in case the blood soaked through. I told Ron we had to go to the ER. He said he didn’t want to go anywhere, he was tired.

“You need stitches,” I said, “and you probably got a concussion.”

He sat on the couch, quiet, looking around.

“Let’s go,” I said, and took his hand. He got up. I drove him to the hospital in Hershey near my restaurant. We had to wait about an hour before the doctor could examine him and stitch him up. I was right, he had a concussion. The doctor told me he should take it easy for the next couple days and to watch to see if he got a bad headache or if he was real irritable.

“That’s going to be hard to tell,” I said.

                                                           ~~~

The next day I called off work for him. I spoke to Sam. I knew he was wondering if were back together, but I didn’t say anything and he knew enough not to ask.  

I let Ron sleep in. By the time he was up I’d been to the grocery store and made him a big breakfast. There were eggs and sausage patties and home fries and blueberry pancakes. When I’d come back from shopping I’d seen the rocks and bricks sticking up on the walkway.

“You know,” I said, when he was pouring syrup on his pancakes, “it could’ve been me out there.”

“What?” he said.

“It could’ve been me out there tripping on those bricks and busting my head open.

How’d you feel then?”

“I’m going to take care of them. I just haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

“Well, I’d put that on top of your list.”

After he finished his pancakes he pushed his plate away and lit a cigarette. When I smelled it I couldn’t take it anymore and got out my Parliaments.

“How’s the quitting going?” he said, and laughed.

I knew he was going to say something.

“What’d you last?” he said. “A week? You owe me some money, missy. It was twenty, right? You didn’t think I’d win, did you? You were so damn sure you could make it this time.” He laughed and starting coughing. “You were so damn sure.”

                                                               ~~~

“You know what I’m feeling like,” he said.

We were watching Maury. A girl was trying to figure out who the father of her son was. They’d already done four paternity tests.

“I could go for a Frosty,” he said.

Maury asked the man they were testing if he’d take care of the boy if he was the father.

“I’m not the father,” the man said. “That bitch is crazy. There ain’t no way I’m the father. I can guarantee you that.”

“But you had sex with her?” Maury said.

“Yeah.”

“The thing is,” Ron said, “my head is hurting a little and I think the Frosty would help. The cold always helps my headaches.”

Maury opened the envelope. The man wasn’t the father. He started jumping up and down and pumping his fists and went up to the girl and said, “In your face, in your face.” The girl was crying and she ran backstage.

“That goddamn slut,” I said.

“Nancy—”

“Who does she think she is?”

“Nancy—”

“Okay, okay, I’m going. I just can’t believe that woman.”

I went to his bedroom and took a twenty from his wallet and drove to Wendy’s and got two Frosties. I ate mine driving back, since along with quitting smoking I was supposed to be on a diet. Ron took two spoonfuls of his and grabbed his jaw.

“What’s wrong?” I said.

“The cold. It’s hurting my teeth.”

“I thought you said the cold helped.”

“It helps my headaches but it’s hurting my teeth.”

He ate a few more spoonfuls, each time grabbing his jaw, and handed it to me. “I can’t do it,” he said. “You want it? I know you’re on a diet but it’s about half-empty anyways.”

“I better not,” I said. “I’ve been getting pretty strict about what I eat.” I took the Frosty to the kitchen and I’ve tried freezing them before but they don’t come out right so I threw it away. Ron was calling for me to turn off the TV since he said it was making his head hurt.

“Where’s the remote?” I said. He didn’t know. I went to turn the TV off and saw he had two movies on top—Breakfast at Tiffany’s and Striptease. “These any good?” I said.

He looked over. “I only got those since Andrea said her favorite actresses are Audrey Hepburn and Demi Moore.”

Ron was sweet on this waitress Andrea. The week before he told me he was helping her with her lines for this play she was in. Ron said she was even limping at work because her character in the play has a limp.

“What’s it called again, the play?”

“What?”

“The play—the one you’re helping Andrea with?”

“The Glass Menagerie.”

“The Glass what?”

“Menagerie—it means a collection of animals.”

“Who do you play—when you help her?”

“Most of her lines are with the mother and gentleman caller.”

“Gentleman caller?” I laughed.

“It’s a good play.”

“Okay, okay, I believe you.”

“I’m just helping her out—she’s a good kid.”

“I’m glad you’re helping someone out. It’s touching.”

He sat up. “You know what? I’m getting sick of your sarcasm. Just sick of it.”

Jesus, I was just teasing him a little.

                                                          ~~~

The rest of the day from here didn’t go too good. He asked for a glass of water and when I brought it out I accidentally spilled it on him, but I knew he was thinking I did it on purpose. Then when I brought out my knitting since I was making a blanket for our grandson Justin, I don’t remember exactly what I said, I mentioned my lease was coming up and maybe us moving back in together—since we were seeing each other so much—and he looked at me and asked if I was serious.

“What if I am?” I said.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.” 

“What, is your girlfriend Andrea moving in?” I said.

“You don’t know anything about her so you can just shut the hell up.”

I stood up.

“Where’re you going?” he said.

“It’s really none of your goddamn business but I’m going to work.”

Before I left he asked me to get some Advil but I told him the doctor said no painkillers.

“What the hell am I supposed to do about my headache?” he said.

                                                           ~~~

I felt bad leaving him like that, so after I got off work that night I drove back to his place. His truck wasn’t there. First I thought maybe he’d gone to the hospital again. Then I knew. I drove to the diner and saw his truck parked out front. I saw him sitting at the counter talking to her. She was leaning over the counter touching his bandage. She limped over to the coffee machine and poured him a cup. I could see what he was looking at when her back was turned. When she gave him his coffee Ron pointed to some papers he was holding and they laughed.

                                                          ~~~

“I’m not feeling good,” Ron said. I’d come out from his trailer when I heard his truck pull up. He was leaning his head forward on the steering wheel.

“You should be in bed,” I said. “Where were you?”

“I got the worst headache,” he said. He got out of the truck but was holding on the door to steady himself.

He looked at me. His eyes were bloodshot. He didn’t say anything. He walked unsteady to the door.

“You think she cares for you?” I said.

He didn’t even turn to look at me. He didn’t say anything.

I picked up one of the rocks and threw it. I was trying to hit the side of the trailer or the window, to scare him, to show him I wasn’t going to take it anymore, but it hit him in the back of the head. He went down fast, collapsed and hit his head on those bricks.

I screamed. I’ve never felt so awful my entire life.

But I told him he should’ve taken care of those bricks.

                                                          ~~~

“I had the worst customer last night,” I said to Ron.

The doctor told me it was good to talk to him. Whenever I came to the hospital and sat with him, I thought about what a woman I met here told me. She said she was talking to her son one day when he woke up after five months and said, “Mom, what’s for dinner?” Just woke up like that.

“It was this family,” I said. “A six top. They all had accents, probably from down south somewhere up for Hershey Park. Well, this man was just terrible. Worst customer I’ve ever had. First he says he wants sweet tea, but we only have unsweetened. Well, he gives me this look like you wouldn’t believe. Then he says he wants Pepsi but we only got Coke, so I get another glare for that. I don’t know what people mean when they talk about Southern hospitality—the rudest people.”

“So then when he was ordering, he says he wants the chicken-fried steak. But we don’t have a chicken-fried steak, so I thought he was just confused and wanted the fried chicken. I didn’t want to get into a big old discussion about how we didn’t have a chicken-fried steak. So I bring out the fried chicken and he looks at it and says, ‘What the hell is that?’ He says he ordered the chicken-fried steak. I tell him we don’t have that. He yells at me to get the menu and so I get it and he looks at it and points to a pictures and says, ‘There, what’s that?’ like he’s got me. I tell him that’s the country-fried steak. ‘That’s what I ordered,’ he says. I say, ‘No, you ordered the chicken-fried steak.’ I say I thought he was just confused, calling the fried chicken that—maybe it was a Southern thing. Well, he gets all angry and says, ‘No in the south when we say we want a chicken-fried steak we mean a chicken-fried steak and that’s what I want.’ I say, ‘You mean a country-fried steak.’ He says whatever the goddamned thing is called. I tell him I’ll get him that but I’m charging him for both and he gets real nasty then. He says he wants to talk to the manager. So Joe comes over and the man says this is the worst service he’s ever got at a restaurant his entire life and Joe ends up comping his meal and giving them all free deserts.”

“Then this man—I couldn’t believe this!—he leaves me a dollar tip. On a thirty dollar check. A dollar! I couldn’t believe it. I took that dollar outside and they were getting into their car and I say, all polite, ‘Excuse me, sir, but I think you forgot this.’ I tossed that dollar right on the ground in front of him. One of his girls goes to pick it up but he says, ‘Leave it, leave it. Get in the car.’ He looks at me and says, ‘Bitch,’ and then real quick gets in. I say, ‘You’re a goddamn son of a bitch.’”

“Well, he’s backing up so fast he hits a car pulling up behind him. I don’t wait around to deal with that. I go back inside to the kitchen. I couldn’t take it. I was so upset. I was screaming, ‘Goddamnit, goddamnit.’ Joe comes back and yells at me to be quiet, the customers can hear. But I don’t care. I go into the break room to have a cigarette and Joe comes back and says he’s taking me off the floor—I got first outs. But I didn’t want that. I still wanted to make some money. I told Joe that but he wouldn’t listen. He says, ‘Those people were goddamn assholes, Nancy, but you can’t let them get to you like that.’ He gives me a cigarette and says, ‘Get your outs done and don’t let those assholes get to you.’ He’s right but I just can’t help it sometimes. I just get so angry. I go a little crazy.”

I put my hand on Ron’s. He knew I was there. I felt it.