A Long and Lonely Mile

Chapter 7

Every Fall for the last three years, Marigold would invite Giselle and Jake over for the first fire of the season. The circulation of air in her bungalow was poor at best so the kitchen window needed to remain popped open while the fireplace was blazing, even in the cold of winter. It was for this reason that she reserved its usage for special occasions throughout the colder months of the year. After waiting all day to have her release papers signed and giving numerous, exhausting police statements, Marigold was more than ready for a relaxing evening at home. Despite the protests from the trio, she managed to convince them to come over for several hours at the end of a day that was long and tiresome to say the least.

Everyone had questions about Marigold's miraculous recovery, of course. It was very difficult for her to bring everyone back to their usual rapport after they were reunited and her struggles didn't end there. Weary of watching his sister beg for privacy all day, Jake felt compelled to use his authority to fight in its favor. Not only had she cheated death, but a sensationalistic segment on the local news as well thanks to her always persistent brother. Jake and Giselle were supportive of her decision, yes, but longed to know the truth along with the rest of the baffled hospital staff.

As for Tavington, the entire situation not only silenced and humbled him, but made it nearly impossible to sever him from Marigold's side. While Jake boasted of his arguments with the doctors to Giselle in the kitchen, they sat at close proximity on Marigold's couch in front of the roaring fire.

"You led the dragoons to victory in all of those battles and still couldn't gain Lord Cornwallis' approval? Why?" Marigold repositioned her head on his chest.

After making sure that neither Jake or Giselle could see, Tavington cradled Marigold's head in one hand and stroked her hairline with the other. "I believe," he whispered, grinning as she shut her eyes and nuzzled into his touch, "that no man could ever gain his approval. Unless, of course, that man was a Great Dane!" They shared a brief laugh. Being able to look at his struggles from a humorous angle was a new development; something that he had undoubtedly learned from Marigold and her small but fierce support system.

"That's right he had pooches. Well, I think the real question is what did they think of you?"

"They were barking mad about me, of course, just like your Moxie," he joked. Although in truth, he'd never paid much attention to anything other than his own tact whenever he and Cornwallis conferred.

Jake's work phone sounded loudly from the kitchen and there was a shift in atmosphere. He exchanged a word or two with Giselle before crossing to the living room. Marigold and Tavington remained still. Surely, they would be susceptible to ridicule if they were caught in one another's arms.

"Okay, Concierge Tiddledywinks! Hands where I can see 'em!" Giselle's deliberate (and let's be honest- ridiculous) butchering of Tavington's name had clearly caught on.

Tavington followed his order with a sigh, but Marigold remained where she was. This was out of defiance, in part, but she was also too content to move. The heavy medicine that she had been prescribed was more out of precaution than anything. Releasing a gunshot victim without any form of painkillers wouldn't only come across as unusual, but negligent on the hospital's part. Jake and Giselle assumed the medication had knocked her out, but Marigold and Tavington had a secret. Even if Jake and Giselle knew, they wouldn't understand for surely this concept only existed in poetry. Very simply, his heartbeat and touch were the only drugs she needed. He alone brought her back to life and he alone would nurse her back to health.

"Is she out?" Jake asked, gracelessly perching on the couch's thick arm. When Marigold didn't move, he proceeded with his elaborate, pop-culture infused interrogation that only Officer Jake Casey could deliver. "Okay. Now, I can be unpleasant than pleasant or pleasant than unpleasant, take your pick." Tavington blinked. "Unpleasant than pleasant it is. I have to head downtown and clean up this shitstorm that my sister started when she refused to give a complete statement. Thanks to an eyewitness and some smudgy fingerprints, my hardworking boys and gals down at the station figured out that it was the Baako Brat on the sidewalk with the handgun. Don't look so confused, I'm sure they have Clue back in Merry Old England. Tim Curry was in the movie, for crying out loud!" His eyes dropped to Marigold and his glare softened. "Now that I think of it, I probably shouldn't mention "Clue" around Mare, she'll have you watching it on repeat and you'll be whistling a weird hybrid of "Sh-Boom" and "Shake, Rattle, n' Roll" for the next two weeks. Anywho. You're probably wondering how this involves you? Of course you are. See, Cadet Tumbleweed, my sister is a rare little jewel. She tricks herself into finding the good in shitty situations and shitty people. Even when in reality there isn't any good in them at all. If the Waterford Police weren't so ruthless with their investigations, that little weasel would have slipped right under our radar. You may be in the circle of trust right now... don't say you haven't seen "Meet the Parents" because that would make you a damned Martian... but if I ever discover that you are anything other than the perfect saint my sister believes you to be, I will have you flown to D.C., strapped to the strongest lie detector on the planet and my brother will single handedly extract every sin you've ever committed. Steal twenty bucks from your Daddy's wallet when you were five? We'll know. Popped your sister's gerbil in the microwave and blamed it on your snot-nosed baby brother? Gotcha. All that nasty crap you did at that state school fraternity to prove you were a Macho Macho Man? Mare has a well-loved Village People LP somewhere if you're ever in need of a brain bleed. Where was I? Oh, yeah. My bro-ha will have you writing about it in complete sentences with Max-Fischer-grade calligraphy-"