The Great Story
The fist clenched round my heart
loosens a little, and I gasp
brightness; but it tightens
again. When have I ever not loved
the pain of love?
-Derek Walcott, The Fist
VIII. Loosens
x
Kate stands abruptly when Castle comes through the doorway. She feels the pull on her torso from the movement, but she can't spare it a thought. She focuses on Castle, tension burrowing in her neck and shoulders until he gives her a weak grin.
She meets him in the middle of the waiting room, takes him by the wrist. "How-"
"Not a heart attack," he confesses immediately. Shakes his head. "Pulled a few muscles. He's sending me back to the physical therapist."
Pulled muscles.
"In the middle of the night?" she husks. She's wearing pajamas under her coat. Kate is standing in the emergency clinic in one of Castle's plaid shirts, her yoga pants, and his old beach coat - for a pulled muscle?
"He says I probably rolled over on my shoulder in my sleep, that it was most likely damaged before that."
She swallows hard, frustration and grief and panic, all of it.
"I'm sorry," he says.
"No," she blurts out, lifting her eyes to him. "No, don't be sorry. God. I thought you were having a heart attack, all the stress and-" She blinks hard, despising herself for this overwhelming urge to cry. "Did he give you anything for the pain?"
"Yeah, a couple shots in my shoulder and a prescription for something a little stronger. I don't have any refills on the old one."
She draws her hand up the back of his arm, concern filling her. "Did you already pay?"
"Yeah, back there at the check out window."
"You need help with your coat?"
He winces. "I'm too hot to put it back on," he says, shaking his head like a reluctant little boy. "I'll just carry it."
She doesn't love that answer, but she can see the rings on his t-shirt where his sweat soaked through. He must have been in a lot of pain. All across his chest, at least, so he thought it was his heart. Stabbing pain down his arm; he couldn't even make a fist on their drive in. She plied him with aspirin and drove like a maniac the eleven miles to the clinic because she knows firsthand the response time out here.
"Alright, let's go then," she answers. "I'll stop by the all night pharmacy and drop off your prescription on the way."
He swallows hard and nods, and when she turns for the door, he follows her. The minor med only has a few people waiting, and she winds her way through the empty seats towards the exit. He's shuffling behind her, and he must be exhausted.
Outside, the wind blasts them. She wraps his old coat tighter around her frame, feels for his key in the pocket to be certain she still has it. Castle is breathing hard by the time they make it to the car. The doors unlock automatically, sensing the fob in her pocket, and she opens his door first, as if she can at all help him.
"I'm okay. Shots have helped a lot." He's hesitating on the pavement, the light of the security lamp washing out his face.
"Get in, Rick." She gestures with her chin. "Sleep on the drive home."
He studies her a moment, and she has no idea what he's looking for; she's still shaking somewhere deep inside her, feeling time slip through her fingers, and if he sees that in her eyes, let him.
He gets in the car. She moves around the back and gets in on the driver's side, pulls on her seatbelt. She touches the start button and the engine purrs with life.
He lays his hand over hers on the gearshift. "I'm okay."
"I know you are." She lifts his hand and briefly kisses his knuckles, and then she puts the car in reverse.
x
Castle adjusts the sling and scratches at the spot near his armpit where it itches so very badly. She's looking at him.
"I played my word," he reminds her.
"I'm thinking." She puts her eyes back on her Scrabble tiles, her chin in her hand. He's pretty sure she's thinking alright, but not about what word she's going to beat him with.
He's won twice now. She's definitely distracted. He tallies his points anyway and makes note of his score on the pad using his left hand. The number is crooked and shaky, no matter how much he practices.
Castle puts the pencil down and scratches at his armpit again, adjusting the sling.
She shifts in her chair. The sky is grey and hazy outside, miserable. He's been banned from the hot tub while he's on muscle relaxants. Not a heart attack. Spasms. A pulled muscle in his chest. Not his most shining moment.
"I played my word," she says.
He glances the board. Inveigle. He scoffs, and her lips are twitching, but at least he knows she's in this with him, playing the game.
"How many is that," he mutters.
"I'll write it," she offers. He lifts his eyes for a look, and she smothers a smile into her hand. "You write it then. Thirty-six points."
He picks up the pencil again, works the point back up to his fingers. He presses the tip to the page. Maps out the number three's positioning in his head.
"Oh, my God, Castle. Let me just keep score."
"No." He starts the top of the three. "I always keep score."
She says nothing to that, and he works on getting the numbers down in something approximating normal. A few of his attempts have been oversized, ridiculous. The sling gets in his way, but it's there precisely for this - to keep him from moving his shoulder. Any time he tries to do something with his right, she doesn't say anything, but he feels her censure.
But his left hand is terrible at this. He should've kept score on the laptop.
"It's dreary out there," she sighs.
He glances her way. She's leaning back in the kitchen chair, her eyes on the sliding glass doors.
"Dreary in here too," he mutters.
She startles, her eyes jerking to his. "I - no." She sighs. "Yeah. It is, isn't it?"
"You've been trying to cheer me up by throwing our games."
She lifts one slim eyebrow. "Not... consciously."
He laughs, shakes his head. "Even Chaplin is staying away from us."
She glances over her shoulder through the doorway. The dog lifts his head from his paws and whines, tail thumping out of sight. But he doesn't come near. Kate mutters. "Dumb dog. What does he know?"
He watches the faint flush climb her neck, wonders if it's shame or embarrassment. "Let's get out of here. I'm sick of this place. Aren't you?"
"You mean - go out for dinner or... leave the Hamptons?"
He stiffens. "Dinner. What were you thinking?"
She shrugs. "Who says we have to stay?"
"We have PT and exercises and-"
"So what. A road trip, Castle. A couple days, four. Go somewhere, get out of our own heads. Why not?"
He stares at her, the idea clicking over in his brain, starting something. "We really could. Go somewhere."
Her lips twitch. "We could. We are adults."
"Where will we go?"
"We could go upstate, the lake, or go south, head for the city, or Philly, or Baltimore. Or DC."
"We could," he murmurs, the prospects opening up before him. "Remember that wine bar in DC near your place?"
"Yeah," she grins. "And the art museum where you convinced me-"
"Oh, yeah," he grins, shifting in the chair. "And the park later too, convinced you then."
"No, I convinced you," she smirks.
Castle sits back, grinning wider. "Yeah, you did. Beautiful park. Chaplin would like it - and we can't take the dog into the museum." As if called by Castle's enthusiasm, Chaplin comes trotting through the kitchen and lays his head in Kate's lap, whining for attention.
She strokes behind his ears. "Chap would love it upstate too," she murmurs, lifting her eyes to his. "Or even - a drive, you know? Hang his head out the window."
He shivers. "Too cold for that. But a cabin on the lake. He could chase the birds, bark at the squirrels."
She grins, scratching Chaplin's ears. "A drive along the coast. All those great restaurants with their fresh catch of the day. The wine and the water. Drive until we don't feel like driving."
He pushes aside the score pad. "Let's go."
"Right now?" she laughs.
"Yes. Come on. Right now." He stands up, moving around the kitchen table to nudge Chaplin out of her lap. "Pack for a couple days, a week, you choose. You drive. It's not the cross country tour on motorcycles like we talked about, but it's something. We'll go anywhere you like."
"Anywhere?" But she's getting slowly to her feet, fingers trailing over Chaplin's head. "A week. Okay. Okay, let's do it." She lifts and presses a kiss to his mouth, chaste but rough, and then she backs away from him. "I'll pack clothes for us both if you get toiletries. Including all our pills. And Charlie's leash."
"Will do. Now go. I'm going to make us food for the road, take him out one last time. Come on, Chap, come with me."
She gives him a grin with a flash of her teeth and then hurries away, moving for the ground floor bedroom. Their suitcases are still in the closet, half unpacked even after all these months, so he knows it won't take her long.
They're getting out of here.
x
The music is soft, Coltrane turned low on the stereo, and Kate feels easy, relaxed at the wheel. Chaplin keeps nudging his head between their seats for their attention, and Castle will scratch him, pet him, chuckle at his antics. She made him throw a blanket over the backseat, keep Chaplin from scratching the leather.
The windows aren't down, it's too cold for that, but past the glare of her headlights, the night is endless. Sometimes if the road curves just right, they can see the ocean past Castle's window. And the stars above it, bright anchors.
"How're you doing?" Castle asks, wrapping his fingers around her elbow. She smiles. "How are your shoulders, the ribs?"
"Stiffening up," she admits. "But I don't care."
"You will in the morning," he smiles.
Probably so. But she can't make herself worry about tomorrow. It's only eight, and Chaplin goes from window to window in the back, his nose smearing the glass as he looks out. He's excited, and it's infectious.
Castle is pretty happy too. Which makes her feel great. He hums to the saxophone as if singing along; he knows this one as well as she does, she's played it so often. One of her favorite albums. A Love Supreme. The shiver of the cymbals as the car glides through the night is like riding one long note to the sax, to the sky.
A ribbon of beautiful sound in the night.
She reads signs in the illumination of her headlights. "There's a bed and breakfast in another ten miles." She checks her rear view mirror, then his face. "If you want."
"Want," he smiles, glancing at her. "Chap probably does too. He's an old man."
"He's not that old," she laughs. She knows what he's been trying to say. "And neither are you."
"Mm, well." He doesn't answer, but he does start stroking his fingers on the inside of her elbow, strokes in time to the piano's delicate sound.
She's filled up. If this is their life from here on out, if this is how it is for them, she can be right with that. She can be good with that.
There's so much love. So much life.
"There's the turn," he says softly over the Coltrane. "On your left."
She flips her signal, slows the car. His fingers release her elbow so she can make the turn. They follow a paved road through the trees, away from the ocean, and Chaplin sticks his wet nose against her elbow, as if reclaiming the spot from Castle.
"Oh, it's big," he rumbles. He leans forward and she scans the road ahead of them, craning her neck to see.
Oh, it is big. Blue shingles siding, she thinks, with five eaves across, though it's hard to see in the darkness. A wrap around porch and the light on. "I hope it's not too late."
"Let's see. Parking is over there."
She's already seen the gravel turnaround, and she pulls in beside a car with license plates from Ohio. When she turns off the car, the dog gives a low woof in his throat and scrambles to one side, pressing his nose to the window.
"Charlie, you excited?" she says, turning around in the driver's seat. He gives a sharper bark and Castle chides him, but she reaches back and ruffles his ear, scratches under his collar. "Come on, Chap. Let's see if they allow dogs."
Before she can open her door, Castle leans over and kisses her, fingers stroking her neck.
She's warm and in love with him, and with his eyes shining across from hers, right here and now, she's not afraid.
x
