"Ladies first." Darrin courteously opened the door of the little sandwich shop for Samantha and waved her inside. They had just gone to see The Sound of Music at the theater, and even though it was late, they were hungry.
"What do you think you'll have?" Darrin asked Samantha as they stood studying the menu board hanging over the counter.
Sam shrugged. "Tuna melt. Same as usual."
"You know," Darrin said, leaning closer to her, "That bratwurst sandwich I had here last time was amazing. I think you should try it."
"Eh. I dunno…"
"Aw, come on. You can't see a movie set in Austria without having an Austrian sandwich. Look, ask Harry." Darrin pointed to the guy behind the counter in a paper hat and a nametag that read "Harry". "Harry, would you recommend the bratwurst sandwich?"
"I sure would!" Harry replied. "Most popular item on the menu."
"And you!" Darrin spun around to face some bearded guy who was sitting alone at a table. He seemed to be there every time they came. "You're a regular here, aren't you? Have you ever had the bratwurst sandwich?"
The bearded guy gave him a big thumbs up. "It's my go-to!"
Darrin turned back to Sam. "See?"
"Alright, you've convinced me," Samantha grinned. "I'll have the bratwurst sandwich."
"You won't regret it."
It wasn't long before the couple was seated at a table of their own, each about to dig into a big bratwurst sandwich.
"Mmm…" Samantha savored the first bite. "I'm glad you talked me into this."
"What did I tell you?" Darrin said, pouring on the mustard. "A life-changing experience, isn't it?"
"Definitely. Oh, I forgot to tell you! While you were at work, I got an invitation in the mail for Larry's birthday party. I'll show you when we get home."
"Oh, right. He was telling me about that today. It's bowtie-themed, isn't it?"
"Right. The invitation said everyone must B. - bring your own bowtie. Cute idea, isn't it?"
"The ladies too?"
"I would assume so."
"Hmm… I only have two bowties, one black and one white. I'd say you could borrow one of those, but the white one is stained."
"Well, that's no problem," Samantha said. "I could turn it pure white again with…" She tapped her nose.
"Nope, nope. You'll do nothing of the sort." Darrin grabbed her hand away from her nose. "In fact, this might be a good opportunity for you to learn how to whiten things the mortal way."
"You mean with bleach?"
"Elementary, my dear girl."
And then, Darrin got a case of the cutes.
"Hey, Sam," he said, suddenly impish, as Sam continued chowing down on her sandwich, "Did you hear the one about the sausage?"
"No."
"I won't tell it to you. It was…" He pointed at his bratwurst. "…the wurst."
"Ha-ha," Samantha deadpanned, rolling her eyes.
"Mm-mm. But I'll bet you don't know what the sausage said to his little brother."
"What?"
"'Quit being such a brat!'"
"Cute. Very cute."
"Indeed. But… then there's the Italian one."
"The Italian one?" Sam repeated, right before taking a particularly hearty bite of bratwurst.
"If you love my meatballs," Darrin said slyly, "You're gonna love my sausage."
Maybe if was the fact that normally classy Darrin actually made a dirty joke, or maybe the stupid innuendo just took her by surprise, but this one actually struck Sam as hysterically funny. She inhaled sharply, about to bust up laughing. But the sharp inhalation sucked that large bite of bratwurst down her throat.
Next thing Darrin knew, she was stricken by a look of panic. Her eyes bugged out. She seemed unable to breathe and was making choked, airless squeaks.
"Sam?"
Oh, my God! She was choking!
"Cough it out, Sam! Cough it out!"
Samantha could not cough it out. Immediately, Darrin got up and started giving her hard smacks on the back. But it didn't seem to be working. By now, everyone in the sandwich shop, both customers and staff, was frozen, staring at them. In just a few seconds, everything had stopped and gone dead quiet.
As he continued smacking Sam on the back, Darrin's mind flashed fifty years into the future. Grandpa, how did your first wife die? Oh, you know. Choked on a bratwurst. It happens. Wait a second- First wife? FIRST WIFE? Now that Sam was choking, before she was even dead, was he really giving up on her already and planning his next catch? Now he felt as if he were choking too. The betrayal! How could he possibly think something like that? How could he-
"Out of my way, sonny!"
Darrin was shaken from his frantic reverie by someone shoving him aside so roughly, he was nearly knocked onto his kaboose. That someone turned out to be a tiny old lady, no taller than a twelve-year-old. She took his place behind the choking witch- who by now was flushing the same shade of purple as the grape jelly in Smucker's Uncrustables- and wrapped both arms around Samantha's middle.
"This is how it's done, sonny," said the old lady, still speaking to Darrin as she began performing the Heimlich. "I'm near eighty-seven years old. Was a nurse for fifty-four. I like to think I'm an old pro at this by now."
Finally, with the fourth hard jerk the woman made under Samantha's ribs, the accursed chunk of bratwurst came catapulting out like a small wet missle. The shop exploded into cheers and applause as Sam began gulping down air.
"See?" said the retired nurse, as if she had merely just shown Darrin a hack for picking locks. "That's all there is to it." She patted his shoulder as he slumped with relief.
An hour and a half later, Sam and Darrin were tucked into bed, each of them safe and sound, glad to both be alive and home together.
Samantha was already drifting off to sleep. But beside her, Darrin was awake, restless and troubled.
"Sam," he finally said into the darkness.
"Mm." She was half dreaming.
"Sam, I almost killed you." Darrin sat up and switched on his lamp, fully waking her. "I almost killed you," he repeated with more weight.
Samantha stirred and sat up too.
"Darrin, what on earth are you talking about?" she asked sleepily, rubbing her eyes.
"I'm the one who insisted you eat that damned bratwurst. And on top of it, I had to make those stupid sausage jokes while you were eating. You choked because of me. That bratwurst was almost your end and it was my fault."
He stared ahead with a cold, dead look of despair.
"Oh, Darrin. That's nonsense and you know it! It wasn't anyone's fault. I'd have choked even if you weren't there."
"If I wasn't there, you were gonna order a tuna melt. You can't choke on tuna!"
Sam shrugged. "But the cheese. When I was little, I almost choked on melted swiss."
"Yeah, but it's far less likely than choking on a sausage! You know what really tears me up though? I couldn't do a thing for you." He looked as if he might cry. "I couldn't save you, but that little old lady could. All I could do was give you a few useless whacks on the back and stand there watching like a ninny while you withered before my eyes! Imagine if it had happened when it was just you and I. You'd be dead, Sam! Dead! What was I supposed to tell your mother?! 'Oh, I'm sorry, Endora. Your daughter's dead. She choked on a SAUSAGE!'"
"Darrin, Darrin, Darrin, you're overthinking this far too much! Nothing that happened was your fault! If anything, it was my fault for not taking smaller bites. Please don't beat yourself up over it. The truth is, most people don't know the proper thing to do when someone's choking. If everyone knew the Heimlich, all those people in the shop wouldn't have just sat there staring."
"But I feel awful," Darrin groaned. He buried his face in the bedspread, and Samantha put her arm around him.
"Sweetheart, you have nothing to feel bad about. If anything, we should count ourselves lucky that a retired nurse happened to be there at the right time. I'm alright now, and that's all that matters. Isn't it?"
"True," Darrin replied.
"Good. Now, just forget about it. You should get some sleep. You have a long day tomorrow."
A few more minutes, and Darrin did fall asleep. He dreamt he was married to Sheila Sommers, living in her father's mansion, with seven mini Sheilas every bit spoiled brats as their snobby mother. When he woke up in the morning, that sick, guilty feeling in his gut was still there.
He got dressed and went down to the kitchen for breakfast, where Samantha was flipping something from a hot pan to a plate.
"Here you are." She set a plate of two fried eggs and a sausage link in front of him as he sat down.
Darrin stared down at his food, perfectly situated so that it resembled a demented, taunting smile- the eggs were eyes, the sausage the twisted grin. That sick feeling intensified.
"Sam," he said, "I can't eat this."
"Why not? Is your stomach bothering you?"
"Sausage," he replied, as if sausage were the same thing as salmonella. "I don't think I can ever eat sausage again in my life."
Samantha shook her head. "Oh, Darrin, are you still thinking about that?"
"Yes. And I'll be thinking about it for a long time."
Sam sighed. "Alright, you don't have to eat the sausage if you don't want to. But eat your eggs."
She swiped the sausage onto her own plate and sat down across from him.
"Samantha," Darrin said seriously, "Make sure you cut that sausage into small pieces. And chew carefully."
Samantha rolled her eyes, but obeyed. But as she was cutting the sausage, she suddenly winced and touched her back.
"Ow…"
"What's wrong?" Darrin burst out, much too on edge.
"Nothing. It's just, my back is a little sore. And… bruised."
"Bruised? How?"
"Oh, who knows," Sam fibbed, afraid he'd feel even more guilty if he knew the truth. But he connected the dots anyway.
"It's bruised because of me smacking it when you choked, isn't it?"
"Well…"
"Sweet mother of marmalade!" exclaimed Darrin in anguish. "What have I done?! Not only am I a wife killer! I'm a wife BEATER! Somebody get me one of those wifebeater shirts! You know, those ratty T-shirts with the sleeves cut off that motorcycle guys and bums wear! And you know what it should say? 'I ALMOST KILLED MY WIFE! WITH BRATWURST'!"
And before Sam could stop him, he bolted out of his chair, snatched up his briefcase, and whizzed out the door to his car.
…
"Yes, I'm fine, sweetheart. I'm here in my office. I know, I'm sorry, I just… Well, okay. Alright. I'll call you before I drive home, alright? Okay. Bye, Sam."
Darrin sat at his desk in his office at McMann and Tate. He'd just finished talking to Samantha on the phone. He'd left home in such an distraught rush, she'd been worried and decided to call and see if he'd arrived at work okay.
Seconds after he hung up the phone, Larry burst in.
"Darrin! Miss Farkley from the Luscious Lips Lipstick account is gonna be here any minute. I want you to do most of the talking. Alright?"
"Yeah, sure, Lar." Darrin sounded like a zombie as he stared at the wall, his eyes clouded with anguish.
"Be charming. Be suave," Larry went on. "And above all, don't tell her you're married."
"'Course not."
"And offer to take her to lunch after. I'll sit the lunch out. I think it's better if it's just you two. What do you think?"
"86.5."
"Darrin. Darrin! You're not listening."
"Oh. Sorry, Lar. I'm just… not myself this morning." Darrin got up with a sigh and headed for the office's little bar cart. "I need a drink."
"At 9:30 in the morning? What's wrong?"
Darrin poured himself a shot. "I almost killed Sam last night."
He expected Larry's reaction to be one of horror. But instead, a huge, bratty grin spread across his boss's face.
"Ohhhh. You lucky son of a gun! It was that good, huh? I get it. My head is always fuzzy too the morning after a good- "
"I'm not talking about THAT, Larry! I mean I almost actually killed her!"
"What? Darrin, I know wives can really make you wanna put their lights out sometimes, but you shouldn't actually- "
"ACCIDENTALLY!" Darrin exclaimed. "I almost killed her accidentally!" With overwhelming guilt, he explained to his boss about the bratwurst sandwich incident, and how a small elderly woman could save Samantha, but he couldn't.
Again, Larry's reaction was one Darrin didn't expect.
"This is GREAT! Just great!" His eyes glimmered with materialistic glee. "Do you know how much money you can make off of this? Sue the sandwich shop and you could get THOUSANDS!"
"What?! No! I am not sueing the sandwich shop! Sam and I have been going there since before we were married. They know us there! I couldn't do that to them! Besides, it wasn't their fault she choked. It was mine! All mine!"
He moaned and let his face fall forward on the desk.
Larry leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk, stooping close to the fraught Darrin.
"I really think you should give it some thought, Darrin. This is an opportunity you shouldn't pass up. Take it from your Uncle Lar."
"Alright, fine," said Darrin, just to shut Larry up, though what he really meant was, no way.
"Good man."
Larry squeezed his shoulder in a fatherly manner and began walking out of the room. In the doorway, he stopped.
"Oh," he said, like he'd just remembered something, "Is Sam okay?"
"Yeah, she's fine," responded Darrin, almost in a mutter, before adding even more quietly, "Expect for some bruises on her back."
"Huh?" Larry looked confused.
"Nevermind."
Darrin didn't bother to explain, so Larry shrugged and went back to his office.
That evening after work, Darrin walked into his house and was greeted by the aroma of cilantro and grilled meat, and the sound of his wife coughing hysterically in the kitchen.
Oh, God! Oh, no!
He immediately dropped his briefcase- which landed painfully on his foot, but he didn't care- and was in the kitchen faster than you could say "Frank Sinatra". Samantha stood at the counter in front of a bowl of something red, coughing incessantly into her arm. Her face was almost the exact shade as the red stuff in the bowl.
Wasting not a second, Darrin grabbed her and started trying to do the Heimlich the way he'd seen the old lady do it. Only he startled her so bad, she reflexively pulled away from him, out of his grasp, and Darrin landed face-first into the bowl of red stuff.
Which turned out to be chili. His eyes burned like he'd been pepper sprayed. He couldn't see! Sam wasn't the only one coughing now. He could barely breathe.
"OH! OH! Oh, Darrin, I'm so sorry! Are you alright, darling? Darrin?" Sam's coughing had subsided just enough to gasp these words. Bent at a ninety degree angle as she watched her husband suffer, she clutched at her back. His attempted Heimlich had aggravated her bruises, badly.
At last, Darrin was able to wheeze, "You're [cough, cough] not [cough] choking?"
"Choking? No! It sounds more like you're choking."
"What the hell [cough, cough] is in that bowl?"
"Salsa," replied Sam with a few more coughs. "I made it to go with tonight's tacos."
"That's [cough, cough, cough] salsa?"
"Yes. I must have done something wrong. It's so spicy, it's inedible. Right before you walked in, I tasted it and it made me cough so much I couldn't breathe."
"Sam, that's not salsa. It's pepper spray! What did you put in it?"
Samantha shrugged. "Ten habanero peppers and a few spoonfuls of vinegar."
"WHAT?"
"That's all salsa is, right?"
Darrin squeezed his burning eyes shut.
"No, Sam. That is NOT how you make salsa. Now can you guide me to the sink? I wanna flush my eyes out. They're on fire."
Once they had eaten their dinner of tacos sans pepper spray salsa, Darrin leaned back in his chair and let out a heavy breath.
"Sam…" he said. The way he said it immediately let her know something serious was on his mind. "I've been doing some thinking, and I need to tell you something."
"Oh?" Sam prodded, almost hesitantly. His tone made her nervous.
"I still can't get over what I did to you last night. Because of me, you almost died. The only reason you're alive now is because, by the stroke of luck, that old nurse was there. I just can't handle the thought. I'm no good for you. If we make mutant babies, I'll be no good for them either. So I've come to a decision. For your own good, I'm leaving you."
…
"We repeat: If you see any raccoons, stay away. This disease is causing loss of sanity and aggressiveness in raccoons. Three people have already been attacked by rabid racoons and are now in palliative care after the rabies transferred to them. Rabies is virtually one-hundred-percent fatal."
These were the words of the anchorman on the television as Samantha dusted the coffee table, half paying attention. The anchorman on the screen sat grimly behind a big table. Below him was the headline "RABIES RAVAGES RACCOONS ON EAST COAST", and behind him a huge-ass photo of a wild looking raccoon with crazy eyes. Its mouth was open, seemingly mid-squeal. With a sigh, Sam thought about how she wished rabid raccoons were the least of her problems and dusted the last corner of the table. Still, she made a mental note to keep an eye out for the critters.
Just then, the phone rang. Maybe it was Darrin! Maybe he had finally come to his senses! She dropped her rag.
"Hello?"
"Hello, Samantha?"
"Oh, hi, Louise."
"Hi! Listen, I was just about to head out to do some baby shopping and I thought maybe you'd like to come along. You can help me pick out a nice crib. What do you think?"
Even though Louise couldn't see her, Sam shrugged. "Sure. I'll be right over."
"Oh, no, that's alright. I'll pick you up. But, dear… Is something wrong?"
"Wrong?"
"Yes. I can hear it in your voice. Something's wrong."
"Oh, Louise," Samantha finally broke down, "It's Darrin. He's leaving me!"
"What?"
"All because I choked on a sausage!" Samantha nearly wailed.
Once she had disclosed the whole horrible story to her friend, Louise was so quiet she thought maybe the connection had gone screwy.
"Louise? Are you still there?"
"Yes. I was just thinking. You know, this situation isn't completely hopeless."
"What do you mean?"
"I've been married sixteen years, so I know a thing or two about men," Louise said. "What I've learned is, males love to think of themselves as the ideal of masculinity- strong, heroic. The rock of their family unit. When this image is challenged, or if their masculinity is insulted, they get terribly shaken up and start questioning their own worth. So here's what you need to do: You need to make Darrin feel needed by you, and you'll see. He'll stick around."
"You really think so?"
"Oh, I know so. It's a science. Make him feel needed and things will be just fine."
So as she waited for Louise after hanging up the phone, the wheels in Samantha's head were already turning. How could she show Darrin she really needed him?
Then, like magic, a complete plan snapped into her head. Oh, it was genius! She knew what she had to do. She picked up the phone again and dialed Rex Barker's number.
…
Samantha looked up at the clock on Darrin's office wall, sweating a little from the nerves. She didn't know why she was so nervous. If that Rex Barker got to be too much, she could just turn him into a dog again. Then again, being alone with Mr. Barker would make anyone with her past experience with him nervous, danger or no danger.
Presently, Mr. Barker sidled up to her and crooned creepily into her ear, "So. What's in it for me?"
"I told you, Mr. Barker," Samantha replied, sounding a little short on patience, "I'm paying you. Five dollars."
"Is that all I get? Money? I don't get a little something more?"
"N-no!" Samantha pushed his hands off of her. "Now, you just wait. You're not supposed to get started till we hear Darrin coming."
Barker switched to her other side.
"I just can't wait," he whispered into her other ear.
Samantha exhaled huffily. Maybe this had been a bad idea. Bad and stupid.
Nearly five months ago, during a party for Darrin's work, his client Rex Barker had made advances on Sam in the Stephens' backyard. When he started to get aggressive, she'd turned him into a dog. The following morning, she'd brought Rex the dog back to McMann and Tate and turned him back into Rex the human. Which didn't exactly go well. Darrin walked into his office to find Mr. Barker practically crawling all over his wife. He'd grabbed the guy and punched him in the face (to kissbutt Larry's horror).
Now, five months later, Samantha's master plan was to stage another encounter with Barker in Darrin's office, right when she knew he'd be returning from lunch. Darrin would walk in on Barker "harrassing" Sam, rescue her, slug Barker again, and feel redeemed. After that, she knew he couldn't feel like anything less than a hero.
Mr. Barker was blathering about how he was glad Sam had called him up for this, because he wanted it and he knew she wanted it too, when she shut him up.
"Shh! I hear footsteps. It's Darrin!" She quickly sat down on the leather couch, just like last time. "Come on!"
And, just like last time, Barker was suddenly all over her. No, actually, this was worse than last time.
"Mr. Barker!" she croaked under his weight. "Too much! Tone it down!"
But Barker was not cooperating. Oh, well. Darrin would be "rescuing" her any second anyway. At least she didn't have to make an effort to look uncomfortable. Then, to her sweet relief, she heard the door creak open. Followed by a woman's (?) "SWEET JESUS!"
Next thing Sam knew, Barker was yanked off of her. Now he was on the floor, tackled by…
"LOUISE!"
Yes, indeed. Samantha's "savior" had not been her husband. It was Louise Tate.
"Get your FILTHY, DIRTY, PERVERTED little hands off MY FRIEND!" Louise shrilled heroically, wrangling Mr. Barker onto his stomach and sitting on him like he was a bucking bull. She grabbed his hands and held them behind his back. "And stay down!"
"Louise! Louise, he wasn't really attacking me!" Samantha cried out.
"Yes, he was! Don't try to downplay it!" said Louise, still holding Barker down. "Call the police!"
"No, you don't understand!" Samantha insisted. "It was all an act! For Darrin. Wasn't it, Mr. Barker?"
"Yes," Barker managed to wheeze, "Sh-she payed me…"
"YOU SHUT UP!" Louise clamped her hand over his mouth, then looked at Sam. "What?!"
"Remember you said I need to do something to make Darrin feel needed so he'll stay? This was it," Sam explained. "I asked Mr. Barker pretend to bother me so that Darrin can 'rescue' me and feel like a hero. He was supposed to walk in on it, not you! Now please get up! You'll harm yourself or the baby."
Louise looked astonished. "I didn't mean to take it to this extreme!"
And this was the scene that Darrin, still nibbling the remnants of a submarine sandwich, finally walked in on. He saw Louise and Mr. Barker on the ground, the former still holding Barker down like she'd caught a criminal. He saw Samantha standing off to the side looking shocked and slightly disheveled.
"WHAT happened here?!" he finally burst out after seconds of gawking.
"I walked in on Rex Barker here harrassing your wife!" Louise said.
"But he wasn't really!" Sam immediately tried to explain. "It was all an act!"
Suddenly Larry was in there too, tagging behind Darrin like an annoying puppy.
"Darrin! This is GREAT! Don't you see? Barker isn't our client anymore. You can sue him for harrassing your wife AND sue the sandwich shop! You'll get double the cash! It's brilliant!"
"SHUT UP, LARRY!"
Immediately after the aforementioned incident, Darrin decided to go home early on account of the fact that he was getting a "sick headache", just like his mother did in stressful situations. On the car ride home, Samantha could tell he was not happy. It wasn't long before he started to rant. Apparently, now he felt even worse about the whole bratwurst issue. First, a little old lady could save Samantha from choking while he couldn't. Next, a pregnant woman eight inches shorter than he could save her from a creep while he couldn't. On top of it all, he still felt guilty about causing her to choke in the first place.
"But Darrin! I was never really in any danger with Mr. Barker!" Sam tried to rationalize with her husband. "I planned the whole thing, remember? Even if I was, I could have just turned him into a toad, or even exploded him."
"It doesn't matter. I'm no good for you, Sam," replied Darrin forlornly. "I'm no good for you."
When they got home, Darrin put down his briefcase and took off his jacket and announced, "I've made a decision. I'm leaving tomorrow morning. I'll stay at the club until I find a real place."
No matter how much Samantha pleaded or rationalized, he wouldn't change his mind. At last, defeated, she curled up on the couch and cried. Darrin sat next to her.
"Come on, Sam, don't be like that about it."
But she ignored him. So he sighed and went upstairs to pack his things.
Samantha was so depressed, she didn't budge from the couch for the rest of the day. She cried for hours and wouldn't speak to Darrin.
It was past eight o'clock when Darrin came to check on her and realized she was sound asleep. Briefly, he rethought his decision and almost took it back. He couldn't do this to her. Then he remembered how useless and stupid he'd been during this week's two incidents and knew she'd be better without him. He put a blanket around her, then went upstairs to go to bed early.
Two hours later, Darrin was woken by strange clattering coming from downstairs. Those noises weren't Sam. He put on his robe and went down to investigate.
When Darrin reached the bottom of the stairs, he saw that the living room wastebasket was knocked over, as was the vase of flowers on the table. But nobody there except for Sam. She had slept right through the noises.
Then a head poked out from under her blanket, scaring Darrin nearly shitless- a furry, Muppety head with big pointed ears. The creature blinked two round eyes at him and hissed, showing sharp little teeth. Then it started sniffing Samantha's face, like it was deciding if it was good to eat.
It was one of those rabid raccoons!
"Nooooooo! Saaaaaam!" Darrin yelled and lunged at the raccoon to knock it out of the way.
Squealing loudly in fright, the raccoon dove off the couch. The whole commotion caused Samantha to wake up screaming and flailing.
"D-Darrin! What is that?!" she cried, pointing at the raccoon, which was running crazed circles around the room. It ran so fast, all she could see of it was a blur.
"It's one of those crazy rabid racoons! It was about to attack you!"
"Oh, my stars! How did it get in here?!"
"I don't know! But we have to get it out!"
Samantha pointed two fingers at the front door, and it magically opened. When the raccoon got near the door again, she magically drenched it with water. It yowled, bolted out the door, and was gone.
After telekinetically slamming the door shut, Sam turned to Darrin with eyes like a puppy's.
"Darrin! You saved my life!"
Darrin was still a little dazed. "I did?"
"Yes! You get rabies, you die. There's no cure. You stopped that raccoon from attacking me. Just imagine if you hadn't been here! I'd be as good as dead!"
"I guess I did, didn't I?" For the first time since the Bratwurst Incident, Darrin actually sounded optimistic.
Samantha threw her arms around him.
"You're my hero! Please stay."
Darrin squeezed her tight.
"You know, I was going to tell you in the morning, but I could never bring myself to leave you. Even if it were for your own good."
And so all was finally well in the Stephens abode. Sam was finally at ease, knowing that Darrin would never leave her. Well, maybe when they'd been married twenty years and couldn't stand each other. But twenty years was a long time from now.
…
Samantha stood on the lawn, spraying the plants out front with the hose. Now that her problems were solved thanks to last night's stray rabid raccoon, it was nice to do some work outdoors to relax her mind.
"Hi, Mrs. Stephens!"
Sam looked up to see Gladys Kravitz waving and approaching from across the street.
"Oh, hi, Mrs. Kravitz! How are you?"
"Oh, fine. I was wondering, do you have any cold medicine I could borrow? It's not for me, it's for Rocky."
"Rocky?"
"My sister's cat. Abner and I are cat-sitting while she's on a girls' trip in Hawaii."
"Oh… Does Rocky have a cold?"
"Yes, poor thing," said Gladys. "He has a terrible cold. He came in very late last night, really grumpy and soaked to the skin. Hasn't been well since."
The cat came back soaked?
"Mrs. Kravitz," Samantha asked, "About what time was this?"
"About 10:30. It was almost like someone had dumped a bucket of water on him. Can you imagine? Who would dump water on a poor defenseless little cat?"
Yup. The time frame lined up perfectly.
"I can't imagine," Sam said robotically, then made a suggestion. "We do have cold medicine, but I don't know if it's good for cats. Maybe you should call the vet first and see."
"You're right. I think I will," said Gladys. "Alright, goodbye, Mrs. Stephens. Thanks for the suggestion!"
"Goodbye!"
Once Gladys had gone back into her house, Samantha turned off the hose and went inside, where Darrin was reading the newspaper at the kitchen table. She crouched quietly beside him and gave him a big kiss on the cheek. He looked up.
"What was that for?"
"Just for being my hero."
He would always be her hero. Even if he'd almost killed her with bratwurst. Even if the "rabid raccoon" he'd saved her from was really just a grumpy, harmless house cat. Always.
…
Now, Rocky Raccoon,
He fell back in his room
Only to find Gideon's Bible
Gideon checked out
And he left it no doubt
To help with good Rocky's revival.
-from "Rocky Raccoon" by the Beatles, the White Album, 1968