Dead Harvest

  "You've been saying that for weeks. Have you seen a mirror recently? You're skin and bones, Sam. You need to start taking better care of yourself; after all, I've got to have a husband left to come home to, don't I?"

  "Just leave it be, would you? I said I wasn't hungry."

  Elizabeth fell silent for a moment, surprised by the sudden venom in my tone. Then she put a hand on my forearm and gave it a squeeze. "You know, I've got half a mind to give this Dumas a call and quit for you right now."

  "You'll do no such thing," I said, anger once more creeping into my voice.

  "I know we need the money, Sam, but honestly, no job is worth this. I never see you anymore, and when I do, we always bicker. I just want you to be happy is all. I just want to have my husband back."

  "You want your husband back? Damn it, Liz, can't you see I'm doing this for you? For us?"

  "But what's the point, if there's barely an us left to do it for?"

  "You don't know what you're talking about," I said.

  "Maybe not," she said, "but I do know you. And I know that whatever's going on, it's eating you alive. Don't try to argue – it's written all over your face. So push me away all you like. I'm your wife – it's my job to worry about you. And right now, it's your job I'm worried about."

  "Look, I just got to stick with it a little while longer, OK? When you come home, I promise I'll quit, and then maybe we'll start over someplace new."

  "I wish I understood the hold this job has over you," she said. I said nothing.

  Just then, a nurse came trotting over from the nurses' station, her flats clattering against the institutional tile floor. "Mr Thornton?" she asked. "I'm so sorry to interrupt your visit, but there's a Mr Dumas on the phone for you. He says it's urgent."

  Elizabeth shot me a look I chose to ignore. "You should let him wait," she said.

  "Damn it, Liz, you know I can't."

  "I don't know any such thing," she said. And then, with a sigh: "Fine. Go. But first, a kiss."

  She leaned toward me, expectant. I pecked her absently on the forehead and made for the nurses' station.

  "Hey!" Elizabeth called.

  "Yeah?"

  "I love you!"

  "Yeah. Me too. Listen, Liz, I gotta go – I really shouldn't keep him waiting."

  I turned and left, then, leaving nothing but silence behind.

The trip from the apartment to Grand Central took us damn near three hours. The ferry terminal was a mess – National Guardsmen in full camo manned security checkpoints, frisking every passenger before boarding, and slowing the line to a crawl. What's worse, the city'd suspended all subway service north of Thirtythird, which meant a nine-block hike against a bitter northern wind. By the time we arrived, my leg wound had begun to seep, and a cold, acrid sweat had broken out across my face and chest.