Page 37 of The Throwaway

"So what happens next?" Ruby asks as she walks around the circle, holding open a pizza box to offer each woman a slice. Sunday takes one with olives and mushrooms, Molly takes one with sausage and onions, and Marigold passes on the pizza with a distracted wave of her hand.

"His sister is there right now to give me a break," Marigold says on an exhale. She's wearing a lemon yellow cable knit sweater and a pair of oversized denim overalls. Her hair is in a messy bun, and she actually has no idea which book they've been pretending to read for the past two weeks. She's been completely removed from everything in her normal life, and just being here amongst her friends feels refreshingly normal and good. "Kerry--that's Cobb's sister--showed up and told me I should come back here and sleep in my own bed for a few nights, so here I am. She's going to come back here with him once he's released and help me to get him settled. Again."

"Well," Molly says, taking a bite from the end of her slice of pizza and then dabbing at her chin with a paper napkin. "You did say at the last meeting that you wanted him out of your house. So mission accomplished."

"But not like this!" Marigold sits upright and puts her hands to the sides of her head. "I thought he'd get better and hop a flight back to London, leaving me to go back to my gardening and writing in peace. But now I truly am back to square one. I don’t know how I'm going to nurse him back to health while I keep writing, because frankly, that's the only thing keeping me sane right now. Writing, and being around all of you."

"Marigold," Ruby says, blowing out a long breath. She watches her friend's face with concern. "I think you're burning the candle at both ends here. And if it's okay for me to say so, I also think that you're taking on a lot of responsibility when it comes to Cobb's recovery. Have you considered getting him professional care instead, or maybe someone to help out in addition to your care?"

Marigold frowns and puts her elbows on her knees as she leans forward. "Like bringing a nurse to the island?"

Ruby tips her head from side to side. "Well...yeah. Sure. That could be one option. Or he might be more comfortable in a rehabilitation facility, where they can watch over him closely and make sure he's getting the medication and the rest that he needs."

"I can do those things on my own," Marigold says stubbornly. "And Elijah will stay on to help me. He's been working on an album of his own in London, and he has the luxury of putting that aside for the moment and sticking around here if I need him. Between the two of us, I think we can make this work."

“Marigold. Honey.” Heather leans all the way forward in her chair so that she can reach across the small circle and put a hand on Marigold's knee. She'd stayed on Christmas Key for several days after New Year's and come back from the trip completely in love and talking about marrying one of the men from The Seven Society, but the women have pushed that turn of events aside for now to focus on Marigold's needs. "It's completely honorable that you want to take care of Cobb like this, but Ruby is right: it's a lot for one person."

Marigold can feel herself getting defensive. "So you think I should just let him live with strangers? Pay some random people to take care of him? What if someone violates the privacy policy and posts photos of him when he's recovering? You can't trust everybody, you know, and I don't--"

"Hey," Heather says, cutting her off gently as she shakes her head. "That's not what I meant." She looks around at the group. "I can't speak for everybody else, but I can speak for myself when I say that I'm willing to pitch in and help you make this happen. If you want him here, then you've got an extra set of hands."

Marigold inhales sharply; this is not what she expected.

"Count me in," Sunday says, raising a hand. "I'm not a medical professional, but I'm a decent cook, and I don't mind sitting next to a sleeping patient or fluffing a pillow here and there."

"I'm here at the bookstore most of the day, but you know I can always pitch in," Ruby assures her. "All you have to do is say the word, and I will make it happen."

"I'll keep the coffee supply coming your way," Molly promises. "I'm no good at sitting around and entertaining people with my sparkling wit, but I'm strong as an ox," she says, flexing a bicep under her flannel shirt as proof. "And I'm happy to come over and help you clean, move your man from room to room, or do anything else you might need help doing."

Marigold's surprise turns to tears of joy as she cries openly. “You’re incredible friends," she says, wiping her face with the pads of her fingers. "Seriously. I could never ask you to do all of this."

"You aren't asking," Molly reminds her. "We're all offering."

"Thank you," Marigold says, holding out her hands so that she can clutch each of the other women's hands in turn. “Thank you so much."

"Now that we have that settled," Molly says, “let’s talk about this damn book we were supposed to read. Who chose a romance novel where the heroine has a spicy fling with a Secret Service agent?"

Everyone turns to look at Sunday, whose face goes up in flames as she puts a hand to her heart and laughs. "Guilty!" she says, fanning herself with the paperback book she's been holding in her lap. "But ladies, Ihadto!" she adds. "I wanted to know if this author could make the fantasy seem as good as the reality. Because, girls, the realityisa fantasy." She wiggles both eyebrows.

“Reality is fantasy?” Molly shakes her head as she looks at Sunday skeptically. “Famous last words," she says, pursing her lips. "Famous last words, Sunday Bond."

* * *

It takes another week to get Cobb transferred back to Shipwreck Key. Once Marigold and Kerry have him comfortable again, he starts his recovery from scratch, convalescing in bed and looking out the window at the sunny winter sky with a wistfulness that tugs at Marigold's heart.

"I think we overdid it by going to Christmas Key," Marigold says to him the day after his sister has flown back home. "This is all my fault."

She's bending over and scooping discarded t-shirts and bits of paper from the floor near his bed as she talks. There's something endearingly boyish about a man when he's sick, and Marigold is not immune to the sadness in her ex-husband's eyes as he lays there with a book open on his chest, not bothering to read it. "Aw, Cobby," she says. "You look like a kid who came down with the measles at the beginning of summer break."

He turns his head slightly and gives her a dry-lipped smile. He's looked paler and more wan since coming back this time, and she knows that being life-flighted to Tallahassee and undergoing yet another surgery has taken something out of him that will be hard to replace.

"I feel worse than that," Cobb says. "I feel like I might as well give up on everything and just never get up and walk down the beach again. What if I collapse? What if no one is there? What if I go back to the U.K. and I'm making myself a cup of tea and it just ends? And no one finds me for days?"

Marigold sits on the side of his bed with the papers she's picked up still clasped in her hands. She straightens them and sets the papers on the bedside table. "I can see where all those things would worry you," she says carefully, brushing her hair back from her face. It's nearly lunch time, and she's just barely showered because she woke up early to write while Elijah did the dishes from the night before. He’s gone into town now to have coffee at The Scuttlebutt with Athena, leaving Marigold and Cobb alone. "But I think you have to go forward with blind faith, as we all do, and get up every day like you've got purpose and intention."

"I don't even know what my purpose or intentions are anymore, Goldie.” Cobb lets his hands flap and land on the paperback book that's on his chest with a loud slap. "I feel like I have more music in me, but I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to get up and just play the guitar. Maybe I should be using what little energy I have for something else."

This makes Marigold angry. She stands and reaches over to grab the corner of his duvet, flinging it back. The paperback book goes flying, but Marigold ignores this. "Get up," she says, pointing at the floor. "Stand up right now, Nigel Cobb Hartley."