The Shippers(95)

“You got it,” the doctor said, planting himself on the rolling stool and getting to work.

I stood behind the doctor, peeking over his shoulder while he worked.

“Apparently,” the doctor began, “Mr. Watts here has a lady friend who got into some trouble back on Bishop’s Cay.”

My eyes widened.

“She called him for help as she was hiding in a—a lighthouse, was it?”

“A lighthouse,” we both confirmed.

“Anyway,” the doc went on, wanting to stay on track, “when Mr. Watts showed up, there was an angry drunk man loitering outside, guarding the door.”

Pork Pie.

“Mr. Watts tried to encourage the loiterer to leave the area,” the doctor went on. “But he really didn’t like that idea, and things escalated.”

I pointed at Cooper’s stomach. “Escalated—to this?”

“Please explain to the lady,” Cooper said then, eyes still closed, “that Mr. Watts is totally manly and could easily have taken this guy, no problem. Except that one of them—and not Mr. Watts—had a weapon.”

The doctor nodded. He was having fun. “Mr. Watts could easily have bested this gentleman, given how very pickled he appeared to be, but then the man put his hands up in surrender and pretended he was going to leave peacefully before suddenly smashing his beer bottle against the side of the lighthouse and then slashing at Mr. Watts with the broken edge, cutting open Mr. Watts’s T-shirt—”

“His favorite T-shirt,” Cooper added.

“—and creating a superficial laceration of approximately ten inches down his torso.”

“That drunk dude got lucky,” Cooper said poutily, like the ending of the story insulted his pride.

“You got lucky,” the doctor corrected Cooper. “The bottle didn’t cut through the fascia. It’s just a surface laceration. But it could have been bad. No swimming this week, and no limbo contests. Just keep it clean, follow instructions, and stop rescuing women in lighthouses—and you should be fine.”

I stepped forward and took Cooper’s hand—careful not to get in the doctor’s way. “You came to the lighthouse?” I asked.

Cooper opened his eyes at that, met mine, and nodded.

“And that drunk dude slashed you?”

Cooper nodded again. “He looked totally shocked when it happened,” he said, “like he never thought it would work. And then suddenly I was bleeding like mad. And when he saw the blood, he pushed me in the chest and took off running.”

“He pushed you?”

Cooper nodded. “I fell back. I guess I hit my head. The next thing I remember, I was waking up in the Bishop’s Cay hospital with twenty stitches.”

I sighed. “So you probably have a concussion, too.”

“He definitely does,” the doc chimed in, not realizing he was no longer a part of the conversation.

Cooper gave me a shrug. “They said it was mild.”

“Everything’s always mild with you.”

“At least I don’t get pebbles in my shoes.”

I was still putting the pieces together. “The police came to the lighthouse?” How had I missed all this? Those stone walls must have been thick.

“I called them on my way to you, but I guess I wasn’t too clear about the situation because when they got there and found me unconscious and bleeding, they thought I was the person they came for. By the time I told them about you, hours had gone by—and they said you were gone.”

“My dad rescued me,” I said.

“You weren’t hurt, were you? That guy didn’t hurt you?”

I refused to let Pork Pie register as a trauma in my life. “I’m more insulted than hurt,” I said.

Cooper closed his eyes. “I’m sorry all that happened to you.”

“I’m sorry all that happened to you.”

A pause while the doc finished up the sutures and taped a fresh dressing back over them. He wanted Cooper to rest on the exam table for a few minutes after that.

I took the rolling stool after the doc left the room, and I slid it up next to Cooper to stroke his forehead.

“That’s why you missed the ship in the Bahamas?”

Cooper closed his eyes. “Uh-huh.”

“But how did you get from being in a hospital in the Bahamas to reboarding a cruise ship in Cozumel?”

“I took a puddle jumper to Key West and then a 737 here.”

“When? Today?”

“This morning.”

“Had they—discharged you?”

“I kind of discharged myself.”

I frowned at him like he’d really been naughty. “Cooper.”

“I wasn’t leaving you to do that duet alone. I would have swum here if I had to.”

“I thought you didn’t show up,” I said. “I thought you were that mad at me.”

Cooper kept his eyes closed. “I could never be that mad at you, Joey.”

“I thought you gave up on me,” I said.

“Sadly for me,” Cooper said, “I don’t seem to be able to do that. No matter how hard I try.”

But now it was hitting me. My breath got shaky, and my eyes got teary. “I’m sorry I was mad at you,” I said. “I should have been thanking you. You came to the lighthouse. And you tried to save me. And then you almost died.”