Later that afternoon, inside a private medical center, Irma power walks, smiling and waving at many familiar faces as she passes nurse stations.

***

After an elevator ride to the fourth floor, she steps out and pretends not to notice male nurses, who are reading medical charts near every entrance and exit. This floor is temporary host to one patient, and a team of psychologists and physical therapists who specialize in trauma concerning the Green Beret who retains classified information.

Irma trots around the last corner. In a room at the end and to the right, lies her husband, Colonel Donovan Gutierrez. Four months ago, he was injured when a suicide bomber exploded a truck at a checkpoint outside a military base in Afghanistan. On a raised bed, between two small dressers, Don is facing a blank television screen and he is staring at the ceiling.

A young woman places a chair beside his bed. She leans down and presses a green seat. “Cloth covered and cushiony, Mr. Gutierrez.”

Don keeps his hazel eyes locked on white panels. “First, you tell me it’s ninety-eight degrees, then you think I’m going to let you cook my wife’s ass.”

The woman stands tall. “I have removed the leather chair, Mr. Gutierrez.”

“I can’t walk, but my vision is perfect.”

“Yes it is.” The nurse reaches behind her and she adjusts the white hair-tie around her short, brown hair.

“Irma’s lost twenty-pounds since the army tried to stick me at a desk.”

“You will walk again, Mr. Gutierrez.” She heads to the open doorway. “All you have to do is cooperate with the people who want to help you.”

“Cooperate with people who don’t know any better than to offer a skinny woman a fake leather chair on a hot day?”

Irma charges into the room. “Sara… Ooh, the white pants suit.”

Sara smiles. “It’s how we know it’s Wednesday.” The women giggle and embrace for a quick hug. “I love your Tiger Lilies, Irma.”

“Thank you.”

Donovan Gutierrez bellows, “No one here addresses me as Captain.”

“Enjoy your visit.” Sara rushes through the exit.

“Thank you.” Irma marches forward. She passes a small, elevated table at the foot of Don’s bed. On the wall near the window, she pulls a cord and beige curtains open, revealing tinted glass with a view of a small rose garden on the roof, one floor below. Across the street and above the Miami Family Diner, a digital sign flashes the time, date and temperature. “The pinks are losing their petals, but the yellows are in complete bloom.” Irma heads to the table where from she lifts a remote and aims it at the television. She presses the power button then the mute button. “Those flowers are so lovely.” Finding a local news channel, she brings the remote to her husband, placing it leaning against his left thigh and on top of his thumb.

She makes her way around the foot of his bed. “You had them turn the thermostat down again. It’s cold in here.” At his side, she leans over a plastic guard, strokes his black buzz-cut and she kisses his cheek.

Still staring at the ceiling, and rarely blinking, Don mumbles, “You’ve lost muscle, have no body fat.”

“What are you talking about? I’ve been what you call a stick, for over ten years now.” She sits on the green cushion, crossing her right leg over the left. “Tall and skinny, that’s how you like ‘em.”

He blinks twice. “If you were short and chubby, that’s how I’d like ‘em.”

Irma leans forward. “I know.”

Slowly, Don turns his head, until he and Irma lock stares. “Well?”

“Your doctor said—”

He returns his position to staring at the ceiling.

Irma settles back into the chair. “You were wrong.”

His stare drops to the wall just beneath a weather report. Through his nostrils, he draws a deep breath then he exhales slowly. “What is your job title?”

Irma sits tall and she cups her knee. “Publicist.”

Don turns his stare to her. “Is that a real thing?” He studies Irma’s nods and her shoulder shrug. “There are things you must experience before you will learn.”

“The four-hundred-dollars cleared. And I get—”

“Sixteen-hundred…” He blinks once. “…when you return.”

“Two-thousand-dollars, just for signing on.” Irma grins.

He gazes at the ceiling. “Now, you can buy her books and sell them. Nice.”

“All I have to do is chauffeur the authors to the Out West Miami hotel. I get to stay free, so I can drive them to the convention in the morning.”

“And set up booths, help sell books…” In his mind, Don counts the passing of five seconds. “The idea of driving…” He draws a slow and deep breath. “…hours away and then returning to Miami early enough to prepare work stations.” He counts the passing of five seconds. “Honey?”

Her eyelids flutter. “After I take them home, I’ll drop by here and—”

“Admit that I was right.”

“I’m getting paid, and this is a good way for me to learn a few ins and outs of the publishing business.”

“What happens to Mattie and Andrew?”

Irma’s eyes widen.

“Yes. I read your books.”

“You’re the one who bought them last week?”

“I downloaded them to my phone.”

Irma leans back and slips her hand into her skirt pocket. She pulls a cellphone out. “Do you remember your passwords now?”

“Nothing to remember, never signed up.”

“Oh. But you know that?”

“The site knew it.”

“I see.”

“The Roaring Twenties… A fun time to read about.”

“Yeah. It was a fun time to write about.” Irma leans toward the bed. “I want to show you a picture of us when—”

“Mattie doesn’t know it…” Don stares at the ceiling. “…Andy didn’t rob that bank.”

Irma lowers her gaze and the phone to her lap.

“But he’s never going to get the chance to prove it to her, and on the page where you wrote, to be continued, Mattie will forever cry about her bad choices in men.” He turns and studies his wife’s widened, brown eyes. “Because their author got a new job.”

Irma reclines and shoves the phone into her pocket. “You’re the reason I was hired.” He stares at the raised table. “In California, all those new recruits…” His breathing is short and rapid. “Isn’t one of your jobs, um, teaching how to, or is it speeching about how to? What’s it called?” His eyelids flutter. “Single-handed assassina—”

“It’s not called that.”

“After California you toured Texas and Mississippi. You ended each speech by saying, ‘Follow my wife on social media, or I’ll hunt you down and kill you’.”

“A joke.” His face turns red.

“Told after sharing what you did to those terrorists in—”

“I hoped they’d stop sending me off to give speeches.”

“You told that so-called joke for two years.”

Don’s upper body trembles. “It was inappropriate, poor taste… I should have been reprimanded and reassigned to do real army stuff. I’d rather mow lawns with my teeth then—”

“Wow.” Her eyes well with tears. “Don, you remember.”

He turns to her. “But everyone laughed.”

Irma giggles. “Almost two-hundred-thousand laughers follow me on a program called, Social Media and the People.” She wipes her tears away. “I appear to be practically famous.”

“What kind of fudgery have those bastards been up to?”

She claps. “Fudgery. I love that one.” His temples throb. “Not a thing, Donny. I had no idea they followed me, until Mrs. Campbell mentioned it.”

“Are a lot of people reading your books?”

Her mind wanders to a routine of checking her sales report every Sunday. Her shoulders slump forward. “I’ve sold a total of twelve books.”

“Four of each in the series?”

“One each to you…” She giggles. “…and years ago to your mom and my mom… There’s a stranger out there who too bought one of each. Three-years, and only one real sale.” Irma bites her bottom lip.

“Because you didn’t finish book four.”

She gazes at his chest, hips and legs… all which are tucked beneath a light-blue blanket. “I’m a quitter?” She lowers her eyes.

He stares at the ceiling. “The army threw me away.”

“They haven’t.”

“Do not go near a military base.”

“I found a nice house. It’s—”

“I’ll sleep in a park first, after what they did to me.”

“It’s not anywhere near a base.” She pauses, watching his chest rise and fall rapidly. He takes a deep breath. A few moments later, his breathing slows. “They sent you here because of the type of therapy you need. This is special treatment, not rejection.”

He counts the passing of five seconds. “I engage physical therapy.”

“You sure do.”

“These doctors aren’t like the army bastards. Assholes… just want me to look at pictures. I’m a tracker, a hunter, a—”

“Proud butt kicker.”

“Kicker!”

“You’re forty-nine and have the body of a thirty-year-old who is in the best shape of his life.”

“Are you working for the army now, Irma?”

Her eyelids flutter.

“I’m thirty-six, and in better shape than any man.”

Her spine stiffens. She holds her breath then releases it slowly. “Oh—”

“I hate this place. No one addresses me as Captain.”

“He thinks he’s thirty-six... Obsessed with my weight.” Between the ages of thirty-six and now, Donny has become a colonel. Irma thinks back... At that age, she explored the idea of a vegan diet. Don told her that it wasn’t a natural way of life.

She swallows hard then clears her throat. “The army has informed you that no one is trying to remove you from field duty. Right here, right now, your job is to cooperate, rehabilitate.”

“You’ve lost twenty pounds.”

Irma’s eyes dart aimlessly. “It’s summer time. You know I can’t eat much when it’s hot.”

“Pick the phone up, Irma. Call the kitchen. Let us share a chicken sandwich.” He counts the passing of five seconds. “It’s not hot in here.” He brings his stare to her.

Throughout their twenty-eight-years of marriage, when he returned from a mission, and later, from lecturing and training, he made a game of pointing out something different about their home, or about her. He’d bring it up to her, and she’d pretend to be a spy who he had to trick into confessing.

Irma opens her mouth and flicks her tongue, making click noises while returning his stare.

Don turns his head, and upon viewing the tinted window, he shuts his eyes. “Why do you do that?”

“It annoys you the way I am annoyed, because how do you know I started a vegan diet?”

With his eyes sealed he rolls his head to the right, where he then views the ceiling. “When we have dinner together, you eat only vegetables and fruit. You used to love cheeseburgers, but last Wednesday when Manny delivered, you couldn’t move fast enough to get out of here.”

Irma drops her foot to the floor. “I can’t hide anything from you.”

“You’re not following the diet correctly. If you don’t gain weight real soon, I’ll start force-feeding you cheeseburgers and sour cream.”

“Sour cream?”

“Sour cream can be very fattening. Ask my mother. She never lets my dad eat it.”

Irma gazes off into thought and she frowns. “Yeah… Just thinking about it makes me feel fat and very sad for cows who are slaves because of mankind’s gluttonous ways.”

“That’s not natural. You know I’m right. You have lost an unhealthy amount of weight.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“I can see you’ve lost at least twenty pounds. And in what? I was gone for only two weeks.”

“Don, you’ve been in Miami for a month. I’ve been here for two weeks.”

“Exactly.” He frowns. “I’m sorry, I haven’t wanted to say it, but that diet has aged you.”

She searches her mind for an argument to present… A moment later, she leans toward the bed. “No. I am the same size now as I was when we got married. And everyone tells me that I look ten-years younger.” Irma sits back and grips the arms of the chair. “While packing to move here, I looked at all the beautiful pictures in our wedding album. I haven’t changed one bit.”

He rolls his head to the right. His eyes widen. “Irma, go to the eye doctor.”

“I did.” She clears her throat. “Yesterday.” With two fingers, she points at her eyes. “Twenty-twenty. Looking at those pictures…” She sighs. “…I couldn’t believe how skinny I was.”

“You always say you were overweight when we got married.”

“No, but you sure were chubby.”

He stares at the ceiling. “Bring me that album, Irma.”

“Why? I don’t know what you’re thinking…” She shrugs.

“You’ll see that I’m right. Twenty-pounds in two weeks...” He shakes his head. “Honey, you’re harming yourself.”

“I am as healthy as a chicken who goes around freeing turkeys.”

He turns to her. “What the… Quit that diet. Or I’ll—”

“Go ahead, force me to eat a chunk of carcass.” She opens her mouth and points to it.

“How vegan are you?”

She leans toward his snarl. “We share this planet with creatures, all of them are our equals, and they have just as much right to not be eaten by us as we have to not be eaten by—”

“I’ll be walking Friday.”

“This Friday?” She reclines.

“While you’re on your way to the wilds of West Florida, I’ll be walking to Manny’s Burger Joint.”

Irma studies the fingernails on her right hand and she grins. “I’m winning this one.”

“You’ll be getting real healthy when I’m walking again. Manny’s chunks of carcass are the juiciest and the best—”

“Yuck.”

“You’ll change your mind.”

“Not possible.” Irma drops her elbows on the arms of the chair and she presents her palms. “You don’t cooperate. You won’t even speak with the psychologists.”

“Is that it?”

She laughs loudly. “That’s it!”

“Let me tell you something, no one will ever have as much cooperation as I shall give. Friday, I’ll be walking, and you’ll have to eat a cheeseburger.

“Not.”

“And, a tablespoon of sour cream.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Deal?”

“Deal.”