The Man Who Fought Alone

1
 
 
For two weeks Ginny concentrated on taking care of me. Ordinarily she didn’t have much tolerance for inactivity, but she stood it with as much grace as she could muster. She force-fed me pills, changed my bandages, stocked the pantry and fridge, picked up tapes and books to keep me from driving her crazy, and generally made herself responsible for my recuperation.
A week or so after being shot, I could walk upright most of the time, and her regimen of vitamins and antibiotics had just about knocked out the infection. But I still couldn’t move fast, or think very quickly, or tie my shoes without groaning.
She even kept the apartment clean, which was usually my job, since even her best friends never accused her of being tidy. Compensation, I think. If you’ve got a mind like a ledger, you surround yourself with the most ungodly mess. But if your head could stand in for a witches’ cauldron, you’re inclined to clean everything in sight. Whenever she mopped or dusted, I had to bite my tongue so that I wouldn’t nag her about missing the corners.
I kept my mouth shut because I ... read full excerpt from The Man Who Fought Alone ebook