Lying on my side, trying to get comfortable on a plastic wrapped mattress, the beanpole officer approached me. “You're a lucky woman, Mary,” he said. “You don't know how lucky you are.”

Lucky? I thought. You call getting your stomach pumped luck? It's not luck; it's pure horror.

Old Henry forgave me for poisoning him. Heck, I never expected to be vindicated, I expected him to be dead. But sure as molasses sticks to the side of a bottle, Henry came to in the ambulance as it trotted him off to the morgue.

“There he is,” the officer said, pointing towards Henry's bed.

My worst nightmare is back, I thought, and tugged the sheets closer to my body.

Lifting his wrist, the old buzzard gave me a little wave from across the room. Must've felt sorry for me, or something. Don't feel sorry for me I wanted to yell. Feel glad for yourself. Glad Henry! Because if I had my druthers and goodness knows I tried, you wouldn't have undergone the dreadful agony of having your stomach pumped. No sir, instead you'd be listening to dirt being shoveled over your head. But there he was and there I lay - in the land of the living dead.

Ain't no such thing as Novocaine anymore. Well maybe for Henry there was with his wandering eyes and all. Probably called one of the nurses “sweetie,” - no doubt the one with the buckteeth, to make her feel all desired by a man. Then presto, magically the nurse administers an anesthetic to him! After all, he looked darn comfy across the way smirking. Must've watched old Buckie clamp the rubber mask over my face while another nurse shoved a tube down my throat. No pain killer for me, just a set of handcuffs squeezed around my wrist.

No use crying over spilled coffee I say, especially since the old gizzard dropped the charges on me. “She’s my wife!” Henry exclaimed when the judge inquired about pressing criminal charges. “No need for a separation either, Bill,” he remarked, and chuckled. “I'll take care of her.” Leaning back in the swivel chair, my husband said that he cared about me too much to let me spend any time in prison. Heck, he didn't tell them that I'd be living in prison - his; a seven room one, with a game room built for twelve and a fireplace in every suite. Pure hell. I always said a woman needs a home.

Oh, the old crow cared about me all right. Bought me a mink coat for our twentieth wedding anniversary. Curling around my shins, that plush coat made me feel like Marilyn Monroe, without the face or body of course. But just the same it looked good over my housedress, especially stepping out on those cold, summer mornings to retrieve the mail. I couldn't keep it. Nope, Mr. Reputation decided that he needed a better image; one that society would admire him for. I told him that he was admired most of all when he kept his teeth in. But the stiff maintained his status; he joined Animals Anonymous, forcing me to forfeit my prized possession. Bye, bye mink, I thought. And bye, bye, stuffed bass over the fireplace.

After slicing and dicing that carcass, I stir fried it with rice and beans. “Mary,” Henry said, as he rubbed his oversized gut, “This is the best meal that I've had in months.” Sure it is, Henry, I thought. The thing's been fermenting on a dusty wall for years, and you may be swallowing typhoid. Eat up! But that's men for you. Food is food.

One winter evening I prepared spaghetti a la freezer burnt hot dogs. Six months in the deep freeze, those dogs were mixed with garlic, onions, and tomato sauce. “Is this from Italian Palicimo?” he asked as he stabbed a sliced dog with his fork.

It's from our June cookout, you idiot. Merry Christmas! Casually I replied, “No, it's homemade.” Of course, there hadn't been enough to share between us, so I sipped a bowl of canned soup. I'm not a selfish woman.

Yes, my husband took care of me, so I decided to take care of him. My mother always lectured me on the power of perseverance. If the first try didn't succeed, then I'd best make darn sure that the second one would. So when Henry forgave me and told Judge Markus to leave things up to him, the good judge had consented. “Take Mary home, Henry,” pock-faced Markus had said. “Maybe she needs a good rest.”

A rest had been the furthest thing from my mind. My depressing spouse was the one that needed to relax - in a good rest home. After putting up with the man for years, he'd become as dull as a dried olive plugged on my finger. Times had changed, and time had changed him. And not for the better mind you, but for the boringest, please make another day go by quickly worse.

Purchasing the plane tickets to St. Catherine’s, he thought he'd spice up our lives. “Honey,” he said, all excited with his left eye twitching: “I'm going to take you away!” Better he takes me away than puts me away, I thought. Not a thing wrong with me.

Knowing that I didn't like to fly, he stood there waving the tickets in the air. My head hurt just thinking of the half-empty package of peanuts the airline stewardess would toss on my lap.

“How sweet,” I said, brushing the cobwebs from the ceiling as the little spiders soared. “We'll be flying, just like these creatures are.”

“Stop it,” he said. “We may have fun.”

From the onset, I knew that we wouldn't have fun. I would.

Arriving at Kept Away Resort, I needed to use the ladies' room. Sitting upright on an old bus for two hours had jiggled my insides, not to mention what the odor of gasoline fumes and the sweet smelling smoke had done to me. And Henry's voice had spun around my head like a dreidle.

“Are they all black?” he whispered, tugging at my ear as if a roach had crawled in. “Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.” Minutes later, as I glanced at the colorful cornfields zipping by my window, he nervously asked me if I wanted to leave.

“No, I don't want to leave,” I said, lowering my head as far as possible.

Abruptly turning, he looked away from me and grumbled. My voice grew louder. Oh, I tried to hold back, pretending that there were marbles in my mouth, rolling around and choking me. Between the perspiration flowing from every orifice of my body, and Henry's childlike moans of displeasure, I'd been ready to explode. The heck with the marble charade, I thought, feeling my face turning crimson. “What's that you say, Henry? Are they all black? Is that it?” I screamed. Chugging, the bus tossed me forward in my seat. Thought the driver might actually open the bent door and hurl me through it.

Firmly, Fatso gripped my knee. “Stop it,” he whispered, squeezing my leg with his hand.

It's always “stop it,” even when the instigator starts it. Easier to blame Mary.

People on the bus turned and stared at us with frozen lips. Not one person smiled. An American man looked at us as if to say, “What are you trying to do? Get me killed?”

No, I'm not trying to get you killed, I thought, grinning. Just him.

While Henry lugged our six suitcases to the room, I excused myself. I had to - a full cow can only hold so much.

Straight from the ladies’ room, I ventured outside to view the beach. Clearest of waters spread in front of me. Dipping my toes in had felt like a sauna to my tired feet. We would enjoy this! And the best part about our vacation was that tourist season had been over. An overweight, baldheaded American judge wouldn't be missed.

“C'mon, Henry,” I yelled in the morning, clapping my hands over his head. “Up and atom!” Grumbling, he leaped from the bed.

“Good,” I said. “What shall we do?”

Per usual he hadn't any plans. “Okay,” I said, grabbing the old goat by the ears, “Let's head on down the beach, and see what's going on.”

“Look over there,” I said, and waved my hands to the three bikini-clad women, dancing on the platform of Sandee’s Golden Palace. Looks like an old time in the hot town. “Let's go!” Tugging Henry along, I rushed across the sand to “I hosey” a table on the deck of Sandee’s.

“Think I'll have a drink,” I said, lowering myself onto a wooden chair. “Bloody Mary,” sounds good. By that time I had wanted to make it a bloody Henry, because the tag along had just sat beside me huffing.

A roly-poly waitress took our order. “Okays, a mary and a gengerale,” she said. “Is dat it?”

That and about a year's worth of Jenny Craig. “Yes, thank you.”

As she placed the paper cups on the table, I asked her about any events. “You know, for us casual tourists.”

“It list de events of the week,” she said, handing me a flyer.

Motionless, Henry sat slumped in a chair beside me, mute. A living dead man is what he was, lifeless like a wet T-shirt.

“Hey, this para-sailing looks great!” I mentioned excitedly. “We can go up in the air,” and one of us can drop down.

Nodding his head no, he said that he wouldn't do it. Of course not. What was I thinking? That should've been a cross off from the get go.

On the suggestion of a boat ride, he said, “I'll get sick.” Strike two; we had been on a downward roll. Like Sysiphus, I kept pushing that rock back up. “Canoeing?” Pursing his lips, he nodded again. “A moonlight dance? Now that sounds very romantic,” I said, scanning my embarrassment of a husband; stomach curled over his 1960 plaid shorts. “On second thought, maybe it will be too late for us.” Tapping my fingers on the table, I mumbled, “Now what?”

“Don't know,” the old geezer grumbled as he picked up his drink.

Clenching my jaw I wanted to scream! You're lazy, Henry, and you're old! Old, old! Do you hear me? “ Okay,” I said, maintaining my dignity while kicking his shins. “We're going to do something.” Per usual, he hadn't been paying attention to me.

“Stop staring at the islanders,” I mumbled as I put my hands to his face and turned the pumpkin head towards me. “Everyone but you and me are black. Get over it!” And he would, over or under it.

“Look!” I said, and shoved the flyer under his eyes. “Says here there's a sand castle contest!” Beautiful place for a man to die. “We'll do that, because I'm not hanging here watching you watch the islanders.” Glancing at my Rolex, I prepared him: “Four hours from now, we will be outside of Lola's Beach Grill, digging in the sand.”

“Hi folks,” I said, strolling towards the staked off contest area. “C'mon!” I grumbled to Henry as he tailed behind me, flopping along the sand in his neon orange tongs. He could've worn his loafers. At least I had sense enough to wear my white Keds. But he had to make a mockery of me. “Tell him no, Henry,” I said when the man with the braided hair approached him and offered to trade him his worn leather sandals for his flip-flops. Of course he didn't. Henry peeled the scuffed slip-ons from his feet and handed them to the man. Jamming his fat feet into the two sizes too small sandals, he mumbled, “I'm coming!” As far as I was concerned he wasn't coming - he was going.

A skinny lady handed us shovels. I told her that we lived in the Hamptons, because I couldn't admit that we were from unknown Avon, Massachusetts. Yes, lovely little Avon, where the library is closed more than it's opened, and there isn't one lonely restaurant in town. No one knew the difference. Heck, through gapped teeth the woman said that she detected my New York accent.

“Ah, New York,” she said and smiled. “The Umpire State Building.” Yup, strike three. For me, the game was almost over, and none too soon.

Earlier, in the hallway of Kept Away, a gentleman had offered to take me out and show me how to smoke ganja. Revealing a gold tooth when he spoke, Marcus assured me that it was like drinking a beer. “You will have much fun,” he said, stroking my hand. “Great,” I replied. You better stroke your wallet too. I like good food.

What I needed was a lively man to entertain me. I yearned to listen to some of that strange music, kick up my heels, and enjoy a lobster dinner. “I'll see you when I finish my business,” I said. But I knew that I wouldn't. Never date a man in sneakers is what I always say.

I didn't appear uncivil, because Marcus said that he also had business to attend to. Rude is what I'm not.

I'm not ruthless either, but looking at Henry with his stomach heaving in and out, as the sun began to set, I knew that he'd be happier where he was going. To hell, Henry! To rot! Because they don't take overweight losers upstairs! I'm sure the angels would be kind to him, as they spit him into the ethereal fires!

“Dig, Henry, dig!” I yelled as he panted on the sand beside me. Dig your own grave, you killjoy! Furiously, my hands clenched the spade. Glancing around every so often, I watched the other contestants pat down the sand as they built simple castles and intricate houses. I snapped at Henry: “Fast! Go faster!”

A pair of worn Reeboks appeared at my side. Looking up, I gazed at Marcus.

“How yous doing?” he asked, and winked.

“Great,” I said, rubbing his ankle. “But this shovel is a bit small.”

Like a preying mantis, Marcus sprinted across the sand. Minutes later, he returned with a garden shovel.

“Thank you.” I brushed his knee with my hand.

“Okay,” he remarked. “Later.”

“Yes, later.” Much later.

Standing, I steadied my Keds on the shovel and jumped on it a few times. Easily, the sand gave way. After digging three feet, my eyes sized up my husband. Five-feet, I thought. Five by three should be just fine. “We're going to win! You'll slip into this cool sand, and be a mer-man.” Lifting my eyes with anticipation, I murmured, “For art sake I'll draw a little tail around you.” And Mary will be a free woman! Two feet left to go.

Lost behind the rich green palms and swaying coconut trees, the island sun bid us farewell. Onlookers strolled away. “Sweetie,” Henry casually mumbled, “I think the contest is over.”

“No!” Glancing around, I pointed to another couple. They had sculpted a rowboat. “Not over yet,” I groaned, digging deeper. Over for him. It’ll never be over for me - Mary Concannon Mccarthy!

Cheshire cattish, my mind sensed that the hole was perfect. Clutching Henry's shoulders, I helped him slide into the murky cavity. Blisters cropped up on my hands packing him in.

“Great boat,” I said to the strange couple when they stood up to admire their project.

Wiping his brow with a handkerchief, the stringy man replied, “Long day!” He wrapped his arm around his lady friend, waved and walked away.

As I compressed the dirt around the burden's head, he complained. “This is ridiculous. Let me out now.”

“I'm not done,” I protested, packing down the sand with my shovel. “Pretty soon it'll be time for a shower.” For me! Shower me with riches! Shower me with freedom! Oh, how it should’ve been shouted across the peaceful ocean!

Standing, I stretched my hands above my head and sighed. “Thanks for taking me to St. Catherine’s, Henry.” Not heartless either, my parched lips lightly kissed the coconut looking head goodbye. As the tide rolled in, it hiked itself up to old Do Nothing's neck.

After skipping forty-three feet across the sand, my body slumped onto a paint chipped bench outside of Lola's. Watching my useless husband struggle for his freedom, I yelled to the waitress: “One Bloody Mary!”