Life happens at the oddest times. My biggest worry for the weekend was knocking out another column for Loredagger then getting back to work on book thirteen. With over half of my part of the book completed, I felt assured of getting done this weekend. Perhaps I'd even get in a little time at the gym. Pleased to have gotten to mark off one chore on my list, assembly of a two rod closet, I scanned the TV offerings to see if Marvel's Defenders was available on Netflix yet. It was. Review time!
Perusing the new series, I made mental notes for discussion or writing about the combo adventure of Jessica Jones, Luke Cage, Daredevil and Iron Fist. Immediately, I saw problems. Early into the first episode, I was already grousing to myself about the overly dark setting in Cambodia. Darkness to set the mood is one thing. Darkness that hides the action is poor planning. Then there was the stereotypical "guy out of prison has to go get banged" scene. Yes, in real life, I'm certain such sex happens, but it was poorly executed. Throwing the lady on a table and having at it may have been one way to express a certain urgency to the moment. I felt it demeaned the new relationship between Luke and Claire. Then my phone rang.
The lovely Pamela, wife extraordinaire, called. "I'm going to take Erica in for her doctor's appointment. She's feeling too bad to drive herself. You go meet Colt for lunch." Now on
most off work Fridays, I'm only too happy to run out to lunch with the family. It's like a bonus
holiday. However, when I'm looking at a deadline, I try to stay home and write. That's
what good writers, loved by their publishers do. Unfortunately, my wife has no idea of the
relationship between timely writing and the timely arrival of paychecks. Suggesting I meet
my son for lunch was more of a command. I complied. Sorry, but the Defenders will have to
wait. My darling wife assures me no one will mind.
Chowing down at the local China Star, I was well into my second plate of shrimp, discussing everything from jobs to politics to cars with my son. Someone famous said that discussions over meals are won by those with the smallest appetites. Vaughn family discussions are vivid and brutally honest, but we don't let that interfere with the eating part. That's why a simple lunch can run two hours with us. Suddenly my phone rang again. "It's Erica." wailed Pamela. "She's bleeding out from the Xarelto. They're taking her to the ER. Get here. Now."
Arriving as fast as my Subaru Outback could deliver me, my mind processed prayers as I searched
for a parking spot. Ditching the car as fast as I could, I made my way through the maze of a hospital,
anxiously seeking reunion with my family. Erica resists going to medical facilities as much as I do, so I knew she must be desperate. I found them in the ER, my poor girl as deadly white as the gurney sheets
she lay upon. "Believe it or not," intoned my wife, "that's better than she looked before the nurses
got some IV fluids in her." Two units of blood were in Erica's immediate future. Two weeks ago she
got blood clots and needed Xarelto. Now she's hemorrhaging. How much more can a father take?
Then the phone rang again.
"Colt, where are you? Your sister wants to see you. She's hallucinating about bunny rabbits."
"Yeah, about that. The driver side front wheel flew off the car on the way in. I'll be there as soon as
Chelsea picks me up."
"Are you ok?"
"Yeah. The Forester is a little banged up, but no one got hurt. Thank God."
Thank God indeed. Though I dearly love writing, sometimes deadlines have to wait. Family
is more important. Lorefans, prayers for my daughter would be much appreciated. Thanks.