Free One Fool At Least by Julia Buckley

climb. Was this the twilight zone? I wondered as I stared at his grizzled face. He seemed suddenly contrite. “How do you know my name?” I said warily.
    “Oh, God. You’re Madeline, the girl on the paper. Oh, I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
    At the time I thought he meant that I worked for a newspaper. I didn’t think to wonder how he knew, especially when he said, suddenly concerned, “Good Lord, girl, what the hell kind of honeymoon is this?”
    He believed me. He no longer thought I was crazy. He was sympathetic. All of those things dawned on me in an instant, and I started to cry. Loud, lusty and long would describe the way I cried, helplessly racked by sobs, all under the watchful and pitying eye of the pizza delivery man. He finally got out, got in the back seat with me, and took me in his arms. He smelled nice, not like pizza at all, but more like after shave and, surprisingly, limes.
    I sat in his clumsy embrace until the tears stopped. He was warm, and I felt like going to sleep. “How do you know my name?” I asked.
    He looked suddenly grim. “I saw it recently, I’d rather not say where just now. I had heard, through the rumor mill, that the Shea family was expecting a guest. I just didn’t know—”
    “That the lunatic crawling on her hands and knees was Jack’s new bride?” I asked. Now I was on the verge of laughter.
    “Listen,” he said, sensing my hysteria. “We need to get some booze in you. I’m Ardmore, by the way.”
    “Ardmore,” I repeated, trying out the name. “First or last name?
    “Just Ardmore.” He took a cell phone out of his own pocket. “What’s your hubby’s number?”
    I told him, and he bellowed into the phone. “Jack Shea? I just rescued your wife, and I’m taking her to The Bar at the Foot of the Hill. You know it? Great. Want to talk to her?”
    The phone was placed in my hand, and I heard Jack saying, “Maddy? Maddy?” I was near tears again.
    “Jack, just come and get me, please.” I couldn’t talk any more. I handed the phone back to Ardmore. He reiterated our location, then hung up and turned to me.
    “They reckon they’ll be here in about fifteen minutes. That’s enough time to warm your little heart with some whiskey.”
    And then he was carrying me. He did an effortless job, due to his huge mountain-man frame. He might have been lugging a bag of salt. “So, Madeline, how did you and Jack meet?” he asked me.
    “I lied to get his attention,” I murmured against his T-shirt.
    “See? I knew you were a liar,” he said calmly, setting me down on a barstool and motioning to a tall woman behind the bar. “Shelby, we need a whiskey here. This girl’s had the day from hell, and we’ve got to revive her spirits with spirits.” He laughed at his joke, as did the attractive Shelby. Soon a glass of amber liquid was pressed into my hand, and I took a gulp. The burning sensation brought water to my eyes and a path of fire from my esophagus to my stomach.
    “Wow,” I said, taking another gulp.
    Ardmore laughed. He was like the Brawny paper towel man, big and hearty and handsome in a bearded way. His black T-shirt was tucked neatly into some tight blue jeans, and over it he wore a black and blue flannel shirt. His beard and mustache were brownish red, and his teeth were white and almost perfectly straight. His eyes were brown and friendly. A little too friendly, I thought, as I caught his gaze flitting over my chest. “I’m married,” I told him.
    “You’re also drunk from about one finger of J and B.”
    “It was your idea.” If a person can feel her eyes becoming bloodshot, I was feeling that now, as well as a sort of pleasant dizziness that made me sway in my seat. The effect on my brain was happening in slow motion, a couple of beats behind the whiskey. I shrugged and took another slug. I liked it because it made me feel brave.
    Ardmore admired me some more, taking slow pulls at a giant beer. “You’re some girl,” he said.