“I told you, he’s my friend,” she retorted.
“What kind of friend?” That edge was now dangerous.
Julia threw up her hands in exasperation.
“The kind of friend who helped me offer more scholarship money to students from disadvantaged backgrounds who wanted to be nurses!” she replied, angrily. “The kind of friend who also happens to be married to my best friend from high school, Molly, since he got her pregnant at eighteen when the condom broke. The kind of friend who didn’t realise he was in love with his wife and family until their son was diagnosed with leukaemia and I spent six months making lasagne and tuna casseroles for them so they’d remember to eat while their boy had treatment. The kind of friend who paid me back by helping me score a major point at work by convincing a bunch of big jocks to use their big hearts to help some aspiring nurses rather than the kids they preferred to raise money for. That kind of friend. Would you like to know more? I don’t know his shoe size but I could ask Molly.”
Douglas immediately relaxed and then tensed again as he contemplated his reaction.
Julia was staring at him, her expression brooding.
“I don’t know what to make of you,” she finally admitted.
“I think I’ve explained quite clearly what you can make of me and what my intentions are of making you. There’ll be no ‘Joes’ in your future,” Douglas declared. He knew he was being irrational but he was in no mood to be anything else and, furthermore, he didn’t bloody well care.
At that announcement, she gaped at him, a study of angry astonishment, just as there was a tap on the door.
“Yes?” he called as he moved around her and toward his folded clothes on the bed.
Carter looked around the edge of the door.
“Sir?” Carter asked.
“Give me a minute to dress,” Douglas ordered and Carter retreated, closing the door.
His hand went to the waistband of his jeans and Julia cried, “You aren’t changing in here!”
Douglas carried on with what he was doing because he knew if he didn’t get dressed and out of that room he might not be responsible for what he did do.
And this was even more absurd. It had been so long that he’d been in complete control of his thoughts and actions that he found it inconceivable that now, he was not.
Nevertheless, he was not.
She watched him, eyes wide, for only a brief moment before she forced out an exaggerated sigh, stomped to the dressing room and slammed the door.
And he was left with a mental list of things not to think about and not a clue how to get his own bloody shirt on.
* * * * *
When Douglas arrived back from his doctor’s appointment much later, which had included some minor, on the spot surgery for which he only allowed a local anaesthetic and refused the doctor’s demands that he spend the night at hospital for observation, Julia was gone.
“At work,” Mrs. Kilpatrick informed him in a nasally voice, her eyes red and running, “she should be back around four.” She glanced at his arm in its sling. “Are you… okay, sir?” She sounded ill-at-ease with her own question.
“I’m fine,” Douglas started to walk away then turned back. “Are you ill?” he asked and found himself uncomfortable with the personal question. He couldn’t remember Mrs. Kilpatrick ever being sick, not, he had to admit, that he would have noticed if she was or was not.
Mrs. Kilpatrick looked stunned at his question.
“Why… no,” she said then she belied her words with a succession of three quick sneezes. “Just a head cold,” she wheezed when she was done.
Too exhausted to pursue it, Douglas let her be. He wanted to go to his study to catch up on work but was too tired for that as well. Instead, he went to his room, took a painkiller and went to bed.
He woke several hours later feeling slightly better but also acutely feeling the pain in his arm.
And he was hungry.
He walked down the stairs in search of food and heard Julia’s voice coming from the lounge. He turned to the right, rounded the corner and saw her standing in the room addressing the children who were all sprawled on the sofas watching television.
“I’ve asked Mrs. Kilpatrick to go home, she’s unwell, so it’s Chip Shop Night,” she announced.
The room rang with the children’s boisterous response to this piece of news and Douglas saw Julia smile.
“Uncle Douglas!” Lizzie called as her eyes found him and her face turned worried when she took in his sling. She got up and then sat back down immediately, visibly unsure of what to do or how to behave.
“Unka Douglas,” Ruby shouted. Never unsure of how to behave, his youngest niece ran toward him, hell bent for leather, but Julia caught her about the waist and swung her back.
“Uncle Douglas has been hurt, you must go gently,” she warned and Ruby’s eyes widened. Douglas watched and noted that Julia was avoiding his gaze.
When Julia let her go, Ruby approached more cautiously and gave his legs a hug. He patted her affectionately on the head in return.
“What happened?” Willie was standing now and his eyes were on the sling. They, too, were worried.
“Nothing,” Douglas replied, “It was an…” He was about to say “accident” but stopped himself. “Nothing,” he repeated. “I’m fine.”
At the children’s reactions to his injury, Julia’s words of the morning came back to him and so did the feelings of guilt.
Julia spared him a quick (and amusing) “I-told-you-so” glance but Ruby was talking. “Auntie Jewel has the best thing for an owie, don’t you Auntie Jewel?”
“What’s that, Ruby?” Douglas asked, more out of politeness than curiosity.
“I hurt my elbow,” she showed him by jutting out her bent elbow and pointing to a spot that still was a bit pink, “right there and it felt a lot better when Auntie Jewel kissed it. She said her kisses have magical powers.”
Julia’s face paled and Douglas nearly laughed at her horrified expression.
“I bet they do,” he murmured in response to Ruby.
“You should kiss his owie,” Ruby declared authoritatively to Julia.
Julia blanched and Douglas grinned.
She recovered quickly. “Maybe later, I’ve got to get your supper. Orders please,” Julia stated, firmly closing the subject on any kissing of Douglas’s “owie”.
“I’ll come with!” Willie offered.