In class on Monday, Joe held up a composition book with a plain white cover. “As I told you last week, we’ll be writing in these. You also have to decorate the front of yours.”
Some boys in the back rolled their eyes.
“Come on, guys, give me a chance.”
“Sorry, Mr. Taylor.” This from Dave Baker, a football star.
“I’m providing one for each of you, but it’s your responsibility to bring them to class every day. Also, there’s a shelf in the back for you to leave them here if you don’t need yours at night. Three entries per week are required.”
Dash Bodine, a city kid that Johnny had rescued from a gang and was now living with Cassie and Mitch, hadn’t said a word so far in class, and they were into the second week. The dark-haired, dark-eyed boy was alert but seemed wary of calling attention to himself.
“The cover should represent who you are. Clip pictures or sayings from magazines or draw them yourself. Photographs are acceptable. Be sure to include enough on the cover to give us an idea of your personality. Inside, you’ll write on two assigned topics each week, and one per week that is free writing on anything you want, in any format. You’re allowed to make entries private, which means I won’t read them. I’ll record their completion, but at least one thing you write per week has to be shared on Fridays. By the way, this includes me, too.”
“Yours is already decorated. Will you explain it to us?” Dave was being conciliatory.
“Sure.” He held up his journal. “As you can see, in the middle is a large picture of my son, Brady. He’s the center of my life. And before you ask, we lost his mother four years ago.”
“Aw…”
“Sorry, Mr. Taylor.”
“Here’s my dad and my stepmother and my four brothers.”
“Holy cow. That’s alotta boys,” a girl said.
He grinned. “You have no idea what that was like. Here’s a basketball. I used to play in high school and like pickup games now.”
A few players cheered.
“This is the cable news network where I worked for eight years… I’ve got snow, because I like winter…” And so it went.
He’d managed to spend only three minutes on his. “So, you get the picture, right?”
Assent all around.
“Today, you have fifteen minutes to write your first entry. What kinds of things could you include?” He went to the whiteboard and began to record the students’ suggestions.
“What I did on my summer vacation.”
“You’re being a wise guy, Adam, but you could do one on that.”
“Sports we play.”
“Activities we’re in.”
“Our families.”
“Our friends.”
“Our girlfriends.”
“Anyone else?” Joe asked after they’d covered the board. He was surprised to see Dash Bodine raise his hand.
“Dash, do you have something to add?”
“What we want out of our future.”
A bit of mumbling from the back, which Joe squelched with his “teacher look.” Word must have gotten around about Dash’s background.
“One more thing. Anybody know what stream of consciousness is?”
A girl raised her hand. “You put down whatever comes to mind. It’s usually a mishmash.”
“That’s it exactly, Tammy. This style for non-directed assignments is acceptable. So, let’s write.” He checked the clock. “Until the bell rings.”
After the kids settled, Joe sat down and began his entry.
I hate starting this journal every year. I wonder if the students do, too. Once I get into it, I’m fine. But everything feels so big at first. And sometimes I’m afraid I’m going to discover things I don’t want to know about myself, which, of course, is part of the purpose. Today, I’ll write whatever comes to mind in no particular order. I had fun yesterday at Seaview. Hannah’s a little doll, and Brady loved being with a friend. She doesn’t talk much about her Dad but seems devoted to her mother. And my son has become enamored of her. First crush, how adorable. Why does that make me feel old? School has started out well. I like my classes. My tenth graders seem tough. This class a bit rowdy. Sometimes, rowdy’s good, though. I’m worried about Dash. I’ll have to make more time for him. Lacey seemed tired this morning. I hope Brady isn’t too much for her, even half day. I liked having breakfast with my dad Saturday…
oOo
Chelsea Roberts walked into her class, tired from the long weekend. Football game Friday night, working Saturday, date after she got done at the restaurant, and Sunday doing schoolwork. She’d told Dave that her parents insisted she stay home, but that was a lie.
Whatever.
Mrs. Mason stood up front. Last week, she’d discussed the course and its requirements and how she ran her classroom. Humanities was organized thematically around alienation, war and love. These topics would be studied through art, music and literature. Both the content and the use of different genres intrigued Chelsea, which was why she was taking it in addition to AP English.
The seats were already in a circle, so she took one of them. The teacher smiled at her. “Good morning, Chelsea.”
Mrs. Mason had memorized her students’ names by Friday. “To you, too.”
Others arrived, and when they were in chairs, Mrs. Mason sat, the room quieted. Chat among yourselves, she’d told them last week, until I sit. Then I expect order at the start of class.
When the fifteen students focused on her, she smiled. Genuinely. “I hope everyone had a nice weekend. How about if we share quickly—like one of those lightning rounds—what we did. I’ll start. “I went to Seaview Park with my daughter.”
Chelsea loved that park. When she’d visited there as a child, she hadn’t realized those would be some of the best days of her life.
The students were enthusiastic. “Played in the football game…a dance over in Camden Cove…babysat a cute little boy…I babysat my girlfriend.”
Jerk! Guys could be such assholes.
“Now that’s over, I mentioned on Friday that the first full week would be practice in interpreting art music and literature.” She rose and moved her desk out of the way. “Everybody scooch around in front of the screen.
The scrape of chairs. The mumble of voices. Soon they were smooshed together and Juliet stood by the large screen. “There are several elements that you can use when trying to interpret a painting.”
“Aren’t we just supposed to enjoy them?” a boy asked without challenge.
“I’m glad you asked that, Ron. Yes, when we go to museums, we can simply enjoy the work. It’s like reading a James Bond novel for entertainment. For our purposes in education, we want to see what meaning an artist elicits from us with his art, and maybe what he or she intended to say about the themes we’re discussing.”
Several of the teenagers nodded.
“I’m directing this exercise to a particular theme I got out of the work. Remember, I’m giving my interpretation, but I can prove it.”
She’d already told them that the cultural arts were subjective. That they’d each have to make their own meaning out of what they saw, read or listened to. There was no right answer but they had to have proof of their theories.
Chelsea thought that was cool. Mr. Thomas would have a stroke if he heard it. The AP teacher was very old-fashioned.
“The name of the painting is usually a clue to its meaning. This is Eugene Delacroix’s Arab Rider Attacked by Lion.”
The kids laughed.
“I know, pretty nondescript. Maybe it’s helpful, maybe not. We know one thing from it. What is that?”
“He wants us to note the three objects in the painting.”
“An important insight, Chelsea. Obviously, the three are the Arab, the lion and the horse.”
Not everybody took notes, but she did.
“So—you can write this down in your notebooks—the first things to consider when viewing a painting are the title and subject matter. That may sound simple, but it’s a blueprint for understanding.”
“Even I get that.” Frank Boswell, who was a friend of Dave’s, liked to paint himself as a dumb jock, but he was smart, Chelsea knew. Not like Dave who was definitely more brawn than brain.
“Let’s try to get more out of it. What do you notice first about the subject matter?”
“They’re on top of each other, pretty much.”
Mrs. Mason beamed at Joanna, who was on the literary magazine staff. The girl was quiet but sure of herself. “Excellent. Just excellent. So another thing is where the subjects are in a painting. What’s that called?”
“Composition. We learned it in art class.”
“Right again, Joanna. Do you paint?”
“I do.”
“There are a few more ways to get at the themes. Here’s a clue. Follow my hand.” Mrs. Mason moved her hand to outline the three subjects.
“Lines,” another student popped out with.
Another kid added, “Or shapes.”
“Since lines make up shapes, you’re both right.” She put her hands on her hips in a fake show of exasperation. “But we’ve missed the most obvious one.”
“Color.” They looked to the door. The principal, Mrs. Wright, stood there, watching the class.
“Well done, Mrs. Wright,” the teacher said easily. “Would you like to come in and participate in the rest of the class?”
“I’d love to, but I’m on my way to a meeting. Good instruction so far, Mrs. Mason.” She addressed the students. “Don’t you think?”
Approval from the class. Her teacher seemed to love that.
When the period ended, Chelsea actually thought she might be able to analyze a painting, so she spoke to Mrs. Mason on the way out. “Thanks for a super class.”
“Thank you for contributing.”
Bouncing out the door, Chelsea found Dave waiting for her. “Hi, gorgeous.”
“Hey, Dave.” He put his arm around her waist. Mostly she liked that, but today it felt claustrophobic when he moved in close. “Did you have a good math class?”
“Is there such a thing as a good math class?”
“I like math.”
“The prick called on me and I didn’t know the answer.”
“Didn’t you do your homework?”
“Nah, I fell asleep thinking about you.”
She didn’t say anything. He always had an excuse. Often, Chelsea helped him with homework and papers. Suddenly, he dragged her aside, plastered her against the wall and kissed her hard. Chelsea was afraid to push him away, but this wasn’t acceptable behavior in school. If a teacher…
Someone said, “All right, lover boy, back off. None of that in the hall.”
Dave stepped away and turned around. “Aw, shucks, Mr. Taylor, weren’t you ever young?”
Mr. Taylor left his hand on Dave’s shoulder. “I was, right in this very school, Mr. Baker. But I obeyed the rules.”
“Of course you did.”
Mr. Taylor laughed off the comment. “Go on, both of you, get to class.”
Dave grabbed Chelsea’s waist again, and his fingers dug hard into her as he walked her down the hall. Chelsea caught a glimpse of Mr. Taylor walking up to Mrs. Mason, who was standing in her doorway.
She hoped Mrs. Mason hadn’t seen all that.
oOo
“Morning, Mrs. Mason.”
“Mr. Taylor.”
Joe cocked his head. “Something wrong?”
Juliet knew she was frowning. “I’m not sure I like what I saw happening over there.”
“Me stopping those two from making out?”
“No, no. Of course not. I was about to go over there when you approached them. What I meant was that Chelsea didn’t seem happy.”
“Kids never are when teachers interrupt their smooching.”
“It wasn’t then. Before that. Do you know the boy she’s with?”
“Dave Baker. An okay guy. Football player. They’re the class couple.”
“Hmm. Maybe I imagined it.” She could have, for a variety of reasons, none of which she wanted anybody to know about.
So she studied Joe, who wore a collared shirt of sky blue that made his eyes glisten. She realized she enjoyed seeing him early in the morning.
He asked, “How did Hannah sleep last night after the gallivanting around the park?”
“Like the proverbial rock.”
“Brady, too. He had a better time because you two came along.”
“At least we weren’t intruding.”
The bell rang. “Do you have a class now?”
“No, second period is my planning time.”
“Mine, too. Want to go get coffee?”
She’d love to. But she shouldn’t. After she’d gotten home from the outing yesterday, she’d panicked about the coaster ride. What if one of Craig’s constituents had seen her with Joe? He’d hugged her when it ended, and though the embrace was innocent, Craig would never see it that way.
“I can’t. I have to plan for my sophomores.”
“My guess is you’ve got everything sketched out for at least a week.”
She blushed. “How did you know?”
“I can tell you’re a conscientious teacher.”
“Thank you, Joe. I am. So I best get back to my lesson.”
“Have a nice day.” He walked away.
She’d done the right thing, distancing him. She just wished it was really what she wanted to do. Joe Taylor made her feel good about herself, and she found she wanted to spend more time with him.
oOo
Thinking about the time at Seaview, Joe was minding his own business, happily walking toward the teacher’s cafeteria, when he passed by the senior lounge. Twelfth graders were exempt from study hall—a privilege of rank—and could hang out in a room set up for them with tables and chairs and a few couches. Some teachers disagreed with the concept, but they were outvoted.
“Screw you, Jenkins.”
Joe halted at the doorway when he heard the cursing.
One guy shoved back his chair, which banged to the floor; he lunged across the table.
Lila Parker leapt from the supervisor’s desk, rounded it and shouted, “Stop, you two.”
They didn’t.
She said to another student, “Helen, go to the phone and call the principal.”
Joe was halfway inside when Lila grabbed the perpetrator’s arm from behind. He threw her off, and she fell against a group of students who’d gathered in a circle.
When he reached the fighters, he yanked at one and wrangled him backward. “The rest of you corral Johnson.”
Struggling wildly now, the kid lurched back and flung Joe off and against the wall. His head hit something. Hard. Glass shattered. An ear-splitting noise rang out and Joe slid to the floor.
oOo
Juliet walked outside when the fire bell rang. She wasn’t worried. They’d have one of these drills every week for a while, and besides, the sun beat down in soothing rays. She noticed Cassie standing with Zoe and crossed to them. “Hi, you two.”
“Hey, Juliet.” Zoe squeezed her arm. “I haven’t had a chance to welcome you back.”
“Thanks. Good to see you again.” Zoe and Cassie were now sisters-in-law, as well as best friends. Which was sweet.
The principal approached them, a worried expression on her face. “This isn’t a drill. There was a fight and a teacher was thrown back against the alarm.”
“Who was fighting?” Cassie asked.
“One of yours, Cass. Eddie Jenkins.”
“And the teacher?” Zoe wanted to know.
“Joe Taylor was walking by the lounge and tried to break them up. Lila Parker had already intervened but was pushed away.”
“Joey?” Cassie grasped Zoe’s arm. “Is he hurt?”
“Yes, though I don’t know how badly. He’s with the nurse, and we called the paramedics.”
Oh, no. Worry furled inside Juliet.
Cassie blanched. “I’ve got to check on him, Olivia.”
“I’ll get coverage for your class so you can do that.”
“I’m free now,” Juliet put in.
“Thanks, but I’d rather you go with Cassie.”
Linking her arm with her friend’s, Juliet walked beside her back into school. Cassie said, “He’s like a brother to me.”
“I know, sweetie. Don’t buy trouble yet.”
When they reached the nurse’s office, the main area was empty, so Cassie headed to the back where they heard voices. Juliet followed.
Joe lay stretched out on a table. The nurse stood over him. Cassie froze. Juliet said, “Diane, how is he?”
The no-nonsense woman turned to them. “He’s conscious now, but he was knocked out. He has a bump on his head, probably a concussion, and the glass from the alarm broke the skin.” She glanced behind them. “The paramedics are here.”
A woman and a man entered the room. Juliet pulled Cassie aside and took hold of her hand. She didn’t offer platitudes. During her past teaching experience, some of her colleagues had been seriously injured breaking up fights between students.
The female medic bent over Joe and took his vitals while the other asked, “How are you feeling?”
“Like I got run over by a freight train.” His voice was gravelly. Missing the charming optimism Joe always had.
“Blurry vision?”
“No.”
“Follow my finger.” She moved it from left to right and Joe tracked it.
The woman put the plastic cuff over his arm. “Blood pressure’s high.”
The other medic asked, “What’s your name?”
“Joe.”
“You’re going to have to turn over, Joe. It’ll hurt.”
He eased himself to his side and moaned.
“A hematoma,” the medic said. “Broken skin which has been tended to.”
“Are you sick to your stomach?” the other asked.
“Some. Man, I passed out, didn’t I? How embarrassing.”
From the doorway, Olivia said, “Not quite, Joe.” She came fully into the room. “A kid pushed you into the fire alarm. Your head banged against the box. Hard. You were unconscious.”
“Whew, at least I maintained some dignity.”
Cassie blew out a heavy breath. “He must be okay if he’s being a smartass.”
“Cass?”
A paramedic stepped aside.
“I’m here, kid. You gave me a scare.”
His furrowed brow told Juliet he was in pain. “Juliet?”
“She came to hold me up,” Cassie said.
The medic interrupted. “Your head needs attention. Do you want to go to the hospital or your own doctor?”
“Neither.”
“Tough.” Cassie’s eyes narrowed. “We have the same doctor as Joe. I can get him in today.”
“Can’t Kurt come here?” Zoe’s husband was now a retired physician.
“That’s not enough,” Olivia said. “This is a work-related injury. It’s why we called the paramedics. You have to be seen by a professional, not a friend.”
When Cassie stepped out of the room with her phone, Joe said, “You can go clean up this mess, Olivia. And see how Lila’s doing.”
“She’s already been sent to the medical center. We think she has a wrenched shoulder.”
“Hell.”
“But I am needed out there. Juliet, can you stay with him?”
“Of course.”
When they were alone, he said, “You’re pale.”
“Because my new friend got hurt pretty badly.”
Reaching out in his typical Joe fashion, he grasped her hand. “I’ll be fine.”
“I know. But I can worry a bit.”
“Just a little.”
She noticed he kept hold of her.
oOo
Frustrated, Joe was lying in his bed at home three hours later when Kurt came though the doorway. With Seth and Lacey hovering over him, he tried to control his resentment of the situation. “Hey, Kurt. They didn’t have to call you. Our doctor examined me.”
“They didn’t call me. Zoe did. I want to see for myself how you are.” He opened his bag without asking permission. In most ways, Kurt and Mitch Lansing were like fathers to Joe so he accepted their ministrations.
Kurt took his blood pressure, checked his vision and his pulse, then his temperature. “You’re flushed, and blood pressure is high, but that’s a normal reaction from a concussion. How much pain are you in?”
Lacey frowned. “He won’t tell you the truth.” She’d turned into a mother hen. He’d seen her do it to her younger sons.
Kurt cocked his head.
“On a scale of one to ten, a five.”
Kurt’s green eyes narrowed. “Before the medication?”
Lacey wrapped her arms around her waist. He was reminded of Juliet in the school nurse’s office.
“Hell, it was a ten. But, Lace, don’t worry about me.”
“I’ll try to be better, honey.” Reaching out, she brushed back his hair. “But I worry about all my boys.”
When Kurt stood, Joe’s dad sat on the edge of the mattress. “Humor us, Joey. We love you and hate seeing you hurt.”
“I know. I’m cranky.”
“You always were when you got sick.”
“I guess. What about when Brady comes home from school? He’ll freak, seeing me hurt.”
“I’ll meet him at the bus. Prepare him.”
Joe nodded. “I should call Bayview about my lessons for the day.”
“That’s what those emergency plans you submit at the beginning of every school year are for. Let it go, son.”
As if his father had given him permission, a sudden wave of fatigue washed over him. “I’d like to sleep now.”
“You should.” This from Kurt. To Seth and Lacey, he said, “I’ll leave him to that.”
Leaning over, Lacey kissed his forehead. “Rest, buddy.”
He grabbed her hand.
His father said softly, “Call us when you wake.”
They dimmed the lights, but the slatted blinds in his room allowed in some rays of sunshine. Alone now, Joe let his frustration surface. Damn it, he didn’t want this. He wanted to be working, be with students and colleagues. He hoped he could go back tomorrow. He thought about the incident and tried to figure out if he could have done anything to avoid the injury. His eyes began to close, and as he was dozing off, he wondered if Juliet was still worried about him.
When he awoke, pain throbbed at his temples, so he must have slept off the meds. The bottle of pills wasn’t on his nightstand. Knowing he shouldn’t get up by himself yet—he wasn’t sure of his stability and didn’t want to make his situation worse—he grabbed his phone to text his dad.
Huh. Messages from Cassie. Olivia. And Juliet. He clicked into the last. Just wondering how you are. Thinking of you.
Well, he liked that. Maybe he shouldn’t, given he was experiencing some attraction to her, but he was sure things would stay platonic between them. And as she said, it was fun having a new friend. Hell, he sounded like Brady.
He texted her back, Physically, I’m better. Wish I was in school. Having a good day? Then he sent one to his dad. I’m awake. Come into my room when you have time.
The door opened soon. “How are you feeling, son?”
“Achy. I need to use the bathroom, then I want to see if I can sit in a chair for when Brady comes home.”
“He’s already here.”
“Is it that late?”
“Yes. Can you sit up and swing your legs to the floor?”
Pain shot through his skull when he moved, then stood. His legs wobbled and he had to hold on to his father on the way to the bathroom. When he finished, he shook his head. “Not sure I can go into the living room, Dad.”
“It’s only been a few hours since you were hurt. Brady will be fine.”
Gingerly, he eased himself back into bed, and Seth retrieved pills and a glass of water. “I’ll go get Brady.”
When his little boy appeared in the doorway, he didn’t seem scared but sad.
“Hey, champ, you know I’m not hurt that bad, right?”
“Papa said that. Nana, too.”
“I banged my head.” He reached out a hand. “You can come closer and get on the bed with me.”
“’kay.”
Though the jostling made the pain worse, he cuddled Brady to him and noticed the boy put his fingers in his mouth, something he hadn’t done in a while.
“Nana said you broke up a fight. She wished you wouldn’t do those things.”
Joe chuckled. This was how he found out a lot of information about his parents. “What did Papa say?”
“It was your job. You couldn’t stand by and let those boys hurt each other.”
“All that’s true, Brade.”
“I guess.”
“We should make the best of a bad situation, though. Maybe we can play some cards a bit later.”
“Okay. Can I FaceTime Hannah?”
“Hannah Mason? Why?”
“I wanna tell her you got hurt.”
“Make sure she knows this doesn’t happen often and her mother wasn’t involved. Mrs. Mason won’t be home from school yet.”
“Okay.” Brady kissed his cheek and scrambled off the bed.
“Leave the door open.”
Brady hadn’t been gone a minute when yet another person came to the entryway. “So, you went and got hurt in a fight. Have I taught you nothing about taking care of yourself?”
Though it made his head hurt more, Joe laughed at the sight of John Battaglia.
oOo
His best friend took a seat on the chair Lacey had drawn up to the bed. His dark hair a little long, his eyes a snapping black, John’s energy always simmered beneath the surface. “Seriously, how are you?”
“A bad bump on the head. Concussion. Don’t ask if you can examine me.”
His gaze became intense. “Pupil dilation is normal. Skin has okay color. I don’t have to examine you. You’ll live.”
“I tried to pull a kid out of a fight. He threw me off and I hit the fire alarm.”
“Ouch. Any broken skin?”
“Yeah, not too bad, though. The worst part is having to miss school.”
John chuckled. “God, I never uttered those words in my life.”
“Like hell. You loved college and med school.”
“I did. And I know you like teaching. Three days out, right?”
“Nobody said that.”
“Remember when Meg got attacked. She was off for at least that long.”
“No way. I’m going back tomorrow.”
“You can’t, Joe. At least give it one more day, then see how you feel.”
He sighed. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“I am. I wouldn’t keep you away from your job unless it was necessary. And we’re always straight with each other.”
“I will, if you think I should. So, how your work’s going?”
“I’ve had a fair number of surgeries through my new practice. Enough for me. And I’ve taken over one shift at Meg’s clinic.”
“You working for your girlfriend?”
His dark eyes twinkled. “Fiancée.”
“What? How come I didn’t know about this before?”
“It happened last night.”
“You could have taken me along to get the ring.”
“I didn’t buy a ring yet. It just sort of happened. We’ve been close since I got hurt and last night was…” He shrugged. “Really special. So I proposed in bed.”
“John, congratulations. Give me my phone.”
“What? Why?”
“You’ll see.” He punched in numbers. Waited. “Congratulations, Dr. Mancini.”
“Word got around fast.” There was a lightness in Meg’s voice, a joy.
“John’s here.”
“Oh, I didn’t know he was heading out there.”
Joe explained the situation. “I’m so happy for you both. You belong together.”
“We certainly do.”
“Love you, babe,” John yelled.
She snorted.
After he disconnected, Joe socked his buddy in the arm. “You’re one lucky bastard.”
“I am.” He took a bead on Joe. “What about you?”
“It hasn’t been that long since we talked about women. Me finding one, precisely.”
The door was ajar and Lacey poked her head inside. “Do you feel up to more company for a minute? It’s kind of important.”
“I guess. Who is it?”
Lacey stepped aside to reveal Juliet holding Hannah, whose face was red. The little girl had her fingers in her mouth, too. “Joe, I’m so sorry to intrude. But Brady FaceTimed Hannah, and she started to cry when Brady told her what happened. We baked cookies for you, and I was going to give them to Cassie tomorrow, but Hannah was still upset. She wanted to see for herself that you’re okay.”
He’d enjoyed being with the little girl at basketball and the park. He’d sensed she craved male attention and gave it to her. “Aw, Hannah, come over here.”
After Juliet set her down, Hannah crossed to him, stood close beside the bed. “Brady said you got hurt.”
Gently, he took her hands in his. “I hit my head. But you see this guy right here? He’s a doctor. He’ll tell you how I am.”
John addressed the little girl. “I am a doc. And Joe is doin’ well.”
“’kay.”
Standing, his friend turned to the doorway. “Hello, I’m John Battaglia.”
“Come inside, Juliet. John, this is Juliet Mason.”
She crossed into the room. She wore cropped-off jeans and a pink T-shirt. Her hair was piled up on her head in a ponytail. She looked charming. “I’m so sorry to intrude,” she said again. “Hannah was insistent. She talked a lot about Joe after yesterday.”
“I’m flattered that you care that much, Hannah.”
“We had fun at the park.”
“At the park?” John’s eyebrows rose.
“We went to Seaview yesterday,” Joe put in. “Remember, we invited you? Brady’s made friends with Juliet’s daughter and wanted to be with her, so both of them came along.”
“Ah.”
“I left the cookies with your father.” Juliet drew her daughter back. “Come on, Hannah. We’re intruding.”
“You can stay,” John offered. I’m about ready to leave.”
“No, I wouldn’t hear of it.” She did move in closer and asked softly, “This was a nasty thing to happen, Joe, especially when you were trying to help.”
“Yeah. That’s what I get for being a cowboy.”
“Not that. How long will you be out?”
“John says I have to stay out at least tomorrow.”
She frowned. But said, “Oh, sure, doctor’s orders. I’ll say good-bye now to both of you.”
When they left, John didn’t say anything until he heard the outer door close. Facing Joe, he quipped, “You liar. I asked you if you’d met anyone.”
“I didn’t. I work with her.”
“Yeah, like that’s all it is.”
“What do you mean?”
“The way you both looked at each other—”
“Don’t, John!”
His friend was taken aback by his sharp tone.
“Juliet Mason is married.”
oOo
They shared texts after John left…
Hey. I wish you hadn’t run out of here today.
OMG, I was so embarrassed. But Hannah was upset. I had to bring her over.
You should have stayed and let her see Brady for a while. You could have gotten to know John.
I don’t barge in on people’s lives.
Nobody at my house considers what you did barging in. You checked up on a friend.
Thanks for saying that. So you’re not coming to school tomorrow?
No. At least one more day out.
I’ll miss you.
I’ll miss you, too.
Take care, Juliet.
Heal well, Joe.