| |
THE NOISE WAS OVERWHELMING, like clanging bells, but she knew she was overreacting. No one was panicking, no one was shouting, everything seemed to be under control. Everything except her. Mike was getting hooked up to all kinds of wires and lines and monitors, and people were moving around the room with purpose and focused intent. The icepack she'd been given seemed to have effectively numbed her whole body on the outside, but her insides felt like she'd swallowed broken glass.
Victor. He'd come for her. Her champion.
Where was he? Her eyes scanned the room—there. He stood near the opposite wall, watching her, his expression as turbulent as her thoughts. What was he doing so far away? Why wasn't he here, by her side, his arms around her? A deep, wrenching sob surged up out of her lungs, and she felt what little control she had slip away. Her legs gave out, and she slid to the floor, wordlessly begging him to rescue her from all of this.
Instead, he turned away from her to speak to the police officer who'd approached him. Forgotten, she dropped her head into her hands and closed her eyes, willing the nightmare to end.
Who was she kidding? There was no champion in her story. She was alone.
"Jules?" Gia crouched down beside her. "Come. Let's get out of the way." Gia helped her up with an arm around her waist, and they made their way out into the hallway.
"Is Mike—?"
"The paramedics are taking care of him."
"I shouldn't leave him," Juliette whispered, as she watched the man being strapped onto a gurney.
"We'll just be in their way. Come on." Gia led her into the kitchen and pulled out a chair for her. "Sit."
Juliette collapsed into the chair and let her forehead drop to her crossed arms on the table. "You should go let Mrs. Cork know I'm okay. I'm sure she's frantic."
"I'll stay with you. One of the officers can—"
The sound of frantic barking brought Juliette's head up. "Bob!" she cried, pushing up out of her chair. She pulled open the door and slipped out into the chilly darkness of the garage. She didn't turn on the lights, just went down on her knees and let Bob lean into her, nuzzle her, assure himself that she'd come to rescue him from his banishment. Gia poked her head out.
"Go." The light from the kitchen shown on Juliette's upturned face as she gave Gia her best 'big-sister's-the-boss' look. "Bob's here. I'll be okay until you get back."
Gia hesitated just a moment longer, then pulled the heavy door closed again. The inky stillness settled around her, comforting, soothing, peaceful.
"Oh, Bob," she moaned, and sat with her back to the door, hugging the dog to her, burying her face in his coarse fur.
Bob pressed against her, panting his joy in being reunited with her.
~ ~ ~
VICTOR STOPPED A FEW feet away and watched as the two girls stumbled from the room. It was best, he told himself. Leave her be. She'd made her choice quite clear tonight. If Mike was the kind of man Juliette wanted, then Victor wanted to be as far away from her as he could possibly be. That's right, man. Don't get sucked into that woman's chaos. He heard the words in his head and spun on his heels, as she and her sister disappeared down the hall.
He scanned the room for the officer he'd spoken to earlier; he'd give whatever information they wanted from him and go home. He didn't see the man, but he'd just wait here for him. That way he wouldn't accidentally run into Juliette again.
A few minutes later the medics wheeled the more alert but still highly agitated Mike out of the room, and the majority of the crowd followed along behind the gurney. Still Victor waited until the room emptied completely, nodding at the last young man who'd slipped in to grab a mislaid clipboard before dashing back out again. Obviously, the officer had gotten whatever information he'd needed without having to question Victor.
He looked around the room, encased in the stark quiet that follows such a commotion. There were scraps of sterile equipment wrappers on the floor, a discarded glove, a plastic bag, even a length of plastic tubing that must have been dropped in the fray. Victor collected the trash, stuffed everything into the plastic bag, then dropped it into the basket by her nightstand.
Carelessly tossed across Juliette's bed was her pink robe. He reached out to touch it, the texture soft under his fingertips. Her fragrance drifted up to him, something he didn't know he recognized until now. He bent down to pick up the fallen lamp and returned it to the bedside table, letting his eyes wander over her things: her alarm clock, a beaded necklace and two bracelets, a pen, and a notebook opened to a list entitled My Champion.
Patient (like Gia's sunflower)
Loyal
Faithful
Committed
Hot
Impulsive
Daring
Brave
Gentle
Funny
Kind
Believe in God
The last item on the list was circled and an arrow was drawn up to the top of the page as though to insert the word at the beginning of the list instead of the end.
At the bottom of the page was a new list, the last three words all capitalized.
Must Like (or at least tolerate):
Being organized
Having a plan
Chinese food
Chick flicks
Black pants
Blue toenails
My crying
Must Love:
GOD
BOB
ME
Victor sighed, his heart hurting for Juliette as he read it all again. For a moment he wondered if heart attacks were contagious as he rubbed his chest. "Sympathy pains," he murmured, not sure who he was feeling sympathy for. "Not Mike," he clarified to the empty room. He reached out and touched her pillow, somehow knowing that if he bent over, he'd be able to breathe in that glorious fragrance again, and he almost gave in to the temptation, his longing for her was so intense. He cleared his throat and was just about to turn away when something caught his eye.
Protruding from beneath her pillow was the corner of a business card. He reached for it, knowing even before he saw it, whose it was. Officer James V. Jarrett. His card. Under her pillow. Looking very well handled.
He flipped it over. There on the back, printed in tiny block letters, was written, "Mrs. Juliette S. Jarrett" directly over his name on the other side of the card. He remembered seeing her middle name on her driver's license; what was it? Sonia. Sarah. No, Simone. That was it. Juliette Simone Jarrett.
"Gustafson," he corrected aloud, hesitant to consider the implications of what she'd written on his card. He glanced down at the list on her nightstand again. Was he all those things? Is that what made up a champion? Were those traits what Juliette wanted in a man?
Then why was she chasing after a creep like Mike? Why did so many women fall for the Mikes in this world? He shook his head. "You're nothing but a dreamer, man. Leave it alone." He leaned over to put the card back the way he'd found it.
There was that fragrance again. This time he didn't resist. He picked up her pillow, brought it to his face, and breathed deeply, drinking in her scent like a parched addict, miserable with the knowledge that this may be the last time he....
Suddenly he thrust the pillow away from him, dropping it like it was burning his hands.
"What am I doing?" he muttered, his face flaming. "Who's the creep now?" But as he went to straighten the pillow, he felt something else begin to stir inside of him, something that felt like resolve, strength, determination. He thought of her list. Well, he definitely was a believer; that he had no doubt about. But was he loyal? Faithful? Committed to her?
No.
Yes! Yes! He could be those things to her! He wanted to be those things to her. He wanted to be brave and patient, kind and gentle. He wanted to be funny, and daring and impulsive for her. With her.
"Am I hot?" he asked his reflection in her mirror.
He couldn't let her throw away her life on Mike. He wouldn't. He curled his fingers around the card again then tucked it into his back pocket. Let her wonder where it was. He was going to keep it as a beacon of hope. As far as he was concerned, it was her personal invitation to him, and he wasn't ready to turn it down, not without a fight.
He had to find her, to find out for himself. He had to stop running.
He hurried out of the room and down the hall, poking his head into the spare room, then the kitchen, and the living room. The whole place was deserted. He charged outside to where a small cluster of people stood together, Gia and Mrs. Cork among them. Clearing his throat, he asked, "Where's Juliette?"
Gia started across the lawn toward him. "In the garage with Bob."
He turned and loped back into the house, pulling the door closed behind him. He didn't mean to offend anyone, and he knew it was just a deterrent, but he needed some time alone with Juliette.
He tapped gently on the garage door. "Juliette?"
There was an answering bark and he took it as permission granted. He turned the handle and eased the door open, ever so slowly, just in case she was leaning against it. "Juliette?"
She lay on her side in the darkness, her head on a pile of neatly folded towels, her body curved around Bob's, one hand buried in the fur of his shoulder. She'd pulled another large towel over the top of her to ward off the chilly November air, but she wasn't wearing a jacket and the concrete floor, even with the rug beneath her, had to feel like an ice-block.
He knelt down, dodging the wet welcoming tongue of her dog, and brushed the hair from her face. He cupped her chilled cheek in his hand, careful to avoid the swelling around her mouth. "Juliette," he murmured again, realizing he would never get tired of saying her name.
She stirred, opened her eyes, and gazed blankly up at him for a few moments, the light from the kitchen illuminating their faces. Like a storm cloud moving in, he watched her memory come back, leaving in its wake despair and misery. She closed her eyes again, as though to shut everything out, to shut even him out.
"I'm so cold," she shivered, not opening her eyes. Bob cranked his head around and licked her chin.
"Let's get you inside, okay?" He reached down and scooped her up into his arms, standing carefully. She was a little heavier than he'd expected, and the last thing either one of them needed right now was for him to look like a wimp. "I've got you," he reassured them both. "Now put your arm around my neck so I don't drop you." He felt her smile against his neck, her head cradled on his shoulder. Hope stirred in his belly.
He carried her into the living room and set her down in the corner of the sofa, his gestures tender as he reached for an afghan from the back of a chair nearby. He draped it across her body, tucking it in around her, but he could see she was still shivering. Then her teeth began to chatter.
"I c—c—can't get w—warm."
Was she going into shock? "Are you nauseous? Light-headed?"
"No. Ju—just so c—cold."
Before he could reason his way out of doing so, he sat down beside her and pulled her into his arms, her body facing his, her head tucked into the curve of his neck again. He pressed her knees up against his side and urged Bob up on the sofa, too.
"Bob, come here, buddy. He lifted the edge of the afghan and the dog snuggled in, the two of them sandwiching the woman between them. Victor tucked the afghan around all three of them, trapping as much heat as possible beneath it.
It took several minutes for Juliette to stop shivering and even longer for her to begin to relax into him, but he didn't mind. Neither did Bob, who periodically bumped his nose against Victor's knee or Juliette's elbow beneath the blanket. He held her gently, not speaking, and not expecting any words from her, focusing on keeping his breathing steady even though he was sure she could feel the thudding of his heart.
This was where she belonged. This was where he belonged, his arms around her, her cheek resting against his chest.
The front door was flung wide by a woman with a long, jet-black ponytail pulled through the back of a baseball cap, her eyes blazing as she strode into the room. Her gaze landed on the three of them snuggled on the couch, and she stopped suddenly, making the woman behind her plow into her, nearly knocking her off her feet.
"Phoebe!"
"Sorry, Ren. You stopped too quickly. Where is she?" The second woman wore a flowing gown that fluttered around her as she moved, some kind of Greek costume. Long, black curls cascaded over her shoulders, gold bands spiraled around her upper arms, and she looked like she'd just stumbled off an ancient Greco-Roman frieze. She turned mysterious charcoaled eyes on Victor. Under the scrutiny of both girls, he was suddenly defensive, on guard.
"Who are you?" the first woman in the baseball cap demanded.
"You're Juliette's policeman, aren't you?" The goddess answered for him, her voice like rich cream. "Officer ...?"
"Jarrett. Victor Jarrett. I'd shake your hand but..." He shrugged carefully.
"Yours are a little full," she quipped, then crossed the room to kneel on the floor in front of them. An exotic fragrance swirled around her and he found himself holding his breath as she lifted the corner of the blanket to find Juliette's hand. "I'm Phoebe and that's Ren. More sisters," she stated as she sized him up with her Liz Taylor eyes. "Jules? We're here now."
