A Song For Julia Part 11

"What did you do? Can you even imagine the cruelty kids in school put someone like him through?"

In a bare instant, I had a series of images of Cindy Blanchard in my mind. The day I forgot to lock my locker in gym, and she snuck in and dipped my bra in the toilet while I was out on the field. Walking down the hall and hearing, "s.l.u.t. s.l.u.t. s.l.u.t. s.l.u.t," whispered from both sides of me as I carried my books to cla.s.s. The day I opened my locker to discover that dozens of graphic, hideous anti-abortion pamphlets and fliers had been stuffed inside. My mother saying, "I didn't raise my daughter to be a s.l.u.t."

Rage I didn't know I even had flared up.

"I can imagine a lot more than you might think."

His mouth turned down into a deeper frown, and he said, "Look. I'm sorry I asked you to come in. It's my job to protect him. And you're going to be gone in a day or two, or whatever. And I don't want him to get his hopes up that all of the sudden he's going to have someone treat him like a human being, and then have them dashed all over again."

My voice shook as I said, "Are you saying I shouldn't be nice to him?"

"I'm saying stay the h.e.l.l away."

I was offended. No. I was hurt. Crank didn't even know me, he didn't know anything about me at all. How dare he judge me like that? "I don't think that's going to be a problem."

Crank glared at me. He was shaking. I was too. We both shut up when we heard the steps coming back down the stairs. Sean wasn't even in the room before he started talking.

I was so upset I missed whatever Sean started with, but after a moment, it was clear he was talking about the game, which was a sequel, and the design team that had made it. I wasn't prepared for this right now, and Crank obviously wasn't either. I nodded and half listened because I didn't want to cut him off. I didn't say another word to Crank as I arranged the sheets and blankets, but when Sean was finished, I said, "Thank you for the sheets and stuff."

"You are welcome," he said. His formal tone and lack of contractions, not to mention the tone of voice, would take some serious getting used to. Not that I was likely to have the chance.

"Come on, Sean," Crank said. He and Sean made their way upstairs, so I lay down on the couch, then reached out to the table beside it and switched off the light. I closed my eyes. I was exhausted, but the unfamiliar couch and my racing mind were conspiring against me.

What exactly did Crank mean by 'you're going to be gone in a day or two anyway'? What the h.e.l.l? I didn't do anything to give him any right to talk to me that way. Except apologize for wrecking his car, give him a ride home and be nice to his brother. Who obviously needed someone to be nice to him, if Crank's behavior was anything to judge by. I understood being protective, but that was so far out of line, I wanted to punch Crank right in the face.

As I finally started to drift off to sleep, though, my thoughts turned, unwillingly, to my mother. This happened sometimes, and it seemed like there was nothing I could do to turn it off. I remembered from when I was a child, so many times. That's not how ladies behave, Julia. I expected better of you, Julia.

I didn't raise my daughter to be a s.l.u.t.

My last thought before I fell asleep was Screw you, Mother.

Go get some clothes on (Crank) My insides were roiling as I went upstairs. What did Julia think she was doing? It was one thing to be polite. But the way she'd behaved, it was if she was making a promise. A promise to be friends. Sean didn't need anyone else appearing in his life and disappearing. And I'd seen enough girls like her in school. Polite to a fault. Preppy. Popular. Backstabbers.

I wasn't about to trust that she wouldn't hurt my brother. In the morning I was getting her out of here. We'd settle up the car, and that would be the end of it.

I tossed and turned for a while, I don't know how long, before I fell into a troubled sleep.

I was awakened by a loud thump and then a high-pitched, terrified scream.

I jerked up into a sitting position instantly, my mind still filled with cobwebs, but there was another scream, and then a loud thump, and I heard a male voice from all the way downstairs let out a string of curses.

I jumped up without thinking and ran to the stairs, then down them without pause, almost losing my footing in the dark. At the bottom I slapped the light on, and my eyes widened. I grabbed the doorframe to steady myself as I caught my breath. My heart was beating hard from adrenaline and shock. A second later, Sean b.u.mped into me. He'd run down the stairs at the sound of the screams too.

Dad was on the floor a few feet from the couch, legs splayed out in front of him, a look of shock on his face. He was still in uniform, one boot half-off, his gun belt and nightstick splayed out beside him. Julia was sitting up on the couch, her face reflecting shock and fear, blanket wrapped around her. Her cheeks were red, her hair a tangled mess, and a fold in the blanket revealed a long, toned leg. Her foot and ankle were small, her calf well muscled and curved, and my eyes wandered up and up.

Behind me, Sean rocked in place, and his hands were flapping. He didn't do that, except when he was deeply upset or scared. I put a hand on his shoulder to calm him, but he stepped away from the touch.

"Ah, for Christ's sake," my dad said, his voice loud. "Sorry, girl, I wasn't expecting anyone to be on the couch."

Julia opened her mouth to speak but didn't say anything.

"You all right?" Dad asked. "Seriously, I didn't mean to scare you. I sat down in the dark without looking."

She nodded. Her face was red, and she was breathing heavily, eyes wide. She looked panicked. "I'm all right. It just startled me."

My dad chuckled, then leaned forward to place his palms on the floor and push himself up. "I guess so! You screamed like you was being attacked."

Julia swallowed. "I guess I thought I was."

"Well, c.r.a.p," my dad responded as he finally got himself upright. He reached down and picked up his belt, carefully hanging it over his shoulder. "Sorry about that. Sometimes when I work the late shift I come in and watch a little TV before going to bed. I'm Jack Wilson ... Sean and Dougal's dad."

She looked a little puzzled-she'd not heard the first name I was born with.

"I'm Julia Thompson." She shifted her position a little, and I couldn't keep my eyes off of her leg, bare all the way up to her thigh.

"Nice to meet you, Julia," my dad said and then chuckled. Julia's eyes darted over to me, and she turned a dark red color, then shifted the blanket and covered her bare leg. That's when I realized I was wearing nothing but boxer shorts.

c.r.a.p.

"Ah, Christ on a crutch, go get some clothes on!" my dad shouted at me.

I coughed. "Be right back," and stepped back in the doorway.

"Don't bother!" my dad shouted. "Everybody go back to sleep! We'll sort this out in the morning!"

I was sure we would. Dad would pepper me with questions, no doubt about that. In five years, I'd never brought a girl around here. Forget what Julia was thinking-what the h.e.l.l was I thinking? I didn't bring women around because that would imply more than it was. That they'd be there tomorrow. That I had some reason I wanted my family to meet them. Sean didn't need people just popping in and out of his life without warning. And as I've said before, I don't do relationships. I've got enough problems without that.

So now I'm stuck with the question: why did I ask her in? Why didn't we just exchange numbers when she brought me here, and then follow up in the morning to figure out the car situation? For that matter, why the h.e.l.l hadn't I screwed her in Washington? When she offered herself up like a nice, pretty birthday present all wrapped up in green and blue wrapping, which would have been a lot of fun to take off?

I wasn't one to pa.s.s up an easy lay.

As I finally drifted off to sleep again, I think I almost had it. If it had gone any further, the possibility of this being something more than one night was too clear. Or worse, if she'd really meant it, really meant that it was a one time thing-one night of fun and games and then we're done-then maybe I'd find myself in the position of ... being hurt?

For just a second, I wondered what the girls I'd been with over the last couple years felt. But I didn't want to examine that too closely, because I just might not like the answer. It's not like they didn't know what they were getting into. As I told Serena, I've never pretended to be something I'm not. I've never pretended to want anything but a fun time for the night. I've never pretended to be material for a long-term relationship, because all that means is pain anyway, and who the h.e.l.l wants that?

I've never wanted a relationship. But lately, one-night stands, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g around with girls I didn't know ... it just wasn't enough anymore. Lately, I'd started to realize that even though I was around people all the time, I just felt so d.a.m.n alone.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

Use Your Fork Please (Julia) I woke up to the smell of bacon and fresh ground coffee, but I didn't open my eyes. That's because my head felt like a thousand pound gorilla was sitting on it, and my eyes were coated with sandpaper. Instead, I poked my nose out from under the blanket and inhaled. Oh G.o.d, that smelled good.

I've gone to a lot of different schools over the years. I've eaten in a dozen emba.s.sies and a lot of official functions, including two at the White House. Harvard's dining service, including the dining room at Cabot Hall, compares favorably. It's usually very good, filling, well done, and soul-less.

Home cooked meals? Hardly ever. Once the twins were born, my mom employed a housekeeper and cook. Sure, the food was always good. But it wasn't the same as what I miss from when I was really young: sitting around the kitchen table with my mom and dad and Carrie on Sunday morning. Some of my earliest and happiest memories are those times. My parents were happier, my mother often smiled and laughed, and Carrie and I felt loved.

That was a long, long time ago-before Alexandra was born, before my father got the first of several promotions. By the time we were on post in Brussels, I guess I was eleven or so, that warmth was all a memory. My parents were too stressed, my dad was too busy, and most of my free time was spent alone or with my guard.

Yes, really. I had a guard. He was actually a great guy, a Marine corporal named Barry Lewis. My dad was a senior NATO attache, and it was right after the Gulf War. There were threats, so the amba.s.sador a.s.signed guards to all of us. I guess it might have been embarra.s.sing at school, but I didn't exactly go to a public school, and I wasn't the only kid there with a bodyguard.

Corporal Lewis was a great guy. An unrepentant chaser of girls and a car fanatic, he bought two antique cars and somehow persuaded the powers-that-be to allow him to keep them in the emba.s.sy garage. I remember sitting in the garage, perched on a stool, while he worked on his cars, chattering non-stop to me about cars, girls, growing up in Texas and whatever else came into his head. I had a little girl's crush on him, but I also looked up to him like a big brother.

I always wondered what happened to Corporal Lewis. We moved on to China, and I suppose he moved back to the fleet, and I never saw him again. In fact, we didn't even have an opportunity to say goodbye. Right before my family left Brussels, he was sent home on leave due to a death in his family. I never heard from him again.

For just a few minutes, smelling the food cooking before I opened my eyes, I was nine years old, happy, excited for what was coming that weekend, getting ready for breakfast with my family. I pulled my jeans on under the blanket, then got up and followed the smell of bacon.

As I walked toward the kitchen, my eyes fell again on the beautiful grand piano in the corner of the room. It was polished, well maintained. I didn't know what a police officer in Boston made, but I did know that a piano like that costs upwards of twenty thousand dollars.

Crank's dad was in the kitchen. Last night he'd been in a Boston Police Department uniform, but now he was in jeans and a t-shirt, and an old, well-worn ap.r.o.n with "World's Greatest Mom" embroidered on it. It looked handmade. He was sipping from a cup of coffee in one hand and flipping a pancake with the spatula in the other. The radio on the shelf was tuned in to WBUR, the volume down fairly low as the Car Talk guys joked and laughed with a caller. I watched him for a few seconds and couldn't help but smile. It was such a domestic scene, and he looked as content a man as I'd ever seen.

"Good morning," I said quietly.

He turned toward me and raised an eyebrow. "Good morning! Coffee?"

I nodded. "Yes, please."

Without looking, he reached up and grabbed a mug, then placed it on the counter and filled it with rich smelling coffee.

"Cream's in the fridge," he said. He slid a tin of sugar close to the cup, reached in a drawer and handed me a spoon.

"I'm Julia Thompson," I said. "I'm, uh, sorry about the surprise last night."

He let out a deep chuckle. "Nice to meet you, Julia. Though I gotta admit, sitting on a girl in the middle of the night is not how I usually introduce myself. I'm Jack. Have a seat and enjoy your coffee. The boys probably won't wake up until I start banging things on their doors."

I tucked myself into one of the seats at the kitchen table. It was a beautiful table, polished, well cared for and old. I don't know how old, I'm no judge of furniture, but I had a feeling the table had been here thirty years.

"Sorry to be a sudden drop-in guest like this," I said, shifting in my seat. "We were up playing some b.l.o.o.d.y game with Sean until really late, and they didn't want me to drive home."

"Not safe to drive when you're too tired," Jack replied. "Glad to hear those two thought of something responsible for a change."

"All the same, I do appreciate it."

He turned toward me and flashed a heart-stopping grin. It was easy enough to see where Crank got his charm. "Not a problem, missy, not a problem. Where you from?"

Always an awkward question. I'm not really from anywhere. My father's side of the family is from San Francisco, but I've never lived there, just visited occasionally for holidays. He's retired now, and my sisters are all there, so I guess they'll think of it as home, or at least Alexandra and the twins will. Carrie was a senior in high school by the time he retired, so she'll only have one year in California. I finally responded the way I usually do, "We moved around a lot."

"Military?"

"Foreign Service."

"Really?" he said, cracking another grin. "You know, my cousin Louis worked for the State Department, years ago. But he got in some trouble. Served his parents right for giving him a French name."

That startled a laugh out of me.

"I always said you can't trust the French, and look at what's going on now, huh?"

I shrugged and grinned but didn't reply. I didn't want to get into a political discussion. I liked Crank's dad. He seemed genuine, and that's a rare commodity.

"I'm making pancakes and bacon," he said, a wry smile on his face. "But if you're one of those girls who only eats lettuce, I've got some of that, too."

"I love pancakes and bacon," I said. "Sounds like heaven. Though you weren't planning on having guests, I don't want to impose."

He made a sound somewhere between a groan and a loud grunt. "You're not imposing! Don't say another word, I'll be upset if you leave. Besides, you must be pretty special if Crank brought you around to the house."

"What?" I asked. I was startled by his statement and a little anxious.

"My son doesn't bring girls around the house, ever. He doesn't even mention them. You, he mentioned, and then brought you here to meet Sean? You must be pretty special."

"Oh ..." I said, sitting back in my seat. I'm not sure I wanted to know where this conversation was headed. "I don't think he necessarily brought me here specifically, like ..." I got tongue-tied. Which is hardly normal for me. "He mentioned me to you?"

"Aggghh ... I shouldn't have opened my big fat mouth. But yeah, he mentioned you when he got home from Washington last Sunday."

Against my better judgment, I said, "I guess I'd be prying if I asked what he said."

Jack broke into laughter. "Yeah, I guess you would. Let me put it this way: something about you really caught his eye. He doesn't talk about girls, ever."

I sat back in the chair and sipped my coffee, crossing one arm across my chest. My head was still hurting, and thinking about Crank made it hurt worse. For the first time in a long time, I found myself having really mixed feelings about a guy. He was fun to be around, but he was confusing as h.e.l.l. And not exactly welcoming. Somehow I didn't think Jack knew that his son had told me to stay the h.e.l.l away last night.

Was I just lonely? It had been so long since I'd allowed myself to really care about anyone.

Jack looked thoughtful for a second as he took a load of bacon off the electric griddle and laid it on a bed of paper towels to let the grease drain. He turned toward me. "The old lady always told me I don't have any tact," he said. "I said something wrong, didn't I?"

I looked at him and gave a warm smile. "I don't know," I replied. "Crank seems to be something special himself."

"Are you two serious?" he asked.

"We aren't anything," I replied.

"Oh, that's too bad," he said, his tone frank.

I didn't reply to that. I knew I should be uncomfortable talking about this with him, but for some reason, I wasn't at all. Jack made me feel welcome here with an openness I wasn't at all accustomed to. It was strange. I couldn't possibly imagine having this conversation with my own parents. I couldn't imagine discussing anything at all with them. "I don't know that either one of us is really looking to be involved with anyone right now," I said.

He shrugged. "Sometimes you go looking and don't find anything, and sometimes it slaps you upside the head like a good Irish Catholic mother."

I giggled. "Well, to tell you the truth, after last weekend I didn't think I'd ever see Crank again. But we got in a car accident last night. I kind of backed into his car and wrecked it. So I ended up here because I offered him a ride home."

"Holy Mary, Mother of G.o.d," he said. "He finally got himself a car? And already wrecked it?"

"Oh no," I said, my eyes widening. "He just got it?"

"Must have," he said. "He's always mooching rides to the T."

"Oh, G.o.d, I feel terrible."