SHOT IN THE DARK Chapter 8

8



          The following day she entered Willard Architectural.  She had misgivings about what was about to take place, which included whether she would have a job or be out on the street looking.

         “Miss Whitaker?  You are to go right to HR, Mrs. Gorman is waiting for you.”

         “Thank you.”  Sarah went to the office door marked Human Resources, and knocked.

         “Come in.”

         She only had a moment to wait as she opened the door and walked in.  “I have the letter from Dr. Quimby allowing me to come back to work.”

         “I’ve gone over the insurance forms you sent in.  Your Dr. Quimby wrote here that you sustained four bullet wounds; one to the scalp, one to the shoulder, one to your leg, and one near your heart.”

         “That’s correct.  What’s the problem?”

         “He said on the phone that he removed three bullets.”

         “The bullet to my scalp only grazed it.  There was nothing to remove.”

         “Who performed the surgery?  And what hospital were you in?”

         “I was in Mercy Medical.  Dr. Quimby and one other surgeon performed the surgery.  I had gotten in the middle of a gang war, quite by accident.”

         She studied the letter.  “When he called he told us you would only be gone for one month.  It’s been six weeks.”

         “He just told me yesterday that I could come back to work.  You have his reinstatement letter.  He also said he called here.”

         “Yes he did.  Have you read our handbook of employment?”

         “Yes.”

         “Then you are aware of the policies at Willard.”

         “Yes.”

         “Then I would ask you to remove your scarf.  There is no headgear allowed inside the building.”

         Sarah removed the scarf.  She had put it on to hide the scar over her left ear, and the shortened hair, which started to grow back.

         “I’m sorry.  All this time I thought you were looking for another job.  I was told to fire you when you showed up today.”

         “Didn’t you check on the fact that I was in the hospital?  If this company feels so strongly about people who are sick, maybe I should look for another job.”

         “That won’t be necessary.  I can see that you have been truthful with us.  We will send these papers in to the insurance.  You may go to work now.”

         “Two gang members died in the gang war I found myself caught in the middle of.  I was in the hospital, in ICU for two weeks, fighting for my life.  Not once did anyone from here check to see if my claim that I was unable to work was fact or myth.”

         “We checked out Dr. Quimby.”

         “I worried for six weeks whether I would have a job when I walked in here today, and the best you can tell me is to take off my headscarf.  The only reason I’m wearing it is because I don’t want people to stare at my short hair or the visible scar above my ear.  You don’t care whether I work here or not, you as much as said so.  I’m supposed to be grateful for your lack of welcome back?  You just dismiss me, and I should be grateful I still have a job.  I am.  I’m just not at all happy with the reception.  I got more of a welcome home from my dog, Sophie.”

         “You better go to work before I change my mind and hand you the pink slip I have ready.”

         “I’m not surprised this company has the high turnover it has.  Don’t say it.  I’m going.  Thanks for the warm welcome back.  By the way, would it be possible to get new medical cards?  My purse was stolen at the time of the accident six weeks ago.”

         “I’ll have new cards issued.”

         “Thank you.”

         Sarah was understandably upset when she entered her cubicle.  She set her purse next to her desk.  She noticed the work placed there for her looked through it and groaned at the amount and the due dates stamped on each.  They weren’t going to ease her back into her work.  She had no choice, as she got right at it.

         Later that morning her supervisor entered her cubicle.  “May I have a word with you?”

         “Yes, of course.”  Sarah stored her work and minimized her computer screen before she followed Mr. Bolin to his office.

         “Have a seat.  Over the past several weeks, we’ve had to assign your work to other members of the department.  That was a great inconvenience to us.”

         “I’m sorry.  I’m sure that had I been paying more attention to my surroundings six weeks ago, I wouldn’t have gotten caught in the crossfire of a gang dispute.”

         “That scar over your ear.  I was unaware.  I’m surprised then you are already back to work.”

         She self-consciously put her hand to the scar.  “I wouldn’t be, but I convinced the doctor who took care of me that my job was neither stressful nor physical.  That I sat at a computer and worked on CAD drawings for an architectural firm.”

         “So you have restricted work?”

         “No.”

         “In that case I expect to see the same quality work you were doing before you had your accident.”

         “Yes sir.  May I go back to work now?”

         “Yes, of course.”

         Her phone was ringing as she entered the house.  “Hello?”

         “How was your first day back?”

         “Josiah hi, it was terrifying.  I was almost fired as soon as I walked in, and then my supervisor called me into his office and told me that my work would have to stay at the same level of quality.”

         “What did HR say about the letter?”

         “Nothing, there aren’t any restrictions on it.  For which I’m thankful.  I’m sure there would have been a worse reaction to my being back.”

         “What aren’t you telling me?”

         “I got angry with Mrs. Gorman and her attitude, and I almost lost my job.”

         “Talk to me.”

         “It’s okay.  I still have my job, but they’re slamming me with work.  I had a pile of work on my desk, and the due dates give me just enough time to get them done.”

         “Is that why I’ve been calling for the past couple hours.  You’re stressing on your job again, as well as working late?”

         “I’m fine.”

         “Have you eaten yet?”

         “I was just about to fix myself something to eat.  Don’t worry.  I’m eating.”

         “Any breaks today?”

         “You sound like my doctor.”

         “Just concerned.”

         “Well for your information then, I’m back on my old routine.”

         “Take some fruit with you to work or a box of raisins that you can nibble on.  It’ll help in the long run.”

         “Sorry, not allowed to eat at our desks.  Gotta run, my spaghetti is about to boil over.”

         “Don’t overdo it.”

         “I can’t promise, like I said, I need this job.”

         Over the next several weeks, they gave Sarah more work than normal, and deadlines on her work were closer together.  She knew they watched her work, and because there was more of it, she stayed later at night to complete the assignments on time.  The stress started to give her headaches, and her work came under severe condemnation.

         She was in Mr. Bolin’s office about one of the assignments she had recently turned in.

         “I told you when you came back that your work had to be quality.  This isn’t quality.”  He tapped the drawings on his desk.  “You’re drawings aren’t up to spec and you have code violations.”

         Sarah knew it wasn’t true, unless someone had tampered with her drawings.  “Can I see what the problem is?”

         He pushed the drawings her way.  “It’s the Wilson account.  It’s the one with the pool in the back yard.”

         A headache started in the back of her head.  She looked at the drawings she had been very careful about and saw the changes, but how could she prove it?  “I’ll take this back and rework it.  You should have this back by tonight before I leave.”

         “Good.  One more mistake like this one and you won’t need to rework any more of your drawings.”

         “Yes sir.”  Sarah stood to leave when a pain shot through her temples, and she clutched the sides of her head as a black curtain descended.

         She opened her eyes to find Dr. Quimby standing over her in the emergency room.  “What happened?”

         “I was going to ask you that.  According to your supervisor you put your hands to your temples and fainted.”

         “How long have I been here?”  Sarah tried to sit up but was too weak and fell back on her pillow.

         “Take it easy.  You’ve been here an hour.  They called me because my name was on the insurance papers, and you had referenced me as your doctor of record.”  He took a seat next to the gurney she lay on, and grabbed a wrist.

         “I’ve been working late, and getting headaches.”

         “What about the pain medication I prescribed?

         “It’s in my cupboard.”

         “Have you taken any for your headaches?”

         “It’s not necessary.  They’re usually gone soon after I get home.”

         “That’s not the point of the medication.  I gave it to you because you have these headaches.  Even though I found out what caused all your problems, doesn’t mean you wouldn’t be under any undue stress from your job.  From the couple phone calls I made to Willard, I knew you were under a lot of stress, and there was likely to be trouble, even though you assured me there wouldn’t be.”

         “I wasn’t expecting any trouble, but lately it just seems like they are finding excuses to fire me.”

         “How so?”

         “My work is reworked after I submit it.  The house plans I turned in this morning had code violations on them when my supervisor called me to his office.  There was plenty of time between when I handed them to him and when he summoned me back to his office to tamper with my drawings.”

         He handed her a paper cup with two pills in it.  “For your headache, I know I don’t need to prescribe anymore for you.  No doubt the bottle in your cupboard hasn’t been opened.”

         She looked guilty.  “It hasn’t.”

         “You carry it with you in your purse from now on.  Take one at the onset of a headache, and you’ll be fine.”

         She took the paper cup from him, dumped the pills in her mouth, and washed it down with the water he gave her.

         “How’s it going between you and Mr. Christopherson?”

         “It’s not.  He took me out on one date the night you cleared me for work, but I’ve been very busy since.”

         “You don’t call him?”

         “You really are a matchmaker aren’t you?”

         “He hasn’t called you?”

         “Well.”

         “And you didn’t return his calls?  Giving him the brush-off?”

         “Not really.  I’ve been much too busy.  I’ve been working late.”

         “Going through the park on your way home?”

         “No.  I go around, once after dark was enough.”

         “Good girl.”

         “Can I go home now?”

         “Have you thought about talking to someone about your feelings about your work?”

         “No one would listen.  They would believe I was trying to blame my bad work on someone else.”

         “Josiah Christopherson is a pretty good listener.  I’m sure he would be more than happy to listen to your concerns.  He was pretty concerned about you when you were in the hospital the last time.”

         “He’s all right, but he has his own work and worries.  I’m quite sure he has his own deadlines to meet.  He told me he writes for some kind of crime magazine.

         “He’s not too busy to check in on a friend.  He’s waiting outside to find out how you are.”

         “You called him?”

         “You needed a ride home.”

         “That really wasn’t necessary.  I’m sure he has more important things to do than to chauffer me around.”

         “Do you like your work?”

         “Yes, but sometimes I wish I could do more.”

         “In what way?”

         “I’d like to go the extra mile for the person.  Get to know what they want in a home.”

         “What would you do?”

         “Find out what the full potential of each room is, so that I can really make their dreams come true.  Isn’t that what a home is?  Someone’s dream home?  They know what they want.  Sometimes the person doesn’t exactly know how to express what they want in a home.  They see a picture of a drawing and instead of customizing it; they stick to the plan.  In the long-run they aren’t happy with the home they’ve built and they move, or build another.  By that time, they’ve had a chance to talk with other homeowners and now they have an arsenal of questions to ask the contractor.  By then it’s too late for the company I work with.  They deal strictly in the designs that are already drawn up, no deviation, unless they can be talked into paying a large difference up front.”

         “I see what you mean.  My clinic is a renovated home.  I had to have a lot of work done to it in order to have it up to specs.”

         “And I’ll bet you have a separate circuit breaker for it.”

         “I do.”

         “You said you live next to the clinic.  Is the clinic just as old as your home?  I know all the homes in the area have been here for quite some time.  I’ve often taken walks with Sophie around the neighborhood just to look at the architecture.  I enjoy trying to date the time period of the house.”

         “Yes, it’s just as old.”

         “So when you decide to move your practice out of this very rich neighborhood you live in, you could customize it to fit your needs.”

         “I’m needed in this neighborhood, but let me do some checking.  I know a firm that just might work for you.  Who knows you may come away with a better job.”

         “In the meantime can I go back to work today?”

         “No.  I want you home resting.  I am going to give you a work release for tomorrow.  Not before and there will be restrictions this time.”

         “That will go over well.”

         “No overtime, eight hours per day only.”

         “That’s another day without pay.”

         “I take it your employment doesn’t give sick days.”

         “Sure they do.  It’s called a pink-slip.  You never see the person again.”

         “I’m sure you will still have your job, seeing that you came by ambulance from work.  Like I said Mr. Christopherson is waiting outside.”

         “But...All right.  Where did they put my clothes?”

         “Under the gurney.  I’ll be at the station when you’re ready.  Need any help down from there?  I know they make them a little high off the floor.”

         “Thank you.”

         She hurried to dress and pushed the call button when she was ready.  Moments later Josiah entered a concerned look on his face, with a wheelchair.

         “Your chariot awaits.  I’ve been worried about you.  You never returned my calls.”

         She sat in the chair and he wheeled her out of the room.  “I’m sorry.  I’ve never had anyone worry about me before.”

         “Then its time someone started.  I’ve had quite a talk with Dr. Quimby.  He said something about a place that would better fit you for a job.  I know the owner and I agree with him.  He told me what you would like to do for a customer.”

         “I want to take them from start to finish on their home.  Make it exclusively theirs instead of someone else’s idea of a dream home.”

         “Just let me know when you want me to take you for an interview.”

         “Who says I will depend on anybody?  If I set up an interview, I’ll make sure I can get there.”

         “And if you can’t?”

         “Look, I know what Dr. Quimby is trying to do.  It just so happens I like being independent.”

         “You know what you need is someone to look after you.”

         “I’ve been fine on my own.  In fact I prefer it.”

         “No one really likes to be alone, no one.”

         “What do you know?  I’ve always been alone.”

         “I know, and anytime I’ve tried to get a little close you push me away.  A guy of my fragile disposition could get a complex about that.”

         She turned a dimpled smile to him.  “I doubt it.  I’m sure your girlfriend keeps you in check.”

         “I haven’t had the time to find a girlfriend.  My work keeps me busy.  Besides, I had thought you might qualify for the position.”

         She looked up at him and quickly turned away from him.  She had found out he wasn’t married, but to find out he wasn’t serious about anyone, put a new light on the situation.  They stopped at the nurse’s station.

         “Here is your new get out of jail free card.  Take those pills at the start of a headache, and don’t be afraid to talk to someone, it will help a great deal,” Dr. Quimby said.

         She took the letter from him.  “Thanks.  I’ll try to remember.”

         “Do more than that.  Do it, then I won’t see you here anymore.”

         “I don’t want to be here either.”

         He turned to Josiah.  “Take her and get her something to eat.  She looks like she’s lost ten pounds since I released her a month ago.”

         “I agree.”

         “I eat my share,” Sarah said.

         “Not by the looks of you,” Dr. Quimby said.

         “You heard the doctor.  I have orders to take you out to eat.”

         She looked between them.  “I’m not going to win this argument am I?”

         “No,” Josiah and Dr. Quimby said.

         Shortly he helped her into the car and turned it in the direction of a fast food restaurant.  “Burgers or salad?”

         “Sub.”

         “Okay.”

         Later, he dropped her at the house.  “Now that wasn’t so bad was it?”

         She looked at her house with the wooden porch steps and railing, and the porch that ran across the front of the house.  The cedar shake siding gave the house character and a backdrop for the flowers, which surrounded her house.  She turned and looked at him.  “No, that wasn’t so bad.  Would you like to come in for coffee?”

         “Is it allowed?”

         “I think I can trust you.  Besides, I’m sure Sophie will want to know why I’m so late.”

         “Good idea, maybe then you can tell me why you never returned any of my calls.”

         She looked across the seat at him.  “I had a lot of work to do.  I worked late again, and as I told Dr. Quimby I did not take the shortcut through the park on my way home.”

         “You still walk home?”

         She could see and hear his concern.  “Yes.  I told you before that I prefer to walk.”

         “It’s still dangerous to walk alone in this neighborhood.”

         “I’m careful.  I stick to the more traveled streets.  It takes longer but I get home safe.”

         “What are you afraid of?”

         She saw and heard the concern as he studied her face.  “You know we had a nice first date, but.”

         “But?  I was hoping it wasn’t the last as well.  I thought we had a good time, but the way you’ve been avoiding me I have to wonder.”

         She looked down at her hands clasped in her lap, before she looked up at him.  “I did have a good time.  You were a perfect gentleman.  I appreciated that.  It’s just that, well.  I.”  Her voice fell silent as she opened the door got out of the car and headed up the walk to the house.

         He closed the car door and hurried after her.  “Hey!”

         She turned back to him before she climbed the porch steps.  “I invited you in for coffee, didn’t I?”

         He stopped in front of her, and looked down at her.  “Yes, you did, and I’m accepting only to find out why you haven’t returned my calls, and because Doc said you need to talk to someone, and I am a good listener.”

         “Yeah, that’s what he said.”

         She led the way up the stairs and opened the door.

         Sophie almost ran out to meet them.  “Hey girl.  How’s Sarah been treating you?”

         She led the way into the house, and closed the door behind him, while Sophie danced around her.  “I treat her very well I’ll have you know.”  Sarah looked at her.  “Want a treat?”

         She gave a low bark of agreement as Sarah got a treat for her and she took it to her rug.

         Josiah watched Sarah and Sophie, before he turned to her.  “And who treats you very well Sarah Whitaker?”

         She ran water for coffee and took the canister from the cupboard.  “I take care of myself.”

         He sat at the table and watched her.  “I worry about you.  I hope you realize that.”

         She held the coffee pot under the water and turned it off when it was full, before she turned to look at him.  He sat at the end of the table, his arms held up in front of him with his hands folded inside of each other in front of his face.  She turned away from the sight of his concern.  “Yeah right.  The last time someone was worried about me was.”  She stopped to think about it.  “I don’t think anyone ever was.”

         “Why do you doubt what I tell you?”

         “Well for one thing, we’ve only had one date.  The most I’ve seen you is in the hospital, for which I’m glad nothing came of it today.”

         “No, but Doc Quimby was worried just the same.  He really didn’t think he would see you again so soon.”

         She poured the water in the back of the coffee pot, put grounds in the basket, set the carafe on the plate, and sat at the opposite end of the table from him.  “I don’t need anybody.”

         “Yes you do.  I knew that the first time I walked in your hospital room.  I saw you lying there helpless, tubes running everywhere, and I wondered who you were, and if I would get a chance to know you.”

         “For your magazine.”

         “It’s not always for the magazine.  Yes, I admit most of what I wanted to know back then was for the magazine, but not all.  You intrigued me, and when you woke up and looked at me in that special way you have, well, I just wanted to get to know you more.”

         “If you’re going to suggest what I think you’re going to suggest, forget it.  I’ve been that route before and.”  She stopped and looked at him as she realized what she was about to reveal to him.

         “And you don’t want to get hurt again.  What happened?”

         “I invited you in for coffee.”

         “You need to talk to somebody.  You can’t keep everything all bottled up inside you like it is.”

         She heard the coffee dripping into the pot, and the tick of the clock as she thought about what she would rather forget.

         “You need to talk about it sooner or later.  Why not talk to me?  Why not now?”

         “I don’t know you.”

         He stood to his feet and walked to the other end of the table.  She stood to her feet to get away from him.  He stopped, raised his hands, and dropped them.  “Look, I won’t say I’m not attracted to you.  You’re a very beautiful woman.”

         “Just so you know, I don’t jump into bed at the first sign of.”

         “Of what?  I just want to get to know you.  You intrigue me.  You think because I said you’re beautiful that I’m going to rush you into your bedroom and have my way with you?  Is that what you think?  You’re wrong.  Not all men think with their hormones, and I’ve had mine in check for a while now.”

         “Then why do you keep calling, if not for the magazine you’re working on, or for a one night stand?”

         “When I walked into your hospital room the first time, before you woke up, and saw you lying there unconscious, there was something about you that I wanted to get to know, and not just for the magazine.  You looked so fragile and innocent, and I didn’t want to be the one to crush all your illusions of life.”

         “Sorry, my illusions have already been crushed, a long time ago.”

         The coffee finished dripping and she grabbed two cups from the cupboard.  “I don’t know you well enough to divulge my life story.”

         She had two cups in her hand as he turned her and looked down in her eyes.  “I’m not looking for your life story.  I want to know you, and I want to take care of you.”

         She shook her head as she turned away, poured coffee into both cups and gave him one.  “Your coffee, it’s the least I can do for picking me up, taking me to get something to eat, and bringing me home.”

         He set the cup on the table.  “Is that all it is for you?”

         She got angry.  “I don’t want any more from anyone.  I want to be left alone.  I want to go on like before all this happened.”  Tears started down her cheeks.

         “No you don’t.  There was something at the restaurant, I felt it, and I am quite certain you did too.”

         She brushed the tears away and sat at the table.  “I’ve been alone for a long time.”

         “Too long.  It’s time you had someone take care of you.”

         She felt defensive as she brushed the tears from her cheeks and took a sip of coffee.  “You can’t be paying too close attention to your work if you’re worried about me.”

         “Don’t worry about my work.  I can do several things at once.”

         “The macho man with the wide shoulders who can do everything, even rescue damsels in distress and solve the gang problem all with the trusty end of a pencil, or rather a computer and keyboard.”

         “I can’t do everything.  Those kids need help.  I can only do what they are willing to let me help them with.  Some are really hard core, like that Georgie fellow.  He’s the leader of the Latin Kings.  He feels he has a vendetta with the whole world.  And as for the damsel in distress, she doesn’t want my help.  She can take care of herself with no help from anyone else.”

         “You seem to know a lot about them for a journalist.”

         “Sometimes you have to get close to your subjects.  Most of the time they won’t let you.  They don’t trust anyone except their own, and then not even that most of the time.”

         “What about his parents?”  She felt safer as she steered the subject away from herself.

         He took a long drink of coffee as he leaned against the table.  “He only has a mother and doesn’t understand she cares about him.  His father walked out when he was a baby, and his mother is holding down two jobs to support him and his brother, who is also involved in the gang.  He looks up to his brother, thinks he’s the best.”

         “So if they won’t talk to you, how do you find out so much about them?”

         “I talk to the parents, or parent, as is the case most of the time.  If there is a two-parent family, one of the parents is out of the home most of the time and doesn’t have time for his kids.  I hear about the fights, and I go to the hospital to see if anyone will talk to me.  By that time the mother usually is.  She doesn’t understand.  That is her child in the room, sometimes fighting for his or her life.  Yes, their girlfriends get just as involved as the guys, sometimes more so.  There are gangs of women too, and they fight worse than the guys most of the time, but then it was their boyfriends who taught them all they know.”

         “And then you write about them.  What good does it do?”

         “They know someone cares.  At least the parents do.  The kids don’t want the interference.”

         “Where do I fit in with your scheme of things?”

         He set his cup down and turned to her.  “Are you trying to justify my concern for you?”

         She squirmed under his regard.  “I was there, caught in the middle.”

         “Yes and the reason why you were intrigued me.  It left me with many unanswered questions.  You were an innocent victim of a terrible misfortune.  Those kids didn’t even look back to see whether you were all right.  They were just grateful they weren’t hurt or killed as they scattered like roaches into the night.”

         “They took my purse.  I’ve had to get another, as well as a new Bible.  And I’m about to lose my job.”

         “You don’t know that.”

         “Don’t I?  They were looking for excuses to fire me.  That’s why I was working extra long hours.  They pulled in the deadlines on me.  I told you they don’t take kindly to anyone being sick.  People are there to work, nothing else.”

         “I’m surprised you lasted this long.”

         She was again the subject of his perusal.  In frustration, she went into the living room, fed her fish, and checked her phone messages.  There was one from her mother about a birthday party that weekend.  A frown crossed her face before she looked up at him.  “I’m good at what I do, and before now, I’ve never been sick.”

         “Are you going to the party?”

         She looked at the phone and shrugged.  “I really should, but I really don’t want to.”

         “Why?”

         She looked at him before she sat again in a chair at the table.  “If I go, they’ll make me feel like I’m worthless.  They’ll say or do something to belittle me.  It always happens.”

         “Why do you let them?”

         “If I go, would you go with me?”

         “As your shield?  I’m sorry, but I don’t allow anyone to use me.”

         She looked into her cup, took a sip, and looked at him.  “I’m sorry.  It was unfair of me.  We barely know each other.”

         “I want to change that.”

         “Why?”

         “I thought you would have guessed by now.  I’m interested in you.”

         “Why?”

         “As a journalist, I like to read.  I’ve always been interested in the chivalrous age.  When men dressed in armor and went out to defend their lady and their king.”

         “So you’ve come to my rescue, the damsel in distress.  There aren’t any knights in shining armor anymore.”

         “Chivalry is dead.  I know.  I’m trying to resurrect it.”

         “You’re very different Mr. Christopherson.  I’ve never had anyone come to my rescue before.”

         “I’m glad to do it.  Sophie needs you, so do your fish.”

         “How do my fish need me?”

         “They need to be fed.  I’m sure they notice when things are out of order.”

         “You’re giving them more credit than they are capable of.”

         “Oh I don’t know.  They need to be fed, and what do they do when you go and watch them?”

         “They go into hiding.”

         “Just like you.  I think it’s time you came out of hiding and let someone take care of you.”

         “And I suppose you’ve elected yourself for that job?”

         “I don’t see anyone else fighting for the position.”

         “You won’t either.  No one ever cared whether I lived or died, certainly not my loving family.”

         “So you won’t mind if I pay you some extra attention.”

         “I’m pretty set in my ways.  After all it’s just been me and Sophie, and my fish for a few years now.”

         “I won’t go away.”

         “You have put me at a disadvantage.”

         “I like your disadvantage.  You need to know that someone cares.”

         “And you care?”

         “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

         She took their empty cups, washed them up, put them back in the cupboard, and remembered the conversation about her flowers and plates.  Everything was in their proper order, but suddenly her life didn’t feel like it.  She turned back to see him with a grin on his face.  “What are you grinning at?”

         “You.  I get the feeling you’ve just taken a step in trusting me.”

         “I trust people.”

         “No you don’t.  That’s why you’re such a loner.”

         “You are too.  You’re not married yet, and don’t even have a girlfriend.”

         “I’m not a loner.  I have many friends and I go out with the boys on Friday night.  We either go out to the bar, or we play poker until the a.m.”

         “There you see.  We could never see eye to eye.  I don’t go to bars, and I don’t know if I could handle someone staying out all night like that.”

         He went into the living room and sat on the couch.  “You’ve never had a boyfriend have you?”

         She followed and sat across from him.  “I did.  They had other ideas about what a date was.  I’m not like that.”

         “What are you like?”

         She looked at him.  “You don’t want to know.”

         “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know.”

         She hesitated.  “I’m a Christian.”

         “I know that.  Your Bible reading is pretty important to you.”

         “But not you.”

         “No.  I haven’t gone to church in a long time.”

         “Why?”

         “It’s complicated.  Maybe sometime I’ll talk about it, but we are far from that kind of relationship.  You’re not ready for any kind of closeness.”

         “So I’m going to be your experiment.”

         “I didn’t say that.”

         “I get that idea though.”

         “You’re afraid of change.”

         “I guess I am.  I have a pretty set routine, but nothing has been the same since I was shot in the park.”

         He stood to his feet and headed for the door.  “Tell you what.  I’m going to let you think on it for a little while.  Thanks for the coffee.  I’ll see you tomorrow.  Get some rest.”

         “Tomorrow.”  She walked him to the door, then turned on the television and soon turned it off again and picked up her Bible and read for awhile.