Juliette and the Monday ManDates

by Becky Doughty

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 o
ff 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."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  VICTOR KNEW JULIETTE was aware the moment the door opened; he'd felt her tense against him. Was she hoping they'd think she was asleep and leave her alone? Did that mean she felt safe in his arms? The thought made him feel insanely protective.

  "She's pretty tired. It's been a brutal night," he said, hoping they'd get the hint and not bother her too much.

  "Poor baby." Phoebe slid onto the sofa beside Bob who worked his nose out from under the afghan to greet her.

  "I'm taking her home with me," Renata declared, dropping her purse into a chair. "And just why are you here, Officer Jarrett?"

  Taken aback by the woman's aggression, Victor was momentarily at a loss for words. Finally, he simply said, "She needed me."

  Renata reached up to tighten her ponytail. "Well, we're here now so you're free to go."

  "Renata! Don't be so rude." Phoebe scowled up at her sister then turned back to Juliette and Victor. "We should be thanking you, Officer Jarrett, not dismissing you. I'm so glad you were here. Gia told us you were quite the hero tonight."

  Her words made his gut ache. No, he'd been nothing like a hero tonight. He hadn't been here to keep Mike from hurting her. He hadn't been here to hold her, comfort her, and support her during the ordeal of paramedics and police reports. He hadn't been here when she collapsed, all alone, on the cold garage floor, with only her dog to keep her warm.

  He'd been too busy sniffing her pillow.

  Well, he was going to change that. Right now. He wasn't going to run anymore, not even from scary sisters.

  "I'm no hero," he stated. Then he looked up at Renata. "But I'm not going anywhere unless she wants me to. And I need to hear it from her."

  "Stop talking about me like I'm not here." Juliette's voice was muffled because her face was still pressed to Victor's chest, but no one misunderstood her.

  "Sorry, Jules." Phoebe grinned and reached over to squeeze her big sister's foot.

  Just then, Gia and Mrs. Cork burst through the front door, coming to an abrupt stop at the sight of everyone gathered in the living room.

  "Everyone's gone now," Gia stated, as though she could think of nothing else to say. "How is she?"

  "She's tired, Georgia. I'm going to take her home with me." Renata was still standing, shuffling a little now from foot to foot.

  Juliette lifted her head. "Rennie, sit down. Please. And again, please stop talking about me like I'm not here." Her voice sounded like it was coming from far away, but it was firm, decisive.

  Surprise raced across Renata's face, quickly followed by indignation, but she did what Juliette said and sat primly in the chair, propping her purse on her lap. "I was only answering Georgia's inquiry about you."

  "I know. It's okay." Now Juliette pushed away from Victor just enough to be able to see everyone, but she stayed pressed up against his side. He smiled with satisfaction and pleasure. If she wanted his protection, even from her own over-bearing sisters, he was glad to give it to her. It certainly didn't hurt that she seemed to fit so perfectly against him.

  "Oh my goodness!" Renata gasped. "Your face!"

  "It's just a fat lip."

  "Just a fat lip! Why didn't you go to the hospital?" Renata glared accusingly at Victor, as though he'd somehow prevented Juliette from seeking necessary medical treatment.

  "I'm fine, Ren. It'll be gone in no time; you know how quickly I heal." Juliette lifted a hand and gingerly brushed her fingers over the corner of her mouth, wincing a little. "And although I know you're trying to be nice to me, I'm not going home with you. I'm staying here. This is my home and I have Bob."

  "Bob? Who's Bob?" Renata glared at Victor again. "I thought your name was Victor."

  "Not him, Ren." He felt Juliette tense beside him, but she didn't pull away. "Bob is Tootles. Tootles is Bob." The dog's tail thumbed the sofa cushions at the sound of his names.

  "Tootles? What do you mean, Tootles is Bob?" Then Renata flapped a hand in the air. "Oh never mind. I don't want to know. What I do want to know is where he was when Mike broke in?" Renata wasn't happy about being denied. "Some protector Tootles—"

  "Bob." Victor pressed his lips together to keep from smiling as Juliette corrected her sister on the scruffy dog's name.

  "—Bob is," Renata finished lamely.

  "Bob was next door with me," Victor answered for Juliette. "We walked Mrs. Cork home and were only gone a few minutes."

  "A few minutes?" Renata's eyebrows rose in disbelief. "It only took Mike a few minutes to practically rape my sister?"

  "Hey!" Phoebe shot a warning look in Renata's direction. "Let's be a little more sensitive, shall we? Etre agréable, Ren."

  "This is no time to be nice, Phoebe! We're talking about a crime here! Why is everyone taking this so calmly?"

  "He didn't practically rape me, Ren." Juliette sighed, shaking her head. "He just came to talk." Victor felt his insides twist as he listened to her defend the abusive man, but he said nothing. "I thought...well, I was afraid at first, because I thought he was acting so strangely, but he had some kind of a breakdown, right?" She looked up at him, her eyes large, smudges of fatigue creating half-circles beneath them.

  "That's what they believe, yes." He confirmed her story, although he didn't necessarily believe it himself.

  "He looked awful," Juliette continued. "When he first came in I thought he'd been drinking or something. It was like something in a movie. He was suddenly just there. I was so surprised."

  "Well, why didn't you scream bloody murder? Run?" Renata was still sitting, but just barely, her backside perched on the very edge of the chair. "Why did you let him in at all?"

  "It was Mike, Ren. I didn't think there was any reason to scream. And just to clarify, I didn't let him in. I left the door open for Victor and Bob, and he just walked right in. In fact, I told him he had to leave and that made him angry."

  "Is that when he did that?" Gia interjected, her voice still a little tremulous from all the activity of the night. She put a hand over her own lip in the same spot where Juliette's was split.

  "No! This is Mike we're talking about."

  "Yeah." Phoebe was calm, but the way she said the word made Victor straighten up and look at her over the top of Juliette's head. "This is Mike we're talking about. He's a bad seed, Jules. So if he didn't hit you, where'd you get that fat lip?"

  "He started to fall and I went to catch him. His forehead slammed into my mouth."

  Momentarily relieved, Victor gave her a little squeeze where his hand rested on her shoulder and upper arm. Juliette winced and he immediately lifted his hand.

  "What's the matter?" He eyed her warily. Obviously, she wasn't telling them everything. "Are you hurt?"

  "No, it's okay—ouch!"

  "Liar," said Phoebe smugly, who had reached over and poked Juliette's shoulder. "Take off your shirt. Let's see."

  "I am not going to take off my shirt." J
uliette sat forward, slipping out of the circle of Victor's warmth. "Look. The guy was in pain, okay? He had a death-grip—literally!—on my arm at one point because he could barely stay upright."

  "Liar," Phoebe repeated, sitting back into the sofa and crossing her arms. Victor couldn't stand it any longer.

  "If this Mike guy's visit was so innocent, why was Bob locked in the garage? And why were the two of you in the bedroom when I found you? With the door closed?"

  Juliette turned and stared at him for a long time, her eyes glistening with unshed tears of betrayal. Then she pushed herself up, swayed a little, but waved his helping hand away. "Et tu, Brute?" He lifted his hand toward her again and she took a shaky step back. "Don't touch me. You're just as bad as they are." Then she turned to face the rest of the room. "Why don't you all go home now. I'm going to bed. Come on, Bob." She patted her thigh and the dog leapt off the couch and came to her side.

  She made her way across the living room and paused in front of her neighbor and the uncharacteristically silent Mr. Bobo. "Good night, Mrs. Cork. Thank you for coming to church with me. I'm glad we're friends." She hugged her quickly, squeezing a little yip out of the dog, then turned back to face the others. "Goodnight, empresses. This unofficial G-FOURce is officially over." She nodded once at Victor. "Officer."

  He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth together as she exited the room. Some kind of champion he was turning out to be. Why was he always so ready to think badly of her? And even worse, let her know it? Faithful? Committed? Loyal enough to believe in her? Ha! Not once in the weeks—no, months—since he'd met her, had she tried to manipulate, lie, or coerce him into doing, or being, or thinking anything that he shouldn't. Why was he so afraid to simply trust her? He felt a hand on his forearm and opened his eyes to find Phoebe leaning toward him.

  "Why don't you—"

  "Please," he interrupted her, pushing himself up off the couch. "Please don't tell me what you think I should do, okay?" The costumed woman sat back again, eyebrows arched.

  "Well, then, what are you going to do?" she asked, sarcasm and challenge dripping from each word.

  "For starters, I'm going to send all you ladies home." He pointed at the spot he'd just vacated. "Then I'm going to crash right here on this sofa for the night."