Juliette and the Monday ManDates

by Becky Doughty

  "I should have come clean weeks ago, but I was too chicken. Juliette, I know we haven't spent much time together." He set his cup down and leaned back in his chair. "You know, this all sounded a lot better in my head."

  "It always does," she grunted derisively.

  "Come." He pushed himself up and reached for her hand, pulling her up beside him. "Let's go outside. I'm feeling a little claustrophobic." He led her out the sliding glass doors to the little patio where she and Gia had eaten breakfast earlier that day—was it only this morning?—their blankets still piled on the patio chairs. Victor picked one up and draped it around her shoulders, then threw the other around his own. They stood side-by-side, hand-in-hand, staring up into the midnight sky filled with wispy pre-winter clouds against a black background pin-pricked with stars. They were silent for so long Juliette wondered if he'd forgotten what he was going to say.

  "I think I'm falling in love with you." His voice was gentle, just like his touch. There was no preamble, no beating around the bush. "No, I know that I'm falling in love with you."

  When he didn't continue, she peeked up at him. He was still gazing up at the sky, but she was pretty sure he was professing his love to her and not the stars.

  "It seems I've known it for a long time, maybe even since the first night I came here and you met me at the door in that robe. But it was after having pie with you and the Petersons that I finally realized I needed to do something about it. Then when I didn't see you at church again, I thought maybe I'd come on too strong and scared you off. The way I felt was pretty terrifying, you know. To me, at least. Now I realize what a fool I've been, waiting until...until—" He turned so that he was facing her and took hold of her other hand, pulling her just a little closer, cupping both her hands in his and pressing them to his chest.

  "Juliette, I don't know what I was waiting for. Maybe a lightning bolt from God, or a flashing billboard sign that said, 'Go get her, man.' But I'm sorry I waited. And I'm so sorry about tonight and the way things happened here. I wish I hadn't gone next door. I wish I hadn't taken Bob with me. I—I even wish Mike had done things right by you tonight, instead of showing up here in the state he was in." Even in the shadows, she could see the regret in his eyes.

  "I wish I had done things differently tonight here, myself, Juliette. I shouldn't have left your side, not even when the officer questioned you." The urgency in his voice made her hold her breath. "But I can't change what happened here. And I can't change the way I've handled things up until tonight. All I can do is ask you to forgive me, and let me try to change things from here on out." He took a deep breath and continued before she could speak. She couldn't find her voice anyway.

  "And, um, here's the other half of my confession." He looked away then, out over the small back yard, the small square of grass bordered by colorful flowers still blooming valiantly in the Southern California mild fall weather. Beneath her hands he still held pressed to his chest, she could feel his heart beating at least as raucously as her own, and it made her smile despite her trepidation over what he might say next.

  Finally, he looked back down at her, his gaze steady. "I read your list tonight, the one on your night stand. I shouldn't have, but I'm glad I saw it. I have a lot of work to do, Juliette, but I want my name to be at the top of that page. I want those things to be about me, not just some guy you're looking for. I love you, and I want to be your champion, Juliette." He dipped his head until their foreheads touched. His voice was little more than a whisper. "Please tell me if you think you could ever love me, too."

  Her throat was so tight it almost hurt. She pulled her hands from his grasp, not missing the catch in his breathing as she did. She dropped the blanket from around her shoulders and did what she'd been longing to do all night. She stepped into his arms and pressed her body close to his as he enveloped her, wrapping them both in a cocoon of warmth. Her cheek rested against his chest and she listened to the pounding of his heart, the sound of his love for her.

  "I don't think, Victor," she murmured. "I know I love you, too."

  Next door, the slider door swished closed gently, followed by muffled yapping. "Your neighbor is still a nosy busy-body." His voice rumbled in his chest against her ear.

  "I think she probably fancies herself a matchmaker, too." Juliette smiled and tipped her head back to look up at him. He brought his hands up and gently cupped her face, kissing first one cheek, then the other, then ever so tenderly, the un-bruised side of her mouth.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  JULIETTE AND VICTOR were nestled together on the patio bench in their blankets, talking quietly over their coffee, when Gia finally made an appearance.

  "I'm going to jump in the shower, Jules. Do you have an extra toothbrush? I can't find mine anywhere."

  Victor guffawed and Juliette got up to show her where she kept her stock. When they were in the hallway, Gia grabbed Juliette's hand. "Oh. My. Gosh!" she whispered, her eyes all lit up. "We were outside talking while Mr. Bobo did his thing before bed, and you two came out. What were we supposed to do? So we just shushed each other and listened, not wanting to break the mood. Oh. My. Gosh!" she said again. Then she pulled up short.

  "Jules? Are you okay? Did Mike—?"

  "I'm fine, Gia. I promise." Juliette leaned forward and planted a kiss on her little sister's cheek. "I'm a little battered, both body and spirit, but I'm okay. I have you, I have Victor, I have Bob, Mrs. Cork, Ren, Phoebe, and I have God. I'm better than okay."

  Gia smiled and hugged her warmly. Juliette forced herself not to flinch as her sister squeezed her bruised shoulder. "Victor. Wow." Then Gia brought her fists up to her mouth and squealed into her hands. "He's so awesome!"

  "Yes. He is," Juliette preened. "And I'm going back outside to snuggle with Mr. Awesome now, okay? Do you have everything you need?"

  "I'm good."

  "Come out when you're done."

  "Um, I think I'll just chill in the living room and watch a movie. You know, give you two lovebirds a little extra canoodle time, okay?" Gia slipped into the bathroom with a wink and a wave, and Juliette floated back outside.

  Victor asked her several times if she was tired, if she needed to get to sleep, until she finally threatened to send him home. "I'm a big girl, Officer Jarrett. I will go to bed when I'm good and ready. You're not keeping me out here." Then she reconsidered. "Actually, you are. But only because I want you to keep me out here."

  He hugged her and she winced. "Juliette. You are hurt, aren't you?"

  His voice was so gentle. She looked at him with hesitance in her eyes.

  "It's okay," he said. "You can trust me."

  So Juliette told him about the endless twenty minutes she'd spent alone with Mike.

  Then Victor kissed her and told her about his sisters and about how afraid he was of her sisters.

  Juliette laughed and felt the pieces of her life beginning to fit back together.

  When it got too cold, they moved inside to the sofa. Gia, lulled to sleep by the trailer music of the movie she'd had every intention of watching, was curled up in the over-sized armchair, Bob sprawled at her feet.

  Juliette turned off the television and tucked a blanket around her sister, who didn't stir, then tucked herself into the arms of the man who looked at her as though she was the center of every breath.

  She told Victor about Angela Clinton, and how everywhere she went, the Lord seemed to be whispering the girl's name in her ear.

  Victor told her about knowing his real name but not his real dad.

  Juliette kissed the spot over his heart and whispered, "Poor little James." Then she told him about her motorcycle ride with Trevor and the moment she gave the broken pieces of her life to Christ.

  Victor frowned and said he'd better look into getting himself a bike. Juliette grinned and said, "I'd ride with you any day, Mr. Manly-Man."

  Then he told her about his mother and promised to protect her from the dragon queen, Loreena. "I am your champion, after all." />
  Juliette explained her mother's Frenchness and her father's Swedishness and assured him that Grandpa and Granny G were going to love him. "You are my champion, after all."

  THE MORNING SUN PEEKED hesitantly through the slats of the blinds at the front window, gently nudging the two love-birds on the sofa awake. Juliette looked down at the hard pillow she'd been sleeping on and remembered that it was Victor's chest. Victor looked down at the wild disarray of black hair spilled across the front of his shirt and remembered that it belonged to the most beautiful fluffy pink—and black and blue—duck he'd ever met.

  A light tapping on the front door roused them, and Bob leapt to his feet, untangling himself from the blankets. He charged the door, barking his greeting, and Victor followed him, his hair rumpled and his shirt crooked. Stepping back to allow Mrs. Cork and Mr. Bobo inside, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply of the aromas wafting in with them.

  "Slumber party?" she asked, as she passed through the living room into the kitchen, eying Juliette who still lay curled beneath a blanket on the sofa. She was awake, and smiled gingerly.

  "Good morning, Mrs. Cork!" Gia called from the bathroom where she was already up and getting ready for work. "Mr. Bobo!" she cried, as the little dog raced down the hall and into the bathroom to find her, Bob scurrying after him.

  Mrs. Cork set her things down on the counter. "You two know this is the last time you're allowed to spend the night together until after you're married. I'll not tolerate lascivious behavior in my neighborhood." Gia and the dogs scampered into the kitchen. "So? Did they behave themselves last night, Gia? Or are we going to have to call in the big guns?"

  "Please don't. Renata scares me." Victor had followed Mrs. Cork into the kitchen and tried to reach around her to lift the lid off the casserole. She smacked his wrist with the dishtowel she held.

  "Hands off, Mister."

  "I'll have you know, Mrs. Cork, that woman in there wouldn't keep her hands off of me all night long. I'm exhausted from resisting her wicked charms. I need sustenance." He reached for the casserole again, but Mrs. Cork shook her head.

  "Not working. And don't bother trying to make me blush either. I'll have you know that I was a very happily married woman at one time. You've got nothing on Mr. Cork, son. Hubba-hubba."

  "Mrs. Cork!" Gia gasped, breaking into giggles. "Hubba-hubba?"

  While Juliette and Victor washed up, Gia helped Mrs. Cork prepare for breakfast. Victor leaned against the bathroom door jamb and watched Juliette's reflection in the mirror.

  She met his gaze, her eyes telling him everything words could not.

  Over an egg and sausage casserole to die for, Juliette assured everyone that she was all right. The swelling around her mouth had indeed gone down, and although there was a nasty gash on the inside of her lip where it mashed against her teeth, the split itself wasn't as bad as the amount of blood had indicated.

  Mrs. Cork gave her a tin of homemade salve. "I'm an old lady and I know all about dry, cracked skin, Juliette. I make this myself because it works better than anything I've ever found over the counter. You try it on that lip of yours; it'll heal in no time. You'll see."

  Satisfied her sister was well-looked-after, Gia hurried off to work shortly after breakfast, ready to whip up some excellent coffee for Sunday morning church-goers and weekend warriors.

  Victor and Mrs. Cork straightened the kitchen and living room while Juliette showered and tried to make the best of her bruised face. Mrs. Cork's balm felt heavenly on her lips; whatever was in it, the woman knew what she was doing. Then the three of them headed out to the patio to enjoy the morning sunshine and a second—third, in Victor's case—cup of coffee, while the dogs chased each other in circles all over the back yard.

  "Thank you again for breakfast, Mrs. Cork," Juliette sighed contentedly from inside the circle of Victor's arms. "I can't believe how hungry I was. It was delicious."

  "Thank you, Juliette. And I really wish you kids would call me by my first name, if that's not too presumptuous."

  "Well, I suppose if you'll stop calling me Officer Jarrett and try Victor instead, we've got a deal. What shall we call you, then?" Victor asked.

  Mrs. Cork nodded in agreement. "My name is Angela."

  CHAPTER FORTY

  DEAR ANGELA,

  It has been fifteen years since my parents were taken from me. My life shattered into a million pieces that day and I thought I could never be put back together again. But I still had my sisters. I still had my grandparents. I still had my friends. I still had a life ahead of me, regardless of how I chose to live it.

  It has taken me fifteen years to realize that you also lost your parents on that terrible day. But you lost so much more, didn't you? You lost your brother. You lost your friends. You lost your future. I can only pray you did not lose your faith. I seem to remember you were a believer and I hope you have held on to Jesus all these years.

  It has taken fifteen years for me to invite Jesus into my own life and He is ever so gently gathering up all those broken pieces and putting them back together again. Angela, you are one of those pieces. I am sorry for your terrible loss. And I am sorry for the wasted years I've kept both of us chained to my anger, my bitterness, and my unforgiveness.

  I forgive you for what you did to me that day. Please forgive me for what I have done to you every day since.

  Forgiveness. It was like pulling slivers of steel from under the skin. Bitterness, resentment, yes, even hatred, had become familiar pain to him without him even realizing it. As Juliette shared with Victor her own journey toward forgiveness—of Angela, of Mike, even of her parents for abandoning them—his eyes were opened to all the things he'd harbored in his heart against his father, his mother, his sisters, all those who should have had his love. He didn't have to agree with their behavior, he didn't have to participate, but God had called him to be a light in their lives, not to be absent from their lives altogether. Rebuilding burned bridges was difficult; he had his work cut out for him. But he also had Juliette beside him, dealing with the past and facing the future with him.

  Juliette's decision to open her heart to Angela had been easy for him to encourage and support. Honored that she'd asked for his help, he'd pulled some strings to find out more about where Angela was and how she was doing. So far, the news was encouraging, prompting Juliette to move forward with contacting her old classmate.

  Her decision to forgive Mike, however, had all but done him in. When she asked him to go to the hospital in her place the day after Mike's assault, Victor had almost refused. But after an afternoon of angry prayer, and a terse phone call to Tom and Michelle for accountability and more prayer, he'd agreed. He wasn't happy about it, but he would go—in uniform—and bring back a report to Juliette.

  When he entered Mike's hospital room, the nurse who was studying the monitor looked up with a scowl. Her patient's heart rate began to accelerate, and just for a moment, Victor was glad.

  He took off his sunglasses and said what he'd come to say. "Mr. Wilson, I've come on behalf of Juliette Gustafson. I'm here to make sure you're going to live." Well, that wasn't exactly what he'd planned, but the effect those words had on the man in the flimsy hospital gown was probably more to his liking than the polite drivel he'd rehearsed in his head.

  Mike's face fell. "How is she? I hurt her, didn't I?"

  "Yes, you did."

  Mike pressed his fists to his eyes. "Is she going to be okay?"

  "You messed her up pretty badly." Not willing to give the man answers he didn't deserve, Victor crossed his arms and widened his stance, taking up as much space as he could. He was enjoying this.

  The nurse's scowl had changed to a blank slate. He thought she was working hard not to show her newly acquired distaste toward her patient.

  Mike looked up, his eyes filled with what Victor could only guess was supposed to be remorse. "She's going to be okay though, right?"

  "No thanks to you, she is," he stated.

  "Oh God, I'
m a monster." Mike laid his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes, a single tear making a track down the side of his face and into his carefully combed hair. Without looking at Victor, he asked, "What happens now? Are you here to arrest me?"

  It took every ounce of control Victor could muster, but somehow he got the next words past his lips. "Against everyone's advice, Miss Gustafson is not pressing charges, because for some inconceivable reason, she believes better of you than what you gave her. Grace, Mr. Wilson. You don't deserve to be let off the hook." He took a step closer and waited until Mike looked at him. Victor saw the flicker of fear in his eyes, and he felt the echoing flicker of satisfaction in his own heart.

  "However, Mr. Wilson, if you ever, ever lay a hand on my woman again, I will personally come for you. And believe me, charges will be pressed, the kind that you will never find a way out from under." The nurse hummed softly to herself, jotting notes down on the monitor feed. Victor was very aware that the flickering green line spiked a little higher on the screen; so was the nurse. She took note of it, but she didn't seem too concerned.

  Mike nodded, wiped at his eyes with the edge of his sheet, and said, "Whether you believe it or not, I was once a good guy. My pride nearly killed me, though," he waved his hands around, indicating the room where he lay. "And I was ready to take Juliette down with me. I'll always be ashamed of that. But her kindness has given me a second chance, and I won't take it for granted. Please tell her thank you for me."

  Victor didn't say anything at first. He needs forgiveness, Victor. He wrestled with her words. He fought. Hard.

  Then he nodded. "I'll tell her."

  Mike let out his breath in a whoosh and turned to look at the nurse. "You can stop pretending you're not thinking horrible things about me."

  She returned his gaze, her eyes softening a little, and said, "I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Wilson." She reached over and checked the electrodes stuck to his chest, adjusted the oxygen monitor on his finger, and patted his shoulder, perhaps a little harder than necessary. "Your doctor says you'll probably go home this afternoon. Who knows? You might come out of this a better man." Then she scooped up her things and wheeled her little cart out the door ahead of her.