by Alice Audrey
Her mother had always told Diane to put her career first because you couldn’t really count on a man, but her grandparents were the exact opposite. They lived the way Diane wanted to, as a good woman taking care of a good man. Right—like that was ever going to happen.
Diane ran to the bathroom where she could slap water onto her face a few times, and tell herself to calm down.
He’d kissed her then acted as if it hadn’t really meant anything. Not that he was smooth like a player.
She was the problem.
Every time a man started to get interested in her she spazzed out. The one thing she wanted most in life was the one thing she couldn’t deal with. It’s why she had lived in the basement of an old couple’s mansion. There’d been no chance to make a fool of herself.
Diane sat in her kitchen, head in hand, while her thoughts ran around like demented squirrels and the sun edged closer to the horizon. Only when the bread machine came to the end of its final cycle did she remember she had set it up the night before. It was time to cook supper.
The kitchen filled with savory scents of bread, roasted chicken and sage. It reminded her of her grandmother’s house, except that Diane ate alone.
A little voice in the back of her mind told her it didn’t have to be that way. Even if she wasn’t ready for anything more, they could be friends. There was no reason for him to suffer with nothing to eat. Besides, she needed company. It was only dinner.
****
Trigvey stared at the ceiling. He needed things. A lot of things. He’d lost control of himself and scared Diane off, which made him feel useless.
His thoughts circled endlessly as day faded into twilight. When someone knocked on his door, he knew who it was, but couldn’t imagine why she’d come back.
He didn’t mean to bound to his feet, and certainly had no intention of rushing to the door, but arrived short of breath and threw the door open.
Diane didn’t meet his eyes. “I… um… Would you like something to eat?”
Did she feel sorry for him? Not that it made much difference. He’d eat anything to be with her.
“Yeah. I’d like that a lot. You didn’t cook for me, did you?”
“I was going to cook for myself anyway,” she said.
She led the way down the stairs.
“You really are going to have to let me take you out sometime,” he said quietly.
She didn’t respond and he wondered if she’d heard over the quiet clattering of their footsteps on the steps. “Some place nice,” he continued.
Still, she didn’t say anything, but when she opened the door to her apartment, a rolling wave of hearth and home poured out.
He glanced at the sofa. She’d added a throw pillow done in some kind of silky fabric with an Oriental design to match the rug. A bookcase stood where his belongings had been.
She hadn’t wasted time erasing every trace of his presence.
“You’ve been so quiet.” She waved her hands in a vague gesture. “You didn’t go out again. Are you all right?”
Part of him warmed. “I’m all right. A little tired, maybe.”
Her gaze touched on his forehead, his chest, and his mouth. Her brow wrinkled with concern. He thought she might touch the back of her hand to his forehead, but instead she directed him to the table in the kitchen.
“Come sit here.”
Trigvey watched as she opened the oven and began removing the kind of meal he craved, roasted chicken, homemade bread, green bean casserole.
It looked wonderful, and tasted every bit as good. When she broke the bread and handed him a piece, fragrant steam rose all around it. Butter melted into the bread instantly. It was dense and rich, and made his mouth water as he chewed. His hunger turned into a bone-deep satiation so strong he thought he’d cry.
“You really are a homemaker type, aren’t you?” He was so busy chasing beans around his plate he almost missed her stiff reaction and had already spoken again before he realized she didn’t take it as a compliment. “Someday you’ll make someone a fantastic wife.”
“I don’t plan to be a wife,” she said through gritted teeth. Her eyes narrowed.
For a moment he thought she’d say something scathing. Instead, she took a deep breath, waited for a count of ten, then forced her shoulders into a more relaxed position.
“Why not?”
“I just don’t.” She messed around with the food on her plate, not giving it the attention it deserved.
“I apologize. I mean, hardly anyone sets out to be just a wife anymore. I didn’t mean to say you’d only be a good housewife.”
“And what’s wrong with just being a housewife? It used to be perfectly honorable.”
“Hey, don’t look at me. I’m not the one who messed that up.” What was with her?
“Women back then had it a lot easier than now.” She spoke heatedly, clearly falling into an argument she’d had many times before. “You didn’t have to be both a bread-winner and take care of everything in the home.”
“Men help out.”
“Not enough. Have you looked at the statistics? Women still do an average of ninety minutes more household chores each week than men, and that doesn’t count child rearing.” She sounded like she was quoting Reader’s Digest.
“You can’t honestly tell me you would like to go back in time to when a woman’s worth came from her husband.”
“No.” She pinched her lips together mulishly. “No, I couldn’t say that.” She busied herself with her food, spearing her bean casserole hard enough to make the plate clack.
“All I was saying is that I like the way you do things.”
She looked up angrily. “You do?”
“I like it a lot,” he said quietly.
She sagged. “Oh.”
He might have said something more and probably stuck his foot in his mouth but the phone rang. She took it in the other room, then popped her head into the kitchen.
“That was Suzie, my friend from next door. She needs help with some plumbing. There’s water all over the place. She only needs an extra pair of hands for a minute, so I won’t be gone long. Make yourself at home, I’ll be right back.”
She left him sitting at the table with a fork full of chicken.
Make himself at home? She certainly had the home for it, but he couldn’t relax. At first, it was because he felt like an invader. Then he realized the feeling was very much the same as his own bare apartment. It was lonely. Her home wasn’t a home because Diane wasn’t there.
****
Diane hurried back. She expected Trigvey to be gone. Instead, he stood at the sink, rinsing his plate, his broad shoulders and strong arms flexing under his button-down, blue, chambray shirt.
“Oh. You’re back.” He glanced over his shoulder, but made no move to leave. “I was about to put the food away.”
She jumped forward to intercept him. “I’ll do that!”
“I wasn’t sure if you’d still be hungry.”
“No, not at all.”
She would have taken the plate, but he’d already put it in the dishwasher. All she could do was tackle the table. As soon as she transferred the chicken to a Tupperware container, he took the pot and began to scrub it. Each dish she freed, he rinsed and placed in the dishwasher until it was down to the casserole dish. She forcibly took it from his hands, feeling like an inadequate hostess.
“Thank you,” Trigvey said. He straightened and rubbed his stomach. His lips curled upward. “I haven’t eaten that well in years.”
Diane laughed. “I doubt that.”
“No, really. I think it has literally been years.” Trigvey leaned against the counter and watched her hands like a cat planted in front of a birdcage. “A doctor’s life is pretty stressful. When I’m on duty, I grab whatever looks good in the cafeteria. I’m not much of a cook, so when I’m off duty I generally either go out or have a sandwich.”
He moved next to her at the sink. “Can I help you with that?”
> Did he have to stand so close? She could feel his body heat. She could too easily imagine the sense of pressure if she moved an inch or two in his direction. Her lips tingled, but it was only her own breath washing across them.
“No, I’ll do it. Would you like some coffee, or a glass of wine?”
“Sure.” He shifted away from her, head held back as if he expected a soapy sponge to sail past his nose.
So maybe she was being a little too vigorous with the wash water. Some of it splashed on her blouse. She ignored it while pretending not to watch Trigvey snag the bottle of wine, one of the ones she’d picked up a couple of years ago on a wine tasting tour of Door County, off the counter and fill his glass, then move to her living room. He settled on her couch with a sigh as if he’d been on his feet all day.
That sound, such a small, simple thing, ran through her, setting her nerves afire. It was the sound a man made when he was glad to be home.
“Are you coming to join me?” he called.
“Yes! I’ll be right there.” She sloshed the wine as she poured a glass for herself, then almost spilled it again when she skirted the couch to sit next to him.
This was great. Stupid, but wonderful.
He put his arm across the back, enveloping her without actually touching, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and took a sip.
“This is nice. This is how I always saw myself in the future. I’d come home from a long day’s work, sit on the couch next to a fine woman and just enjoy the moment.”
“A wife, you mean.”
He looked at her. “Yeah.”
Neither of them pointed out that she wasn’t his wife, a condition not likely to change.
“You still didn’t get any plates or silverware, did you?” She asked for something to say.
“Guilty as charged.”
“I can get it for you, if you’d like.” She stared down at her glass.
“I would love to have you get everything for me. I should have done it today. Tomorrow I’ll be on call, and the next day I’m back on duty for a heavy rotation. We’re short staffed. I don’t know when I’ll be able to do it myself. I’d be glad to pay you.”
“You don’t have to. I’d like to help out.”
“At least let me reimburse you,” he said.
“Would you stop already?” she snapped. She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. “No. You’re right. You should reimburse me.” She held her glass in front of her as a shield, then moved it to a couple of different positions without finding one that was comfortable.
He took it away and set both glasses on the end table.
He was going to kiss her. She was so weak, if she let him start, she wouldn’t be able to stop. She jumped to her feet and knocked into the coffee table hard enough to make it clatter as nervously as she felt.
“It’s been a long day,” she said. “A really long day.”
“Yeah, long but good.” He groaned, and got to his feet. “I’ve got a long week ahead of me, but next time I get a day off, we’ll go out. Consider it a thank you for everything you’ve done.”
Part of her wanted to back out fast, but part of her felt like doing cartwheels. She hadn’t driven him off. “Yes, that would be good.”
They stopped in front of her door by mutual consensus. He looked undecided, one hand on the knob but his body turned her direction. His mouth opened, but no words came out.
On impulse, she kissed him on the lips, but it was such a quick smack she might have been kissing a friend.
He didn’t let her get away with it. His arms caged her and dragged her in. She didn’t mean her kiss to be an invitation to anything deep or meaningful. She had only wanted to dispel the unease between them and maybe let him know she might want something more down the road.
Precious, too-revealing minutes later she pushed lightly against his arms until he eased back, then turned her head into his shoulder, breathing hard. How far would they have gone if she hadn’t?
Embarrassed, she muttered some incoherent excuse.
He released her completely. “I understand.”
“What I mean is…maybe later? I’d like, I want…we should see each other more.” She was actually doing it, overcoming whatever it was inside her that always sabotaged her.
He gave her an abrupt nod. “I’d like that. I’ll just…I’ll go now.” He turned toward the door.
“Tomorrow!” she called. “Come have supper tomorrow.”
Trigvey grinned. “It’s a date.”
Chapter Six
He didn’t come. Late at night, Diane heard his footsteps dragging up the stairs, and his descent again a few hours later. He was working hard. Hadn’t he said that’s what he did with his time? Work?
But he’d also said he would have supper with her.
Diane shook her head as she drove home from work. She’d had quite a few long days herself, made longer by the heat and humidity. At least she would be able to use some of the leftovers.
She let herself in with a clatter, and dropped her purse by the door. Maybe a hot bath would be good before she threw something in the microwave.
She was running the water when he knocked on the door.
“Hey, long time no see.” Trigvey’s smile, so wide and white, was drop-dead sexy. Not that she cared.
He held a bottle of wine and two of the wine glasses she’d left by his door.
“Oh, um. Trigvey. Now isn’t really a good time…” Maybe she was being petty, but she wasn’t going to let him charm his way into her good graces. Neither she nor her home looked their best.
“I missed supper. The life of a doctor is full of broken promises.” His smile held more pain than humor. “Especially when it comes to time. Most of us don’t try to have anything like a relationship. Not until we’re established, anyway. Mind if I come in?”
She hesitated, wondering which impulse to resist—the one that said she missed him or the one that said only an idiot would open herself up to the kind of pain he could give her.
She stepped back to let him in. “All I have are leftovers.”
“You have leftovers? All I have is a can of beer abandoned by the previous tenants. I haven’t had a chance to get to the grocery store yet.” He followed her into the kitchen.
Diane took the bottle and glasses from him and set them on the counter. “You should go to Woodman’s. They’re open twenty four hours a day.”
“By the time I get home, I’m too tired to go to the store.” He sat in the same seat she’d given him before with a quiet groan.
His cell phone chirruped.
Diane imagined him charging off to save the world the way doctors on TV did, but instead he took the cell phone out, looked at the screen, then turned it off with a grimace.
She thought about asking who it was, but decided against it.
Trigvey put his hands behind his neck and stretched, making the muscles on his arms and chest do all the right things under his soft, blue shirt. “So what’s for dinner? Or did you want me to take you out tonight? I did promise.”
“Roast beef, salad, and slabs of bread with way too much butter.”
“You’re making my mouth water.”
Diane busied herself with the food. Since it was already cooked, it didn’t take long. She intended to ask him to set the table, but his eyes were tired and sad and his jaw was set in a grim line. Even though he sat with his hands behind his head and the chair slightly tilted, he didn’t look very relaxed.
“Long day?” she asked.
“No.” The chair thumped to all fours. “Yes.” He dropped his head into his hands, elbows braced against the table.
Diane set a plate full of sliced beef on the table, and put her hand on his back. She was almost afraid to touch him. “Something wrong? I won’t tell anyone and it’ll make you feel better.”
He sat up and she rubbed his shoulders where the tension came through in rock-hard, bunched muscles.
“I killed someone.”
/>
Diane paused, trying to make sense of his comment, realized how her pause might be misinterpreted and hastily resumed massaging.
“Not today. It was a few days ago—the night I fell asleep on your couch. I gave something to the patient that I shouldn’t have, a shot of morphine.”
Diane eased up rubbing his neck until he calmed down. “Aren’t you supposed to say you lost the patient, rather than you killed him?”
“I wouldn’t have lost him if I’d been paying attention.”
“What went wrong?”
“He already had Xyrem in his blood stream. I didn’t find out until afterwards because there was a mix up with the tox-screens.”
“That doesn’t sound like it was your fault.”
“I should have double checked. Back in my residency I could have handle it no matter how tired I got. If I can make such an elementary mistake, what else could go wrong?” Trigvey took several long, ragged breaths.
It wrenched Diane’s heart to see him in so much pain. She gentled her strokes and wished she could do more.
“Don’t tell me it isn’t my fault.” He looked over his shoulder at her.
“You wouldn’t listen even if I did.”
“No.” His shoulders melted under her hands.
She was finally getting through to him.
“This feels so good.” He tipped his head back.
She wanted to kiss him, soothe him, but it didn’t feel right. She scrambled for some platitude that would make it all better, and came up with nothing.
“Maybe I should give up,” he said.
“No, you shouldn’t do that.” She couldn’t imagine Trigvey as anything else.
“Do you think the only thing that redeems me as a human being is my job? It’s pretty obvious I’m just as incompetent as anyone else down at Meredith General. The world would be better off without doctors like me.”
She gave up on his shoulders and let her hands fall to her sides. “That was ridiculous.”
He turned in his seat and gave her a sharp-eyed look.
Diane took a long mental step back. She’d allowed herself to get too involved too quickly. He was only a neighbor. Someone she’d kissed once or twice. Nothing more.