Take Me Home by Blanchette Sheila

Author:Blanchette, Sheila [Blanchette, Sheila]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-01-06T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Emotionally exhausted and depressed, she finally fell asleep around two-thirty. At four she heard someone knocking on the door. Groggy and confused, she rolled over, put a pillow over her head and hollered, “Go away.” Then she remembered where she was and bolted upright, her heart pounding. The knocking wasn’t coming from the reception room door. It was at the door to her apartment. Whoever was out there had gotten into the front office. What if they had a gun? As she reached for her phone to call the police, she heard a familiar voice, “Josephine. It’s Andy. Can I come in?”

She got up, wearing just a T-shirt and a pair of cotton briefs. She stumbled over her shoes, stubbing her toe on the corner of the bed. “Shit,” she shouted. She slid the chain off. “Andy?”

“Yes, it’s me. I’m sorry to wake you. I need to talk to you. It can’t wait until morning.”

He was wearing a white T-shirt, baggy blue plaid flannel pajama pants and slippers. He had a serious five o’clock shadow. Fergus was with him. “Can he come in? He doesn’t like being alone at night.”

“Yeah.” She opened the door wide, following them to the small sitting area. She was about to sit down on the couch when Andy grabbed her, pulling her close. She yanked her arm from his grip. “So you just decided to stop by at four in the morning? For what? To have another heart to heart?” she asked.

“Trust me, I never I do anything like this. But I had to apologize for being a slow-witted, obtuse asshole. You tell me this heartbreaking story and I can’t find the words to respond. Not because I was shocked or horrified, but because it broke my heart to think of you making that peanut butter sandwich for your sister. I am deeply sorry for my lack of communication skills.”

“I got the impression you thought I was some screwed-up woman. But it doesn’t matter, I will survive. I always do.” She glared at him, angry and hurt.

“Gloria Gaynor,” he said. “What?” She looked at him suspiciously. “That song, I Will Survive. It’s Gloria Gaynor,” he said. “I thought it was Donna Summer,” she replied.

“Yeah, I could see making that mistake. Listen, you don’t have to explain yourself to me, Josephine. I’m not judging you. I’ve spent every day with you for the last three months. I know who you are. It doesn’t matter where you’ve been or who you’ve been with. It’s all a part of the woman who in a crisis keeps her head and makes a peanut butter sandwich. And no matter what life throws in her path, she steps right over it and keeps on going. It’s just...you see...I’m socially inept. The last time I asked a girl out, I was seventeen. That’s really stupid, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not stupid. It’s lucky.”

“Depends what angle you’re looking at it from. It’s like tossing a coin, you call heads, I call tails. Tails I win, but is that really luck? I got marriage at an early age, you got something else.

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