Fools Rush in(54)

Things slowed down in the afternoon, and I called a few patients to check on them, filled out some paperwork, dictated my cases and closed up. On Saturdays, the clinic closed at five. It was a beautiful day, clear and dry after last night’s rain, and Route 6 was packed with tourists. I got home and changed into my running clothes, Digger staring fixedly at my sneakers and wagging maniacally. He knew what sneakers meant. I pulled a T-shirt over my head (Free Your Inner Lance) and headed out for a leisurely run.

I was now a proficient runner in that I didn’t have to stop every thirty yards to vomit, wheeze or collapse. Granted, I would never be a natural athlete, and my stride was short and slow, but I had actually come to enjoy running, the fresh, salty air, the time with my dog, and, best of all, the smugness I felt when I was done. Today, the breeze rushed overhead, the sun beat down in bright, cheerful beams. I could hear the song of the beach as I ran down Ocean View, the cries of the gulls and shrieks of children mixing with the roar of the waves, waxing and waning with the breeze.

Now that I had no distractions, my thoughts of Joe, kept energetically at bay for the past twelve hours, returned with a sodden thump. Now what was I going to do the next time we saw each other? Pretend nothing had happened? That would be tough. I loved him, for God’s sake. I had sunk a lot of time, money and effort into getting him to notice me. And he had! So what the hell had gone wrong?

I finished my run and went inside, sweaty and irritable. I sat grumpily in my living room, not even feeling motivated to shower. Katie would be working. Curtis had put up with me enough last night. Maybe I would drop in on my parents…but then my mom would want to know how dinner had gone, and I’d have to tell her that I’d been stood up. Perhaps a drive into Boston to see Janette? Nah. Traffic was too heavy, and I lacked the energy. Clearly, I needed more friends. Maybe Sam would want to catch a movie.

Digger leaped up as if shot, barking maniacally as he jumped against the back door. I heaved myself out of my chair, running a hand through my sweaty hair. It was probably my dad, dropping by to see if I needed any man-things done around the house.

Joe Carpenter stood on my back porch.

All coherent thought drained from my head. I opened the door mechanically, and Digger launched himself at Joe, still barking. Joe bent and patted his head, grinning at me, and Digger quieted.

“Hi, Millie,” he said with a chuckle.

“Joe,” I breathed.

“You forgot, didn’t you? Wow, I can’t believe it.” He straightened up and shook his head. “Millie, Millie, Millie. You invited me for dinner, remember?” He wagged a finger at me. “Bad girl.”

“But…but…” I stammered. My brain refused to accept the horror that was dawning: Joe here. Me, sweaty and flushed. Joe here. Wrong day. Of course, he had gotten the day wrong…but he was here. And oh, God, I looked…

“Can I come in?” Joe asked, his dimples flashing again.

“Oh! Of course, sure.” I backed up and let him in. Digger followed, his nose glued to Joe’s work boots, sniffing with religious fervor.

“Joe, it was—you actually—” I said. A light flared in my brain. “God, I did forget. I’m so sorry.”

“That’s okay,” he replied amiably. “Can I stay?”

“Yes! Sure! Uh, just let me, you know, I just got back from a run…” I cringed mentally, knowing how I looked—and smelled.

“Sure. Take your time.” He looked around the kitchen. “So nothing’s cooking, huh?”

“Um, no. But I can whip us up something after I jump in the shower.” Again I winced, knowing that the most elaborate thing I’d ever whipped up was toast. Thanks to Sam last night, there were no leftovers, either.

“Sure, whatever. Got any beer?” I nodded and Joe opened the fridge and helped himself to a Corona.

“Make yourself at home. I’ll be quick,” I said, trying to back out of the kitchen in a dignified manner. I bumped into the door frame, then turned and fled to the bathroom.

In a frenzied manner, I peeled off my T-shirt, sports bra, shorts, shoes and socks. I avoided the mirror. Shit! But thank God! He hadn’t blown me off; he’d just had the wrong night. All that money and time, down the drain—or, more accurately, down Sam’s esophagus. Don’t worry about it, Millie. He’s here.

I leaped into the shower without waiting for the water to heat up and doused my damp head. Furiously lathering shampoo into my hair, I mentally went over what to wear, what to do with my hair, how much makeup I could put on without taking forever. Joe had turned on the stereo and had one of the Cape’s classic rock stations tuned in—Black Sabbath blared over the speakers, a far cry from last night’s carefully chosen CDs. Frantically, I toweled off my hair. Blowing it dry would not work…didn’t want to give Joe the impression that I was a high-maintenance kind of woman.

I slapped on some moisturizer, mascara and lipstick, yanked on my robe and leaped across the hall to my bedroom. From the closet, I pulled on some cropped jeans and a sleeveless button-down shirt, brushed my hair out and slapped on a hair band. Thank God for hair bands. Was I ready? No. Shoes. I grabbed some sandals and stuffed my feet into them. Looking in the mirror on the back of my door, I took a few fortifying breaths.

Your man is here, Millie, I told myself. Nothing has changed. Calm down. This is a big night. Not what you had planned, but still. Joe Carpenter is out there waiting for you.