Fools Rush in(94)

“I didn’t plan that, Millie. I’m sorry. I never should have—I’m really sorry.” He got up from the table and started to come over to me.

“We—we—we—we should go. Right? Let’s go,” I babbled. “Just sit here and let me finish up. Because it’s the clinic’s last night, and I have to just make sure everything’s done and turned off and all that.”

“Millie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry. Please say something.” He looked miserable.

“Um, let’s just, let’s, let’s just pack it in here. Okay? Okay. Great.”

I ran, literally ran, into my office and closed the door. Digger snuffled my hands, but I barely noticed.

He’d kissed me.

And he was sorry. So sorry. Sorry, Millie. Please. Really sorry.

My legs shook almost uncontrollably. I took a few deep, heaving breaths, and looked around. Do what you have to do to get out of here, I commanded. Like a robot, I shut down the computer, scratched the words Police officer assaulted, bone bruise, right shoulder, full range of motion, no fracture on the chart and grabbed my bag. Going out to the X-ray area, I breezed past Sam and made sure his file was in the queue to be read by the radiologist on call at Cape Cod Hospital. Then I ripped off the prescription and handed it to Sam, who looked as if his dog had just died.

“Here you go. You have an orthopedist, right? Reardon? Call him tomorrow and make sure you get an appointment. I’ll let him know you need to be seen. Danny can bring the scrip down to CVS in Orleans if you need it, but try the Motrin first, six to eight hundred milligrams every six hours. Do not use the arm. Use ice for the first forty-eight hours, heat after that. Any questions?”

He just looked at me. “No.”

We went outside and I started to lock up.

“You forgot your dog, Millie,” Sam said quietly.

“Right.” I went back in and got Digger, apologized and let the faithful beast into the back seat.

“Need help?” I asked as Sam opened the car door with his left hand.

“No, thanks.”

I got in and started up the car, studiously not looking at Sam. After a minute, he tried again.

“Millie, can we talk about what happened there? Please?”

I took a deep breath, but instead of steadying my nerves, it came out as almost a sob. “Not right now, okay?” I squeaked.

Sam looked at me another long minute. “Okay. But I’m sor—”

“Don’t apologize! Just forget it.”

“I think we need to talk about it, Millie.”

“Not now! Not right now! Okay, Sam? Not now.” Digger, sensing my distress, poked his head between the seats and licked my ear.

Sam didn’t say anything else until we pulled into his driveway. Danny, obviously having been contacted by Ethel, came leaping down the stairs.

“Look,” I commented. “It’s Danny. Your son. My nephew.”

“Oh, Millie,” Sam said softly.

“Dad! Dad! Are you okay?” Danny ripped the passenger door open, and Sam got out, turning to his son.

“I’m fine, Dan. Just a bruise.”

“Oh, Dad…” Danny wrapped his arms gingerly around his father and grimaced as he tried not to cry. I rested my forehead on the steering wheel, hot tears flooding my eyes.

“Aunt Mil, will he be okay?” Danny asked, his voice breaking a little. I wiped my eyes, opened the door and got out, but I didn’t step away from the car.

“He’s going to be fine, honey,” I said, my voice sounding normal for the first time all night. “He got hit in the shoulder with a tire iron. He can tell you all about it. Call me if you need anything, okay? But right now, just get him inside, give him four Motrin and put an ice pack on his shoulder.”

“Come on, Dad,” Danny said. Sam glanced at me but let his son lead him inside.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

“MILLIE, I’M SORRY. I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean to kiss you, and I’ll never do it again.”

“Millie, clearly that was a huge mistake. Can we forget it ever happened?”

“Millie, I’m sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

I said the above phrases out loud into my bathroom mirror all the next day, trying to thicken my skin for when the shoe dropped.

How could my life go from ridiculous to idiotic to just plain awful so fast? The man I loved had kissed me, but that clearly wasn’t a good thing, not when he was so sorry, sorry, freaking sorry. Now I would have to pretend that it didn’t matter, that I had forgotten all about that little whoopsy-daisy, and that Sam was just the father of my nephew. We wouldn’t be friends. We would be awkward and horrible together, and I would miss him for the rest of my life.

“Crap,” I whispered tearfully, banging my head against the mirror. I wandered around my house, muttering to myself. Most of what I could make out was “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” Over and over, I revisited the stricken look on Sam’s face. How many times had he apologized? At least six, as I recalled. He was sorry. And so was I.

Oh, the kiss had been unbelievable. That was the problem. The best kiss of my life, from the man I loved from my bone marrow on out, and he was sorry it had happened.

The phone rang at nine. I stood tensely next to the machine, eyes burning, fists clenched, heart thudding dully in my ears.