Color of Blood(70)

“No, of course not.”

Dennis went into the bathroom, brushed his teeth and reentered the room.

Judy was curled up on the couch, enveloped in the comforter, with only her face showing. She watched him cross the room as he made his way to the bed.

“Do you want to see my toe?” she said. “I haven’t shown it to anyone, obviously.”

He grimaced. “Is it healing OK?”

“Yes, it’s doing well.” She threw off the comforter and bounded over to the bed. Dennis sat at the headboard, his feet on the floor next to the bedside table. She had scooted onto the end of the bed and thrust her legs out so that the soles of her feet rested on his left thigh.

He stared at the last toe of her right foot. The end of it was encased in a small black scab. He winced.

“Does it hurt to walk on it?” he asked.

Dennis preferred to look at her foot because the T-shirt had ridden up, revealing her pale thighs and white, lace-trimmed underwear. He stroked the top of her right foot gently.

“I can’t believe they did that. Who does that kind of stuff?”

“Dennis?”

“Yes?” He looked at her face, trying to avoid her thighs.

“Why did you come back to WA?”

“Oh, that. It’s complicated.”

“As complicated as my problem?”

“Yes, I’m afraid it is.”

Silence.

Dennis stared at her face for a while and then looked back down at her toe. She wiggled her feet against his thighs.

“Dennis?”

“Yes?”

“I’m flirting with you, you know.”

“Yes,” he said. “I think I just realized that.”

“Is this bothering you?”

“No. Not at all: I just don’t want to do anything to hurt you. You’ve been through a lot.”

“The only way you’d hurt me right now is if you ignored me.”

“Oh, well, I can fix that,” he said, reaching over and turning off the light.





Chapter 27


She made a faint whistling sound exhaling that he found cute, almost childlike. Her hair smelled like a mix of lavender and a common spice that he could not identify. He turned and looked at the bedside clock—3:20 a.m.

It had been a long time since he’d had sex, and it felt very good. Sex with Martha had been fine, but even Dr. Forrester had suggested that his depression had been a “low-grade infection” for years and had muted the joy he might receive from life’s normal pleasures.

Or at least that’s what Dr. Forrester said, Dennis mulled. And what did she really know about the motivations of people besides what she had been taught in graduate school or read in a journal?

Besides, he did not feel depressed now or disinterested in sex. In fact, he felt the stirring of a mild erection as he felt Judy’s panty-clad buttocks press against his left thigh. Initially Judy had turned away from him after falling asleep but unconsciously had backed up to press against him. She had fallen asleep quickly. He wished he could be that relaxed.

Maybe his sleeplessness was due to his anger. He kept returning to the fact that men had kidnapped and tortured her. Who would do that to a woman, to this woman? While anger might distract and confuse some people, it acted like Ritalin on him: he was focused and task oriented. He was already working on a plan to help Judy.

***

A scream penetrated his sleep and he bolted upright in panic.

“My God, I’m going to be late!” Judy yelled, scampering across the room to grab her clothes. She pulled off the T-shirt and tossed it onto the dresser. Her breasts bounced and flailed, and she fought with her bra. With remarkable speed, Judy slipped on her blouse, stepped into her skirt, and looked around for her shoes, never saying a word.

“Can I help?” Dennis said quietly.

“Yes, cancel a meeting I scheduled for this morning,” she said, stroking her hair furiously with a small brush she had in her purse. “I need to go home first, shower, and change clothes. God!”

“Why don’t you call in sick?”

“Don’t be silly,” she said. “Though there’s nothing more I’d like to do than crawl back in bed and have another go at you.”

Dennis smiled.

“All right, perhaps that sounded crass,” she said. “Sorry, I’m in such a tizzy this morning.”

“Before you go,” he said quickly, “I need to tell you something.”

“Talk quickly.”

“OK; I think I can help you with your work problem. Hey, don’t look that way. Just listen: I can help. I’m really crappy at some things, and really, really good at other things. This is something I’m really good at. If you come back this evening, let me ask you some questions; I bet I can give you some ideas. Simple as that.”

“Dennis, you can’t get involved in this thing.”

“Promise me you’ll come back this evening and let me ask some questions. That’s all. How hard could that be?”

She rushed over to Dennis, put her hands on the sides of his face, leaned down, and said, “You are such an interesting man—for a Yank.” She kissed him softly, stood up, and ran to the door. “And you need to brush your teeth,” she said over her shoulder.