haven’t got much to complain about, Joan.”
She stopped so abruptly by his office door that Walter almost bumped into her.
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing at the new couch.
“It’s a chaise lounge. I just had it delivered. I retrieved it from the old house they’re going to tear down for the parking lot expansion.”
Joan lumbered across the hall and disappeared into his office. Walter followed, knowing the police officer would be there any minute.
“Joan, what are you up to? You need to get back to bed before you fall. You don’t have the strength for this.”
“There’s something wrong with this thing.”
There’s something wrong with you .
“Everything is okay. You’ve just had a hard day without your nurse here. Now, come on, let’s go back to your room.” He took her hand and tried to coax her out of his office.
She snapped her hand back and moved toward the sofa.
“What are you doing?” he asked. Like a swarm of bees attacking a hive breaker, anger swelled in him. “Enough with this shit! I have people arriving at any moment for a meeting. You are going to go back to your room and sleep, or I’m going to carry you.”
Joan sneered. Then she dropped onto the couch. She tried to make it look accidental, like she tripped, but Walter could tell it was deliberate. In the time it took him to respond, she was spread out the length of the couch, running her hands along the fabric.
“What the fuck are you doing?” He had forgotten how good it felt to get really angry. His fists clenched at the frustration she caused. The anger was so raw and unglued that he tasted blood. It took every ounce of his humanity not to strike her face. Then her body. And not stop until she was a bloody pulp.
The expression on her face changed. She rolled off the couch and hit the floor like a sack of lead balls with no bounce.
Her sobbing and weeping worked on relieving his anger. He unclenched his fists.
What’s happening to me? Why am I so worked up today ?
Normally her antics didn’t rouse him past annoyed.
He lifted her waif of a body up over his shoulder and carried her out of his office, down the hall, and into her sour room. She didn’t protest. She lay across his shoulder and cried.
He dropped her onto her bed and started for the door.
“Goodbye, Walter.”
“Goodbye, Joan,” he said, mimicking her words with sarcasm. He stopped at the bedroom door. “Do not come out of this room for anything. I’ll bring your dinner and I’ll clean up this fucking mess after my meeting. Understood?”
Joan nodded. “I won’t bother you again.”
He slammed the door so hard the trim near the handle cracked, which pleased him. The crack was his mark, his stamp of anger.
Today is a good day to be angry .
He wouldn’t excuse it. Emotions were meant to be felt.
“Hello?” A male voice.
He jumped a clear foot. His shout of surprise came out like a pissed-off cat’s cry.
“You okay?” the man asked.
Walter looked over the railing and saw a cop standing just inside his front door. Evidently he had forgotten to close the door after Joan’s little fiasco with the doorbell.
“I knocked,” the cop said, “but it was open. I heard a door slam pretty hard so I stepped in. I’m Officer John Mackay. I called earlier.”
Walter moved for the stairs. “Of course, come on in. May I get you a beverage?” He stepped off the top stair and waited for a reply.
“No, thanks. I just have a few questions for you and then I’ll be on my way.”
“Come on up to my office. We’ll talk in there.”
Officer Mackay followed Walter into his office. Walter sat behind his desk while the cop took a seat in one of the two chairs facing the desk. The officer pulled out a pad and pen and began talking. It took ten minutes to get through most of the preliminary questions for the
She stopped so abruptly by his office door that Walter almost bumped into her.
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing at the new couch.
“It’s a chaise lounge. I just had it delivered. I retrieved it from the old house they’re going to tear down for the parking lot expansion.”
Joan lumbered across the hall and disappeared into his office. Walter followed, knowing the police officer would be there any minute.
“Joan, what are you up to? You need to get back to bed before you fall. You don’t have the strength for this.”
“There’s something wrong with this thing.”
There’s something wrong with you .
“Everything is okay. You’ve just had a hard day without your nurse here. Now, come on, let’s go back to your room.” He took her hand and tried to coax her out of his office.
She snapped her hand back and moved toward the sofa.
“What are you doing?” he asked. Like a swarm of bees attacking a hive breaker, anger swelled in him. “Enough with this shit! I have people arriving at any moment for a meeting. You are going to go back to your room and sleep, or I’m going to carry you.”
Joan sneered. Then she dropped onto the couch. She tried to make it look accidental, like she tripped, but Walter could tell it was deliberate. In the time it took him to respond, she was spread out the length of the couch, running her hands along the fabric.
“What the fuck are you doing?” He had forgotten how good it felt to get really angry. His fists clenched at the frustration she caused. The anger was so raw and unglued that he tasted blood. It took every ounce of his humanity not to strike her face. Then her body. And not stop until she was a bloody pulp.
The expression on her face changed. She rolled off the couch and hit the floor like a sack of lead balls with no bounce.
Her sobbing and weeping worked on relieving his anger. He unclenched his fists.
What’s happening to me? Why am I so worked up today ?
Normally her antics didn’t rouse him past annoyed.
He lifted her waif of a body up over his shoulder and carried her out of his office, down the hall, and into her sour room. She didn’t protest. She lay across his shoulder and cried.
He dropped her onto her bed and started for the door.
“Goodbye, Walter.”
“Goodbye, Joan,” he said, mimicking her words with sarcasm. He stopped at the bedroom door. “Do not come out of this room for anything. I’ll bring your dinner and I’ll clean up this fucking mess after my meeting. Understood?”
Joan nodded. “I won’t bother you again.”
He slammed the door so hard the trim near the handle cracked, which pleased him. The crack was his mark, his stamp of anger.
Today is a good day to be angry .
He wouldn’t excuse it. Emotions were meant to be felt.
“Hello?” A male voice.
He jumped a clear foot. His shout of surprise came out like a pissed-off cat’s cry.
“You okay?” the man asked.
Walter looked over the railing and saw a cop standing just inside his front door. Evidently he had forgotten to close the door after Joan’s little fiasco with the doorbell.
“I knocked,” the cop said, “but it was open. I heard a door slam pretty hard so I stepped in. I’m Officer John Mackay. I called earlier.”
Walter moved for the stairs. “Of course, come on in. May I get you a beverage?” He stepped off the top stair and waited for a reply.
“No, thanks. I just have a few questions for you and then I’ll be on my way.”
“Come on up to my office. We’ll talk in there.”
Officer Mackay followed Walter into his office. Walter sat behind his desk while the cop took a seat in one of the two chairs facing the desk. The officer pulled out a pad and pen and began talking. It took ten minutes to get through most of the preliminary questions for the
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