right.
I still felt warm from his kiss and replayed the
last hour in my mind. When I was halfway home, the image of the bimbo from the
restaurant flashed into my memory. Probably not his girlfriend I told myself.
Most likely, he met her the previous night, or better yet, she was a friend of
the family who was in town. Family obligations can be bothersome.
By the time I parked my car; I had our wedding
planned and was onto deciding the names of our forthcoming children. I kind of
liked the alliterated sound of Henry Harper. Hank Harper; sure to be a
professional baseball player. Girls names were harder: Hazel, Henrietta,
Helena, Helga. Yuck. Maybe we’d just have boys.
I floated on a cloud up to my apartment and let
myself in, humming a gay little tune. Brandi turned, looked over the top of the
couch, said hi, and continued giving the television her full attention.
In a dreamlike state, I went
to my room to undress, climbed into my kitty-cat nightshirt, a present from my
older sister Spring, and pattered back to the kitchen in my fuzzy slippers.
I poured a glass of skim milk,
grabbed the chocolate chip cookies from the cabinet, and took them into the
living room. The glass I placed on the coffee table, and the cookies I placed
in my lap. I ate a few and offered the package to Brandi. She took one, and
together we watched one of the stupidest realty shows ever created.
At ten, we called it a night.
Tomorrow I’d tell Autumn about Lloyd, but for now, I wanted him all to myself.
Chapter
11
Tuesday,
February 14th
The night‘s dreams provided yet another morning
migraine. Visions of Mr. Schroeder’s deranged daughter calling me a slut
haunted my short-term memory. Subconscious guilt. Normally making out with
strangers, no matter how handsome, wasn’t my norm. Well, it was now. So sue me.
I liked it!
Brandi rarely rose before ten, so usually I had
the mornings to myself. She slept like a log, so nothing short of an explosion
woke her. Therefore, when I tripped getting out of the shower this morning and
pulled the shower bar off the wall by the curtain, she continued snoring. I
knew I would be in serious trouble if I ever had a life-threatening situation
while she was asleep. Time wasn’t on my side this morning, so I left the mess
for her to clean up. I dressed quickly, making sure to wear my red sweater for
St. Valentine’s Day. I made a lunch of undesirable leftovers and left the
apartment, ten minutes later than normal. Not much, but enough to change the
amount and flow of traffic.
The roads were wet, not snow-covered. I silently
thanked God for small favors. I made up some time, still arriving late. An
ambulance was at the front entrance. Mr. Schroeder was being rolled into the
building when I reached the doors. I briskly walked to the time clock, avoiding
Phyllis, by ducking down a hall. Eventually I’d see her at the morning meeting,
but that was an hour away.
Today I planned to do a little research on Mr.
Rodney Schroeder. I sat at Shantel’s desk and turned on her computer. Reaching
over to the phone, I hit the night button and three phone lines rang in quick
succession. Rubbing my forehead, I picked up the first line and gave the
standard greeting, followed quickly with ‘please hold’. I did the same with the
next call and took the third call, which was a Miss Loretta Brown, a Medicaid
caseworker with an unpleasant attitude. She told me she needed some documents
faxed a.s.a.p. to complete a case, or she would close it. I knew for a fact I
submitted this particular application two months ago and had already faxed the
requested documents twice before. In my opinion, the Medicaid office needed a
complete overhaul, beginning with her. Ninety percent of the time Miss Brown
refused to answer her phone; the other ten percent, she was too busy to be of
assistance.
A short, chubby, girl with a
ruddy complexion approached the
I still felt warm from his kiss and replayed the
last hour in my mind. When I was halfway home, the image of the bimbo from the
restaurant flashed into my memory. Probably not his girlfriend I told myself.
Most likely, he met her the previous night, or better yet, she was a friend of
the family who was in town. Family obligations can be bothersome.
By the time I parked my car; I had our wedding
planned and was onto deciding the names of our forthcoming children. I kind of
liked the alliterated sound of Henry Harper. Hank Harper; sure to be a
professional baseball player. Girls names were harder: Hazel, Henrietta,
Helena, Helga. Yuck. Maybe we’d just have boys.
I floated on a cloud up to my apartment and let
myself in, humming a gay little tune. Brandi turned, looked over the top of the
couch, said hi, and continued giving the television her full attention.
In a dreamlike state, I went
to my room to undress, climbed into my kitty-cat nightshirt, a present from my
older sister Spring, and pattered back to the kitchen in my fuzzy slippers.
I poured a glass of skim milk,
grabbed the chocolate chip cookies from the cabinet, and took them into the
living room. The glass I placed on the coffee table, and the cookies I placed
in my lap. I ate a few and offered the package to Brandi. She took one, and
together we watched one of the stupidest realty shows ever created.
At ten, we called it a night.
Tomorrow I’d tell Autumn about Lloyd, but for now, I wanted him all to myself.
Chapter
11
Tuesday,
February 14th
The night‘s dreams provided yet another morning
migraine. Visions of Mr. Schroeder’s deranged daughter calling me a slut
haunted my short-term memory. Subconscious guilt. Normally making out with
strangers, no matter how handsome, wasn’t my norm. Well, it was now. So sue me.
I liked it!
Brandi rarely rose before ten, so usually I had
the mornings to myself. She slept like a log, so nothing short of an explosion
woke her. Therefore, when I tripped getting out of the shower this morning and
pulled the shower bar off the wall by the curtain, she continued snoring. I
knew I would be in serious trouble if I ever had a life-threatening situation
while she was asleep. Time wasn’t on my side this morning, so I left the mess
for her to clean up. I dressed quickly, making sure to wear my red sweater for
St. Valentine’s Day. I made a lunch of undesirable leftovers and left the
apartment, ten minutes later than normal. Not much, but enough to change the
amount and flow of traffic.
The roads were wet, not snow-covered. I silently
thanked God for small favors. I made up some time, still arriving late. An
ambulance was at the front entrance. Mr. Schroeder was being rolled into the
building when I reached the doors. I briskly walked to the time clock, avoiding
Phyllis, by ducking down a hall. Eventually I’d see her at the morning meeting,
but that was an hour away.
Today I planned to do a little research on Mr.
Rodney Schroeder. I sat at Shantel’s desk and turned on her computer. Reaching
over to the phone, I hit the night button and three phone lines rang in quick
succession. Rubbing my forehead, I picked up the first line and gave the
standard greeting, followed quickly with ‘please hold’. I did the same with the
next call and took the third call, which was a Miss Loretta Brown, a Medicaid
caseworker with an unpleasant attitude. She told me she needed some documents
faxed a.s.a.p. to complete a case, or she would close it. I knew for a fact I
submitted this particular application two months ago and had already faxed the
requested documents twice before. In my opinion, the Medicaid office needed a
complete overhaul, beginning with her. Ninety percent of the time Miss Brown
refused to answer her phone; the other ten percent, she was too busy to be of
assistance.
A short, chubby, girl with a
ruddy complexion approached the
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