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Authors: Dana Cameron
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but I couldn’t decide what to do: I didn’t want to get out from under the covers, but neither did I want to stay there, vulnerable, in bed. Then I saw how the man was barely able to stand without weaving and decided that I was okay for the moment.
“You first,” I said, as assertively as I could. “Who are you? And I’d better like the answer, because I’m about two seconds away from screaming my head off.”
“Oh, Christ. You’re the…American, aren’t you? I’d completely forgotten you were…” He waved his hand and almost tipped over. “Look, my apologies…I’ll just be on my way—”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “Who are you?”
“Look…I live here, all right, friend of Greg’s, so don’t get your knickers in a knot. Honest mistake. I’m Freeman, Andrew Freeman.”
“Bloody Andrew,” I thought, but I must have said it out loud, because he snorted.
“I see that you’ve had Jane’s opinion of me,” he said. “I trus…trust you’ll soon form your own.”
“Yeah, and you’re off to a roaring start,” I said. A thought came to me. “Who did you expect was going to be here? Obviously not me.”
“I thought you were…” His brow furrowed and he shook his head. “I don’t even remember what I was thinking. As you can see,”—here he paused and licked his lips, and his tone and attitude shifted away from sarcasm—“I am more than a little worse for the drink, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to get to bed. I do apologize, I can imagine how…startling this must be for you—”
“Startling’s one way to look at it—”
“I know, I know. I’m so sorry. Let me take myself away from here; I won’t trouble you further.”
Without another word, he turned, stumbled against the door frame again, righted himself, and left. The door was left ajar, and although I knew I was probably safe enough, it took me a moment to push the covers off, get up, and close the door. I heard a door down the hall shut loudly as well.
As I scuttled back toward my bed, I realized that my head was still aching. I stopped just long enough to dig out and swallow a couple of aspirin, then leapt back into bed, my heart racing. I was shaken from the encounter.
Good aggression, Em, I thought ruefully to myself. Nice authority, with the comforter pulled up around your chin and a flashlight in your hand.
Well, what was I supposed to do? Ask him to wait while I pulled on my pants? Go for the throat? He was a mess, he didn’t mean me any harm. It was just a stupid mistake.
But you didn’t know that, my prudent self answered back. You can’t rely on that.
I played the incident over and over in my head, left with an image of an ungainly man with brown hair and beard and a prominent nose, not dissimilar to the much younger picture I’d seen of him downstairs. Because I instinctively didn’t believe his denials for one minute, I finally fell asleep wondering who the “stubborn little bitch” was.
It seemed like only a moment later that I heard a tapping on the door. I didn’t answer at first; then I heard Greg’s voice call out.
“Emma, time to get up. May I come in?”
What was it about this room? It seemed to be some kind of central thoroughfare.
“Uh, yeah, Greg.” I sat up and tried to tidy myself a little—wipe a bit of drool from my chin, the sleep from my eyes, and realized that my head was pounding as though an enthusiastic blacksmith had taken up residency in it. I found I was entertaining thoughts of strangling Greg for adding to it with his knocking. What the hell was wrong with me?
Greg entered, holding a mug, looking abominably cheery for the hour of the day. “Prerogative of the gentleman of the house to bring morning tea. Milk, no sugar okay?”
“Fine. Thank you very much,” I said, taking the mug from him. I took one sip and suddenly realized what was wrong. It was tea . It was very good tea, well-brewed and strong, with a nicely balanced flavor.
But I
“You first,” I said, as assertively as I could. “Who are you? And I’d better like the answer, because I’m about two seconds away from screaming my head off.”
“Oh, Christ. You’re the…American, aren’t you? I’d completely forgotten you were…” He waved his hand and almost tipped over. “Look, my apologies…I’ll just be on my way—”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “Who are you?”
“Look…I live here, all right, friend of Greg’s, so don’t get your knickers in a knot. Honest mistake. I’m Freeman, Andrew Freeman.”
“Bloody Andrew,” I thought, but I must have said it out loud, because he snorted.
“I see that you’ve had Jane’s opinion of me,” he said. “I trus…trust you’ll soon form your own.”
“Yeah, and you’re off to a roaring start,” I said. A thought came to me. “Who did you expect was going to be here? Obviously not me.”
“I thought you were…” His brow furrowed and he shook his head. “I don’t even remember what I was thinking. As you can see,”—here he paused and licked his lips, and his tone and attitude shifted away from sarcasm—“I am more than a little worse for the drink, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to get to bed. I do apologize, I can imagine how…startling this must be for you—”
“Startling’s one way to look at it—”
“I know, I know. I’m so sorry. Let me take myself away from here; I won’t trouble you further.”
Without another word, he turned, stumbled against the door frame again, righted himself, and left. The door was left ajar, and although I knew I was probably safe enough, it took me a moment to push the covers off, get up, and close the door. I heard a door down the hall shut loudly as well.
As I scuttled back toward my bed, I realized that my head was still aching. I stopped just long enough to dig out and swallow a couple of aspirin, then leapt back into bed, my heart racing. I was shaken from the encounter.
Good aggression, Em, I thought ruefully to myself. Nice authority, with the comforter pulled up around your chin and a flashlight in your hand.
Well, what was I supposed to do? Ask him to wait while I pulled on my pants? Go for the throat? He was a mess, he didn’t mean me any harm. It was just a stupid mistake.
But you didn’t know that, my prudent self answered back. You can’t rely on that.
I played the incident over and over in my head, left with an image of an ungainly man with brown hair and beard and a prominent nose, not dissimilar to the much younger picture I’d seen of him downstairs. Because I instinctively didn’t believe his denials for one minute, I finally fell asleep wondering who the “stubborn little bitch” was.
It seemed like only a moment later that I heard a tapping on the door. I didn’t answer at first; then I heard Greg’s voice call out.
“Emma, time to get up. May I come in?”
What was it about this room? It seemed to be some kind of central thoroughfare.
“Uh, yeah, Greg.” I sat up and tried to tidy myself a little—wipe a bit of drool from my chin, the sleep from my eyes, and realized that my head was pounding as though an enthusiastic blacksmith had taken up residency in it. I found I was entertaining thoughts of strangling Greg for adding to it with his knocking. What the hell was wrong with me?
Greg entered, holding a mug, looking abominably cheery for the hour of the day. “Prerogative of the gentleman of the house to bring morning tea. Milk, no sugar okay?”
“Fine. Thank you very much,” I said, taking the mug from him. I took one sip and suddenly realized what was wrong. It was tea . It was very good tea, well-brewed and strong, with a nicely balanced flavor.
But I
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