Playing Doctor

Chapter Twenty-Five

fail·ure [feyl-yer] - noun

1. an act or instance of failing or proving unsuccessful; lack of success.

2. a person or thing that proves unsuccessful.

Snuggling under my covers, I rolled over to snooze a little longer and fell right out of bed onto a hard, cold floor.

"Ouch." I sat up and rubbed my hip, wondering where the rug next to my bed went. And why was there a coffee table right here? For that matter, where was my bed?

Then I remembered Magda pulling me in, giving me a bath, and falling asleep on her couch. I pushed my tangled hair out of my eyes, trying to gauge the time.

"I wondered when you'd get up."

Frowning, I turned to find Magda in the kitchen. My hair fell back in my face. I batted it away and sat back up on the couch. "What time is it?"

"Nine thirty. You were out like a light." She held out a mug. "Tea?"

I would have preferred a stiff cup of Folgers but beggars couldn't be choosy so I nodded. I sat there like a log, no thoughts, while she fixed me a cup and brought it over. "I'm making a habit of having you wait on me."

"Maybe you need it," she said as she eased onto the other end of the couch.

"Do you ever need it?" I blew on the hot liquid.

She shrugged. "I don't have the luxury of someone waiting on me."

"I never did either, till now." Twirling a lock of hair around my finger, I considered that. Then I shook my head and met her gaze. "You have someone now too, if you want."

She stared at me wordlessly. Whatever she saw must have appeased her, because she nodded solemnly. "I think I'd really like that."

I smiled, slow and full. "I would too." Then I frowned again. "What time did you say it was?"

"Probably close to nine forty-five now."

Good thing it was Saturday. Otherwise I'd be late for work.

Saturday. I'd promised Walter I'd open for him since he had some sort of late night plans the night before.

"Oh no." I sloshed tea in my haste to set the cup down and hop off the couch. "I'm late."

"I threw away your clothes. Blood doesn't come out well," she said, eyeing my crazed search for my clothing. "Take my robe."

I nodded as I slipped into my shoes. "I don't know how to thank you."

"That's what friends do. Apparently," she added with a wry twist of her lips.

Her words sank in. Friends. It was almost worth all the problems I'd been having becoming average.

On impulse, I strode to her, leaned down, and squeezed her. She sat there stiffly for so long I worried that I'd crossed some line, but then she reciprocated with a pat on my back.

Smiling, I rushed out the front door and up into Mena's house. I got dressed in my tee shirt uniform, the first pair of slacks that came to hand, and my running shoes. Pulling my hair back, I put it in a simple ponytail since it was the fastest, brushed my teeth, swiped some deodorant, and rushed out the door.

Practically running, I looked at the time on my cell phone as I reached the store. Ten after ten. Wince. Thank God Walter wasn't due in till noon. Hopefully he wouldn't find out I'd opened late.

The lights were on. Strange. Pulling out my keys as I reached the door, I paused. I pushed and the door opened, already unlocked.

Knowing that if someone had broken in the alarm would have gone off and the police would be here, the only other explanation was that someone came and opened for me. Either that or Griffin forgot to lock up and turn the lights off, not to mention the alarm. I shook my head. He was forgetful but he wasn't negligent.