If Only She'd Loved Him

Chapter 17

Friday 6:45 pm

Three voice mail messages.  Three golden chances to end this all now.  Jean held the phone tight to her ear, but Matt could soon tell by her face that none of the messages were what she wanted to hear.  Shoulders sinking, Jean sank down on a stool and lowered her head.

Matt took the time to study the kitchen.  It was a far cry from his and Paul's apartment.  The counters were clean.  The sink empty.  The girls even had potholders.  Matt shook his hand remembering the last time he'd tried to wrap a towel around his hand and ended up scalding it on a pizza tray.  A small niche of bookshelves held an assortment of cookbooks.  Did Jean cook?  He suddenly had an image of Jean covered in flour, handing him fresh baked cookies.  His mouth started to water.  Chocolate chocolate chip cookies and milk, big frothy glasses of milk and batter.  Rich, thick batter right off the beater.  He smacked his lips.

Suddenly Jean was looking back at him.  "What's with you?"

"Uh nothing," Matt replied, then asked hopefully, "Do you bake?"

Jean shot his hopes down in a flash. "No. I hate it."  She climbed off the stool and pulled over her cell.  "I guess I oughta cancel the party," she said.  Matt nodded, still disappointed over his lost cookies.

It didn't take long.  One group text and the word was spread.  Before Jean shut her phone, she hung onto it a few extra seconds as if willing it to buzz.  Then she pushed her chair away from the table.  

"Let's get started," she said, all business again.  Pointing to a door on the left of the hallway with a Disturb At Will sign above its top, she paused.  "Megan's room is that one."

Cautiously, Matt opened the door Jean indicated.  He didn't want to disturb a crime scene. He didn't have to worry.  The room looked the same way Jean had left it this morning, the bed still unmade, makeup carelessly splayed on the dresser.  A half-done crossword puzzle was on top of her dresser, done in pen, not pencil.  Matt was prepared to be impressed, until he looked closer, and realized the pen was only used to write over the penciled-in answers.  He gave a low whistle as he took in the mess around him.  "Heck of a fight she put up."

"This?" Jean snorted, gesturing around the room.  "This is one of her neater days.  Megan's a total slob."

Shaking his head, Matt went to check out Megan's closet.  "If I don't return in an hour, send out a search party will you," he only half-joked.  Her closet looked treacherous.  I need a good machete, he thought to himself.

Jean didn't laugh.  "Matt, this doesn't feel right.  I mean this is her stuff."

Matt wasn't pleased.  He didn't have to be here.  He wasn't sure if he wanted to be here.  After all, Megan wasn't his girlfriend.  "Look," he replied, "what choice do we have?  If you've got a better idea on how to look for your roommate, I'm all ears.  But if she's really in trouble, I think any time that we waste arguing is really stupid, don't you?"

Jean didn't miss the conditional phrasing Matt had just used: if Megan's really in trouble. But he had a point, and at least he was trying to help.  She started to dig into the drawers, occasionally looking up to see how Matt was doing.

Having elbowed his way through all of Megan's tightly packed clothes, Matt had just started to reach for the top of the closet when a French history book came flying down and hit him on the head.  It was immediately followed by a purple cardboard box.   Klunk.  Klunk, right on top of his skull.  Papers scattered everywhere, as the box, no longer cushioned by Matt's head, hit the floor.  Hearing the noise, Jean looked up.  Matt was staring up at the closet shelf like he was afraid it was going to leap down and bite him.  She laughed.  He looked so silly with paper landing around him like confetti.  He did not appreciate her laughter.

"You know, when I said your roommate was a slob, I underestimated her.  She sets traps too."  Matt started to sulk.  Here, Jean was laughing at him and he was hurt. All while he was in the process of trying to do a good deed.  The nice get screwed, he thought. "At least this explains how you two get dates.  You trap 'em and then you hit 'em," he added snidely, rubbing at his sore head. 

"We throw the little ones back," she responded sweetly.

Matt blushed.  He hadn't expected that response.  Then he started to grin in spite of his pain.  Hopping on the bed, he grabbed a pillow.

"Laugh, will you?"

"At you, always," Jean responded, grabbing up a cushion of her own.  But she couldn't stop giggling and so was at a huge disadvantage.  She only managed to get in a few good swipes before he got her pillow, and pinned her to the bed with it.  He looked down at Jean.  Her eyes crinkled at him, and her soft naked lips were curving, moving up and down, teasing him with their smile.  Laugh at him, would she.  He could stop that.  Elbows leaning into the mattress, Matt started to lower himself further down, but then Jean closed her eyes like she expected him to kiss her.  Her behavior snapped him upright.  She expected him to kiss her, and it had almost worked. But he prided himself on his self-control.  He wasn't ready for a new relationship yet, and he refused to let himself settle for anything less.  He backed away.  Jean looked up in surprise, but said nothing as he climbed off the bed, and went back towards the closet.

"Guess we better get back to work," he said, shuffling through Megan's hangers.

"Uh, um yeah," she agreed.

Still thinking about what had almost happened, Jean forgot about the papers laying on the floor.  As she stepped off the bed, her right foot skidded across the tile, sending her legs into an unanticipated and painful split.  Catching herself on the side of the bed, she leaned down, ripping the piece of paper off  her shoe.  There were three neat holes punched on its sides.  She was just about to discard it as a useless class note when she read the top line.  Her hands began to sweat as she clutched at the sheet of paper.

"Matt," she yelled, "I think I've got something here."