Chapter 9

I skidded to a halt in front of Ann's door. I wasn't out of breath -- I couldn't have run more than a hundred yards, not counting the staircase -- but I was panting a bit. I forced myself to take a deep breath before knocking.

Ann's voice came from inside. "George?"

"Yeah."

"It's open. Come on in."

I closed my eyes, took another breath, opened them, and opened the door. In one one-hundredth of a second, I thought of a hundred things I wanted to say to April.

But I didn't say any of them.

April was sitting against the wall in Ann's bed, wearing a t-shirt that obviously wasn't made for her, since it hugged her breasts too tightly and barely covered her navel. She had a blanket draped over her lap, and her bad ankle was resting on a pillow with what looked like an Ace bandage wrapped around it. I noticed a pile of clothing on the floor next to the bed, and I recognized the blouse and skirt that April had been wearing last night.

Ann was sitting at her desk, clad similarly to April, except the t-shirt she was wearing came down over her thighs.

I looked back down at the pile of clothes on the floor. I noticed a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, as well as several undergarments that I didn't recognize.

I looked up at April, then down at the pile of clothing, then over at Ann, then at April again. Something clicked in my head, and I think my mouth opened to say something, but no words would come out. Instead, I just stood there, probably looking like a complete fool.

April, mercifully, broke the silence. "Why don't you sit down, George?" she asked gently.

I looked around the room for someplace to sit, unsuccessfully. Ann lived in a single, just like I did, and they were pretty sparse on furniture. Not seeing much of a choice, I gently sat on the half of the bed that April wasn't occupying, pulling one leg up and sitting sideways.

Another hundred things to say ran through my mind. Naturally, my brain chose the least-intelligent sounding one.

"You... you're... you two... here... but... I... huh?" I stammered, pointing first at April, then at Ann, then at the bed, then at myself, then up towards my room.

Finally a solid thought formed in my head. "I don't understand," I managed to say with something resembling coherency.

April just grinned. "Yeah, I don't really either. But Ann's been helping me out a bunch."

That didn't help me at all.

"Look, George, let's start at the beginning. Yes, I am kind of upset with you because you slept with those two teenagers last night. And I expect that what's gotten you confused is why I'm here, in Ann's bed, wearing one of her nightshirts and resting my ankle. But right now I'm not angry with you, and I don't want you to be angry with me."

That sounded like a good place to start to me. "Okay, I think I can handle that."

"Good. First, we should get all the facts out in the open. Last night, after I stormed out of your room, Ann found me in the elevator crying like a little child. She brought me back here rather than take me home because of my ankle. We talked for a while... and then we had sex."