Chapter 62

I hate it when the doorbell rings. Between breakfast and lunch, I am alone. One of the things I did have, was a cordless phone. If I was in real need I could call and get help, but let's face it, all I was doing was lying around. I can hold it three hours. It's the only time I'm really alone.

Of course, that led to an embarrassing conversation. As I have to rely on everyone to get and take away just about everything I have, I have no privacy. Even being here alone for three hours, I have to get someone to get everything I'm going to need.

I am a guy and, as such, Jessica turns me on. There is little question what she does to me. Problem is, she knows it. Real problem is, with two legs in casts, I can't just wander off and take care of my problem.

So the conversation went something like this.

"Theresa."

"Yes, John?"

"I ... um..."

"Just spit it out."

The irony of that statement was something I wasn't even going to touch.

"Not sure how to say this without getting both of us embarrassed."

She turned around; looking to make sure her skirt hadn't been tucked inside her panties or some such nonsense.

"I'm a nurse John, I think I can take it."

"Your daughter is getting to me and I need some relief."

"What's she doing ... Oh!" she said when she got what I was talking about. "You two aren't..."

"No, but I have very little privacy to do what I would, normally."

"What about at night?"

My mouth twitched and I couldn't help but grin.

"Have you ever moved on that bed of hers?"

She frowned. I'm sure that wasn't the way she wanted the conversation to go.

I went on, "It squeaks, a lot, with the right type of motion."

"Oh."

"I have the mornings."

"Yes you do!" she said brightly. "That would work just fine."

I think she thought that the conversation was over.

"There's still a problem."

"What?"

"I have to have something to clean up with."

With that, she sat down.

"Hell."

The solution wasn't the best, but then there wasn't a 'best' that either of us could think of. So, I have a binder that I can reach under the couch and get. It has a washcloth in it. Nothing looks suspicious. The worst of it is that Theresa has to pick it up, dump it into the wash and fold another in there. So far, it had worked.

Yesterday, when Jessica was taking her shower, Theresa told me that she could tell that I was more at ease. Even though she didn't like changing the cloth, she appreciated that it made things easier on me. Translation: she'd put up with the changing of the cloth, if I'd keep my hands and other parts to myself.

So, here I am in one of my favorite daydreams, when the doorbell rings. Don't they know I can't answer it? Don't they know that it's going to take me another ten minutes to stop thinking of who could be at the door and where I was in my little dream? Pathetic, isn't it?

My suggestion: don't break both legs. It sucks.

It is also later than I thought. I'm just zipping up when I hear the door open. That was a bit too close.

"Hi, honey, I'm home!" Jessica sang out.

"Jessica! What are you doing home?" I said as someone is always here before she shows up from school.

She came over, standing beside me with a frown on her face.

"Don't you like it when I'm home?"

I shook my head, and said, "Of course I do. What kind of a question is that? But..."

"Someone sent a bomb threat to Mr. Smith. He's our creative writing teacher and someone didn't like him, apparently. Now the Principal's going crazy. Mr. Smith obviously didn't take it too seriously, 'cause someone heard him saying they'll hang whoever did that off the nearest cliff. You know, cliff hanger..."

I groaned.

"Anyway we were all sent home early."

"Your mom's going to have a cow."

"That would be something to see!"

"Jessica..."

"I know, I should call her."

Then she reached down at her feet.

"Did I leave this here?" she said puzzled.

Then she picked up the binder, opened it, shrieked, and dropped it. The washcloth fell to the floor, as well. Can life get any more embarrassing?

"They'll both be there, right?" Fiona asked for the fifth time.

"Yes they will. Are you afraid of Ken for some reason?"

"He asks lots of questions."

"Isn't that what he's supposed to do? I think he asks them to get you to think, and talk."

"But what if I say the wrong thing?"

Antonio looked over at his daughter.

"What do you mean, 'the wrong thing?' If I asked you how you felt today, how could your answer ever be wrong?"

Fiona fidgeted.