Just a little Bit Guilty
by Deborah Smith
slanted down. She nodded limply. "Yeah, it's hard to be feisty." The room stopped moving, and she inhaled gratefully as he lowered her back to the gurney. Vivian held out one hand. Her eyes locked with his, she said contritely, "Mr. Coltrane, you have my sincere apology for being an ungrateful bee-atch."
For a moment, he continued to look upset then his face softened into a smile. The smile became wide, creasing his eyes at the corners sexily. He laughed low in his throat, and covered her little hand with his big one. Vivian's mouth went chalk-dry at the feel of is thick fingers pressing lightly into her palm. Jake gazed down at their joined hands, and his thumb caressed a blue vein under her delicate skin.
"Apology accepted, Tough Stuff." He cleared his throat. They weren't shaking hands, they were holding hands—
without moving, without breathing. "I knew you really didn't want me to leave." He saw the shimmering wetness creep into here eyes before she could will it away. She turned her head toward the pillow.
"You poor, tired girl," he whispered, and touched her cheek. That did it. If he hadn't said those sappy, sweet words she could have held on, Vivian thought in despair, as a huge tear slide down the side of her nose. Jake's fingers brushed it away before she could stop him.
"It's ... all ... right," she assured him, her voice low and tight. "Forget it."
"Don't try to be such a tough little—"
"You're supposed to ask me questions, "she interjected abruptly, feeling absurd and ready not just to sniffle again 22
Just a little Bit Guilty
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but—as her hard-bitten mother, Julia, would have called it—to boo-hoo like a whiny loser. Why did this man make her feel this way? Her throat was graveled. "So, ask your questions!
Ask!" she ordered.
She could feel him looking down at her sympathetically. She shrugged, sniffed, and turned her best courtroom poker face up to him. She watched dully, her head throbbing with new pain, as he pulled a spare tractor cap out of his back pocket. He studied it, fiddling with the adjustable band for a moment.
"What's your middle name?" he asked finally. He reached over and put the tractor cap on her head, cocking it to one side so it didn't touch her bump. Then he put the ice pack, which had slipped down the pillow, back in place.
"Fiona. Vivian Fiona Costa," she said slowly. Her mouth stayed open after the last part. His easy charm mesmerized her.
"That's pretty. I never knew an Italian girl before."
"My father's Italian. My mother's just your basic whitebread American." He hung his heels on the stool's middle rung and propped his elbows on the white-blue denim that covered his knees. His hands hung casually between his legs. Vivian thought he had wonderful hands—mapped with scars and nicks and calluses, but as supple and caring as a surgeon's. "Your parents still alive, Tough Stuff?"
"Sort of. They moved to Pittsburg last year." He chuckled. "What's your father do?"
"He sits around wishing he were back in Atlanta." 23
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"What's he do for a livin', Ms. Wise Mouth?" She couldn't help smiling at him. He smiled back.
"He's the best tailor in the world. He and my uncle Gino are partners in a men's clothing store. Custom suits. Oldworld craftsmanship."
"You grew up in the middle of the city?" Jake looked around the noisy, smelly emergency room, distaste on his face. He seemed to feel that the scene around them summed up all that was wrong with city life.
"In a house about ten minutes from downtown," she told him tautly. "Midtown. Classic old bungalows. Big oak trees. Block parties." He looked unconvinced as his eyes studied her curiously. Vivian sighed. "So where are you from, Mr. Coltrane, beside that ancient apartment building on Crescent Street?"
"I'm from Tuna Creek, Tennessee," he said, exhaling and running one hand through his hair wearily. "Go ahead and laugh."
Vivian pushed his cap back with the edge of one thumb.
Don't laugh, don't laugh
, she ordered herself silently. She'd control herself with the same technique she used in court every time some gangbanger said something outrageous.
"Who named it Tuna Creek?" she asked sternly, as if she'd like to get her hands on the culprit.
"My great-granddaddy," he answered.
"Oh, crap."
But he started chuckling and shook his head to indicate there was no need for an apology. After a second, Vivian began to smile.
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Just a little Bit Guilty
by Deborah Smith
"Oh, oh, oh," she said, clasping her aching head. "This is torture."
"See, a travelin' salesman sold Great-Granddaddy some little bitty fish and told him they were a breed of freshwater tuna," Jake explained with fiendish pleasure, as she waved a hand to him to stoop. "And Great-Granddaddy dumped them in his creek."
"What were they?" she managed to sputter.
"Goldfish."
She laughed harder, holding her head.
"It worked out pretty well," Jake added somberly. "Except it was always hard to find enough plastic castles and colored rocks..."
"Stop!" she demanded, squinting in pain, her laughter fading. Immediately, he pulled the cap off her head and began stroking her temple. Vivian snuggled into the pillow and took deep breaths.
"You okay, Tough Stuff?"
She nodded. "How'd you end up living in Atlanta?" she wanted to know.
"I lost my dairy business to the bank," he said softly. His fingers paused, and Vivian gazed up at him to find his face set in a stoical line but his attention suddenly miles away.
"Everything?"
He gave an offhand shrug as if he didn't care. "I was able to save the old homestead by declaring bankruptcy, but just barely. I had to auction off most of my stock, doublemortgage the old home place..." 25
Just a little Bit Guilty
by Deborah Smith
What about your parents? Do you have any family?"
"My folks are both dead." His blue eyes were clouded with sadness as they met hers.
"Jake, I'm sorry."
"I wouldn't have wanted them to watch everything go. I've got four younger brothers, but they moved on after college. I'm the last one in the family dairy business."Oh, Jake," she said gently. She understood hard work and disappointment all too well. She'd grown up in a respectable but poor family—six children supported by the meager income of a tailor and a waitress. "So," she said briskly. "You become a slum lord here."
"A what?" he asked blankly. He blinked hard. "Oh, no. I'm fixin' the place up. I wouldn't rent it to people the way it is now. See, my Uncle Needham left me this buildin' in his will. I'm goin' to get it in shape, rent the apartments out, and then try to sell the whole shebang."
"Is there a Mrs. Jake?" Vivian asked. "And little Jakettes?"
"Nope." He cut his eyes and mimicked her. "Is there a Mr. Judge—poor, henpecked soul—or anything smaller than you that calls you 'Mama?'"
"No."
"Never married?"
"I've been divorced for three years. Now, Redneck, you don't need to ask all these personal questions..."
"Don't go changin' the subject, Tough stuff. Why'd you kick the poor man out?"
"I didn't. He ran."
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"Hmmm." Jake tucked his chin and looked at her for a silent moment. "Did you love him?"
"Mr. Coltrane, I don't think this falls under the questions the doctor had in mind."
"You want me to make trouble?" he quipped. His eyes gleamed as his voice dropped to a stage whisper. "Oh, doctor, come quick! The poor lady over here's talkin' to her toes and askin' where to catch the next MARTA to the Starship Enterprise."
"All right, all right." She yielded, feeling exasperated. This situation made for an unusual intimacy between strangers, and he appeared determined to get answers from her. Vivian tilted her chin up as best she could and looked him directly in the eye. "Yes, at the time I loved him. Yes, it was hard not to be hurt when you come home from work one night and find your husband's gone off to join the circus." He did a quick double take.
"He fell in love with a trapeze performer from Cirque de Soleil. I was working long hours as a public defender for the city. We just lost touch."
"Any boyfriends?"
"I don't have any, but I can't vouch for
him
." Jake chuckled. "Well, why
don't
you have any boyfriends?"
"A woman without a man is like a tuna without a bicycle."
"Maybe you just been fishing in all the wrong creeks."
"Wow, dog, you know how to flirt," she said in a syrupy voice.
"I try to do my duty to the female of the species. But enough about me. How old are you?"
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Just a little Bit Guilty
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"Young enough to be interested and old enough to know better. I'm not on the market anymore."
"Nah, you've got potential. Maybe it's something only a man could see." His deep baritone took on a very patient tone. "Now, darlin', tell me how many years old..."
"I'm thirty-two. And don't say I'm too young to be a city court judge."
"I was about to say you're prime meat on the hoof." Her eyes narrowed. "I usually get a kiss after such flowery flattery."
Jake leaned over closely, holding her hypnotized. "Okay." He gave her a gentle kiss. His lips were warm and firm, and he pursed them just right, just enough to tug at her own when he pulled away. Her involuntary but obviously appreciative sigh followed him.
"I'm thirty-four," he told her. "So this thing ought to work out real well." He settled back on his stool. She was speechless. A few seconds later, it occurred to her that she must look like a scared squirrel, staring numbly at him over the fluffy wool collar of his coat.
"
What
ought to work out real well?" she managed, her voice sounding unreal to her.
"Us going out on a date."
"I'm not a fish. You didn't bait a hook and catch me."
"A little small, but a keeper."
"I said I'm not on the market."
"I'm just askin' you to dinner, not running you through the check-out scanner."
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Just a little Bit Guilty
by Deborah Smith
"What are you yelling about?" Maria asked in exasperation a moment later, appearing by Vivian's side.
"Is Washington still around?"
"Yes..."
"Ask him if he can give me a ride home." Maria flipped a cell phone open and made a call.
"I'll take you home," Jake interjected calmly.
"I don't think that would be a good idea." Vivian sat up and handed Jake his coat. She felt Maria's sharp eyes assessing her and the situation. Vivian brushed her fingers through her tangled hair, trying to calm down.
"This yokel upsetting you, Viv?"
"He's no problem. A good guy. Just a little freakin'
possessive."
"I'll call security."
"No."
"Vivian," Jake said quietly, "I brought you here, and I can be trusted to drive you home."
"No, thanks. But if you ever need a traffic ticket fixed, I'll see what I can do. Good night."
Abruptly, Barney Washington arrived in the small space.
"Somebody said you need a ride home, Your Honor," he offered, eyeing the scene curiously.
"Yes, I do." She wobbled off the gurney and headed for a corridor, trailed closely by the officer and Jake. Vivian felt strangely close to crying again. She wanted to whirl around and thump Jake Coltrane on his broad chest and ask why he wanted to complicate her life with laughter and kindness and passion.
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Just a little Bit Guilty
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She had formed a tough skin for all the pitiful, ugly, disgusting things in her work and in her life, and now he wanted to tear it all to hell. It was bad enough that when Barney Washington and Maria spread word of this goofy incident to the Municipal Court offices, she'd never live this night down.
Jake stopped by the double doors to the ambulance ramp and watched Vivian careen out as Washington held the door for her.
He'd ruffled her feathers, and he was sorry for not understanding the depth of her cynicism toward men. His hopes sank all the way to his heels, and he cursed himself for not taking things slower.
"What's the rush?" a bleary-eyed wino called from a nearby corner. "Somebody lose somethin' important?" Officer Washington still held the door open. Vivian stopped just outside, her breath frosty in the winter air, and twisted around to stare at Jake with an expression that was both sad and determined. "I really do thank you for what you did. I really do appreciate it. But I'm kind of a loner. Good night." His heart pulled into a pained knot.
Vivian had forgotten to take off his cap, and brown-black hair tumbled thickly to her shoulders beneath it. She raised one hand in a tiny wave.
"I'll never forget what you did," she called raggedly. The door swung shut between them.
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Just a little Bit Guilty
by Deborah Smith
"Let me get this straight, sir." Vivian idly touched the twoday-old lump on her head, stretched her black robed arms out in front of her and clasped her hands together. A short man with a pinched face looked up at her. A bored police officer and an attorney from the prosecutor's office slouched behind him. "You say a photograph of Kanye West spoke to you from the window at Barnes and Noble?"
"Told me to let my light shine!"
"Are you sure you don't want legal counsel?"
"Hah! I spit at convention!"
"Very commendable. However, the ladies who reported you to the police said you spat at
them
, and then your light has remarkable resemblance to your middle finger. Could that be true?"
"Anything could be true, Judge. The poles are about the shift." He swirled his hands. "Whole planet gonna turn upside down in a few years. Nostradamus said so. So did the Mayans, way back when."