“Yeah.”
“Everyone calls me ‘Jules.’”
He shifted uncomfortably and tapped his thighs. “Alright. Night, Jules.”
“Goodnight, Pat.”
NINE
Patrick
Sleep evaded me. The night’s events took my brain places I wished I could erase.
Gracie had dozed off in the crook of my arm again. I slipped in and out of awareness myself. I knew I should wake her and send her home, but it was late October and uncurling from our warm cocoon was easier said than done. Delaying the inevitable was only making the temperature drop. Her parents would crack down on her if she wasn’t in her room come morning.
Reluctantly, I kissed her ear and whispered her name.
The hammock lurched as she shot upright, arms flailing through the air. I grabbed opposite sides of the ropes to keep us from flipping out. She pushed at the air, gasping for breath and grunting, “Get off me! Get off me!” Her eyes were still closed.
“Gracie! You’re having a dream.” I tried to soothe her, but it was useless. I was worried she’d take a head first dive, so I held her down on the hammock by the waist. Physical force against her fear was the wrong thing to do. Her elbow hit me square in the left eye. She screamed and shoved me off the hammock with the force of a madwoman. I sprained my wrist. She hit the unforgiving ground right behind me.
The force of the fall jolted her out of her terror. She sat up, eyes finally wide and seeing, and I scooped her into my lap. “Gracie, Gracie.” I shushed her, pushing the sticky red locks out of her face. Her body quaked, and the dam broke. She melted into a puddle of tears in my arms, apologizing again and again.
I grabbed her face and turned it to mine. “Gracie, stop. You don’t have anything to apologize for.”
The moonlight across her features made her look older and more haggard than reality. She sniffed and whimpered into my shoulder. “Hold me, Pat.”
I walked her to the outskirts of her property right before sunrise. When I asked her about the reoccurring night terrors, “nightmares” was her only answer. Like an idiot, I believed her. Swallowed it hook, line, and sinker.
Now I know better. Terror like that doesn’t pop out of nowhere. I’ve had nightmares plenty of times. But until I experienced hell in my own life, I didn’t know the soul-gripping fear of trauma. The way it could catapult you into your worst moments without warning.
So I laid in my bed, tossing and turning, wondering what on earth had traumatized Julia. The idea of her being hurt or wounded created an intense compulsion in me to stand by her. My breastbone burned with unexplainable, almost foolish, loyalty. Like one survivor to another. Although I could hardly call myself a survivor. Every moment, my soul smoldered like hot coals, waiting for the smallest provocation to explode into flames again.
Conflict raged in my chest. I couldn’t shake the desire to help her, but I’d given her the wrong idea already. I’d been more personal than I ever intended to be. The episode in my truck was enough for me to know Julia had experienced enough brokenness in her life, so I needed to stay out of it.
Thelastthing she needed was Patrick Moore meddling.
The thoughts sat like a weight on my chest and I rubbed my pec. I needed to mind my own business and let people live their lives. Maybe I should’ve left her to run through the rain.
If I wanted her best, I’d stay as far away as humanly possible. Right?
* * *
By Monday morning, I couldn’t wait any longer. I considered turning around a hundred times before I finished the two minute walk to Julia’s building. She was an adult for crying out loud. The bizarre urge to check-in on a woman who clearly didn’t need my help made no sense to me. But my legs closed the distance, and my hand lifted to knock on her door. Once I knew she was okay, I’d be able to move on. Hopefully.
I waited and listened. Silence.
See? You are so paranoid. She’s fine. She’s probably wor—.
The door swung open, and Julia swept out of the apartment, a full length skirt dusting the ground behind her. My breath caught. A black handbag hung around her bare shoulder, contrasting her flawless white tank top. A dozen bangles on her wrists tinkled as they spun around. If I thought she was beautiful without trying, she was stunning dressed up—to say the absolute least.
She smiled when she saw me, but didn’t stop her motion. “Hey, Pat!” She stuck a key into the dead bolt and locked up. I must’ve caught her while she was heading out.
“Hey, Juli—Jules. How you been?” I scratched the back of my neck, feeling foolish for invading. Her business was none of mine.
“Good! I’ve been pretty tired, but I caught up on sleep over the weekend.” She did look tired. Despite the beautiful outfit, she still wore no makeup and the circles under her eyes were apparent.
“Extra sleep is always good.” My hands found their way to my pockets; one fiddled around with a bit of lint in the deepest spot. “I was just stopping by to say hi. Check and see how you are doing.”
