Just My Joe

“You?” he said. “You function in a sphere of wealth, cater to the rich, who indulge themselves in such nonsense as expensive birds for pets.

“You rose above what were obviously humble beginnings, then turned your back on your reality, instead of giving something back. Am I even close to getting through to you, Polly?”

“You’re coming across loud and clear,” she said. “You’re a judgmental, narrow-minded man, with a mind-set that isn’t open for any kind of discussion. You pass censure on people you don’t even know, having no clue as to their personal circumstances.”

“I...”

“Guess what, Joe Dillon? I don’t like you. You might be the most blatantly sexy man I’ve ever met, but big macho deal. Give me the bird, Joe.”

“What?” Joe said, with a burst of laughter.

“You know what I mean,” Polly said, snatching the heavy cage from Joe’s hand. “I’m leaving. Now. I suppose I should be polite and say it was a pleasure to meet you, but it wasn’t. This entire experience has been grim. Goodbye, Mr. Dillon.”

Joe frowned as Polly left the porch and started down the sidewalk, heading for the van.

“Polly, wait,” he said.

“No!”

Joe watched as Polly maneuvered the van carefully out of the tight parking space. He had a smile and a wave ready to execute if Polly should glance back in his direction.

But she didn’t.

And within minutes she had chugged out of his view in the rattling vehicle.

With a sigh and a shake of his head, Joe sank onto one of the lawn chairs and dragged both hands down his face.

Lord, he was jerk, he thought, in self-disgust. Yes, he believed in what he was doing by living in the ghetto so as to better understand the students he taught who existed in this environment. He’d called this little frame house his home for nearly ten years.

But he’d hammered his convictions at Polly, had jumped all over her like a fanatic who gave no quarter to anyone’s opinion that didn’t match his own.

He’d been a totally obnoxious, overbearing, narrow-minded jerk.

Joe rested his elbows on his knees, laced his fingers loosely together and stared into space.

He knew why he’d behaved the way he had toward Polly Chapman. She’d picked up the price tag for the previous evening spent at his parents’ house. The hours with his folks had been worse than usual, and he’d arrived home wired, angry, unable to sleep for more than snatches at a time during the long night.

So what did he do? He slam-dunked the first person who crossed his path who even hinted at embracing the world of money. Damn.

Polly had not deserved the way he had treated her. So, okay, he believed she had sold out, was catering to the idle rich when she was in a position to give something back to the world she had come from.

But Polly had been right when she’d accused him of passing judgment on her without knowing her personal circumstances. He’d never done that to anyone before and he definitely felt like the scum of the earth for doing it to Polly.

With a muttered expletive, Joe planted his hands on his thighs and pushed himself to his feet.

He had to apologize to Polly, he thought, stepping off the porch. He still believed in what he’d said, but that didn’t excuse the way he’d said it. It was a conditional apology, he supposed, but one that definitely needed to be extended.

“What a lousy day,” he said aloud, as he began his trek back to the school. “Polly want a cracker? No, Polly Chapman would probably like to punch me right in the nose.”

Polly was so furious that she was halfway back to the office before she realized it. She blinked, telling herself to pay attention to the surging traffic, then sighed as a wave of fatigue swept over her.

She wasn’t accustomed to engaging in confrontations like the one she’d had with Joe Dillon. It had left her emotionally drained, so exhausted she could weep.

She had to forget it, push the disturbing memories from her mind, along with the lingering images of Joe. The entire morning and the people involved in it were going to be erased from her brain.

Somehow.

“Give me the bird, Joe,” Jazzy squawked. “Joe. Joe. Give me the bird.”

“Oh, great, just dandy,” Polly said, shooting a glare at the macaw. “Shut up, Jazzy.”

“Shut up, Jazzy. Give me the bird, Joe.”

Polly mumbled a very unladylike word and forced herself to concentrate on her driving.

Doctors Nancy and Robert Dogwood were an attractive, friendly couple in their early forties. They’d chosen not to have children, stating that their maternal and paternal instincts were lavished on the animals they cared for. They were both standing by the receptionist’s desk when Polly entered the office.

“There they are,” Robert said, smiling. “Our ambassadors to Abraham Lincoln High School. How did it go, Polly?”

Polly hoisted the heavy cage up onto the counter.

“Give me the bird, Joe,” Jazzy squawked.

“I beg your pardon?” Nancy said, laughing. “That’s a new one. I hope he forgets it before his owners return. So, Polly? Who’s Joe?”

“It must be Joe Dillon,” Robert said, “the teacher who called to ask if I’d speak at the career day assembly. You don’t look too happy, Polly. Did something go wrong at the school?”

“Everything went wrong,” Polly said miserably. She plunked her elbows on the counter and rested her chin in her hands. “Students in that part of town get a tad hostile when you tell them a bird costs thousands of dollars and its owners are gallivanting around Europe.”

“Whew,” Robert said. “I never thought of that. I’m sure I would have rattled off the same information if I had given the speech.”

“Yes, well, Joe Dillon seemed to think I should have known better than to divulge that data. He was not pleased with me. Then to add spice to the soup, Jazzy bit Joe on the tush in front of all the students.”

“Oh, good heavens,” Nancy said, laughing. “You poor dear. What an awful morning you’ve had.”

Polly nodded, mentally cataloging the things she couldn’t, wouldn’t, share with her employers, who were also her friends.

To relate how Joe Dillon had accused her of selling out by working for the Dogwoods was a direct, negative reflection on the doctors themselves. That they definitely didn’t need to hear.

And she certainly wasn’t confessing to the strange, sensual reaction she’d had to Joe Dillon, nor the fact that there was still a lingering heat simmering within her that had been caused by Joe’s touch.

“Go to lunch, Polly,” Robert said. “You look done in. I sincerely apologize for sending you to the school in my place.”

“It wasn’t your fault it was a disaster.” Polly glanced at the empty chair that belonged to the receptionist. “Don’t you want me to cover the phone, per usual, while Becky is at lunch?”

“I’ll do it,” Nancy said. “We’re on schedule here. The next appointment isn’t for an hour. We’re waiting for the restaurant to deliver Pookie’s food.”

“Pookie the poodle is having her meals catered by a restaurant while she’s boarding here?” Polly said.