Just My Joe

It was, without a doubt, Polly decided, the most tended-to looking house on the block, but that still didn’t mean it was where Joe Dillon lived. It just didn’t make one iota of sense for a man with his income to live in this high-crime part of town.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” Joe said.

“I’m thinking it over,” Polly said, still staring at the house. “I simply can’t get a grip on why you would choose to live...well, in the ghetto if you don’t have to.”

She looked at Joe, a puzzled expression on her face.

“The career day you organized at the school,” she continued, “is proof that you want your students to have hopes and dreams of a better life. You were attempting to show them that there are ways to get out of this environment. Why, Joe? Why would you intentionally remain here if you aren’t forced to?”

Polly shifted her gaze back to the house. “No, I’m not certain I believe that you live here. There’s no rhyme or reason for it.”

“Come on,” Joe said. “I’ll prove it to you.”

“Don’t you have classes to teach?”

“The career day assembly will last all morning. I’ll be back at the school in time for my next scheduled class. Are you coming?”

“Why not?” Polly said, throwing up her hands. “So far my day has been totally bizarre. What’s one more layer on the cake?”

“Cake and ice cream,” Jazzy said, “and a bottle of beer.”

“That’s a gross combination, Jazzy,” Polly said.

“Polly want a cracker?” the bird said.

“Oh, hush,” she said.

“I suppose I’d better hold on to this cage and not put it in the van,” Joe said. “After all, this mound of feathers is worth thousands of dollars.”

“Don’t start that again,” Polly said, frowning. “I’m not the one who determined the monetary worth of champion-line macaws.”

“No, you’re just the one who baby-sits them while the owners are in Europe for six months.” Joe moved past her and started toward the house. “What a terrific contribution to society you make, Ms. Chapman.”

Polly sighed and followed Joe up the cracked, cement sidewalk leading to the little house.

On the porch, Joe raised one eyebrow and cocked his head toward the black metal mailbox mounted next to the door. The name Dillon was spelled out on the front of the mailbox in white, stick-on letters. He removed some keys from his pocket.

“All right,” Polly said. “That’s enough. I believe that you live here. I can’t fathom why you do, but I’ll concede that this is your house.”

“Don’t you want a tour of the mansion?”

“I’m not in the habit of entering the homes of strange men I don’t even know,” she said, with a little sniff. “And you, sir, are very strange.”

Joe chuckled despite his determination not to. A fu

“Like I said, you just don’t get it,” he said. “How can I relate to my students, really understand them, if I don’t live in the reality of their world?”

He narrowed his eyes as he looked directly at Polly.

“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 begi

“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?”