Romantic love story

Chapter Three: Mr. Nice Guy

Even before he opened the front door, something in the pit of Terry's stomach knew what to expect. The likelihood of being able to sneak into the house undetected, was next to nil, greater still when you mixed in a worried family.

Not that Terry tried to sneak, of course. He just didn't see why he should disturb anyone's Sunday morning sleep-in for no good reason.

He edged the front door open, then a little more, until a figure lying on the couch came into view. The click of locks had already woke the sleeping man, and as Terry came inside, John sat up and rubbed the bleariness from his eyes.

"I was hoping no one would wait up for me," Terry said with a rueful chuckle. He placed the trash bag on the floor, tugged the door closed.

"Yeah, well," John stood up in a stretching yawn, "I couldn't get any sleep."

"You didn't look like you were having any trouble, a moment ago."

John gave a half shrug. "I took a nap. What's in the bag?"

"Laundry," Terry said, pointing his chin to the bulging trash bag. "With all that rain last night, everything got soaked."

"Hmmm." John made no other response, his stare directed at the floor and not at Terry. "Everything go all right? Or would you prefer I not ask?"

"You can ask," Terry said with a lightheartedness he didn't quite feel.

John's gray-eyed stare moved from the floor to Terry. "Then did everything go all right?"

"Well," Terry rubbed his neck, trying to buy time so he could figure out the best honest answer possible. Escaping from a bathroom window two stories off the ground didn't exactly make it easy for Terry to shrug out a "Sure, everything's fine."

"I guess things could have gone better," Terry said at last.

The hesitance in Terry's answer, the length of time it took before he replied, caused a wary smile to crease John's mouth. "A cautious answer to a cautious question. I hope you're not holding back, simply because you're afraid of what I'll say."

"Not exactly you..." Terry slanted a look down the hall.

Wearing a dark red robe, and fuzzy blue slippers the girls had given her for mother's day earlier that year, Izumi came into the living room with Ruthie in tow.

"He's back," John said with a smile.

"So I see." Izumi looked Terry over, saw the bag and lifted her brows in an unspoken question.

"Oh, that's laundry," John said.

Though Terry appreciated his friend's attempt to shield him, Terry understood the inevitable next question. "Izzy, this time I'm being more careful. I give you my word."

"You've said that, before."

"This time is different."

"How is it different? Does this houseguest need money, a place to stay until who knows when, and emotional support until you're the one having nightmares?"

John blew out a heavy sigh. "Little Dove, Terry is doing what he feels is right."

Despite having heard John's loving pet name for her, Izumi pinned her husband with a solid stare. "Terry is setting himself up to get hurt again, and I seem to be the only one here who sees it coming."

"It's only going to be for a day or two," Terry said, venturing to put in a few words in his own defense.

"And," John added in a show of support, "this houseguest isn't from the crisis hotline. Relax, Little Dove. Everything is under control."