I turned and staggered blindly toward the door. I wanted to get out. I felt strangled. I couldn't breathe, couldn't possibly get another breath of air until I got out of this house and felt my feet on God's pavement again. I fumbled for the knob, groaning in frantic desperation to escape.
My fingers settled around the knob. I jerked the door open and started out into the hall.
The placid face of a man twice my size, radiating peace and good will, blocked the doorway. I blinked at him blearily, backing away a step or two. He blinked back like a simpleton trying to understand geometry.
"Oh, January," Paula said behind me. "This is Carl Friedman, our Jack-of-all-work."
"Pleased to meet you, January," the giant said, sounding like an uncouth character concentrating on not saying pleeze t'meetcha.
My snarl was purely animal as I slammed the door on him and turned back into the room. I stood there, swaying and holding my head for a minute.
"All right," I gave up. "Get out. I'll take a nice warm bath and bury myself in apple blossoms. Then you can bring me some grapefruit juice and radiate at me like a harvest moon. Only get this straight. I hate your old man. I hate him more every minute."
"That's all right," Paula said, going to the door and opening it. "I hate him too—sometimes."
Carl backed away far enough for her to get out. She flashed me a sympathetic smile. The door closed. I was alone. With the smell of apple blossoms. And my hate.
I took off my clothes and climbed into the tub. The temperature was just right. I sighed in reluctant contentment, splashing around a little to help the warmth soak in.