With a sizzle, the fire
died, leaving a burn mark and a pathetic flower on the center of
Julia's couch.
"Well, this is the end of a perfect day!" she yelled, turning to
whoever it was who had just appeared.
"I told you smoking wasn't good for you," Uncle Justin said, scratching
his armpit with a clipboard. Julia figured that the worst thing she
could do right now would be to have a temper tantrum, but decided to
throw one anyway.
"What -- is -- going -- on?!" she yelled.
Justin shook his head and motioned with his hand to calm down.
"Look, this is going to take some explaining. Let's sit down and --
no, I guess we can't sit there now, can we?"
"I can hear it standing up! First, you're in the hospital; then,
you're not. You shot somebody, but you didn't, and then you break into
my apartment just as -- "
"I didn't break in," he interrupted. "I just that second got here."
"Without opening the door?"
"Without opening the door."
Julia took a long look at her Uncle's face. He wasn't drunk, and he
wasn't lying.
"OK, maybe I do need to sit down," she said, sitting on the carpet and
pulling her knees to her face.
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