Always A Bridesmaid (Logan's Legacy Revisited)

by Kristin Hardy

  “Doesn’t matter? There’s something going on here. You don’t just ignore that.”

  Her eyes flashed. “It’s not that easy, Gil. Yes, there’s chemistry. I don’t have to tell you that. But there’s still the Gazette and my brother and this clinic. And I can’t just shrug all that off, not even for whatever it is that’s going on here. No matter how good it is.” She opened her mouth as if she was going to say more and then shook her head. “Now, it’s been a long day and I’m going home.”

  “Go ahead and go home. And when you come back tomorrow, I’ll be waiting.” He walked up and brushed a quick kiss over her lips before she realized his intent. “I’m going to keep being here, Jillian. You’d better get used to it.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Want to tell me what we’re doing here again?” Gil asked as he and Jillian walked down the street off MLK Boulevard in northeast Portland. Gentrification had spread to many parts of the city; when it hit this part of the northeast, though, it had turned tail and run. Bars covered the windows and graffiti laced the sides of the buildings. The very air felt hard—used. As much as she was currently working to keep her distance from Gil, Jillian was happy to have him around as they walked.

  And a sneaky little part of her way down deep was happy to have him around, period.

  Which was part of the problem. There was no point in trying to lie to herself about what had happened in her office the night before. She’d wanted to kiss him. She’d liked it. And she’d wanted more. Despite everything that lay between them, she’d wanted more.

  And that was the last thing she could allow herself.

  She knew all the measured reasons why not. Family, Robbie, the clinic, the paper. She could tell herself that Gil Reynolds didn’t take responsibility for the damage his work at the paper inflicted. She could tell herself that he was so focused on his mission that he didn’t admit to himself the toll it took on people’s lives.

  She couldn’t tell herself that he wasn’t a good man, though. She couldn’t tell herself that he didn’t care.

  And she couldn’t tell herself that she wasn’t attracted to him, however much she might have wanted to.

  She’d gone home the night before with her thoughts chasing in circles. She’d woken up that morning with no better idea of what to do.

  Time, she told herself, but she wasn’t at all sure that would help.

  “There it is.” She pointed ahead. “Advocate Aid. That’s why we’re here.”

  “What is it, some Social-Services agency?”

  “A nonprofit that provides legal advice to people who can’t afford it. I volunteer one Wednesday a month.” She glanced at him. “I told you we could skip the shadowing today. This isn’t really part of your story.”

  And God knew she could have used a day to get her thoughts together about him. Currently, they were still firmly scrambled. Not that a day would have given her time to work things out, but it would have been nice to have at least been able to function normally for a few hours. Since the kiss the night before, she’d had a disconcerting tendency to get all breathless every time Gil came within ten feet of her. Which, since he was still supposed to be her shadow, happened fairly often.

  “Not part of the story?” Gil responded. “What are you talking about? Of course it is.” He opened the swinging glass door that led into the storefront offices of Advocate Aid. “Doing this kind of community work gets to the heart of what social workerdom is all about.”

  She couldn’t help being amused. “Social workerdom?”

  “You know what I mean. You volunteer. Most of us just think about it or give it lip service. It says something about you. The reason you do it is the same reason you became a social worker in the first place, I’m guessing.”

  “I don’t do that much,” she said uncomfortably. “Lots of people do more.”

  “Jillian!” An auburn-haired whirlwind came around the corner, a stack of folders in her arms.

  “Speaking of which,” Jillian said.

  The whirlwind resolved itself as Sarajane Gerrity, nerve center, energy supply and beating, bleeding heart of Advocate Aid.

  “Who’s this,” Sarajane demanded, “your bodyguard? I keep telling you the neighborhood isn’t that bad.” On the desk behind her, a phone began ringing.

  Jillian laughed. “No, this is Gil Reynolds from the Gazette. He’s shadowing me this week for a story. Gil, this is Sarajane Gerrity. She runs the place.”

  “A reporter, huh?” Sarajane’s eyes lit up. “Feel like doing a little pro bono work? I’ve got a couple of press releases I need written.”

  Gil shifted uneasily. “I’m supposed to be here covering a story.”

  “Short press releases. I’ve been meaning to—Excuse me,” she said. Balancing the files against one hip, she snatched up the phone. “Advocate Aid, Sarajane. Oh, right, Mrs. Henderson. Yes, he’ll be in this afternoon. Give me your number and I’ll have him call you back. Great, bye.” Snatching up a pen, she scribbled the number on one of her files and hung up the phone. “Anyway, I’ve been trying to find time to do them for the last three weeks but—” behind her, the phone began shrilling again. She shrugged “—you see what it’s like. Anyway, if you were interested in doing a little volunteer work, it’s just the thing.” Another line hit on the phone just as the front door buzzed to indicate a walk-in.

  “What do you need done?” Gil sighed.

  Sarajane grinned. “A release on our new legal director and another on our expanded operating hours.”

  “New legal director?” Jillian asked. “Anyone I know?”

  “Jordan Hall, would you believe it? He’s left Morrison and Treherne permanently.” She folded the stack of folders up against her chest.

  “Jenny’s brother? I’d say you have a convert, Sarajane. And what’s that on your hand?” she demanded, staring at the winking stone. “That’s beautiful. When did you get it?”

  Sarajane glowed. “Last weekend.”

  Jillian held up Sarajane’s hand. “It’s gorgeous.”

  “Isn’t it?” Sarajane admired the engagement ring herself. “It’s a tension-mounted diamond in platinum. Jordan said it reminded him of me.” She grinned. “Can’t imagine why.” She turned back to Gil. “So what did you decide, champ?”

  Gil blinked.

  “About the press release?”

  He gave Jillian a hunted look.

  “Don’t look at me,” she said. “It’s your call.”

  “How long?” he asked Sarajane.

  “How should I know? You’re the reporter. Maybe two or three hundred words? I don’t need it immediately,” she assured him. “Friday would do.”

  “Friday would—” He shook his head. “Give me whatever material you’ve got.”

  “Excellent.” Sarajane beamed and unearthed it from the stack of folders she held.

  “What the…How did you know to have that with you?”

  “I believe in being prepared.”

  “To press gang any innocent person who walks through the door,” Jillian clarified.

  “Your fiancé didn’t by any chance try to get that ring made in titanium instead of platinum, did he?” Gil asked.

  Sarajane gave him a merry look. “Maybe. You can ask him while you’re interviewing him. He’ll be in this afternoon.”

  “You know, I can’t decide if that smile of yours is smug or just satisfied.” Gil studied Alan over the top of his pint. They sat in the bar at the Cascade Brewery. Blues played in the background. On the television over the bar, a Mariners batter was working the count against Mussina of the Yankees. “I take it married life version 2.0 is working?”

  “So far married life version 2.0 has been great,” Alan told him. “This one is going to work for the long haul.”

  “And you and Lisa are going to stick around Portland for a while?”

  “At least until her son is grown.”

  “Good. I need someone to fleece in poker.” Gil took another swallow of his beer.


  Alan snorted. “You forget about the Texas part of Texas Hold ’em? I grew up playing the game.”

  “I wondered when you perfected your losing ability.”

  “Next thing, you’re going to start giving me advice on women.”

  “Until Lisa, you’ve always needed it. Come on, who tried to warn you about Sherri?”

  “Yeah, there was that.”

  Around them, the pub erupted in cheers as the Mariners batter sent one sailing out of the park for a grand slam.

  “Speaking of women, what do you know about Jillian Logan?” Gil asked when things had quieted down again.

  “Outside of the fact that she’d hate your guts if she knew what you did at the Gazette?”

  “I already found out that part.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn yo—” Alan did a double take. “Found out? Found out how?”

  “Personal discussion.”

  “Personal discussion?”

  “Heated personal discussion.”

  Alan closed his eyes for a moment. “Please tell me it was after the wedding.”

  “A couple of days.” Gil shrugged. “I was going to tell her, anyway. She just found out first.”

  “You were going to tell her, anyway? You get a sudden urge to bare your conscience?”

  Gil shrugged. “I wanted to see her again.”

  “Wait a minute.” Alan shook his head like a dog shaking off water. “Okay, here you are, the guy who always has three or four hot women dangling. And here’s this woman who you know is going to pick you as the lowest form of human life. And she’s the one you go after? You suddenly get hung up on rejection?”

  “Thanks for the analysis, Dr. Freud,” Gil muttered.

  “So what’s the fascination?”

  Gil moved his glass around on the bar. “I don’t know. She’s not easy. She takes keeping up with, but that’s a good thing. She makes me—”

  “What?”

  “She makes me want to be better,” he said slowly.

  Alan gave a long, low whistle.

  “What?”

  “You might be stuck, my friend,” Alan said, and took a swallow of his beer. “And that might be a problem if she’s as ticked as you—” He stopped. “Oh, hell, I’ve got to tell Lisa. This is going to screw everything up.”

  “What do you mean? Jillian’s ticked at me, not her.”

  “There might be a little question of why Lisa didn’t tell her before the wedding.”

  “Maybe, but I doubt it. She seemed a little more focused on giving me what for. Don’t worry, though, I’ll bring her around.”

  “How do you think you’re going to do that? After the heated personal discussion, I mean?”

  Gil grinned. “The Gazette’s running a profile on her and yours truly is doing the reporting.”

  “I thought you were an editor, these days.”

  “You know how it is at an operation like ours.” Gil tucked his tongue into his cheek. “You pitch in where you need to.”

  “And you just happened to need to pitch in on a story about Jillian Logan.”

  “Coincidence is a wonderful thing,” Gil said sunnily.

  “I just bet. And did she fall for it?”

  “Nope, she gave me the scratchy side of her mind.”

  “But?”

  “I think she’s getting a soft spot for me. She doesn’t look at me, anymore, like she’s hoping for my untimely demise.”

  “She’s getting patient enough to wait for the timely version?” Alan asked.

  “Something like that.”

  “I’d say you’re in.”

  Gil gave a broad smile. “I will be.”

  “Where’s your shadow?” Lois asked. Case files spread across the little table in her office as she and Jillian finished their regular Thursday afternoon status meeting.

  “Gil’s entertaining himself,” Jillian said. “I told him we had work to do.”

  When Jillian and David had been newly adopted, Terrence and Leslie Logan had brought them to the Children’s Connection for counseling. Still in her twenties, Lois had been the clinic’s only social worker. She’d immersed herself in their case, spending hours working to help the two children get past the neglect and trauma they’d suffered. If Jillian had anything approaching a normal life, it was due as much to Lois as the Logans. It was because of Lois that Jillian had become a social worker, herself.

  Over the years, Lois had morphed from counselor to mentor to colleague. And, throughout it all, friend. Next to David, Lois was most truly the one Jillian let into her life.

  “So how are things going?”

  “Well enough, I suppose.” Jillian moved her shoulders. “It hasn’t been as difficult as I expected.”

  “Interesting. I’d expect it would make you, of all people, uncomfortable to have someone around all the time.”

  “It has.” Though not in the way she’d expected.

  Lois gave her an assessing gaze. “Getting outside of your comfort zone isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It’s a good path to growth.”

  “Should I go sit on the couch?” Jillian asked in amusement.

  “I’m not speaking as a therapist. I’m speaking as someone who cares about you. You cope better than anyone I know, Jillian. You’ve got a thriving career, a beautiful home. You’re lovely, charming, socially adept. You had a traumatic early childhood but at a glance, you’ve transcended it.” She paused.

  “But?” Jillian prompted.

  “But I wonder what happens when you shut the door behind you at night,” she said softly.

  Jillian glanced away. “I’m usually tired enough after work that all I want to do is relax.”

  “Life needs to be about more than work and recovering from work. You’re isolated, Jillian. You’ve coped but you’ve never let yourself live your life. You’re spectacularly good at letting people come close but no closer. So maybe the fact that this young man makes you uncomfortable is good. Because it’s not just about work, is it?”

  “I don’t know what to do about him, Lois,” Jillian blurted. “He scares me.”

  Lois merely waited, silent.

  “It’s too easy with him,” Jillian continued in a low voice. “When I let it go, it moves too fast. It could turn into something if I let it.”

  “And then you’d be at risk.”

  Suddenly, the prospect seemed terrifying. She could hear her heartbeat thudding in her ears.

  “You learned early not to trust,” Lois said quietly. “That’s a hard lesson to forget.”

  “I just don’t want to be hurt,” Jillian whispered.

  “Don’t you think it’s as possible to hurt because you don’t take risks? Take a chance, Jillian. You might just be surprised.” Lois glanced at her watch. “Anyway, I think we’re done here. Time to move on to the next thing, don’t you think?”

  When Jillian got back to her office, Gil was there, tapping away on his keyboard as usual. He blinked and shook his head as she walked up.

  “You look like you’re flagging a little,” she said.

  “If I don’t pound a double espresso quick, I’m going to go down for the count. I’m in serious need of caffeine. I saw a Stumptown down the street. I think I’m going to head over for a quick coffee run. Want anything? A skinny decaf latte with dry foam?”

  Jillian considered. “How about a shot in the dark?”

  “Coffee with a shot of espresso? I like a woman who’s serious about her caffeine,” he said, rising. “One shot in the dark, coming up.”

  “Thanks. I could use it.”

  “Maybe if you’re really grateful you can finally give me that interview.”

  She remembered Lois. Maybe it was time. “Okay, let’s do it.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Bring me back the shot in the dark and we’ll see.”

  She listened to him walk away and bent back to her work. Focus kept eluding her as the minutes went by. It wasn’t lack of caffeine but excess nerves. Ag
reeing to an interview was one thing; the hard part was actually doing it.

  “Open up,” Lois had said, but she didn’t understand how hard it was. She didn’t know.

  The phone burbled. Absently, eyes still on her report, Jillian reached for the receiver. “Hello?”

  There was silence on the end of the line and she came to instant attention. “Hello?” she repeated. “Robbie, is that you? Don’t hang up,” she said urgently. “Talk to me.”

  The seconds ticked by at the rate of her heartbeat. Her fingers tightened around the receiver. “Please? We’re all so worried about you. We just want to know you’re all right.”

  “I’m all right.”

  Jillian closed her eyes and let out a slow breath. “I’m glad you said something,” she said. “Another minute and I was afraid I was going to find out I was having a conversation with an obscene phone caller.”

  His laughter sounded tense. “No, just Robbie the family screwup.”

  “You know that’s not true.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s not always easy to believe. How’s Nancy?” he asked abruptly.

  “She’s holding on,” Jillian said. “I won’t lie to you—your leaving has been really hard on her. On all of us.”

  “Not much more than me staying around. I mean, come on, would you want to be married to a guy who showed up on the papers in the supermarket checkout counters?”

  “Nancy knows that’s not you and she knows those papers are wrong. We all do.” And, oh, Robbie, she has something to tell you, something you have to know, Jillian thought with an ache in her throat. “Come back, Robbie. Before your probation officer finds out you’re gone. The Gazette isn’t running stories anymore. Things have cooled off.”

  “That’s funny, I’m standing by a Kwik Stop mart and the Messenger has the usual article on me.”

  “You can’t let the lies get to you.”

  “It’s easier to say when you’re not the person being lied about. Besides, they’re not lies.”

  “They’re not the truth, either. Come home,” she pleaded. “If they find out you’re gone—”

  “I check in by phone. As far as Dawn’s concerned, I’m present and accounted for.”