Always A Bridesmaid (Logan's Legacy Revisited)

by Kristin Hardy

  “And if she finds out you’re gone, you could go to jail,” Jillian said. Part of her was truly angry with him for taking such an unnecessary chance. “Come back, Robbie. You can get through this with us.”

  “I’m never going to get away from this, not in Portland, not anywhere.” His voice vibrated with frustration and something more. Hopelessness. “Face it, I’m always going to be the screwed-up babynapper.”

  “But Nancy—”

  “Nancy’s better off without me,” he said bleakly. “Maybe everyone would be.”

  And then there was only the buzzing of the dial tone in her ear.

  Gil walked into Jillian’s office, carrying tray in hand. “One shot in the dark, coming up,” he announced. “You didn’t say anything about cream but I brought sugar and—”

  Jillian wasn’t listening. She wasn’t even reacting. She was just staring at the wall, frozen, clutching the telephone receiver. Finally, like an automaton, she hung up.

  Gil set the carrier on the edge of her desk. “Coffee?” he said, watching her closely.

  Something had happened. She was rattled. He never thought he’d see it, but the calm, organized, unflappable Jillian was rattled and, unless he was very much mistaken, about ready to go to pieces.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  It was as though she’d been touched with an electrical shock. “Sure. Yeah. Fine,” she said brightly, reaching for the cup. She started to take a drink and frowned, wiping off her hand.

  He watched her carefully as he settled into the chair. “So is it still a good time to do the interview?”

  She started to take another sip of her coffee and made a noise of frustration.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked gently.

  “Nothing. The stupid lid’s dripping.” But her hand shook as she tried to get the plastic lid off and a startling splash of brown appeared on her cream silk blouse. “Dammit,” she snapped.

  He saw it as it was happening, too quick for him to warn her. One minute, she was hurrying to set the cup on her desk so she could wipe her blouse, the next, she’d knocked the bottom of the cardboard into the edge of the wood so that the cup tipped, sending a tide of steaming hot coffee across her desk.

  “Oh, no.” Frantically, she stood bolt upright, snatching up files to rescue most of them from the spreading lake of coffee, splashing more spots on her cream blouse and trousers. For an instant, she stood indecisively as coffee streamed onto the carpet, scanning the room for a safe place to put the folders. Finally, she just grabbed at her trash can with her free hand, putting it under the edge of the desk to capture the waterfall of coffee, then falling to her knees with the tissue to mop up the spots, still holding the damp files.

  “Forget about the carpet, what about your hand? Did you burn yourself?”

  She shook her head and kept dabbing, then rose to start on the desk. “It doesn’t matter,” she said.

  “Yes it does.” He reached out to inspect the red spots on the back of her hand where the coffee had scalded her. “The furniture can wait.”

  “You don’t understand.” Her voice was tight with anxiety. “I’ve got to do something.”

  “Later.”

  “Now.” And before his astounded eyes, she dropped the files and burst into tears.

  “Hey.” He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her. He could feel her shaking, hear the hitch of her breath. “It’s okay,” he murmured, lips against her hair.

  “No. It’s not,” she said, and the little broken note in her voice squeezed his heart.

  “Shh.” He smoothed a hand down her back. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  She moved her head. “I can’t.”

  So for long moments he just stood, rocking her gently as she gradually calmed. “If you can’t talk to me, is there someone else? Someone you can call?”

  She tried to move away. “I’ll be all right.”

  “Right now, you seem pretty damned far from all right. Just sit and let me take care of it. I’m going to get some paper towels and get up the rest of this coffee and then we’re going to take you home.”

  Surprisingly, she didn’t make a murmur of protest. She was silent on the drive to her house, speaking only to give him directions. Finally, he was parking at her curb. When he guided her up the steps by resting his hand lightly on her back, she didn’t protest. And she didn’t protest when he stood before her, his hands resting on her hips.

  He nodded at her clothes. “Can you get those cleaned?”

  She shrugged. “Probably not. It doesn’t matter.” The weeping was done. Now she just appeared pale and fatigued and drawn. She looked up at him. “You’ve been really nice tonight.”

  “I’m a nice guy.”

  A ghost of a smile drifted over her face. “I appreciate it.”

  “Then make it up to me.”

  “How?”

  “Spend Sunday with me. Just you and me. No work, no baggage. Just a good time. What do you say?”

  “A good time?”

  “You know how, right?”

  This time the smile was stronger. “All right.”

  “Good. I’ll pick you up at ten. Wear shorts and tennis shoes.”

  “Shorts and tennis shoes? What are we going to do?”

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “Have fun.”

  Chapter Ten

  “How are you?” Jillian asked Alison gently. It was Friday evening. Three days earlier, the girl had been weeping in Jillian’s office. Now, the anxiety still showed but her eyes remained dry.

  “How am I? Terrified, actually. Crazy, panicked, trapped. Excited. Furious at myself. Something different every minute.” She tried for a smile. “The variety pack.”

  “I know that feeling,” Lisa Barrett said from the couch where she sat. “I was there. It’s all normal.”

  Alison took in the neat pale-rose suit, the brisk, efficient air. “What do you do?”

  “Property development,” Lisa said. “I have a business degree and I’m currently taking classes toward my MBA. How about you?”

  Alison hesitated.

  “Anything you say here is confidential, Alison,” Jillian reminded her. “You can say as much or as little as you like, whatever makes you comfortable.”

  “I’m going to school for history. I wanted to teach but now I’m so afraid I’ve wrecked it all. I can’t believe I’ve worked so hard all these years and then one night of being stupid, one night of not paying attention…”

  “Nothing’s wrecked.” Lisa’s voice was gentle. “You’ve got all kinds of choices. That was the main thing I learned when I came to the Children’s Connection. I had choices and they’d help me no matter what.”

  “What would you do if you were me?” Alison asked.

  “I can’t say that because I’m not you. I made what I thought was the right decision for me at the time. Have I had regrets? Yes, some, but I’m still a part of Timothy’s life. That’s the important part.”

  Alison’s fingers dug into the upholstery. “How did you know you were making the right decision?”

  Lisa gave a sympathetic smile. “I didn’t. All I could do, really, was hope.”

  “I’m so afraid I’m going to do something I’ll be sorry for, no matter what I decide.”

  “Make a list of the pros and cons, think about it all. And then go with your gut. Just know that whatever you decide, Jillian and the Children’s Connection will be there to help you.” Lisa reached out to squeeze Alison’s hand. “And call me anytime you need to talk.”

  Alison blinked back the shimmer of tears. “That’s what Jillian said.”

  “It’ll be okay, Alison,” Lisa said softly. “You’ll work out the right thing.”

  After, Lisa and Jillian sat in a Greek restaurant on the edge of Old Town. Bouzouki music played. The walls bore murals of olive groves and brilliant blue seas and dancers dressed in black and white and scarlet.

  Lisa twirled her wineglass.

  �
��How was your honeymoon?” Jillian asked.

  “Wonderful,” Lisa said. “Not long enough but we had a project we didn’t want to leave hanging. We’ll take a couple of weeks off at Christmas.”

  We. The two of them were already a unit, Jillian realized, cemented in some indefinable way that hadn’t been possible two weeks before. Before the wedding.

  Had it really been only two weeks? she wondered. So much had happened, so many subtle changes in her life.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about Gil?” she asked quietly.

  Lisa suddenly became very busy with her napkin, folding and arranging it in her lap. “I didn’t know what to do,” she said finally. “I was afraid that it would ruin the whole weekend. Or that you’d refuse to be in the wedding and I really wanted you there.” She met Jillian’s gaze directly. “And Alan wanted Gil to be in it just as much. They’ve been friends since college.”

  “You didn’t think I’d be able to understand that and go through the wedding, anyway? Give me some credit, Lisa. I’m a social worker. Dealing with emotions is what I do.”

  “This wasn’t just dealing with emotions. The Gazette came after your family. You were furious about it.”

  “I’m still furious about it. That doesn’t mean I can’t separate the two.”

  “I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

  Uncharacteristic anger flared. “You didn’t think I deserved to be told so that I knew who I was dealing with?” So that she didn’t wind up kissing him? So that she didn’t wind up falling for him?

  “I thought it would be all right,” Lisa said miserably. “It was only the rehearsal and the wedding and it would be over. Alan made Gil promise he wouldn’t say anything about the paper.”

  Jillian stared. “Alan made Gil…” she repeated.

  “We just thought it was the best way to handle it,” Lisa went on, not noticing. “We were wrong, Jillian. It seems really obvious now, but at the time I just couldn’t see how it could ever work. It was just overwhelming. I was all in knots over the wedding and you were so angry and upset over Robbie.”

  And Jillian was still angry over Robbie, but things suddenly weren’t so clear, somehow.

  “We screwed up. I can’t tell you how sorry I am that you found out the way you did.”

  Jillian shook her head, trying to take it all in. “So it wasn’t Gil’s idea to lie?”

  Lisa winced at the words. “Alan asked him to say Blazon Media instead of the Gazette. It was the truth, just not all of it.” She made a face. “And that sounds weak and lame, doesn’t it? We were wrong. I was wrong. I should have been a better friend than that.”

  Something pretty much everyone alive could say, Jillian thought, especially at twenty-one. “It’s okay, Lisa. Be straight with me next time but I get why it happened.”

  “I just don’t want you to blame Gil for it. It wasn’t his fault. He’s a good guy. He tries to do the right thing.”

  “He could do better.”

  Something every person alive could say. Including her.

  “I understand why you’re so upset about Robbie,” Lisa said. “I hated the paper when that news story came out about Thad and me. Alan called Gil to give him what for but then it turned out that Gil wasn’t even here when it happened. He was on vacation. But he made it right when he got home, on his own. Before Alan ever talked to him.”

  The waiter brought their appetizers. Lisa waited until he’d set down tzatsiki and bread and left before speaking again. “Alan says he’s interested in you.”

  Jillian rolled her eyes. “Are we in junior high now?”

  Lisa ignored her comment. “You were as thick as thieves at the wedding. And with this shadowing thing you’ve been together nearly a week. What do you think of him?”

  Too much, was what she thought of him. She thought of him too much. “Lisa, he was part of what chased Robbie away. How can I take anything seriously with him?”

  “Take anything seriously with him or with anyone?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You know, I always feel good when I talk with you.” Lisa set her wine aside. “I always feel like we’re close. And then I get home and realize that we spent most of the time talking about the clinic or your family or me. You never talk about you.”

  “I talk about myself,” Jillian said uncomfortably.

  “No, you don’t. You’re very good at it.”

  “Look, I don’t know how we got from Gil to this. I’ve known him for all of two weeks.”

  “It took less than that for me to fall in love with Alan.”

  “First of all, there is no way I’m even close to being in love with Gil Reynolds,” Jillian burst out. “I’m not even sure I like him.” Oh, yes, you do, said a mocking voice in her head. “Look—” she softened her words with effort “—I’m really happy for you that you’re so happy. And I’m flattered that you care about me. But you’re looking for way more with Gil than is there. What happened with you and Alan was a one-in-a-million thing. Lightning doesn’t strike twice.”

  “Looks to me like lightning’s never struck you.” Lisa scooped up some tzatsiki with her bread. “I’d say you’re due.”

  The morning was clear and breezy, the air warm as Gil bounded up the steps to Jillian’s porch. He rang the bell and waited, turning to see the details he hadn’t noticed two days before.

  The house was lovingly attended to, it was clear. White wicker porch furniture with fat, colorful cushions provided the perfect place to spend a lazy summer afternoon with a book. The flowers grew vibrant and healthy and tidy, without a leaf out of place. The switch plate around the doorbell was beaten copper. On the sidewalk across the street, a man and woman walked a corgi and what might charitably have been called a shepherd-terrier mix.

  At a sound behind him, he turned to see Jillian on the other side of the screen.

  “Morning,” he said.

  “Good morning.”

  She wore shorts and a top the color of raspberries. She’d pulled her hair back in a ponytail. She held a bright green watering can and watched him with a somewhat skeptical gaze.

  “Ready to go?” he asked.

  “Sure. I just have to get a few things.” She hesitated and pushed at the screen latch. “Would you like to come in?”

  It was curiosity that had him stepping inside. Big rooms, high ceilings, darker than most houses because of the spreading eaves. Fat sofas, warm wood that gleamed with polish. Lovingly cared for, he thought again, and scrupulously tidy, like her office. There was a sense of comfort, a warmth that had to do with more than just the temperature.

  And whimsy. From the bottom of a light fixture dangled a carved wooden hummingbird. A glass butterfly balanced on the top of the half-high wall that separated the living room from the hall. A small clutch of books was held in place by a pair of carved wooden beavers.

  He followed her into the kitchen and she jumped when she turned to find him behind her. “Oh. I didn’t realize…”

  He caught her shoulders to steady her. Her lips were parted. Without her usual heels, she seemed smaller than he expected.

  It took work to make himself release her.

  The spotless kitchen was like something out of the Fifties, with butter-colored walls and gleaming white cabinets. A painted metal bread box dotted in red and blue and yellow sat on the counter, against the yellow-and-white tiled backsplash. The Formica and metal table in the breakfast nook held ceramic salt-and-pepper shakers shaped like grinning cows wearing hula skirts. At the window hung curtains patterned with dancing loaves of bread; violets sat on the sill, a green frog hanging on the edge of one.

  “Just let me do this and we can go,” Jillian said, emptying out the watering pot and upturning it on a tray. In her short-sleeved shirt, with her hair up, she looked girlish and young. The smooth professional shell was gone.

  “All set,” she said, taking up her keys from a hook in the hallway and reaching for her purse. “So where are we go
ing?”

  “Wait and see,” Gil replied.

  The morning was bright and clear, the streets still quiet. He headed toward the river.

  She’d come because she’d made a promise to him. The memory of losing control the night of Robbie’s phone call still mortified her. Somehow, though, Gil had made it all right. He’d been there for her. She hadn’t felt weak and conspicuous, she’d felt…safe. She’d felt connected. And even though she knew it wasn’t smart, she wanted more.

  Besides, she owed him an apology.

  It wasn’t until they’d crossed the river and gone up an access road that Jillian had begun to get an idea of their destination. When she saw the forest of white masts, she was sure of it.

  “Sailing?”

  “Yeah.” He glanced at her as he turned off his truck. “That all right?”

  “As long as you don’t expect me to know what I’m doing.”

  “Your job is to relax and enjoy yourself.”

  “That,” she told him, “I can do.”

  “Good.” He grinned, his teeth very white against his skin. He wore shorts and Top-Sider shoes, sunglasses and a short-sleeved shirt in a blue-green batik pattern. There was a buoyant energy to him that she’d never quite seen before. He was in his element, she realized.

  The sleek white sloop bobbed at the dock, maybe fifteen feet long with gleaming brightwork and a glowing mahogany panel around the hatch to the belowdecks.

  “The Blueline?” she said, reading the name.

  He grinned. “She corrects what’s wrong with me.” Hopping down into the cockpit, he turned to offer her a hand. His palm was warm and sure against hers as she stepped down into the boat. He didn’t release her at once. Instead, he stood, his hands now on her hips.

  Jillian moistened her lips. “Shouldn’t we get started?”

  He raised a brow. “Sure. Just what do you want to start?”

  She flushed. “I was talking about sailing.”

  “I wasn’t.” He flashed a smiled and released her. “But if you insist, I guess we need sails.”

  He opened up the hatch and ducked in to pull out bright blue cushions for the seats that ran along the sides of the cockpit, then a big grayish white canvas bag that presumably held the sails.