Jealousy

by Nancy Bush

  Except Layla couldn’t get pregnant. The accident had taken that away from her.

  So, no. It was something else.

  Kate’s indulgence with Layla ended right there. She said, “Your father has decided to shutter Crissman and Wolfe and just go with internet sales. That’s why there’ll be a reshuffling of jobs. That’s what I came to tell you.”

  “What?” Layla asked.

  “The Crissman and Wolfe brand is well respected and we’ll still sell online. Fewer costs, once the brick-and-mortar store closes down.”

  She said it all in a rush, as if it tasted sour, and it sure did to Lucy. Like she’d maintained, it was really no surprise, yet the finality of Kate’s words hit home. “Again, why isn’t Dad telling us this?” Lucy asked, in a voice she barely recognized as her own.

  “I’m just . . . breaking the ice.”

  “Whose choice was that?” Lucy asked.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yeah, I think it does.” Layla lifted her chin a bit belligerently. “If Dad can’t face us, Lyle should.”

  “He knew you wouldn’t want to hear it, so I offered.”

  “So nice of you,” said Lucy.

  “You had to have known this was coming,” she insisted.

  “We should have been at that meeting, when you all decided. For sure, Lucy should’ve,” Layla stated.

  “Yep,” Lucy agreed.

  “Your father knew it would be difficult for you to look at the situation objectively and—”

  “I can be as objective as the next person. And don’t tell me about my father,” Lucy said tightly. “He’s a goddamn chicken. So’s Lyle, mostly.”

  Kate’s mouth pinched into a thin line.

  “You’d think I’d at least get a company memo,” Lucy said.

  “In the meeting, Abbott brought up how good you are at your job,” Kate said stiffly.

  Lucy laughed.

  “It sure seems like you just fired Lucy and John,” Layla said.

  “Oh my God. This is exactly what Abbott knew would happen.” Kate looked away for a moment, then added tensely, “I came here today because I didn’t want either of you to be blindsided. Sorry for trying to ease into it.”

  There was a stretch of silence as they all thought about what had been said. Finally, Lucy said, “Well, okay. We’re moving to internet sales only. Maybe I have a job, maybe I don’t. Guess I’ll have to ask Dad.”

  “That’s all he’s selling, right?” Layla piped up, looking at Kate. “I mean, just the store. He’s not touching Stonehenge.”

  Stonehenge was their nickname for the rambling, rustic lodge their great-grandfather had built in the thirties in the Columbia Gorge above the Columbia River. The main building and the wings and outbuildings ran along the cliff’s edge, looking over the river. The rooms were austere, your basic wooden floors and walls, with bunk beds and thin mattresses. It had been designed as a summer home, but Criss just kept building. Now it was so large, it was rented out by church groups, and schools, and addiction recovery groups, as a place to get away and find inner peace, maybe. It had never been lavishly put together, and it had fallen into disrepair with the dwindling of the Crissman fortunes, but it was a remarkable piece of Oregon architecture and history.

  Lucy looked to Kate for confirmation about the property, but Kate didn’t immediately respond. Heart clutching, Lucy declared, “Dad is leaving Stonehenge alone.”

  “The property in the Gorge isn’t really the issue. That’s not why I came here.” She bent down to dig through her purse, which she’d dropped on the floor, pulled out her cell phone, and touched the screen. “I gotta go.”

  “You haven’t even finished your drink,” Lucy pointed out.

  “We’re not selling Stonehenge,” Layla stated flatly.

  “No one’s talking about the house in the Gorge!” Kate declared. She refused to call the property Stonehenge like Layla, Lucy, and presumably Lyle, though their brother had seemed to diminish and disappear by degrees after his marriage, so it was hard to say. “That place would cost a fortune to renovate to some kind of decent sale price. Anyway, it’s the land’s that’s the value. The house is a white elephant. But we’re not selling.”

  “But, you did talk about Stonehenge with Dad and Lyle,” Lucy said, watching Kate’s face.

  Her sister-in-law set down her phone and reached up to deliberately tuck her hair behind both ears, an unconscious gesture she employed whenever she was annoyed. “I don’t want to sell. Like I said, it’s a white elephant and—”

  “But somebody wants to sell,” Lucy cut in.

  “You can’t sell it. It’s a historical property!” Layla declared.

  “It’s not on the historical registry,” Kate came back quickly.

  “Who wants to sell?” Lucy demanded, her voice rising.

  “Lyle.”

  Their brother. Lucy felt like she’d been kicked in the gut, and Layla looked much the same way.

  “Lyle said you’d go all apocalyptic.”

  Lucy glared at Kate. “Lyle shubbee talking to us.” She cleared her throat after the slurred words.

  “How many times do I have to say it? He knew you’d both be this way and he didn’t want to deal with it. He just wants what your father wants.”

  “So, Dad wants to sell Stonehenge?” Layla demanded.

  “Not really. It’s not like the store.”

  “Lyle can’t sell Stonehenge without Dad’s consent, right?” Layla turned to Lucy.

  “That’s how I remember it,” Lucy answered slowly, carefully. She wasn’t drunk-drunk. Just a little tipsy. She didn’t want to appear drunk-drunk, but words could get tricky.

  “We gotta make sure Dad doesn’t buckle,” Layla said to Lucy, jaw tight. For someone normally easygoing, Layla could really dig in her heels sometimes, always kind of a surprise.

  Kate said, “I don’t know why you keep circling around to the property. I told you—”

  “’Cause yer not tellin’ us the truth!” Lucy blasted back.

  “You just said Lyle wants to sell Stonehenge,” Layla pointed out.

  “Actually, he just wants to tear it down. Not the same thing.”

  “Worse,” Layla said.

  Kate shook her head, picked up her copper cup, and downed the rest of her drink. “There. I’m finished.” She got to her feet.

  Lucy said, “Stonehenge has been in our family for generations.”

  “Well, it’s Abbott’s right now. He can do with it as he chooses. I don’t know what else to say.” Kate had her purse in hand.

  “Did you and Lyle get Dad to change his mind?” Lucy asked. “Change” came out a little bit like “chain,” but luckily, no one seemed to be acting like the word police.

  “Shame on both you and Lyle,” said Layla in a quiet voice.

  “I had nothing to do with it. How could I? This is your family, not mine!”

  You’d be good to remember that, Lucy thought, but wisely didn’t try to articulate it. She drank down her water, needing to be completely sober.

  Layla accused, “I can’t believe you. And my brother. And my father.”

  “So, when is this teardown happening?” Lucy set down her water glass.

  “I’m . . . I don’t know. It might not be torn down. It was just an idea. Maybe it’ll be an outright sale.”

  Something in her tone caught at Lucy’s brain. Layla heard it, too, because she asked coldly, “Who’s buying Stonehenge?”

  Kate rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “I didn’t say there was a buyer.”

  “But you’ve had an offer,” Lucy pressed.

  “It’s not even listed.”

  Yet. Lucy could hear the word even though Kate hadn’t said it. “Sounds like there’s been a lot of discussion about it.”

  Kate drew a breath, looked impatient. Lucy thought she might storm out, but instead she said tightly, “Jerome Wolfe has made an offer on the property.”

  “Holy mother,” Lucy said, her m
outh dropping open.

  “You lied to us,” Layla accused.

  “The offer hasn’t been accepted.”

  Yet. Again, that unspoken word.

  Jerome Wolfe was the great-grandson of Criss’s business partner, Herbert Wolfe. Unlike the Crissmans, the Wolfes had held on to their fortune through the years, each successive Wolfe seeming to add to the pot rather than take away from it. Jerome Wolfe was no exception, but he was a son of a bitch, or so Lucy had heard.

  “Will Dad accept it?” Lucy demanded.

  “I don’t know. I can’t read his mind.” Kate was stiff with repressed anger.

  “You can certainly speak for him, though,” Layla pointed out.

  “I’m sorry I even tried.” She started to turn away.

  “Jerome Wolfe will tear it down for sure and build a modern hotel,” Lucy said.

  “Over my dead body,” said Layla.

  The Wolfes had moved from retail department stores to boutique hotels scattered around Portland and down the Willamette Valley to Salem, Eugene, and as far south as Ashland. The hotels were expensive and snooty and everything the lodge was never intended to be.

  Kate paused, turning back to add, “This year’s charity event at the lodge is scheduled for March for the Friends of the Columbia River Gorge. Still so much to be done after the Eagle Creek fire.”

  “You’re not cancelling it, are you?” Layla was horrified.

  “Of course not. Your father wants us all to be there this year. To host. As usual, it’s an all-day affair that ends with a silent auction, hors d’oeuvres, and drinks in the evening at the lodge. It’s slated for the last Saturday of the month. We’re working on the details now, and your dad’ll be talking to both of you.”

  “And then he’s selling to Jerome Wolfe.” Layla regarded Kate coldly. “You weren’t planning to tell us Stonehenge was for sale, were you?”

  “I came here to talk about closing the store. Stonehenge is your father and Lyle’s decision.”

  “How come you drew the short straw?” Lucy asked.

  “I’m talking to the historical society,” Layla warned.

  “Do what you have to.” Kate’s tone was brisk. She was apparently finished with trying to be conciliatory. “Lyle said you would.”

  “We’ll fight you,” Lucy declared, at the same moment Layla announced, “I’m going to be a mom. That’s my news.”

  Lucy and Kate both focused on her. “How?” Lucy asked.

  “You’re pregnant?” Kate asked, slack-jawed.

  “You know I can’t get pregnant. There are other ways to have a baby,” Layla said.

  Lucy’s senses swam. Too much alcohol. Kate looked about ready to cry, but it had nothing to do with Stonehenge. Kate wanted to have a child. For years, she’d been adamant that she didn’t want children, but that was then and this was now. Though Lucy had only heard bits and pieces, smatterings of what was going on with Kate and her brother, she knew they were desperately trying to have a baby and nothing was happening.

  Layla added, “A guy I’m seeing wants a son, so we’re having one with a surrogate.”

  Chapter Three

  Silence held for a heartbeat or two, then Lucy said, “What?” There was so much packed into Layla’s last sentence, she hardly knew where to start. And now, suddenly, she couldn’t for the life of her remember Layla’s slacker boyfriend’s name.

  “What guy?” Kate asked.

  “His name’s Neil,” Layla revealed.

  Ian. That’s his name. But she isn’t talking about slacker Ian. Lucy shook her head. “Neil? Wait. The older guy you met at the home and garden fair?”

  “I didn’t meet him there. He’s Brooke’s client. He admired my painting that was on display at the Bingham house. I told you about it.”

  “You said you met a guy who took you out for dinner at Cover . . . Covington’s, and I said I hoped he had money, so that you didn’t have to fit all the bills. Foot all the bills,” Lucy corrected. She was too inebriated to be having this conversation, though she was sobering up fast. “You said it was just one dinner.”

  “Well, it was. Then.”

  “You’re having a baby,” Kate questioned. Her skin was chalky.

  “I didn’t know him that well at first,” Layla told Lucy. “But it’s over a year since we became friends.”

  “And you never mentioned him again?” Lucy was hurt.

  “Who’s the surrogate?” Kate asked.

  “I . . . I wasn’t sure I wanted to talk about him.” Layla turned to Kate. “She’s someone Neil knows.”

  “And she’s pregnant? With your egg and this Neil’s sperm?” Lucy was trying to keep up.

  “This Neil wanted a son, and we talked about it, and he didn’t know about the accident, so when I told him—”

  “Jesus,” Kate whispered, staring down at her copper mug.

  “—he suggested a surrogate.”

  “When is the baby due?” Kate’s voice sounded an octave higher than normal.

  “Well, soon,” Layla admitted.

  “Layla . . .” Lucy felt utterly betrayed that her sister had kept this from her. “What happened to Ian?”

  “Since when do you care about Ian? You always wanted me to break up with him.”

  “Yeah, but ... I expected you to tell me.”

  “What do you mean by ‘soon’?” Kate wasn’t about to be distracted from Layla’s bombshell.

  Layla took a sip of her tea. Lucy half-expected another round of prevarication and hesitation, but her sister just swallowed and said, “April.”

  “April!” Lucy and Kate both chorused, and Lucy sputtered, “You must have made this decision the minute you met him!”

  “A month or two in,” Layla admitted.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” Lucy clasped her water glass and guzzled some more.

  “You’ll have a baby right after the charity event,” Kate said, her face white.

  “You’re not selling Stonehenge,” Layla shot back. “My son is going to be able to play there, just like we did when we were growing up.”

  “You did this on purpose,” Kate accused Layla, her voice uneven.

  “Kate, I didn’t do it to you,” Layla said. “I’m lucky I still have functioning ovaries.”

  Lucy suddenly felt icily sober. The automobile accident Layla had obliquely referred to had nearly killed her. She was lucky to have just lost her uterus, spleen, and a section of intestine. She was lucky to be alive.

  “The surrogate’s name is Naomi,” Layla told Kate. “If you want, I can get you her phone—”

  “No.” Kate grabbed her purse and walked out, struggling several times to open the door before yanking it back, letting in another swirl of wind and rain as she practically ran outside.

  Lucy said to Layla, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I was worried that things could go bad.” She sent Lucy a crooked smile. A bit of tension there, Lucy thought.

  “What happened to Ian? All this time, you never even mentioned he was gone.”

  “He just moved on.”

  “Before or after you met Neil?”

  “After. But Neil was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

  “So, who’s paying for all this? Neil?” Lucy asked.

  “Yes.”

  “He has some money, then.”

  “Yes.”

  Layla’s monosyllabic replies weren’t exactly elucidating. “Well, that’s better than poor any day, right?”

  “Yeah . . .” She plucked the tiny paper napkin from beneath her cup of tea and folded and refolded it. “What are we going to do about Stonehenge?”

  “I’ll talk to Dad. And Lyle.”

  “Kate’s in on this, too, no matter what she says.”

  “I don’t like her. Have I told you that?”

  Layla smiled faintly. “She’s not my favorite person either, but she’s part of our family.”

  “A big part, apparently. Dad�
�s faith in her kills me.”

  “I know.”

  Lucy slid her empty martini and water glasses aside. “A baby ... wow.”

  “I know.” Layla smiled, looking hopeful.

  “You know Kate’ll never get over this. I don’t care what she says, she thinks you did it on purpose, and that you did it to her.”

  “It had nothing to do with her.”

  “Tell her that. Oh, that’s right, you did.” Lucy swallowed a laugh. “Tell her again.”

  “Next time I see her, which I’m not looking forward to.”

  “So, what’s your plan?”

  “Plan?” Layla looked at her, a line between her brows.

  “Well, are you going to live together? Share custody? Get married? What?”

  Layla reached for her purse, so Lucy did the same, signaling Kitty to bring them the tab. Lucy grabbed her credit card, the one with the lowest balance. If she quit work, it would put them in a bit of a financial bind. You’re not quitting. You’re just making a point by leaving early. Unless you have no job to go back to . . .

  Layla protested that Lucy was paying, but Lucy ignored her as she signed the bill. Of the three of them, Kate, Layla, or herself, Layla was the most pressed for money.

  She and Layla walked to the door together. “You wanna drive my car?” Lucy asked Layla, who didn’t have one of her own.

  “It’s too windy and dark.” Layla peered up to the heavens and shivered. It was a day like today that had caused the accident that had nearly cost Layla her life, Lucy remembered, and it had cost the life of the unfortunate woman in the other car. Both parties at fault, but that didn’t mean Layla felt any less guilty, nor that the dead woman’s family had ceased suing her.

  “We’ll take Uber,” Lucy said.

  As they waited beneath the Pembroke’s overhang to be picked up, Lucy asked, “How do you know it’s a boy?”

  “The viable embryos we chose were male. Only one of them survived.”

  “You can do that? Choose the sex?”

  She nodded. “Neil did PGA testing.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Preimplantation genetic diagnosis. Embryonic cells are examined for genetic disorders, and it’s also a way you can learn the sex.”