Jealousy

by Nancy Bush

  At the second corner, she hesitated.

  What are you doing?

  Her hand was gripped around the collar of her coat, holding it close to her neck as if she were a shy virgin. Snorting, she loosened her grip.

  Be careful. Be smart. You need to work things out with John one way or another before anything else. She thought about the night before, the tension between them and John’s cold attitude. Remembering made her feel belligerent. To hell with that. She’d spent the last year, the last two years, trying to work things out, and she hadn’t gotten anywhere.

  With bolstered resolve, she rounded the last corner and there was Mark, standing beneath an overhanging eave that was lackadaisically dripping water from the earlier spate of rain. The air was cold and damp, but he was in his white shirt. The black vest the waitstaff wore was unbuttoned.

  He said, “I’ve got about five minutes.”

  “Okay, well, I don’t know what I’m doing here. I think maybe I should—”

  She was stunned when he suddenly moved forward and pulled her toward him, backing them both into an alcove. She felt his hands slip under her coat and pull the small of her back toward him. He kissed her hard, then, crotch to crotch, which left no doubt what he was feeling.

  When he released her, her head was spinning. “Bold move,” she said a bit breathlessly.

  “Time constraints,” he said, grinning.

  He suddenly unzipped his pants, letting his cock spring free. Lucy drew a breath in surprise. Clearly, he went commando and wasn’t afraid to let her know. “I—” she started to say on a laugh when he pressed her fingers around his shaft, sliding her hand up and down its length and moaning. His other hand slid farther down the small of her back to squeeze her buttocks.

  She had a bright flare of memory. Long ago. Nothing like this, but the end feeling was the same. Being used. Not as a person. As someone’s vessel for sex.

  She yanked her hand away, stumbled backward, turned to run, not before seeing that his own hand had taken up where hers left off.

  She ran around the building and would have darted toward her car, but she slowed to an abrupt stop when she saw her husband’s back as he stopped and talked to the white-haired gentleman, who was just finishing his cigar. John was just saying good-bye to the man and reaching for the door. The gent was waving him a good-bye of his own, then he turned toward the parking lot. Lucy stood frozen, praying the man didn’t look back at her. If he’d recognized her, he hadn’t put it together that she was John’s wife, or John surely would have come looking for her instead of heading into the inn.

  She watched John pull open one of the inn’s double doors and head inside, then waited until the man reached his car, his steps agonizingly slow.

  She wanted to run to her own vehicle, peel out of the lot, roar away.

  Don’t drive.

  Frozen, she debated for about ten seconds. Call Uber or face John?

  You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t.

  Who are you kidding? Of course you did!

  Ding.

  She pulled out her phone, suddenly wanting to wash her hands like she might die if she didn’t get the deed done ASAP. Oh, God. Oh my God.

  John wrote: I’m at Pembroke. Where are you?

  With shaking fingers, she texted that she was outside, about to call Uber. Then she headed for the double doors, catching sight of her husband heading her way through the glass panels.

  He looked coldly furious.

  Her face was hot. She felt guilty and used.

  Just like before.

  Not just like before.

  “Were you ever going to come home?” John demanded as soon as he stepped outside.

  “Yes.” Through the glass she saw Mark reenter through the door behind the bar and head to the bar sink to wash his hands.

  She was revolted and suddenly mad. At Mark and at herself. And at John, who was following up his question with a series of complaints about her and her father and was still complaining, “. . . can’t depend on either of you. I’ve been waiting to talk to you, but I come home and you’re not there. You’re drinking alone at a bar. And you left Evie with Kate. Kate.”

  “Evie was invited and wanted to go. I didn’t—”

  “You left work early,” he cut her off. “Yesterday and today. And both days you’re here.”

  “I know. John, I know. I shouldn’t have. I’m just trying to—”

  “Are you drunk?”

  “—process the fact that my dad talked to . . .” She trailed off as another older gentleman, this one with silvery-gray hair, came through the door and nodded at them. “Well, I’m feeling pretty sober now,” she gritted through her teeth as soon as the man passed out of earshot.

  “Why didn’t you come home? We’ve got a lot of shit coming down on us.”

  “I know.”

  “I can’t rely on you.” He tucked his hand under her elbow and moved her away from the door.

  When he stopped several feet away from the protective eaves, she said, “It’s raining!”

  “I don’t want to be right next to the entrance.”

  “I’m not going to stand out here with you.” She fumbled for her phone.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Calling Uber. I’m not completely sober yet, but I’m on a fast track.”

  “Because of me,” he challenged.

  She wanted to scream that everything wasn’t about him, but, actually, in this case, it was. Instead, she pulled up the Uber app as John swept the phone from her hands.

  “I’ll drive you,” he snapped.

  A young couple crossed the parking lot toward the front door as Lucy said, “I don’t want to be yelled at all the way home.”

  His grip on her arm tightened. “Why are you suddenly so irresponsible?”

  “Suddenly? I’ve always been irresponsible. You just haven’t noticed.”

  “Yes, I have. That’s how you got Evie.”

  Lucy jerked her arm from his grip and walked blindly away from him. She stepped into the parking lot. John apparently thought she didn’t see the car circling the end of the row and turning toward the inn’s entryway because he grabbed her, pulling her arm so hard she stumbled and lost her balance, falling onto her knees, her arm wrenching from her weight.

  “Ow!” she cried out in surprise.

  “You’re making a scene,” he said through his teeth, hauling her to her feet with one hard yank. She tried to pull her arm back, but he held her tight. Tears formed behind her lids because it really hurt.

  “Let go of me,” she hissed, “or I don’t know what I’ll do. Something irresponsible like screaming or hitting you!”

  He dropped her as if she’d burned him and stalked away.

  “You okay?” the young man asked. He and his date had stopped at the door and were regarding her worriedly.

  “Yes, fine.” She straightened and ignored the pain in her arm and her scraped knees.

  “Do you know him?” the woman asked cautiously.

  She almost laughed. “It’s debatable.”

  “You want me to call someone?” the man asked.

  She shook her head. “No.”

  They looked at each other, then went into the bar. She saw John’s taillights light up and the engine turn. He backed out with a little blurp from his tires and then sprayed water as he drove away.

  With a sigh, she walked to her own car, the rain dampening her cheeks. When she tried to thread the key in the ignition, her hands were cold and wet, and it took her a couple of tries. Maybe she wasn’t ready to drive anyway. Maybe she didn’t want to go home.

  She felt tears dampen her lashes and her nose got hot. Moments later, once she was in her car, she broke down and cried. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed. The windows fogged up. It was almost nice to be cocooned inside. She just needed to pull herself together and ... what? Go back to the house she shared with John?

  After a few moments, she let out her breath in
a long sigh. She realized she was pretty darn sober now but decided to wait awhile longer anyway. She texted Kate and communicated with Evie, who was still in no hurry to be picked up. Lucy wrote back that she would be there soon anyway. Evie said okay, and then, a few minutes later, Lucy heard the ding of a new text from her daughter: John’s here!!!! Can’t I stay???

  Groaning, Lucy texted back, I’m sorry. Didn’t know he was picking you up. I’ll meet you at home.

  * * *

  Lucy pushed the button for the garage door and pulled her car in next to her husband’s, grimacing at the headache that had emerged. She’d had some time to think and was regretting her recklessness. Her unhappiness in her marriage was fueling some bad behavior. Maybe she was lucky Mark had turned out to be such an ass. Common sense had reasserted itself. She needed to face her problems with John—and her longtime hurt and anger with her father—and make better choices.

  She entered the back door and found John in the kitchen, furiously washing the dishes. This was a task he only did when he was proving a point. Evie was in the family room, standing behind the couch, her body stiff. She rolled her eyes accusingly at Lucy, who realized something had gone down that had gotten her daughter in trouble with John.

  “I’m sorry,” Lucy said to her husband, who barely glanced her way. “I’m not dealing with things well.”

  He snorted.

  Evie said, “Is it all right if I go to my room?”

  “Sure, honey.” Lucy frowned.

  “She can stay right there and finish her homework. She and Daphne were watching videos they shouldn’t have been. Kate was furious.”

  Lucy looked at Evie. “What videos?”

  “They were just people doing stupid things. They were funny!” Evie burst out.

  “Talk to Kate,” John snapped. “If you’re sober enough.”

  “I will,” Lucy said slowly, her temper simmering. “Sorry for putting you out.” She should have known John wasn’t willing to let this pass, even for a cooling-off period. Lucy got over issues pretty fast. She could usually see the root cause and take steps to right the ship. But John seethed. It was a characteristic he’d managed to hide during their short courtship.

  Evie said in a teary voice, “I did my homework already.”

  “You can go to your room if you want,” Lucy decreed.

  Evie raced away as if the hounds of hell were on her heels. John clattered the dishes, then slowly turned and regarded Lucy coldly. She could practically see the boiling fury behind his eyes.

  “You always undermine me,” he said.

  “This isn’t about Evie.” She stood her ground. “This is about you and me and our jobs.”

  “Oh, is it?”

  “I’ve said I’m sorry. I don’t know what else I can say. I’m upset with my father, and I’m glad we have that family meeting on Friday. I’m going to write down all the things I want to say to him, so I don’t forget them.”

  “Don’t walk away from me,” he warned as she headed toward the stairs.

  Lucy turned around and spread her hands in a what-gives? posture. It did no good to argue with him when he was in a black funk. He was itching for a fight, pushing for one. The best thing she could do was nothing.

  “I don’t want my wife hanging around at bars,” he stated flatly.

  “Fine. Your wife doesn’t plan to hang around bars anymore.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “I’m going upstairs now, if you have no further objections.”

  There was a slight smirk on his face as he said, “You look a little pale. Not feeling so well?”

  “John . . .” She sighed.

  “What?”

  She fought back the urge to fight back. Though it never did any good, she was sick of being treated like a schoolgirl. “Thanks for doing the dishes.” She turned away from him.

  “That’s all you have to say?” he called after her.

  She didn’t answer, and she heard him stride quickly toward her. She was two steps above him when she whipped back to face him. If he touched her, she’d scream bloody murder, but no, she knew he wouldn’t. He just liked to intimidate, but she sensed, like all bullies, he was deeply afraid inside.

  She wished she’d known all this when she married him, but she’d only seen his good side. A sad song she’d heard over and over again. She’d thought she was too smart to fall for someone like him, but she’d learned the hard way that she was as susceptible as the next person.

  He broke the stalemate by brushing past her, heading up the stairs ahead of her.

  She knew it would be an icy night in the bedroom, with neither of them getting much sleep.

  Sighing, she decided to head back downstairs to the family room. She sank onto the couch. You need to do something before this marriage devolves into something dangerous.

  Chapter Seven

  “Kate, could I have a moment?”

  Kate looked up from the pro forma she was working on, the school’s profit and loss, to find April McAdams, April Academy’s director, standing in the doorway, regarding her soberly and fingering the silver chain around her neck, not a good sign. It meant she was holding back her temper, and her other clenched fist proved the assumption right.

  “What’s wrong?” Kate asked, glancing at the time. Ten a.m. She wished it was much later. She was anxious to grab Daphne and head home. She had much to do to prep for tomorrow’s meeting at Crissman & Wolfe. Having Evie over through dinner the night before had really messed with her schedule, and she was annoyed with herself that she’d ever agreed to it. What had she been thinking? A midweek, after-school playdate? But Daphne had begged and begged and begged, and so she’d buckled. Finding the girls laughing at those videos of people doing inane, dangerous tricks had made Kate want to scream at Lucy, and Lyle had been no help at all.

  “Let it go,” he’d told her. She’d had to pretend she had, even though she hadn’t. His disinterest in anything to do with child-rearing sometimes got to her, especially when it was his sister’s daughter who’d started everything. Still, it was lucky he’d been in the kitchen when John came to collect Evie, so she’d managed to have a private moment to let him know what his stepdaughter had gotten Daphne in to. Later, when Lucy texted an apology, Kate showed Lyle the proof of Lucy’s rudeness. No phone call, just a few words on a screen, and Lucy hadn’t even known what she was apologizing for. Lyle had only cut a look at the words on her cell’s screen and shaken his head. Kate had yet to call Lucy to lay the full extent of the transgression out to her. She’d tried to engage Lyle in the issue, but he’d been distracted. He was damn near always distracted lately. She was going to have to find out what was going on with him.

  “You’re not coming in tomorrow?” April demanded tightly.

  “No. I’ve got a meeting with Lyle’s family about their business.” Which I told you about.

  “Well, I need you to come in tomorrow.”

  “April, I have every other Friday off,” Kate reminded her carefully. This wasn’t a news flash. April knew as well as Kate did what her schedule was.

  April drew a long breath and released it slowly. Kate could see her ropy biceps jutting out from her dark green sleeveless dress as she wrapped her arms around her waist. She was obsessive about working out, using every free moment to head to the gym. Kate could have told her, no amount of exercise would bring back her youth, and with her blond hair and pale skin, April looked another thirty years older than her true age.

  April ... like the month Layla would have her baby.

  Kate shut that thought off before it could turn her deaf to her boss, who looked cocked and loaded for a real fight.

  “I’m sorry, Kate. I need you here. The representative from KeyBank is going to be here tomorrow, and you know the numbers almost better than I do.”

  That was patently untrue. April was a stickler for every cent spent and could be a skinflint over the smallest item. Kate had taken to bringing her own staples and pens because Apr
il never requisitioned enough office supplies, and Kate was sick of giving hers up whenever April needed something. “I thought the bank was coming next week.”

  “I had to move them up. I’m leaving on Monday for that conference in San Jose. You know that.”

  Kate’s anger fizzed. When April made plans, she ignored anyone else’s. She had an inflated belief in her own importance and expected her employees to just roll over and do as she asked, time and time again. “I’m sorry. I just can’t be here tomorrow. This is something I can’t miss.”

  April’s thin face suffused with color. “I hired you to be my voice in financial matters. You know that.”

  “I’ll be here next week. We’re right on budget. I think the bank will be impressed with how well you manage everything and—”

  “They’re coming tomorrow,” she bit out. “I don’t need to remind you that you were the one who wanted to place your child at my academy. And Daphne loves it here.” April was obliquely referring to the discount Kate received on her daughter’s tuition by being a staff member. A discount that wasn’t nearly as substantial as April acted like it was. But still, without this job ... Kate would likely not be able to afford April Academy.

  An icicle of fear stabbed her heart. She needed this job, which was why she’d put up with April’s black moods all this time.

  Unless the lodge sells . . .

  Stonehenge. It wasn’t anything like the ruin in England, and she hated their nickname for it. She’d told Lucy and Layla that it was Lyle’s idea to sell Stonehenge, not hers, but honestly, she’d be happy to unload the place. It was a huge, rambling building with two wings, all of it old and rustic to the extreme. Yes, the kitchen had been remodeled at one point, and she believed the plumbing had been upgraded, but there was no escaping the fact that it was a money drain. The last time it had been rented out was to a church group Kate suspected was little more than a cult, and she knew for a fact they’d cut a very sweet deal with Abbott, who had no head for numbers. It was a crime how little both Abbott and Lyle knew or cared about making a profit.