Jealousy

by Nancy Bush

  “I know.”

  “I’m waiting for John to come home. We haven’t really seen eye to eye on all this. We’ve hardly even talked about it. But now that I have a new job . . .”

  “That was shitty,” she said suddenly. “Absolutely shitty.”

  “You got that right.”

  Lucy’s mind had wandered a bit. She was still thinking about the state of her marriage. But Layla’s angry tone on her behalf bolstered her mood a little. “You know, maybe we should talk to Lyle about it. Kate said he was the one who wanted to sell the place, but I don’t know if I believe her. If we got Lyle alone, he might listen to us. We could remind him of all the good times we had at Stonehenge as children.”

  “The only good times we had,” Layla reminded her.

  “Remember that nature girl he called Nell, like the Jodie Foster movie? She was always in the woods.”

  “Brianne. But she wasn’t like Nell at all. She just knew all about plants and wild animals.”

  “That’s right. Brianne Kilgore. And she knew about insects, too. Creepy things.”

  “She was just so focused that Lyle thought she was autistic or something and was really mean about her.”

  Lucy nodded, even though her sister couldn’t see her. Layla wasn’t wrong, and she tended to be the one of the three of them who was the kindest. “Only in the beginning. He got over it and apologized, and Brianne’s family was really nice to us. They knew Lyle was just being a stupid kid. He was kind of taken with Brianne, the way she knew things. We all used to go see the Kilgores whenever we were at Stonehenge, remember? They were about the only people close to Stonehenge, unless you went into Glenn River. Maybe Lyle just needs to kind of go back there, see them, and remember how great it was.”

  “It’s been a long time. And it wasn’t ever that great.”

  “You got a better idea?” Lucy asked, growing impatient with Layla’s foot dragging.

  “No.”

  “You think I’m just grasping at straws.”

  “I just don’t think Lyle cares anymore and we can’t make him,” Layla said. “We care. You and I care. But he doesn’t.”

  “Well, maybe we can make him care,” Lucy said stubbornly. “If he was just away from Kate, just for a little while, we could have a real conversation. But she’s always there. The gatekeeper. Maybe Lyle is a lost cause. I don’t know. I’d just like something to work out, and I don’t want to lose Stone—”

  “Lucy, sorry. I gotta interrupt you. I need to talk to you about something else.”

  “Oh. Okay . . .” Lucy heard the tension in her sister’s voice.

  “It’s about the baby. My baby.”

  “Is everything okay?” Lucy asking, her heart clutching.

  “Oh, yes, yes. Absolutely. Baby’s fine.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s that Neil and I aren’t getting along too well. We’re not on the same page at all. He’s . . . well, I did something, and I’m afraid he wants to cut me out now.”

  “He can’t do that. You’re the mother.”

  “I’m the egg donor.”

  “Same thing.” She paused, hearing the grave tone in Layla’s voice. “What did you do?”

  “I need to tell you the whole thing, but there are some things that happened ... I made a big mistake, and I went to a lawyer today about it. I didn’t tell you before that Neil is Neil Grassley.”

  “Grassley?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, whoa. Of the steel company Grassleys? He’s that Neil?”

  “Yes,” she said tiredly. “And I signed a contract, giving over my eggs.”

  “What?”

  “I took money for my eggs, but I haven’t spent it.”

  “Well, that can’t be legal, can it? How much money?” This was sounding very bad.

  “The attorney I saw was recommended to me by a gallery owner. He’s someone she knows. He’s a criminal defense attorney, but he’s going to try to help me, I think. Or find me someone who will. I need to break that contract because I can’t have Neil steal my baby away from me.”

  “Who’s this lawyer?”

  “You know him, I think. His name’s Dallas Denton. I’ve been placating Neil, but that hasn’t worked. I just learned he has a new girlfriend, and I’m not going to let them raise my child.”

  You know him, I think . . .

  “I’m going on the attack,” Layla went on rapidly, as if afraid she might be derailed. “I’m hoping by the time we go to that Denim and Diamonds event at Stonehenge I’ll be able to say I’m going to have split custody. That’s my marker. That day. Now, I can’t wait for it to get here. . . .”

  * * *

  Kate listened to Lyle’s even breathing. It had taken him a long time to get to sleep. He’d fussed around with his phone, watching short videos and news articles, then had turned on the television, switching channels, never landing on anything. Kate had pretended to read a romance novel that made her absolutely crazy because she wanted Lyle to be that guy. The way the hero of the book took his woman and made her feel like he couldn’t live without her.

  Kate had switched to feigning sleep, but Lyle had finally settled, and so she searched a toe out from under the covers. Slowly, she got up, freezing when he suddenly snorted and turned over. Now he was facing her, but his eyes were closed. Weren’t they? Hard to tell, it was so shadowy on this side of the room. Over by the drapes, some light showed through from the neighbors’ outside lamp pole. Annoying really, the way they kept putting security lights in it that shone into their bedroom like a searchlight. Eventually, Lyle had been forced to have a talk with them about changing out the bulb, and they’d acquiesced, so now it was just a light. Still too bright, but more bearable.

  She eased to her feet and slowly padded away, her bare feet barely making a sound as she headed to the dresser where Lyle had plugged in his cell to charge. It was a chest of drawers that held only Lyle’s clothes, so hanging around it would be suspicious if he woke. Kate simply unplugged the cell, holding it close to her body as the light came on as soon as she did, then moved like a wraith to the hallway. She slipped past Daphne’s room to the spare bedroom, which was still a toy room even though Daphne was rapidly losing interest in everything except her one teddy bear, Horace.

  Quickly, Kate punched in Lyle’s access code, only to have the numbers jiggle and return to the keypad. She tried a second time, and a third, before realizing he’d changed the code.

  Pat.

  She would bet it was a woman’s name. Patti. Patricia. She could see her. Long black hair and olive skin. Onyx eyes and supple limbs. Oh, she knew his tastes. All her life, her own blond hair had been her asset. Even Lyle had been attracted to it ... or had pretended to be.

  She wanted to throw the cell across the room and scream and rip at her hair. She could see Lyle on top of the witch, could hear him moan as he slid in and out of her, could see him rear his head back and stiffen as he came inside her.

  Well, he wasn’t going to get away with it.

  She’d rather see him dead than with another woman.

  And this Pat wasn’t going to get away with it either.

  PART TWO

  Chapter Nine

  September Rafferty Westerly squinted at her new husband. “How much are the tickets for this thing?”

  He looked over at her, buttoning up his white shirt, his grin somewhat sheepish, she thought. “More than you’d ever pay.”

  “And why are we going to this event?”

  “Because a number of my clients will be there, and it’s for charity.”

  “Who are these clients?” September asked, but she knew. Jake had rattled off their names a number of times already. An investment broker and adviser, Jake had nearly chucked his whole career at one time, but his clients had been unwilling to let him go. Since that time, September had lost her job with the Laurelton Police Department—budget cuts—and Jake had completely turned around, throwing himself back in the business, increasing hi
s clientele and profit margin, readying both September and himself for the launch of their married life together.

  Which was just peachy, she thought sourly, considering she now was jobless and dependent on him. It made her half crazy. Jake, of course, didn’t see it that way, but she sure did, and though her wealthy father had offered to help her out, she’d rather die a death of a trillion paper cuts than depend on him or any of her dysfunctional family. She loved them, sometimes wanted to throw her fists into the air and rail at the heavens over them, but she wanted nothing from them.

  What she needed was a job.

  “William Ogden wants to introduce me to some of his friends, and he suggested the Denim and Diamonds benefit for fire damage to the Gorge,” said Jake.

  The Eagle Creek fire in the Gorge, which had jumped the Columbia River into Washington and burned over fifty thousand acres, closing I-84 for weeks and the old Columbia River Highway for months, was a memory now, but the cost of repairs was still increasing. Businesses in the area had suffered loss of tourism, and people had lost their jobs and livelihoods. The Crissman family was using their annual benefit and auction to raise funds for the reparations. They’d opened their sprawling compound, once called Wolfe Lodge—Wolfe being the name of an ex-business partner, though apparently the current Crissman patriarch never referred to it by that name—so Jake had told her. September knew little of the Crissman family’s history apart from the name of their downtown Portland department store, Crissman & Wolfe. There, apparently, the Wolfe name was still considered okay.

  September had been sitting on the edge of their bed, but now she flopped backward, wishing she could say something like, “Can’t we just send money?” but unable to let those words pass her lips. It was Jake’s money, not hers. He would argue the point if she denied his funds had anything to do with her, but it was the plain truth. She wasn’t bringing in a second income, and at times like this, she felt useless.

  “I have nothing to wear,” she grumbled.

  “Those jeans fit pretty well.”

  She glanced down at her clothes, her uniform these days: jeans and a black V-necked ribbed sweater, of which she’d bought three because she liked them so well.

  “I’m not wearing jeans,” she muttered.

  “That’s the denim part of it.”

  Denim and Diamonds . . . She lifted her left hand, gazing at the extravagant, glittering solo diamond with a rush of pleasure and anxiety. She loved the ring. Wore it when Jake was around. But she had this irrational fear of either losing it, or having it stolen, and the damn thing felt awkward on her hand. She’d purchased a ring holder and placed it by the kitchen sink, but if she took off the ring and set it there for safekeeping, half the time she forgot to put it back on, and the other half she obsessed about finding it missing from the holder. The wedding band was plain silver. That, she could handle. More often than not, she left the engagement ring, with its ostentatious diamond, in a case in the bank of drawers in their closet for safekeeping and just wore the band.

  “Well, I kind of like that idea,” she admitted. Jeans, her ubiquitous sweater, and her diamond ring. She could do that.

  Jake sat down on the bench at the end of the bed to put on his shoes. He was heading to the office and September was faced with another day with nothing to do. Recently, she’d visited her sister July and baby Junie, then stopped in to see her twin brother, Auggie—or, more accurately, August Rafferty—and his wife, Liv. Auggie had told September that Portland PD was hiring, which September already knew, but she was torn. Unlike her brother, who’d been recruited from Laurelton PD and made a lateral move to Portland as a detective, September would be starting at the bottom once more. She’d had an unprecedented rise at Laurelton PD from newbie to detective, and then, being the last hire, was the first unemployed.

  Jake didn’t want her to be a beat cop for Portland PD. If he had his way, she wouldn’t be in law enforcement at all, so he wasn’t the best person to complain to about her plight.

  Now, he leaned over and kissed her lightly as she still lay on her back.

  “Wanna little morning delight?” she asked.

  “Yes. Always,” he agreed heartily, even while he was pulling away. “But I have a meeting I can’t miss.” He waggled his eyebrows in a thoroughly cartoonish way. “I could maybe get away early?”

  “I’m here for you anytime.” She sighed.

  He grinned at her, ignoring her melancholy completely. “A nooner, then.” He leaned back in to kiss her a little more thoroughly, and September wrapped her arms around his neck and nibbled at his ear.

  “You’re pretty damn tempting. Maybe I should let this multimillion-dollar account go somewhere else.”

  She pushed him away. “Fine. Go to your meeting. I’ll just turn on the TV and watch cooking shows. Maybe I’ll learn something.”

  He slid her a look that said Fat chance, but wisely didn’t comment on her culinary skills. She was half-inclined to prove him wrong. Find some fabulous recipe and whip together something incredible. It couldn’t be that hard, could it? All she had to do was put her mind to it, and maybe a little trial and error?

  She sighed again. But she didn’t have the energy.

  She heard Jake leave the little rambler house he’d already owned before their marriage and she’d moved into from her apartment. They were in the process of planning a new kitchen. Specs had been given to the city for a building permit and they were just waiting for the okay.

  She picked up her cell phone and scrolled through several job apps, wishing Laurelton PD was looking to hire again. Her old partner, Gretchen Sanders, kept September informed, but nothing had turned up yet.

  How long are you going to wait for one job? It’s already been months.

  Climbing to her feet, she refused to feel sorry for herself. When she’d first been let go she’d focused on her upcoming wedding, which had originally been slated for April and been pushed to the previous December, allowing about a month’s preparation. It had been her idea and Jake had gone with it. She suddenly hadn’t wanted to wait, and she needed something to do. The low-grade depression over the loss of her job had been pushed aside while she threw herself into plans for the small gathering at the Westerly family’s winery, jumping into the arrangements in a way she never would have believed possible. She’d been reluctant to even set the date during their engagement, uncomfortable in taking the final step in a way that had had her family and her fiancé scratching their heads. She hadn’t been able to explain it completely either. She loved Jake. Had loved him a long time before she’d even admitted it to herself. Hadn’t even managed any other serious romance in her thirtysomething years on the planet. But she’d balked at the idea of that walk down the aisle, had been almost pathologically afraid of losing her independence. Still, she’d pushed the date, half afraid she might chicken out entirely if she waited too long.

  The day of the wedding, she’d felt almost drunk, barely aware of her street-length white satin dress, the auburn wisps of hair curving down to her chin from the artfully messy bun atop her head, moving in her own blurry world with people sliding around the periphery of her vision, guiding her, talking to her, excited for her and Jake. She’d made it through the ceremony with no major faux pas, apparently, as no one had said anything to the contrary, and she’d danced at the reception and accepted everyone’s gracious congratulations. She’d drunk one glass of champagne, though it felt like a dozen, and she couldn’t remember the meal at all. When she and Jake were finally alone, back in his rambler home—theirs now, he constantly reminded her—getting ready for the trip the next day to Hawaii, where they island-hopped for ten days, seeing Oahu, Maui, Kaui, and the Big Island of Hawaii, she’d curled up in the comfort of his arms and wanted to weep. She wasn’t unhappy. She was glad they were married. Glad it was over and they could get on with their lives. But she was scared of the future. Unsure what her role was without the job that had defined her far more than she would have credited.

>   It was an effort to push down her rocketing emotions and force herself to enjoy the honeymoon, though throughout the trip her chest was heavy with a kind of dark apprehension she couldn’t completely shake. But she refused to let Jake know. Fake it till you make it was her mantra, and those words ran through her mind daily.

  Of course, she hadn’t fooled him. Not completely. He was pretty good at reading her. Maybe not as good as he thought he was, but pretty good. And after three months of marriage, though she was starting to feel comfortable with being his wife, she still fought to keep her panic about the future at bay. She almost dreaded the mornings. Her idleness. All those times during her career that she’d longed for a vacation seemed like someone else’s life. A cruel joke.

  But you’ve only been waiting for one job.

  With a growl of impatience directed solely at herself, she grabbed up her laptop and searched the web for job opportunities in local law enforcement. There were a number of openings, but nothing she was interested in or felt she was qualified for. She checked farther afield, but the only position that was even close to what she might want was in Battleground, Washington, a commute far outside her targeted area and state.

  Maybe something will just fall in my lap, she told herself as she headed for her morning shower.

  * * *

  Lucy examined the red dress, turning to see if it was too snug across her derriere. Nope. Looked pretty good. She touched the diamond stud in her right ear, watching its reflection shine in the overhead bathroom light. No denim for her. Straight on diamonds and a showstopping dress she’d bought with her store discount. Another perk that would soon be taken away. Except that it was too early to wear now, so she pulled it back off and hung it on a hanger, slipping it into a plastic garment bag. She, John, and Layla were arriving hours early, per her father’s request, in order to ready Stonehenge for the Denim and Diamonds benefit auction. She would put the dress on at the last minute, so she smoothed on her gray slacks and a blue T-shirt for the preliminaries.