Jealousy

by Nancy Bush

  But some personal prep needed to be done now, so she pulled her hair into a tight bun, then threaded some curls away to curve by her ears and cut the severity. It would be nice to have a necklace to go with the earrings, but she didn’t possess one. Great-grandmother Edwina had disappeared with all her jewels, and neither Junior nor Abbott had seen fit to drape their wives in “expensive baubles”—Junior’s words, apparently, and ones Abbott also crowed at any given opportunity. Lyle had bought Kate that pearl necklace, but he’d probably been henpecked into it, and maybe the pearls weren’t even real. She didn’t see how he could afford them otherwise.

  Sixty thousand dollars is still unaccounted for at work....

  Nope. She slammed her mind shut on that thought. Her father and brother had dismissed it as an error, told her to overlook it, assured her it would be straightened out by year’s end by the firm’s accountants.

  Is that why you’re losing your job . . . ?

  Lucy closed her eyes and shook her head. She was too suspicious, and these people were her own family. That’s why she was losing her job. She wasn’t a team player.

  Pushing those traitorous thoughts from her head, she carried the garment bag to her bedroom closet and slipped into a pair of silver sandals with tiny diamond-like gems embedded in the straps. No one expected anything but costume jewelry on your shoes, so she figured she was okay with just the diamond earrings. She looked at herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door, examined the earrings, thought about that night at the Pembroke Inn with Mark, and shuddered. It was embarrassing, and well, creepy. Made her skin crawl. Yet she had a strange desire to go back to him, meet him outside the place again and screw him standing up. She’d seen a therapist on a daytime talk show describing how women who’d been sexually harassed or abused felt the way she did. To take the misdeed to its conclusion. It was a way to take back power. To say, I did this. My choice, not yours.

  Though she suspected she wouldn’t really feel any better when it was done.

  She heard John coming up the stairs, and a few moments later, he entered the bedroom. He was in a black jacket, black shirt, and pressed denim jeans. He looked really good, his dark hair gleaming under the recessed lights in the ceiling above the entrance to the closet.

  “I like your hair,” he said after a moment of them staring at each other.

  “Thank you.”

  The moment spun out uncomfortably. Finally, John lightly shrugged his shoulders and went to his nightstand for his phone and wallet, which he’d left there when he’d taken his shower.

  Lucy walked back to the bathroom. There had been no improvement in their relationship over the last month. They were two people who spoke to each other only when necessary, and now that he had migrated to the Crissman & Wolfe offices at the warehouse, she rarely saw him during the day. She was alone in the empty offices at the store except for a couple of women who worked in customer service. Occasionally, there was a small problem in one of the departments, but the employees usually managed to right the ship without her help, so her being employed was pretty much superfluous.

  At home, she and John were polite strangers. No arguments, just quiet, though she sometimes felt like she was on the edge of a gathering storm. If Evie sensed the tension, she kept those thoughts to herself. Lucy suspected she was just happy they weren’t openly fighting.

  Bella was sitting today, though she’d tried to weasel out of it when something better had cropped up for later in the evening. Lucy would have just found someone else, but John had walked to her house and talked with her parents and Bella was back on duty. She was already downstairs with Evie, a bit of resentment in her eyes. They were watching TV as she and John did their final prep for the benefit.

  “You ready?” John asked her as she turned to her closet again for a coat as well as the garment bag. The rain had let up, but the temperature had taken a steep dive.

  “Just about.”

  Five minutes later, they were heading out the door. Bella barely acknowledged them as they left, which could have been an improvement because Evie had told her Bella was currently into extolling the virtues of eating organically. Lucy didn’t think she could suffer through Bella’s enthusiasm for non-GMO foods, kale, and tofu with John standing beside her in that remote way of his.

  She climbed in his Audi, tucking the bottom of her long black coat around her legs. Her sandals sparkled a bit in the car’s overhead light before John climbed in and closed the driver’s door behind him. It was the first time they’d driven in the same vehicle since those last fights after she’d had her eye on Mark.

  “It’s a ways out to Stonehenge,” he remarked as he pulled away from the curb.

  “Yes, it is.”

  Though it was barely afternoon, the day was cloudy and gray, a light drizzle collecting on the windshield. Abbott had said he wanted them all at the lodge early, well before the festivities began. There was a cocktail hour scheduled, and then the dinner and finally the auction. Just to attend was a high fee per plate, and more contributions from expensive donations in both a silent and oral auction the crowd would hopefully bid up. There was a general desire to rebuild structures that were lost in the fire and help struggling businesses still trying to get their customers back. The hopeful expectations were that the benefit would raise a lot of money for the Friends of the Columbia River Gorge because people believed deeply in putting back what the fire had destroyed.

  “Evie asked if we were still going to Stonehenge for Easter,” said John.

  “She mentioned it to me, too.”

  “What did you say?”

  “That I didn’t know. Maybe we won’t even own it anymore.”

  John’s lips tightened. Lucy wasn’t exactly sure which side of that argument he’d landed on.

  They drove in silence for a while; then John finally said, “How is Layla getting there?”

  Lucy’s heart made an uncomfortable flip. She’d seen very little of her sister over the last month. Layla was meeting with lawyers and notices had been written, a lawsuit filed, she believed. Layla had called her a number of times, laying out her plans. She was energized and primed for battle, though it sounded as if Neil had turned from vaguely threatening to out-and-out combatant. He’d warned that he would break her if she chose to follow through on her attempts for shared custody, but she had managed to record his threats, which would be helpful in her lawsuit.

  Layla had explained, “I was trying to follow Neil around, find something out about him, but Dallas Denton told me to stay away from him. He’s hired a private investigator. No one wants to tell me anything. I think they think I’ll go off the rails. But so far, all I think he’s found out is that Neil’s new girlfriend seems to have moved in with him. . . .”

  Lucy’s stomach had clenched at Dallas’s name, but she’d managed to keep Layla from noticing. “I hope it all works out for you,” she’d managed to utter, and Layla had been too immersed in her own problems to notice her sister’s discomfiture.

  Lucy felt John looking at her, so she half-turned his way. “Layla’s heading there in a Black Swan Gallery van. One of her paintings is up for bid, but it’s large and she promised to bring it with her. She did ask for a ride back, though.”

  “Okay.”

  Lucy looked out her window as the populated area changed to denser foliage along the two-lane highway that wound toward Stonehenge. She could remember looking up through the moon roof of the wagon her mother had owned and watching the canopy of green leaves reach out and touch one another as the road narrowed onto a paved road barely able to handle two cars passing each other.

  After her conversation with Layla about Brianne Kilgore, Lucy had tried to talk to her brother. She’d reminded him how much they had all loved Stonehenge, but Lyle had been distracted and disinterested. “What do you really want, Lucy?” he’d asked her, and she’d heard Kate’s voice in his tone.

  So, she’d answered him with the truth. “I want to save Stone
henge. Those are our family’s happiest memories, and it’s our heritage. Don’t you feel that?”

  “All I know is that we’re bleeding money,” he’d said repressively, “and if it takes selling Wolfe Lodge, then so be it. None of us wants to be a pauper.”

  “Do you call it Wolfe Lodge in front of Dad?” she’d asked, so surprised she’d been momentarily diverted.

  “I don’t talk to Dad about it much at all. It’s a matter of economics, Lucy. I thought you were the one who understood that.”

  “I understand a lot.” Her temper had started to rise at that point and she knew she should end the conversation before she said something unforgivable. Something she would regret later and be unable to walk back. Talking to Lyle was a lost cause anyway. But she couldn’t stop herself from adding, “I’m going to find out whose idea this was and why we’re in such dire straits. What happened to the Crissman fortune? All I’ve ever heard was that it was squandered. Who squandered it? Junior? Dad? You?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Luce. Times have changed. The world’s different. Digital. Maybe if you woke up and became a part of it, you’d understand that.”

  “I am a part of it. I know profits are down. I even get why we’re closing the store. But I want to know why we have to sell Wolfe Lodge. Why now? Why can’t we wait until we’ve restructured the company? See what the profit and loss is? Kate said it was your idea to sell. Is that true?”

  And that’s when he’d hung up on her.

  She’d taken that as a yes.

  Now, as she and John reached the blacktop lane that led to the final bends toward Stonehenge, she pushed the button to recline her seat and looked through the moon roof as the budding lime-green leaves and forest-green fir needles swept across the screen above her.

  Chapter Ten

  Lyle pulled the car up in front of the lodge’s sprawling structure with its two jutting wings, like arms reaching out to greet them. Kate knew that behind the lodge were some haphazard cabins, designed around twisting trails, forgotten bungalows with mossy, leaking roofs and beetle-devoured siding, smelling of mildew and damp and uninviting. She supposed they’d been nice once, at least during the summer months. They were a complete disaster now, however.

  The lodge itself had aged as well, but the bedrooms hidden along the wings behind the main greeting rooms were in far better shape than the cabins. The roof of the massive building had been recently repaired, thank God, and Kate could grudgingly admit there was something somewhat enchanting about the lodge’s cavernous rooms. The grand chandeliers were out of place within the building’s rustic charm, but Lyle’s great-grandfather’s gifts to his wife were rich and beautiful, teardrop crystals glittering brightly. It was the chandeliers’ juxtaposition with the weathered wood floors and pine walls that had inspired Kate to come up with the Denim and Diamonds theme. She was rather proud of herself, but though she’d brought up how great her idea had turned out several times, hoping Lyle would agree with her brilliance and thank her for it, to date he hadn’t even noticed.

  Now, Lyle pulled around the north wing of the lodge to park in a spot away from the main parking area but close to a side door where the catering trucks were already collecting. He turned the key, then sat for a moment, his arms resting on the steering wheel. She could see the grim set to his mouth.

  She said gently, “You look handsome.”

  He didn’t respond. Didn’t look at her. He’d gotten a haircut a few days earlier and it was a little shorter than Kate liked, but he looked groomed and pressed, his gray slacks and white shirt with the black jacket professional but casual. He’d worn black alligator cowboy boots and a bolo tie. Okay, maybe it wasn’t denim, but it was western wear, and that fell into Kate’s definition for the night.

  She’d donned a black dress, short and tight, for tonight’s event. Initially, she’d been alarmed at the slight pooch of her abdomen when she’d tried on the dress last week. When had that happened? To make the dress work, she’d cut down her calories to less than a thousand a day, and today, the pooch was decidedly down. For good measure, she’d taken a laxative this morning, which had done the trick, and now her stomach was flat. She’d thought about bringing a change of clothes because the event was still hours away, but she’d decided she would just be careful. Besides, she liked the way she looked.

  She, too, was wearing black alligator boots. She’d picked up both hers and Lyle’s at a store that sold strictly western gear, which was attached to what was basically a tack room full of saddles, bridles, blankets, oats and feed, and God knew what else. She’d never been one of those horsey girls. She could count the times she’d ridden one: zero.

  She’d thought about wearing the pearls Lyle had bought her, but she really needed diamonds. Her engagement and wedding rings were nice, but, though she’d never told Lyle—wouldn’t dream of it!—she’d always been a little bit disappointed in the stones. Ah, well. She’d decided on the silver disc earrings with the three teensy diamonds along the edge for tonight. With her rings, she supposed she had enough diamonds. It just felt like she, of all people, should have something big and expensive. She’d hinted a bit to Lyle over the years, but he seemed singularly deaf to any of her suggestions, except for the pearls.

  But when this creaking lodge sells . . .

  She tried to calculate how much the real estate was worth. Millions. Lots of millions. She’d like to ask Layla what she thought. Layla wasn’t an agent, but she was in the real estate world, and for all her artiness, she could be really clear on some things, real estate being one of them. But if Kate brought up the sensitive subject, Layla would cut her dead. Neither of Lyle’s sisters had any true grasp on the realities of life.

  “I’m going in to see if the caterer is here yet,” Kate said, wondering what the hell was wrong with Lyle. She’d been cagily watching him whenever he opened his phone, hoping to catch his code, but the security release used his thumbprint and he rarely opened it with the required four digits. However, three days earlier there had been an update, and he’d had to shut down the phone and then use his code to open it. She was pretty sure it was five, three, nine, something. Maybe seven. She hadn’t had a chance to use it yet; Lyle’s phone was never more than a few inches away from him.

  He roused himself from his torpor and opened the driver’s door, stepping outside. Kate waited a moment, but he didn’t come around to her side, so she let herself out, irked at him. She watched him walk off, heading around the wing of the building to the front door, while she stepped carefully down slate slabs surrounded by moss that led to the side door.

  Could he say something? Talk to me? Whatever the hell’s wrong, could he just tell me?

  She realized she was muttering beneath her breath and stopped herself as she stepped inside the short hallway that led to the kitchen. She could hear the caterers clattering pans and talking among themselves, and she entered the room with a smile pasted on her lips. Her hair was pulled back in a French braid, and in lieu of a diamond necklace, she’d tied a red kerchief jauntily around her neck.

  She glanced around the interior and smiled at the gleaming wood, freshly cleaned carpets and drapes, glittering mullioned windows reflecting the chandeliers’ lights. A cellist was already setting up in one of the nooks—Kate’s idea again—soft classical music to be an undertone to what she hoped was plenty of conversation and laughter.

  “Is Jean-Luc here yet?” she asked a young Asian woman wearing a white apron over a black dress.

  “Right here, madam,” came Jean-Luc’s smooth baritone.

  Kate’s smile widened. She was so pleased she’d gotten the chef. He hadn’t been her first choice—or her second, for that matter—but she hadn’t been able to pay the exorbitant amount required for them, and she’d worked her negotiating magic to get Jean-Luc. Of course, Jean-Luc wasn’t cheap either, but he’d quickly understood the press he would receive for this elite event, and they’d come to an agreement that had worked for them both. Kate had bragged a bit t
o Lyle about that, too, and Abbott as well, but what had she gotten for her efforts? A grimace from her husband about the cost and a resigned remark from Abbott: “Well, we can’t have some diner cook, I suppose.”

  They just didn’t understand the complexities of the situation; but then, they were men . . . what could she seriously expect?

  “You’re here early,” she said to Jean-Luc as she walked past the man warming up the grill.

  “Yes, madam. There is a lot to do.”

  That was true. Beyond the sumptuous food the catering company was providing, there were nearly three hundred people attending and the dining room—which hadn’t been much more than three rows of basic metal tables—needed serious prettying up by Jean-Luc’s staff, and it was happening. Just as she’d planned. Kate couldn’t help but feel more than a little bit of pride that it was coming together so perfectly.

  “Madam, we will be ready by six. Champagne with berries. Strawberry, Cambozola, and honey on baguettes to start. Crudités. Skewered prawns. Candied bacon . . .” He sniffed. The bacon had been Abbott’s personal request, and Jean-Luc apparently felt it was rather pedestrian. Then a lobster bisque for the first course, with attendant almond flax crackers. “It will all be beautiful,” the chef assured her.

  “I’m sure it will,” Kate said.

  “Leave it to me, chérie.”

  She left him to find Lyle’s father. Because he was the one who’d demanded they come hours early, she was certain he must have already arrived. She ran into Lyle, who was standing in the foyer, gazing up at the gallery and the circles of white tablecloths draped over tables of eight with their centerpieces of stargazer lilies, Kate’s personal favorite. She was surprised to see Layla, wearing what looked like a denim jumpsuit, standing at the edge of one of the auction tables that ran around the perimeter of the massive central hall, beneath the gallery. She realized, then, that Layla was positioned near a large painting of a river, somewhat crudely done in Layla’s own distinctive style. Ah. The Columbia River painting she’d offered to donate. Kate inwardly sniffed. She preferred the impressionistic style. There was a modern tone to Layla’s work that she found childlike but other people seemed to enjoy. And well, someone might just jump on a painting of the river, given that they were here to raise money for the whole area.