Eleven
Jillian blew out a breath as she flopped onto the couch, alone there for all of two-and-a-half seconds before Boo joined her, crawling up her body so her front paws lay across Jillian’s chest. Jillian couldn’t help but laugh.
“You are so not a lap dog, young lady,” she said with a grunt. “Didn’t they tell Mama you’d stay small? Fifty pounds is not small.” She kissed the top of Boo’s head as her thoughts swirled around her brain.
By the time Memorial Day weekend rolled around, Jillian was angry, frustrated—and worried. Angie’s work hours hadn’t eased up. True, they hadn’t gotten any worse (as if they could), but she wasn’t coming home any earlier. They’d been going around and around about it until Jillian’s head spun. She felt like she had a girlfriend half the time. They had dinner together once a week, for sure, and that was at the Righettis. No way would Angie miss Sunday dinner at her parents’—and that was another thing: Angie would blow off dinner with her girlfriend nine times out of ten, but not once did she miss a family dinner.
Jillian lay on the couch stroking her dog. Something else was causing her worry. Angie was drinking a lot more than usual. Her excuse was that she was schmoozing the clients—and if she wasn’t drinking, her clients wouldn’t be drinking, wouldn’t be comfortable enough. And she needed them comfortable. She’d been taking clients to dinner or out for drinks at least a couple times a week now, and even at home she was drinking quite a bit.
“Sweetie, do you really need another glass?” Jillian had asked just two nights ago when Angie had refilled her wine glass for the third time.
Angie shrugged off the question. “It helps me relax. I’m too wound up. I’ll never get to sleep if I don’t calm down. No big deal.”
Jillian wondered now if she should have been less gentle about it, firmer, more obvious that she didn’t approve. Or maybe she should have just said, flat out, “I’m worried that you’re drinking too much.” Why did people always tippy-toe around things that needed to be said? Her mother was like that, never coming right out and saying what she meant. Now Jillian was taking after her.
She hadn’t even tried to bring up their sex life. Or lack thereof. The biggest drawback of Angie’s long hours was that she was tired. Too tired to make love. It had been weeks. Weeks.
As if sensing Jillian’s frustration, Boo slipped out her hot pink tongue and coated Jillian’s cheek with affection. Jillian wrapped her arms around the solid body that was anything but soft and cuddly and squeezed.
“I love you, too, Boo-Bear.”
Their lovefest was interrupted by the sound of the side door. Another grunt was pushed from Jillian’s body as Boo bounded off of her to check out the visitor. A glance at the clock told Jillian it was just after six, normally much too early for Angie to be home. But the sound of her voice cooing to Boo brought warmth and a smile as Jillian popped up from the couch and headed for the kitchen.
“Hi,” Jillian said, wrapping her arms around Angie’s neck. “You’re home early.”
Angie hugged her tightly. “No, I’m home at a normal time. I’m home early for me.”
“That’s what I meant.”
“Hardy har har.” Holding Jillian at arms’ length, she said, “What are you doing?”
“Right now? Hugging you. Why?”
“No, I mean are you in the middle of something?”
Jillian made a face. “No.”
“Good. Go pack a bag. Three nights’ worth.”
Jillian blinked at her. “What?”
“I’m taking you away. My sister’s coming over to watch Boo.”
“Where?”
“It’s a surprise.”
Jillian backed away, a grin spreading across her face, then raced up the stairs to do as she was told.
It was just before eight o’clock when Angie parked the car. Strathmore-on-the-Lake was gorgeous in the dusk: a stone, almost castle-like building tucked away on the shores of a small, secluded lake. Lit sconces at the door, and subtle, ankle-height lights marked the several walking paths that led from the inn to the lake and back. The latespring breeze carried with it the scents of water, trees, and fading lilacs.
Jillian had drifted off to sleep about a half hour earlier; Angie gently shook her awake. “Babe. We’re here.”
Jillian inhaled deeply and rolled her head around on her neck, working out the kinks that came from napping in a car. She blinked several times. “Oh, Angie. It’s so beautiful.” She’d figured out their destination after an hour on the road (there wasn’t much else in this direction worth sneaking off to), but she’d only ever seen pictures before. “Oh, my god.”
Angie smiled at her. “Ready?”
“Hell, yes.”
They grabbed their bags, and headed for the front entrance. Despite the beauty of the outside, the opulence and elegance of the lobby inside surprised Jillian, given that they were in the middle of nowhere in upstate New York. A fountain of marble stood in the center, directly beneath a circular skylight, its water gurgling pleasantly. Angie couldn’t wait to see it in the daylight, especially with the sun gleaming through the skylight and reflecting on the water. Hanging plants and potted trees lent an almost tropical feel. Soft music came from an open door to their right, the restaurant and bar, Angie guessed. Their next stop. She approached the front desk and gave a friendly woman their reservation information. They were directed to follow a young, clean-shaven man who led them to their room. Within ten minutes of pulling into the lot, the door clicked shut behind them, and they were alone.
“Oh, my god, Angie.” Jillian’s voice was quiet, just above a whisper. “I can’t believe you did this.” She let go of her duffle bag and wandered farther into the room. Her breath caught as she looked in the corner and noticed the Jacuzzi tub. “We are so getting in this,” she told Angie.
Angie laughed. “Yes, we are. Want to get something to eat first? I know it’s kind of late, but I’m starving.”
Jillian stepped to her, wrapped her arms around Angie’s neck, and pulled her down for a searing kiss. When they parted, both women were slightly breathless. “I can’t believe you did this.”
Angie’s expression softened. “You deserve it. You’ve been so patient with my ridiculous hours. I told Hope the next big order that I closed, I was taking you away for a weekend. That happened earlier this month.”
Jillian’s blue eyes widened. “You’ve been planning this for nearly a month?”
Angie nodded. “I had some details to take care of—somebody to watch Boo, make sure you didn’t have a meeting or something that would keep you late at school tonight, be certain I could actually get us a room. This place is almost always booked on the weekends, especially long ones.”
As she shook her head, Jillian’s smile was huge, her dimples in plain view, and Angie realized that it had been far too long since she’d seen that big, genuine look of happiness.
“I can’t believe you did this,” Jillian said a third time and rested her head on Angie’s shoulder.
“Well, this won’t be the last time, you know. My long hours and schmoozing have really been paying off. I got my biggest commission check yet this month.”
Jillian wanted to tell her that the money didn’t matter, but Angie was so excited, her face shone with such pride, that Jillian simply smiled and said, “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“I’m still starving.”
A laugh bubbled out of Jillian. “Okay. Let’s go eat.”
Throughout their entire meal, Jillian felt like she had the old Angie back. The Angie that wasn’t worried about work, the Angie that didn’t seem preoccupied and stressed out. She’d even left her cell phone back in the room. Turned off. They ate by candlelight—filet mignon for Angie and broiled scallops for Jillian. They drank a bottle of full-bodied, delicious cabernet, and they talked about everything and nothing. By the time they returned to their room, it was nearly eleven.
“This night has been incredible,
” Jillian said as they entered their room. She turned and wrapped her arms around Angie. “I’ve missed it being just the two of us.”
“The night’s not over.” When Jillian looked up, Angie gestured to the Jacuzzi with her chin. “You up for it? Or are you too tired?”
“Too tired to soak in a hot tub? Never.”
It didn’t take long for them to fill the tub—adding some of the scented bath oil provided by the Inn—and settle down on the seats. They groaned simultaneously as the luxuriously hot water sluiced over their naked skin.
“Oh, my god,” Jillian said, her eyes closed, her head back against the pillowed edge of the tub. “I never want to leave this spot.”
Angie scooted her body closer so their thighs were touching. “Maybe when we get a bigger house, we can get our own hot tub.”
Jillian smiled, but didn’t open her eyes. “Maybe.” Her tone said she knew Angie was just talking, her ideas were just that: ideas.
“No, I’m serious.”
Jillian opened her eyes. “About what?”
“A bigger house.”
“We don’t need a bigger house, babe.”
Angie nodded, settled back so her position mimicked Jillian’s. “I know. I’m just thinking out loud. I’m making decent money. I can make more. Dominick moved to something bigger when he started making money. Maybe it’s time for us to start thinking about leaving the city and finding a place in the suburbs. Don’t you think Boo would like a bigger yard to run around in?”
“Of course she would.” Jillian could tell by Angie’s reasoning that this was something she’d been thinking about. Resting her head on Angie’s shoulder, she voiced her worry. “I don’t want you working any harder than you already do. You’re doing amazingly well at your job, and I can’t tell you how proud I am of you. We’re doing just fine financially. And I like our little house.”
“Me, too.”
“I’d rather have you home at dinnertime than have more money in our bank account and a bigger house for me to wander around in by myself.”
Angie sighed, rubbed water over her arms. “I just want to make sure you’re happy.” The way she said it—a mix of worried lover and small child—made Jillian’s heart ache.
“Babe, what’s brought this on?”
“I don’t know. I just, I see my parents, and my dad works so hard to make sure my mom’s happy, and I just want that for us. I don’t want you to ever think you’re not important.”
Jillian cocked her head and smiled widely. “And I see my parents and how miserable my mom can be, and I know how lucky I am to have you. I wish you wouldn’t worry so much. You make me very happy.”
“Yeah?” Angie leaned closer.
“Absolutely,” Jillian assured her before their lips met.
Despite all the time that had passed since their last bout of lovemaking, there was no rush. Jillian crawled over Angie, straddled her lap, and let herself become lost in their nakedness. The wet skin, the ragged breaths, the familiarity with one another. Angie wrested the lead from Jillian and flipped their positions, taking over, taking charge, and taking Jillian to heights she hadn’t felt in longer than she cared to think about. She came hard, clamping her mouth down on Angie’s bare, wet shoulder as she did so.
When they were spent, they dried each other off, gently, lovingly, and cuddled in the enormous bed as if they were one living, breathing being. When Jillian was awakened by a sound outside somewhere at 3 a.m., she turned to kiss Angie, but Angie was awake as well, and took Jillian again with her fingers. And then again with her mouth. By the time they went back to sleep, Jillian couldn’t feel her legs. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so completely sated. She drifted off with a single thought in her head.
We’re back.
Twelve
Jillian hit the snooze button on Tuesday morning with a groan, then snuggled into Angie, drifting in and out of sleep and remembering the fantastic long weekend they’d shared.
Jillian had come embarrassingly close to crying when they’d left the Strathmore early Monday afternoon. They meandered through various tiny country villages, stopped for a delicious, relaxed lunch, hit a few antique shops, and drove on roads with a speed limit no faster than 45mph—but they still had to come back to real life. They held hands on the trip, and Angie said more than once, “I wish we didn’t have to go back.”
“We need to take a weekend away more often,” Jillian suggested, something she’d been thinking about the entire morning. “I feel like we’ve recharged, you know?”
Angie lifted Jillian’s hand to her lips and kissed her knuckles. “I know exactly how you feel.”
Despite their less than enthusiastic return home, Boo was ecstatic to see them, running in circles and howling, her nub of a tail going a mile a minute. That made things a little easier to bear. They unpacked, did some laundry, ate a light supper, and once in bed, they made love again. Jillian tried not to cheer with glee, but she couldn’t remember the last time they’d been intimate more than two nights in a row—at least not since they were newlyweds. She loved this “new” side of Angie—which was the old side, the Angie she had first loved
Tuesday morning arrived like a hangover. Jillian didn’t want to get up, to officially signify the end of the weekend by actually dressing for work. Her head was muzzy, and she was slightly nauseous—though she suspected both symptoms derived from “I Don’t Want to Go to Work Syndrome.” She hit the snooze one too many times, and both she and Angie ended up running around like crazy people, trying to make up for lost time. On Angie’s way out the door, Jillian forced them to stop, face to face, by grabbing Angie’s head with both hands.
“I just want you to know that I had an amazing weekend,” she said softly. “I can’t wait to do it again. Thank you so much. I love you.” She kissed Angie’s lips.
“I love you, too.” Angie’s smile was radiant. “See you tonight.” And she was off.
Jillian was just giving Boo her treats and saying her goodbyes when the phone rang.
“Jill?”
“Brian?” Jillian hadn’t spoken to her brother in weeks, and having him call her first thing in the morning was odd. He was more of an evening guy.
“I was hoping I’d catch you.” His lack of preamble combined with the slight crack in his voice put her on red alert.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Mom. Dad just called me here at the office. The ambulance is taking her to the hospital.”
“What? Why? What happened?”
“I didn’t get a lot of detail. She told him she felt light-headed last night. Then this morning, she said her chest felt tight. When she started having trouble breathing, he called the ambulance.”
“Oh, my god.” Her heart was racing at triple time as she dropped onto a chair.
“I know.”
The siblings were silent for several moments. Jillian finally asked, “What if it’s serious? What do we do?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt like she was ten years old.
She heard Brian exhale. “I don’t know. I’m going to head over now.”
“Where are they taking her?”
“St. Mary’s.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
Angie felt helpless.
She wasn’t even thirty yet. It hadn’t even crossed her mind that she would lose her parents one day. Okay, yes, she could lose them any day, but hell, it just wasn’t something she thought about. They were young, barely sixty. This was the 90s. People didn’t just drop dead before they were sixty. So why would she even think about such a thing?
But Jillian was only twenty-seven. And her mother, at fifty-six had done just that: dropped dead. Not immediately. Not until she’d reached the hospital. Heart attack at fifty-six.
Sitting in the corner of the couch, her arms wrapped around Jillian, trying her best to keep her warm, keep her safe, keep her from crumbling or hold onto her if she did, she had no idea what she could possibly say or
do to make things better. So she sat and she held her girlfriend, and she did her best to pour every ounce of love she had from her heart through her arms and into Jillian, hoping she’d feel it, hoping she’d know.
Jillian kept talking about the same thing. She was not ready for this. She was not prepared. Who in their twenties thinks about the mortality of their parents? She’d asked the question over and over, as if somebody would finally materialize and give her the answer she wanted. Why, nobody, Jillian. You’re absolutely right! This has all been a terrible mistake. Here’s your mom back.
The wake had been rough. Endless parades of people hugging Jillian, her brother Brian, their dad, telling them how shocking it all was. As if they didn’t know. As if the three of them didn’t look like the dictionary definition of the word “shocked.” Mr. Clark was slack-jawed, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in days as he tried to put up a strong front for his kids. Brian was a taller, handsome version of Jillian, his sandy hair freshly cut, his black suit classic, his lavender and black tie somber. Angie thought it was a blessing that he’d gone into the real estate business with his father because he slipped easily into businessman mode, shaking hands, thanking people for their attendance, keeping himself one step removed from the reality of the pain. Jillian’s expression could only be described as bewildered. Like she was a backstage manager who’d just found herself directly in the spotlight, in front of a full audience. Her blue eyes were wide, too wide. Bloodshot and swollen and too wide. Her face was drawn, her skin so pale as to be nearly translucent. She had barely eaten in three days, and it made her dress hang loosely off her body, as if she were a child in her mother’s clothes.
Angie had hung back. Mr. Clark and Brian knew who she was to Jillian and were glad she was there for moral support. But most of Mrs. Clark’s friends and family—aside from Shay and her parents—either didn’t know or didn’t approve, and Angie knew it wasn’t the time or place to make a stand for gay equality. She stayed close, supplied Jillian with water, tissues, mints, whatever she needed. At one point late in the evening, she approached Jillian to see how she was holding up. Jillian simply grasped her hand and held onto it for the next twenty minutes until the last mourner left the funeral home.
Olive Oil and White Bread Page 9
