Olive Oil and White Bread (25 page)

“And Jillian here teaches art,” Marina said, interrupting Jillian's investigation.

“Guilty,” Jillian replied.

Lindsey smiled at her, held her gaze for a bit longer than necessary. “I loved art in school.” She pressed her palms together and pointed at Marina and Jillian. “Well,” she said. “I should probably find my way back to my office and get my bearings so I'm ready for tomorrow.” With a sheepish grin, she explained, “I've never had to go there from
here.” Her encompassing wave indicated the conference room, which had cleared out, the three of them left alone.

“It's on the way to my room,” Jillian said. “I can show you.”

“Perfect.” That smile again.

They said their goodbyes to Marina and headed down the hall. As they walked toward the gym, Jillian scrambled to make small talk. “I have always been jealous of the phys ed teachers I know because they have the most comfortable working wardrobes around.” When Lindsey chuckled, Jillian asked, “How many pairs of sneakers do you own? Tell the truth.”

“Six.”

“Figures.”

“So, how long have you been teaching here?”

Jillian furrowed her brow. “Fifteen years!”

“Wow. You don't look old enough.”

A slight blush heated Jillian's cheeks. “I was hired right out of college.”

“That makes you, what, thirty-seven?”

“Thirty-eight.”

“Well, you don't look thirty-eight.”

Jillian laughed. “Thanks. I think. And you're what? Twenty-five?”

Lindsey feigned being appalled, complete with a horrified gasp and a hand pressed to her chest. “I'll have you know I am twenty-nine, thank you very much.”

“Baby.”

Lindsey arched one eyebrow, and Jillian laughed. “Is that eyebrow supposed to intimidate me?”

“Isn't it? Damn it,” Lindsey said, the arch still there. “I need to work on that.” She looked up at the rooms. “I guess this is where I get off.”

Jillian rolled her lips in, bit down on them. “Mm hmm.”

“Thanks for walking with me.”

“Any time. Welcome aboard. I think you'll like it here.”

Lindsey held Jillian's gaze. “So do I.”

What the hell was that?
Jillian asked herself over and over as she drove home. Why had she been flirty with Lindsey? Not that she wasn't always flirty, but this had been intentional, very much so. Not good. Not good at all. Shaking her head to rid herself of the confusion that settled over her, she vowed to tread carefully around the new girl.

Jillian was not happy with her own state of mind recently, but she had no idea what to do about it. She growled with frustration as she unlocked the door and entered her house. As she tossed her keys on the kitchen counter, she briefly wondered—not for the first time—what it would be like to come home from work and have Angie already be there. She didn't bother dwelling, though. She'd gone that route in the past, and the only thing it had gotten her was depressed.

“Where's my girl?” she cooed as always, sifting through the mail, waiting for Boo to greet her. It took longer these days—her sweet dog was nearing fourteen, and she didn't get around like before. Glancing at the envelope from the gas and electric company, she tore it open and scoffed at the total due, remembering when they'd lived in their smaller house and owed half of what they did now.

When Boo didn't make an appearance, Jillian left the mail next to her keys and went looking. Boo's hearing wasn't what it used to be, and often she didn't even hear Jillian come home.

“Boo-Bear,” she called as she entered the vaulted-ceilinged living room. Boo's round bed was tucked next to the couch, and Jillian could make out her white butt, less on the muscular side than in her younger days and more on the bony side. As Jillian approached, she could see Boo's chest rising and falling rapidly as she took quick, short breaths. She didn't get up, but her brown eyes rolled slightly in Jillian's direction.

“Oh, no.” Jillian dropped to her knees and placed a gentle hand on Boo's side. The dog's nub of a tail wagged ever so slightly. “Hi, sweetie. How's my girl? You don't look like you're feeling very well.” Jillian kept her voice steady, her tone light. Boo was emotionally in tune with
her, always knew when she was in distress, and Jillian didn't want Boo worrying about her now.

Trying to ward off the dread and panic threatening to wash over her, Jillian found her cell phone in the kitchen and punched in number one to speed dial Angie. When it clicked to voicemail, she made a strangled sound and hung up, then returned to Boo.

Shay had prepared her for this as best she could. Boo was old. She'd been on medication for nearly a year, and at her age, her kidneys would most likely shut down on her at some point. She'd be lethargic, panting, but not in pain. So if certain measures had to be taken, Shay would drive right to the house. Jillian knew that the only way she'd have Boo put down was if she was in pain with no way to get better.

Jillian tried Angie again. A quick glance at the clock told her it was almost five. When she got no answer, she dialed the reception desk and was told she'd missed Angie by about fifteen minutes.

“You should try her cell,” the receptionist suggested helpfully.

“Wow. What a great idea.” Jillian was pretty sure her sarcasm was lost on the girl.

Hoping Angie was on her way home, Jillian went back into the living room. Boo hadn't moved, her breathing still shallow. Jillian stretched out next to her, lying down so she could look at Boo's face, into her brown eyes. She'd always felt such a connection to her dog, and this moment was no different. She knew exactly how this was going to go.

“Hey there, beautiful. How're you doing?” Boo's pink tongue lolled out the side of her mouth. Her breath was awful. Jillian didn't care. She kissed her right on her black nose, which was alarmingly dry. Boo's nub of a tail wagged gently.

“You're getting ready to leave me, aren't you, sweetie?” The crack in her voice was beyond Jillian's control, and her eyes filled. “It's okay,” she said softly. “It's okay, baby girl. I know you're tired. I'd keep you here with me forever if I could, but I know you've got someplace you have to be.” Her tears spilled over, rolling freely down her face as she told her dog everything that was in her heart. “You have been the best dog any girl could ever ask for. I want you to know that. You've taken such good care of me, and I will love you forever.” She stroked Boo's
head, her velvety ears, her strong neck. Boo kept her gentle eyes on Jillian's and Jillian held Boo's gaze, watching closely for any sign that she was in pain. “I'm right here, Boo-Bear. I'm right here.”

From her spot on the floor, she stretched for her cell and dialed Angie's number again.

I can't do it right now
.

That was the first thought that ran through Angie's head when she saw Jillian's number come up on her phone. She hit the button to mute the ringtone and motioned to the bartender as she dropped the phone into the inside breast pocket of her blazer.

Hope peered over enough to see who was calling. “Do you think it's smart to ignore the phone call of your significant other?”

“No.” Angie took a too-large slug of her beer. “But I'm sure she's calling to ask where I am or what time I'm getting home, and she'll have that
tone
. That
attitude
that makes me feel like the worst partner in the world. And I just don't want to deal with it right now.”

They sat on barstools at JAM—the latest incarnation of the local lesbian bar—for the Happy Hour specials. Dollar drafts, two-dollar well drinks from four to seven on Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday. What did knowing the Happy Hour prices and schedule by heart say about her? Angie ignored the thought.

Hope was gazing around the bar, probably noting the changes since she'd been there last with Angie. Gone was the upper class, polished-wood look. In its place were sharp angles, frustratingly low lighting, and house music. The clientele was decidedly younger, much less business-like.

“Christ,” Hope muttered, “this place changes names more than I change my underwear.”

“The curse of the lesbian bar,” Angie replied. “Nobody can keep one open and make money. When will they learn? Bars are for boys. Lesbians don't go out much. Though I have to admit I love that I can breathe.”

“And that you won't go home smelling like an ashtray.”

“Amen to that.” There'd been big controversy and many an uproar from bars and restaurants when New York state had passed a law banning smoking in public places, but Angie loved it. She abhorred the stench of cigarette smoke, hated how it clung to her clothes and hair so that even when she got away from it, she couldn't get away from it. “I remember ten years ago,” she said. “You couldn't even walk into a bar for three minutes to look for somebody without having to throw all your clothes in the wash and take a shower.”

Hope nodded her agreement. “I do feel a little sorry for the smokers, though, especially in the winter when they're all huddled outside around the ashtray like a bunch of outcasts.”

“I don't. It's a filthy, dangerous habit, and this is a new era, for god's sake. They should all know better by now.”

Hope hit her with a look. “Somebody took extra Harsh Pills this morning.”

Angie blinked at her, then laughed. “I'm sorry.” She shook her head. “I can't help it. I'm in total bitch mode lately. I hate everybody.”

“Honey, I
invented
bitch mode.” Hope held up her glass and they clinked.

“I don't know what's going on with me.” Angie took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Everything annoys me. Everybody bugs me. I just want to crawl in a hole.”

“Who's bugging you?”

“Everybody.”

“Not me,” Hope said, her tone teasing.

One corner of Angie's mouth quirked up. “Not you.”

“Jillian?”

“
Especially
Jillian.”

“Work?”

“God, yes.”

Propping her elbow on the bar and her chin in her hand, Hope groaned. “I know. Me too.” They each sipped their beers. A few moments of silence went by. “I think a noncompete is coming,” Hope stated.

Angie made a face. “You think Jeremy's got that up his sleeve too?”

“Guelli was too naïve to ever put one in place. Which was a dumb business move. Plus Keith probably wouldn't have signed one anyway. He'd want the freedom to take his customers with him if he decided to leave.”

“I heard they don't stand up in court. I read a couple different articles. You can't keep somebody from making a living.”

With a half shrug, Hope said, “I don't know. I suppose it's possible, but who wants to pay a lawyer to deal with all of it? Most people just sign and hope they never want to change jobs.”

“No way Keith signs. He doesn't do anything he doesn't want to, and he brings in so much money, I doubt Jeremy could afford to fight with him about it. There's too much business to lose.”