Olive Oil and White Bread (30 page)

If Jillian could have run to the parking lot in full sprint without drawing attention to herself, she would have.

The desire to sit in her parked car and simply focus on breathing was strong, but she worried that her privacy would be short-lived. Lindsey's SUV was parked only three spots away in the mostly empty lot, and avoiding her would be next to impossible, so she started the car and drove around aimlessly for nearly an hour.

She'd kissed somebody who was not Angie.

“Jesus, Jillian, you did more than kiss her,” Jillian chastised herself aloud. “You had sex. You cheated. You're a cheater.”

Guilt poured over Jillian like a load of fresh soil, stealing her breath, threatening to bury her alive. Her heart hammered in her chest, hammered much faster than could be healthy, and she pulled into the first parking lot she could find, jammed the car into park, clawed at the door handle, and spilled out of the driver's seat like she was made of liquid. She stumbled to the grass and stood with her hands on her knees, struggling to catch her breath.

Jillian knew a panic attack when she saw one. She'd had students who'd suffered from them. Now she knew what one felt like.

She willed herself to calm down, forced herself to breathe deliberately, slowly in, slowly out . . . slowly in, slowly out. It took her several minutes—minutes that felt like hours—to talk herself back to normal. When she finally blinked her eyes into focus and looked up, rows of weathered gray headstones looked back at her.

“Oh, that's just perfect,” she muttered, realizing she'd pulled into a cemetery.

Once her heart rate had returned to normal, she lowered herself back into the driver's seat, lay her head back against the headrest, and blew out a long breath.

From the seat next to her, her cell phone beeped. She glanced at the pile she'd tossed there haphazardly in her rush to leave. Digging past her lunch bag and jacket, she rifled through her tote bag until she felt her cell phone, which blinked a light to indicate she had a text message.

She didn't like texting. She was new to it, tried to avoid it when she could; Angie was the one insisting that, sometimes, it was easier than calling. She flipped the phone open and saw the message telling her she had a text from Lindsey's number.

“Shit.”

Her finger hovered over the button for a long moment before she pressed it and read.

We need to talk
.

An ominous phrase, if ever there was one.

Jillian flipped the phone closed again and tossed it to the passenger seat.

Twenty-Eight

Angie had made a decision, and she firmly believed that's why her days seemed to run along more smoothly. Not a lot more smoothly, but a little, and that made for a much lighter mood. With Hope gone and Keith even more self-absorbed than usual, she didn't have many allies at the office in whom she could confide, but that was okay. With any luck, she wouldn't be there a whole lot longer. She just needed to set up some time to talk with Keith. Once he heard her pitch, she was pretty sure she'd be on the path to a new, better, more profitable and less stressful working environment.

She felt good.

Now, if she could get her life at home to be as balanced, things would be perfect.

She had yet to tell Jillian about her plans, mostly because it never felt like the right time. The last thing Angie wanted to do was cheerfully suggest, “Hey, let's talk about me!” It felt like it'd been weeks since she'd even seen Jillian smile. She knew avoidance wasn't the best way to deal with the issue, but she wasn't good with conflict, and when Jillian was like this, flying under the radar just seemed best.

It was coming up on the anniversary of Jillian's mother's death. She was pretty sure that was what was bothering her. Every year at this time, Jillian got a little quieter, a little more pensive. The ornery part was new, but Angie tried to shrug it off.

Maybe she'd leave the whole new job thing as a surprise. Maybe she wouldn't say anything to Jillian until she knew it was all going to work. Plus, if Keith didn't go for it and everything fell through, Hope said getting her an interview at Star would be a piece of cake. So either way,
she was making a change, getting out of Logo Promo. Any way she sliced it, things would be better. That would make Jillian happy.

“Honey, I'm home,” she called out as she walked into the house. It was still so quiet without Boo. Angie wondered if it was time to suggest doing something about that. Jillian's keys were on the counter and the top of her blonde head was visible out the kitchen window. Angie followed the scent of her perfume and found her partner sitting on the deck in the fresh air, a glass of white wine in her hand.

“Hi.” Jillian's greeting sounded normal, but her blue eyes registered a very subtle sadness that Angie was sure nobody else would catch. “You're home early.”

Angie shrugged. “I'm turning over a new leaf.”

“I've heard that before,” Jillian said with a gentle scoff.

“I know. Can I join you?”

“Sure.”

After kicking off her work shoes and pouring herself a glass of wine, Angie joined Jillian on the deck, taking the wicker chair next to her. “How was your day?” she asked, then took a sip.

Jillian took a deep breath, as if answering the question was going to take a lot of effort on her part. “Fine. Yours?”

“Not bad.” She went on to tell Jillian all about the orders she'd written, closed, or delivered. She talked about Jeremy's newest rules and Keith's latest hundred thousand-dollar order. Mostly, she talked to fill the silence because she knew if she let the silence be, she'd feel the need to deal with it, and she just wasn't sure she was up for that.

Coward
, the voice in her head accused.
Just ask her what's wrong
.

It bothered Angie to no end that she'd become filled with trepidation about her own relationship. She'd spent many sleepless nights trying to pinpoint exactly when she'd become hesitant to talk openly with her wife. She kept coming back to Boo and the day she died. Not only had she failed to be there for Jillian during a traumatic time, but she knew she'd failed. Since then, she'd been treading carefully, hoping to skate along until things improved. It was taking much longer than she expected.

“I'm going to go take a bath,” Jillian said, pulling Angie out of her head. “My period's due any day now and my back is killing me.”

“Okay.” Angie forced a smile. “A good, hot soak should help. Need anything?”

“Nope. I got it.”

“Did you eat?”

“I'm not really hungry. There's some leftover chicken in the fridge if you want that.” She left Angie sitting alone on the deck.

Angie looked out onto their backyard for a long while. The songbirds in the evergreens at the edge of the yard chirped and tweeted to one another. A dog barked in the distance. All these things should have served to relax her, but instead, she just felt tense, like a jungle cat ready to spring.

With a sigh, she went into the kitchen to refill her wine glass. The cheerfully musical ringtone of Jillian's cell phone caused Angie to pull her head out of the fridge, where she was looking for food. A glance at the screen told her it was her mother.

“Hey, Mama.”

There was a pause, and Angie smiled as she pictured her mother checking the phone in her hand to make sure she dialed the correct number. “Angie?”

“Yup. Jillian's in the tub, so I grabbed her phone. What's up?”

“Well, if I'd wanted to talk to you, I would have dialed
your
number, don't you think?”

“Looking for birthday ideas, are you?” Angie was sure her smug face came through in her voice.

“None of your business. Jillian and I have other things to talk about besides your birthday. Have her call me when she's done.”

“Something expensive,” Angie said loudly into the phone as her mother hung up. As she went to set it down, a beep sounded indicating a text message.

Jillian tried to be soothed by the hot water but she still felt tense, like all of her muscles were rubber bands stretched to the limit. She closed her eyes, willed herself to just breathe, but the tension wouldn't go away.

A light knock on the door had her opening her eyes again. Angie peered around the door with a smile.

“My mom just called your phone.”

“Did you answer it?”

“Yeah, I saw her number, so I picked it up. I'm sure she wants to know what to get me for my birthday. I told her you'd call her back.” She handed the phone to Jillian. “You also got a text.”

Jillian's heart started to pound. “From who?”

Angie gave an offhand shrug. “No idea. I didn't check.” She closed the door as she left, and Jillian tried to be quiet about the breath she released. Quickly pushing some buttons, she called up the most recent text. It was from Lindsey.

I'm worried about you
.

Another had come a minute later.

We need to talk about what happened
.

Jillian typed quickly.
No. We don't
. She hit the volume button so the beep of the incoming text could not be heard, but it came in a matter of seconds.

Jillian. Please talk to me
.

Jillian squeezed her eyes shut.

Hello?

Jillian sent another message. Stop texting me.

Lindsey's response took a bit longer this time.
I need you to talk to me. And you need it too. I know you felt the same way that I did
.

Jillian's thumbs moved over the tiny keyboard.
We made a mistake. It never should have happened. Please. Just leave it alone
.

Without waiting for a response this time, she deleted the entire conversation and then shut the phone off completely.

It happened again three days later.

This time, things became hot and heavy before Jillian even had time to think. She'd wandered down to Lindsey's office after hours with every intention of talking to her about a student. Since she'd been avoiding the phys ed teacher for two days, she'd decided she at
least owed her a conversation. She had an entire speech prepared, one that listed all the reasons why what they'd done was wrong and wouldn't happen again. With a deep breath to fill her lungs, she knocked on the doorjamb. Lindsey looked so happy to see her, it was almost pathetic. Lindsey invited her in to her tiny, windowless office, shut and locked the door behind her, and the next thing Jillian knew, she was sitting on Lindsey's desk, Lindsey's tongue was in her mouth, Lindsey's hand was under her skirt, and Jillian was holding on for dear life as she buried her face in Lindsey's sweatshirt to muffle her groans of pleasure.

When they were finished, Jillian quickly straightened her clothes.

“I like the skirt,” Lindsey commented, looking far too pleased with herself.

“Thanks.” Jillian finger-combed her hair, reached for the doorknob.

“Want to go get something to eat?” Lindsey asked.

Jillian blinked at her for a moment before saying simply, “No. I don't think so. Thank you.” She pulled the door open and left.