“Karen, why won’t you answer my calls? All I want to do is—”
“What do you want me to say, Vic? What is there to talk about that our lawyers can’t deal with?”
“What is there to talk about?” Everything, Vic wanted to shout. Ten years worth of stuff, if you want to be more precise, including three years of marriage. But if you really want to narrow it down, we could just talk about why you started screwing around with Brooke. Oh, she wished she had the guts to say those things, but decorum won out. This wasn’t the time or place for a good verbal jousting.
Karen clutched her cart tightly, as though it might shield her. “Look, I’m sorry, all right? I’ll rent a billboard if you want. But I’m where I want to be. I’m with the person I want to be with. And I am sorry it came as a shock to you, but I’m moving on and I wish you would too. It’s the way it has to be.”
Moving on? Was that the salient point in all this? The only thing to do? “I see. The Best Before date on our marriage had expired so it was time to move on?”
Karen’s face tightened, the ropey muscles of her jaw working in protest. “We’re not doing this here.”
“Then where? Since you won’t answer my calls.”
“I’m not answering your calls because I don’t want to be dragged into doing some kind of autopsy on our marriage,” she hissed. “It’s pointless, Vic. It’s over.”
Vic felt her mouth curl into a vicious smile. Now she got it. “You’re a coward, Karen. That’s why you won’t talk to me. You’re afraid it might burst your little pleasure bubble with Brooke. That it might force you to take some responsibility in all this, to have to examine your own flaws.”
Karen began to move away, jerking her cart around, her eyes madly searching for Brooke.
“Fine,” Vic said to her retreating back. “Run. You’re good at that.”
Her groceries abandoned in the store, Vic sat in her car trying to calm down, trying to dam up the tears that felt the size of a golf ball in her throat. She had been prepared to measure the months-long affair against the decade of their relationship, to weigh one against the other, the scale heavy on one end, ridiculously light on the other. Forgiveness had been creeping into her heart. Until now. Now she felt stupid, naïve, gullible. A victim, a child. And she hated feeling this way. Loathed it.
She started her car just as Brooke and Karen emerged from the double glass doors, holding hands, laughing at something, Karen pushing their grocery-filled cart with her free hand. Their wide smiles, the looks they were giving each other, jabbed at some place inside Vic that was so raw and broken that she felt it a grave danger to look at them any longer.
She pulled her cellphone from her bag with trembling fingers and keyed in Angie’s number, her sluice of emotions obliterating her conviction that Angie had gotten over Brooke, that Angie was past the indignity and the sting of something as inane as seeing Karen and Brooke together. All she could think was that she needed the only other person who was in this crazy accord with her.
Chapter Eleven
The thought of ignoring her ringing cellphone occurred to Angie for all of half a second. She wanted to be rescued from this date with Julie. Because the way Julie was looking at her—a little moon-eyed, a lot too smiley—there could be no question her interest in Angie was intensifying. When she saw that it was Vic calling, she couldn’t press the answer button fast enough.
“I can meet you at your place,” she said into the phone after hearing the tears in Vic’s voice. Vic halfheartedly discouraged her, but when she quickly explained to her that she’d just run into Brooke and Karen, Angie wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Be there in ten minutes.”
She jammed her phone back into her coat pocket and hastily gathered her things. “Really sorry, but a friend needs me urgently.”
Julie had the good manners to say it was okay and to look like she meant it. But before Angie could make her escape, Julie lightly squeezed her wrist and caught her eyes. “How about the real date we talked about? I’d still like to get to know you better.”
“Sure.” Angie swallowed, not certain at all, but there was no time to explore her feelings further. Or to give Julie an honest answer. “Call me some time.”
Moments later, she pulled into Vic’s driveway just as Vic was exiting her car.
“You okay?” She wasn’t, obviously, so chalk that up as stupid question number one. Vic’s face was puffy and blotchy, her mouth set in a grim line. It was clear she had been crying.
“No, but I will be.”
Vic unlocked her front door. Angie followed her inside and shed her shoes and jacket.
Vic turned to her before they got any further. “Look, I’m sorry to have dragged you here, Angie. I really didn’t mean for you to—”
“No, please don’t apologize. I’m glad you called me. It’s what friends do, right?”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. Stop worrying.”
“Come on in then.” Vic led her into the great room. She flipped a switch and the gas fireplace leapt to life. Instant warmth cut the autumn chill, and the light from the flames bathed the room in an orange glow. “Have a seat. Would you like a glass of wine with me? Or something stronger?”
Wine didn’t look like it was going to cut it tonight. “How about something stronger. Surprise me?”
Vic winked and disappeared, giving Angie time to examine the framed photo on the mantel. It was Vic and Karen on a Ferris wheel together. The giant Navy Pier one in Chicago, by the looks of it. They looked happy, in love. She wondered how long Karen had not been in love with Vic, because if she’d been in love with her, she couldn’t have been in love with Brooke too.
As for her own feelings about Brooke, well, she was under no illusions about that. Brooke had acted the part of loving partner, said and did the right things (most of the time), but ever since the honeymoon stage of their relationship expired, they’d been going through the motions, forcing a square peg into a round hole. Brooke flitted around in her own social circles, went to yoga and the spa regularly, took calls on her cellphone at all hours of the day and night with an apologetic sigh, while Angie read her books and fooled around writing short stories, went for runs or stopped in on her family. Hell, she wasn’t even missing Brooke. Not really.
Vic returned, her face darkening as Angie placed the picture back on the mantel. “I’ve been meaning to do something with that. Like run over it with my car or maybe throw it off the nearest cliff. Here.” She handed Angie a chunky crystal glass identical to her own. “Canadian whiskey with a splash of ginger ale and a slice of lemon.”
“Looks heavenly, thank you.” Angie sat down on the leather sofa that was much softer and more comfortable than it looked.
Vic sat too, leaving space between them. “I didn’t realize when I called you that you were practically around the corner or something. Please tell me I didn’t drag you away from anything important?”
“Important, no. Uncomfortable, yes.” The whiskey was a welcome change from wine, although Angie felt slightly adulterous drinking it. “Julie and I were just—”
“Oh, shit. You were on a date, weren’t you?”
“Sort of. I don’t know. It was coffee, but it felt like Julie thought it was a date. Or wanted it to be.”
With a thunk, Vic set her drink down, stood and started fussing with a piece of paper in her pocket. She was rattled, something Angie had never really seen before. “I went to buy groceries earlier and…dammit, I just realized I still don’t really have anything in the house. I didn’t…I walked out without buying anything after I ran into Karen and Brooke, and I really should offer you—”
“It’s okay, Vic.”
“No, really. Stay and finish your drink while I—”
“Vic, wait.” Angie set her drink down too but didn’t get up, choosing instead to lean forward with her elbows on her knees. “You’re upset and I’m sorry. It’s not…you’re not upset that I was out with Julie, are you?” S
omething small but deep inside her hoped so, though she had no right to.
“Of course not, don’t be ridiculous.” Vic’s tone didn’t match her words. “I mean, you pretty much warned me you were going to start dating. And so you should, if that’s your thing. You can do whatever you want, Ange. I’m not your…your…oh, shit.” Her mouth collapsed in anguish. Her hands rose to angrily wipe at the fresh tears streaming down her face.
Angie sprang from the sofa and wrapped her arms around Vic, pulling her into her. She expected resistance or at least a stiffening against her. But Vic surprised her by melting into her, so much so that Angie was pretty much the only thing holding her up.
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry about this,” Vic mumbled into her shoulder, but her crying had not abated. “I’m not…I don’t…I’m being a fucking idiot.”
“Shhh, it’s okay, and no, you’re not being an idiot. You don’t have to talk. And most of all, you don’t have to apologize.”
Something in Angie’s heart broke loose as Vic quietly sniffled against her. She soothingly rubbed her back in concentric circles, noticing how soft Vic felt beneath her hand, soft and hard at the same time. And God, she smelled nice. Something citrusy. Something that made her instantly think of warmth and sunshine. Jesus. She corralled her thoughts into a more appropriate direction. Thoughts that soon yielded to anger. How could anyone hurt this woman? Make her cry like this? Make her weak, unhappy? Vic hadn’t done anything wrong. She didn’t deserve this.
“Come on over here,” Angie whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She steered them back to the sofa. “And tell me what happened.”
Vic did. She left out nothing, including how happy Brooke and Karen looked.
“Well, fuck them,” Angie spat, the rocky bank to Vic’s river of tears. “I don’t give a rat’s ass what they do or if they’re happy or miserable. Though my vote would be for miserable. And you shouldn’t give them a second thought either. They don’t deserve…” Angie spread her hands out in exasperation. “Our tears. Or anything else from us.”
“Including anger?” Vic began composing herself, wiping away the last of her tears.
“Oh, I’m not ready to give up my anger.” In fact, this conversation was only making her hotter. “Not until they get what they deserve.” She took a long, bolstering drink and began to think of horrible things that might happen—or should have happened—to Brooke and Karen. Like if they’d died in that stupid car crash. Or were insanely miserable together now that the forbidden nature of their relationship was gone.
“Ange, don’t.” Vic’s hand crept toward hers, then into it. “Anger doesn’t change anything. Or make anything better. Though I wish to hell it did.”
“Fine. But neither does feeling sorry for yourself and playing the victim.”
Vic’s loud, ragged intake of breath forced Angie to look at her. Tears were pooling in her eyes again. Shit. “Aw, Vic, forgive me. I didn’t mean that. I’m being an ass.”
“Maybe feeling sorry for myself and being a victim is all I have.” She blinked hard, then pounded back the rest of her drink as Angie intently watched her throat swallow back the liquid. She had a nice throat, a nice neck. One that smelled nice too.
“No, it’s not,” Angie said. “It’s the least of what you have.”
“Then tell me what’s wrong with me, goddammit.”
“What do you mean?”
“That she—Karen—doesn’t want me. I mean, what did I do that was so terrible? What is it about me that’s so awful, so—”
“There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re giving her way too much credit. And power. Jesus, Vic. You’re a good woman. You’re smart, you’re kind. You’re everything she should have wanted.”
Vic’s mouth trembled, but her eyes were steel. There was a dare in them that made Angie blink in surprise. “Then kiss me.”
Vic’s humiliation was complete—Angie refused to kiss her. Which meant she’d been right; there was something wrong with her. She decided the best thing, the only thing to do, was to fix them both another drink.
Wordlessly she handed Angie her glass and took a gulp from her own. Unaccustomed to the relentless salvos of alcohol, she blurted out, “The more I think about it, the more I think you’re right.”
“About what?”
“About dating. That it’s the thing to do to move on.” Somebody out there must want to date her, Vic decided.
“Whoa, wait. Did I say that?”
Fuzziness edged into Vic’s brain, a curtain of gauze slowly descending. “I think so. Something like that.”
“So you’re ready to date now, is that what you’re saying?”
Oh, God, was it? She’d do it if she really believed it would put Karen—and her betrayal—behind her. But she wasn’t that naïve. “Shit. I don’t know.” She took another drink. “I mean, you’re doing it.” She tried to keep the edge from her voice, because something about Angie dating felt like an annoying pebble in her shoe. It wasn’t exactly painful, but it was an irritation.
“One date isn’t dating. And I’m not even sure it was a date. It’s not like there was a kiss at the end of it.”
Vic’s neck tingled at the mention of kissing, and when she looked at Angie, her cheeks were aflame too and she couldn’t meet Vic’s gaze. That small evasion made Vic want to wring answers from her. “But you’d like to kiss her.”
“No. I—I wouldn’t. I don’t want to. I’d rather…”
“Kiss someone else?”
“Yes. I’d rather…” Angie’s eyes were slow to find Vic’s, but when they did, the soulfulness in their depths immediately made Vic want to surrender to them. “I’d rather kiss you, if I’m being honest.”
Vic’s heart leapt into her throat. Her head swam and she unconsciously slid further away on the sofa because this couldn’t be happening. Not when five minutes ago Angie said she was flattered Vic had asked her to kiss her but that she couldn’t. The rejection had flattened her, humiliated her, but it was entirely reasonable, given the circumstances. “You…wait. We can’t. You said so yourself.”
“Right. We can’t. Shouldn’t. But it doesn’t mean I don’t want to. Is that crazy?”
“Yes. It’s crazy.” Vic erupted in laughter. Cynical, ironic laughter now that it was clear the idea of them kissing wasn’t unappealing to Angie, the way she’d feared. “Wouldn’t that be the ultimate revenge? You and I. Oh, God, could you see their faces?”
“It’d almost be worth it, wouldn’t it?”
As their laughter faded, the reality of kissing, or rather the absurdity of it, produced instant sobriety in Vic. And shame. To think that kissing Angie would somehow exculpate her from her own self-loathing and blame. That it would make everything instantly better, brighter. Well. It was a misguided idea. A stupid one, and she couldn’t believe she’d actually asked Angie to kiss her.
“I’m sorry,” Vic said tentatively.
“For what?”
“For thinking, for suggesting that kissing you would magically allow me to move on, to feel better about myself. I don’t know what I was thinking. It…I lost my head.”
Angie smiled her forgiveness. “It was a bit rash, but not the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard.”
“It wasn’t?” There was her heart doing crazy things again, like doing a tap dance in her throat.
“Nope. Not even close. But I am getting a little bit drunk, which means stupid ideas just might start appealing to me.” Her eyebrows danced suggestively. “So what do you say we order in a pizza and then forget that most of this conversation ever happened?”
Relief came swiftly. Angie wanted to kiss her, and for that she was grateful. But the exerting of common sense, a return to sanity, was exactly what she—they—needed. She reached for the cordless phone. “Let me place an order.”
Minutes later, she settled back on the sofa. Whew. They’d gotten this kissing/attraction thing out of their systems. Maybe now they could get back to normal.
Chapt
er Twelve
Angie signed the last of the papers from the neat pile that had been placed in front of her—the pile a testament to the last four years of her life. She placed the pen on the polished table, but what she really wanted to do was roll the pages into a crinkly ball and throw it in Brooke’s face. She could almost picture it bouncing off Brooke’s flawless forehead or off her two-hundred-dollar haircut. She almost smiled.
“Ms. Bennett has asked for a few minutes alone with you,” Angie’s lawyer said to her with an apologetic smile.
For confirmation, Angie glanced at Brooke’s lawyer, a thirty-something-year-old man who looked like he’d walked out of the pages of GQ. He gave her a curt nod, efficiently swept the papers off the conference table and prepared to leave. “All right,” she said, though she wasn’t sure it was a good idea at all.
Seconds later, it was just the two of them. Finally.
“I figured you’d save your theatrics for an audience,” Angie murmured. She knew she was being a child, but Brooke fucking deserved it.
Brooke artfully dodged the comment. “No need to be petulant, my dear. I thought it was time we had one last civilized conversation. In private.”
“I don’t have anything to say to you. You’ve got the house, I’ve got my share of the equity. You’re lucky I’m not hitting you up for alimony, given that you make twice the money I do. And then some.”
“You’re not sour about money and you know it, so don’t play the money card with me.”
“Fine. How about I play the lying, cheating, fuck-around-behind-my-back card?”
“Ange, don’t.”
Angie sat in silence and tried to gather herself. Clearly, there would be no justice for the wrong Brooke had dispensed to her. Brooke had everything she wanted. And she looked far from miserable. “What do you want from me, Brooke?”
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