Totlandia: Summer (4 page)

Jade held her tears as she stumbled after the van, clothing bag in hand.

Oliver’s wails followed her around the corner, and down the street.

By the time Jade caught up to the van, the movers had already completed their last drop-off and were pulling away from the curb. She ignored their pitying looks. Instead she held her head high as she shoved open the wrought-iron gate leading to the house.

It was a two-story white stucco cottage, topped with a turret and a slanted red Spanish-tile roof—a typical Marina neighborhood home, probably built in the 1920s. A large bay window jutted out next to the arched wooden front door. On the second floor, French windows opened up onto a Juliet balcony. The leafy tendrils of a bougainvillea bush wrapped the front of the house in hot-pink blossoms. Jade had admired the house on her many strolls with Oliver to and from the Moscone Playground a few blocks over.

What she had once thought of as a cozy cottage suddenly looked like her prison.

Away from her son. Away from the man she’d loved but had lost—to Ally.

She steeled herself, went inside, and slammed the door behind her.

She was halfway up the narrow winding stairwell when she heard Reggie mutter, “Welcome home.”

She froze. Slowly, she made her way back down and peeked into the living room.

It annoyed her to find his feet dangling over the couch. He was reading a copy of the latest
New Yorker.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked crossly.

He looked up from the magazine. “By the way, they’ve put your things in the master suite. Oliver’s room is up there, too. I’ve taken the small bedroom, down here.”

“You’re staying here—with
me?
”

“You invited me to move in with you, or have you forgotten?”

“Yes but…that was when…”

“Yeah, I know—when milady graced Camelot.” He waved his hand in a northwesterly direction. “Okay, granted, this isn’t Brady’s palatial palace, but you must admit this place is not too shabby, either.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know about this. I mean, what will people think?”

“My guess is that they’ll presume you came to your senses over that horse’s ass with whom you’re so enthralled.”

She felt her face redden. “No, I don’t mean about us—him and me. I mean, what will people think if they know about
us
—you know, you, living here, with me?”

Reggie stood up. “Look, Jade, if this arrangement makes you uncomfortable, I’ll move on.” He plucked his jacket off the wingback chair and folded it over his arm, then leaned down and picked up the small valise at his feet.

She shook her head, perplexed. “You’ll still teach the class, won’t you?”

He shook his head. “Sorry, old girl. You can’t have your cake and eat it, too. A crash pad was part of the bargain we made. And since Brady has made it quite clear that I’m persona non grata at Château Pierce, it’s either here, or I’ll have to pass on the honor of hearing a bunch of four-year-olds lisp their way through the iambic pentameter of
King Lear.
”

If Reggie pulled a no-show, Bettina would be livid—perhaps to the point that Jade’s one ace in the hole with Brady would bogey out.

She couldn’t let that happen.

Jade shrugged. “Well…okay. I guess this place is big enough for the both of us.”

Too big, really. And too empty.

She would never admit it to him—or even to herself—but she was relieved he was there. For now, anyway.

Tuesday, 14 May

10:11 a.m
.

“You’re a silly little fool, you know it? Whatever is happening between Ally and Brady has nothing to do with your asshole ex, and his lady friend.” Caleb Martin’s mouth may have been full of strawberry-rhubarb pie, but his declaration was clearly stated.

Besides frozen cubes of Cowgirl Creamery butter, Jillian knew that the best pie crust always had a pinch of salt and a few tablespoons of ice-cold water. Salty tears, like the ones falling off her cheeks and onto the dough rolled out on the marble counter in front of her, would do nothing to burnish the wonderful reputation of Life of Pie, the bake shop she owned with Ally.

But try as she might, she couldn’t stop crying over her breakup with her best friend and business partner.

Because of Ally, she no longer had to work as a waitress in order to make ends meet. And because of Ally’s belief in her baking skills, she was now part owner of the most talked-about pie shop in San Francisco, where on weekends the line for a slice of pie spilled out the door and onto the sidewalk on posh Union Street, almost around the corner to Octavia Street. And because of Ally’s financial backing and her smart business acumen, Jillian no longer had the need to beg Scott for a weekly contribution of grocery money. She could now make the mortgage on the grand old Pacific Street Victorian she dearly loved and had so painstakingly renovated—the home she’d once hoped to grow old in, with him at her side.

But in the eight months since Scott had walked out of their lives, she’d learned to live without him, to get a job, and to be frugal.

And most importantly, she’d become a strong single parent.

She also learned that there were some men worth trusting.

Well, one in particular: Caleb Martin.

Caleb, a Presidio Park ranger, had been her knight in shining armor from the very first moment they’d met—as Amelia and Addison’s stroller hurtled down Lyon Street toward the Presidio Gate—which at that moment was disgorging a swarm of fast-driving Lucasfilm employees, more than likely on their way to some Marina district happy hour.

“I don’t expect you to understand,” Jillian retorted. “You’ve never been in a long-term relationship. You’ve never been cheated on and lied to by the one person in the world you loved and trusted with all your heart.” She was rolling the dough so hard that it stretched halfway across the counter. It was now much too thin for the pies she needed to make. She sighed as she scooped it all back into a ball to start again.

Caleb stopped midbite. “Okay, yeah, you’re right. Until I met you, I hadn’t cared enough about any woman to let her get close enough to hurt me. And if you were to go back to that son of a bitch, I’d probably never trust another woman again—or another man, for that matter—around the woman I love.” Seeing the tears welling in her eyes yet again, he added, “Baby, listen, all I’m trying to say is that unlike Ally and Jade, Scott’s assistant was never your pal. It was her feelings for Scott that mattered, not yours.”

She nodded grudgingly. He had a point.

“Would you have preferred that Scott stayed with you, even if he didn’t love you?” he asked. “Even if he wanted to be with someone else?”

Jillian shook her head slowly. “At the time, yes. In hindsight, I know it was my pride that made me chase after him, coupled with my fear of being alone for the rest of my life.”

“That’s just my point. You weren’t alone. You had your friends—Lorna, Jade, and yes, Ally.”

He was right. Ally had been there for her at every turn.

“Jade can’t force Brady to love her,” he continued. “Sure, she can pray he’ll change his mind out of the blue, but it won’t happen if he doesn’t want it, too. Don’t you see? If Jade doesn’t let go of Brady, she’ll stay miserable. ”

She nodded grudgingly. “I guess you’re right. But she won’t see it that way, ever. As her friend, I have to respect that.”

“And as
your
friend, she has to respect your right to counsel her, even if the message is one she doesn’t want to hear—that is, if you feel telling her Ally is and will always be your friend, and that moving on is the right thing for her to do.”

“Even if it is, how does that justify Ally falling in love with Brady?” she countered. “Women have codes, too. If you don’t want to be seen as a home wrecker, you don’t come on to another woman’s husband.”

“But that’s my point! Technically, Ally isn’t a home wrecker. Jade and Brady parted ways before any of you met. And besides, I thought you said that Brady and Ally haven’t, you know, ‘done the deed.’”

“They haven’t! But what does that have to do with anything?”

He shrugged. “Men like their women one of two ways—either sweet and slow, or fast and easy.”

“By that, you mean you see us as either virgins or whores.”

“Sounds crude, but yes. It’s only when we get to know you that we see that you’re a bit of both, and we learn to appreciate you for who you are. No one is perfect. But sometimes a man’s ideals get in the way of his good sense. Or maybe sharing a history with a woman isn’t reason enough to go on loving her for the rest of his life.”

“Tell me about it.” Jillian’s bitterness came out in a forced whisper.

She stared at her reflection in one of the shiny aluminum pots hanging over her baking counter. In the months since Scott left her and the girls, she’d earned a few more wrinkles around her eyes. At first it had bothered her. The last thing she needed was to feel older. Over time, she’d come to accept them. Each tiny line represented a hard-fought battle—getting into the club, and the members’ accolades over her challenge events; her small victories over Scott in their alimony fight; and above all, the success of the pie shop and her newfound sense of independence.

Caleb pulled her down into his lap. She loved the way he wrapped an errant strand of her hair around his index finger. She loved his adoring gaze. If he noticed her wrinkles, obviously they didn’t matter to him.

She loved that the most about him.

And she loved him with all her heart when he murmured, “Jillian, if you hadn’t let go of Scott, you wouldn’t have opened your heart to me.”

She was still wrapped in his arms, still lost in his kiss, when it dawned on her that her front doorbell was chiming.

The haze of happiness that enveloped her faded completely when whoever it was started pounding on the door.

Reluctantly, Jillian climbed out of Caleb’s lap. “The girls played hard at the park this morning, but I better get that before they wake up from their naps.”

She ran to the front door. A cold dread washed over her as she glanced into the peephole.

Scott.

What the hell was he doing here?

“Open up, Jillian. I know you’re in there.” He practically screamed his threat.

“I don’t have to, Scott. In fact, if you keep up your shouting, I’ll call the police.”

“Good! Do it! That way, I’ll have a proper escort into this monster mansion. I’m not leaving until I get my computer files, even if I have to tear this damn place apart, board by board.”

Oh…hell.
The files.

The last time she’d seen him was right before Christmas. He’d come calling with gifts for the girls—which, he blithely admitted, had been chosen by Victoria.

Jillian took joy in tossing them back in his face, along with the real reason for his visit: an old computer, which had been left behind when he’d moved in with Victoria.

But before handing it over, she removed some of the files it contained—some client’s old financial statements, work-related correspondence, not to mention Victoria’s money shots.

Except for the private porn stash, she’d uploaded the rest into her iCloud account because she knew Scott would eventually come begging for them. “Ha! It took you long enough!”

Scott kicked the door. “So you admit it? You have them? Why, you—you
bitch!
”

She threw the door open. “How dare you call me that! What’s wrong, Scott? Victoria won’t pose for you naked now that she’s pregnant?”

He raised his arm, as if he was going to hit her. Her glare dared him to try.

He lowered his hand. “Do you know what you’ve done?” he growled.

“No. And frankly, I don’t care. Why are you being such a drama queen?”

“I’m not—I’m just…” He ran his hand through his hair. “Don’t you get it? If you don’t hand them over, you’ll ruin me!”

What happened to his blond hair?
she wondered.
It’s as if he’s gone gray overnight. Well, over the course of nine months, anyway. Time flies when you’re locked in a bitter divorce.

“I can’t read minds,” she retorted. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Why? So you can use it against me in a court of law?” By the way the blood left his face, she could tell he regretted saying that the moment it left his mouth.

He looked so upset that she almost felt sorry for him. Before she knew what she was doing, she murmured, “Look, okay, I have—”

His eyes narrowed as he stepped closer—so close that he hovered over her. “What? So, you did keep the files?”

Shut up. Now.

She paused. Forcing her lips into a smile, she shrugged. “Um…I guess what I’m trying to say is that I have sympathy for your predicament.”

He grabbed her elbow and pressed on it until the pain made her wince. “Listen up, Jillian. If you’ve got those files, I suggest you hand them over right now. Otherwise, you’ll never see another penny from me—ever. Not for you, not for the girls. I’ll gladly watch you starve. And when the bank puts this monstrosity in foreclosure, I’ll be there to buy it right out from under you.” His hand squeezed her arm even harder. “In other words, if you ruin my life, I’ll ruin yours, too.”

She jerked her elbow away. “Why, you son of a bitch!
How dare you.
” Ruin her life? Ha! Now that the pie shop was up and running, she’d never ask him for another dime.

She was just about to say so, too, when he was yanked away from her—

By Caleb.

Scott slammed against the wall so hard that one of the framed portraits hanging against it fell to the floor. He was so stunned that he had no time to protect himself when Caleb threw a haymaker to his jaw.

Scott folded onto the foyer’s antique Oriental rug.

Caleb glared down at him. “That’s no way to speak to Jillian.”

The one eye Scott still had open shifted from Jillian to Caleb. “Who the hell are you?” he choked out.

“I’m her boyfriend, asshole.”

Scott tried to sit up, but he was finding it difficult to do, what with Caleb’s foot on his gut. Finally he gave up. Still, he muttered, “Yeah, well, if you’re tapping that, remember: I taught her everything she knows.”