Blood in the Past (Blood for Blood Series) (3 page)

“Cal?” she called sweetly, trying to derail his focus.

He didn’t answer. He continued to smile at the topless girls on the horizon.

“Cal!” she yipped, slamming the armrests of her beach chair.

Startled, he faced her, lowering his bronze-tinted sunglasses down to the tip of his nose. He squinted against the bright reflection of the sun off the sand.

“What’s up, Jilly?”

Jillian tried not to speak through gritted teeth. Instead, she took a breath and forced a smile. “What are you thinking about, staring off into the ocean, without a care in the world?”

“Oh, just savoring the day.”

Jillian affixed another fake smile and allowed silence to retake the moment. She focused on her breathing, aligning it to the rhythm of the crashing waves. Calvin had just lied to her. She tried to rein in her thoughts, to corral her feelings, but she found it impossible. She couldn’t let him stray. She was his.

All her life, Jillian had been meek and submissive. She’d stayed in her place, whatever that was, and rarely spoke her mind. Not anymore. She exhaled through pursed lips and gripped the armrests, willing her fingers to convey strength rather than anxiety. “Cal, when are you leaving your wife?” 

“We’ve talked about this.” He sighed, still looking straight ahead, though the girls had reunited themselves with their bikini tops. “It’s not the right time just yet.”

“But there
is
a right time? One hopefully just around the corner?”

“Jill, my wife and I got married very young, basically right out of high school. We thought we were in love, and maybe we were. Then she got pregnant and we had Lyla, and we realized that what we thought we had was never there. Or it was and it was gone. The whole thing is very cliché, I’m sure, but the truth is we’ve been living virtually separate lives ever since. And I’m sorry, but I just can’t pinpoint an exact date when we’ll finally part ways. Do you understand?”

“I understand that you didn’t answer my question. You do plan on leaving her, don’t you?” Jillian winced when she heard her voice revert to its usual passive tone.

“I thought I answered your question.” His voice was stitched with annoyance. “Look, can we not talk about this today? It’s our anniversary.”

Jillian fumed. Earlier he’d forgotten their little monthly milestone, and then he was using it against her. Was he testing her? Did he want her to fight for his attention, for his love? She could do that. She’d caught his eye months ago, and she could do it again.

“I’d like to go,” she said coyly, placing a hand on his arm.

“Really? We still have a few more hours—”

“I know, but...The lifeguard has left for the day and most of the beachgoers have left as well...”

Jillian let her voice trail off and stood. The wind tossed her long ponytail over her shoulder and whirled sand around her mahogany curves. She leaned in close to Calvin, her breasts nearly spilling out of the triangles of her top. “Follow me,” she said in a breathy whisper.

She clasped his hand and led him toward the wooden boardwalk. When they neared the ramp, she redirected him—
under
the boardwalk. Before he knew what happened, she kissed him hard and fast, devouring the windswept salt on his lips, falling with him to the soft sand. Unlike out in the open sun, the darkness provided cooler sand that conformed to their writhing bodies.

The wooden planks above rattled with the footsteps of passersby, blanketing any trace of their grunts and moans. The little sunlight that forced its way through the hurried crowd above the boards cast dancing cheetah spots of shadow across their sand-speckled, near-naked bodies.

Jillian threw her head back with pleasure. She’d fought and won, pushing herself to the forefront of Calvin’s mind once more. She was his, and she was there to stay.

***

The following week, Jillian met Calvin in an alley near the pub he and his colleagues frequented following their shifts. Calvin’s early morning patrol shift had just ended, and he’d wanted to discuss the arrangements for one of their usual hotel trysts. The sun shone, but shadows dampened the alley. Only a few rays of sunshine accompanied them. Calvin spoke to her with an unusually firm tone; it sounded overly dour compared to the jovial man she’d come to know.

“So, we’ll meet at the hotel at eight,” he said. “Room 216. I memorized your Visa, so I made the reservation for us.” He opened the door to his police cruiser, hopped in, and rolled down the window.

Jillian leaned into the car and watched her lover’s eyes creep downward to her low-cut tank top. She kissed him deeply, the way she always did, but he pulled back. Just a little.

“Some of the guys still think you’re an informant.”

She pouted. “I thought you told them about me.”

“I did, just not all of them—“

“By the way, I’ve been trying to call you since Delaware, baby.” Jillian spoke in a coquettish tone, giddy to spill her news right then, but Calvin cut her off, nodding curtly.

”Listen, I want to talk about
us
tonight, Jilly.”

Jillian’s heart flip-flopped.
Finally!
That was what she had waited months for. Lyla was more than an adult and about to complete her last year of residency. In fact, she’d just moved into her own apartment. Calvin could finally leave his wife. Plus, this would be the perfect time to share her exhilarating news!
But
why doesn’t Calvin look as thrilled as I feel?

Jillian craned into the car to give him another quick peck on the lips. Calvin said goodbye and headed home to catch up on some sleep—in the bed he still shared with his wife. Driven by curiosity, and perhaps a bevy of other emotions, Jillian tailed him to his cobalt-blue, two-story townhouse.

The serene neighborhood on the outskirts of Philly intrigued her. She wanted so badly to be a part of it, and she even imagined Calvin returning home from work to
her
, greeting
her
with a kiss. Jillian wondered if she would move in with him or if he’d leave the house to his wife so they could start anew in their own house. Soon she would know. Maybe even after that night’s talk.

Jillian arrived at the Atlantic City hotel early. She draped herself in a silk negligee—a gift from Calvin—and lit several gardenia candles. She always used a gardenia-scented conditioner, and Calvin had mentioned when they first met that he liked the way her hair smelled. In fact, he’d described the smell as “divine.” Jillian shivered with anticipation as she ordered a bottle of champagne from room service—she didn’t think a single glass would hurt—and sprawled across the king-sized bed to await her lover.

Calvin lumbered through the door well after eight. He didn’t even spare a glance at Jillian. Instead, he circled the room and extinguished each candle with his thumb and forefinger. Finally, he perched on the edge of the bed and stared at her. Jillian didn’t budge. Even holding the champagne flutes, she fought the urge to fuss with her hands under his scrutiny. He got up, turned up the lights as bright as they could go, and returned to his spot on the bed.

“Jillian, I’ve asked you several times not to call my house.”

She sat up. Are we not about to have the talk I’ve looked forward to all day? The talk I’ve longed for the past five months?

Calvin continued. “I think we should stop seeing each other. At least for a while.”

“Baby, no.” Jillian’s voice fluttered, like her heartbeat. Her mind swam for a way to fix things. “You’re right, I shouldn’t call. I promise I won’t. It’s just that—”

“It’s too late, sweetheart. My wife knows something’s up. And now she’s confided in my daughter and...I just need to be home with my family and set things straight, you know? We have to cool it for a while.”

“You had to get us a fancy hotel room to do this?” Jillian’s voice quivered. From sadness or anger, she couldn’t be sure.
What about my news?

“I thought we could have one last special night together—”

“So you put out the candles?”

“Look, okay fine. I thought, maybe after...you might need to blow off some steam. At the casinos or the spa or something.”

Jillian said nothing. She’d been holding both champagne flutes in her right hand as part of her seductive pose, like a pair of delicate glass tulips. Now they felt heavy and the stems awkward between her fingers. She laid them on the bed between them. Then she started opening and closing her hands and fussing with her nails. The silence stretched until Calvin stood. He bent and gave her a platonic kiss on the cheek.

“We’ve had fun, Jilly.” He crossed the room.

We’ve had fun
, she thought. “‘We’ve had fun?
’
Are you fucking kidding me, Cal? I love you!”

He continued toward the door. Jillian snatched one of the flutes off the bed and hurried after him. He must not have heard her because he didn’t turn to face her. She crashed the glass over his head, leaving nothing but the base and a sharp stump of the stem in her trembling hand. Blood glistened in his dark hair, and several drops trickled onto the carpet. He turned, with a hand raised to his injury, and shot her a venomous look. Then he stormed from the room, slamming the door with such force that the other champagne flute rolled off the bed and shattered. 

***

Three days had passed since that night in Atlantic City. Over and over, Jillian drove past Calvin’s cozy, blue home, creeping down the street and straining for a glimpse of the world that existed behind the slightly parted drapes. She dropped off letters to him each day—sometimes a couple times a day—explaining how picture-perfect their lives could be together. Calvin made detective a couple of months earlier and could transfer anywhere. Jillian had just finished school and could be a psychologist anywhere.
Anywhere
remained a concept Jillian clung to because it meant their happiness. It meant starting a family of their own. Until then, she would keep driving past his snug, little house. She would keep dropping off letters. She didn’t care that she left them at the home he shared with his wife. Jillian didn’t care because her obsession left little room for caring.

Then her brazenness reached new heights: she dropped off a small package containing her worn, lacy panties.

That may have been the last straw for Calvin’s wife. Jillian called later the same evening. The woman answered but didn’t hand Calvin the phone as she’d done in the past. Her voice sounded sweet but firm. “Please don’t call here anymore. Leave my husband alone, or you’ll be sorry.” Then she hung up. Maybe Calvin was right: his wife had had enough.

The woman had spoken softly, and Jillian thought she heard Calvin’s voice in the background shouting, “Who’s on the phone, Suze?”

Finally a name
. Probably short for Susan. But who was
Suze
to stand between them? He loved
Jillian
. She drove to their house, still determined not to let go of the first true love of her life. Not without a fight.

Parked across the street from the house, she called again. Susan answered. “Stop calling here, I mean it.” She hung up. The lights were on in the house, but Jillian couldn’t see inside.

She called again. And again. The phone rang. And rang. Each ring was more deafening than the one before as Jillian’s rage escalated. She called Calvin’s cell phone next; it went straight to voice mail. If only he would answer, she could blurt out her news and make him understand. All night, she called the house: no answer. She called his cell phone: voice mail. She reclined her seat and fell asleep.

The next day, late morning, Jillian awoke. Her cell phone had died. Calvin’s car was gone, and she wondered if he’d even given her a second look as he drove down the street on his way to work. She opened the car door and unfolded herself from the confines of the car. Jillian headed across the street and rang the doorbell. She snickered as she approached. “Cozy little house...”