Just Desserts (3 page)

“I knew something was…off,” Layla said, talking to her clasped hands. “For weeks.

“He took you to the lake to tell you he was sleeping with someone else.”

Layla looked up at her sister. “No. I asked him why we hadn’t—” she gestured “—you know…slept together much lately. And then I jokingly asked if he was wearing himself out with someone else.” She bit her lip as she recalled the way the color had drained from his face. “He was. Is.” She shook her hair back. “Melinda. From school.”

“Melinda!”

“They met at the school faculty Christmas party.”

“That bitch!”

“I introduced them.” She’d rather smugly wanted Melinda, who was always jockeying for top position at the school, to see what kind of a great guy she, Layla, had landed. Joke was on her.

“That has to sting.” Sam put an arm around her shoulders and Layla gave up the fight, slumping against her. She didn’t let herself depend on people often. She’d been disappointed so many times in the past by her well-meaning but easily distracted family. But right now, for this moment, she was going to lean on her sister. Literally and figuratively.

The closeness lasted almost two seconds before Sam said, “I have to get down to the store and unpack a shipment. Want to come?”

“Is it regular gifts or…?”

“It’s
or,
” Sam said with a half smile. “Some funky new stuff. And lingerie. It’ll take your mind off…” Her voice trailed away as she apparently realized sexy lingerie was not going to take Layla’s mind off Robert sleeping with someone else. “Or not,” she added weakly.

Layla smiled. Kind of. “Any other time, yes, but right now I just want to wallow in misery for a while. Nurse my head.”

“I understand. Do you want me to make you some tea and Pop-Tarts before I go? I have strawberry in my bag.” Sam lifted her giant tote, which probably had a couple boxes of toaster pastries in it. Her sister lived on them.

Layla’s stomach flip-flopped. “No, thanks. I’m still feeling a bit queasy.”

“I wish I’d been able to get you last night, but there was no way the Escort could have made it up the pass.”

“I know.”

“And Justin was there.”

“Oh, that he was.” And he was here in the morning, too. “It all worked out as well as it could have.” Except maybe for Justin, who had a black eye. Normally she might have enjoyed that, but not under these circumstances. Besides, she was too old to get delight out of Justin being on the receiving end of some well-deserved retribution.

Well, almost too old.

“Next shipment, I promise I’ll help.” It was usually entertaining to unpack the stuff her sister sold. If nothing else, Layla got a good laugh.

Sam stood up and wrapped her mile of hand-knit scarf around her neck. Somehow she managed to pull off funky without looking like a cartoon. If Layla had tried to wear a lace smock over a striped T-shirt with skinny jeans and over-the-knee boots, she would have resembled a wannabe pirate. Sam looked comfortable and stylish.

“Want me to stop by on my way home?”

“No need. But thanks for propping me up.”

“First time.”

It quite possibly was. Layla felt as if she were living in Bizarro World all of a sudden.

THE NEXT MORNING Layla woke up feeling almost human—physically, anyway. Mentally, she wasn’t doing so hot.

In less than an hour, she had to go to school, face Melinda. March through her day as if nothing was wrong, and wonder how many people knew about Robert and Melinda’s extracurricular activities. Was this a classic case of the girlfriend being the last to know? She hoped not.

No doubt Robert had warned Melinda that the gig was up—after all, he had to explain his sore nose somehow. As she did her makeup, Layla wondered how perfect Melinda would react.

Hopefully she’d do the sane thing and avoid Layla—for the next several years, if possible. Except they worked in the same building—the same hall—and sooner or later had to interact, which made Layla believe that the one blessing of this situation, other than finally discovering that Robert was a rat, was the timing. There would be no student witnesses to any stiff conversations between herself and Melinda, since the term had just ended and school was on hiatus for three weeks. Technically, it was also a teacher vacation after tomorrow, the second of two mandatory workdays, but most people came in for at least a few more days during the March break. Nothing was said aloud, but upper administration expected extra hours, and Layla, who’d dreamed of being a teacher since she was a small child, gave them exactly what they wanted. As did Melinda.

Which meant it would be one hell of a hiatus.

Layla pulled a conservative navy blue blouse and pleated khaki pants from her closet, paired the outfit with black loafers and a heart locket, and then paused to consider her reflection in the cheval mirror. Oh, yes. She looked wonderfully frumpy. Exactly like the kind of woman who’d get dumped. All she needed was a droopy mom cardigan to complete the picture.

Maybe she should do something about her teacherific wardrobe.

And maybe, instead of spending her vacation at the school, she’d be better off holing up and healing a bit. She needed to gain strength and perspective. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t spent hundreds of extra hours at the school since being hired three years ago.

Except that all Manzanita teachers put in hundreds of extra unpaid hours and the upper administration would notice if she didn’t.

Layla stopped by Tremont Catering, having looked up the location on the internet. A short woman with curly brown hair handed her the wallet with a quick “Have a nice day,” and Layla headed off to school, glad that Justin hadn’t been there to hand over the wallet personally.

Perhaps this was a sign that her life was edging back to normal. Or not. The second she walked past the open office door, the secretary hailed her and told her that the principal wanted a word.

Layla’s stomach dropped, but she forced a smile and went into Ella Murdock’s office.

“Close the door,” Ella said, seated behind her broad oak desk. “We need to discuss this.” She turned her computer monitor slightly so that Layla could see the photo that filled the screen—of Layla, on her knees…vomiting.

Not a pretty picture in any sense of the word.

Layla put a hand to her chest and forced her mouth shut. She felt like throwing up again.

“You didn’t know.” Ella fixed her with a quelling look. The principal was too well-bred to actually say, “What the hell were you thinking?” but if she had, Layla wouldn’t have known or cared, because she was approaching a catatonic state.

After a very long, very silent moment, she tried to moisten her lips, but her mouth was so dry it was impossible. She cleared her throat. Her head throbbed as blood pounded through her skull. “Oh, dear,” she said numbly, thinking it was best to let Ella direct the conversation—at least until her brain recovered enough to do some quick thinking.

“This appeared on Facebook. A concerned parent called me. Do you
have
an explanation?”

“I, uh, became ill when I was leaving the hotel at Lake Tahoe?”

“Food poisoning?”

“That’s what it felt like.” Not really a lie.

Ella nodded. “That’s exactly what I’ve told the half dozen parents who have emailed me concerning this photo.”

“Are they buying it?” Layla asked, her stomach knotting at the idea of parents contacting Ella about her. She’d always been so careful to behave in an exemplary way. Coming from the freewheeling lifestyle her family reveled in, she was doubly careful to stay within boundaries, color inside the lines.

“Short of running a toxicology test on the residue, what choice do they have?” Ella asked with a sniff. “
I
told them it was food poisoning.” Her lips thinned as she pressed them together. “See that it doesn’t happen again.”

She didn’t need to remind Layla that at the end of this year, her annual contract might not be renewed. Private school contracts went year to year and she had no union to negotiate for her—the price she paid for teaching the best and the brightest.

“I appreciate your support,” Layla said. She swallowed and then asked, “Is that the…only photo?”

“Might there be more?” Ella asked in a deadly voice.

Layla instantly shook her head. “I didn’t even know about this one. I just don’t want any more nasty surprises.” Such as a photo of her taking a swing at her ex in a parking lot. Her hands were clenched into tight fists and she forced them to relax. Surely if there’d been more pictures, they would have made their way onto Facebook, as well.

“Neither do I,” Ella said coolly.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Layla stated. For a brief moment she thought about telling her exactly what had happened and why, but that wasn’t the principal’s concern. Layla was not going to pour her troubles out to her boss, especially when the woman was going to bat for her with the concerned parents—and when it might make her wonder if Layla and Melinda could continue to work together. “But I want to apologize for all the trouble you’re going to on my behalf.”

Ella’s expression remained serious. “I hope it’s enough.” Layla didn’t even want to think about what that meant. It had to be enough. “Time is on our side,” the principal continued. “Memories are short, and by the time the break is over and the students come back, this will probably be long forgotten.”

Layla was certainly happy that she’d screwed up at the perfect time.

Ella smiled slightly, her dismissal. “I think everything will be fine.”

Layla nodded in agreement and left. Everything
would
be fine—except for the part where she and Melinda had to share the same air. Conniving bitch.

But Robert was to blame, too.

Conniving son of a bitch. In many ways she blamed him more, because Melinda couldn’t help herself. She was wired to be cute and competitive, to be the winner at all costs, in all forums. Everyone knew that.

Layla hurried down the hall to her room, glad that the building was, for the most part, still empty. Teachers at Manzanita tended to work late rather than come in early, except for a few diehards. The light was on in Mr. Coppersmith’s room, but there were rumors that he never went home. Ever. Layla tried to recall a time she’d arrived before him or stayed after him, and couldn’t come up with one. Melinda’s room, two doors down from Layla’s, was dark, and so was Sandy Albright’s, directly across the hall. Safe. For now.

Layla fitted her key into the lock, felt the smooth click and let herself inside, closing the door behind her. Then for a moment she simply stood, tote bag with lesson plans and books in one hand, her purse in the other, studying her desk, neat as always. The student work posted on the back bulletin board. The walls she’d painted pale blue herself on her own dime, after reading that the color fostered creativity.

She’d worked so hard to get here, into this posh private academy, and she worked equally hard to stay here. Yes, she got headaches and stomachaches worrying about her job, but that was the price she paid for having students actively working to achieve their destinies. Students who wanted to learn. They were for the most part a privileged lot, special and well aware of it, but they were also just kids.

And one of them had probably snapped her photo in the Lake Tahoe parking lot and then posted it on Facebook for all to see.

Which one?

Did it really matter?

Layla turned on the light and left the door locked so that no one could pop in on her without knocking—just in case she had another crazy bout of tears once the numbness wore off and the ramifications of having that photo posted set in.

Thankfully, no one was foolish enough to attempt to enter her room that morning, although Layla could hear people in the hall. Was Melinda one of them?

Were people talking about her?

Layla had never been the subject of gossip before and she sincerely hoped she wasn’t now, but the words
fat
and
chance
kept circling through her mind.

She ate her lunch alone at her desk, slipped out unseen twice to use the ladies’ room, then scuttled back for cover. If she could make it through today, then she’d be able to face the faculty meeting tomorrow. She just didn’t feel quite steady yet, didn’t trust herself to be able to look into Melinda’s face and smile as if she didn’t care about what had happened.