The Lonely Hearts Club Page 4

  Liz smiled. “Hence your interest in sports medicine.”

  “When I figured out I wasn’t going to be an Olympic caliber softball player, I had to do something.” Reilly indicated the photograph. “Do you still play?”

  “No,” Liz said abruptly. “I’ve graduated to squash. Do you? Still play ball?”

  “Yep. In the city league in Fairmont Park,” Reilly said. “The hospital has a team. Well, several actually, but I play on the all women’s team. I never liked mixed teams.”

  Liz eyed the photograph. “I know what you mean.”

  “Is he your, ah…husband?”

  “Stepbrother.”

  Relieved, Reilly almost grinned before reminding herself that could mean anything. Liz might still have a husband, an ex-husband, a boyfriend—or several. Liz stood only a few feet away, but suddenly the distance between them felt heavy with unspoken questions.

  “I’m gay,” Reilly said.

  “So am I.”

  “I could use one of those bagels.”

  “Come on out to the kitchen. I’ll fix you one.”

  Chapter Four

  The kitchen was bright and sleek and spotless, like the rest of the condo. A round wooden table big enough for two sat in front of a window that also overlooked the park. A stack of newspapers—all from that morning, Reilly was willing to bet—was piled neatly on the wide window ledge. A coffee pot and a single mug sat upside down in the dish drainer next to an otherwise empty sink. Reilly took that to mean Liz lived alone. Of course, it could simply be that her girlfriend, or partner, was traveling or had worked all night and wasn’t home yet. And why she was even speculating, Reilly grumbled mentally, she didn’t know.

  “Do you want your bagel toasted?” Liz asked, her back to Reilly as she took plates down from the cupboard.

  “However you’re making yours is fine,” Reilly replied. “Can I do anything? I’m pretty handy with a knife.”

  Liz looked over her shoulder and smiled. “Sit. You must be tired.”

  Reilly pulled out a chair at the small table, although she wasn’t tired. Usually when she came off an overnight shift she was too keyed up to sleep, even though mentally and physically she was often drained. This morning she wasn’t worn-out at all, and she couldn’t credit that to an easy night. She’d operated until almost five a.m. on a young man who had tangled with a jet ski and lost. No, being with Liz made the difference. Reilly hadn’t spent time alone with a woman in years, and she’d forgotten the simple pleasure of watching a woman move comfortably around her own kitchen, and the way a quick smile could feel like a gift.

  Liz worked quickly and efficiently, aware but not minding that Reilly was watching her. That surprised her, because ordinarily intense scrutiny made her wary. Usually, close observation in the courtroom meant her opponent was looking for a weak point in her argument or some telltale sign in her expression that she was not as certain as she wanted to appear. It was nice not to be on guard, although she couldn’t quite decide why she felt relaxed with Reilly. She didn’t know her very well, but then maybe it was because Reilly had already seen her at her absolute worst. On her knees, helplessly vomiting.

  “God,” Liz muttered in disgust.

  “What?”

  “Oh,” Liz said quickly, wondering when she had started talking out loud to herself. “Nothing.” When Reilly raised a quizzical eyebrow, she added, “I was merely bemoaning the fact that you saw me in a less than shining moment this morning.”

  “It was just a human moment. It happens to all of us.”

  “Yes, well, there are some things some of us would like to pretend we aren’t susceptible to.”

  “Like getting sick once in awhile?”

  “You know what I mean,” Liz said, carrying the food to the table. She passed one plate to Reilly.

  “I know you don’t like it when you’re not in charge, and you probably prefer to do everything for yourself,” Reilly said.

  “Don’t you?” Liz countered, deciding not to question how Reilly had come to that conclusion about her. It might be accurate, but deflecting the conversation was better than going down a road that might result in personal disclosure.

  “Like to be in charge? Pretty much. I think it’s an occupational thing.”

  “Maybe. But I think we choose our occupations because they suit our personalities, and not the other way around.”

  “That’s what the psychologists tell us.” Reilly munched the bagel. “These are the best in town. Can I get some of that soda you mentioned?”

  “Oh, sorry,” Liz said, rising quickly. “My entertaining skills are a little rusty.”

  “Can’t be any worse than mine.”

  When Liz opened another cabinet to retrieve glasses, Reilly noticed empty shelves. The same had been true for the cabinet with the dishes. It looked like someone had recently moved out. Liz turned and must have seen the question in her expression, because she answered before Reilly could comment.

  “I live here alone, but until a few months ago, I didn’t.”

  Reilly took the drink Liz held out to her. “Thanks.”

  Liz nodded and sat down.

  “I never know what to say to something like that,” Reilly said. “Sorry seems natural, but maybe you threw her out. Or she could have been just a roommate, in which case I’d be presumptuous.”

  “Neither is the case,” Liz said without inflection. “She was my partner, and she left me.”

  “Then I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks. I’m not sure if I am or not,” Liz mused.

  “That’s good.”

  “Maybe.” Liz shrugged. “I am pissed that she left me for a younger woman, though.”

  “Younger? Like what—twelve years old?”

  “Smooth. Very smooth.”

  “Not usually,” Reilly said, “but thanks. And I wasn’t kidding. What are you, twenty-eight? Thirty?”

  “I’m thirty-five. Julia took up with a twenty-three-year-old.”

  “Julia has judgment problems.”

  “That’s kinder than what I’ve called it.”

  Reilly grinned. “Well, I don’t know her. If I did, I might not be so nice.”

  Liz laughed. “My best friends are outraged for me, and I love them for it. But neither one of them has made me laugh about it yet. I appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome.” Reilly added seriously, “And I really am sorry. I know it’s tough.”

  “Yes…well.” Liz stood with the pretense of taking her plate to the sink when she felt the sting of tears threatening. What was wrong with her? Confiding in someone she’d just met and now on the verge of crying in front of her?

  Hoping to redirect the conversation, Liz rinsed her dish, and when she had herself under control again, turned back to the table. “How about you? Got a girlfriend, or are you the swinging surgeon type?”

  “Neither one.”

  Liz had asked the question casually, but she caught a flash of pain course through Reilly’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get personal.”

  “That’s okay.” Reilly took a breath and seemed to visibly force the tension from her shoulders. “We seem to get personal when we talk. It’s strange.”

  Liz nodded, but said nothing, having learned that there was much to be heard in silence.

  Reilly met Liz’s gaze. “She died.”

  “Oh Reilly,” Liz murmured. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It was quite a while ago.” Reilly stood, having come to a place she couldn’t revisit or explain. “I should let you get back to your day. Thanks for breakfast.”

  “You’re welcome.” Liz didn’t know what to say, an occurrence so rare she was momentarily stunned. Reilly hurt, she knew that, and she wanted to…what? Comfort her? Make the sadness in her eyes disappear? Touch her? With a start, she realized they were standing a few feet apart, staring at one another. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” Reilly smiled a slightly crooked smile that made her look at once wis
tful and sexy. “You need a ride to work?”

  Liz glanced at the clock. “I’m not going right back to the office. I have a standing lunch date with friends on Mondays and Thursdays.”

  “Nice,” Reilly said, looking relieved at the change of subject. “The best friends who are outraged for you?”

  “They’re the ones,” Liz said as she led Reilly through the condo. “We’ve known each other since school and dubbed ourselves The Lonely Hearts Club. We used to sit around commiserating about our dateless status or our most recent break-up.” She stopped abruptly. “God, I can’t seem to get off this subject.”

  “Understandable.”

  “Well obviously, I need a diversion. I’m beginning to bore myself.”

  Reilly laughed. “Come to the softball games if you need a change of pace. Friday, Sunday, and Wednesday nights.”

  “When’s your next game?” Liz asked impulsively.

  “Tomorrow night. Six o’clock. The field at the top of the plateau,” Reilly replied slowly.

  Liz realized she hadn’t even thought about work or Julia or the uncertain future for the last hour. Even at her most relaxed with Candace and Bren, she was always aware of time passing and of all the things she still had to do. When she was with Reilly, though, she lost track of everything else. “Who knows. Maybe I’ll take you up on your prescription, Dr. Danvers.”

  “If you do, be sure to say hello.”

  “I will,” Liz said lightly, while silently asking herself what she was doing.

  When Liz said goodbye to Reilly on the sidewalk in front of her building, she watched Reilly walk away and decided there was nothing wrong with allowing herself a pleasant uncomplicated diversion.

  *

  “Oh my God,” Candace announced dramatically as she dropped into the booth across from Bren and Liz. “I’ve been running around like a madwoman all morning. Can you believe it? I overslept and almost missed the opening of the market.”

  Bren laughed. “Let me guess. Wednesday night. Probably wasn’t bingo. Not bowling. Ballroom dancing?”

  Liz tried unsuccessfully not to snort.

  Candace looked aggrieved. “I’ll have you know, I worked late at the office updating portfolios. And then…” She paused for effect and waited until she was certain that she had Liz and Bren’s total attention. “I went home, had a leisurely bubble bath, and…read a book.”

  “Let me guess,” Liz said. “Melanie Richards.”

  “I hate that woman,” Candace said vehemently. “First I stayed up half the night finishing her damn book, and then I…well…you know, I was wide awake and horny.”

  “I thought we promised we wouldn’t discuss work at these lunches,” Bren said. “And books qualify as work where I’m concerned.”

  “I don’t think Melanie Richards’ books quite fall into the category of your typical rare book,” Liz pointed out.

  “That’s an understatement,” Candace agreed, waving to the waitress. “Bloody Mary…a double.” Turning her attention back to her companions, she added, “Her books are everywhere you look, now. You should try them, Bren.”

  “Still, books are books and I see enough of them all day,” Bren insisted, feeling uncomfortable as she always did when someone mentioned Melanie’s books. She usually didn’t feel guilty about keeping her secret, except when she had to employ subterfuge with her friends. Then it felt like her privacy came at a price she didn’t want to pay.

  “I’d give anything to have one night with Jae Blackman,” Candace went on, oblivious to Bren’s discomfort. “God she’s sexy. I know there’s something about her that Melanie isn’t telling us, some deep dark secret. And I know it has to do with sex.”

  Silently Bren agreed. Jae was more than sexy. She was everything Bren found attractive in a woman—and it wasn’t just that she was darkly handsome and knew her way around a woman’s body. She was also secretly wounded and uncommonly sensitive, and she wasn’t afraid to acknowledge her raw physical needs. As Bren explored Jae’s complex character more deeply with each successive book, she became even more enthralled.

  “Candace, honey,” Bren said lightly, “almost everything has to do with sex for you.”

  Candace fixed her with a stony glare. “And your point would be?”

  “Okay, okay,” Liz said. “We’ve had this conversation before. Cand and I will discuss what we’d like to do with Jae Blackman some other time.”

  “God, you’re no fun,” Candace said, pretending to pout. Then she reached across the table and tapped Liz’s hand, an almost-caress. “So. How are you feeling?”

  Liz grimaced. “Most days like I woke up in someone else’s body.”

  “Morning sickness?” Bren asked.

  “It’s a little more like morning, noon, and night sickness.” Liz toyed with the straw in her glass of lemonade and tried to look more upbeat than she felt. “But the good news is, I only have a couple more weeks of it, at least according to everything I’ve read.”

  “What did the doctor say?” Bren countered.

  “What could she say? It’s normal.”

  Candace and Bren sighed simultaneously.

  “You didn’t call her, did you?” Candace said.

  “I have another appointment next week. And besides, I know what she’s going to say. Avoid spicy foods. Eat crackers before a meal. Drink lemonade—it helps settle your stomach.”

  “Baby,” Candace said, using an endearment Liz hadn’t heard her use in years, “this is one thing you can’t be in charge of. You’ve never been pregnant before and, well, you’re…older.”

  “Thank you, Candace, for reminding me of that,” Liz said dryly. “I think Julia made that very point very nicely already.”

  Bren interjected, “Candace cares about you, Liz. So do I. You have to promise you won’t take chances.”

  “I won’t. I promise not to worry you.”

  “Liz,” Bren said cautiously after a quick glance at Candace, “do you want this baby? Because we all know it’s not happening the way you planned.”

  Liz looked from Candace to Bren. “Oh hell. I really have worried you two, haven’t I.” She leaned forward intently, making eye contact with each of them in turn. “I absolutely want this child. I wanted it before Julia walked out, and I want it now. It’s just that the circumstances have kind of temporarily overshadowed the ‘Oh, hallelujah, I’m having a baby’ part.”

  “Good.” Bren bounced a little in her seat. “Because we already have all kinds of fun things planned, like baby showers and fixing up the nursery and a naming party and…things.”

  “Thank you,” Liz said, brushing her fingertips over her cheeks to wipe away the quick flood of tears. “God, this is the second time today. This is ridiculous.”

  “What?” Candace demanded.

  “I’m all over the place emotionally. And you know it’s not like me at all to get weepy.”

  “What else happened today?”

  “Oh, nothing. I was just telling Reilly about Julia and I got…never mind.” Liz recognized the hawk-like glare in Candace’s eyes. Part was likely Candace’s natural curiosity, but the other looked a little bit like jealousy, and Liz wasn’t in the mood to deflect Candace’s questions.

  “Reilly. Reilly.” Candace played with the name as if it were some exotic flavor, then lasered in on Liz. “Would that be the surgeon from last week?”

  “Yes,” Liz confessed.

  “You didn’t tell us you were seeing her.”

  “I’m not seeing her.”

  “But you saw her. Today.”

  Bren murmured, “Candace. Your claws are showing.”

  “Oh, bullshit,” Candace snapped. “Nothing exciting is happening in our lives, Bren. We might as well get off on Liz’s.”

  All three laughed and the tension dissipated.

  “So tell,” Candace demanded.

  “It’s hardly sexy. Unfortunately, Reilly witnessed my early morning bout with morning sickness and was nice enough to drive me home
afterwards. We got to talking. That’s all.”

  “I don’t remember,” Candace said conversationally. “Did you say she was hot?”

  “Yes,” Liz said, grinning at the memory of Reilly’s tight body in jeans and a scrub shirt. “She’s hot.”

  “So when are you seeing her again?”

  “Oh my God, Candace. I’m pregnant, in case you’ve forgotten. The last thing I want is a date.” Despite her protests, Liz thought about Reilly’s casual suggestion that she drop by the ball fields. Casual. She could do casual.

  “What?” Candace pounced.

  “Nothing. Nothing.” Liz picked up her lemonade and drained the glass. “So how would you two like to go to a softball game tomorrow night?”

  Chapter Five

  “Oh my God, oh my God,” Candace moaned breathlessly. “Why am I just finding out about this place now?”

  Laughing, Liz watched Candace’s head swivel rapidly and finally slapped her playfully on the arm. “Stop that, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

  “I don’t care. Look at the women. I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven. Do you think they need more players?”

  “When’s the last time you did anything more athletic than hefting your briefcase?” Bren teased. She closed the top on her black Mazda RX 7 convertible, her one indulgence. Liz and Candace, who had driven to the softball fields in Liz’s Audi, waited by her door. When Bren climbed out and surveyed Belmont Plateau, she finally got the full effect of seven softball fields filled with women. “Oh. Oh my God.”

  “That’s what I said,” Candace replied archly. She threaded her arm through Bren’s and added conspiratorially, “Besides, doesn’t fucking Angela Howard blind last night count as exercise?”

  “It certainly does in my book,” someone replied in a low, husky voice.

  Liz jumped at the familiar sound and spun around. There couldn’t be two women in the world with that voice, and one glance confirmed her assessment. Parker Jones, an associate in her law firm, stood behind them, a saucy grin on her face and a predatory glint in her eye. If possible, Parker looked even better in athletic shorts and a tight tank top than she did in her always elegantly tailored business suits. With her windblown chestnut hair, blue eyes, and summer tan, she was model-gorgeous. Liz knew Parker was a lesbian and had always thought her attractive, but their only interaction had been strictly professional. Parker worked in the real estate and property group, so their paths didn’t cross very often, and during business hours, the only thing Liz generally thought of was business. And of course, she had been married. And unlike Julia, she didn’t break her vows.