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The glass slid from his mother’s fingers and crashed to the tile floor, shattering into several sharp pieces.
“Mother?”
She shook her head, saying nothing. Angela, however, didn’t remain silent. “You’ve got to be kidding. Kate Jones is back here? I can’t believe she’d show her face in town now.”
He narrowed his eyes and stared at his sister.
“You know who she is, Jack. For heaven’s sake, she’s one of those trashy Tremaine women.”
Jack clenched his teeth. “I don’t care what her connection is to this town. She doesn’t live here now, and neither do I.”
“You can’t mean to see her again,” his mother said, sounding on the verge of tears. “Edie, her mother…”
He instantly understood. Kate was Edie’s daughter. He’d forgotten all about the fact that Edie had moved home to Pleasantville as a widow with a little girl so many years ago. He’d been only a kid of eleven or twelve himself.
His instant connection to Kate sure made sense. Edie was one of the nicest people he’d ever known. “Mother, it’s fine. Kate’s wonderful, honest and open, like Edie. You’d like her.”
Angela stepped over the broken glass until she stood next to him. “Honest? Open? Get real. How can you call the woman who’d been banging our father for twenty years honest and open?”
He narrowed his eyes. “You’re on dangerous ground, Ang.”
“Come on, Jack, the whole town knows it,” Angela said. “Including Mom, who, if I’m not mistaken, was happy about it. Free maid service because Edie felt so guilty, plus you got to avoid any icky sex with Dad. Isn’t that what you said, Mom?”
Jack looked at his mother, waiting for her to deny it. He expected her to faint, cry or yell. She did none of these. In fact, there was only one way to describe her expression.
Guilty as sin.
“SO, HE STILL hasn’t called?”
Kate looked up from her office computer screen and frowned at Armand. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
He waved an airy hand. “Remember who you’re talking to.”
Kate smirked. “Your sexual preference is showing.” Armand hated to be thought of as flaming, though he occasionally was.
“I don’t really care, because for the first time in forever, we’re talking about your sex life, not mine!”
“No, we’re not talking about it.” She walked past him onto the sales floor. The overhead lights were on, though they wouldn’t open for an hour. Pretending she needed to check the bondage section, she busied herself counting leather masks and handcuffs. Big sellers, particularly around the holidays.
“Kate, stop pretending you don’t care this guy didn’t call. You’ve been moping for ten days, ever since you got home from Tortureville. Track the bastard down and confront him about it.”
“I can’t. The last words I said to him were there’s no guilt, no regret, and he didn’t have to call.”
Armand rolled his eyes in disgust. “Well, of course, but you didn’t mean it. Darling, all men—including the heterosexual ones—know that speech is complete bullshit.”
She ignored him. “Besides, I don’t know his last name.”
“Stranger sex. I still can’t believe you went for it.”
She wished she’d never told him. But Armand was a sexual bloodhound. He could smell naughty secrets, even days later.
“So, you see, I can’t track him down, even if I wanted to.”
Which she didn’t. Jack’s silence in the past ten days spoke volumes. He knew where to find her and he hadn’t looked. She’d cared at first. Too much. Then she’d reminded herself she knew what she was getting into. She could have walked away at any time, but she wanted great sex, with him, then and there. And she got it. So she couldn’t now hate him for not following up on his promise to see her when he got back to Chicago.
“Please, Armand, let it drop,” she said, rubbing a weary hand over her brow. “It was great, now it’s done. I’m over it.”
“You’re such a phony, Katherine Jones,” he replied. Then he stepped closer and took her in his arms, hugging her close. Kate allowed herself to be comforted, burrowing into Armand’s hard, masculine chest the way she would with an older brother.
