The Wedding Party Page 2

  Such procrastination and disorder were not typical, but it seemed to be a trend lately that her pregnant patients either popped their babies all at the same time, or developed a sudden complication. Keeping her late today was a worrisome case of third trimester bleeding, and since she was about to go away for more than a week, she didn’t want to leave any of her patients stranded, especially this one. The whole week had been following the same script, one wrinkle after another.

  “I thought you had a trip to Vegas to get ready for?” Maria, her longtime office nurse, peeked her head around the door. “Shouldn’t you be home packing, or counting your bankroll for gambling or something?”

  Maria was making fun of her and her conservative ways, which was nothing new. Claire was steady, predictable, boring. Certainly never one to gamble, unless you counted an occasional lottery ticket. Maria could tease her all she wanted but she had no intention of changing her ways and throwing caution to the wind. “Yes, that and washing my tight jeans and glittery tank tops for all the bars I’m going to cruise.”

  Maria snorted a laugh, her short red hair bobbing, and flopped down on one of the spare chairs in Claire’s office. Maria was cute in a perky, youthful way. There had been a mild attraction between them once, months ago, but it had been very short-lived and quite innocent as far as those things go. A little chaste flirting had erupted one day after work over a rare drink in one of Chicago’s lesbian bars. Without warning—in fact Claire had been digging around in her wallet for change to pay the tip—Maria had leaned over and kissed her. Right there in the booth as though they were lovers. It hadn’t gone further, they didn’t talk about it, and for days afterward they were both embarrassed and awkward around one another. It had downright frightened her to think that Maria might have a crush on her, and not because Maria wasn’t cute and nice, but because Claire simply wasn’t ready to date anyone. An office affair was the absolute worst, people often said, and she wanted nothing to do with it.

  After she could no longer stand the tension between them, over a thick pile of lab reports one day she peered over her reading glasses and told Maria there was no chance of a relationship between them. She gave the perfunctory speech about how if she ever was ready to move on, Maria would be a wonderful choice. She took it well, even made a joke out of not bearing a torch for the unattainable Dr. Claire Cooper, and in an apologetic tone, divulged that she’d begun dating someone else anyway.

  It had all worked out for the best. They went on smoothly as colleagues and friends, and Maria and her new girlfriend were now in the process of buying a house together. As for Claire, her life had remained solitary. Frozen dinners for one, long walks with her dog, early to bed with a good book. And the heartwrenching, almost nightly dreams of the life she once had.

  “You do know I would pay money to see you doing that!” Maria flashed one of those I-dare-you looks that Claire had come to know well in their six years of working together.

  “Yeah, well, don’t get your panties in a twist, cuz it ain’t gonna happen. I’m not cruising any bars and I’m not gambling.”

  “Well, if by some miracle you change your mind, my spy will have her cell phone camera with her at all times.” Maria’s eyebrows danced with mischief. “I could make good money selling those kinds of photos around the hospital, you know.”

  Claire winced. Prentice Women’s Hospital, like hospitals everywhere, was one giant gossip mill, and she was fairly certain that compromising photos of herself would fetch a handsome sum. In fact, Maria could probably retire on it. “Don’t you dare! I should fire you for even thinking of it!”

  “Oh, come on. You know you can’t do without me around this place.”

  “True enough. But even if I was drunk enough or crazy enough to ever do something silly, which I am not, Shannon’s hardly going to have time to be spying on me.”

  “Hey, who said anything about Shannon being my spy?” She winked at Claire to show she was just kidding. “You don’t have to worry anyway, because you know what they say—what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas!”

  Claire shook her head. “I somehow doubt that, but I can assure you, there will be nothing terribly exciting on my end that will be worthy of keeping secret.”

  “Well, I suppose I’ll never know, but Claire, I really hope you have a great time at the wedding. Talk about puttin’ on the ritz. And Vegas of all places!” Maria’s eyes shone with mischief and envy. “If it were me going, I’d be camping out at the airport right now just to get a head start.”

  Claire stared out her fifth-floor window at the darkening city, trying hard to keep a frown from further deepening the line between her eyes. She didn’t share Maria’s enthusiasm for Vegas. It wasn’t that she was unhappy to go; Dani and Shannon’s wedding was a wonderful motive for the trip and she loved them both. But she worried about Shannon. More precisely, she was worried about Shannon’s secret. Worried that the secret would fester and grow like a cancer in the relationship if she didn’t come clean with Dani before the wedding. It was always bad luck to start a marriage with secrets, wasn’t it?

  Ah, well. Whatever issues lay between Dani and Shannon weren’t her problem. They were big girls, and it would be disastrous to stick her nose in. “I can think of about a million things better to do than sit around an airport, thank you very much,” she grumbled to Maria.

  “True. O’Hare is not exactly on my entertainment list.” Maria heaved herself out of the chair. “Well, tell Shannon I wish her the very best! She’s such a sweetheart.”

  “Yes she is, and I will.”

  “Good. Mind if I get out of here?”

  “Jeez, of course not.” Claire glanced at the clock again. “You should have been gone an hour ago. It is Friday night after all. Don’t you and Karen have any plans?”

  “Actually, Karen’s visiting her folks in Milwaukee for the weekend. I was just going over a couple of records before I go home since I didn’t have anyone to go home to.” She sighed dramatically, which made Claire smile, then watched Maria stiffen awkwardly as if just remembering that Claire didn’t have anyone to go home to either. “Listen, have a great time, okay? I mean that. And if anyone deserves a little fun, it’s you.”

  “I’ll try. And don’t forget, I’ll have my BlackBerry with me in case you need to reach me.”

  “I’ll try not to have to call you. I know Dr. Bernstrom’s covering for you, so don’t worry about anything here. Just enjoy yourself. You deserve it.”

  At home, Claire put off the rest of her packing. The laundry was done, the dog situated, but that was all. She tried to will herself to finish, but didn’t make it past the bottle of Merlot sitting on the counter. She poured a glass and sat in the wingback chair by the fireplace, taking solace in the ticking of the antique clock on the mantel. For months after Ann died, she spent hours at a time like this—sitting and drinking wine while time existed only in the movement of the clock’s hands. The rhythmic tick-tock and the alcohol were the only things that helped her relax in those days, numbing her from the pervasive loneliness that had rooted into her soul and slowly taken over her life. It was a form of paralysis, the wine and the depression, and it had taken her a long time to pull herself out of it enough to reclaim her position as one of the best OB-GYNs in the city. The worst and blackest of those times were over now, thank God, but she still found comfort in disappearing like this once in a while. And being alone didn’t bother her anymore. She’d even grown to like it.

  Claire’s eyes drifted to the framed picture on the wall of her and Ann in happy times. It was taken about a decade ago, during a camping trip in the Adirondacks, the two of them snuggled up together in matching heavy woolen sweaters, their smiles wide and easy and worry-free. She’d never been happier, never more complete as she’d been when that picture was taken. Everything about their life was easy, safe, nourishing. And then, three years ago, she’d never felt sadder or more hopeless. Such heights and such depths, a great soaring and plummeting that pushed her heart
to almost unbearable extremes. Even though Ann’s death hadn’t been unexpected—the cancer wasn’t survivable—Claire hadn’t handled it very well, falling to pieces in every way imaginable. She still wasn’t handling it all that marvelously, at least in terms of moving forward. Sideways yes, but not forward. Not yet. Oh, she’d tried to fling herself forward once, just over a year ago, at a medical conference in San Francisco. In her relentless search for something to ease her pain, she’d managed to momentarily convince herself that the answer lay in having a one-night stand. So she’d had sex with a very nice woman who had the quirkiest laugh and the kindest eyes Claire had ever seen. Her specialty was oncology, and she had exactly the right temperament for it, as far as Claire could see. They might have even gone on to be friends, but Claire had practically thrown up the next morning from the guilt of what she’d done, and couldn’t bear to have anything more to do with the woman. She’d slunk away, guilty and ashamed, vowing never to be so reckless, so fallible, again. It was much safer being alone.

  It was the memory of that trip, she told herself now, and her irresponsible sexual escapade that was at the root of her hesitation about Vegas. She sipped her wine, wishing she could just damned well stay home, but she had not been able to say no when Shannon asked her to stand up for her at the wedding. She would do anything for her best friend. Anything but get involved in the issue between her and Dani. That she would not do.

  Claire closed her eyes, let the alcohol and the ticking of the clock lull her. Hell, what was the worst thing that could happen on this trip anyway? The wedding would be nice. Shannon and Dani would be fine. And she wasn’t going to repeat her mistake of the one-night stand—of that she was damned sure. There was absolutely nothing to be afraid of, nothing to dread or worry about. Just go with the flow, that’s what she’d do. And the upside was that there’d be so many people around her the entire time, she’d have no time to feel lonely. In fact, it couldn’t hurt to get out of her shell for a change, to try life in different surroundings for a week or so. It might even be—dare she think it?—fun!

  Claire finished her glass of wine. Her gut was poking at her again, that little warning beacon she got whenever something ominous was about to happen. She went in search of her ever-present bottle of Tums.

  Chapter Three

  Jordan

  Jordan Scott’s trouble had begun in the ninth grade.

  The trouble being girls. Then women. Any woman. Tall, short, black, white, Catholic, atheist, Protestant, older, younger, blonde, brunette, redhead, butch or femme and every variation in between. Yup, she’d pretty much sampled them all in the twenty-six years since her initiation into the wonderful world of loving women. If dating were equated to a smorgasbord, Jordan was an unapologetic glutton.

  The initiation happened innocently enough, watching television one night with her younger brother’s babysitter. Cathy was a fox; she’d be called a hottie now. Whatever. Fourteen-year-old Jordan was absolutely enthralled by Cathy’s long blond hair, full pouty lips and spectacular tits bursting from a tight T-shirt, looking like ripe grapefruits in need of a good squeeze. Oh yeah, the squeezing had been fun!

  Jordan rolled onto her back and stretched. The gray light of morning was beginning to peek through the blinds and spill in dim slashes across the bed. Why in the hell am I thinking about Cathy after all these years anyway, she wondered, snatching a glance at the sleeping form next to her. Krissy was blond and young, and yeah, her tits were damned luscious too, sprouting heavily from the long curvy vine that was her body. That must be why she was reminded of Cathy.

  Jordan smiled at that night so long ago. Cathy had probably been about nineteen then, practically a woman of the world to the virginal Jordan, who’d done nothing beyond some intense kissing with boys up to that point. Jordan and Cathy were watching a horror movie on TV, the kind where you jump like your ass is on fire at all the scary parts and end up touching each other—legs, shoulders, hands, anything—for comfort and reassurance. When Cathy leaped into her lap and held on for dear life, Jordan had pretty much wet her panties on the spot.

  It was an epiphany of the sweetest kind, the discovery of something new and decadent and deliciously forbidden. No one had ever made her wet like that before, and the effect was electrifying. Her world as she’d known it had washed away on the wave of her first real sexual hormones and that sexual high of Cathy in her lap with her arms around her, those soft full lips on hers and those firm hips crashing into her. Jordan didn’t go near another boy after that, Cathy having sealed her fate with that first spontaneous orgasm in her pants. It was a high she had been chasing ever since.

  That entire summer, Cathy had been amazing in bed. She was just the right kind of teacher—demanding and yet patient, attentive with just the right amount of assertiveness. She knew what she wanted from Jordan and how to elicit it. Knew what Jordan wanted too and how to make her beg for it. She had a lot to thank Cathy for. Cathy taught her how to be a good lover, the lessons having gone on until Cathy disappeared to college and life beyond. They never spoke again, but Jordan had never forgotten her.

  Krissy stirred. Just as well that she was waking up, because Jordan had a plane to catch in three hours. She needed to get moving.

  “Hey,” Jordan whispered a little coarsely. “Wake up.”

  Krissy stretched and slowly rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She smiled cat-like. “What’s your hurry? I thought last night was just the warm-up.”

  They’d worn themselves out until well into the night. Or at least, Jordan was worn out. Then again, she was probably a good fifteen years Krissy’s senior, and her body didn’t bounce back the way it used to. “That was no warm-up,” Jordan said dourly. God! Did Krissy have to be so bloody energetic and so blind to the fact that she just wanted to get up, grab a cup of coffee and get the hell on with her day? A day that didn’t include Krissy. “I’m afraid that was pretty much the whole enchilada.”

  Krissy rolled her eyes and laughed as though Jordan had made a joke, the gesture providing an odd moment of déjà vu for Jordan. Krissy reminded her of someone. “All right, Jordan, fine. I just figured our date didn’t have to end so soon.” She stroked Jordan’s forearm suggestively, draped a naked leg provocatively over the sheet.

  Abruptly, Jordan pulled away. “I told you, I’m leaving for Vegas today. I have to head to the airport in about ninety minutes.”

  “Yes, and that’s exactly why we should go another round.” Her smile was sickly sweet and full of promise. “I won’t see you for a couple of months. Maybe I’d like to leave you with something to remember me by.”

  Two months away might seem like some sort of looming disaster to Krissy, but Jordan looked forward to the change of scene. After the wedding, she would stay at her Vegas condo for a little rest and to dabble in some real estate work there. She’d never promised Krissy they would be seeing one another again after last night. Two dates and some hot sex did not make a relationship. Krissy reached for her again, her touch like a hot poker on Jordan’s skin.

  She pulled away again. “Don’t worry, I’ll remember you. It’s me who will be the forgotten one in another day or two.” Jordan tried to sound cheery, though in truth she couldn’t wait to get Krissy out of her house and out of her life. “There must be a line of women waiting to get their nails into a hot young thing like you.”

  Krissy reluctantly sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She slumped in defeat. “I doubt that. Besides, I don’t want anyone else.”

  Jordan should have felt flattered. Krissy was not unlike dozens—hell, hundreds—of other women she had dated. Sure she was a good kid and all, but really, there was no room for her to be part of Jordan’s life. If it was just a matter of an occasional date and some hot and heavy rolling around in the sack, Jordan was all for it. But Krissy had the hallmarks of being a high maintenance, demanding, I’m-in-love-with-you kind of girlfriend and very clingy, if her plaintiveness was any indication. It had been a blast, a brief sunburst,
but now it was time to move on before the glow of the embers faded to black. It was no secret that Jordan didn’t do relationships and all the expectations and the coupling behavior that went with it—picking out blinds, matching paint swatches, buying linen and discussing their thread count . . . Jesus! That shit was so not for her. She’d never advertised herself falsely to Krissy or anyone else, and she refused to feel guilty for enjoying a little uncomplicated sex from time to time.

  Jordan hopped out of bed as if Krissy were holding a match against her skin. She wanted Krissy gone. Now. “You taking a shower here or at your dorm?”

  “Throwing me out already, huh?” There was no humor in Krissy’s words and certainly not in her tone. She was clearly pissed, which only heightened Jordan’s impatience. Really, in the grand scheme of things, there was no reason for her to pull such a hissy fit. She was being childish. Getting all bent out of shape over nothing.

  “Well, yeah, basically. I’ve got to get moving.”

  Krissy pouted for a long moment before asking in a challenging tone, “You going to e-mail me or phone me while you’re away?”

  Jordan picked up a robe from the back of a chair and slipped it on. “Probably not.” She was nothing if not honest.

  Krissy began pulling her clothes on, slowly at first, as if waiting for Jordan to change her mind and ask her to stay, before picking up her pace. “So that’s it? Fuck me a couple of times and then break up with me?”

  “Look, what do you want from me? And how can you break up with someone you’re not even in a relationship with?”

  Her bottom lip quivered before her expression hardened. Great. The girl was going to make a big federal case out of this. They were going to have to go through some kind of phony breakup dance first.