Already Home

And never come back, she added silently.

Thursday morning Jenna sat in Cianfrani’s Coffee Shop, sipping her latte as her friends chatted. Kimberly had gotten in touch with her two days ago, suggesting they all get together for coffee. Jenna had jumped at the invitation.

It was probably wrong to want to escape her business the first week it was open, but that was how she felt. So far the week had been a disaster. Sales had actually dropped, which was hard to believe. Except for her mother, everyone had walked out of her cooking class before it was over. Violet assured her things would get better, but Jenna had a feeling her lone employee was not only lying but was probably already looking for another job.

Thoughts for later, she reminded herself, turning her attention on Caitlin, who was talking about the problems her kids were having in their exclusive private school.

“One counselor talks about downtime,” she was saying. “That children need instructional play to develop an imagination. I told her that my boys had spent the previous weekend trying to wallpaper the dog and imagination was the last thing they needed to work on.” She sipped her nonfat soy drink. “Bill thinks they should learn to sail. Can you imagine? They’re six.”

“I know what you mean,” Jolene said with a throaty laugh. She had always been pretty in college and now she was beautiful, with platinum blond hair that tumbled in curly splendor halfway down her back. “If Taylor wins one more dance championship, we’ll have to buy a separate house for her trophies and ribbons. Little Amber is already singing in church. We’ve talked to a few agents and they’re talking children’s Christmas CD.”

Kimberly smiled. “Little Jonathan is still throwing shutouts in Little League. I barely see him and Eric. They’re always playing. We talked about having another one. A girl, this time, but I don’t know. My stomach is finally flat again.”

“Tell me about it,” Jolene said. “I barely get in an hour at the gym. Did I tell you I have a new trainer? He’s gorgeous. He comes to the house and even gives a postworkout massage.”

Caitlin raised her eyebrows. “Which kind?”

Jolene smiled smugly. “The good kind.”

The three women laughed together. Jenna tried to join in, but it was as if they were speaking a different language. She didn’t know their husbands or their kids. She wanted to ask if any of them worked but already knew the answer.

Kimberly smiled at her. “You’re so fortunate, Jenna. You only have to worry about yourself.”

“It’s true,” Jolene chimed in. “I’m sure the divorce was difficult, but you got half of everything, right? So you’re set.”

Half of nothing was still nothing, Jenna thought, even as she smiled and nodded. There had been a few thousand in savings. The only reason she’d had the money to open the store was because the City of Los Angeles had needed to expand a road. They’d bought up four houses, including the tiny place she and Aaron had owned. A neighbor had hired a slick lawyer who had gotten them all a tidy sum above market value.

Caitlin leaned toward her. “How was it?” she asked in a hushed tone. “The divorce. Was it awful?”

The table went silent. All three women stared at her intently, as if she’d done something extraordinary. Or terrifying.

“It wasn’t fun,” she admitted. “But we’d grown apart.” Which was better than saying being with her husband had sucked the life out of her. She’d been left with little more than a few skills she didn’t trust and a gut-wrenching fear that she was mediocre.

“Was there another woman?” Jolene asked. “Was she younger and prettier?”

“I, ah—”

“It wasn’t another man, was it?” Kimberly asked. “I heard that happens a lot in California. That would be the worst.”

“Not worse than a woman,” Caitlin told her. “At least with a man you never had a chance. With a woman, you have the same parts.”

“Being left for any reason means you’re still alone,” Jolene said, tucking a platinum blond curl behind one ear. “Do you think it’s because you didn’t have children? A child binds a man to you. At least that’s what I tell myself.”

“A child would make things worse,” Caitlin said. “Then she’d forever be tied to her ex.”

Kimberly sighed. “He left her and now she’s alone. To hell with him.” She toasted Jenna with her coffee.

Jenna felt like the ball in a tennis game, being slapped back and forth. She grabbed her coffee, sucked in a breath and prepared to lie her way to sanity.

“I left him,” she said quickly, before her blush could catch up with her. “He was holding me back. I came home because I wanted to and now I have the store. I can’t believe how great it’s doing. Speaking of which, I really have to get back to work. Violet is fabulous, but it’s my responsibility. You know how that is. Being the one who makes it happen. It was great to see you three. We’ll stay in touch, all right?”

She stood, gave a little wave, then quickly walked to her car. Once she’d backed out of the parking space, she drove to the other end of the parking lot and pulled into an empty space. Then she rested her head against the steering wheel and told herself that if she kept breathing everything would be fine. As long as she kept breathing.

Even as she drew air in and pushed it out, she felt her chest tighten and her eyes start to burn. Lying to her friends wasn’t the answer, she reminded herself. Although the truth was equally impossible. What was she supposed to say? That Aaron had left her for another woman, but that she almost didn’t care about that because the rest of it was so much worse? That she’d come home because she had nowhere else to go, and opening the store had been a stupid mistake? That would have been a conversation stopper.

And while she was being honest, Caitlin, Jolene and Kimberly weren’t friends. Not anymore. They were women she used to know and little more. They were in different places, and she was … lost.

Which meant she had to do something about her life. But what?

The question plagued Jenna through the rest of the afternoon. She let Violet go early—it wasn’t as if they had any customers—then closed right at six. After turning the lock, she walked through her empty store, touching the cool metal on the gourmet coffeemakers, the smooth surface of the mixing bowls.

The scent of cinnamon still lingered in the air. She’d made cookies earlier, in an attempt to entice customers. It hadn’t worked.

She stood in the center of her store and turned in a slow circle. She liked everything about the space—the crowded shelves, the wide aisles, the cooking area in back. She liked the view out of the window, being next to the yarn store, leasing in Old Town. She liked it, but she didn’t love it.

She hadn’t wanted to make plain cinnamon cookies. She’d wanted to blend in ginger and try something fun like rose-water. She’d thought about going to the market and buying fresh spring vegetables, then making a red wine risotto with the crunchy, delicious vegetables served with a perfect roasted chicken stuffed with garlic and spices.

She’d heard two women complaining about all the ingredients they had in their pantries, items bought for a single recipe but never used again. When they’d listed a few, a dozen possibilities had occurred to her, and she’d almost spoken. But she’d been afraid.

She remembered experimenting with a salmon dish at the restaurant where she and Aaron worked. He was the high profile chef, the man who charmed customers, spending more time in the front of the store rather than in the back. He’d dazzled, while she’d worked the magic behind the scenes.

That night, it had been raining. Something that didn’t happen often in Los Angeles. The sound of the rain on the roof had made her think about murky seawater and all things green. She’d created a green sauce, then, borrowing from one of her favorite mole recipes, had added rich dark chocolate. While she hadn’t been completely thrilled with the resulting color, the flavor had been perfect.

She’d offered a sample to a few regular customers, just to get their feedback. Aaron had swept in and taken the dishes from them. Worse, he’d apologized for what she’d made, as if she were some first year student who had burned toast. She’d been humiliated.

Later, when she’d yelled at him, he’d acted as if she was the one at fault. He’d had several of the staff taste her dish. One of the women had actually gagged. Jenna had been crushed, wondering if there was something wrong with her taste buds. Were they different from everyone else’s?

During the divorce, she’d found out Aaron had been sleeping with the server, so her reaction was probably scripted, but the damage had been done. Jenna had started to question herself, to wonder if her instincts were off. As soon as doubt appeared, she found herself sticking to what was safe. She told herself it was the smart thing to do, but in truth, she was slowly dying inside.

Her cell phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket, glanced at the screen and nearly jumped. Aaron? What would he want?

Almost afraid thinking about him conjured the call, she pushed the talk button.

“Hello?”

“Jenna. I only have a second. Some woman called, looking for you. She sounded strange. You’re not in trouble, are you? She wasn’t a bill collector, was she?”

I’m fine, she thought grimly. Nice to hear from you. How are things?

But Aaron had never been interested in polite conversation, not unless it got him something.

“Did the woman leave her name?” she asked, knowing it wasn’t a bill collector. She might be failing at her business, but she hadn’t stopped paying her bills.

“No name. When I said you’d moved back to Texas, she thanked me and hung up.” He shouted something to a server.

The background noise told her he was in the kitchen of his new restaurant. If she were vindictive, she would have been hoping he gave everyone food poisoning on opening night.

“You’re calling to tell me someone you don’t know was asking about me and you don’t have any more information than that?”