Southern Fried Blues (The Officers' Ex-Wives Club) Page 2

  She unhooked her white cardigan from its perch on the cube wall and wrapped it around herself, buffering her skin from the meat locker setting on the air conditioner, then took the pies to the office snack kitchen around the corner while she waited for Rex to finish his Monday morning grumblings.

  Like normal.

  Except for the ring choking her left finger.

  In the kitchen, Anna found Shirley, her program manager, sipping from a “World’s Best Mom” mug and listening to Todd, RMC’s contracts guy, talk about something that was probably normal too.

  Anna forced a nothing-wrong-here smile and a spring in her step.

  Because that was normal. “Good morning.”

  Todd’s eyes zeroed in on the pies. “Aw, Anna, you know how to make a guy happy on a Monday morning.”

  Her eyelids went stingy, but she held on to her fake happy and slid the pies onto the counter. “I do my best.” Todd, obviously, hadn’t been to Jules’s wedding.

  “Man, I wish Mindy’s best was half this good.” Todd snagged a plate out of a cabinet. “But don’t tell her I said that.”

  “Of course not.” Even if Anna had wanted to use her pies to poison other people’s healthy relationships, she couldn’t remember what Mindy looked like or if she even existed.

  Shirley surveyed first Anna, then the pies. On a real Monday morning, Anna would’ve expected the obligatory How was your weekend? Today, she hoped that glittery angel pin on Shirley’s blazer would work a small miracle and keep either of them from unconsciously uttering the words.

  “You okay, kid?” Shirley asked.

  Anna’s legs wobbled so hard her heels jackhammered the linoleum.

  But she wanted to be okay, so she jutted her chin out. “Just peachy.” She reached for the coffee.

  The pot was empty.

  Sort of like her life.

  A shudder slinked through her body. She yanked open the cabinet where the coffee grounds and filters were stored. The door hinges squeaked. Todd mumbled something about a contract and scurried out of the kitchen, clutching the pie as if it could shield against PMS.

  If only monthly hormones were the problem.

  Shirley deposited her dirty mug in the sink. Her still-within-regs, Clairoled-within-a-millimeter-of-her-roots hairdo tilted toward the pie. “Your latticework’s crooked.”

  “I—it—” It was. On the middle pie.

  Had Anna really made that pie?

  She squeezed the coffee packet so hard it let out a pop! Coffee dust billowed into the air.

  Shirley headed toward the door. “Need the RR-40s from last week so we can get the trucks moving this morning.”

  Normal. “They’re on Jules’s desk.”

  Shirley pursed her lips and stuck a hand on her hip. Shirley-speak for I don’t enter toxic waste zones. And she wasn’t talking about the hazardous waste disposal bins.

  Anna winced. “I’ll get it in a minute.”

  After Shirley left, Anna started the coffee, cleaned up the dust, and then sliced the middle pie so no one else would notice the lattice problem. She poured herself a fresh cup, then retreated to the lab. Samples were due to arrive from three trucks and four monthly tank checks this morning, and she had to dig through the mess on Jules’s desk to find last week’s jet biofuels release authorizations.

  Normal was good.

  In addition to their roles as a fuels distributor and specialty engine modifier for the civilian world, RMC was the primary government contractor for fuel supplies for all the military bases in Georgia. Since the military had turned to biofuels in so many of their planes, RMC’s operations had expanded significantly. Which was why Anna had a job at all. She’d been temping around town when Jules found out Anna had somewhat of a technical background and gave her a recommendation for the lab assistant position that was created about a year ago.

  Rex had finished his Monday morning sputtering, so she logged on and fired up her email. While Rex processed her request, she went into Jules’s cube.

  To call it a mess would’ve been like calling Minnesota a state with a couple of lakes. But Anna didn’t have the nerve to take her label maker to Jules’s Leaning Towers of Important Crap. Instead, she rummaged around the top layers until she found last week’s documentation. She popped back into her own cube, which had to be hers since it was neatly organized, and she checked her email, which also had to be hers since her fingers knew the password.

  Her heart gave a sputter that matched Rex’s Monday morning grumblings.

  Finally, Neil was talking to her.

  She leaned in and clicked the message.

  Wanted to let you know my attorney will be in touch. Don’t want to make this difficult, but probably best if you get your own. Want to make sure we do this fair. Neil.

  P.S. I’d like my grandmother’s ring back.

  Her heart writhed in her chest as if someone had doused it in gasoline and ignited it, and her throat clogged up from the fumes. She stared at the screen, unable to blink or breathe.

  But then her lungs moved, air tickled her nose on its way in and out, in and out, and she felt something else growing inside her.

  Something hot and dark and ugly.

  She yanked the ring off her finger and slammed it on her desk.

  She’d sacrificed her education. Moved three times. Kept his house organized, stocked, and cleaned, all while working the same hours as he had for over half their marriage.

  So he could throw her away.

  The bastard.

  She hit the monitor’s power button. The screen went black and empty and useless as Neil’s fickle heart.

  She snatched the RR-40s and marched to Shirley’s office.

  “They’re not signed,” Shirley said. And the look she shot Anna added, So what are you going to do about it?

  If the releases weren’t signed, the fuel wasn’t officially QA certified and couldn’t be delivered to base, which meant a potential for unplanned aircraft downtime for lack of fuel. Which was expensive. Which meant the government might look for another distributor when RMC’s contract was up for renewal. That, Anna could fix. And being able to fix something felt good. “I watched Jules test it. It’s fine. I’ll sign for her.”

  Shirley’s jaw settled into that stubborn tilt. “Has to be the analyst. She’s qualified. You’re not.”

  Oh, good. A fight. Anna set her jaw to match Shirley’s. “I have a year of experience and I’m highly educated.”

  “But you don’t have a degree.”

  No, she didn’t. Because she’d left college two semesters short to marry Neil when he convinced her she could finish up at a school close to his first assignment.

  He’d been wrong.

  About more than she could’ve imagined.

  She’d had to retake a few classes that hadn’t transferred in order to get into senior design, and had one semester to go there when Neil got orders early because of his program moving to a different base. Wash, rinse, repeat.

  Shirley’s gaze landed on Anna’s hands. Anna curled them into balls and thrust them into the pockets of her cardigan. “Jules said they were good to go.”

  “Jules was preoccupied,” Shirley said. “What happens if you sign off on our delivery and the plane goes down because something wasn’t right on our end? Then your butt’s on the line, and more important, my butt’s on the line for letting a tech aide certify our analyses. You want to sign that dotted line, go back to school.”

  A lump of hysterical laughter popped and fizzled around Anna’s larynx. She was still paying student loans from three different institutions and had her doubts Neil would consider signing over his GI bill to her as part of a divorce settlement.

  Oh, God. She was getting divorced. “Right.”

  “Right’s exactly right.” Shirley plucked a couple of brochures from an uneven stack of papers that made Anna twitch. “The job’s always come second for you.”

  “I—”

  “I don’t fault you for that,” S
hirley interrupted. “You came here as an officer’s wife looking for an outlet and a paycheck. The team’s appreciated your work. But you’ve been lax with continuing education and certifications. You’re organized, but are you ambitious? Do you want a job, or are you going to start watching the men around here like they’re your next meal ticket?”

  Anna couldn’t even manage a squawk of protest. She was too busy figuring out if she was angry, sad, or suddenly living someone else’s life.

  Shirley pointedly gestured to Anna’s hidden left hand. “You’re a pretty girl. They’ll start circling soon enough. Just make sure it doesn’t mess with the work.”

  Oh, God. She was right. Men would think she was available.

  More like physically ill.

  Shirley leaned forward and shoved the brochures at her. “Take a breather. Look these over. Nice week to take an afternoon off, what with Jules out.” She gestured to her clock. “I have to go placate a client who’s not going to be happy about that late delivery.”

  Anna shuffled out of Shirley’s office. Halfway down the hall, she risked a glance at her ringless hand to inspect the brochures.

  Three were about RMC’s internal fuels expert certification programs. The last one outlined RMC’s tuition assistance policy.

  And in three more days, Anna would qualify.

  She stopped in the hallway. Her lungs seemed to be battling one another. One side of her chest felt panic, the other hope, with her heart caught in the crossfire.

  Neil could change his mind.

  Or she could put herself first for once in her grown life.

  She wrapped her arms around her chest and squeezed to dispel the internal fighting. Divorce wasn’t on her calendar, but neither was living with a man who didn’t love her.

  It was time for a new plan.

  Chapter Three

  Not every man could appreciate the beauty of an alphabetized medicine chest, but he was not just any man.

  —The Temptress of Pecan Lane, by Mae Daniels

  ANNA FLEW DOWN the hallway to the lab. She was late. Her first class of her new life, and the samples were late. Which meant the documentation was late. Which meant she was late checking it all into the system. Which meant she would be that student in class tonight when she walked in fifteen minutes after the first roll call of the semester.

  She’d never been that student.

  She hit her passcode wrong on the lab door and had to enter it twice before she finally got through. Rex had fallen asleep. She jiggled his mouse. “Come on, come on, come on.” She should’ve been halfway to James Robert College by now.

  Jules leaned into the cube and tapped her stubby fingernails on the doorframe. Her normally poufy brown hair was even bigger today, apparently still recovering from all the humidity of her tropical honeymoon. And seeing her smile so much was plain weird. But other than having to listen to her tell the story about Brad and the horny dolphin half a dozen times, the wedding and honeymoon talk had been minimal.

  The familiar box Jules carried on her hip didn’t look promising for the trend to continue.

  “I’m hurrying,” Anna said.

  “Eh. It’ll wait until tomorrow. Got a minute?”

  Work, waiting until tomorrow?

  She eyed the box again. Oh, jeez. Not now. “Actually, I’m late.”

  Jules set the box by the door, then propped herself on a corner of the desk and grabbed Anna’s silver letter opener out of the desk organizer. “Meeting with the lawyer?” She casually flicked the letter opener beneath her fingernail.

  “Class.” Despite her mother’s insistence that Anna could still save her marriage if she tried, Anna’s sister had come through as the voice of reason. If he doesn’t love you, screw him. You deserve better. Judging by how fast Neil had accepted Anna’s lawyer’s proposed settlement, Anna figured Beth had been right.

  Even if it still stung a bit. Like losing an arm in a paper shredder.

  Rex finally came to life. Anna pounded in her password. The dinosaur thought about accepting it.

  Jules slid further onto the desk. Her rump scooted Anna’s desktop calendar crooked. “They have divorce classes?”

  “Thermo,” Anna said. “I enrolled last week.”

  Jules glanced up sharply. She dropped the letter opener into the organizer in the midst of all the highlighters. “Didn’t you take that in college?”

  “Too long ago. James Robert College wants me to take it fresh.” Anna plunked the letter opener into its slot beside her ruler. “And I’m late. Really, really late.” She told Rex to close her mail program, then tabbed over to the database and told Rex to close that too.

  “Listen, about your scene at my wedding.”

  Anna cringed. “Really?”

  “Dude. Bad juju. You don’t think I’m going to forget that shit, do you? Now listen. Rodney’s coming through on leave this weekend before he ships out, and I promised the big lug we’d do karaoke at Taps. He wants a Sandy to his Danny. You come be his date, or I’ll tell my Aunt Bernie that Brad’s holding back on sex and I think it’s your fault. She’ll come up with some crazy-ass juju-washing ritual involving that gift right there and dancing naked in the moonlight, and then you’ll wish singing in public was all you’d done. ’Kay?”

  A date. She was late for class. She could still barely process that she was about to become the first Jensen in the history of Jensens to get divorced. Her closest local friend was returning the wedding gift Anna and Neil had given her. And she was supposed to go on a date.

  She gulped back the diamond-sized lump lodged in her esophagus. “If I say yes, can I go now?”

  Jules slid off the desk and gestured to the cube door. “Of course. But if you’re just saying it, you will pay. I told Brad you get us in the divorce, but that’s negotiable if you act like you don’t want us.”

  God. It wasn’t enough to split their belongings, they had to split their friends now too?

  She was never, ever doing this again. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Go on, get going. I’ll shut this down for you. And take that present with you. I don’t want it.”

  Anna grabbed her purse and the label maker she’d gotten the newlyweds, and she made a mad dash out the door. Pop Rocks fizzled in her belly. Probably a good thing she didn’t have time for food. She wasn’t sure she could keep it down.

  Outside, she stumbled into a wall of air as hot as a cheese curd–frying vat back home at the state fair. Her steps slowed. Maybe it would be easier to swim to her car. At least she’d thought to park beneath a tree.

  An extra burst of heat spilled out of her car when she swung the door open. This weather was defying the laws of thermodynamics. At least, what she remembered of it. Thank goodness she didn’t have to smell pretty to be smart. But it was June. Nowhere should’ve been this hot in June.

  She tossed the label maker in the back seat. She braced herself, scooted into the car, and cranked the engine. Steam flowed out of the air vents. She tilted them away while the AC system caught up. After buckling in, she gave her rearview mirrors a quick check. The gearshift seared her palm, but she gritted her teeth and put the car in reverse anyway.

  Something tickled her finger. She absently scratched it and gave the car a little gas. Something else tickled the back of her hand.

  She frowned.

  Sweat didn’t usually tickle. Not like that.

  She moved to shift the car into drive and something dark scurried over her windshield. “What the—”

  A line of fire ants marched across her steering wheel.

  Anna shrieked. She threw the car into park and tumbled out of it. “Get off! Get off!” She raked her hands over her arms and hopped on her clogs to shake the little buggers off. The prickles moved to her back, up her neck, into her hair. She knew the ants couldn’t be up there, there’d only been one or two, but she scrubbed at her scalp anyway.

  “Ma’am? You okay?” A guy leaned out the side of a red car behind her. She was blocki
ng one of the exits.

  “Oh, yeah, sure, you betcha.” She wiggled her itching toes. “Sorry. It’ll just take me a minute to get out of your way.”

  Her car’s engine whined. Heat radiated off the hood and wrinkled the air. The backs of her knees tingled as if a hundred ants had gathered there for an impromptu Riverdance.

  A car door shut behind her. “Need a hand?” he drawled in a local-boy kind of way.

  “Everything’s fine. Thanks.” Because she carried insect-killer in her car all the time in case her car came down with a case of the ants.

  It took some effort to not reach for her phone. This was the kind of thing Neil would’ve taken care of for her. And it pissed her off that she wanted to let the man approaching solve her problem.

  She was an independent woman, dammit. She’d fix this herself. She squared her shoulders, marched to the edge of her door, and hit her trunk release. She scooted around the car to survey the potential ant weapons in her trunk. She had to have something useful. Maybe she could club them one by one with her jumper cables. Shoot her emergency flares at them. Drop the box of Neil’s junk on them. Label them to death with the label maker.

  It’d worked on her marriage.

  And there was that stingy feeling behind her eyeballs again.

  Long runner’s legs ending in flip-flop–clad feet entered her blurred vision. “You got some friends there.”

  If Neil had to leave her, he should’ve done it somewhere else. Somewhere without fire ants, somewhere more hospitable to her Norwegian coloring, somewhere with halfway intelligent locals. She shot her audience a look she should’ve tried on the ants. “Where I come from, they’re called a nuisance.”

  Instead of shriveling up and dying, he flashed her a goofy grin. His dark-lashed eyes creased in the corners.

  Those lashes and the mass of just-long-enough-to-be-curly hair on his head were proof positive a man could have brains or looks, but not both.

  And that tingly sensation along her breastbone was proof positive she had no business being single. First she agreed to a date with Rodney, now she was getting hot over a redneck.

  She was supposed to be worrying about the ants. Class. Her life.