Jessie & Elizabeth (abandoned)

12. A Sit-Down Strike

Connery.

I should've known the second I learned his name. A white man in a suit with a rosy face and a winning smile, named Connery. Of course, he was a douchebag, only I should've realized sooner he was more than that— something I couldn't say in front of the kids if I wanted to set a good example.

He hadn't been heartbroken like the neighborhood persisted, he'd been looking for an out and he found one, leaving his wife with the mess. And for some reason, Elizabeth was claiming the clutter like she alone was responsible for it.

The next morning in the car, Manon kept asking me if I was okay, rolling her eyes whenever I said 'yes', and I sighed in relief when I pulled away from the school, three kids lighter. I hadn't seen Elizabeth yet; she'd left for work before I'd even started making breakfast, so that gave me some time to devise a battle plan, as Manon would call it. Obviously, Elizabeth wasn't the sort of woman who appreciated having been seen as a total wreck, and she was either going to yell at me for it or give me the silent treatment.

Whenever Lennox and I had had a fight, I would go all out — pick bouquets of wildflowers, order chocolate spelling 'sorry', blasting her favorite songs. That sort of thing. With my brothers, I just let them hit me, and we'd be okay again, and with friends, I'd send a series of funny gifs until I'd get one back.

I didn't think any of those things were going to work on Elizabeth, though. I didn't even know what music she liked, and I wasn't sure if I'd survive being punched by her, nor did I deserve it. As for the gifs, well, I might as well take my exit now.

I entered the hallway, dumping my keys next to the bowl on the coffee table, something that annoyed the crap out of Elizabeth, and shrugged off my coat. Before I could do anything, though, there was the familiar clicking of heels — oh, shit.

Elizabeth was all but charging at me, her dark brows arched as her brown eyes burned me down at the spot, her hair trailing behind her, bouncing up and down in time with her steps. It was a pantsuit kind of day, her shirt buttoned up all the way, and I realized it was the same one she'd worn when we first met. "You!" she spat, coming to a standstill right in front of me, closer than necessary.

If she was trying to intimidate me, it worked. I stumbled backward, only she just stepped forward again. "Me?" It barely came out.

"Yes, you!" Her voice echoed between the walls, even though she wasn't exactly shouting.

I forced myself to look at her directly. She wasn't scary. Not really. No matter how many snide remarks she was going to send my way, there was no denying that in the end, she was just broken. "Is this about last night?" I asked, trying to sound unaffected. So much for a battle plan. "Why are you even home?"

She scoffed and threw her hair over her shoulder, almost hitting me in the face with it, enveloping me in a cloud of spicy shampoo. Her lips were trembling, her eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "You tell me," she said. "I was on my way to work when my boss called, telling me to stay home today. Do you know why?"

"Err—"

But apparently, she didn't need me to answer that question. "He was afraid I might be contagious. Any idea why he would think I'm sick, Jessie?"

It was never a good sign when she said my name like that. I tried not to crumble under her stare, squirming in place, wondering if I should just confess. She raised an eyebrow at me, and suddenly, I was strangely aware of how close she was — damn, that shampoo did smell great. Exactly like her personality. "I had to get them out of the house! Elizabeth, that witch of a woman was sucking up to Manon. I couldn't just let her have her way." When she pressed her lips together, forming a thin line, I added: "You forbade me to tell the truth. So, I told them you had a fever. It worked. How was I to know it'd get back to your boss?"