Shallow End. Brenda Chapman

him relax, he’d fall back into a gloomy space that had no room for her. Long walks or fishing trips in the boat with his kids kept him away from the cottage while she lay around reading or concocting intricate meals to feed them upon return. She may as well have fed them hamburgers and Kraft Dinner for all the appreciation she’d received.

      “Do they know Jane’s getting out of prison next week?” she’d asked Adam while washing dishes from a fettuccine alfredo meal that the kids had barely touched. The recipe was one of her best and she’d been hurt by their rejection.

      “They know.”

      He’d closed off the opening she’d offered to talk about Jane’s return. It was as if he was shouldering some horrible burden alone as penance for his ex-wife’s sins.

      Naomi had met Jane once, a few months before the sky caved in on her. Before her arrest and trial. Naomi had kept the encounter from Adam, knowing instinctively that he would not have been pleased. He’d kissed her by then, full on the mouth as he passed by her on his way to his desk, but nothing more than that. He’d admitted later that it had been spur of the moment and he’d immediately felt guilt for the impropriety of his impulse. No promise of anything further no matter all the erotic fantasies floating around her imagination.

      It had been a grey November Saturday morning when Naomi had followed Jane’s car from her house to the grocery store. She’d caught up with Jane in the fruit aisle. Bent over, reaching for McIntosh apples, Jane had been inspecting each one before dropping it into a plastic bag. She’d been wearing a red wool coat and high black boots, her white-blond hair gathered into a messy bun at the nape of her neck. She’d turned when Naomi bumped her cart with her own. The look in her startling blue eyes had gone from somewhere far away to focus in on Naomi.

      “So sorry,” Jane had said. “Was I in the way?” When she smiled, her face had glowed as if a lamp was backlighting her skin and Naomi had felt the bottom fall out of her dreams. Adam would never leave this woman for her. She knew that even her youth couldn’t compete with Jane’s smile that wrapped around a person like warm honey and the warmth in her dreamy blue eyes that was as intriguing as sex, for Naomi was experienced in this department, having lost her virginity when she was fourteen to her sixteen-year-old cousin. She’d been the one doing the pursuing, although she knew that all the bleeding hearts would twist her into a victim if they’d known. Never mind that she found sex enjoyable from the get-go. It didn’t hurt that getting a guy to drop his pants gave her a sense of power over him that she’d become an expert at exploiting.

      Naomi studied the distracted way Jane tucked a piece of loose hair behind her ear with long, graceful fingers. Her fingertips then slid down her cheek and across her full lips before landing on the silk scarf tied around her neck. The movement was sensual as hell and Naomi found herself staring. If Jane was aware of the vibe she gave off, she gave no sign. “No, I was the one who bumped into you.” Naomi started backing up, eager to get away.

      “Say, aren’t you one of the students from teacher’s college doing a work term in my husband’s class at Rideau Public? Adam Thompson?”

      “Yes, that would be me.” There was nothing for it. She held out a hand. “Naomi Van Kemp. Nice to meet you.”

      Delight radiated from Jane’s face like a child suddenly handed a wonderful surprise. She reached out and clasped on to Naomi’s hand. “Jane Thompson. So nice to meet you. I saw your photo on Facebook, you see. Adam was talking about what a natural you are in the classroom and he showed me your profile. Are you planning to work in elementary when you graduate?” At last she released Naomi’s hand.

      “I’m hoping to get a grade four class.”

      “Like Adam.” Jane laughed, a husky playfulness in her voice. “He tried the grade seven and eight level but likes teaching the younger ones. I, on the other hand, love working with the intermediates. I’m at Winston Churchill Public.”

      Believe me, I know that. “Are you baking a pie?”

      “Pie?” Jane looked down at the bag filled with apples. “Goodness, I got carried away thinking about something else. No, I’m afraid these are for lunch bags. I’m really not much of a cook.”

      At least Naomi had something on her. Her parents had owned a bakery, and she’d cut her teeth on recipes and putting concoctions into the oven. Still, her skill in the kitchen felt like an inferior triumph. “Sorry again to have bumped into your cart. I have to get a move on.”

      “Lovely to have met you. Keep up your good work.”

      Again, her beatific smile, and Naomi had slunk away, certain then that Adam was as far out of her reach as the moon. She’d finished her student teaching placement without further incident. It was serendipity that she received a call to supply teach in the classroom next to his the week after his wife was arrested.

      And as Jane’s fortunes had plummeted, Naomi’s had grown to fill the gap.

      She looked across at Adam again and thought about the night ahead when they would be alone in his king-size bed. Cooking wasn’t the only talent she had to make Adam happy to leave his life with Jane behind. She’d put on the silk teddy and thong that she had picked up before they went away and remind him of all the benefits of living with a twenty-six-year-old.

      Just in case he needed reminding.

      CHAPTER TWO

      Tuesday, October 4

      Jacques Rouleau paid for his coffee and slipped between tables until he reached his team at the far end of the cafeteria. Gundersund moved into the chair on the other side of Woodhouse and Rouleau took his vacated seat at the head of the table. Kala Stonechild sat alone on Rouleau’s right. She looked up at him from her plate of scrambled eggs and bacon.

      “Anything exciting to report, sir?”

      “No. Still quiet on the major crimes front. That turned out to be the quietest September on record.”

      Gundersund nodded. “Following up on a quiet summer.” He speared a sausage on his plate. “I can’t say that I’ve minded though.”

      Rouleau caught the look that Woodhouse gave Stonechild. Something was going on between the two of them. Woodhouse hadn’t wanted her on the team — it wasn’t difficult to figure that out — but so far, the team was holding together. He could count on Gundersund to let him know if anything was getting out of hand. In any case, Stonechild would not appreciate his interference, of this he was certain.

      “Look, Bennett’s back.” Gundersund pointed toward the entrance and Rouleau turned in his chair. Gundersund raised a hand to wave Bennett over. “He’s looking fit.”

      “The young heal fast,” said Rouleau. Hard to believe Bennett had been in intensive care for two weeks from a gunshot wound five months earlier. He’d come as close to death as a person could without actually checking out.

      Bennett sat in the empty seat next to Stonechild after he grabbed a cup of coffee. He took a drink and said, “Coffee hasn’t gotten any better since I was off, but it’s good to be back otherwise. What’ve I missed?”

      “Nothing much.” Woodhouse bit into a cinnamon bun. “Your absence was barely noticed.” He smiled, a glob of icing hanging from his top lip.

      “Well, I missed you.” Kala tilted her head sideways and smiled at Bennett.

      Bennett’s dimples appeared. “Then it was worth taking a bullet.”

      Woodhouse tapped his temple. “Getting shot has turned you into a soppy wuss. Good thing you’ve returned to work so I can toughen you up before it becomes permanent.”

      Gundersund cleared his throat. “Welcome back, Bennett. You look completely recovered.”

      Bennett swung his eyes over to Gundersund. “I am. My mother’s relentless cooking helped. I never thought I’d say it, but I’m actually glad to be away from all the homemade pasta and casseroles. By the way, thanks for all