“Happy by Clinique,” Jillian replied.
Aimee’s brow puckered. “Wasn’t that Christine’s perfume?”
“Last time I checked, she didn’t have an exclusive on it.” Jillian downed the rest of her wine, then set her empty on the tray held by the still-hovering waiter and reached for another glass. “I’ve always loved it.”
“Yes, but smell is most closely related to memory,” Aimee said earnestly. “It might be painful for family members.”
“I was family, too.” Tears sprang to Jillian’s eyes. “Does anyone care how painful it is for me?”
Jillian was slurring her words. Oh, dear—she’d drunk too much, and it was still nearly forty minutes before dinner. I worriedly watched as she took a long pull from her fresh glass. Aimee noticed, too. “Let’s go someplace private to talk.” She turned and touched her husband’s arm. “We’re all going to the powder room.”
“I’ve never understood why women always have to go together,” he said with a good-natured grin at Matt and Phillip.
I thought maybe I should stay back, but Kirsten grabbed my arm and pulled me along.
Fortunately, the ladies’ room was empty. Aimee pulled a tissue from a holder on the counter and handed it to Jillian. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” she said gently.
“I know. No one does it intentionally.” Jillian dabbed her eyes. “It’s jus’... well, everyone worries about Matt and the girls andMom and Dad, and I lost a loved one, too. She was my sister and my best friend, and I loved her as much as anyone.”
“We all know how close you two were,” Kirsten said.
“Well, here’s something you probably don’t know. Do you have any idea how hard it always was, being in Christine’s shadow?” Jillian wiped her nose. “She was the oldest, so she always got first choice, first dibs, first shot at everythin’—and everythin’ she tried, she was great at. I didn’t want to compete, so I just tried to be different, even though I liked a lot of the same things she liked.” The tears were really flowing now, just pouring down her face. “My whole life has been like Opposite Day to whatever Christine did. Even now that she’s dead, I can’t do the things I like if she did them first.”
Kirsten patted her back. “Oh, Jillian, sweetie, you can do whatever you want.”
“No, I can’t! Not without being compared and judged.” She let out a sound that was half sob, half hiccup. “I always wanted to lighten my hair, but Christine was blond, so I didn’. When I finally did a few weeks ago, my mother said I shouldn’ try to copy Christine. And I’ve always loved this perfume, and...”
She dissolved into weeping.
“I’m so sorry, Jillian,” Aimee said softly.
“You know what?” Jillian said bitterly. “I wish it was me who’d died.”
“Oh, Jillian, you can’t mean that.” Kirsten cast me a worried look over Jillian’s bowed head.
“I do. I sometimes wonder if my parents—and Matt and the girls, of course—wish I’d been the sister with the aneurysm.”
“You can’t think like that!” Aimee said.
“I can’ help it.” Her voice was low and ragged. The slurring was getting worse. “What they don’ know is, I would have traded spots with Christine in a heartbeat. I would gladly trade the rest of my life to have two beautiful children and the love of a man like Matt for even a few years.”
We all exchanged concerned glances. “Honey... I think that wine hit you hard,” Aimee said.
“Have you eaten anything today?” Kirsten asked.
Jillian shook her head. “I couldn’. I was too upset. I thought Matt was going to be my date, an’ then I found out he didn’ even know it was an event people bring dates to.”
Kirsten looked at me. Apparently Jillian either thought Matt and I were just friends, or she was in complete denial. “Why don’t I go get you some crackers,” I suggested, feeling like an interloper.
“Oh, I couldn’ possibly eat. I don’ feel so good. I’m dizzy.” She put her hand on her mouth. “An’ quizzy.”
“Why don’t I drive you home,” Kirsten offered.
“But I don’t want to miss...” Jillian cut off mid-sentence to make a staggering dash to a toilet stall.
“Go pull your car around to the kitchen entrance,” Aimee told Kirsten. “We’ll take her out the back door.”
31
