you've found such a major violation that you've suggested it may be a criminal matter. How did you get from
point A to point F so quickly?"
Richard stiffened and all but sneered at me. "As I believe I already told you, Miss Gilbert, I can't go into the
details. I'm sorry." He rose, faced Steve, and only then
forced a smile. "Well. I've wasted enough of your time."
Steve, too, got to his feet as Richard continued, "I just
wanted to apologize, face-to-face, for jumping down your
throat last night."
"Hey. That's all right."
"No, it isn't. I leapt to some ridiculous conclusions.
I'm not always rational when it comes to Burke Stratton.
The man is bad news. If you continue to work with him,
you'll regret it. But that's your decision. And this has been
a hell of a lousy way to resume our friendship, S.S."
"Yeah. Cruddy circumstances." The men shook
hands. "Thanks for stopping by."
"Technically, since I'm the finalist judge till they accept my resignation, I shouldn't have said a word about
this. But I felt you deserved the heads-up. It was the least
I could do, really." He gave me a thin smile. "Sorry that
I'm forced to be so cryptic, Miss Gilbert."
Not knowing what else to say, I muttered, "Thank you.
Drive carefully."
The moment the door closed behind Richard,
P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 11
Sullivan dropped into his desk chair, shot me a look of
disgust, and snapped, "That was awkward."
"Yes, it was. And I'm sorry, but truth be told, my questions seemed completely reasonable to me."
"He'd just gotten through telling us that he shouldn't
even have been talking to us in the first place! That he
wasn't at liberty to discuss any details!"
"No, he hadn't, Sullivan. He must have told you that
over the phone. All he said at first in my presence was that
he was sorry to be so vague."
"It's the same thing!"
"No, it isn't. Apologizing for being vague is not at all
the same as being ethically or perhaps legally under a gag
order."
He made no comment and returned to his work--
rifling through several pictures of formal dining room
sets in order to whittle down the selection process to the
best two or three for our client. His every motion was
made with extra zeal and noise. I reclaimed my seat at my
desk, which was at a right angle to his, and tried to get
back to work, too. I gave up within only a minute or two.
"Why are you angry at me, Sullivan? Could you please
explain to me what's going on here?"
"I don't know what Richard knows, Gilbert. But I do
know he always tells it like it is. Always. So we need to listen." He paused, still so edgy I didn't dare interrupt. "I
wanted you two to like each other. He's a great motivator . . .
has such great vision. He believed in me when no one else
did, including myself. There was a time when just having
him look over my shoulder at a project I was struggling with
would suddenly help me to find the answers. Somehow, it
feels like the exact opposite is happening. As though he's
12 L e s l i e C a i n e
looking over my shoulder right now, and I'm suddenly seeing all our flaws."
My heart leapt to my throat. "Our flaws? You don't
mean in our relationship, do you?"
He ignored me. A silent yes!
I stared at him in profile. "Are you having second
thoughts about our decision not to see other people?"
He lifted his hands in exasperation. "Damn it, Gilbert!
I happily quit seeing other women because nobody measured up to you. But when I'm with you, I'm not measuring up to your standards, and--"
"That's not true," I cried, but he was talking over me.
"I'm always screwing up. It's always wrong! You were
right before. We shouldn't date."
His words seemed to hang in the air. I swiveled in my
chair to face my monitor and hide my expression from
him. "Oh. I see."
The phone rang.
"I didn't mean 'we shouldn't' as in 'we won't.' Just
that . . . you were right that it's not working."
"No, that's fine."
"The words just slipped out. I didn't mean to hurt your
"I'll get over it." Just like I could dive face-first through
the window and probably survive. Two years of harboring
a crush on this one man had just crushed me. Despite my
overwhelming urge to cry, I picked up the phone.
Sullivan had risen and was now leaning on my desk.
He whispered, "But I didn't mean that the way it
sounded."
I was too upset to listen. I cleared my throat and said,
"Sullivan and Gilbert Designs" into the phone.
"I don't want to stop seeing you."
P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 13
A woman was speaking. I asked her: "Can you please
hold?" and pressed the button without waiting for her response.
"Who is that?" Sullivan asked.
"I don't know. A soon-to-be-former client, most likely."
I sighed and looked up at him, suddenly feeling a horrid
pang that made it hurt to breathe. If only he weren't so
close to being everything I wanted, and yet never within
reach. "We can't do this now."
"I don't want to do this at all."
"Oh, Steve." I massaged my temples, willing myself
not to lose my composure. "I don't know if you mean 'do
this' as in breaking up or as in being together. But I just
meant that this isn't a good time for us to talk about it."
"No kidding. It's a train wreck. Look. Let me cover our
last two appointments this afternoon alone, while you see
if you can get us caught up here. Okay? Meet me tonight
at Richard's class. Please."
I nodded as I clicked back on the line and said, "This
is Erin Gilbert. I'm sorry to keep you waiting." Silence.
"Hello?" Nobody was there. Sullivan pushed out the
door.
"It is a train wreck," I muttered to myself.
The phone rang again, and I answered immediately.
"Erin, it's Burke," he said. His typically gentle voice
was tinged with desperation. "I need your help."
Had he already been told about the charges Thayers
had made against him? "Why? What's wrong?"
"Some idiot with an ax to grind has put me under investigation for false claims of rule violations. Turns out
the finalist judge is this guy named Richard Thayers, who
hates my guts. He did some work for me four years ago,
and it was all such garbage, I refused to pay. It had to be
14 L e s l i e C a i n e
him who made these ridiculous charges. But I don't
know for sure. Nobody at Earth Love would tell me."
"Should I--"
"At any rate," he interrupted, his words gushing out in
a semitirade, "I'm telling you, Erin, promising you even,
that the claims are totally bogus. But my status as a finalist is now pending. Worst part is, there'll be some sort of
trial. It'll be covered in the Crestview Sentinel. My name
will be dragged through the mud."
"I'm so sorry, Burke. That's terrible."
"I need you and
Steve to testify. I'll get Jeremy
Greene, my architect, to testify as well. Once I find out
what the charges are. Earth Love won't tell me that, yet,
either. They said I'll have to call back tomorrow morning,
after they've had a chance to read through the reports."
"I'll do what I can, Burke, but--" I stopped. This
wasn't the time to explain about Sullivan's possible conflict of interest. Burke was our client, and we'd been paid
to be on his side.
"But what?"
"Steve's not here, and we'll need to talk this over. All
three of us. Let's aim for sometime tomorrow, after you've
learned exactly what you're up against. Or Friday, if that
works better."
The other line was flashing with an incoming call. I
set a tentative time to meet at the office in the morning,
said a hasty good-bye to Burke, and answered the new
call. "Erin, this is Margot Troy," a woman's voice huffed.
"Did you realize you hung up on me?"
"Was that you on the phone just now?"
"A minute or two ago, yes. You tried to put me on
"I'm really sorry, Margot."
P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 15
"You've got too many clients. This is the reason I
didn't hire you to spruce up for the open house last
Saturday. Today I'd decided I wanted to hire you again,
for a second small job, but now I won't. In any case, it was
nice seeing you at the Earth Love open house, and best of
luck to Burke."
"That's very kind of you, Margot. And I'm--"
"True," she interrupted, "but it's also just basic manners. You should have thought to wish me well, for old
times' sake. But you're obviously too busy even to answer
my phone call."
"Margot, I am so--"
She hung up. "Sorry," I said to myself.
Margot Troy. My former client from hell. I found both
her and her home fascinating, though. The woman was
filthy rich, yet believed so strongly in recycling that she'd
built and furnished her home entirely from secondhand
or salvaged materials. I couldn't work for her until the
contest was over, in any case, but I needed to repair this
new rift. Tomorrow, maybe. If Sullivan and I had any free
time.
Thinking about Steve's and my schedules reminded
me that I didn't know what time Richard's class was. Had
either of them mentioned it? And what on earth was going on between Richard and Burke?
More importantly, were things over between Steve
and me? Were these walls thick enough that I could let
out a scream without causing anybody to call 911?
I took a calming breath and counted to ten. Okay. I
could still breathe. And count. All was not completely
lost. On most days, I love my job. I truly do. Just not this
particular day.
c h a p t e r 2
We cannot continue to abuse Earth's
resources, and we must all do our part.
Reducing wastefulness can be as simple and painless as using fewer paper
napkins and rethinking the type of wall
and window treatments we use.
--Audrey Munroe
This is what my life's work is all about, I thought
as I shed my coat and marveled at the deBLISS lectable ambience of my home's foyer. The
space itself was perfect: Currier and Ives,
Architectural Digest, welcome-to-my-lovely-life
perfect. The earthy tones and textural depths of
the pearl gray plaster walls were divine, as was
the sparkling chandelier, with its soul-cheering
wash of light. And the three white calla lilies in
the crystal vase atop the charming antique
table. But what was making my heart soar at the
moment was the breathtaking view of the parlor
through the French doors.
DOMESTIC
Never had I been forced to work quite so
hard on a room, and especially not on one
D o m e s t i c B l i s s 1 7
which already had such great bones--high ceilings,
hand-carved trim, and antique wide-plank floorboards.
I helped my landlady with interior design in lieu of paying rent, and it was as Sisyphean a task as I'd ever
known. This room had gone from a storage room for mismatched furniture to an arts-and-crafts rumpus room
and back more times than I could count. Even so, my
eventual triumphant design had been worth every exasperating moment: I had achieved bliss. I hung my
coat in the closet and entered my new favorite space.
From the mouthwatering reds and blues of the Oriental carpeting to the hint of peach in the medallion on
the marvelous coved ceiling, every item in this room was
beautiful on its own--and seemed even more extraordinary when seen as one piece of the whole composition. Within these four celery-toned walls, the textures,
shapes, and lines were in such harmony that the space
was nothing less than sublime. Even Hildi, my cat, looked
like a scenic prop as she sat curled into a black, satiny
oval shape on Audrey's gold brocade wing chair. Best
of all was that Audrey, the epitome of a recalcitrant and
skeptical home owner, now loved this room every bit as
much as I did.
Just around the corner, in stark contrast, the den had
a willy-nilly mishmash of furnishings. And around the
other corner, the walls of the dining room were undergoing yet another of Audrey's experiments in, well,
something or other. She used her house as a testing laboratory for possible segments on her local, Martha
Stewart-like TV show, Domestic Bliss with Audrey Munroe.
18 L e s l i e C a i n e
I greeted my kitty and sighed at the joy of being embraced by my warm surroundings. But my thoughts
quickly returned to my latest spat with Sullivan. Then it hit
me: If we ever got our act together, I would have to
move out of Audrey's fabulous house. Could that be
part of what was driving my interminable attraction to
him? Was I unconsciously drawn to him and our perpetual pattern of limbo, because it delayed me from having to grow up? From getting my own place and
moving forward with my life?
With sagging spirits, I made my way to the kitchen,
where I could hear Audrey working at the chopping
board. With Audrey at the helm, anything could be getting chopped, from carrots to strands of--
I lost my train of thought as a ghastly alteration to the
dining room ceiling commanded my full attention. Were
those cherubs?! And was this some kind of a fresco?
She'd painted a pink-and-yellow-hued baby, with its
torso on the ceiling and lower half on the wall. A second
baby was sitting on that one's shoulder, and a third was
apparently clinging to his ankle for dear life. I looked
again and corrected myself: her ankle.
Audrey must have heard my footsteps, because
she joined me in the dining room. "Erin! You're home
early!"
"Yes, but not for long. I'm grabbing something to eat,
then meeting Sullivan at CU. We're going to a community class together." Like metal paper clips to a magnet,
my vision was drawn once again to the ceiling."Audrey,
I have to ask. What's with the pudgy babies in the cor-D o m
e s t i c B l i s s 1 9
ner? You're not thinking of going all Sistine Chapel in
here, are you?"
"Are the cherubs too much?"
"That depends. If you're thinking of continuing to live
here, as opposed to turning the place into a museum or
a church, then yes."
She sighed."That's what I thought, too. I was going to
apply a decoupage of some sort, but then decided I
shouldn't be using up paper products. With all your emphasis on green home designs lately, you've raised my
social consciousness."
But apparently not your taste, I thought sourly.
"I couldn't help but think about all those poor trees
being cut down just to be ground up into wallpaper."
"There's a wide array of fabrics and sea grasses
available for wall treatments nowadays."
"Maybe so, but last year, I did a show segment on using paint to mimic wallpaper. That surely has to be an
even greener alternative. In terms of conservation, I
mean, not literally the color green. So, I was going to
paint a nice pink rose up there. Unfortunately, it started
to look like a baby's derriere. Then I started to think
about you and Steve, and what adorable babies the
two of you would have, and next thing you know, voila!"
"Eww! I'm never going to allow Sullivan into our dining room again!" Panicked, I scanned all the walls and
the ceiling. "Thank God. No storks." I shook my head in
exasperation. "This grandmother thing must be getting
to your head!" Some six months ago, she'd been thrilled
to welcome her first grandchild, and her eldest son had
20 L e s l i e C a i n e
just announced that he and his wife, too, were expecting--but they all lived hundreds of miles away. Locally, I
seemed to be the next best thing to a blood relative.
"You were the one who admitted your biological
clock was going off."
"That was just a moment of weakness, inspired by two
glasses of Beaujolais on an empty stomach." I brushed
past her into the kitchen and headed straight for the refrigerator. I had a leftover serving of pasta with pesto in
there that was perfect for a quick dinner. "Besides, you
know how it is with Steve and me.You'll be working on a
second coat, with every inch of the dining room filled
with bouncing babies, before we'll have fully committed to our relationship. If we ever do."
She studied my features, her own expression crestfallen."Oh, Erin.You're saying you two are back to an 'if'