Too Good to Be True

I wandered over to sit with Mémé for a bit. She was watching Cousin Kitty, who was as sensitive as a rhino, dancing with her new husband to “Endless Love.” “So what do you think of all this, Mémé?” I asked.

“Bound to happen. People should be more like me. Marriage is a business arrangement. Marry for money, Grace. You won’t be sorry.”

“Thanks for the advice,” I said, patting her bony shoulder. “But really, Mémé, were you ever in love?”

Her rheumy eyes were faraway. “Not especially,” she said. “There was a boy, once…well. He wasn’t an appropriate match for me. Not from the same class, you see.”

“Who was he?” I asked.

She gave me a sharp look. “Aren’t we nosy today? Have you gained weight, Grace? You look a little hefty in the hips. In my day, a woman wore a girdle.”

So much for our heart-to-heart. I sighed, asked Mémé if she wanted another drink and wandered off to the bar.

Margaret was already there.

“So?” I asked. “How was the kitchen table?”

“It actually wasn’t that comfortable,” she said, grinning. “You know, it was muggy last night, the humidity made me stick like Velcro, so when he actually—”

“Okay, that’s enough,” I broke in. She laughed and ordered a glass of seltzer water.

“Seltzer, hmm?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes. “Well, when I was living at your house, I kind of decided that maybe a baby…well, maybe it wouldn’t be awful. Someday. Maybe. We’ll see. Last night he said he wanted a little girl just like me—”

“Is he insane?” I asked.

She turned to look at me, and I saw her eyes were wet. “I just thought that was the sweetest thing, Grace. It really got to me.”

“Yes, but then you’d have to raise it. The Mini-Margs,” I said. “That man must really love you.”

“Oh, shut up, you,” she said, laughing in spite of herself. “The baby idea seems kind of…well. Kind of okay.”

“Oh, Margs.” I smiled. “I think you’d be a great mom. On many levels, anyway.”

“So you’ll babysit, right? Whenever I have spit-up in my hair and a screaming baby in my arms and I’m ready to stick my head in the oven?”

“Absolutely.” I gave her a quick hug, which she tolerated, even returned.

“You doing okay, Grace?” she asked. “This whole Andrew thing has come full circle, hasn’t it?”

“You know, if I never hear that name again, I’ll be glad,” I said. “I’m fine. I just feel so bad for Nat.”

But she’d be okay. Even now, she was laughing at something my father said. Both my parents were glued to her side, Mom practically force-feeding her hors d’ oeuvres. Andrew wasn’t worthy of her.

Or of me, for that matter. Andrew never deserved me. I could see that now. A man who accepts love as if it’s his due is, in a word, a jerk.

Callahan O’ Shea…he was another matter altogether.

“So what are your plans for the summer?” Margs asked. “Any offers on the house yet?”

“Two, actually,” I answered, taking a sip of my gin and tonic.

“I have to say, I’m surprised,” Margs commented. “I thought you loved that house.”

“I do. I did. I just…It’s time for a fresh start. Change isn’t the worst thing in the world, is it?”

“I guess not,” she said. “Come on, let’s go sit with Nattie.”

“Here they are!” Dad boomed as we approached. “Now the three prettiest girls in the world are all together.

Make that four,” he quickly amended, putting his arm around Mom, who rolled her eyes.

“Dad, did Grace tell you she’s selling her house?” Margaret asked.

“What? No! Honey! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it’s not a group decision, Dad.”

“But we just put new windows in there!”

“Which the Realtor said would help it sell,” I said calmly.

“Where are you going, then?” Mom asked. “You wouldn’t go far, would you, honey?”

“Nope. Not far.” I sat next to Nat, who was doing that mile-long stare I had mastered myself a year and a half ago.

“You okay, kiddo?” I asked.

“Yeah. I’m fine. Well, not fine. But you know.” I nodded.

“Hey, did you ever hear about the history department job?” Margs asked.

“Oh, yes,” I answered. “They hired someone from outside. But she seems great.”

“Maybe she’ll give you a raise,” Dad speculated. “It’d be nice if you earned more than a Siberian farmer.”

“I was thinking of picking up work as a high-class hooker,” I said. “Do you know any politicians who are looking?”

Natalie laughed, and the sound made us all smile.

A while later, after dinner had been served, I headed into the ladies’ room. From the stalls came the voice of my smug cousin Kitty.

“…so apparently, she just was pretending to date someone so we wouldn’t feel sorry for her,” Kitty was saying.

“The doctor was completely made up! And then there was something about a convict she’d been writing to in prison…” The toilet flushed, and Kitty emerged. From the next stall came Aunt Mavis. Upon sighting me, they both froze.

“Hello, ladies,” I said graciously, smoothing my hair in the mirror. “Are you enjoying yourselves? So much to gossip about, so little time!”

Kitty’s face turned as red as a baboon’s butt. Aunt Mavis, made of stronger stuff, simply rolled her eyes.

“Do you have any questions about my love life? Any gaps in your information? Anything you need from me?” I smiled, folded my arms across my chest and stared them down.

Kitty and Mavis exchanged a look. “No, Grace,” they said in unison.

“Okay,” I answered. “And just for the record, he was on death row. Sorry to say, the governor turned down his stay of execution, so I’m on the prowl again.” I winked, smiled at their identical looks of horror, and pushed my way into a stall.

When I rejoined my family, Nat was getting ready to go. “You can stay with me, Bumppo,” I said.

“No, thanks, Grace. I’ll stay with Mom and Dad for a few days. But you’re sweet to offer.”

“Want me to drive you?” I asked.

“No, Margs is taking me. We have to make a stop first. Besides, you’ve done enough today. Beating up Andrew …thanks for that.”

“My pleasure,” I said with complete sincerity. I kissed my sister, then hugged her a long, long time. “Call me in the morning.”

“I will. Thanks,” she whispered.

Walking to my car, I fished the car keys out of my bag. What seemed like aeons ago, I had promised my little old lady friends at Golden Meadows that I’d stop by tonight. They wanted to see my fancy dress and hear how the wedding went. Well, Dad had taken Mémé home before dinner. Chances were, the residents of Golden Meadows knew quite well how the wedding went.

But I figured I’d go just the same. Tonight was the Saturday Night Social. I could probably scare up someone to dance with, and though he wouldn’t be under eighty years old, I felt like dancing, oddly enough.

I drove across town and pulled into Golden Meadows’s parking lot. There was no sign of Callahan’s battered pickup truck. I hadn’t seen him since the day he left Maple Street, though I had stopped in to see his grandfather.

As Cal had mentioned, the old man wasn’t doing well. We’d never even finished the book.

On impulse, I decided to stop in and see Mr. Lawrence. Who knew? Maybe Callahan would be there. Betsy, the nurse on duty, buzzed me in with a wave. “You just missed the grandson,” she said, cupping her hand over the receiver.

Drat. Well, Callahan wasn’t my reason for coming, not really. I walked down the hall amid the familiar, sad sounds of this particular ward—faint moans, querulous voices and too much quiet.

Mr. Lawrence’s door was open. He was asleep in his hospital bed, small and shrunken against the pale blue sheets. An IV, new from the last time I’d come by, snaked from a clear plastic tube into his arm, and tears pricked my eyes. I’d been coming to Golden Meadows long enough to know that in cases like this, an IV usually meant the patient had stopped eating and drinking.

“Hi, Mr. Lawrence, it’s Grace,” I whispered, sitting down next to him. “The one who reads to you, remember? My Lord’s Wanton Desire? The duke and the prostitute?”

Of course, he didn’t answer. To the best of my recollection, I’d never heard the voice of Cal’s grandfather. I wondered what he’d sounded like when he was a younger man, teaching Cal and his brother to fly-fish, helping them with their homework, telling them to finish their vegetables and drink their milk.

“Listen, Mr. Lawrence,” I said, putting my hand on his thin and vulnerable arm. “I just wanted to tell you something.

I was dating your grandson for a little while. Callahan. And basically, I screwed things up and he broke up with me.” I rolled my eyes at myself, not having planned on a deathbed confession. “Anyway, I just wanted to tell you what a good man he is.”

A lump came to my throat, and my voice dropped back to a whisper. “He’s smart and funny and thoughtful, and he’s always working, you know? You should see the house he just fixed up. He did such a beautiful job.” I paused.

“And he loves you so much. He comes here all the time. And he’s…well, he’s a good-looking guy, right? Chip off the old block, I’m guessing.”

The sound of Mr. Lawrence’s breathing was barely audible. I picked up his gnarled, cool hand and held it for a second. “I just wanted to say that you did a great job raising him. I think you’d be really proud. That’s all.”

Then I leaned over and kissed Mr. Lawrence’s forehead. “Oh, one more thing. The duke marries Clarissia. He finds her in the tower and rescues her, and they live…you know. Happily ever after.”

“What are you doing, Grace?”

I jumped like someone had just pressed a brand against my flesh. “Mémé! God, you scared me!” I whispered.

“I’ve been looking for you. Dolores Barinski said you were supposed to come to the social, and it started an hour ago.”

“Right,” I said with a last glance back at Mr. Lawrence. “Well, let’s go, then.”

So I wheeled my grandmother down the hall, away from the last link I had to Callahan O’ Shea, knowing that I would probably not see Mr. Lawrence again. A few tears slipped down my cheeks. I sniffed.

“Oh, cheer up,” Mémé snapped omnisciently from her throne. “At least you have me. That man isn’t even related to you. I don’t know why you even care.”

I stopped the wheelchair and went around to face my grandmother, ready to tell her what a sour old pain in the butt she was, how vain and rude, how selfish and insensitive. But looking down on her thinning hair and wrinkled face, her spotted hands adorned with too-big rings, I said something else.

“I love you, Mémé.”

She looked up, startled. “What’s wrong with you today?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to tell you.”

She took a breath, frowning, her face creasing into folds. “Well. Are we going or not?”

I smiled, resumed pushing and headed to the social. It was in full swing, and I danced with all my regulars and a few people I didn’t recognize. I even took Mémé out for a spin in the wheelchair, but she hissed at me that I was making a fool of myself and wondered loudly if I’d had too much to drink at the club, so I took her back.

Eventually. After two songs, that is.

My dress was admired, my hands were patted and held, even my hair was deemed pretty. I was, in other words, happy. Nat was heartbroken, and my own heart wasn’t doing too well, either. I’d ruined something lovely and rare with Callahan O’ Shea and made an idiot of myself in front of my family by faking a boyfriend. But that was okay.

Well, the idiot part was okay. Callahan, though…I’d miss him for a long time.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

WHEN I GOT HOME from Golden Meadows, it was nearly ten. Angus presented me with two rolls of shredded toilet paper, then trotted into the kitchen to show me where he’d vomited up a few wads. “At least you did it on the tile,”

I said, bending down to pet his sweet head. “Thank you for barfing in the kitchen.” He barked once, then stretched out in Super Dog pose to watch me clean.

“I hope you’ll like our new place,” I said, donning the all-too-familiar rubber gloves I used when cleaning Angus’s, er, accidents. “I’ll pick us out a winner, don’t you worry.” Angus wagged his tail.

Becky Mango had called yesterday. “I know this might be weird,” she said, “but I was wondering if you might be interested in the house next door to you. The one Callahan fixed up? It’s just charming.”

I’d hesitated. I loved that house, heaven knew. But I’d already lived in a house that was all about one failed relationship. Buying Cal’s, though it cost roughly the same as mine, would’ve been too Miss Havisham for me.

No. My next house would be about my future, not about my past. “Right, Angus?” I said now. He barked helpfully, then burped and flipped onto his back, craftily suggesting that I take a break from cleaning up his vomit to scratch his tummy. “Later, McFangus,” I murmured.