Too Good to Be True (17 page)

Okay, okay, I admitted that I was desperately attracted to Callahan O’ Shea. And that was not a good thing. First of all, I wasn’t sure he liked me very much. Secondly…well. It wasn’t just the ex-con thing. Sure, if he’d beaten someone with a pipe or something, obviously he’d be out of the running. Embezzlement, yes, it was also a crime. But not that bad, right? If he was sorry…plus, he’d served his debt to society and all that crap….

No. It wasn’t his past, though obviously, I put a lot of weight on the past. It was the fact that my whole life, I knew what I wanted. Andrew had been The One, and look how that turned out. What I wanted now, God help me, was another Andrew, just without the whole sister-loving complication.

Callahan O’ Shea was ridiculously appealing, but I’d never relax around him. He was not the type to look at me adoringly. He…he…ah, crap, he was just too
much.
Too big, too good-looking, too appealing, too
stirring.
I felt too many things around him. It was disturbing, really. He made me irritable and lustful and sharp when I wanted to be sweet and loving and soft. I wanted to be…well, like Natalie. And I wanted a man who looked at me the way Andrew looked at Natalie. Not like Callahan, who looked like he knew my every dirty little secret.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I
WAS WORKING LATE AT
M
ANNING
one evening, putting together my presentation for the board of trustees, when Stuart paid me a visit.

“Hey, Stuart!” I exclaimed, getting up to kiss his cheek.

“How are you, Grace?” he asked politely.

“I’m okay,” I said. “Have a seat. Want some coffee or anything?”

“No, thank you. Just a few minutes of your time.”

Stuart looked awful. His eyes were shadowed and tired, and there seemed to be gray in his beard that wasn’t there a few weeks ago. Although we worked at the same school, Stuart’s office was in Caybridge Hall, a newer building on the southern side of the campus, far from Lehring, where the history department nestled appropriately in the oldest building at Manning. I rarely encountered Stuart at work.

I sat back behind my desk and took a deep breath. “You want to talk about Margaret?” I asked softly.

He looked down. “Grace…” He shook his head. “Has she told you why we’re…apart?”

“Um…” I paused, not sure how much I should reveal. “She’s said a few things.”

“I brought up the idea of us having a baby,” Stuart said quietly. “And she basically exploded. Suddenly, it seems, we’re having all sorts of troubles that I was completely unaware of. I’m quite boring, apparently. I don’t talk about work enough. She feels like she’s living with a stranger. Or a brother. Or a ninety-year-old man. We don’t have enough fun, we don’t just grab a toothbrush and rush off to the Bahamas—and here she works seventy hours a week, Grace! If I suggested we fly off somewhere, she’d kill me!”

He certainly had a point. Margaret was mercurial, putting it kindly.

He sighed wearily. “All I wanted was to talk—just talk—about the idea of having a baby. We decided we wouldn’t have kids when we were twenty-five, Grace. That was a long time ago. I figured we could revisit the idea. And now she said she’s filing for divorce.”

“A divorce?” I squeaked. “Oh, crap. I didn’t know that, Stuart.” I was quiet for a minute, then said, “But you know Margaret, buddy. She’s all thunder and lightning. I doubt she really wants…” My voice trailed off. I had no idea what Margaret really wanted. On the one hand, I couldn’t imagine her divorcing Stuart just like that. On the other, she’d always been impulsive. And completely unable to admit when she was wrong.

“What should I do?” he asked, and his voice broke just a little.

“Oh, Stuart.” I got out of my seat and went to him, patted his shoulder awkwardly. “Listen,” I murmured, “one thing she said to me was that…”
you only have sex on scheduled days
…I grimaced. “Um, maybe things were a little…routine? With you guys? So maybe a little surprise now and again—”
on the kitchen table
“—wouldn’t be a bad thing. Just sort of to show that you really…noticed her.”

“I do notice her,” he protested, wiping his eyes with one hand the way men do. “I love her, Grace. I’ve always loved her. I don’t understand why that’s not enough.”

Mercifully, my sister wasn’t home when I got there. As Stuart pointed out, she worked a very long day. Bemused, I threw together some dinner, then went upstairs to change for Dancin’ with the Oldies.

Callahan was busy these days at his own house, and I hadn’t seen him since he busted me for spying. I looked out the window at the new shingles on the roof, the curving and lovely little deck in the back. For the past two days, he’d been doing something inside, so I hadn’t been able to ogle him. Pity.

“Come on, Angus, buddy. Let’s go,” I said. I got my things and left the house, Angus trotting and leaping with delight at my side. He knew what Mommy’s swirly-twirly skirt meant. I got in the car, put it in Reverse and backed out onto the street as I had done a thousand times before.

Unlike those thousand other times, however, I heard a horrifying metallic crunch.

Callahan’s pickup truck was parked on the street, very close to my driveway. Well, okay, maybe not that close, but having gotten used to a clear runway ever since I’d lived here, I guess I took the turn kind of…yes. Okay. It was my fault.

I got out of the car to inspect the damage. Crap. I guessed that Callahan would be less than amused when I told him I’d just crushed his rear left taillight. Lucky for me, my own car was made of sturdy German stock, and there was only a little scrape where I’d hit the truck.

Glancing at my watch, I sighed, then dutifully trotted down the path to fess up.

I knocked briskly. No answer. “Callahan?” I called. “I just hit your truck!” Nothing. Fine, he was out. I didn’t have a pen, either, dang it, and if I went inside, I’d be late for dancing. I was cutting it close as it was.

He’d have to wait. I ran back down the path, shooed Angus out of the driver’s seat and headed off for Golden Meadows.

As I drove, Angus sitting on my lap, his adorable front paws resting on the steering wheel, I found myself wishing I was the single-mother type. I could just pop into a sperm bank and bingo. No man necessary. Life would be so much simpler.

I drove past the lake. The sun was setting, and a pair of Canada geese cruised in for a landing, their graceful black necks outstretched. The minute they touched water, each swam to the other, checking that the other was safe. Beautiful. That was the kind of tenderness I wanted. Super. I was now envying geese.

Pulling into the visitors’ lot at Golden Meadows, I bucked up a bit. This place was good for the spirit. “Hi, Shirley,” I said to the receptionist as I went in.

“Hello, Grace.” She smiled. “And who have we here? Why, it’s Angus! Hello, honey! Hello! Do you want a cookie?” I watched in amusement as Shirley convulsed in delight at the sight of my dog, who was extremely popular here. Angus, knowing he had a captive audience, raised his right paw and tilted his little head as Shirley swooned with joy.

“You sure you don’t mind watching him?” I asked as Angus delicately (we were in public, after all) ate the proffered cookie.

“Mind? Of course not! I love him! Yes, I do! I love you, Angus!”

Smiling, I walked down the hall. “Hey, everyone!” I called as I went into the activity room where we held Dancin’ with the Oldies each week.

“Hello, Grace!” they chorused. I hugged and kissed and patted, and my heart was eased a good bit.

Julian was there, too, and the sight of my old buddy made me just about burst into tears. “I miss you, ugly,” I said to him. Dancin’ with the Oldies hadn’t met last week, due to a conflict with a free blood pressure screening.

“I miss you, too,” he said, pulling a face. “This dating thing isn’t working for me, Grace. I say forget it.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“A whole lot of nothing,” he answered. “It’s just…I’m not meant to be with anyone, I think. Romantically, anyway. It’s not the worst thing to be alone, is it?”

“No,” I lied. “Not at all! Come over for
Project Runway
tomorrow, okay?”

“Thank you. I’ve been so lonely.” He gave me a sad smile.

“Me, too, buddy.” I squeezed his hand in relief.

“Okay, good people!” Julian called, patting my head and pushing Play. “Tony Bennett wants you to
Sing, You Sinners!
Gracie, let’s jitterbug!”

Three dances later, flushed and panting, I took a seat next to my grandmother. “Hello, Mémé,” I said, giving her withered cheek a kiss.

“You look like a tramp,” she hissed.

“Thank you, Mémé! You also look so pretty today!” I said loudly.

My grandmother was odd…her utmost pleasure in life was to put other people down, but I knew she was also proud of the fact that I came here, that everyone loved me. She might not have a kind word to say, but she liked having me around nonetheless. Somewhere in her sour old soul, I believed, was Nice Mémé, a woman who just had to have a little affection for her three granddaughters. So far, though, Mean Mémé had gagged and bound Nice Mémé, but you never knew.

“So what’s new, Mémé?” I asked, sitting next to her.

“What do you care?” she answered.

“I care. A little. I’d care more if you were nice to me once in a while.”

“What’s the point? You’re just after my money,” she said, waving her liver-spotted hand dismissively.

“I thought two hundred years of hard living would’ve used up your money by now,” I answered.

“Well, I have plenty. I buried three husbands, missy, and what’s the point of marriage if you’re not making money?”

“That’s so romantic, Mémé. Really. I have tears in my eyes.”

“Oh, grow up, Grace. A woman your age doesn’t have time to waste. And you should show me more respect. I might cut you out of my will.”

“Tell you what, Mémé,” I said, patting her bony little shoulder, “you take my portion and you spend it. Go on a cruise. Buy yourself some diamonds. Hire a gigolo.”

She harrumphed, but didn’t look my way. Instead, she was watching the dancers. I might’ve been wrong, but it seemed that her pinkie was keeping time to “Papa Loves Mambo.” My heart swelled with unwilling sympathy. “Want to dance, Mémé?” I asked softly. She could, after all, walk pretty well. The wheelchair was more for effect—she was better able to ram people if her center of gravity was lower.

“Dance?” she snorted. “With whom, dimwit?”

“Well, I’d—”

“Where’s that man you’re always talking about? Scared him off, did you? I’m not surprised. Or did he fall in love with your sister?”

I flinched. “Jesus, Mémé,” I said, my throat thickening with tears.

“Oh, get over it. It was a joke.” She glanced at me with disdain.

Still stunned, I moved away, accepting a rather stiff waltz from Mr. Demming. Mémé was my only living grandparent. I never met my biological grandfather—he was the first of the husbands that Mémé buried, but I loved him in theory, since my father had an arsenal of wonderful stories about him. Mémé’s other two husbands had been lovely men; Grandpa Jake, who died when I was twelve, and Poppa Frank, who died when I was in graduate school. My mom’s parents had died within months of each other when I was in high school. They, too, were quintessentially wonderful people. But because the fates were cruel, the only surviving grandparent I had was as mean as camel spit.

When Dancin’ with the Oldies was done, Julian kissed my cheek and said farewell. Mémé watched and waited, vulturelike, so I could follow her, slavelike, to her apartment. I knew from experience that if I told her she’d hurt my feelings, she’d just make it worse, tell me I had no sense of humor and then call my dad to complain about me. Resigned, I took the handles of her wheelchair and pushed her gently down the hall.

“Edith,” Mémé said loudly, stopping a fearful looking woman in her tracks. “This is my granddaughter, Grace. She’s visiting me. Grace, Edith is new here.” A Grinchy smile spread over her face. “Did
you
get any visitors this week, Edith?”

“Well, actually, my son and his—”

“Grace comes every week, don’t you, Grace?”

“I do. I help with the ballroom dancing class,” I said. “You’d be more than welcome to come.”

“Oh, I love dancing!” Edith cried. “Really? I can just stop in?”

“Seven-thirty to nine,” I answered with a smile. “I’ll look for you next week.”

Mémé, irritated that she wasn’t having better luck making Edith feel inferior, began her hacking cough-on-demand to get the attention back to herself.

“So nice to meet you,” I said to Edith, taking my cue to continue pushing the wheelchair. We continued through the foyer.

“Stop,” Mémé commanded. I obeyed. “You there! What do you want?”

A man was coming down one of the hallways that led off the main foyer. It was Callahan O’ Shea.

“If you’re thinking this would be a good place to rob, let me set you straight, young man. We have security cameras, you know! Alarms! The police will be here in seconds.”

“You two must be related,” Callahan said drily.

I smiled. “My grandmother. Eleanor Winfield, meet my neighbor Callahan O’ Shea.”

“Oh, the Irish.” She sneered. “Don’t loan him any money, Grace. He’ll drink it away. And for God’s sake, don’t let him in your house. They steal.”

“I’ve heard that,” I answered, grinning. Cal smiled back and there it was, that soft, hot feeling in my stomach.

“We had an Irish maid when I was a child,” Mémé continued, looking sourly at Callahan. “Eileen, her name was. Or Irene. Possibly Colleen. Do you know her?”

“My mother,” he said instantly. I choked on a laugh.

“She stole seven spoons from us before my father caught on. Seven.”

“We loved those spoons,” he said. “God, the fun we had with your spoons. Eating, hitting each other on the head, throwing them at the pigs in the kitchen. Happy times.”

“It’s not funny, young man,” Mémé sniffed.

I
thought it was funny. In fact, I was wiping my eyes, I was laughing so hard. “Visiting your grandfather, Callahan?” I managed to ask.

“That’s right,” he answered.

“How’s he doing? Think he wants me to come back and finish with the duke and Clarissia?”

Cal grinned. “I’m sure he does.”

I smiled back. “For a second, I thought you were here about your truck.”

His smile dropped. “What about my truck?”

I felt my face warming. “It’s hardly noticeable.”

“What, Grace?” His voice was hard.

“Just a little dent,” I answered, cringing a little. “Maybe a broken taillight.” He scowled. “Actually, it’s definitely…hey. I have insurance.”

“You need insurance,” he muttered.

“Grace! Take me back to my apartment,” Mémé ordered.

“Easy, Pharaoh,” I said. “I’m talking to my neighbor.”

“So talk to him in the morning.” She glared up at Callahan. He glared back, and I found myself grinning again. I liked a man who wasn’t scared of Mémé, and there weren’t many around.

“How’d you get here, Cal? I’m assuming you didn’t drive.”

“I rode my bike,” he answered.

“Would you like a ride? It’s dark out,” I said.

He looked at me for a second. Then the corner of his mouth pulled up in a smile, and my lady parts buzzed once more. “Sure. Thank you, Grace.”