Too Good to Be True

“We do. Excellent choice,” he said, obviously smitten. I smiled, wondering when my little sister had learned to drink good vodka.

And so we chatted, Natalie telling me about the team she was on at Pelli, the house they were designing that would overlook the Chesapeake Bay, how much she loved her work. By comparison, I felt a little…well, a little pedestrian, I guess. Not that teaching wasn’t incredibly fulfilling, because it was. I loved my kids, my subject, and I felt like Manning, with its faded brick buildings and stately trees, was part of my soul. But despite Natalie’s genuine interest in hearing about how Dr. Eckhart fell asleep at the department meeting when I suggested revamping the curriculum and why it bugged me that Ava had never given so much as a B-, my news sounded pale.

It was at that moment that we heard a burst of laughter. We turned and saw a group of six or eight men just coming off the elevator into the bar, and right in front was Andrew.

I hadn’t seen him since the day he dumped me, and the sight of him was like a kick in the stomach. The blood drained out of my face, then flooded back in a sickening rush. A high-pitched whine shrilled in my ear, and I was hot, then cold, then hot again. Andrew. Not very tall, not all that good-looking, still on the scrawny side, his glasses sliding down his sharp nose, his sweet, vulnerable neck…. My entire body roared at his presence, but my mind was completely blank. Andrew smiled at one of his buddies and said something, and once again, his compadres burst into laughter.

“Grace?” Natalie whispered. I didn’t answer.

Then Andrew turned, saw us, and the same thing that had just happened to me happened to him. He went white, then red, his eyes grew wide. Then he forced a smile and headed our way.

“Do you want to go?” Nat asked. I turned to look at her and saw, without much surprise, that she looked, well, utterly beautiful. A rosy flush stained her cheeks, not like mine, which could grill a steak. One of her eyebrows was arched delicately in concern. Her slender hands with their neat, unpolished nails reached out to touch my hand.

“No! No, of course not. I’m fine. Hi, there, stranger!” I said, standing up.

“Grace,” Andrew said, and his voice was so familiar it was like a part of me, almost.

“What a nice surprise,” I said. “You remember Nat, of course.”

“Of course,” he said. “Hello, Natalie.”

“Hi,” she said in a half whisper, cutting her eyes away.

I wasn’t sure why I asked Andrew to join us for a few minutes. He pretty much had to say yes. We all sat together, so civilized and pleasant it could’ve been high tea at Windsor Castle. Andrew gulped upon learning that Nat lived in the same city where he worked, but covered well. Ninth Square, nice renovations over there. Oh, really, you’re at Pelli, how exciting…Funny. Small world. And you, Grace? How’s Manning? Kids good this year?

Great. Um…are your parents well? Good, good. Margaret and Stu? Great.

And so we sat there, Nat, Andrew, me and the four-ton elephant that was tap-dancing on the table. Andrew chattered like a nervous monkey, and though I couldn’t hear over the roaring in my ears, I could see everything as clearly as if I were on some sense-enhancing drug. Natalie’s hands were shaking just slightly, and to hide this fact, she’d folded them primly on the table. When she glanced at Andrew, her pupils dilated, though she was trying not to look at him at all. Above the neckline of her silky blouse, her skin was flushed, nearly blotchy. Even her lips looked redder. It was like watching the Discovery Channel’s show on the science of attraction.

If Natalie was…affected, well, Andrew was terrified. His forehead was dotted with sweat, and the tips of his ears were so red they looked ready to burst into flame. His voice was faster than usual, and he made a point to smile at me often, though he couldn’t seem to look me straight in the eye.

“Well,” he said the minute he could escape, “I should get back to my workmates there. Um, Grace…you…you look great. Wonderful to see you.” He gave me a fast hug, and I could feel the damp heat from his neck, smell the childlike sweetness of his skin, like a baby at naptime. Then he stepped back abruptly. “Natalie, uh, take care.”

She lifted her gaze from the table, and the elephant seemed to trip, fall and crash right on top of the table.

Because shining in her gorgeous, sky-blue eyes was a world of misery and guilt and love and hopelessness, and I, who loved no one as much as I loved Natalie, felt it like a shovel to the head. “Take care, Andrew,” she said briskly.

Both of us watched him walk away to rejoin his friends on the other side of the mercifully large restaurant.

“Want to go somewhere else?” Natalie suggested when Andrew was out of range.

“No, no, I’m fine. I like it here,” I said heartily. “Besides, dinner should be out soon.” We smiled at each other.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly.

“Oh, yeah,” I lied. “Sure. I mean, I loved him and all, he really is a great guy, but…you know. He wasn’t The One.” I made quote marks out of my fingers.

“He wasn’t?”

“Nope. I mean, he’s a great guy and all, but…” I paused, pretended to think. “I don’t know. There was something missing.”

“Oh,” she said, her eyes thoughtful.

Our dinners came. I’d ordered a steak; Nat had salmon. The potatoes were great. We ate and chatted about movies and our family, books and TV shows. When we got the check, Natalie paid and I let her. Then we stood up. My sister didn’t look in Andrew’s direction, just walked smoothly to the door in front of me.

But I glanced back. Saw Andrew staring at Natalie like a junkie needing a fix, raw and hurting and naked. He didn’t see me looking—he only had eyes for Nat.

I caught up to my sister. “Thanks, Nattie,” I said.

“Oh, Grace, it was nothing,” she answered, perhaps a bit too emotionally for the circumstances.

My heart thudded in my chest on the elevator ride down. I remembered my fourth birthday. Remembered the barrettes. The Saturday-morning cuddling. Her face as I’d left for college. I remembered that hospital waiting room, the smell of old coffee, the glare of the lights as I’d promised God anything, anything, if He’d save my sister. I considered what was in Natalie’s eyes when she looked up at Andrew.

I imagined what kind of character it took to walk away from what might be the love of your life for the sake of another. To feel the big kablammy and not be able to do a thing about it. I wondered if I had the selflessness for an act of that magnitude. I asked myself what kind of heart I really had. What kind of sister I really was.

“I had this very strange thought,” I said as we walked back toward Natalie’s apartment, arm in arm.

“So many of your thoughts are strange,” she said, almost hitting our usual vibe.

“Well, this one is pretty out there, but it feels right,” I said, stopping on the corner of the New Haven Green.

“Natalie, I think you should…” I paused. “I think you should go out with Andrew. I think he might’ve met the wrong sister first.”

Those amazing Natalie eyes flashed again—shock, guilt, sorrow, pain…and hope. Yup. Hope. “Grace, I would never…” she began.

“I know. I really do,” I murmured. “But I think you and Andrew should talk.”

I met Andrew for dinner a few days later. Told him the same thing I told Natalie. The same emotions flashed over his face as had flashed across hers, with one more. Gratitude. He put up a few gentlemanly objections, then caved, as I knew he would. I suggested they meet in person, rather than talk on the phone or e-mail. They took my suggestion. Natalie called me the day after their first meeting, and in tones of gentle wonder, told me how they’d walked through New Haven, ending up shivering on a bench under the graceful trees in Wooster Square, just talking. She asked, repeatedly, if this was really okay, and I assured her it was.

And it was, except for just one problem, so far as I could see. I wasn’t sure I was quite over Andrew myself.

CHAPTER NINE

ON SATURDAY MORNING, Angus shocked me into consciousness with his maniacal barking, clawing at the door as if a steak was being stuffed underneath it.

“What? Who?” I blurted, barely conscious. Glancing at the clock, I saw that it was only seven. “Angus! This house better be on fire, or you’re in big trouble.” Usually, my beloved pet was quite content to sleep squarely in the middle of my bed, somehow managing to take up two-thirds of it despite weighing a mere sixteen pounds.

An accidental look in the mirror showed me that my new hair tamer (which cost fifty bucks a bottle) clocked out after 1:00 a.m., which was when I went to bed the night before. So if in fact Angus was saving my life and our photo did appear on the front page of the paper, I’d better do something about that hair before rushing out into the flames. I grabbed an elastic, slapped my hair into a ponytail and felt the door. Cool. Opening it a crack, I smelled no smoke. Drat. There went my chance at meeting a hot fireman who would carry me out of the flames as if I were made of spun sugar. Still, I guessed it was a good thing that my house wasn’t going up in flames.

Angus flew down the stairs like a bullet, doing his trademark Dance of the Visitor at the front door, leaping straight up so that all four paws came off the floor. Oh, yes. Today was Bull Run, and Margaret was coming along.

Apparently she felt the need to rise early, but I needed coffee before I could kill any Johnny Rebs. Or was I killing Bluebellies today?

Scooping up Angus, I opened the door. “Hi, Margaret,” I mumbled, squinting at the light.

Callahan O’ Shea stood on my porch. “Don’t hurt me,” he said.

The bruise around his eye had faded considerably, still there, but yellow and brown had replaced the livid purple.

His eyes were blue, I noted, and the kind that turned down at the corners, making him look a little…sad. Soulful.

Sexy. He wore a faded red T-shirt and jeans, and there it was again, that annoying twinge of attraction.

“So. Here to sue me?” I asked. Angus barked—Yarp!—from my arms.

He smiled, and the twinge became more of a wrench.

“No. I’m here to replace your windows. Nice pajamas, by the way.”

I glanced down. Crap. SpongeBob SquarePants, a Christmas present from Julian. We had a tradition of giving horrible gifts…I’d given him a Chia Head. Then his words hit home. “Excuse me? Did you say you’re replacing my windows?”

“Yup,” he said, poking his head in the doorway and glancing around the living room. “Your father hired me the other day. Didn’t he tell you?”

“No,” I answered. “When?”

“Thursday,” he said. “You were out. Nice place you’ve got here. Did Daddy buy it for you?”

My mouth opened. “Hey!”

“So. Are you going to move aside so I can come in?”

I clutched Angus a little tighter. “No. Listen, Mr. O’ Shea, I don’t really think—”

“What? You don’t want an ex-con working for you?”

My mouth snapped shut. “Well, actually…I…” It seemed so rude to say it out loud. “No, thank you.” I forced a smile, feeling about as sincere as a presidential candidate pledging finance reform. “I’d rather hire another guy …um, someone who worked for me in the past.”

“I’ve been hired. Your father already paid me half.” He narrowed his eyes at me, and my teeth gritted.

“Well, that’s inconvenient, but you’ll have to give it back.” Angus barked from my arms, backing me up. Good dog.

“No.”

My mouth dropped open. “Well, sorry, Mr. O’ Shea, but I don’t want you working here.” Seeing me in my pajamas. Stirring things up. Possibly stealing my stuff.