I’d briefly flirted with the idea of telling my family Wyatt and I had broken up, then I decided I needed him a little longer. This morning, I’d Googled medical conventions and surgeons and found one in the City by the Bay.
Extremely convenient.
“Things are good with you two?” Nat asked.
“Oh, I guess. He works too much. If there’s one fly in the ointment, it’s that.” My evil plan was to plant these seeds so I could ease everyone into the idea of a breakup. “He’s always at the hospital, and now he’s up in Boston …He’s so devoted to his work. I guess it’s the classic complaint of the doctor’s wife.”
Oops. Hadn’t actually meant to say that last sentence. Natalie’s face glowed even more beautifully, if possible.
“Do you think you guys might get married?”
Oh, crap. “Um, well…I don’t know. The work thing is something we have to figure out. And of course, I’ve been burned before.”
And again. Didn’t mean to say that last bit. Natalie flinched.
“I mean, I’ve picked the wrong guy before, so I want to be careful and all. Make sure he’s the right one.”
“But you think he is?”
I tipped my head, pretending to consider the question. After all, Wyatt and I were going to have to break up.
Rather soon, in fact, since obviously I couldn’t keep this up forever. “He’s…” I smiled at Natalie in what I imagined was modest adoration. “He’s pretty wonderful, Nat. I just wish we had more time together.”
The back door banged open, and Margaret appeared before us. “Grace, your dog just broke a vulva. And Mom wants you to come in and eat, anyway.” She fisted her hands on her hips. “And did it ever occur to you two that I might be jealous of your little club? Christ Almighty and His five sacred wounds, girls! Can’t I be included once in a while?”
“She swears like some ex-nun turned sailor,” Natalie murmured.
“Yeah. You have to wonder how she spends her free time,” I seconded.
“Quit your whining,” Nat called to our big sis. “You two are living together, so don’t talk to me about clubs, okay?”
Margaret tromped over to us. “Move over, favorite,” she grumbled, shoving my shoulder so she could sit down. “Is everything okay out here? I’ve been spying through the windows.”
“Everything’s great. I’m Nattie’s maid of honor,” I said. It felt okay. Yes. It would be fine.
“God’s sandals, Natalie! You want Andrew’s former fiancée to be your f**king maid of honor?”
“Yes,” Nat answered calmly. “But only if she wants to be.”
“And I do,” I said, sticking my tongue out at Margaret.
“So? What am I, Nat? Can I maybe sweep up for you? Maybe I could do dishes at the reception and peek out at you once in a while, if you don’t think I’ll be blinded with your golden beauty, your majesty.”
“God, listen to her,” Nat giggled. “Would you be my bridesmaid, Margaret dear?”
“Oh, gosh, thanks, yes. I can’t wait.” Margaret shot me a look. “Maid of honor, huh? Freaky.”
“Margs, you’ve met Wyatt, right?” Natalie asked.
Margaret stuck her tongue in her cheek. “Sure,” she answered. I closed my eyes.
“What do you think?” Nat sat up straighter, grinning. She always did love girl talk.
“Well, aside from that sixth toe on his left foot, he’s pretty cute,” Margs said.
“Very funny,” I answered. “It’s barely a nub, Natalie.”
Natalie was laughing. “What else, Margs?”
“Well, the way he sucks on Grace’s ear is pretty disgusting. Especially in church. Yick.”
“Come on, I’m serious,” Natalie wheezed, wiping her eyes.
“That wandering eye freaks me out.”
When our mother came out to find what was keeping her girls, she found us helpless with laughter on the bench under the maple tree.
My good humor remained as Angus and I walked home along the Farmington. A path meandered through the state forest that bordered the river, and though the gnats were out, they were harmless enough if I ignored them.
Angus trotted ahead on his long leash, stopping frequently to pee, sniff and pee some more, making sure that all the other dogs who came down this path would know that Angus McFangus had been there before them.
Natalie and Andrew had set a date after poring over Mom’s calendar. June fourth, the day after Manning’s graduation. Four weeks from now. Four weeks to break up with my imaginary boyfriend, four weeks to possibly find a date for yet another wedding. I imagined being stag at this one. Bleecch. Yet the thought of turning myself inside out to find someone was equally distasteful.
Angus barked and trembled. Up ahead, someone was fly-fishing in the river, hip boots on, the long line of his pole arcing out in a golden, serpentine flash. The sun shone on his messy hair, and I smiled, somehow not surprised to see my neighbor.
“Catching anything, or are you just trying to look pretty?” I called.
“Howdy, neighbor,” he called back. “Haven’t caught a thing.”
“You poor slob.” I picked my way over the rocks to get closer. “Don’t blind me with your hook, okay?”
“Why? Seems like I owe you a few cuts and bruises,” he said, sloshing over toward me. Angus began yarping.
“Quiet, you,” Cal said sternly, which set Angus off into hysterics. Yarpyarpyarpyarp! Yarpyarpyarpyarpyarp!
“You have such a way with animals,” I said. “Do small children burst into tears at the sight of you?”
He laughed. “What are you doing out here, Grace?”
“Oh, just headed for home,” I answered.
“Want to sit for a while? I have cookies,” he said temptingly.
“Are they homemade?” I asked.
“If by homemade, you mean bought at the bakery, then yes,” he answered. “They’re good. Not compared to your brownies, though. Those things were out of this world. Worth all the pain I had to go through to get them.”
“Aw. Well, that was such a nice compliment, maybe I’ll bake you some more.” I sat on a rock that jutted over the river, holding Angus on my lap, where he growled at the man in front of us.
“Why don’t you let Angus off the leash?” Cal suggested.
“Oh, no,” I said. “He’d go right for the water and get swept away.” I hugged my little pal a little closer. “We don’t want you to drown, do we, sweet coconut baby? Hmm? No. We don’t.”
“Some of us do,” Callahan said. The cookies were from Lala’s—sad, really, that I could recognize baked goods from twenty yards—crumbly and delicious peanut butter cookies with crystals of sugar sparkling in the crisscross marks.
Cal offered a cookie to Angus who snapped it up, catching part of Cal’s finger. Cal jerked his hand back, sighed, looked at the wounded extremity and held out his finger for my inspection. Two tiny drops of blood showed.
“You poor thing,” I said. “Shall I call 911?”
“Why don’t you call a lawyer?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Possibly Margaret. Your dog is becoming a menace.
Between the two of you, I can’t believe I’m still alive.”
“Tragic, really. Well, you’ll be moving soon, right?”
“Yup. I’m sure you’ll miss me.”
Dang it. I would miss him. The sun shone on his hair, illuminating all the shades of brown and caramel and gold. It wasn’t fair that this guy could look like an ad for Outdoor Living, oozing sex appeal in wader boots and a flannel shirt. The sleeves were rolled up to reveal his tanned forearms. His lashes were golden and straight and really just pointlessly attractive, and my girl parts were begging me to do something.
I cleared my throat. “So, Cal, how’s your love life? I happened to see you again with that blonde from the bar.”
“Spying again, Grace? I thought we had an understanding.”
I sighed in exasperation. “She was right on the front porch. I was weeding.” I paused. “You kissed her.”
“On the cheek,” he said.
“Mmm-hmm. Which some women find very romantic.” He said nothing. “So? What about the lawn you want to mow?”
“That’s kind of a crude way to refer to sex, isn’t it, Grace?”
I blinked, then laughed. “I meant what you said that time. You wanted a wife, some kids, a lawn to mow.”
“And I do.” He cast the line out again, not looking at me.
“So how’s the search going?” I asked.
“Not bad,” he answered after a beat or two. Angus growled.
Not bad. What did that mean? “Well.” I stood up and brushed off my jeans. “Thanks for the cookie, mister. Good luck with your fishing. For the wife and the trout.”
“Have a nice day, Grace.”
“You, too.”
As I walked the rest of the way home, I tried to talk myself out of lusting after Callahan O’ Shea. Reminded myself that he wasn’t husband material, not for me. We weren’t compatible. Because…um…well, because… Let’s face it. Callahan O’ Shea was very fun to look at, that was true. Maybe he liked me. He flirted with me…a little. Sometimes. He flirted more with Margaret, to be honest. I’d seen them talking the other day, laughing like old friends over the back fence. Regrettably, I’d been on the phone at the time, so I hadn’t been able to eavesdrop.
One thing was certain however. I did not feel safe around him. Not that he would rob me, no, of course not. But if Andrew had broken my heart, imagine what Callahan O’ Shea could do to it. Crush it until there was nothing left but rubble. Let’s be honest. For someone like me—the little schoolteacher who danced with old people, loved Civil War movies and playing pretend—to be with someone like him, this vital, vaguely dangerous man who radiated and bristled with sex appeal…it had to be a bad idea. A disaster waiting to happen.
I just wished I could stop thinking about it.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
IT WAS QUITE A RELIEF to have Julian back as a regular feature in my life. And not only did I have him, but also the handsome and debonair Tim Gunn, since Project Runway was on. Margaret had deigned to come downstairs, I’d made popcorn and brownies, and it was the happiest I’d felt in a good while.
This week had been tough at school. The kids were dying to do anything but learn, and the seniors’ year had basically ended once they’d heard from the colleges. I understood, had shown Glory instead of making them work, but still. I couldn’t do nothing, either, which was what Ava was doing…letting the seniors text their friends and gossip, despite the fact that classes wouldn’t end for weeks.
Speaking of Ava, her presentation to the board had been (from her own account, anyway) dazzling. The fact that she was sleeping with the chairman (according to Kiki, seconded by Paul and hinted at by Ava herself) certainly wasn’t hurting her cause. My presentation was soon, and I’d been going over it feverishly, wondering if I should pull back on the changes I wanted to make, stick with the status quo a bit more.
On the dating front, eCommitment had offered up a mortician whose passion was taxidermy (understandable, I guess, but that didn’t mean I had to date him) and an unemployed man who lived in his parents’ basement and collected Pokémon cards. Come on! I was tired of looking. Granted, I hadn’t been at it very long, but I wanted a break. I’d break up with Wyatt and just tell my family he was a workaholic, the end. Then I could relax and just enjoy life. I thought it was a great plan.
“Which one is that again?” Margaret asked, stuffing more popcorn into her mouth. She was supposedly working on a brief and did indeed have a yellow legal pad next to her, but it was forgotten as she succumbed to the siren call of my favorite show.