An Unforgettable Lady (An Unforgettable Lady #1)(94)

"Hi. Where do you want to go?" Callie asked.

Grace suggested a small, out-of-the-way place where they could have some privacy.

As they walked, the fall wind kicked up a fuss around them, making brightly colored leaves tremble on the small trees planted into the sidewalk. John stayed close, only two steps behind.

The silence was awkward.

"I was surprised you called," Callie murmured. "I’m glad you did."

"Me, too." Grace wasn't sure she meant the words but she didn't know what else to say. The only thing they had in common was their father and he wasn't exactly the stuff of small talk.

When they were seated in the cafe, John took a table next to them, to give them some space.

After they ordered, there was more awkward silence.

Grace was trying not to stare at the woman and failing, while questions with no outlet flooded her brain. The things she wanted to know could only have come from her father and his death made her irate. Still, no matter how frustrated she was, Grace knew it wouldn't be fair to take it out on Callie. The woman hadn't asked to be born into such a mess.

While the waiter filled their water glasses, Grace wondered what they were going to talk about, but then, surprisingly, the conversation began to flow. It started with something trite, the decor in the restaurant. Callie commented on the floor, which was a massive decoupage of images of dancers. Grace pointed down to a 1920s flapper she'd always liked and Callie picked out a cancan girl. This led to a discussion about the reproduction French lithographs on the walls, and Grace's most recent visit to Paris. Slowly at first, then with increasing ease, they traded stories. By a kind of unspoken agreement, they stayed away from their childhoods and focused instead on more recent years, but the past was always between them.

Most particularly in the pauses of their conversation.

"I went to NYU for undergrad and graduate school," Callie was saying as their plates were cleared. "I wanted to be with my mother as she got sicker."

"Did you nurse her for long?" Grace asked, trying to imagine the pressure Callie must have been under at the time.

"A few years, but the hardest was the last four months. She refused help from my ... our father." Callie's eyes flashed upward with uncertainty. When Grace nodded, she went on. "He wanted to put her in a private hospital, but she was adamant, more to spite him than anything else. She was a very independent woman. The loss of control that came with the multiple sclerosis was very hard for her to deal with. Those last few months were the longest in my life. And in hers. It was a sad relief for both of us when she died."

Grace watched as Callie picked up a teaspoon and started drawing on the linen tablecloth idly. An image of their father came to mind and she had to force herself not to look away. Tracking the smooth movement, hearing that soft sound, she felt an awful sense of loss. And an odd kind of relief.

Although the beginning of the meal had been awkward, she was glad she'd called. The woman was smart, honest, and seemed very up-front and there was little about her that suggested she was a gold digger. What did come across, however, was the impression of someone who had lived a, hard life. There were glimpses here and there of what Callie had to face, not only with her mother's illness, but also with the isolation of being unacknowledged as a daughter.

As coffee was brought to the table, Grace sensed Callie didn't want to talk about her mother anymore. "So do you like art conservation?”

"I'm passionate about it and I wish I were working in the field instead of answering the phone at a gallery. I had some great project experience in school but the real world is hard. Conservation jobs are very competitive and, because my, mother was ill, I didn't want to look outside of this city." She shrugged. "It's probably time for me to get my resume out there. Now that I'm alone, I can go anywhere in the country. Or the world, really."



"Where would you like to go?"

Callie laughed and sipped her coffee. "I have no idea. I've always wanted options, but now that I have them, I'm overwhelmed and find that I only want to stay where I am."

Grace thought of the Foundation's own conservation department. Part of her didn't want Callie anywhere near the Hall Building. What if someone picked up on the family resemblance? She stared into the woman's face. The likeness to her father was subtle. Probably only noticeable if someone were looking for it and who would? No one had known about Cornelius's other life.

She hesitated but decided there was something very unattractive about refusing to help someone just because she was afraid of a remote consequence.

"Callie," she said, "perhaps you'd like to come in and talk to Miles Forsythe. He's our conservationist at the museum. He might be able to steer you to some positions. At the very least, he could give you the names of some people to talk to."

Callie slowly put her coffee cup down. Her eyes were startled, as if she never would have expected help from Grace. Or anybody else.

Looking as she did, it was impossible to believe she could be after money, Grace thought.

"I'd be very grateful," Callie answered.

After they were finished, they strolled back to the gallery and said good-bye on the sidewalk.

"I'll talk to Miles and get a date from him."

"Thank you." Callie shifted her small purse up further on her shoulder. "And you didn't have to pay for lunch."