Life and Other Inconveniences(84)

So Mom was doing some digging of her own. She saw me and waved. I smiled back and kept going through to Gigi’s private staircase. (Who invented things like that?) Calista was Mom’s best friend back home, and a neurologist. She was fabulous. One of those adults who didn’t talk down to me about med school and said I could shadow her when I was eighteen if I still wanted to be a doctor. I sort of did. It was hard to say; when you’re good in math and science, everyone thinks medicine, right? Mom said there are a thousand things I could do, and I shouldn’t pigeonhole myself into any one thing until I was older.

I told you she was kind of perfect. Most kids who are smart in Downers Grove (and everywhere) have parents who are hovering over them, writing their college essays and seeing a shrink if the kids don’t make high honors. My mom just said to do your best and be happy.

Come to think of it, I was really happy these days. Maybe I’d go into fashion. Follow in Genevieve’s footsteps. Start the Riley London line, which, come on, how cool did that sound?

Down the long hall of the master wing to Genevieve’s bedroom. The door was closed almost all the way, and I knocked with my elbow and went in.

Gigi was sitting in a chair by the window, looking at a photo album.

“Dinner is served,” I said, setting the tray on the table next to her.

“Oh, aren’t you a dear,” she said, sounding a lot better than earlier. She looked at the tray, with its cloth napkin and flower and my dorky little note that said Feel better, Gigi! “This is lovely! How kind you are, Riley.” She smiled up at me, and I felt myself blushing, dorkishly proud.

“Well. You seemed down before. At Rose Hill.”

Her gaze flickered. “A bit, yes. I’ve been Hope’s guardian all her life. I worry about her.”

“My mom will take good care of her, Gigi. And so will I.”

“She’s your aunt, isn’t she? How strange.”

“We visit every year. Mom goes twice a year.”

“I know. That’s very good of her, especially given her father’s lack of attention. I would understand if she had nothing to do with Hope.”

“Then you don’t know my mom at all.”

“Touché, darling, and good for you for standing up for your mother. Sit down, dear.”

I sat in the comfy chair opposite her. The sky outside was pure blue, and the leaves on the fat maple tree were still. It was hot today, but never too hot here by the water. Gigi took a bite of her toast, then cut into the omelet. She ate the European way, fork in her left hand, knife in her right. It looked very classy, and it made sense, rather than switching back and forth the way we Americans did.

“Is it hard, knowing you’re going to die?” I asked. “Sorry. Is that rude?”

She took a sip of her martini. “Delicious, dear. And yes, it’s a bit prying.”

“I’m sorry,” I said again.

“I appreciate your interest.” Another bite of toast, a dab of her lips with the napkin. “Yes. It’s hard. On the one hand, I’ve had a remarkable life. On the other, I lost two people I held most precious, and the idea of seeing them again is . . .” Her voice grew husky. “Rather wonderful.”

“Are you scared?”

She handed me a piece of toast, and I took a bite. “Yes. I am. Not so much of dying, but of how it will be in the last hours. Or days.”

“My mom’s friend? Calista? She’s a neurologist. I bet she could tell you what it’s like. Maybe give you a second opinion, too.”

“I don’t need another opinion, dear, but it’s a kind thought.”

“I don’t want you to die, Gigi. I’m just getting to know you.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “Yes. And for that, I’m very, very sorry. You’re a lovely person, and I’m quite grateful to have you this summer.”

“Right back at you.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re a lovely person, too. Sort of.” I smiled so she knew it was a joke. She arched an eyebrow at me and continued eating. Ate the whole omelet, but only half a piece of toast, so I ate the rest.

“Watch out for carbohydrates, dear,” she said. “They’ll catch up with you. You’re naturally slender, and an athlete as well, but even so.”

Like healthy eating hadn’t been drilled into my head since I was six. “Good advice,” I said.

“Do try to speak in complete sentences, dear. One sounds so much more cultured when one does.”

“That was excellent advice, Great-Grandmamma,” I said, over-enunciating. “Thank you terribly much!”

Gigi laughed, then looked out the window for a few beats, her smile fading. “I don’t suppose your DNA sites have turned anything up.”

“No, which is a total disappointment,” I said. “But I do have some questions, if that’s all right with you.”

“Go ahead, dear.”

“What do you think happened that day?”

She sighed, then sipped her drink. “They’d been fishing,” she said. “Garrison was putting the poles and tackle box back in the car, and he turned around and Sheppard was just . . . gone. It was so unlike him, too. He was a remarkable child, Riley. So attentive and smart. And charming! He could speak so well for a little boy, and yet he had this innocence about him that was utterly . . . pure.”