If You Only Knew(95)

“No. She’s getting married in my husband’s church, not Las Vegas,” Mrs. Brewster interrupts. “She should look as decent as possible.”

“What are you implying?” Dorothy asks, and again, I give her a point for going up against the bitchy old dragon. How Jared got to be so nice is thanks to his lovely dad, that’s for sure. “My daughter is decent. She could wear a sack and look decent.”

“If you say so,” Mrs. Brewster says. “But she’s marrying the son of a Congregational minister—”

“The son of a preacher man,” I say, referencing the old Dusty Springfield song, and Kimber’s face lights up.

“That’s our favorite song!” she says. “That’s how we met! I was singing at a bar, and—”

“As I was saying before you interrupted, Rachel, she should show some respect for the church and the family she’s marrying into.”

“And maybe you should show my daughter some respect, Eleanor,” Dorothy says.

Kimber wrings her hands, which are laden with silver rings and the one big honking diamond. “Mom, Mom, it’s fine. I love this look. It’s good. It’s beautiful.” She turns to Jenny. “It’ll be great, right?”

Jenny’s face softens. “Yes. You’ll be stunning, Kimber. I bet you ten bucks Jared cries when he sees you. I’ve been to a lot of weddings, and I can tell which grooms are going to cry.” She smiles, and I feel a rush of love for her.

God, I hate fighting.

She seems to read my mind and smiles at me, too.

We’ll be okay.

And though I can’t admit it—to Adam, because we’re trying to rebuild things, or to Jenny, because it wouldn’t help her forgive Adam—I wish I was the one who pushed Adam down in the street and called him names. Who stood there like a mother lion defending her young. Who was mad enough that the police thought she might do some harm.

My sister is fierce.

I hope my daughters would be like that if their husbands cheated. I hope they’d poke and swagger and tolerate absolutely no shit.

Not like their mother.

Not these days.

Jenny

When I get home the day of Kimber’s latest fitting, I need a glass of wine. And Leo. I could use Leo.

But Evander has Leo at the moment; the kid is playing something that’s fluid and lyrical and the tiniest bit sad. I let myself in. Leo told me it was better than me lurking in the courtyard like a stalker, but I think he wanted me to have a key for girlfriendy reasons. He glances at me, winks and turns his attention back to his prodigy. Evander doesn’t pause; I doubt he knows I’m here. The music grows, swelling into something more fiery and insistent, then gentles again, the notes so soft I feel them more than hear them. The boy’s arms seem boneless, they’re so graceful, and his face, even in profile, is intent, completely connected to the music.

I wait till the piece is over, and indeed, Evander startles a little when he sees me. “Hey, buddy,” I say.

“Hi, Miss Jenny,” he whispers.

“That was so beautiful,” I say. “I felt it in my heart.”

His face blossoms into a beautiful smile. He’s missing an incisor, new since last week, which makes him even cuter, dang it. “Thanks, Miss Jenny. I’m glad.”

“Are you flirting with my girlfriend?” Leo asks. “Because knock it off, mister. I don’t stand a chance against you.” Evander’s smile grows. “Okay,” Leo continues. “Next piece. Bach’s Two-Part Inventions, Number Five, E-Flat Major, your favorite key. You can make googly eyes at Miss Jenny later. Miss Jenny, have I mentioned that Evander will be auditioning for Juilliard’s pre-college program?”

“Really? Wow! Evander, that’s great!” I have no idea what that is, but it sounds kick-ass.

“Yes, Miss Jenny,” he says, sliding his eyes to meet mine for a second.

“It’s for extremely gifted children,” Leo says, cocking an eyebrow at his student. “Who practice a lot.” He looks up at me. “Evander is staying for dinner, Miss Jenny. Would you like to join us?”

My heart nearly tumbles out of my chest. This is what I want, this easy of-course-we’re-together relationship, none of the angst, the wondering, the will-he-call-me phase. “Miss Jenny would love to. Let me go upstairs and change.” I pet Loki, who wags his stumpy little tail—progress—and tolerates me fondling his soft, triangular ears. Then he gives me a snarl, my lovey time used up. But I guess as stinky old dogs go, he’s not so bad.

As I leave, Evander begins a bouncy, ridiculously complicated piece.

The fact that I saw my father’s mistress today—and that she now knows who I am—is muted by having someone to come home to. Even so, my heart thumps sickly at the thought.

Kimber’s mother is my father’s mistress. Jesus.

I change into jeans and a soft gray cashmere sweater, take my hair out of its twist, slip in different earrings and pour a glass of wine.

My phone rings, and I glance at the screen before answering. “Hey, Owen.”

“Hi, stranger! I’ve barely talked to you this week.”

In fact, I haven’t talked to Owen since just after his dinner party. “How’s it going?”

“Oh, not so bad. Just wanted to hear your voice.”