Too Good to Be True(110)

Kitty and Mavis exchanged a look. “No, Grace,” they said in unison.

“Okay,” I answered. “And just for the record, he was on death row. Sorry to say, the governor turned down his stay of execution, so I’m on the prowl again.” I winked, smiled at their identical looks of horror, and pushed my way into a stall.

When I rejoined my family, Nat was getting ready to go. “You can stay with me, Bumppo,” I said.

“No, thanks, Grace. I’ll stay with Mom and Dad for a few days. But you’re sweet to offer.”

“Want me to drive you?” I asked.

“No, Margs is taking me. We have to make a stop first. Besides, you’ve done enough today. Beating up Andrew …thanks for that.”

“My pleasure,” I said with complete sincerity. I kissed my sister, then hugged her a long, long time. “Call me in the morning.”

“I will. Thanks,” she whispered.

Walking to my car, I fished the car keys out of my bag. What seemed like aeons ago, I had promised my little old lady friends at Golden Meadows that I’d stop by tonight. They wanted to see my fancy dress and hear how the wedding went. Well, Dad had taken Mémé home before dinner. Chances were, the residents of Golden Meadows knew quite well how the wedding went.

But I figured I’d go just the same. Tonight was the Saturday Night Social. I could probably scare up someone to dance with, and though he wouldn’t be under eighty years old, I felt like dancing, oddly enough.

I drove across town and pulled into Golden Meadows’s parking lot. There was no sign of Callahan’s battered pickup truck. I hadn’t seen him since the day he left Maple Street, though I had stopped in to see his grandfather.

As Cal had mentioned, the old man wasn’t doing well. We’d never even finished the book.

On impulse, I decided to stop in and see Mr. Lawrence. Who knew? Maybe Callahan would be there. Betsy, the nurse on duty, buzzed me in with a wave. “You just missed the grandson,” she said, cupping her hand over the receiver.

Drat. Well, Callahan wasn’t my reason for coming, not really. I walked down the hall amid the familiar, sad sounds of this particular ward—faint moans, querulous voices and too much quiet.

Mr. Lawrence’s door was open. He was asleep in his hospital bed, small and shrunken against the pale blue sheets. An IV, new from the last time I’d come by, snaked from a clear plastic tube into his arm, and tears pricked my eyes. I’d been coming to Golden Meadows long enough to know that in cases like this, an IV usually meant the patient had stopped eating and drinking.

“Hi, Mr. Lawrence, it’s Grace,” I whispered, sitting down next to him. “The one who reads to you, remember? My Lord’s Wanton Desire? The duke and the prostitute?”

Of course, he didn’t answer. To the best of my recollection, I’d never heard the voice of Cal’s grandfather. I wondered what he’d sounded like when he was a younger man, teaching Cal and his brother to fly-fish, helping them with their homework, telling them to finish their vegetables and drink their milk.

“Listen, Mr. Lawrence,” I said, putting my hand on his thin and vulnerable arm. “I just wanted to tell you something.

I was dating your grandson for a little while. Callahan. And basically, I screwed things up and he broke up with me.” I rolled my eyes at myself, not having planned on a deathbed confession. “Anyway, I just wanted to tell you what a good man he is.”

A lump came to my throat, and my voice dropped back to a whisper. “He’s smart and funny and thoughtful, and he’s always working, you know? You should see the house he just fixed up. He did such a beautiful job.” I paused.

“And he loves you so much. He comes here all the time. And he’s…well, he’s a good-looking guy, right? Chip off the old block, I’m guessing.”

The sound of Mr. Lawrence’s breathing was barely audible. I picked up his gnarled, cool hand and held it for a second. “I just wanted to say that you did a great job raising him. I think you’d be really proud. That’s all.”

Then I leaned over and kissed Mr. Lawrence’s forehead. “Oh, one more thing. The duke marries Clarissia. He finds her in the tower and rescues her, and they live…you know. Happily ever after.”

“What are you doing, Grace?”

I jumped like someone had just pressed a brand against my flesh. “Mémé! God, you scared me!” I whispered.

“I’ve been looking for you. Dolores Barinski said you were supposed to come to the social, and it started an hour ago.”

“Right,” I said with a last glance back at Mr. Lawrence. “Well, let’s go, then.”

So I wheeled my grandmother down the hall, away from the last link I had to Callahan O’ Shea, knowing that I would probably not see Mr. Lawrence again. A few tears slipped down my cheeks. I sniffed.

“Oh, cheer up,” Mémé snapped omnisciently from her throne. “At least you have me. That man isn’t even related to you. I don’t know why you even care.”

I stopped the wheelchair and went around to face my grandmother, ready to tell her what a sour old pain in the butt she was, how vain and rude, how selfish and insensitive. But looking down on her thinning hair and wrinkled face, her spotted hands adorned with too-big rings, I said something else.