Too Good to Be True(18)

“Over there,” I said, nodding to the refreshments table in the back of the gallery.

“Okay. Be right back.”

Ahahaha. Ahahaha. Ooooh. Ahahaha. My mother’s society laugh, heard only at art shows or when she was trying to impress someone, rang through the gallery. She caught my eye and winked, then shook the hand of an older man, who was cradling a glass…oh, let’s see now…ew. A sculpture, let’s put it that way. Another sale.

Good for Mom.

“Are we still on for Bull Run?” Dad asked, coming up behind me and putting his arm around my shoulder.

“Oh, definitely, Dad.” The Battle of Bull Run was one of my favorites. “Did you get your assignment?” I asked.

“I did. I’m Stonewall Jackson.” Dad beamed.

“Dad! That’s great! Congratulations! Where is it?”

“Litchfield,” he answered. “Who are you?”

“I’m a nobody,” I said mournfully. “Just some poor Confederate hack. But I do get to fire the cannon.”

“That’s my girl,” Dad said proudly. “Hey, will you be bringing your new guy? What’s his name again? By the way, your mother and I are thrilled that you’re finally back on the old horse.”

I paused. “Uh, thanks, Dad. I’m not sure if Wyatt can make it. I—I’ll ask, though.”

“Hey, Dad,” Margaret said, coming up to smooch our father on the cheek. “How are the labias selling?”

“Don’t get me started on your mother’s artwork. Porn is what I call it.” He glanced over in our mother’s direction.

Ahahaha. Ahahaha. Oooh. Ahahaha. “Damn it, she sold another one. I’ll have to box that one up.” Dad rolled his eyes at us and stomped off to the back of the gallery.

“So, Grace,” Margaret said, “about this new guy.” She glanced around to make sure that we weren’t being overheard. “Are you really seeing someone, or is this another fake?”

She wasn’t a criminal defense attorney for nothing. “Busted,” I murmured.

“Aren’t you a little old for this?” she asked, taking a slug of her wine.

I made a face. “Yes. But I found Nat in the bathroom at Kitty’s wedding, writhing with guilt.” Margs rolled her eyes.

“So I figured I’d make it easy for her.”

“Yes. Life must be easy for the princess,” Margaret muttered.

“And another thing,” I continued in a low voice. “I’m sick of the pity. Nat and Andrew should just get on with it, you know, and stop treating me like some crippled, balding cat who has seizures and can’t keep down her food.”

Margaret laughed. “Gotcha.”

“The truth is,” I admitted, “I think I’m ready to meet someone. I’ll just pretend to be seeing someone and then, you know…find someone real.”

“Cool,” Margaret said with a considerable lack of enthusiasm.

“So what’s going on with you and Stuart?” I asked, moving out of the way as an older woman sidled up to LifeSource, a sculpture of an ovary that looked to my nonmedical eye like a lumpy gray balloon.

Margaret sighed, then finished off her wine. “I don’t know, Grace. I don’t really want to talk about it, okay?”

“Sure,” I murmured, frowning. “I do see Stuart at school, of course.”

“Right. Well. You can tell him to f**k off for me.”

“I…I won’t be doing that. Jeez, Margs, what’s wrong?” While theirs was a case of opposites attract, Margaret and Stuart had always seemed happy enough. They were childless by choice, rather well-off thanks to Margaret’s endless success in court, lived in a great house in Avon, took swanky vacations to Tahiti and Liechtenstein and places like that. They’d been married for seven years, and while Margaret was not the type to coo and gloat, she’d always seemed pretty content.

“Well, crap, speaking of disastrous couples, here come Andrew and Natalie. Shit. I need a little more wine for this.” She fled back to the table for another glass of cheap pinot grigio.

And there they were indeed, Andrew’s fair hair a few shades lighter than Natalie’s honey-gold. Considerably more relaxed than at the wedding, when they dared not get within ten feet of each other lest I burst into sobs, they now radiated happiness. Their hands brushed as they approached, fingers giving a little caress though they stopped just short of actual hand-holding. The chemistry crackled between them. No, not just chemistry.

Adoration. That’s what it was. My sister’s eyes were glowing, her cheeks flushed with pink, while a smile played at the corner of Andrew’s mouth. Gack.

“Hey, guys!” I said merrily.

“Hi, Grace!” Natalie said, flushing brighter as she hugged me. “Is he here? Did you bring him?”

“Bring whom?” I asked.

“Wyatt, of course!” she chuckled.

“Right! Um, no, no. I think we should be dating longer than a few weeks before I bring him to one of Mom’s shows! Also, he’s…at the hospital.” I forced a chortle. “Hi, Andrew.”

“How are you, Grace?” he said, grinning, his green eyes bright.

“I’m great.” I looked down at my untouched wine.