Too Good to Be True(45)

Very logical.” And fast. But of course, they were in love. Who wouldn’t be in love with Natalie, the fair flower of our family? Nat was younger. Blond, blue-eyed. Taller. Prettier. Smarter. Man, I wished Wyatt Dunn was real! Wished that Callahan O’ Shea was here! Anything other than this echoing sense of rejection that just wouldn’t fade away.

I unclenched my jaw and took a seat next to my sister and studied her. “God, we just do not look alike, do we?” I said.

“Oh, I think we do!” she exclaimed earnestly. “Except for the hair color. Grace, do you remember when I was in high school and got that perm? And then colored my hair brown?” She laughed and reached out to touch my knee. “I was crushed when it didn’t come out like yours.”

And there it was. I couldn’t be mad at Natalie. It was almost like I wasn’t allowed to be mad at Natalie, ever. It wasn’t fair, and it was completely true. I remembered the day she was referring to. She’d permed it, all right, permed that lovely, cool hair, then dyed it a flat, ugly brown. She was fourteen at the time, and had cried in her room as the chemical curls failed to produce the desired results. A week later, her hair was straight again, and she became the only brunette in high school with blond roots.

She’d wanted to be like me. She thought we looked alike—me, three inches shorter, fifteen pounds heavier, the accursed hair, the unremarkable gray eyes.

“There’s definitely a resemblance,” Andrew said. Piss off, buddy, I thought. Here I am taking a class on how to meet a husband, dredging up men on the Internet, lusting after a convict, and you have this pearl, you undeserving jerk. Well. I guess the anger wasn’t quite so gone after all. Not the anger caused by Andrew, that was.

He seemed to catch that thought. “I better check the risotto. I don’t think it’s going to thicken without some serious prayer.” With that, he scurried off into the kitchen like a frightened crab.

“Grace, is everything okay?” Natalie asked softly.

I took a breath. “Oh, sure.” I paused. “Well, Wyatt and I had a little fight.”

“Oh, no!”

I closed my eyes. I really was becoming a masterful liar. “Yeah. Well, he’s so devoted to the kids, you know?”

Yes, Grace, such a prick, your pediatric surgeon. “I mean, he’s wonderful. I’m crazy about him. But I hardly see him.”

“I guess it’s an occupational hazard,” Natalie murmured, her eyes soft with sympathy.

“Yeah.”

“But he makes up for it, I hope?” Nat asked, and I answered that yes, indeed he did. Breakfast in bed …strawberries, and the waffles were a little burnt, it was so cute, he was like a kid…the flowers he sent me (I had actually sent myself some flowers). The way he listened…loved learning about the classes I was teaching. The beautiful scarf he bought me last weekend (in fact, I did have a beautiful new scarf, except that I’d bought it for myself that day Julian and I went shopping).

“Oh, hey, did I tell you I’m up for chairmanship of the history department?” I said, seizing on a change of subject.

“Oh, Grace, that’s wonderful!” my sister cried. “You would do so much for that place! It would totally come alive if you were in charge.”

Then, on cue, my cell phone rang. I stood up, reached into my pocket, withdrew my phone and flipped it open.

“It’s Wyatt,” I said, smiling at Nat.

“Okay! I’ll give you a little privacy.” She started to get up.

“No, stay!” I commanded, then turned to the phone. After all, she needed to hear this conversation…my end, anyway. “Hi, honey,” I said.

“Hi, baby,” said Julian. “I’m thinking of changing my name.”

“Oh, no! Is he okay?” I asked, remembering to frown in concern, as I’d practiced in the rearview mirror on the way here.

“Something more manly, you know? Like Will or Jack. Spike. What do you think?”

“I think he’s lucky you were his doctor,” I answered firmly, smiling at my sister.

“Maybe that’s too butch, though. Maybe Mike. Or Mack. Well, I probably won’t. My mother would kill me.”

“No, no, that’s fine, honey! I understand. Of course she will! No, they both know what you do for a living! It’s not like you’re a…” I paused. “A carpenter or something. A mechanic. You’re saving lives!”

“Down, girl,” Julian coached.

“You’re right,” I said.

“What are you having for dinner?” my friend asked.

“Risotto, asparagus and tilapia. Some delicious tart my sister slaved over.”

“I’ll send some back with Grace!” Natalie called.

“Make sure I get that tart,” Julian said. “I’ve earned it. Shall we chat some more? Want me to propose?”

“No, no, honey, that’s fine. You have a great night,” I said.

“Love you,” Julian said. “Now say it back to me.”

“Oh, um, same here.” My face grew hot—I was not about to declare my love for an imaginary boyfriend. Even I wouldn’t go that far. Then I flipped the phone closed and sighed. “Well, he can’t make it. The surgery was more complicated than he thought, and he wants to stay close until the little guy’s out of the woods.”