Too Good to Be True(62)

Dozens of memories flashed through my head. Me at age ten, when I’d had my tonsillectomy, waking up from a restless, narcotic-induced sleep to find that Natalie had drawn eighteen pictures of horses for me, laying them on my bedroom floor, propping them on my chair and desk so everywhere I looked, I’d see horses. The time I beat up Kevin Nichols when he put gum in her hair. Me leaving for William & Mary, and Natalie’s face contorting with the effort of smiling so I wouldn’t see that she was, in fact, sobbing.

I loved her, and had always loved her, so much that it hurt. I could not—would not—let Andrew come between us.

She squeezed me hard, then sat up. “I can’t believe I still haven’t met Wyatt,” she said.

“I know,” I seconded. “He’s dying to meet you, too.” Wyatt was, alas, at a medical convention in San Francisco.

I’d briefly flirted with the idea of telling my family Wyatt and I had broken up, then I decided I needed him a little longer. This morning, I’d Googled medical conventions and surgeons and found one in the City by the Bay.

Extremely convenient.

“Things are good with you two?” Nat asked.

“Oh, I guess. He works too much. If there’s one fly in the ointment, it’s that.” My evil plan was to plant these seeds so I could ease everyone into the idea of a breakup. “He’s always at the hospital, and now he’s up in Boston …He’s so devoted to his work. I guess it’s the classic complaint of the doctor’s wife.”

Oops. Hadn’t actually meant to say that last sentence. Natalie’s face glowed even more beautifully, if possible.

“Do you think you guys might get married?”

Oh, crap. “Um, well…I don’t know. The work thing is something we have to figure out. And of course, I’ve been burned before.”

And again. Didn’t mean to say that last bit. Natalie flinched.

“I mean, I’ve picked the wrong guy before, so I want to be careful and all. Make sure he’s the right one.”

“But you think he is?”

I tipped my head, pretending to consider the question. After all, Wyatt and I were going to have to break up.

Rather soon, in fact, since obviously I couldn’t keep this up forever. “He’s…” I smiled at Natalie in what I imagined was modest adoration. “He’s pretty wonderful, Nat. I just wish we had more time together.”

The back door banged open, and Margaret appeared before us. “Grace, your dog just broke a vulva. And Mom wants you to come in and eat, anyway.” She fisted her hands on her hips. “And did it ever occur to you two that I might be jealous of your little club? Christ Almighty and His five sacred wounds, girls! Can’t I be included once in a while?”

“She swears like some ex-nun turned sailor,” Natalie murmured.

“Yeah. You have to wonder how she spends her free time,” I seconded.

“Quit your whining,” Nat called to our big sis. “You two are living together, so don’t talk to me about clubs, okay?”

Margaret tromped over to us. “Move over, favorite,” she grumbled, shoving my shoulder so she could sit down. “Is everything okay out here? I’ve been spying through the windows.”

“Everything’s great. I’m Nattie’s maid of honor,” I said. It felt okay. Yes. It would be fine.

“God’s sandals, Natalie! You want Andrew’s former fiancée to be your f**king maid of honor?”

“Yes,” Nat answered calmly. “But only if she wants to be.”

“And I do,” I said, sticking my tongue out at Margaret.

“So? What am I, Nat? Can I maybe sweep up for you? Maybe I could do dishes at the reception and peek out at you once in a while, if you don’t think I’ll be blinded with your golden beauty, your majesty.”

“God, listen to her,” Nat giggled. “Would you be my bridesmaid, Margaret dear?”

“Oh, gosh, thanks, yes. I can’t wait.” Margaret shot me a look. “Maid of honor, huh? Freaky.”

“Margs, you’ve met Wyatt, right?” Natalie asked.

Margaret stuck her tongue in her cheek. “Sure,” she answered. I closed my eyes.

“What do you think?” Nat sat up straighter, grinning. She always did love girl talk.

“Well, aside from that sixth toe on his left foot, he’s pretty cute,” Margs said.

“Very funny,” I answered. “It’s barely a nub, Natalie.”

Natalie was laughing. “What else, Margs?”

“Well, the way he sucks on Grace’s ear is pretty disgusting. Especially in church. Yick.”

“Come on, I’m serious,” Natalie wheezed, wiping her eyes.

“That wandering eye freaks me out.”

When our mother came out to find what was keeping her girls, she found us helpless with laughter on the bench under the maple tree.

My good humor remained as Angus and I walked home along the Farmington. A path meandered through the state forest that bordered the river, and though the gnats were out, they were harmless enough if I ignored them.

Angus trotted ahead on his long leash, stopping frequently to pee, sniff and pee some more, making sure that all the other dogs who came down this path would know that Angus McFangus had been there before them.