Too Good to Be True(65)

Nat was quiet for a minute. “Well, I guess you need a little time alone together.”

“Exactly. You understand. But tell the Carsons I said hello, and of course I’ll be seeing them soon at the wedding and all that.”

“Okay. Love you, Grace.”

“Love you, too, honey.” I clicked End and turned to my other sister and friend. “Wyatt and I are going to have a big fight,” I announced.

“Poor bastard. If only he wasn’t so committed to healing children,” Margaret said.

“I’m sure he’ll be heartbroken,” Julian said kindly.

I went into the kitchen for a drink of ice water, Angus pattering after me, hoping for a cookie. I obliged, knelt down and made my little dog sit up for his treat, then gave it to him and patted his head.

I was tired of Wyatt, tired of Margaret, too, tired of my parents’ bickering, tired of mean old Mémé, tired of Natalie and Andrew. For a second, I remembered Callahan O’ Shea asking me if my family did anything for me.

Well. I was tired of thinking about him, too, because that just got me all hot and bothered and tingly in places long neglected, and then I didn’t sleep well, which made me feel more tired than ever.

When Natalie’s wedding was over, I was going to take a nice long vacation. Maybe go to Tennessee, see some of the battle sites down there. Maybe go to England. Or Paris, where I could possibly meet a real-life Jean- Philippe.

Angus rested his sweet head on my foot. “I love you, McFangus,” I said. “You’re Mommy’s best boy.”

Straightening up, I couldn’t help but check out Callahan O’ Shea’s house for signs of life. A soft light glowed in an upstairs window. Maybe a bedroom window. Maybe he was ha**ng s*x with a potential wife. If I went upstairs, to the attic, for example, I might be able to see…or if I just bought some really good binoculars…or if I climbed up the lilac tree and went hand-over-hand along the drainpipe, then, yes, I’d have a perfect view of what was in that room. God’s nightgown, I was pathetic.

“Grace.” Margaret stood in the kitchen doorway. “Hey, you okay?”

“Oh, sure,” I said.

“Listen, I’m sending you and Julian out for dinner, okay? As a thank-you for letting me be such a pain in the ass and stay here.” Her voice was uncharacteristically kind.

“That’s nice of you.”

“I’ll have Junie make reservations, okay? Somewhere really swanky. Order lots to drink, get two desserts, the works.” She came over to me and put her arm around my shoulder, and from the porcupine sister, it was a horribly tender gesture. “And you can have all the more fun thinking of how you’re missing the Carsons.”

ON FRIDAY NIGHT, Julian and I were shown to a lovely table at Soleil, a beautiful restaurant overlooking the Connecticut River in Glastonbury. It was the kind of place I’d never eat in—very modern and expensive. We passed not only a glassed-in wine storage room on our way to our table, but a special, clear glass freezer full of designer vodka. On one end, the kitchen was exposed so we could see the chefs working madly away, sliding plates under the lights, chattering away in French. Our waiter, whose name was Cambry, handed us menu after menu—wine list, today’s specials, martini list, regular menu, staff picks, each bound in leather and printed in an elegant font. “Enjoy your meal,” he said, gazing at Julian. My friend ignored him, as was his custom.

“Look at this place, Grace,” Julian said as we pored over the martini list. “Just the sort of place Wyatt would take you.”

“You think? It’s a little too high pressure for me.”

“But he wants to impress you. He adores you.”

“That’s not enough, Wyatt,” I said with mock seriousness. “I understand how devoted you are to your work, but I want more. You’re a lovely man. Good luck. I’ll always care for you, but goodbye.”

Julian placed both of his hands over his heart “Oh, Grace, I’m so sorry. I’ll always love you and regret that my work came between us, but I cannot abandon those poor children to some ham-handed caveman when I alone possess the necessary…” Julian’s head whipped around as a waiter passed. “Oh, that looks good. What is that, salmon? I think I might order that.” Julian looked back at me. “Where was I?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s over. My family will be crushed.” My buddy laughed. “Julian,” I said more quietly, “you know how you said we weren’t going to keep looking for a man?”

“Yeah?” he said, frowning.

“Well, I still want a man.”

He sat back in his seat and sighed. “I know. Me, too. It’s just so hard.”

I sat back. “I have a crush on my neighbor. The ex-con.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Julian muttered.

“He’s just a little…”

“Much?” my friend suggested.

“Exactly,” I agreed. “I think he might like me, but as for doing anything about it, I’m just too…”

“Chickenshit?”

“Yes,” I admitted. Julian nodded in sympathy. “But what about you, Julian? You must have to fight men off with a stick. The waiter keeps looking at you. He’s cute. You could talk to him, at least.”