Too Good to Be True(67)

“We need another exit,” Julian said to Cambry.

“Through the kitchen,” he answered instantly. The two of them were off, me right on their heels, when the strap of my pocketbook snagged on the chair of a nearby diner. He looked up.

“Oopsy,” he said. “You’re caught, honey.” In more ways than one, mister. I flashed him a panicked smile and tugged. The strap didn’t come free.

Years of dance training made Julian lithe and fast as a snake. He zigged and zagged through the tables toward the busy, open kitchen, failing to notice I wasn’t with him.

“Here you go,” said the diner, sliding the strap off the back of his chair. And just as I turned to gallop after my friend, I heard my mother’s voice.

“Grace! There you are!”

My entire family walked in. Margaret, wide-eyed. Andrew and Nat, holding hands. Dad pushing Mémé’s wheelchair, followed by Mom. And the Carsons, Letitia and Ted.

My mind was perfectly blank. “Hi, guys!” I heard myself saying in that out-of-body way. “What are you doing here!”

Nat gave me a hug. “Mom insisted that we crash. Just to say hello, not to spoil your special night.” She pulled back to look at me. “I’m really sorry. I told her no a million times, but you know how she is.”

Margaret caught my eye and shrugged. Well, hell, she tried. I could feel my heart thumping in sick, rolling beats, and hysterical laughter wriggled like a trout in my stomach.

“Grace, darling! You’ve been so secretive!” Mom burbled, her eyes darting to my table, where two martinis and an order of oysters Rockefeller sat abandoned. “I told Letitia here about your wonderful doctor boyfriend, and she said she couldn’t wait to meet him, and then I had to tell her that we haven’t met him, and then I thought, well, I’ll just kill two birds with one stone. You remember the Carsons, don’t you, dear?”

Of course I remembered them. I got to within three weeks of being their daughter-in-law, for heaven’s sake.

Someday, a long, long time from now, I might forgive my mother. On second thought, no. In my experience, Mr.

and Mrs. Carson were aloof, undemonstrative people, completely devoid of humor. They never expressed anything but the coolest politeness toward me.

“Hi, Mrs. Carson, Mr. Carson. Good to see you again.” The Carsons smiled insincerely at me. I returned their smile with equal affection.

“What are you eating? Are those oysters? I don’t eat shellfish,” Mémé boomed. “Disgusting, slimy, riddled with bacteria. I have irritable bowel syndrome as it is.”

“Grace, honey, I’m sorry if we’re horning in,” Dad murmured, giving me a kiss on the cheek. “Your mother went a little berserk when she heard you weren’t coming. Don’t you look pretty! So where is he? As long as we’re here.”

Andrew caught my eye. He knew me pretty well, after all. He tilted his head to one side and smiled curiously.

“He’s…uh…he’s in the bathroom,” I said.

Margaret closed her eyes.

“Right. Um, not feeling that well, actually. I’d better go check on him. Tell him you’re here.”

My face burned as I walked (and walked, and walked, God, it seemed to be taking forever) through the restaurant. In the foyer, Cambry gestured down the hall toward the restrooms. Sure enough, there was Julian, lurking just inside the men’s room, peering out through the cracked door. “What should we do?” he whispered. “I told Cambry what was going on. He can help us.”

“I just told them Wyatt’s not feeling well. And you’re playing the part of Wyatt.” I glanced back toward the dining room. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph on rye bread, here comes my dad! Get in a stall. Hurry up!”

The door closed, and I heard the sound of a stall door slamming as Dad lumbered down the hall. “Honey? How’s he doing?”

“Oh, well, not so good, Dad. Um, he must’ve eaten something that didn’t agree with him.”

“Poor guy. Helluva way to meet your sweetheart’s family.” Dad leaned amiably against the wall. “Want me to check on him?”

“No! No, no.” I pushed the men’s room door open a crack. “Hon? You doing okay?”

“Uhhnnhuh,” Julian said weakly.

“I’m here if you need me,” I said, letting the door close again. “Dad, I really wish you guys hadn’t come. This is—”

a ridiculous farce “—our special night.”

He had the decency to look ashamed. “Well, your mother…you know how she is. She felt the whole family should be there to show the Carsons…well, that you’re okay with everything.”

“Right. And I am,” I said, cursing myself. I should’ve just gone to the stupid dinner, said that Wyatt had plans or emergency surgery or something. Instead, here I was, lying to my father. My dear old dad who loved me and played Civil War with me and paid for my new windows.

“Dad?” I said hesitantly. “About Wyatt…”

Dad patted my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Pudding. It’s embarrassing, sure, but no one will hold a little diarrhea against him.”

“Well, the thing is, Dad—”

“We’re just glad you’re seeing someone, honey. I don’t mind admitting that I was worried about you. Breaking up with Andrew, well, that was one thing. Everyone’s heart gets broken once or twice. And I knew it wasn’t your idea, honey.”