Too Good to Be True(68)

My mouth dropped open. “You did?” I’d taken such pains to tell everyone that it was mutual, that we just weren’t sure we were right for each other… “Sure, Pudding. You loved him, clear as day. Letting your sister date him…” Dad sighed. “Well, at least you found someone else. The whole way here, Natalie was chattering on and on about how wonderful your young man was.

I think she still feels pretty guilty.”

Well. There went my feeble desire to confess. A man came down the hall and paused, looking at us.

“My daughter’s boyfriend is sick,” Dad explained. “The runs.” I closed my eyes.

“Oh,” the man said. “Um…thanks. I guess I can wait.” He turned and headed back to the dining room.

Dad pushed the door open a little. “Wyatt, son? This is Grace’s dad, Jim Emerson.”

“Hello, sir,” Julian mumbled in a lower than normal voice.

“Anything I can get for you?”

“No, thanks.” Julian threw in a groan for authenticity. Dad winced and let the door close.

“Why don’t we go back, too, Dad?” I suggested. I cracked the door again. “Honey? I’ll be back in a sec.”

“Okay,” Julian said hoarsely, then coughed. Frankly, I thought he was overdoing it a bit, but hey. I owed the guy my firstborn. Dad took my hand as we went back to the dining room, and I gave him a grateful squeeze as we approached my family, who was now seated around a large table. The Carsons frowned at the menu, Mémé inspected the silverware, Mom looked like she could levitate with the amount of nervous energy buzzing through her. Andrew, Nat and Margaret all looked up at me.

“How’s he doing?” Natalie asked.

“Not that great,” I said. “A bad oyster or something.”

“I told you. Oysters are filthy bits of rubbery phlegm,” Mémé announced, causing a nearby diner to gag noticeably.

“You’re looking well, Grace,” Mrs. Carson said, tearing her eyes from the menu. She tilted her head as if impressed that I hadn’t slashed my throat when her son dumped me.

“Thanks, Mrs. Carson,” I said. For about a month, I’d called her Letty. We had lunch together once to talk about the wedding.

“I have some Imodium in here somewhere,” Mom said, fumbling through her purse.

“No, no, that’s okay. It’s more of…well. We’re going to head home. I’m so sorry. Wyatt would just love to meet everyone, but you understand.” I stifled a sigh. Not only was I dating an imaginary man, he had diarrhea, as well.

So classy. Definitely the kind to make Andrew jealous.

Wait a second. To the best of my knowledge, Wyatt Dunn was not invented to make anyone jealous. I glanced at Andrew. He was looking at me, still holding Natalie’s hand, and in his eyes was a hint of something. Affection?

His mouth tugged up on one side, and I looked away.

“I’ll walk you to the car,” Natalie said.

“Stay here,” Margs all but barked. “He doesn’t want to meet you under these circumstances, dummy.” Natalie sank back down, looking wounded.

I kissed my mother’s cheek, waved to Mémé and finally left the dining room. Cambry the waiter was waiting outside the bathroom door. “You can leave the back way,” he murmured, pushing open the bathroom door.

“Julian? Coast is clear.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said to my friend. “And thank you,” I added, pressing a twenty on Cambry. “You were really nice.”

“You’re welcome. It was kind of fun,” Cambry said. He led us to another exit, farther away from the main dining room, shook hands with Julian, holding on a little too long.

“Well, I know I had a good time,” Julian announced as we pulled out of the parking lot. “And, Grace, guess what? I have a date! So every cloud has a silver lining.”

I glanced at my buddy. “You were great in there,” I said.

“Faking diarrhea is a specialty of mine,” he said, and with that, we laughed so hard I had to pull over.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“WHY WOULD YOU TEACH the American Revolution at the same time as the Vietnam War?” asked Headmaster Stanton, frowning.

Ten of us—the Headmaster, Dr. Eckhart, seven trustees and me—sat around the vast walnut conference table in Bigby Hall, the main administrative building of Manning, the one that was featured on the cover of all our promotional brochures. I was making my presentation to the Board of Trustees, and I felt ill. I’d been up till 2:00 a.m. perfecting my talk, practicing over and over till I thought I had it right. This morning, I’d gotten up at six, dressed in one of my Wyatt outfits, taking care to combine conservatism with creativity, tamed my hair, ate a good breakfast despite the churning stomach and now was wondering if I should’ve bothered.

It wasn’t going well. I’d finished my talk, and the seven members of the board, including Theo Eisenbraun, Ava’s reputed lover, stared at me with varying degrees of confusion. Dr. Eckhart appeared to be dozing, I noted with rising panic.

“That’s an excellent question,” I said in my best teacher voice. “The American Revolution and the Vietnam War have a lot in common. Most history departments teach chronologically, which, to be honest, I think can get a little stale. But in the Revolution, we have a situation of an invading foreign army up against a small band of poorly armed citizens who won the war through cunning, use of the terrain and just a simple refusal to give up. The same can be said for Vietnam.”