Too Good to Be True(93)

“I think nothing of the sort,” Dad said. “But still. You’d probably make more picking cotton.”

Callahan, having been released from my mother’s death grip, came over to me.

“Here y’ are!” Dad barked heartily, slapping Callahan on the back hard enough to make his wine slosh. “So, big guy, tell me about yourself!”

“What would you like to know, sir?” Cal asked, taking my hand.

“Grace says you used to be an accountant,” Dad said with an approving smile.

“Yes,” Cal answered.

“And I take it you went to college for this?”

“Yes, sir. I went to Tulane.”

I gave Dad a look that was meant to convey See? He’s really nice and also Lay off the questions, Dad. He ignored it. “So, Callahan, why’d you leave—”

Mom interrupted. “Do you have family in the area, Callahan?” she asked, smiling brightly.

“My grandfather lives at Golden Meadows,” Cal answered, turning to her.

“Who is he? Do I know him?” Mémé barked, wheeling closer and almost toppling a breast from a nearby pedestal.

“His name is Malcolm Lawrence,” Cal answered. “Hello, Mrs. Winfield. Nice to see you again.”

“Never heard of him,” Mémé snapped.

“He’s in the dementia unit,” Callahan said. I squeezed his hand. “My mother died when I was little, and my grandfather raised my brother and me.”

Mom’s eyebrows raised. “A brother? And where does he live?”

Cal hesitated. “He…he lives in Arizona. Married, no kids. So not much family to speak of.”

“You poor thing!” Mom said. “Family is such a blessing.”

“Is it?” I asked. She clucked at me fondly.

“You. Irishman.” Mémé poked Cal’s leg with a bony finger. “Are you after my granddaughter’s money?”

I sighed. Loudly. “You’re thinking of Margaret, Mémé. I don’t really have a lot, Cal.”

“Ah, well. I guess. I’ll have to date Margs, then,” he said. “And speaking of sister swapping,” he added, lowering his voice so only I could hear.

“Hi, I’m Andrew Carson.” The Pale One approached, my glowing, beautiful sister in tow. Andrew pushed up his glasses and stuck out a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Callahan O’ Shea,” Cal returned, shaking Andrew’s hand firmly. Andrew winced, and I bit down on a smile.

That’s right, Andrew! He could beat you to a pulp. Not that I was a proponent of violence, of course. It was just true.

“It’s great to see you again, Callahan,” Natalie said.

“Hello, Nat,” Cal returned with a smile, the one that could charm the paint off walls. Natalie blushed, then mouthed Gorgeous! I grinned back in complete agreement.

“So you’re a…plumber, is it?” Andrew said, his eyes flicking up and down Cal’s solid frame, a silly little grin on his face, as if he were thinking, Oh, yes, I’ve heard of blue-collar workers! So you’re one of those!

“He’s a carpenter,” Natalie and I said at the same time.

“It’s so great to work with your hands,” Dad boomed. “I’ll probably do more of that once I retire. Make my own furniture. Maybe build a smokehouse.”

“A smokehouse?” I asked. Cal smothered a smile.

“Please, Dad. Don’t you remember the radial saw?” Natalie said, grinning at Callahan. “My father almost amputated his thumb the one time he tried to make anything. Andrew’s the same way.”

“That was a rogue blade,” Dad muttered.

“It’s true,” Andrew said amenably, slipping an arm around Natalie. “Grace, remember when I tried to fix that cabinet when we first moved in together? Practically killed myself. Never tried that again. Luckily, I can afford to pay someone to do it for me.”

Natalie shot him a surprised glance, but he ignored it, smiling insincerely at Cal. Who didn’t smile back. Well, well. Andrew was jealous. How pleasing. And how classy of Cal, not to rise to his bait. Still, I could feel him tensing next to me.

“Such a shame to waste your education, though, son,” Dad continued. Oh, God. He was doing his “Earn a Decent Wage” speech, one that I’d heard many times. And by decent wage, Dad didn’t mean the simple ability to pay your own bills and maybe sock a little away. He meant six figures. He was a Republican, after all.

“Education is never wasted, Dad,” I said hastily before Cal could answer.

“Are you from around here, Calvin?” Andrew asked, tilting his head in owlish fashion.

“It’s Callahan,” my guy corrected. “I’m originally from Connecticut, yes. I grew up in Windsor.”

“Where’d you live before you moved back?” Andrew asked.

Callahan glanced at me. “The South,” he said, his voice a little tight. I tried to convey my gratitude by squeezing his hand. He didn’t squeeze back.

“I love the South!” my mother exclaimed. “So sultry, so passionate, so Cat on a Hot Tin Roof!”

“Control yourself, Nancy,” Mémé announced, rattling her ice cubes.