Too Good to Be True(99)



“And I wasn’t, right?” My nervous laugh came out like a dry heave. “Yes, right. I lied. I did. It was a mistake, probably.”

“Probably?” he barked.

“Okay, it was definitely a mistake! I admit it, it was stupid and immature and I shouldn’t have done it, but my back was against the wall, Cal!”

“I’ve got to hand it to you, Grace.” His voice was flat and calm. “You’re a great liar. I did suspect, you’re right. But you convinced me. Well done.”

Youch. I took a quick breath. “Cal, listen. It was juvenile. I know that. But cut me some slack here.”

“You lied to me, Grace. You lied to just about everyone you know!” He jammed a hand through his hair and turned away from me. My temper started to bubble. It wasn’t that bad. No one was hurt. In fact, it’s fair to say that my lie spared people from worrying over poor tragic Grace who was dumped. I know it had made me feel better.

“Callahan, look,” I said more calmly. “I did a stupid thing, I admit it. And I hate to be the one to tell you this, Callahan, but people are flawed. Sometimes they do dopey things, especially around people they love. Surely you’ve heard of such occasions.”

This earned me another glare, but he remained silent. No slack, no understanding, no sympathy. And so, alas, I continued talking, my voice rising.

“I mean, come on, Cal. You’re not perfect, either. Remember? You yourself did a stupid thing to protect someone you loved. I have to say, it’s a little ironic, getting a morality lecture from you, of all people!”

“And just what does that mean?” he asked, his mouth tight.

“It means you’re the ex-con who covered up a crime for his brother and just got out of clink two months ago!”

Oops. Probably shouldn’t have said that. His face went from tight to completely furious. And calm. It was a horrible combination.

“Grace,” he said quietly, standing up. “I can’t believe I was so wrong about you.”

It was like a punch in the heart. I jolted out of my chair, standing in front of him, my eyes flooding with tears. “Wait a second, Callahan. Please.” I took a deep breath. “I’d think that you of all people would understand. We were both doing the wrong thing for the right reason.”

“You’re not over Andrew,” he stated.

“I most certainly am over Andrew,” I said, my voice shaking. I was. And it killed me that he didn’t believe that.

“You lied so people would think you were, and you kept lying, and you’re still lying, and you don’t even see that there’s something wrong with this picture, do you?” Cal stared at the floor like he couldn’t bear to look at me.

When he spoke next, his voice was quieter. “You’re lying to your family, Grace, and you lied to me.” He dragged his eyes up to mine. “I’m leaving now. And just in case it’s not clear, we’re done.”

He didn’t slam the door. Worse, he closed it quietly behind him.

CHAPTER THIRTY

“THIS IS, LIKE, SO LAME.” Kerry’s expression combined disgust, incredulity and martyrdom the way only a teenager’s could.

“I thought we got to ride horses,” Mallory whined. “You said we were in the cavalry. That guy has a horse. Why can’t I have a horse?”

“Picture us dismounted,” I said tightly. Suffice it to say, my mood over the past forty-eight hours had been poor at best.

My righteous indignation had faded about ten minutes after Callahan had closed the door with such finality, leaving hot shards of shock flashing across an echoing emptiness. Callahan O’ Shea, who thought I was beautiful and funny, who smelled of wood and sun, didn’t want anything more to do with me.

Last night, despite Julian and Margaret’s best efforts to distract me with a Project Runway Season 1 DVD marathon and mango martinis, I’d sat in a daze of self-disgust, not eating, not drinking, tears leaking out of my eyes as Tim Gunn urged on the troops in the background. Well into the wee hours of this very morning, hard little sobs hiccupped out of me like pebbles until I finally fell asleep around 6:00 a.m. Then, realizing I’d ordered my Civil War class to attend the Gettysburg reenactment, I jolted out of bed, drank three cups of coffee and now stood before them, a sickly caffeine buzz in my head, an ache in my chest.

“Children, the Battle of Gettysburg lasted for three days,” I said, dressed in my Yankee blues. “When it was over, fifty-one-thousand men would be dead. The Confederates’ line of wounded stretched fourteen miles. Ten thousand injured. One in three men killed. The bloodiest battle in American history. The beginning of the end for the South.”

I looked into the eleven dubious faces before me. “Look, kids,” I said wearily. “I know you think this is lame. I know we’re in Connecticut, not Pennsylvania. I know that having a couple hundred oddball history geeks like me running around, firing blanks, isn’t the real thing.”

“So why’d you make us come?” Hunter asked, earning an admiring “Like, exactly!” from Kerry.

I paused. “I want you to try…just try, just for the next couple hours, to put yourselves as best you can in the minds of those soldiers. Imagine believing in something so passionately that you’d risk your life for it. For an idea. For a way of life. For the future of your country, a future you knew you might never see. You’re here, you lucky, nice, wellfed rich kids, because you stand on the shoulders of this country’s history. I just want you to feel that, just a little bit.”

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