Second Thoughts (23 page)

Dr. Stewart joined us to serve as witness, along with the effusive woman from the front desk who usually served me tea but was also the school's notary. It amazed me that someone who worked with teenagers and Dr. Stewart all day could always be so jubilant, and I
liked her even more for it. She seemed charmed by my uncle as she stamped and sealed our documents, which was hardly surprising. He was polite and polished, the very definition of dapper, an educated, wealthy, and, also, gay man closer to sixty than fifty. He charmed
everyone,
especially women over forty. I adored him.

When the business was concluded, I was excused from the rest of the already abbreviated day of classes. I took my financial manager to lunch. It was early enough, so we went to Dad's. Breakfast was their specialty, but during the week they served sandwiches with soup, chips, and a pickle too. I knew Uncle Martin would love it there, and that Mercy would love him as much as everyone else.

“E-laine!” she cried when we came through the door, using my full name and an extra-heavy accent for effect. The dining room was about half-full and split between people having late breakfast or early lunch. “I know you ain't skipping classes because it's the very day of the dance, but what're you doing here?”

I laughed. “I take it Carter came in this morning?” He also had a rare day off today—and tomorrow too.

“He did.” She bustled over to hug me. “But it's good to see you too. And who've you brought this time?” she added, eying my uncle, and his suit, with interest. Possibly no patron ever had worn a suit like my uncle's to Dad's Diner.

“Martin Schearer,” my uncle interjected, taking Mercy's hand into his own for a warm shake. “Lainey's uncle of sorts, and also, though I know she'll protest, the man here to take her to lunch for her birthday. It's a pleasure to meet you; I've heard so much.”

Mercy eyed him even more. “Well aren't
you
a delight. First the senator, now you. Our Elaine certainly brings the best dates to the diner.” She turned her scrutiny on me. “And I
wondered
if you'd mention the birthday. Thank you, but don't worry, Mr. Martin Schearer. Lunch will be on the house, birthday girl.”

From the back, Dad called, “Order UP! And happy birthday, Lainey!”

All things considered, this hadn't been the worst of my birthdays so far. I couldn't stop smiling as we chose an empty table in the back, actually the same table I'd shared with Senator Astor what felt like both forever and no time at all ago. I told my uncle as much as we sat down.

“Speaking of,” he said. “I have an envelope for you he asked me to pass along. I momentarily forgot about it during all our business this morning.” When I looked at him with surprise, he said, “Have I told you how Dan's persuaded me to join the board of the Astor Arts program?”

“Uh, no, you didn't mention it. Sounds perfect for you, though.” It felt slightly strange, or ironic maybe, that the man I'd always considered my uncle was now on a first name basis, and joining the boards of charities, with the man who was
actually
my uncle. Aunt Tessa had introduced them, of course.

But I really couldn't think of someone better to help direct the Astor Arts charity than Uncle Martin. They funded youth arts programs across the country and provided grants for working artists early in their careers. Aunt Tessa had told Dan and me during our dinner in Baltimore how she'd actually been preparing to apply for a grant before my parents' accident. After a moment of mulling it over, I told my uncle, “You know what? I'd like to make a donation. That can be your first official act as my financial manager.”

“Consider it done,” he said. After a pause he added, “He looks quite like your father you know, the senator.”

“I know.” Boy, did I know.

“I'd seen him before, glimpses in the political news, but even with Tessa's warning, seeing him in person was…a bit like meeting a ghost. One I miss very much.”

“Oh, Uncle…” I covered his hand with mine and squeezed. He patted our joined hands with his free one before saying, “Just a fond moment for an old man, nothing to worry about.”

“You're not old!”

“Not at heart, no, my dear. And never when I'm with you.” God, I loved Uncle Martin and the way he always made me—
everyone
—feel special. After another pause and a last squeeze of hands, he said, “It
is
a surprising likeness though.”

“Did you, uh, mention it to him? What did he say?” I was sure my aunt had by now, but I didn't want to put ideas into Dan's head. If I ever told him who I was, I wanted it to come from me.

My uncle shook his head. “No. It didn't seem necessary. They're different men, after all. But I enjoy having a new friend who reminds me of my old one. How interesting it would have been for them to meet, don't you think?”

We had a great lunch after that, the perfect kind of birthday afternoon I wished would never end. Uncle Martin's surprise visit was only for the day, so we lingered until closing over discussions of antiques and my aunt, investments and charities, new friends and old, and, also, my future. Unsurprisingly, my uncle heavily favored my return to Baltimore.

“Your time at the Academy has been so good for you, with the stability and the rigorous academics,” Uncle Martin explained, and sometimes I smiled at him just because who else said things like
stability and rigorous academics
seriously? But he did. He was a good salesman too. He went on, “I can't help but believe a similar environment that's also close to your family wouldn't be equally healthy or better.”

Though his argument for “coming home,” as he called it, was practical, I knew it was mostly that he wanted the chance to live close to me and my aunt for the first time in my remembered life. His enthusiasm,
along with Aunt Tessa's more subdued encouragement, was hard to ignore.

“I'm strongly considering it,” I promised him as we pulled back through the gates at school. Campus was busy with Winter Ball prep, students scurrying and cars coming and going. We pulled up to my building, only to find a limo already there and my roommate pacing around outside it.

“Lainey!” She was calling before I'd even finished opening my door. “Oh, finally! C'mon! We're so late!”

Uncle Martin stepped out of the car and I officially introduced them. Amy did her best rapid-fire conversation as she ran around to my side of the car. “Hi, Mr. Schearer, it's so nice to meet you! Are you staying? I hope so, because I'd love to talk to you some more and maybe you could tell me embarrassing stories about my friend, but Lainey and I
have
to go!” She tugged on my arm, like an excited little kid.

Uncle Martin was clearly amused. He'd never seen me with my friends before and he indulged my roommate's whimsy with all the excitement of a favorite uncle. “A delight to meet you too, dear. And if you
have
to go, I mustn't keep you!” His eyes sparkled and I knew Amy loved him instantly. I managed only a quick hug and goodbye before Amy dragged me into the limo.

We waved to him as we started away and Amy gushed, “Wow, he's
adorable.”

“He is. I miss him already. And I don't think I'm
that
late?” I was maybe a little behind schedule, but not enough to warrant the fretting and rushing my roommate was doing.

“You
are,”
she insisted. “Because I have a surprise! Happy birthday!” She was grinning and practically vibrating and that's when I realized:

“Have you had some champagne?”

“Maybe just a little.” She shrugged and before I could say anything, she went on,
“Anyway,
I know you said you didn't want any presents blah-blah-blah, but you
need
this. It's perfect for you and I don't know why I never thought of it sooner. No protests. Drink this”—she handed me a bottle of water from a little cooler—“and thank me profusely later.”

What she got me, it turned out, was a massage.

I
'D HAD MASSAGES
before, mostly to help with my “migraines” before coming to Northbrook solved that problem for me. It was the only treatment I ever liked, but none of them compared to the one Amy got me. The salon, really a
spa,
where we had our hair and nail appointments, was the fanciest one in the area. You had to make Winter Ball appointments a whole year in advance, and now I understood why.

After a magical ninety minutes of hot stone massage followed by a private, million-nozzle steam shower, I felt amazing. Relaxed, limber, and practically weightless. Amy was right—a massage was
exactly
what I needed. Actually, she'd probably argue that I needed them
more often,
but today's at least was the perfect present. I didn't care that I only had time to get my nails
or
my hair done. I chose nails, because my roommate was pretty handy with a hairbrush. I felt so good, I was even looking forward to the dance.

When I finally got back to our room, Amy looked amazing and had polished off nearly an entire bottle of champagne, all with no help from me. Because of the combination of those things, she wasn't nearly as concerned about the state of my readiness as she should have been.

“You've got a
lot
to do, miss, and not much time to do it,” she admonished me and thrust my own glass of champagne into my hand. “Starting with
this.”

“This
didn't go so well for me last year,” I told her, but I took a sip anyway. It was just as bubbly and sweet as I remembered it.

“No,” she countered.
“This
is exactly what you need to keep yourself from reverting to your natural state of stressing. Drink up, and let's get you done.”

We talked while she fussed over me, doing my makeup and helping braid my hair in a sort of crown I used to practice on myself during my frequent hours of alone time before Northbrook. It was nice just to be with my roommate without drama. I sipped the champagne—slowly—and let her cheer fill me up better than the drink ever could.

“Why is it such a big deal here, the Ball?” I asked, eyes closed while she worked her magic on my hair. Almost everyone who could go—sophomores, juniors, and seniors—went. Freshmen were allowed as dates, but no students from the lower school. I'd have thought more people would skip it, would be too cool or not want to go alone or whatever. But they didn't.

“Well, it's tradition. Everybody goes. That's what you hear from your first day here, so by the time it's your turn, you
want
to go. It's a chance, well, three chances, to get dressed up and have fun and show off and be out way past curfew with all your friends.”

“Everybody has prom though, and they don't all go.”

“Yeah, but a lot of them do. My friends from home all go and they have a million other things they could do. But us? We have campus and the bookstore. Curfew, like I said. The Ball
is
the thing we get to do. So”—she pulled my head back with the brush and I opened my eyes to see her wicked grin—“we fucking
do
it.”

Amy had pitched a fit when I confessed I
didn't
want to go, and between her and Carter, I'd caved easily. How could I disappoint both of them like that? And how could it possibly be worse than last year? That was probably a dangerous question, but I was pretty sure last year couldn't be topped. Now I was feeling so relaxed about, just,
everything,
I was determined to make this year's dance great. Or at least not a debacle.

Amy had also pitched a fit when my dress came in the mail at the last minute, mostly because I hadn't let her choose for me, but I knew it was perfect when I saw it online. And I was right. I kept looking at where it hung on the back of the bathroom door. The silk was deep emerald and the skirt flowed all the way to my feet, but the top had a low V in the front and tiny straps that slipped up my arms and over my shoulders to keep it in place, leaving my back completely bare to the waist. It was a dress I could imagine my mother would have worn, sexy but relaxed and with some mystery, and I couldn't wait to put it on.

When Amy finished her work, she playfully turned my head from side to side while we watched in the mirror. “You know I like your hair down best, but this hairdo is going to look awesome when they crown you.”

“Ugh. Would you stop with that? It's not going to happen.”

“You wait. It is.” Before I could protest, she wrapped her arms around my shoulders from behind in a fierce hug. “I love you, Young, you know that, right? I can't even imagine what it would be like without you anymore. Happy birthday.”

“Love you too, babe.” We stayed like that for a few moments. Then I bit her on the forearm and she jumped away with a squeal.

“Bitch!” she yelled, giggling. “I'm going to return your birthday present.”

“Too late!” I gave a languid stretch of my arms over my head. “And it was awesome. Thank you. Again. Even though I asked you not to get me anything.”

“You didn't ask me to get your
other
present either…”

“What?!”

She reclined on her bed, carefully spreading the fluttery tiers of her skirt, and patted an overnight bag I hadn't noticed next to it on the floor. “I'll be gone tonight, so you, you know, have the place to yourself.”

I laughed. “You know what? It
does
feel like last year all over again.”

“Not really. This time
I'm
wearing black and I know you'll actually take advantage of an empty room.” She
was
wearing black, a color she rarely chose, so it made her look extra dramatic. Her halter dress enhanced her already sizable assets, and had an asymmetrical skirt of chiffon ruffles that made it fun instead of severe. I'd missed dress shopping with her this year, but she never needed my help anyway. “Plus,” she added, “I mean I'll be gone all night.”