Too Good to Be True (30 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

M
ANNING’S GRADUATION
was the same day as Natalie’s rehearsal dinner. Classes had ended a week after Gettysburg, and I gave everyone except Kerry Blake an A+ for their participation. Kerry got a C, bringing her final mark to a dreaded B-and resulting in seven phone calls to the school from her enraged parents. As his final act as chairman of the history department, Dr. Eckhart upheld my grade. I would really miss that man.

The hall echoed as I made my way down to my classroom, which I’d spent yesterday cleaning. For the summer program in August, I’d be teaching a class on the American Revolution, but for the next two months, I wouldn’t be here. The familiar end of term lump came to my throat

Looking around the room, I smiled at the sight of the picture, which Mallory had not only given me, but matted and framed, bless her heart. My seniors, my First Cavalry. I would never see most of those kids again. Maybe a few e-mails from some of my favorites for the next six months or so, but most of them would leave Manning and not return for years, if ever. But I planned on making a battle reenactment a permanent requirement for my class.

My gaze wandered to the huge copy of the Gettysburg Address, another of the Declaration of Independence, which I read aloud on the first day of school, in every class, every year. And in my continual effort to get the kids to feel a connection to our country’s history, I’d shamelessly covered the walls with movie posters.
Glory. Saving Private Ryan. Mississippi Burning. The Patriot, Full Metal Jacket, Flags of Our Fathers.
And on the back of the door,
Gone With the Wind,
tawdry enough that I felt it should be hidden from direct view. Scarlett’s bosom was scandalously exposed, and Rhett’s eyes bored into hers. Now that I’d seen the movie, I loved that poster more than ever.

The lump in my throat grew. Luckily, I was interrupted by a gentle knock on the door. “Come in,” I called. It was Dr. Eckhart.

“Good morning, Grace,” he said, leaning on his cane.

“Hello, Dr. Eckhart.” I smiled. “How are you?”

“A bit sentimental today, Grace, a bit sentimental. My last Manning graduation.”

“It won’t be the same without you, sir,” I said.

“No,” he agreed.

“I hope we can still meet for dinner,” I said sincerely.

“Of course, my dear,” he said. “And I’m sorry you didn’t make chairman.”

“Well. Sounds like they picked a winner.”

The new department chair was someone named Louise Steiner. She came to Manning from a prep school in Los Angeles, had significantly more administrative experience under her belt than either Ava or I and held a doctorate in European history and a master’s in American. In short, she’d kicked our butts.

Ava had been furious enough to break up with Theo Eisenbraun, Kiki told me. Ava was actively interviewing at other prep schools, but I didn’t really think she’d leave. Too much work, and Ava never was much of a worker.

“Will you be going to Pennsylvania this year?” Dr. Eckhart asked. “Or any other battle sites?”

“No,” I answered. “I’m moving this summer, so no travel for me.” I hugged the old man gently. “Thank you for everything, Dr. Eckhart. I’ll really miss you.”

“Well,” he harrumphed, patting my shoulder. “No need to get emotional.”

“Hello? Oh, damn, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Both Dr. Eckhart and I looked up. An attractive woman in her fifties with short gray hair and a classy linen suit stood in my doorway. “Hi, I’m Louise. Hello, Dr. Eckhart, nice to see you again. Grace, isn’t it?”

“Hi,” I said, going over to shake the hand of my new boss. “Welcome to Manning. We were just talking about you.”

“I wanted to meet you, Grace, and talk about a few things. Dr. Eckhart showed me a copy of your presentation, and I loved the curriculum changes you came up with.”

“Thank you,” I said, shooting a look at Dr. E., who was examining his yellowed fingernails.

“Maybe we can have lunch next week, talk about things,” Louise suggested.

I smiled at Dr. Eckhart, then looked back at Louise. “I’d love to,” I said sincerely.

W
HEN THE CAPS
had been thrown and the children celebrated the accomplishment of not having flunked out, when the graduation brunch was over, I made my way back to the parking lot. I had about two hours to shower, change and head on over to Soleil, the site of my faked date with Wyatt Dunn and where Natalie’s rehearsal dinner would take place.

“Another school year gone,” said a familiar voice.

I turned. “Hi, Stuart.” He looked…older. Grayer. Sadder.

“I hope you have a nice summer,” he said politely, looking at a particularly beautiful pink dogwood.

“Thanks,” I murmured.

“How’s…how’s Margaret?” His gaze flickered to mine.

I sighed. “She’s tense, jealous and difficult. Miss her?”

“Yes.”

I looked at his sorrowful face for a beat or two. “Stuart,” I asked quietly, “did you have an affair with Ava?”

“With that piranha?” he asked, looking shocked. “Goodness, no. We had dinner. Once. All I talked about was Margaret.”

What the heck. I decided to throw him a bone. “We’ll be at Soleil in Glastonbury, Stu. Tonight. Reservations are for seven-thirty. Be spontaneous.”

“Soleil.”

“Yup.” I looked at him steadily.

He inclined his head in a courtly nod. “Have a lovely day, Grace.” With that, Stuart walked away, the sun shining on his graying hair.
Good luck, pal,
I thought.

“Ms. Em! Wait up!” I turned to see Tommy Michener and a man, presumably his father, judging by the resemblance between them, coming toward me. “Ms. Emerson, this is my dad. Dad, this is Ms. Em, the one who took us to that battle!”

The father smiled. “Hello. Jack Michener. Tom here talks about you all the time. Says your class was his favorite.”

Tommy’s dad was tall and thin, with glasses and salt-and-pepper black hair. Like his son, he had a nice face, cheerful and expressive, sort of an Irish setter enthusiasm about the both of them. His grip was warm and dry when he shook my hand.

“Grace Emerson. Nice to meet you, too. You have a great kid here,” I said. “And I don’t say that just because he adores history, either.”

“He’s the best,” Mr. Michener said, slinging his arm around Tommy’s shoulders. “Your mom would be so proud,” he added to his son, a little spasm of pain crossing his face. Ah, yes. Tommy’s mom had died the year before he came to Manning.

“Thanks, Dad. Oh, hey, there’s Emma. I’ll be right back,” Tommy said, then bolted off.

“Emma, huh?” Mr. Michener said, smiling.

“She’s a great girl,” I informed him. “Been nursing a crush on your son all year.”

“Young love,” Jack Michener said, grinning. “Thank God I’m not a teenager anymore.” I smiled. “Did Tom tell you he’s majoring in history at NYU?”

“Yes, he did. I was so pleased,” I answered. “As I said, he’s a fantastic kid. Really bright and interested. I wish I had more students like him.”

Tommy’s dad nodded in enthusiastic agreement. I glanced at my car. Jack Michener made no move to leave, and being that he was the father of my favorite senior, I decided I could chat a little longer. “So what do you do for a living, Mr. Michener?”

“Oh, hey, call me Jack.” He smiled again, Tommy’s open, wide grin. “I’m a doctor.”

“Really?” I said politely. “What kind?”

“I work in pediatrics,” he said.

I paused. “Pediatrics. Let me guess. Surgery?”

“That’s right. Did Tom tell you that?”

“You’re a pediatric surgeon?” I asked.

“Yes. Why? Did you think it was something else?”

I snorted. “No, well…no. I’m sorry. Just thinking of something else.” I took a deep breath. “Um…so. How rewarding your work must be.” The irony sloshed around my ankles in thick waves.

“Oh, it’s great.” He grinned again. “I tend to log in too many hours at the hospital—hard to leave sometimes—but I love it.”

I bit down on a giggle. “That’s wonderful.”

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and tipped his head. “Grace, would you like to join Tom and me for dinner? It’s just the two of us here today…”

“Um, thanks,” I said, “but I can’t. My sister’s getting married tomorrow, and tonight’s the rehearsal.”

His smile dropped a few notches. “Oh. Well, maybe some other time?” He paused, blushing. “Maybe even without Tommy? We live in New York. It’s not that far.”

A date. The pediatric surgeon was asking me out on a date. A burst of hysterical laughter surged up my throat, but I clamped down on it just in time. “Um…wow, that’s really nice of you.” I took a quick breath. “The truth is, I’m…”

“Married?” he said with a no-hard-feelings shrug.

“No, no. I just broke up with someone, and I’m not over him yet.”

“Well. I understand.”

We were quiet for a second, both of us mildly embarrassed. “Oh, here comes Tommy,” I said, relieved.

“Excellent. It was great meeting you, Grace. Thanks again for all you did for my son.”

Tommy enveloped me in a hug. “Bye, Ms. Em,” he said. “You’re the best teacher here. I’ve had a crush on you since my first day of class.”

I hugged him back chastely, my eyes wet. “I’ll really miss you, buddy,” I said honestly. “Write to me, okay?”

“You bet! Have a great summer!”

And with that, my favorite student and his pediatric surgeon dad left, leaving me more bemused than ever.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

“A
HAHAHA
. A
HAHAHA
. O
OOH
. Ahahaha.” Mom’s society laugh rang out loud and false over the table.

“Hoohoohoohoo!” Andrew’s mother, not to be out-faked, chortled right back. From the other side of the table, Margaret kicked me meaningfully, making me wince in pain.

“Aren’t you glad you’re not marrying into that family?” she hissed.

“So glad,” I whispered back.

“Margaret, are you drunk?” Mémé asked her loudly. “I had a cousin who couldn’t hold her liquor, either. Disgraceful. In my day, a lady never overindulged.”

“Aren’t you glad those days are gone now, Mémé?” Margaret quipped. “Would you like another Rusty Nail, by the way?”

“Thank you, dear,” Mémé said, mollified. Margaret signaled the waiter, then made a mocking toast to me.

“Oh, yes, a toast!” Natalie cried. “Honey, make a toast!”

Andrew stood up, his parents gazing at him with servantile adoration. “This is such a happy day for us,” he said. Awkwardly. His eyes paused on me, then moved on. “Nattie and I are so happy. And we’re so happy that you’re all here to share our happiness.”

“I know I’m happy,” I muttered to Margs, rolling my eyes.

“Hardly a great orator, is he?” she said, loud enough for our mother to hear. Mom covered with another round of “Ahahaha. Ahahaha. Oooh. Ahahaha.”

The waiter appeared with our appetizers. Looking up, I saw it was Cambry. “Hey!” I exclaimed. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” he said, grinning.

“I hear we’re all having dinner next week chez Julian.”

“If he doesn’t bolt,” Cambry answered, setting down the oysters Rockefeller in front of me.

Julian was in a relationship. Granted, the mere word caused him stomach cramps and a cold sweat, but he was dating, and even he couldn’t find much fault with Cambry, who was waiting tables while he finished law school.

“You hang in there,” I said. “You’re good for him. He hardly ever wants to come over and watch
Dancing with the Stars
these days. I should probably hate you.”

“Do you?” he asked, raising a concerned eyebrow.

“No, of course not. But you have to share. He’s been my best friend since high school.”

“Duly noted,” he said.

“Grace, I thought the oysters here caused food poisoning,” Mémé bellowed, causing a nearby diner to spit abruptly into his napkin.

“No, no!” I said loudly. “No. They’re great. So fresh!” I smiled encouragingly to the napkin spitter and took a bite as he watched nervously.

“Well, didn’t they just about kill your doctor?” Mémé asked, turning to the Carsons, who were smiling politely. “He was in the toilet for twenty minutes,” she informed them, as if they hadn’t been there. “The trots, you know. My second husband had stomach problems. We couldn’t leave the house some days! And the smell!”

“It was so bad, the cat fainted,” Margaret intoned.

“It was so bad, the cat fainted!” Mémé announced.

“Okay, Mother,” Dad said, his face burning. “Perhaps that’s enough.”

“Ahahaha. Ahahaha. Oooh. Ahahaha,” laughed Mom, her eyes murderous upon her mother-in-law, who was knocking back another cocktail. Personally, I’d never been fonder of Mémé, for some reason. Cambry was struggling unsuccessfully to hide his laughter, and in a rush of warm sincerity, I said a quick little prayer that he and Julian would make it. Even if it meant I had no one to cushion my loneliness, poor lonely spinster that I was. Perhaps Angus needed a wife. Maybe I could have his little snipping reversed and I could become a dog breeder for people who loved to have things destroyed by adorable barking balls of fur. Or not.

I looked down the table at Natalie. She wore a pale blue dress, and her smooth, honey-colored hair was swept up and held with the kind of clip my own hair ate like a Venus flytrap. She looked so happy. Her hand brushed Andrew’s over a roll, and she blushed at the contact. Aw. Then she caught my eye, and I smiled at her, my beautiful sister. She smiled back.

“Grace, where’s Callahan?” she asked abruptly, her head snapping around to look for him. “Is he coming separately?”

Drat. The truth was, I’d been kind of hoping not to have to discuss it. I hadn’t mentioned my breakup to anyone but Margaret. For two reasons. One, I’d been holding on to the hope that Cal might, well, forgive me, realizing that I was the one for him and he couldn’t live without me. And two, I didn’t want to rain on Nattie’s parade. She’d be worried about me, cluck and pat my back and puzzle over how someone could not want to date her big sister. Someone other than Andrew, that was.

Lucky for me, I’d just taken a bite of my oysters, so I grinned and pointed and chewed. And chewed. Chewed a bit more, stalling as the oyster was ground into flavored saliva.

“Who’s Callahan?” asked Mrs. Carson, turning her beady eyes on me.

“Grace is dating someone wonderful,” Mom announced loudly.

“A convict,” Mémé said, then belched. “An Irish convict with big hands. Right, Grace?”

Mr. Carson choked, Mrs. Carson’s slitty eyes grew wider with malicious glee. “Well,” I began.

“He used to be an accountant,” my father said heartily. “Went to Tulane.”

Margaret sighed.

“He’s a handyman, right, Grace?” Mémé bellowed. “Or a gardener. Or a lumberjack. I can’t remember.”

“Or a coal miner. Or a shepherd,” Margaret added, making me snort.

“He’s wonderful,” Mom said firmly, ignoring both her eldest child and Callahan’s criminal past. “So, er, handsome.”

“Oh, he is!” Natalie said, turning her shining eyes to the Carsons. “He and Grace are so good together. You can tell they’re just crazy about each other.”

“He dumped me,” I announced calmly, wiping my mouth. Across the table, Margaret choked on some wine. As she sputtered into her napkin, she gave me a thumbs-up.

“The gardener dumped you? What? What did she say?” Mémé asked. “Why are you mumbling, Grace?”

“Callahan dumped me, Mémé,” I said loudly. “My ethics aren’t up to snuff.”

“The prisoner said that?” Mémé barked.

“Pish!” my mother said. No one else said a word. Natalie looked like I’d clubbed her over the head.

“Thanks, Mom,” I said. “Sorry to say, I think he’s right.”

“Oh, Pudding, no. You’re wonderful,” Dad said. “What does he know, after all? He’s an idiot. An ex-con and an idiot.”

“An ex-con?” Mr. Carson wheezed.

“No, he’s not, Dad. He’s not an idiot, that is. He
is
an ex-con, Mr. Carson,” I clarified.

“Well,” Mom said, her eyes darting between the Carsons and me, “do you think you might get back with your pediatric surgeon? He was such a nice young man.”

Wow. Amazing how a lie could be so powerful. I looked at Margaret. She looked back, lifted an eyebrow. I turned back to my mother.

“There was no pediatric surgeon, Mom,” I said, enunciating so Mémé could hear. “I made him up.”

You know, it was almost fun, dropping a bomb like that. Almost. Margaret sat back and smiled broadly. “You go, Grace,” she said, and for the first time in a long time, she looked genuinely happy.

I sat up a little straighter, though my heart was thudding so hard I thought I might throw up. My voice shook…but it carried, too. “I pretended to date someone so Natalie and Andrew wouldn’t feel so guilty. And so everyone would stop treating me like I was some sort of abandoned dog covered in sores.”

“Oh, Grace,” Nat whispered.

“What? Grace, you can’t be serious!” Dad exclaimed.

“I am, Dad. I’m sorry,” I said, swallowing hard. Here it was at last…my confession. I started talking again, and my voice grew faster and faster. “Andrew broke up with me because he fell in love with Natalie, and it hurt. A lot. But I was getting over it. I was, and if they wanted to be together, I didn’t want to be the reason they stayed apart. So I made up Wyatt Dunn, this impossibly perfect guy, and everyone felt much better, and I just ran with it because to tell you the truth, it felt great, even just pretending I had a boyfriend who was so wonderful. But then I fell for Callahan, and obviously I had to break up with Wyatt, and then, that night that Andrew came over and kissed me on the porch, Cal was really unhappy about that, and we talked and then I ended up telling him about Wyatt Dunn. And he dumped me. Because I lied.”

My breath came in shaky little gasps, and my back was damp with sweat. Margaret reached across the table and put her hand over mind. “Good girl,” she murmured.

Natalie didn’t move. The Carsons’ heads swiveled to gape at their son, who looked like he’d just been shot in the stomach, eyes wide with horror, face white. The rest of the restaurant was so quiet, you could almost hear the crickets cheeping.

“Wait a minute, wait a sec,” my father said, his face slack with confusion. “Then who was I talking to in the bathroom that night?”

“Shut it, Jim,” my mother hissed.

“That was Julian, pretending to be Wyatt,” I said. “Any other questions? Comments? No? Okay, then, I’m going out for some air.”

On shaking legs, I walked across the restaurant, past the now-silent diners, my face on fire. As I entered the foyer, Cambry leaped over to open the front door. “You are one magnificent creature,” he said in an admiring voice as I walked out.

“Thanks,” I whispered.

He had the grace to leave me alone. I was shaking like a leaf, my heart thudding. Who said that confession was good for the soul? I wanted to throw up. Going over to a small bench that sat in the restaurant’s front garden, I sat down heavily. Pressed my cold fingers against my burning cheeks and closed my eyes, just trying to breathe normally. In and out. In and out. Not hyperventilating or passing out would be enough for now.

“Grace?” Natalie’s voice was timid. I hadn’t heard her footsteps.

“Hey, Nattie,” I said wearily without looking up.

“Can I sit with you?” she asked.

“Sure. Of course.” Natalie sat next to me. When she slipped her hand into mine, I looked down at our entwined hands. Her engagement ring caught the light. “My ring looked just like this,” I murmured.

“I know. Who buys the same ring for sisters?”

“He probably didn’t remember the one he gave to me. He can’t even pick out matching socks.”

“Pathetic,” she murmured.

“Men,” I muttered.

“So dumb.”

I agreed…in Andrew’s case, anyway. “Did he tell you about that kiss?” I whispered.

I hadn’t meant to ruin anything for Natalie. Should’ve thought about that before I opened my mouth.

She was quiet for a moment. “Yes, he told me.” A mockingbird twittered above us, a long stream of notes.

“What did he say?” I asked, more out of curiosity than anything.

“He said it was a lapse in judgment. That being in the house with you, having seen you with another guy…it made him feel a little jealous.”

I sneaked a glance at my sister. “What did you think about that?”

“Well, I thought he was an asshole, Grace,” she said, making my mouth drop open in shock. “It was our first fight. I told him he’d screwed up our lives enough already, and kissing you was unacceptable. Then I slammed a few doors and stomped around for a while.”

Natalie’s face was red. “How refreshing,” I murmured.

She snorted. “And I was…jealous. Not that I had a right to be, given what I did to you.”

I squeezed her hand. “You can’t help the big kablammy,” I said.

Natalie shot me a questioning glance.

“You know,” I said. “The thunderbolt. Just one look, that’s all it took, all that garbage.” I paused. “But you made up, obviously. You guys are okay, right?”

She gave a little nod. “I think so,” she whispered, looking straight ahead and squeezing my hand a little tighter. Her eyes were full of tears. “Grace, I’m so sorry that of all the people in the world, I had to fall for him. That I hurt you.” She drew a shaking breath. “I never said it, but I’ll say it now. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Well, you know, it really sucked,” I admitted. It was a relief to say the words.

“Are you mad at me?” Two tears slipped down her cheeks.

“No,” I assured her. Then I reconsidered. “Well…not anymore. I tried not to be. I was more mad at Andrew, to be honest, but yeah, part of me was just screaming. It wasn’t fair.”

“Grace, you know you’re my favorite person in the world. The last person I’d ever willingly hurt. I never meant to. I never wanted to. I hated that I fell for Andrew. I hated it.” She was crying harder now.

I slipped my arm around her, pulling her so that our heads touched as we sat, side by side, not looking at each other. I didn’t like to have my sister crying, but maybe she just needed to. And maybe I needed to see it. “Well,” I admitted softly, “it hurt. Quite a bit. I didn’t want you to know it. But I’m over that now. I really am.”

“Making up Wyatt…” Her voice trailed off. “I think that might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me. And man, I jumped all over that.” She gave a grim laugh. “I kind of suspected he wasn’t real, you know. You had me up until the bit about the feral cats.” She grinned.

I rolled my eyes. “I know.”

Nat sighed. “I guess I didn’t want to know the truth.” We were quiet for a moment. “You know, Grace,” she said softly, “you don’t have to watch out for me anymore. You don’t have to protect me from every sad emotion.”

“Well,” I said, my own eyes filling. “I kind of do. That’s my job. I’m your big sister.”

“Forget the job,” she suggested, reaching out to tuck a wayward strand of frizz behind my ear. “Forget that you’re the big sister. Let’s just be plain old sisters. Equals, okay?”

I looked into the blue, clear sky. Ever since I was four, I’d been watching out for Natalie, admiring her, protecting her. It might be nice, just…just liking her. Instead of adoration, friendship. Equals, like she said.

“Like Margaret,” I mused.

“Oh, God, don’t be like Margaret!” she blurted with mock earnestness, and we both burst into laughter. Then Nat opened her purse and handed me a tissue—of course, she was armed with a cunning little tissue pack with roses on the cover—and we sat for another minute, listening to the mockingbird, holding hands.