Too Good to Be True - Kristan Higgins [137]
“Oh, yes,” I answered. “They hired someone from outside. But she seems great.”
“Maybe she’ll give you a raise,” Dad speculated. “It’d be nice if you earned more than a Siberian farmer.”
“I was thinking of picking up work as a high-class hooker,” I said. “Do you know any politicians who are looking?”
Natalie laughed, and the sound made us all smile.
A while later, after dinner had been served, I headed into the ladies’ room. From the stalls came the voice of my smug cousin Kitty.
“…so apparently, she just was pretending to date someone so we wouldn’t feel sorry for her,” Kitty was saying. “The doctor was completely made up! And then there was something about a convict she’d been writing to in prison…” The toilet flushed, and Kitty emerged. From the next stall came Aunt Mavis. Upon sighting me, they both froze.
“Hello, ladies,” I said graciously, smoothing my hair in the mirror. “Are you enjoying yourselves? So much to gossip about, so little time!”
Kitty’s face turned as red as a baboon’s butt. Aunt Mavis, made of stronger stuff, simply rolled her eyes.
“Do you have any questions about my love life? Any gaps in your information? Anything you need from me?” I smiled, folded my arms across my chest and stared them down.
Kitty and Mavis exchanged a look. “No, Grace,” they said in unison.
“Okay,” I answered. “And just for the record, he was on death row. Sorry to say, the governor turned down his stay of execution, so I’m on the prowl again.” I winked, smiled at their identical looks of horror, and pushed my way into a stall.
When I rejoined my family, Nat was getting ready to go. “You can stay with me, Bumppo,” I said.
“No, thanks, Grace. I’ll stay with Mom and Dad for a few days. But you’re sweet to offer.”
“Want me to drive you?” I asked.
“No, Margs is taking me. We have to make a stop first. Besides, you’ve done enough today. Beating up Andrew…thanks for that.”
“My pleasure,” I said with complete sincerity. I kissed my sister, then hugged her a long, long time. “Call me in the morning.”
“I will. Thanks,” she whispered.
Walking to my car, I fished the car keys out of my bag. What seemed like aeons ago, I had promised my little old lady friends at Golden Meadows that I’d stop by tonight. They wanted to see my fancy dress and hear how the wedding went. Well, Dad had taken Mémé home before dinner. Chances were, the residents of Golden Meadows knew quite well how the wedding went.
But I figured I’d go just the same. Tonight was the Saturday Night Social. I could probably scare up someone to dance with, and though he wouldn’t be under eighty years old, I felt like dancing, oddly enough.
I drove across town and pulled into Golden Meadows’s parking lot. There was no sign of Callahan’s battered pickup truck. I hadn’t seen him since the day he left Maple Street, though I had stopped in to see his grandfather. As Cal had mentioned, the old man wasn’t doing well. We’d never even finished the book.
On impulse, I decided to stop in and see Mr. Lawrence. Who knew? Maybe Callahan would be there. Betsy, the nurse on duty, buzzed me in with a wave. “You just missed the grandson,” she said, cupping her hand over the receiver.
Drat. Well, Callahan wasn’t my reason for coming, not really. I walked down the hall amid the familiar, sad sounds of this particular ward—faint moans, querulous voices and too much quiet.
Mr. Lawrence’s door was open. He was asleep in his hospital bed, small and shrunken against the pale blue sheets. An IV, new from the last time I’d come by, snaked from a clear plastic tube into his arm, and tears pricked my eyes. I’d been coming to Golden Meadows long enough to know that in cases like this, an IV usually meant the patient had stopped eating and drinking.
“Hi, Mr. Lawrence, it’s Grace,” I whispered, sitting down next to him. “The one who reads to you, remember? My Lord’s Wanton Desire? The duke and the prostitute?”
Of course, he didn’t answer. To the best of my recollection, I’d never heard the voice of Cal’s grandfather. I wondered what he’d sounded like when he was a younger man, teaching Cal