Too Good to Be True - Kristan Higgins [138]
“Listen, Mr. Lawrence,” I said, putting my hand on his thin and vulnerable arm. “I just wanted to tell you something. I was dating your grandson for a little while. Callahan. And basically, I screwed things up and he broke up with me.” I rolled my eyes at myself, not having planned on a deathbed confession. “Anyway, I just wanted to tell you what a good man he is.”
A lump came to my throat, and my voice dropped back to a whisper. “He’s smart and funny and thoughtful, and he’s always working, you know? You should see the house he just fixed up. He did such a beautiful job.” I paused. “And he loves you so much. He comes here all the time. And he’s…well, he’s a good-looking guy, right? Chip off the old block, I’m guessing.”
The sound of Mr. Lawrence’s breathing was barely audible. I picked up his gnarled, cool hand and held it for a second. “I just wanted to say that you did a great job raising him. I think you’d be really proud. That’s all.”
Then I leaned over and kissed Mr. Lawrence’s forehead. “Oh, one more thing. The duke marries Clarissia. He finds her in the tower and rescues her, and they live…you know. Happily ever after.”
“What are you doing, Grace?”
I jumped like someone had just pressed a brand against my flesh. “Mémé! God, you scared me!” I whispered.
“I’ve been looking for you. Dolores Barinski said you were supposed to come to the social, and it started an hour ago.”
“Right,” I said with a last glance back at Mr. Lawrence. “Well, let’s go, then.”
So I wheeled my grandmother down the hall, away from the last link I had to Callahan O’Shea, knowing that I would probably not see Mr. Lawrence again. A few tears slipped down my cheeks. I sniffed.
“Oh, cheer up,” Mémé snapped omnisciently from her throne. “At least you have me. That man isn’t even related to you. I don’t know why you even care.”
I stopped the wheelchair and went around to face my grandmother, ready to tell her what a sour old pain in the butt she was, how vain and rude, how selfish and insensitive. But looking down on her thinning hair and wrinkled face, her spotted hands adorned with too-big rings, I said something else.
“I love you, Mémé.”
She looked up, startled. “What’s wrong with you today?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to tell you.”
She took a breath, frowning, her face creasing into folds. “Well. Are we going or not?”
I smiled, resumed pushing and headed to the social. It was in full swing, and I danced with all my regulars and a few people I didn’t recognize. I even took Mémé out for a spin in the wheelchair, but she hissed at me that I was making a fool of myself and wondered loudly if I’d had too much to drink at the club, so I took her back. Eventually. After two songs, that is.
My dress was admired, my hands were patted and held, even my hair was deemed pretty. I was, in other words, happy. Nat was heartbroken, and my own heart wasn’t doing too well, either. I’d ruined something lovely and rare with Callahan O’Shea and made an idiot of myself in front of my family by faking a boyfriend. But that was okay. Well, the idiot part was okay. Callahan, though…I’d miss him for a long time.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
WHEN I GOT HOME from Golden Meadows, it was nearly ten. Angus presented me with two rolls of shredded toilet paper, then trotted into the kitchen to show me where he’d vomited up a few wads. “At least you did it on the tile,” I said, bending down to pet his sweet head. “Thank you for barfing in the kitchen.” He barked once, then stretched out in Super Dog pose to watch me clean.
“I hope you’ll like our new place,” I said, donning the all-too-familiar rubber gloves I used when cleaning Angus’s, er, accidents. “I’ll pick us out a winner, don’t you worry.” Angus wagged his tail.
Becky Mango had called yesterday. “I know this might be weird,” she said, “but I was wondering if you might be interested in the house next door to you. The one Callahan fixed up? It’s just charming.”
I’d hesitated. I loved