Too Good to Be True
Page 23

He was there. Callahan O’ Shea was back on the roof, hands clasped behind his head, looking up at the sky.
We met when I clocked him with my field hockey stick. I thought he was robbing the house next door. Turned out he wasn’t, simply a guy on his first night out of prison. What for, you ask? Oh, he stole over a million dollars.
Sighing, I tore myself away from the view and went back downstairs. Pictured Wyatt Dunn coming home, hugging me, resting his cheek against my hair. Angus wouldn’t bite him or even bark. We’d sit down in my seldom-used dining room, and I’d pour him a glass of wine, and he’d ask to hear about my students, and I’d cheer him up by telling him about how I divided the class into Confederates and Union citizens and made them debate why their side was right, how the entire Southern side spoke in drawls and got the giggles when Emma Kirk said, “Fiddle-dee-dee.”
So intense was my little daydream that when a knock came on the door, I almost expected it to be Wyatt, that I somehow conjured him. Angus went into his yapping frenzy, so I picked him up and peeked. It was Callahan O’ Shea, down from the roof. My face went lava-hot.
“Hi,” I said, clutching my dog, who growled fiercely.
“Hi,” Callahan said, leaning in the doorway.
“Everything okay?” It was dark, after all.
“Yup.” He just looked at me from those denim-blue eyes, and I noticed for the first time that his irises were flecked with gold. His shirt was a soft green, and the smell of freshly cut wood drifted toward me.
“What can I do for you?” I asked, my voice husky.
“Grace.”
“Yes?” I breathed.
“I want you to stop spying on me,” he said.
Dang it! I sucked in a guilty breath. “Spying? I’m not…I…I don’t…”
“From the attic. Do you have a problem with me being up on my roof?”
“No! I just was…” Hrrrr. Hrrrr. Yarp! Angus was struggling to get out of my arms, giving me a great excuse to stall.
“Hang on a second. Or just come in. I have to put Angus in the cellar.”
I stashed Angus, took a few deep breaths, then turned to face my neighbor, who stood just inside the doorway, a sarcastic eyebrow raised. If eyebrows could be sarcastic, that is.
“Cal, I was just putting some things away up there. I saw you and yes, I wondered what you were doing out there, okay? I’m sorry.”
“Grace, we both know that you’ve been spying. Just knock it off.”
“Well, someone has quite an ego, doesn’t he?” I said. “I was putting away my general’s uniform. Go upstairs and check if you want.” Angus barked from the cellar, backing me up.
Callahan took a step closer and looked down at me—literally and figuratively, I imagined. His eyes wandered to my hair, then…oh, God…to my mouth. “Here’s what I want to know,” he said. “Why does that boyfriend of yours leave you alone so damn much?” His voice was soft.
My whole body responded with a giant, hot, pulsating throb. “Oh…well…” My voice was breathy. “I’m not sure that’s gonna work out. We’re, um…reevaluating.”
Tell him you’re free, Grace. Just say you and Wyatt broke up.
I didn’t. Honestly, it was just too scary. My entire body was quivering with Callahan’s nearness, and fear. Fear that he was playing me, all too aware that I was a heartbeat away from wrestling him to the floor and ripping off his clothes.
That stirring image was almost immediately replaced with another, much less desirable picture—Cal pushing me back and saying, quite firmly, No thanks, that sardonic expression on his too-appealing face.
“So.” My voice was brisk and teacherly. “Anything else, Mr. O’ Shea?”
“No.” But he looked at me, really looked, and it was awfully hard to maintain eye contact, let me tell you. Surely I was blushing, since my face was burning hot.
“No more spying,” he finally said, his voice gentle. “Got it?”
“Yes,” I whispered. “Sorry.”
And then he turned and left, leaving me standing in the middle of my living room, shaky and feeling like my stays were a little too tight.
Okay, okay, I admitted that I was desperately attracted to Callahan O’ Shea. And that was not a good thing. First of all, I wasn’t sure he liked me very much. Secondly…well. It wasn’t just the ex-con thing. Sure, if he’d beaten someone with a pipe or something, obviously he’d be out of the running. Embezzlement, yes, it was also a crime.
But not that bad, right? If he was sorry…plus, he’d served his debt to society and all that crap….
No. It wasn’t his past, though obviously, I put a lot of weight on the past. It was the fact that my whole life, I knew what I wanted. Andrew had been The One, and look how that turned out. What I wanted now, God help me, was another Andrew, just without the whole sister-loving complication.
Callahan O’ Shea was ridiculously appealing, but I’d never relax around him. He was not the type to look at me adoringly. He…he…ah, crap, he was just too much. Too big, too good-looking, too appealing, too stirring. I felt too many things around him. It was disturbing, really. He made me irritable and lustful and sharp when I wanted to be sweet and loving and soft. I wanted to be…well, like Natalie. And I wanted a man who looked at me the way Andrew looked at Natalie. Not like Callahan, who looked like he knew my every dirty little secret.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I WAS WORKING LATE AT MANNING one evening, putting together my presentation for the board of trustees, when Stuart paid me a visit.
“Hey, Stuart!” I exclaimed, getting up to kiss his cheek.
“How are you, Grace?” he asked politely.
“I’m okay,” I said. “Have a seat. Want some coffee or anything?”
“No, thank you. Just a few minutes of your time.”
Stuart looked awful. His eyes were shadowed and tired, and there seemed to be gray in his beard that wasn’t there a few weeks ago. Although we worked at the same school, Stuart’s office was in Caybridge Hall, a newer building on the southern side of the campus, far from Lehring, where the history department nestled appropriately in the oldest building at Manning. I rarely encountered Stuart at work.
I sat back behind my desk and took a deep breath. “You want to talk about Margaret?” I asked softly.
He looked down. “Grace…” He shook his head. “Has she told you why we’re…apart?”
“Um…” I paused, not sure how much I should reveal. “She’s said a few things.”
“I brought up the idea of us having a baby,” Stuart said quietly. “And she basically exploded. Suddenly, it seems, we’re having all sorts of troubles that I was completely unaware of. I’m quite boring, apparently. I don’t talk about work enough. She feels like she’s living with a stranger. Or a brother. Or a ninety-year-old man. We don’t have enough fun, we don’t just grab a toothbrush and rush off to the Bahamas—and here she works seventy hours a week, Grace! If I suggested we fly off somewhere, she’d kill me!”
He certainly had a point. Margaret was mercurial, putting it kindly.
He sighed wearily. “All I wanted was to talk—just talk—about the idea of having a baby. We decided we wouldn’t have kids when we were twenty-five, Grace. That was a long time ago. I figured we could revisit the idea. And now she said she’s filing for divorce.”
“A divorce?” I squeaked. “Oh, crap. I didn’t know that, Stuart.” I was quiet for a minute, then said, “But you know Margaret, buddy. She’s all thunder and lightning. I doubt she really wants…” My voice trailed off. I had no idea what Margaret really wanted. On the one hand, I couldn’t imagine her divorcing Stuart just like that. On the other, she’d always been impulsive. And completely unable to admit when she was wrong.
“What should I do?” he asked, and his voice broke just a little.
“Oh, Stuart.” I got out of my seat and went to him, patted his shoulder awkwardly. “Listen,” I murmured, “one thing she said to me was that…” you only have sex on scheduled days…I grimaced. “Um, maybe things were a little …routine? With you guys? So maybe a little surprise now and again—” on the kitchen table “—wouldn’t be a bad thing. Just sort of to show that you really…noticed her.”
“I do notice her,” he protested, wiping his eyes with one hand the way men do. “I love her, Grace. I’ve always loved her. I don’t understand why that’s not enough.”
Mercifully, my sister wasn’t home when I got there. As Stuart pointed out, she worked a very long day. Bemused, I threw together some dinner, then went upstairs to change for Dancin’ with the Oldies.
Callahan was busy these days at his own house, and I hadn’t seen him since he busted me for spying. I looked out the window at the new shingles on the roof, the curving and lovely little deck in the back. For the past two out the window at the new shingles on the roof, the curving and lovely little deck in the back. For the past two days, he’d been doing something inside, so I hadn’t been able to ogle him. Pity.
“Come on, Angus, buddy. Let’s go,” I said. I got my things and left the house, Angus trotting and leaping with delight at my side. He knew what Mommy’s swirly-twirly skirt meant. I got in the car, put it in Reverse and backed out onto the street as I had done a thousand times before.
Unlike those thousand other times, however, I heard a horrifying metallic crunch.
Callahan’s pickup truck was parked on the street, very close to my driveway. Well, okay, maybe not that close, but having gotten used to a clear runway ever since I’d lived here, I guess I took the turn kind of…yes. Okay. It was my fault.
I got out of the car to inspect the damage. Crap. I guessed that Callahan would be less than amused when I told him I’d just crushed his rear left taillight. Lucky for me, my own car was made of sturdy German stock, and there was only a little scrape where I’d hit the truck.
Glancing at my watch, I sighed, then dutifully trotted down the path to fess up.
I knocked briskly. No answer. “Callahan?” I called. “I just hit your truck!” Nothing. Fine, he was out. I didn’t have a pen, either, dang it, and if I went inside, I’d be late for dancing. I was cutting it close as it was.
He’d have to wait. I ran back down the path, shooed Angus out of the driver’s seat and headed off for Golden Meadows.
As I drove, Angus sitting on my lap, his adorable front paws resting on the steering wheel, I found myself wishing I was the single-mother type. I could just pop into a sperm bank and bingo. No man necessary. Life would be so much simpler.
I drove past the lake. The sun was setting, and a pair of Canada geese cruised in for a landing, their graceful black necks outstretched. The minute they touched water, each swam to the other, checking that the other was safe. Beautiful. That was the kind of tenderness I wanted. Super. I was now envying geese.
Pulling into the visitors’ lot at Golden Meadows, I bucked up a bit. This place was good for the spirit. “Hi, Shirley,”
I said to the receptionist as I went in.
“Hello, Grace.” She smiled. “And who have we here? Why, it’s Angus! Hello, honey! Hello! Do you want a cookie?” I watched in amusement as Shirley convulsed in delight at the sight of my dog, who was extremely popular here. Angus, knowing he had a captive audience, raised his right paw and tilted his little head as Shirley swooned with joy.
“You sure you don’t mind watching him?” I asked as Angus delicately (we were in public, after all) ate the proffered cookie.
“Mind? Of course not! I love him! Yes, I do! I love you, Angus!”
Smiling, I walked down the hall. “Hey, everyone!” I called as I went into the activity room where we held Dancin’ with the Oldies each week.
“Hello, Grace!” they chorused. I hugged and kissed and patted, and my heart was eased a good bit.
Julian was there, too, and the sight of my old buddy made me just about burst into tears. “I miss you, ugly,” I said to him. Dancin’ with the Oldies hadn’t met last week, due to a conflict with a free blood pressure screening.
“I miss you, too,” he said, pulling a face. “This dating thing isn’t working for me, Grace. I say forget it.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“A whole lot of nothing,” he answered. “It’s just…I’m not meant to be with anyone, I think. Romantically, anyway.
It’s not the worst thing to be alone, is it?”
“No,” I lied. “Not at all! Come over for Project Runway tomorrow, okay?”
“Thank you. I’ve been so lonely.” He gave me a sad smile.
“Me, too, buddy.” I squeezed his hand in relief.
“Okay, good people!” Julian called, patting my head and pushing Play. “Tony Bennett wants you to Sing, You Sinners! Gracie, let’s jitterbug!”
Three dances later, flushed and panting, I took a seat next to my grandmother. “Hello, Mémé,” I said, giving her withered cheek a kiss.
“You look like a tramp,” she hissed.
“Thank you, Mémé! You also look so pretty today!” I said loudly.
My grandmother was odd…her utmost pleasure in life was to put other people down, but I knew she was also proud of the fact that I came here, that everyone loved me. She might not have a kind word to say, but she liked having me around nonetheless. Somewhere in her sour old soul, I believed, was Nice Mémé, a woman who just had to have a little affection for her three granddaughters. So far, though, Mean Mémé had gagged and bound Nice Mémé, but you never knew.