Too Good to Be True (27 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

I
WENT TO SCHOOL EARLY
the next morning, straight to the headmaster’s office.

I wasn’t fast enough.

“Grace. I was expecting you,” Dr. Stanton said as I sat in front of his desk like a repentant student. “I had a rather disturbing phone call from Theo Eisenbraun this morning.”

“Right.” I said, sweat breaking out on my forehead. “Um…well, I wanted to tell you myself, but I guess the news is out. But yes, I just started dating someone, and he, uh, served time for embezzlement.”

Dr. Stanton sighed. “Oh, Grace.”

“Dr. Stanton, I’d hope that my credentials stand on their own,” I said. “I love Manning, I love the kids, and I really don’t think my personal life should have anything to do with how I’m viewed as a teacher. Or, um, as a potential department chairman.”

“Of course,” he murmured. “And you’re quite right. We value you tremendously, Grace.”

Right. We both knew I was screwed. If I’d had any chance of getting the chairmanship, it was gone now. “The search committee is meeting this week, Grace. We’ll let you know.”

“Thanks,” I said, then went on to Lehring Hall, to my casket-size office and sat in the old leather chair Julian and I had found at a yard sale. Damn it. Glum, I gnawed on a fingernail, staring out the window at the beautiful campus. The cherry blossoms waved thick and foamy, as if the tree branches had been sprayed with pink whipped cream. Graceful dogwood blossoms seemed to float on the air, and the grass glowed emerald. It was Manning’s most beautiful time. Classes ended next Wednesday, with graduation two days after that. The day before Natalie and Andrew’s wedding, actually.

Being chairman might’ve been a stretch for me—I was only thirty-one, after all, and I didn’t have a doctorate in history. Add to that the fact that I just wasn’t a political creature with minimal administrative experience, aside from heading up the curriculum committee. Maybe I’d never had a chance at all.

Still, I had made it to the final round. It might’ve just been a courtesy to a Manning faculty member. But if being with Callahan O’ Shea had tanked my chances…well. He was worth it. I hoped. No. I knew. If being passed over for chairman was the price I had to pay, so be it. Thus resolved, I left my poor fingernail alone, sat up straight and booted up my computer.

“Hello, Grace.” Ava blinked sleepily from the doorway, a knowing smile on her glossy lips. “How are you this morning?”

“I’m perfect in every way, Ava, and you?” I slapped a chipper smile on my face and waited.

“I heard you met with Dr. Stanton this morning.” She grinned. Nothing was secret at a prep school. “Dating an ex-con, Grace? Not much of a role model for the young minds of Manning, is it?”

“Well, if we’re examining morals, I’d say it beats dating a married coworker, Ava. One wonders.”

“One does,” she murmured. “The search committee meets Thursday, you know.”

“I heard they already made their decision,” came a rusty voice. “Good morning, ladies.”

“Good morning, Dr. Eckhart,” I said.

“Hello, there,” whispered Ava.

“A word, please, Ms. Emerson?” he croaked.

“Ta-ta,” Ava said, then swung off down the hall, her lush bottom straining the seams of her skirt.

“Have you heard?” I asked as Dr. Eckhart came into my office.

“Yes, I’ve heard, Grace. I’m here to reassure you.” He broke off into a coughing fit, sounding, as he usually did, as if he were trying to expel a small child from his lungs. When he caught his breath, he smiled with watery eyes. “Grace, many of our own board members have had a brush with the law, especially concerning matters of creative financing. Try not to worry.”

I gave the old man a halfhearted smile. “Thanks. Have they really reached a decision?”

“From what I’ve heard, they’re finalizing the package this afternoon, but yes, I was told they agreed on someone last week. I recommended you, my dear.”

My throat tightened. “Thank you, sir. That means more to me than I can say.”

The chimes rang for first period. Dr. E. shuffled off to Medieval History with his sophomores, and I went down the hall to my seniors. Two more Civil War classes with them, then they’d be out in the world. Many of them, I’d never see again.

I pushed open the door and went in, my arrival unnoticed by my students. Hunter IV lounged in front of Kerry Blake, who was wearing a cropped, low-cut shirt that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a prostitute, but which probably cost a week of my salary. Four students were checking their BlackBerry, despite the rules against having them in class. Molly, Mallory, Madison and Meggie were trying to out-impress each other with their summer plans—one was going to Paris to intern at Chanel, another would be mountain climbing in Nepal, one had plans to white-water raft on the Colorado, and one would be, in her words, committing slow suicide by spending the summer with her family. Emma sat staring at Tommy Michener, who was dozing with his head on the desk.

Maybe I wasn’t as good a teacher as I thought. For all my best intentions, had I really taught these kids what I wanted them to learn? Would they ever understand how important it was to know our past? And add to that the fact that I’d just killed my chances of becoming chairman, and I felt something inside me snap.

“Good morning, princes and princesses!” I barked, earning a gratifying jump from many of them. “This weekend, my lovely children, is the reenactment of the Battle of Gettysburg.” Groans. Eye rolling. “You are required to attend. Failure to do so will result in an F in class participation, which, as I’m sure you remember, is worth one third of your grade, and even though you’ve all gotten into college, I do believe you’re supposed to maintain a healthy grade point average. Am I right? I am. Meet me in front of the building Saturday morning, 9:00 a.m.”

Their mouths hung open with horror, and for a second, they were unable to find their voices. And then came the chorus. “It’s not fair! I have lacrosse/soccer/tickets! My parents will—”

I let them protest for a minute, then smiled and said simply, “Nonnegotiable.”

W
HEN
I
GOT HOME
that afternoon, Angus was looking cuter than ever, so I figured a waltz was in order. Scooping my little dog up into my arms, I swooped around the living room, one-two-three, one-two-three, humming
Take It to the Limit
by the Eagles, one of Angus’s favorites. “‘So put me on a highway, and show me a sign,’” I sang. Angus began to croon along. As I said, it was one of his favorites.

I wasn’t sure why I felt so happy, given that my chances of being history chair were smaller than ever. “I guess there’s more to life than work, right, McFangus?” I asked the Wonder Pup. He wriggled in delight.

It was true. In just a little while, Natalie and Andrew would be married, putting the final nail in the coffin of Andrew and me. Summer was fast approaching, the time of reading and relaxing and battling down South.

And Callahan O’ Shea was my boyfriend. A warm tide of happiness rose from my ankles on up. Callahan O’ Shea was looking for a wife, kids and a lawn to mow. I figured I might just be able to help him out on that quest.

“Can I cut in?”

Speak of the devil, there he was on my porch, sinful grin in place. Angus stiffened and yarped in my arms.

“Come on in,” I said, setting down my faithful beastie, who leaped onto Cal’s ankle with great enthusiasm.
Hrrr. Hrrr.
Cal ignored him, took my hand and put his hand on my waist.

“I don’t really know what I’m doing,” he admitted, his eyes crinkling most appealingly as he tried to execute a box step, stepping on my foot.

“I’ll teach you,” I said. The back of his neck was warm under my hand, and the lovely smell of wood and man and sweat made my heart beat a little faster. The tide of happiness became a flood.

“I always kind of liked the eighth-grade shuffle myself,” he said, pulling me into a hug. Our feet barely moved…well, except when Cal tried to shake Angus off. My hands drifted down Cal’s back…I figured I’d cop a feel, why not…when I touched paper.

“Oh, right,” Callahan said, stepping back. “This is yours. The mailman put it in my box by mistake.” He pulled an envelope from the back pocket of his jeans and handed it to me.

The envelope was thick and creamy, my name done in stylish calligraphy, the ink a dark green. “This must be my sister’s wedding invitation,” I said, opening it. Sure enough, it was. Stylish and classic, just like Natalie. I smiled a little at the pretty design, the traditional words.
Together with their parents, Natalie Rose Emerson and Andrew Chase Carson warmly request the honor of your attendance…
I looked up at Callahan. “Want to be my wedding date?” I asked.

He smiled. “Sure,” he said.

Sure.
Just like that. Such a contrast from the superhuman effort I’d put into finding a date for Kitty’s wedding. I paused. “Um, I don’t think I told you this, Cal, but remember I said I’d been engaged once?” Cal nodded. “Well, it was to Andrew. The guy who’s marrying my sister.”

Cal’s eyebrows bounced up in surprise. “Really?”

“Yup,” I said. “But once he and Natalie met, it seemed pretty clear that she was the one for him. Not me.”

He didn’t say anything for a minute, just looked at me, frowning slightly. “Are you okay with them being together?” he asked finally. Angus shook the cuff of his jeans.

“Oh, sure,” I answered. I paused. “It was really tough at first, but I’m fine now.”

Cal studied me for another minute. Then he bent, picked up Angus, who replied with a growl before gnawing on Cal’s thumb. “I’d say she’s more than fine, wouldn’t you, Angus?” he asked. Then he leaned in and kissed my neck, and it dawned on me in a sweetly painful rush that I was crazy in love with Callahan O’ Shea.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

B
UT BEING CRAZY ABOUT HIM
didn’t mean things were perfect.

“I think we should just wait a little bit,” I said to Cal a few days later as we drove to West Hartford.

“I think it’s a bad idea,” he said, not looking at me. We were on our way to that most distressing of family gatherings—Mom’s art show. Well, actually, most of my family gatherings were distressing, but Mom’s shows were special. However, it was the only night before Nat’s wedding that my family could get together. The official Meet the Family horror show.

“Callahan, trust me. It’s my family. They’re going to…well, you know. Flip a little. No one wants to hear that their baby girl is dating a guy with a record.”

“Well, I do have a record, and I think we should just get it out in the open.”

“Okay, listen. First of all, you’ve never been to one of my mother’s shows. They’re weird. My dad will be tense as it is, Mom will be fluttering all over the place…Secondly, my grandmother is deaf as a stone, so I’d have to yell, and it’s a public place and all that. It’s just not the time, Cal.”

I’d told my parents and Natalie that I was dating the boy next door. I hadn’t told them anything else.

My parents were concerned, thinking I had dumped a perfectly good workaholic doctor for a carpenter. That was bad enough…wait till they found out about his nineteen months behind bars. Not that there were bars at his prison, but such a distinction was going to be lost on the Emerson family, whose line could be traced back to the Mayflower.

“I’m actually surprised you haven’t told them yet,” Cal said.

I glanced over at him. His jaw was tight. “Listen, bub. Don’t worry. I’m not trying to hide anything. I just want them to know you and like you a little bit first. If I walk in and say, ‘Hi, this is my boyfriend who was recently released from prison,’ they’ll have kittens. If they see what a great guy you are first, it won’t be so bad.”

“When will you tell them?”

“Soon,” I bit out. “Cal. Please. I have a lot on my mind. School’s ending, I still haven’t heard about the chairmanship, one sister’s getting married, the other’s ready to jump out of her skin…Can we just let my folks meet you without dumping your prison record on them? Please? Let me have one major crisis at a time? I promise I’ll tell them soon. Just not tonight.”

“It feels dishonest,” he said.

“It’s not! It’s just…parceling out information, okay? We don’t have to go around introducing you as Callahan O’ Shea, ex-con. Do we?”

He didn’t answer for a minute. “Fine, Grace. Have it your way. But it doesn’t feel right.”

I took his hand. “Thanks.” After a minute, he squeezed back.

“Y
OU’RE DATING THE HELP
? You threw over that nice doctor for the help?” Mémé’s expression was that of a woman who’d just bitten into a lizard. Actually, of a lizard biting into a lizard. She wheeled a little closer, hitting a pedestal and causing
Into the Light
(supposedly a birth canal, but actually more resembling the Holland Tunnel) to wobble precariously. I steadied it, then looked down at my disapproving grandmother.

“Mémé, please stop calling Callahan the help, okay? You’re not in Victorian England anymore,” I started. “And as I said—” here I took a breath, weary with the lie “—Wyatt, though a very nice man, just wasn’t a good fit. Okay? Okay. Let’s move on.”

Margaret, lurking nearby, raised an eyebrow. I yearned for more wine and ignored her
and
Mémé, who was once again labeling the Irish as beggars and thieves.

Chimera Art Gallery was littered with body parts. Apparently, Mom wasn’t the only one who was doing anatomy these days, and she was quite irritable that another artist was also featured (joints…ball-and-socket, gliding and cartilaginous, not nearly as popular as Mom’s more, ah, intimate items, most of which looked like they belonged in a sex shop). I dragged my eyes off
Yearning in Green
(use your imagination) and sidled over to Callahan, who was talking to my father.

“So! You’re a carpenter!” Dad boomed in the hearty voice he used on blue-collar workers, a little loud and with an occasional grammatical lapse to show that he, too, was just an average joe.

“Dad, you hired Cal to replace my windows, remember? So you already know he’s a carpenter.”

“Restoration specialist?” Dad suggested hopefully.

“Not really, no,” Callahan answered evenly, resisting Dad’s efforts to glam him up. “I wouldn’t say a specialist in anything, though. Just basic carpentry.”

“He does beautiful work,” I added. Cal gave me a veiled look.

“What I wouldn’t give to trade in my law books for a hammer!” Dad trumpeted. I snorted—in my memory, at least, it had always been Mom who did the needed household repairs; Dad couldn’t even hang a picture. “You always a carpenter?” my father continued, dropping a verb to demonstrate his camaraderie with the working man.

“No, sir. I used to be an accountant.” Cal looked at me again. I gave him a little smile and slipped my hand in his.

My mom, apparently having overheard, pounced on us. “So you had a
revelation,
Callahan?” she asked, caressing a nearby sculpture in a most pornographic way. “The same happened with me. There I was, a mother, a housewife, but inside, an artist was struggling for recognition. In the end, I just had to embrace my new identity.”

“Dance hall hussy?” I muttered to Margaret. I’d told Margs about our parents’ attempted tryst—why should I suffer alone?—and she snorted. Mom shot me a questioning look but dragged Cal over to
Want,
describing the wonders of self-expression. Callahan tossed me a wink. Good. He was relaxing.

“Hey, guys! We made it!” My younger sister’s mellifluous voice floated over the hum of the crowd.

Natalie and Andrew were holding hands. “Hi, Grace!” my younger sister said, leaping over to hug me.

“What about me?” Margaret growled.

“I was getting there!” Nat said, grinning. “Hello, Margaret, I love you just as much as I love Grace, okay?”

“As you should,” Margs grumbled. “Hi, Andrew.”

“Hi, ladies. How’s everyone?”

“Everyone’s suffering, Andrew, so join the crowd,” I said with a smile. “Nice of you guys to come.”

“We wanted to meet Callahan officially,” Natalie said. “You and Wyatt were together for what, two months? And I never got to even shake his hand.” Nat looked over at Cal. “God, Grace, he is really gorgeous. Look at those
arms.
He could pick up a horse.”

“Hello, I’m standing right here,” Andrew said to my sister. I smiled at my wineglass, a warm glow in the pit of my stomach.
That’s right, Andrew,
I thought.
That big, strong, gorgeous man is your replacement.
I wondered what Cal would think of my ex. Cal glanced over at me, smiled, and the glow became a lovely ache. I smiled back, and Cal returned his attention to my mom.

“Crikey, look at her,” Nat said to Margaret. “She’s in love.”

I blushed. Andrew caught my eye, a questioning eyebrow raised.

“I’m afraid you’re right, Nat,” Margs replied. “Grace, you’re in deep, poor slob. And hey, speaking of poor slobs, Andrew, make yourself useful and get us more wine.”

“Yes, sir,” Andrew answered obediently.

“By the way,” I said, “Mom wants you to pick out a wedding present. A sculpture.” I lifted an eyebrow.

“Oh, sweetie, let’s pick fast,” Natalie said. “The smallest one, whatever it is. My God, look at that.
Portals of Heaven.
Wow. That is large.” They meandered off.

Dad approached Margs and me. “Gracie-Pudding,” he said, “can I have a word?”

Margaret heaved a sigh. “Rejected again. People wonder why I’m so mean. Fine. I’ll just go browse the labias.” Dad flinched at the word and waited till she was out of hearing range.

“Yes, Dad?” I said, picking up a shoulder joint to admire. Oops. It came apart in my hands.

“Well, Pudding, I just have to ask myself if maybe you broke things off prematurely with the doctor,” Dad said, watching me fumble the joint parts. “Sure, he has to work a lot, but think of what he’s working on! Saving children’s lives! Isn’t that the kind of man you want? A carpenter…he…well, not to be snobby or anything, honey…”

“You’re sounding pretty snobby, Dad,” I said, trying to fit the humerus (or was it the ulna? I got a B-in biology) back into the socket. “Of course, you think being a teacher is akin to being a field hand, so…”

“I think nothing of the sort,” Dad said. “But still. You’d probably make more picking cotton.”

Callahan, having been released from my mother’s death grip, came over to me.

“Here y’ are!” Dad barked heartily, slapping Callahan on the back hard enough to make his wine slosh. “So, big guy, tell me about yourself!”

“What would you like to know, sir?” Cal asked, taking my hand.

“Grace says you used to be an accountant,” Dad said with an approving smile.

“Yes,” Cal answered.

“And I take it you went to college for this?”

“Yes, sir. I went to Tulane.”

I gave Dad a look that was meant to convey
See? He’s really nice
and also
Lay off the questions, Dad.
He ignored it. “So, Callahan, why’d you leave—”

Mom interrupted. “Do you have family in the area, Callahan?” she asked, smiling brightly.

“My grandfather lives at Golden Meadows,” Cal answered, turning to her.

“Who is he? Do I know him?” Mémé barked, wheeling closer and almost toppling a breast from a nearby pedestal.

“His name is Malcolm Lawrence,” Cal answered. “Hello, Mrs. Winfield. Nice to see you again.”

“Never heard of him,” Mémé snapped.

“He’s in the dementia unit,” Callahan said. I squeezed his hand. “My mother died when I was little, and my grandfather raised my brother and me.”

Mom’s eyebrows raised. “A brother? And where does he live?”

Cal hesitated. “He…he lives in Arizona. Married, no kids. So not much family to speak of.”

“You poor thing!” Mom said. “Family is such a blessing.”

“Is it?” I asked. She clucked at me fondly.

“You. Irishman.” Mémé poked Cal’s leg with a bony finger. “Are you after my granddaughter’s money?”

I sighed. Loudly. “You’re thinking of Margaret, Mémé. I don’t really have a lot, Cal.”

“Ah, well. I guess. I’ll have to date Margs, then,” he said. “And speaking of sister swapping,” he added, lowering his voice so only I could hear.

“Hi, I’m Andrew Carson.” The Pale One approached, my glowing, beautiful sister in tow. Andrew pushed up his glasses and stuck out a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Callahan O’ Shea,” Cal returned, shaking Andrew’s hand firmly. Andrew winced, and I bit down on a smile.
That’s right, Andrew! He could beat you to a pulp.
Not that I was a proponent of violence, of course. It was just true.

“It’s great to see you again, Callahan,” Natalie said.

“Hello, Nat,” Cal returned with a smile, the one that could charm the paint off walls. Natalie blushed, then mouthed
Gorgeous!
I grinned back in complete agreement.

“So you’re a…plumber, is it?” Andrew said, his eyes flicking up and down Cal’s solid frame, a silly little grin on his face, as if he were thinking,
Oh, yes, I’ve heard of blue-collar workers! So you’re one of those!

“He’s a carpenter,” Natalie and I said at the same time.

“It’s so great to work with your hands,” Dad boomed. “I’ll probably do more of that once I retire. Make my own furniture. Maybe build a smokehouse.”

“A smokehouse?” I asked. Cal smothered a smile.

“Please, Dad. Don’t you remember the radial saw?” Natalie said, grinning at Callahan. “My father almost amputated his thumb the one time he tried to make anything. Andrew’s the same way.”

“That was a rogue blade,” Dad muttered.

“It’s true,” Andrew said amenably, slipping an arm around Natalie. “Grace, remember when I tried to fix that cabinet when we first moved in together? Practically killed myself. Never tried that again. Luckily, I can afford to pay someone to do it for me.”

Natalie shot him a surprised glance, but he ignored it, smiling insincerely at Cal. Who didn’t smile back. Well, well. Andrew was jealous. How pleasing. And how classy of Cal, not to rise to his bait. Still, I could feel him tensing next to me.

“Such a shame to waste your education, though, son,” Dad continued. Oh, God. He was doing his “Earn a Decent Wage” speech, one that I’d heard many times. And by decent wage, Dad didn’t mean the simple ability to pay your own bills and maybe sock a little away. He meant six figures. He was a Republican, after all.

“Education is never wasted, Dad,” I said hastily before Cal could answer.

“Are you from around here, Calvin?” Andrew asked, tilting his head in owlish fashion.

“It’s Callahan,” my guy corrected. “I’m originally from Connecticut, yes. I grew up in Windsor.”

“Where’d you live before you moved back?” Andrew asked.

Callahan glanced at me. “The South,” he said, his voice a little tight. I tried to convey my gratitude by squeezing his hand. He didn’t squeeze back.

“I love the South!” my mother exclaimed. “So sultry, so passionate, so
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof!
”

“Control yourself, Nancy,” Mémé announced, rattling her ice cubes.

“Don’t tell me what do to, old woman,” Mom muttered back, knowing full well that Mémé was too deaf to hear.

“So why’d ya leave accounting?” Dad asked. Cripes, he was like a dog with a bone.

“Maybe we can stop interrogating Cal for now, hmm?” I suggested sharply. Cal had grown very still next to me.

Dad shot me a wounded look. “Pudding, I’m just trying to figure out why someone would trade in a nice secure job so he could do manual labor all day.”

“It’s an honest question,” Andrew seconded.

Ah. Honest. The key word. I closed my eyes.
Here it comes,
I thought. I was right.

Callahan let go of my hand. “I was convicted for embezzling over a million dollars,” he stated evenly. “I lost my accounting license and served nineteen months at a federal prison in Virginia. I got out two months ago.” He looked at my father, then my mother, then Andrew. “Any other questions?”