Damn. Those eyes did not play fair. The gold chip in his left eye just invited staring. I dragged my gaze off him, my stomach hot and tight. "Are the girls here?" I asked.
"No."
I watched the seniors for a minute. "Does any white person really know how to salsa?" I asked. "Where does a person even learn salsa dancing?"
"You should know," Jonathan said, "since you wrote a story about it for the magazine last fall."
"Did I? Right. I did, didn't I? I forgot."
"Clearly."
"I never took a class, though."
"I did."
I snorted. Jonathan, dancing. It was probably against his religion. "Oh, yeah? Can you paso doble, too?"
"No. I can jitterbug, though."
"Get outta town! So when did you become lord of the dance? Was it to meet women?"
"No. It was when my wife and I were engaged."
I winced. "Sorry."
"Why would you be sorry?" He gazed at me with that expression--human apologizes for no apparent reason.
Out on the dance floor, my grandmother was shimmying in front of Mr. Kent, who didn't seem to notice, as he and Ollie were staring deeply into each other's eyes.
"Would you like to dance, Ainsley?"
I actually jumped. "What?"
"Would you like to dance?"
"Um...no. I mean, I'm not very good. I inherited my grandmother's gift, in other words."
His mouth twitched. "Well, then, at least you're enthusiastic."
"If uncoordinated."
"Don't be a coward." He took my hand, and a jolt ran up my arm. He pulled me out to where his father was, put his hand on my waist and, much to my shock, seemed to know what he was doing.
I stepped on his foot and found myself against his chest.
"It's sort of a rocking thing," he said. "Eight counts. Step forward, step in place, step back, pause. Or in your case, back, in place, forward, pause."
Whatever. He was holding my hand. I tried to follow him and tripped.
This time, he did smile, and my legs threatened to splay.
"One, two, three, back, five six seven pause."
I stepped on his foot again.
He laughed, the sound low and sooty, and everything inside me seemed to swell and squeeze.
"Okay, let's freestyle it, what do you say?" he asked and stepped a little away from me (self-preservation, no doubt). But he kept holding my hand and twirled me.
"Good girl, Ainsley!" Gram-Gram crowed. "You look like a professional!"
Jonathan twirled me again, and this time, I found myself with my back pressed against his chest. "Thank you for the fairy presents you left," he murmured, and my bones practically dissolved. "I went to leave something and saw that you beat me to it. And your gifts were better." He moved me so we were facing each other again.
Then I accidentally smacked one of the female residents in the cheek, got a glare, apologized, then looked at Jonathan.
He was definitely smiling. It was an odd smile, and he looked dorktastically adorable and so, so appealing that I didn't quite know what to do.
Captain Flatline, smiling. At me.
"Son," Mr. Kent said, and Jonathan's smile dropped.
He knelt next to his father. "Yes, Dad."
"I want to go home. Will you take me home?"
"Of course." He straightened up, then gently picked up Ollie and handed him to me.
Our eyes held for a second.
"Thank you," he said.
Then he turned to my grandmother, took her hand and kissed it. "Mrs. Carson, always a pleasure."
"Oh! So courtly!" she cooed.
He looked at me once more. "Try not to be late tomorrow," he said.
Then he left, pushing his father's wheelchair. He didn't look back.
Damn.
Gram-Gram put her hands on her hips and looked around. "Well, I don't have a chance in hell at getting close to a man. Let's just dance, sweetheart."
And so we did. As Jonathan said, what we lacked in skill, we made up for in enthusiasm. We might as well have been blood relatives after all.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kate
On Thursday when I got home from a day of photo editing, my eyes bleary from the computer, Ainsley was waiting, full of her usual energy. "We're going out tonight," she announced. "Margaritas! The cure for everything! I know just the place."
"It's a nice thought, but I'm supposed to go to a fund-raiser in Brooklyn. The Re-Enter Center. It's a wine and cheese thing." I didn't want to go. I wanted to nap until next year.
"Oh, the ex-cons! Right. Well, I'll come with you, maybe flirt with some of your students. Those tattoos can be very attractive. I love the little teardrops."
"That means they've killed someone."
"It does? Are you sure?" I nodded. "Well, there goes my plan to find a new boyfriend. Come on, it'll be fun."
I didn't answer. "Kate," she said, "I know you're tired, but you need to get out. You need to wash your hair and moisturize. And shave those legs. It's a forest down there. Come on! Up and at 'em!"
I closed my eyes for a second, then went off to do her bidding.
When I was clean (and smooth), Ainsley brought in her enormous tray of makeup and went to town on me. "You used to do this when you were little," I said, trying not to move my lips as she applied lipstick.
"I remember," she said with a smile. "You should wear makeup once in a while. You're gorgeous without it, but come on. A little cat's-eye here, some blush here, and it's really not fair how beautiful you are."
Nathan used to tell me I was beautiful, too.
Ainsley took out a giant brush and began sweeping my cheeks. "So what's new these days?"
"Nathan's ex-wife bought him a memorial bench in Bixby Park," I said.
Her mouth dropped open. "Are you serious? How dare she! So not her place."
"Thanks. I agree." I thought about telling her about the emails, then decided not to. It was too much. Besides, she had loved Nathan.
But maybe, if I saw Daniel tonight, I'd tell him.
"Okay, take a look," my sister said. "Ta-da!"
I looked.
For the first time since Nathan had died, I didn't look exhausted or stunned. Ainsley had done my eyes with dark gray eye shadow, and her mascara was obviously better than mine, because my lashes looked long and feathery. My lips were red, and my skin looked perfect.
"Gorgeous," she said. "Those ex-cons won't know what hit them."
*
The Re-Enter Center looked weird to me; I hadn't been here since February, when Nathan and I had come for the spaghetti dinner. It smelled the same, though, like all schools--disinfectant and books, boredom and potential.
Ainsley got us some wine and cheese. I waved to Greta, the director, who flashed me a huge smile. She was talking to someone but held up a finger to indicate I was to wait.
Other than Greta, I didn't know a lot of people here, and the familiar awkwardness fell over me. I smiled at a woman who taught computer basics. We'd both taught here for years, but I couldn't remember her name, and the window for asking had closed.
"Okay," Ainsley said, "I see four guys with teardrops. Are you sure it means what you said?"
"Very sure."
"Kate! Oh, my God, it's so good to see you! I was so sorry to hear about your husband."
It was Pierre, one of my less egregious parolees (no teardrop, in other words). We hugged, and I introduced him to Ainsley.
"So what did you do?" Ainsley said. "I know, I know, I'm not supposed to ask, but tell me anyway."
Pierre smiled. "I stole a hundred and seventeen cars. Chop-shopped them. Nice profit margin, I gotta say."
Then I heard Daniel's voice, and an unexpected rush of happiness filled me. Yay for Ainsley for making me look hot and wear heels and a dress that wasn't black. Daniel and I could talk and pal around, and I wouldn't feel so strange.
Oh. He was here with a False Alarm.
Right.
I'd forgotten about them. And like all of them, she was young (it pained me to think half my age, but we were getting there). A redhead, in a skirt so short I had no idea how she'd sit.
Well, that was Daniel for you. This was what (and who) he did.
"Kate?" I turned. It was Paige. "What are you doing here?" she asked.
God, she was rude. Had it always been like that? "I'm supporting the Re-Enter Center with both my money and my presence," I said. "And you?"
"I teach here now. A class on appeals. Daniel talked me into it."
Did he? I found that a little hard to believe. Then again, she was a lawyer, and most of our clients could probably use some legal advice.
She turned to Ainsley. "Hi, I'm Paige Barnett."
"I'm Ainsley, Kate's sister. We've met at least ten times, and you never remember me." Love for my sister and gratitude for her forthright ways flooded through me.
"Have we? Well." Paige turned back to me. "You look...good."
I didn't respond with a similar compliment, just took a sip of crappy wine and stared at her.
She huffed. "Whatever, Kate." With that, she left, sauntered over to Daniel and squeezed his arm. Tilted her head against his shoulder and fake-laughed, her eyes on me.
"I always hated her," Ainsley said.
"You know what?" I said suddenly. "I'm starving. Are you starving?"
"I am indeed."
"Let's go somewhere." I waved to Greta, pointed at my watch as if I had somewhere else to be, and a second later, Ainsley and I were out on the street, walking down Flatbush Avenue toward where we'd parked. I glanced over my shoulder. Daniel was not following us. Not that he even knew we were there.
We got into the car, and Ainsley didn't ask questions, didn't grill me, didn't judge me.
"You're such a good sister," I said, looking out my window, a little embarrassed at my statement. A second later, I felt her hand in mine.
"So are you," she said. The spike pierced my throat.
"Not really."
"Oh, yes, you are."
"I wish I could do it over," I said, swallowing. "I was so jealous of you--Dad's favorite, the cute one, the boyfriend who adored you."
"Oh, my God, I'm so jealous of you! The smart one, the cool one, the one who had a real career." She glanced at me. "Seriously. I was jealous of Nathan, even. You got the best guy in the world."
There was the spike again. "I should've been nicer to you."
"I was the other woman's kid," she said. "You were allowed to have mixed feelings." She was quiet for a minute, negotiating the streets with ease. "You know, you never told me to bug off," she said. "It must've been irritating, having a little kid always knocking on your door. But you always let me in. You brushed my hair, you did my nails, you let me tag along with you, you came to see me at college, you invited me over. And I'm living with you! You're a great sister."
"I loved your mother," I said unexpectedly, and again, the tears that were locked in my chest gave a mighty kick, wanting to get out.
"Really?" Ainsley smiled at me, delighted. "What do you remember? Oh, shit, the guy almost hit me. Watch it, idiot! Where are we going, anyway?"
I directed her to a rooftop bar in SoHo where I'd photographed an engagement party. The views of the city were breathtaking, and we managed to get a table by some miracle. The crowd was too sophisticated to be overly rowdy, so we could really talk.
"Should we call our worthless brother and see if he wants to come?" Ainsley suggested.
"Nah. Let's just have it be us sisters." I paused. "Do you think he's worthless?"
She shrugged. "Not really. Not to you."
It dawned on me that Sean was pretty worthless where Ainsley was concerned. I started to apologize for him, then stopped, as always torn between loyalty to my family of origin and sympathy for Ainsley, the outsider.
"Ooh! A lavender martini! I'm definitely getting that."
For a very long time, I'd seen Ainsley's ubercheer as a character flaw, hiding some shallowness. Now, suddenly, I saw how thick her skin was, how much energy and strength it took to be so forgiving, and so happy, and so...nice all the time.
"This is so great," I said. "Thanks for making me shower."
We ordered a martini apiece and some appetizers. Tomorrow, I was photographing a newborn baby and his parents in one of those let's all get naked and remind this child how he got started and then hide the portrait once he turns six shoots. I could use a drink.
The waiter brought our food, and we devoured it in true O'Leary fashion. One of the things about grief--my appetite sucked, and I was looking a little skeletal these days. But tonight, I was hungry, and the food tasted like food.
"It's so pretty here," Ainsley said, looking over SoHo, the pretty cornices on the building across the way, One World Trade Center looking a bit like a narwhal, its antenna piercing the low-hanging clouds. "We should do this more."
"We should," I said, and unlike a thousand times in the past when I'd said just that, it felt real this time. Like we'd really do it.
"So. Tell me about my mom," she said, folding her hands.
I took a sip of my drink. "Well, she was really pretty, which you already know. And so nice. She never bossed Sean and me around when we went over, and she always made something fun for dinner." Was this the first time I'd ever told her this? Shame on me.
"Like what?"
"Oh, macaroni and cheese, but the homemade kind, with these crazy curly noodles. And she bought special place mats for us. Sean's had the solar system on it, and mine had these cute chickens on it."
"Did she like you? I mean, she was pretty young to be a stepmom."
"She was great. She was like this cool aunt. Not like Aunt Patty, who tells you about her irritable bowel syndrome the second she sees you."
"Yeah, I know way too much about her colon."
"Michelle really loved you," I said, remembering. "She'd hold you for no reason, even if you were asleep. And she shared you. She let me play with you and hold you, and she always took pictures of the two of us, and the three of us, and the next week, there they'd be, in a frame."
"What happened to them?" Ainsley asked.
I frowned. "I don't know. I thought you had them."
"No. I don't think I've ever seen them."
We both sat in silence, thinking the same thing. Of course our father didn't know. He couldn't find the butter without help. That left my mother, and it was totally in her character to toss the photos from her husband's other wife, other life.
Ainsley looked away. "I guess if Candy threw them out, I... I don't know. She'd have her reasons."
"No, she wouldn't. She'd find some way to justify it, but she'd only do it because she was so jealous. Your mother was lovely, and it drove my mom crazy."
Ainsley's eyes widened. That's right. I'd done it; jumped the breach and said what was true. Because Ainsley had been so wonderful these past horrible weeks. She didn't just say words; she came through, damn it. I took another sip of my drink, enjoying the buzz and the honesty it seemed to bring out. "I don't blame Dad for leaving."
"Don't say that," Ainsley said. "He cheated on Candy. That wasn't right. And she took him back--and took me in. That was superhuman."
"She could've done better by you, Ainsley."
"She did well enough. I mean, she doesn't hate me. And I don't hate her." She paused. "I kind of love her."
"I loved your mom, too. And I love you, too. Even if you are Dad's favorite."
We looked at each other for a second, then laughed. "No more booze for you," Ainsley said. "Look at you, getting all sappy." She gave my hand a squeeze. "I love you, too."
"Believe me, I can tell." I was a little buzzed, but I meant it. Why were we just doing this now? Why hadn't we always been close?
Because you couldn't be bothered, that's why. Because you and Sean liked to act superior with Ainsley. Because you were always jealous of her.
I'd do better now.
"Hey,
did you hear?" I asked. "Mom and Dad are getting a divorce."
"Not this again."
"She wants to come live with us."
"God, no. I mean, not that I get a say, but..."
"Don't worry. I already turned her down." My drink was gone. "Have you heard from Eric?"
She closed her eyes. "He keeps emailing me to fact-check his cancer journey. And his parents are starting to turn. Judy said she was proud of him the last time we talked."
"She once told me he was regarded as the Christ child when he was born."
"That sounds about right." Her smile was a little sad.
"You know what we should do? Let's go to his house. Your house. He's in Alaska now, right?"
"Um...I think so. He started another blog, but I've been superstrong and haven't read it."
"Come on," I said, pulling out my wallet to pay for dinner. "Let's spy. It'll be fun."
Forty-five minutes later, there we were, sitting two houses down from her place. The house was dark.
"Let's go inside," I said. "We can take a few things that are rightfully yours."
She shook her head, smiling. "Look at you. Little Miss Perfect, committing a crime."
"You still have a key, don't you?"
"Hell's yes, I do."
It was awfully dark (which was good, since we were breaking and entering). I followed her up the walk. She peeked in the garage. "No car," she reported.
A second later, we were inside. "Don't turn on any lights," Ainsley said. "I don't want anyone to know we're here."
"Won't the car parked on the street tip them off?"
"Oh, shit, yes," she said, giggling. "Then again, who doesn't drive a white Prius? It's like Wonder Woman's jet. Practically invisible." She turned on the flashlight on her phone and shone it around. "I guess he hasn't left yet." There were piles in the living room--backpacks and hiking boots and climbing gear. "Look at all this crap. And from a guy who was never allowed to climb a tree in case he broke a bone."
"Think he's home? Maybe he sold the car. Maybe he's asleep upstairs, right now," I whispered. This made us laugh uncontrollably for some reason.
"Let's put his hand in a bowl of water and see if he wets the bed," Ainsley suggested, and I laughed so hard I had to go to the bathroom. Went into the little powder room and peed. Opted not to flush. Let him wonder.
When I came out, Ainsley was standing there. "He's not home," she said. "I checked. Come on, let's get some of my stuff." She looked around, the light from the bathroom illuminating the rooms. "I loved this house," she said, her voice a little forlorn.
On Second Thought Page 26