On Second Thought
Page 65
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.
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.
