Brazen Virtue (2 page)

“Luggage?” Kathleen interrupted, knowing Grace would launch into the tale without any encouragement.

“My trunk should be delivered to your place by tomorrow.”

The trunk was another of what Kathleen considered her sister’s deliberate eccentricities. “Grace, when are you going to start using suitcases like normal people?”

They passed baggage claim, where people stood three deep, ready to trample each other at the first sign of familiar Samsonite. When hell freezes over, Grace thought, but only smiled. “You really do look great. How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” Then because it was her sister, Kathleen relaxed. “Better, really.”

“You’re better off without the sonofabitch,” Grace said as they passed through the automatic doors. “I hate to say it because I know you really loved him, but it’s true.” There was a stiff northern breeze to make people forget it was spring. The sound of incoming and outgoing planes hammered overhead. Grace stepped off the curb toward the parking lot without looking right or left. “The only real joy he brought to your life was Kevin. Where is my nephew, anyway? I was hoping you’d bring him.”

The little slice of pain came and went. When Kathleen made up her mind about something, she also made up her heart. “He’s with his father. We agreed that it would be best if he stayed with Jonathan through the school year.”

“What?” Grace stopped in the middle of the street. A horn blasted and was ignored. “Kathleen, you can’t be serious. Kevin’s just six. He needs to be with you. Jonathan probably has him watching
MacNeil-Lehrer
instead of
Sesame Street.”

“The decision is made. We agreed it would be best for everyone involved.”

Grace knew that expression. It meant Kathleen had closed up and wouldn’t open again until she was damn good and ready. “Okay.” Grace fell into step beside her as they crossed to the parking lot. Automatically, she altered her rhythm. Kathleen always rushed. Grace meandered. “You know you can talk to me whenever you want.”

“I know.” Kathleen paused beside a secondhand Toyota. A year before she’d been driving a Mercedes. But that was the least of what she’d lost. “I didn’t mean to snap at you, Grace. It’s just that I need to put it aside for a while. I’ve almost got my life back in order.”

Grace set her bags in the rear and said nothing. She knew the car was secondhand and a long step down from what Kathleen had been accustomed to but was much
more worried about the edge in her sister’s voice than the change of status. She wanted to comfort but knew that Kathleen considered sympathy the first cousin of pity. “Have you talked to Mom and Dad?”

“Last week. They’re fine.” Kathleen slid in, then strapped on her seat belt. “You’d think Phoenix was paradise.”

“As long as they’re happy.” Grace sat back and for the first time took in her surroundings. National Airport. She’d taken her first flight out of there, eight, no, dear Lord, almost ten years before. And had been scared right down to her toenails. She almost wished she could experience that same fresh and innocent feeling again.

Getting jaded, Gracie? she wondered. Too many flights. Too many cities. Too many people. Now she was back, only a few miles from the home where she’d grown up, and seated beside her sister. Yet she felt no sense of homecoming.

“What made you come back to Washington, Kath?”

“I wanted to get out of California. And this was familiar.”

But didn’t you want to stay near your son? Didn’t you need to? It wasn’t the time to ask, but she had to fight the words back. “And teaching at Our Lady of Hope. Familiar again, but it must be strange.”

“I like it really. I suppose I need the discipline of classes.” She drove out of the parking lot with studied precision. Tucked into the flap of the sun visor were the parking stub for the short-term lot and three singles. Grace noted she still counted her change.

“And the house, do you like it?”

“The rent’s reasonable and it’s only a fifteen-minute drive to school.”

Grace bit back a sigh. Couldn’t Kathleen ever feel strongly about anything. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“No.” But she smiled a little as she merged with traffic. “I’m not interested in sex.”

Grace’s brow rose. “Everyone’s interested in sex. Why do you think Jackie Collins always makes the best-seller list? In any case, I was speaking more of companionship.”

“There’s no one I want to be with right now.” Then she laid a hand on top of Grace’s, which was as much as she had ever been able to give to anyone except her husband and son. “Except you. I really am glad you came.”

As always, Grace responded to warmth when warmth was given. “I’d have come sooner if you’d let me.”

“You were in the middle of a tour.”

“Tours can be canceled.” Her shoulders moved restlessly. She’d never considered herself temperamental or arrogant, but she would have been both if it would have helped Kathleen. “Anyway, the tour’s over and I’m here. Washington in the spring.” She rolled the window down though the April wind still had the bite of March. “How about the cherry blossoms?”

“They got hit with a late frost.”

“Nothing changes.” Did they still have so little to say to each other? Grace let the radio fill the gap as they drove. How could two people grow up together, live together, fight together, and still be strangers? Each time she hoped it would be different. Each time it was the same.

As they crossed the Fourteenth Street Bridge, she remembered the room she and Kathleen had shared throughout childhood. Neat as a pin on one side, tumbled and messy on the other. That had been only one bone of contention. There had been the games that Grace had invented, which had frustrated more than amused her sister. What were the rules? Learning the rules had always been Kathleen’s first priority. And when there weren’t any, or they were too flexible, she simply hadn’t been able to grasp the game itself.

Always rules, Kath, Grace thought as she rode in
silence beside her sister. School, church, life. No wonder she was always confused when the rules changed. Now they’d changed on her again.

Did you quit marriage, Kathy, the way you used to quit the game when the rules didn’t suit you? Did you come back to where we started so you could wipe out the time in between and restart, on your own terms? That was Kathleen’s style, Grace thought, and hoped for her sister’s sake it worked.

The only thing that surprised her was the street on which Kathleen had chosen to live. An efficiency apartment with up-to-date appliances and twenty-four-hour maintenance would have been more Kathleen’s style than this tired, slightly run-down neighborhood of big trees and old houses.

Kathleen’s was one of the smallest homes on the block, and though Grace was sure her sister had done nothing to the little patch of grass other than trim it, some bulbs were beginning to push their way through along the walk that had been carefully swept.

As she stood beside the car, Grace let her gaze roam up and down the street. There were bikes and aging station wagons and little fresh paint. Used, worn, lived in, the neighborhood was either on the edge of a renaissance or ready to slide slowly into old age. She liked it, liked the feel of it.

It was precisely what she would have chosen if she had decided to move back. And if she’d had to choose a house … it would be the one next door, Grace decided on the spot. It was in definite need of help. One of the windows was boarded up and some shingles were missing from the roof, but someone had planted azaleas. The dirt was still fresh and patted into mounds at their base, and they were small, only a foot or so high. But the little buds were almost ready to burst open. Looking at them, she hoped she’d be able to stay long enough to see them flower.

“Oh, Kath, what a wonderful spot.”

“It’s a long way from Palm Springs.” She said it without bitterness as she started to unload her sister’s things.

“No, honey, I mean it. It’s a real home.” She did mean it. With her writer’s eye and imagination she could already see it.

“I wanted to be able to give Kevin something when—when he comes.”

“He’ll love it.” She spoke with the confidence she carried like a flag. “This is definitely a skateboard sidewalk. And the trees.” There was one across the street that looked as though it had been struck by lightning and never recovered, but Grace passed over it without breaking rhythm. “Kath, looking at this makes me wonder what the hell I’m doing in upper Manhattan.”

“Getting rich and famous.” Again it was said without bitterness as she passed bags to Grace.

For the second time Grace’s gaze drifted to the house next door. “I wouldn’t mind having a couple of azaleas as well.” She linked arms with Kathleen. “Well, show me the rest.”

The interior wasn’t as much of a surprise. Kathleen preferred things neat and orderly. The furniture was sturdy, dust-free, and tasteful. Just like Kathleen, Grace thought with a twinge of regret. Still, she liked the hodgepodge of small rooms that seemed to tumble into each other.

Kathleen had turned one into an office. The desk still shone with newness. She’d taken nothing with her, Grace thought. Not even her son. Though she found it odd that Kathleen should indulge in a phone on the desk and another a few feet away beside a chair, she didn’t comment. Knowing Kathleen, the reason would make perfect sense.

“Spaghetti sauce.” The scent led Grace unerringly into the kitchen. If anyone had asked her to name her favorite pastimes, eating would have topped the list.

The kitchen was as spotless as the rest of the house. If
Grace made bets, she’d wager there wasn’t a crumb to be found in the toaster. Leftovers woud be neatly sealed and labeled in the refrigerator and glasses would be arranged according to size in the cupboards. That was Kathleen’s way, and Kathleen hadn’t changed a whit in thirty years.

Grace hoped she’d remembered to wipe her feet as she crossed the aging linoleum. Lifting the lid off a slow cooker, she breathed in, long and deep. “I’d say you haven’t lost your touch.”

“It came back to me.” Even after years of cooks and servants. “Hungry?” Then, for the first time, her smile seemed genuine and relaxed. “Why do I ask?”

“Wait, I’ve got something.”

As her sister dashed back into the hall, Kathleen turned to the window. Why was she suddenly aware of how empty the house had been now that Grace was in it? What magic did her sister have that filled a room, a house, an arena? And what in God’s name was she going to do when she was alone again?

“Valpolicella,” Grace announced as she came back into the room. “As you can see, I was counting on Italian.” When Kathleen turned from the window, the tears were just starting. “Oh, honey.” With the bottle still in her hand, Grace rushed forward.

“Gracie, I miss him so much. Sometimes I think I could die.”

“I know you do. Oh, baby, I know. I’m so sorry.” She stroked the hair Kathleen brushed firmly back. “Let me help, Kathleen. Tell me what I can do.”

“There’s nothing.” The effort cost more than she would have admitted, but she stopped the tears. “I’d better make the salad.”

“Hold on.” With one hand on her sister’s arm, Grace led her to the small kitchen table. “Sit. I mean it, Kathleen.”

Though she was older by a year, Kathleen bowed
before authority. That was something else that had become a habit. “I really don’t want to talk about it, Grace.”

“I guess that’s too bad then. Corkscrew?”

“Top drawer left of the sink.”

“Glasses?”

“Second shelf, cabinet next to the refrigerator.”

Grace opened the bottle. Though the sky was darkening, she didn’t bother with the kitchen light. After setting a glass in front of Kathleen, she filled it to just below the rim. “Drink. It’s damn good stuff.” She found an empty Kraft mayonnaise jar, just where her mother would have kept them, and removed the lid for an ashtray. She knew how much Kathleen disapproved of smoking and had been determined to be on her best behavior. Like most of Grace’s vows to herself, this one was easily broken. She lit a cigarette, poured her own wine, and then took a seat. “Talk to me, Kathy. I’ll only badger you until you do.”

She would, too. Kathleen had known that before she’d agreed to let her come. Perhaps that was why she had agreed. “I didn’t want the separation. And you don’t have to say I’m stupid to want to hang on to a man who doesn’t want me, because I already know.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid.” Grace blew out smoke a bit guiltily because she had thought just that, more than once. “You love Jonathan and Kevin. They were yours and you want to keep them.”

“I guess that sums it up.” She took a second, longer sip of wine. Grace was right again. It was good stuff. It was hard to admit, hateful to admit, but she needed to talk to someone. She wanted that someone to be Grace because, no matter what their differences, Grace would be unquestioningly on her side. “It came to a point where I had to agree to separate.” She still couldn’t form the word
divorce
. “Jonathan … abused me.”

“What do you mean?” Her low, slightly husky voice
had barbs in it. “Did he hit you?” She was half out of her chair, ready to hop the next flight to the coast.

“There are other kinds of abuse,” Kathleen said wearily. “He humiliated me. There were other women, plenty of them. Oh, he was very discreet. I doubt if even his broker knew, but he made sure I did. Just to rub my nose in it.”

“I’m sorry.” Grace sat down again. She knew Kathleen would have preferred a sock on the jaw to infidelity. When she thought it over, Grace had to admit she and her sister agreed—on that, at least.

“You never liked him.”

“No, and I’m not sorry.” Grace flicked an ash into the lid of the empty mayonnaise jar.

“I guess there’s no point in it now. In any case, when I agreed to separate, Jonathan made it clear it was going to be on his terms. He would file, the terms would be no-fault. Just like a fender bender. Eight years of my life over, and no one to blame.”

“Kath, you know you didn’t have to accept his terms. If he’d been unfaithful, you had a recourse.”

“How could I prove it?” This time there was bitterness, hot and sharp. She’d waited a long time to set it free. “You have to understand what kind of world it is out there, Grace. Jonathan Breezewood the third is a man above reproach. He’s a lawyer, for God’s sake, a partner in the family firm that could represent the devil against God Almighty and come away with a settlement. Even if anyone had known or suspected, they wouldn’t have helped me. They were friends with Jonathan’s wife. Mrs. Jonathan Breezewood III. That’s been my identity for eight years.” And next to Kevin, that was the most difficult to lose. “Not one of them would give a hang about Kathleen McCabe. It was my mistake. I devoted myself to being Mrs. Breezewood. I had to be the perfect wife, the perfect hostess, the
perfect mother and homemaker. And I became boring. When I bored him enough, he wanted to be rid of me.”