The Things We Knew (14 page)

Their old camaraderie chased off her anger. He'd only just arrived, and she didn't want to fight. “It's good to have you home. But don't use being here as an excuse not to work on your marriage. Talk to Josslyn. Maybe she and the kids can come over.”

He rolled his eyes, but grinned. “All right, I'll talk to her.”

“Pinkie swear?” She held up her little finger.

“Come here, you.” David pulled her into a sweaty hug.

“Ick. You're stinky.” She pushed him back with a laugh.

“Now are you gonna tell me what's going on with you and Cooper?”

Lynette groaned and tugged on her hair. “Nothing's going on.”

“Didn't look like nothing to me the other day. He was holding you pretty close.”

“I was scared of the storm.”

“Still scared of storms?” David's brow furrowed.

“Sort of.” Sort of a lot.

Nick hadn't called and she hadn't seen him since Saturday. And she didn't want to talk about it.

“Why's he working at the bank? Thought he was going to be an architect.”

“He said his dad needed him back here, but I think there's more to it.” She watched a flock of birds disappear behind the house. “He's been helpful, Davy. You know Nick, he's not happy unless he's saving the world.”

“Yeah, well. We don't need his help.” David crossed the lawn and retrieved his hammer. Lynette heard the gates creak, turned as Cecily pushed through them, latched them shut, and marched down the driveway.

“Girl, you still here?” She tapped the watch on her wrist. “You gonna be late.”

“Shoot.” She turned to David before heading inside. “I wanted to thank you,” she whispered. “For getting Cecily back. She's such a huge help.”

David frowned, looked from her to Cecily, then gave a shrug. “Wasn't me. See you later, Shortstop.”

G
ray wandered through the big house in search of something to do. After a rude awakening by someone banging something to death, he gave up on sleep, showered, shaved, and ventured downstairs.

Tori stood in the kitchen, peeling, chopping, and taking vengeance on a very large eggplant.

Gray grinned. “Wow. Where'd you get that thing?”

She glanced his way, knife in hand. “There's a farm about a mile from here. Sweet old guy. We haggled over pricing, but I think he likes me. Told me to come back anytime.”

“Old Jenkins likes 'em young. Heard he murdered his last wife.” Gray ducked out of reach and went in search of food. He found bagels, popped one in the toaster, and peered a little dubiously into the coffeepot.

“It's decaf.”

“I figured.” He poured a cup anyway, leaned up against the counter, and watched her work.

“I'll do a shake for you in a minute.”

“Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow. “I'll look forward to that.”

“Keep that up and I'll put spinach in it again.”

Gray made a gagging noise. Spinach, eggplant. He was afraid to ask what else she'd bought to force on him.

Tori laughed and dumped the vegetable refuse into a plastic container. She'd already given Lynnie a lecture on composting, and the other day they'd gone out together and returned with a big black industrial plastic container, now sitting somewhere in the yard.

Since coming here, Tori had discarded the chunky jewelry, stopped using a bottle of hair gel a day, and lightened up on the makeup. It took some getting used to, but as he looked at her now, he realized what she'd been hiding.

Natural beauty.

Gray tried to look away, but couldn't.

It was happening again.

And the feelings he'd locked up and banished could not return.

“You're staring.” She met his eyes with a scowl. “Is my shirt on backward?”

“Nope.” He reached into his back pocket. “Almost forgot. Brought you a present.” Gray placed the half empty pack of cigarettes in front of her.

She turned up her nose and poked the cardboard box with the tip of her knife. “How sweet. I don't smoke.”

“Yeah, I know. Neither do I. Anymore.”

“Seriously?”

Gray nodded. He'd made the right decision. “Figure if I'm going cold turkey, may as well get rid of everything.”

“All right. Good for you.” She lowered her head and started chopping again, but her smile stayed put. “I made some calls. Apparently there's a new doctor in town who's very good. You have an appointment tomorrow morning.”

“Tor, please. No more doctors.” He'd talked to enough doctors and shrinks to last a lifetime.

She pointed the knife in his direction. “You really want to argue with me, Gray? You're the one who insisted on leaving the clinic after two weeks against your doctor's advice, so . . .”

“Okay, okay. I hear you.” He eyed the pile of chopped vegetables. And he'd seen her carve a turkey. “Tomorrow it is.”

Gray fixed his bagel and sat at the banquet in the kitchen. Lynnie had gone to work, and his father was comfortably settled on the back patio, watching David mow the lawn. Gray was still trying to get his head around the change in Pops. If the situation weren't so sad, it would be funny.

Every now and then Pops barked instructions at David over the noise of the mower, like he was trying to teach him how to play croquet. Pops loved that game. His cronies would come over on the weekends and they'd spend hours out back, arguing with each other and drinking Bloody Marys. This morning Pops was drinking Tori's lame excuse for coffee.

Gray flicked through today's paper, didn't find his name anywhere, finished eating, and tipped the rest of Tori's shake into the dogs' dish when she wasn't looking. Then he stood at the window and watched his brother work.

He should probably get out there and offer to do something.

But he wasn't up to any real conversation with David. Or any of them.

Not yet.

The lawn rose and fell in anthills and patches of thistle. Hardly the smooth stretch of green he remembered. Somehow, in the locked drawers of his memory, everything remained the same. He'd half expected his mother to appear the night he'd arrived, give her usual exuberant shout of greeting, and fly down the steps to meet him.

But she hadn't.

And his memory had deceived him.

Gray left Tori to her culinary experiments and went exploring. Cecily was in the living room, dusting away, humming to herself. Gray backpedaled, not ready for a run-in with the woman who'd practically raised him, but she turned too fast.

“Where you going?”

“Uh, nowhere.” He tried out the smile that always worked on her. This time it didn't.

Cecily crossed the room and stood before him, more serious than he'd ever seen her. Gray had little choice but to stay put as she eyed him up and down.

“Ce-ce, whatever you're about to say, I've probably already heard it.”

She narrowed her eyes, fiddled with the cross around her neck, and sighed. “You think so?”

Gray shrugged. “You don't need to tell me what a mess I've made of my life.”

“Oh, I figured that.” Lines around her eyes crinkled as she patted his cheek with a sad smile, and suddenly he felt like a kid again. “If you're waiting for judgment to jump out at you behind every corner, honey, you're in the wrong house.”

He rolled his eyes, his throat tight. “Yeah?”

Her mouth formed a thin line. “Seems to me, the only one throwing judgment around here might be you.” She brushed some dog fur off his shirt and placed her hands on his shoulders, her teary eyes reaching right through to his soul. “Home is where you come to heal, baby.”

“That's ironic.”

Cecily shook her head, studied him for a long moment. “Sometimes, Gray, you find hope in the last place you think to look.” She drew him into a hug, then stood back with a smile that lit her face and patched one of the holes in his heart.

Cecily returned to her work, leaving him standing there, stupid tears in his eyes.

Gray moved to the round table by the piano and scanned the array of photographs on display. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip and picked up a picture.

His throat tightened again as he studied it.

He and Cooper sat in their Sunfish, arms thrown around each other's skinny shoulders. Midgets. Full of themselves and brazen enough to make sure the world knew it. Life had been pretty simple back then. They'd even ended up being sent away to school together. Managed to make more trouble there, something their parents hadn't banked on.

They used to talk about anything. Argue over everything and nothing, just to see who would back down first. Got into more than a few scrapes over the years and sent their parents into conniptions too many times to count.

While he was wild and often out of control, Nick was centered. The only one who could rein Gray in, make him take a breath and actually use the brain God had mistakenly blessed him with. Gray hadn't put it to much use over the past five years.

He'd always figured Nick would be around forever. His touchstone.

But he'd chased his best friend out of his life and made sure he stayed out.

And since then Gray had been lonely.

Gray put the picture back in place.

He left the living room and went into the next one. They called it the study, although it was more like a library. It was the only place Mom had allowed Pops to smoke. The dark wood-paneled walls still shone, built-in bookcases filled to overflowing with everything from Dr. Seuss to Aristotle.

Never much of a reader, Gray avoided the room, but the others could spend hours in here, perched on thick cushions in the window boxes on a rainy day, their noses buried between musty bindings. Gray preferred to be outside whatever the weather. Nothing like ducking a little lightning now and again.

But sooner or later you get hit.

“Did you need something?”

Gray startled and turned toward his sister's voice. Liz sat
behind the desk at the far corner of the room, laptop open. She stared expectantly.

“You scared the crap out of me.” He scrubbed his face and waited for his pulse to slow down. “Didn't know you were in here.”

“So I gathered.” She studied him through black-rimmed glasses. Her blond hair was swept into a tight bun and large diamonds sparkled from her ears. She looked ready for a day at the office.

Gray struggled for something sensible to say. After their last telephone conversation, he'd avoided her. Liz was far too intimidating for his liking. Always had been.

“You look busy. I'll leave you alone.”

She waved a hand, like she was swatting a fly. Or him. “I was just catching up on some work. The Internet connection is appalling.” Her horrified expression amused him.

He cleared his throat and ventured across the faded Persian rug. “I don't think Lynnie gets online much. Kind of nice not to be tied to it, really.” He'd steered clear of computers and television for weeks.

“I've already called someone. They should be over this afternoon to get us hooked up with high-speed.”

“Sweet. You paying?”

“Of course I am. Some of us have work to do, Gray. I can't jog into town every time I need to send a file.”

“I guess not.” Not that he could imagine Liz jogging anywhere, but some fresh air might help her attitude some. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and stared at the portrait above the fireplace.

His mother looked down at him, lips curled in her usual half smile, blond hair shimmering under a setting sun. She was probably in her twenties when the painting had been done. Pops had captured her spirit in its entirety. It was possibly his best work. He'd even managed to give her that air of mystery Diana Carlisle had been famous for. Vibrant blue eyes hinted at secrets they would never know.

He rubbed his throbbing temples. “I still miss her. That's crazy, huh?”

Gray turned to Liz and caught a glimmer of tears. Surprise crept over him, followed by guilt.

Liz closed her laptop and gave a small shrug. “Hard to believe it's been twelve years. Being back here makes it feel like yesterday.”

“Yeah.” Gray slumped into a chair and fiddled with the chain around his neck. “I'll never forget it. Principal Wiggs came into the classroom and just looked at me. I thought I was about to be expelled.” He could still picture old Wiggy's face. “That would have been the better news.” One of these days, his heart might stop hurting. He wasn't counting on it, but it sure would be nice.

Liz stretched her arms above her head, a faint purple line of a bruise just visible on the underside, above her elbow. “I was in the middle of finals. Had to write all my exams late. I wasn't sure they would let me graduate.”

He tried to see past the stone wall surrounding her, sighed and gave up. “Your life was hardly ruined, Liz. You got into Harvard. Got your law degree.”

“Yes.” She returned his stare, lips pulled tight. “Hardly ruined at all. Not compared to some, I suppose.”

Gray swore and pushed out of his chair. “Nice chatting with you.”

“Sit down, Gray.” She was queen of the courtroom, deluded in believing he was under her control. But the slight tremor in her voice pulled him back down.

Liz put her head in her hands for a moment. The action made him uncomfortable. Like she was plotting his swift conviction. Or worse.

When she faced him again, her cheeks were blotchy, her eyes glistening. “We all have our issues, Gray. I don't know how you ended up on drugs, and frankly, I don't care. If you're really serious about quitting, then I want you to know I'm behind you. I'll help
you however I can. But . . . could you just tell me, what in heaven's name made you think you had the right to shut us all out of your life? Because I'd really like to know.” She pressed her palms down on the desk and pinned him with a desperate look. “Tell me why I had to hear about the mess you've made of your life from a friend who happens to be one of your fans and not from you.”

Gray clenched his hands together to keep them from shaking. “I already had a lawyer.”

“I didn't want to be your lawyer, Gray.” Her anger fizzled as a new inflection crept in. One he hardly recognized. “I wanted to be your sister.”

He studied the holes in his jeans, picked up a long-ago scent of the pipe tobacco that used to fill the room. It was hard to breathe again. He'd been struggling for weeks. Drowning under accusations of failure, floundering in the murky waters of regret.

He looked up and shook his head. “I was ashamed.”

“Did you honestly think I would judge you?” Her compassionate expression made his eyes burn again.

Maybe Cecily had a point.

He'd been running from the truth so long he wasn't sure what it looked like anymore.

“I don't know.” The admission settled heavily, pushing down his shoulders. “I deserved it. I didn't want to let you guys see what a loser I've become.”

“Oh, Gray.” Liz ran a hand over her face. “You're not a loser.”

He shrugged and glanced around the room. “My so-called career is in the toilet. I wasn't exactly frugal with my money; I didn't have a savings plan. I don't know what the future looks like for me, Liz. That's a little terrifying.”

She picked up a pen and twirled it between her fingers. “What does your agent say?”

“He, uh . . . thinks I should lay low for a while. He's too nice to get rid of me, but I doubt he'll be calling anytime soon.”

“Are you broke?”

Gray leaned forward and stared at his toes, the reality of his situation as nauseating as Tori's spinach shakes. He let out a breath and sat up. “Pretty much.”

Liz didn't smile and he was grateful. She tapped her pen against the desk and shook her head. “That's unfortunate. I think Lynnie was hoping you might . . . Well, never mind. The sooner we can sell this mausoleum, the better. You should get enough from the sale to pull you through. Get you on your feet again.”