Some Like It Perfect (A Temporary Engagement) (20 page)

And then, dear God, he’d made her forget how to breathe without him.

She was still trying to remember.

Delia said, “It’s what I’m telling you, Judas Iscariot. You told him my shoe size.”

Gus smiled and went back to her cereal bowl. “You’re welcome.”

And Delia almost thanked her.

She’d left Jack this morning, his tie hanging down his neck, his feet bare, and she’d memorized every detail so she could paint him like that. Perfectly disheveled and only hers.

Glowering at her because she was leaving, and she’d wanted to wrap herself around him. He glowered and she wanted to tease it away.

Delia slipped on the shoes, practicing walking back and forth. “And what did you do last night while I was doing unspeakable things to your brother?”

Gus pushed her bowl away, gagging. “I made spaghetti, broke up with my boyfriend, and watched bad TV.”

Delia stopped prancing around and just looked at Gus, who said, “Go ahead. You can be happy about it.”

“Maybe after you tell me why you broke up.”

“Because it’s weird that he doesn’t want to meet my family. That he doesn’t want me to meet his. That’s weird, right?”

“Yeah, that’s a little weird.”

“I don’t have to put up with weird. Not unless I like the weird.”

Delia smiled then. “That’s right.”

“I can have any guy I want. I can have no guy if I don’t want. And I know it’s only been one night, but you know how you said your ex-husband was nothing to you now?”

Delia nodded.

Gus looked down, testing herself, then looked back up, shrugging. “He’s nothing to me now.”

Delia knew all about that.

Gus whispered, “That’s kind of sad. I don’t want to waste any more time on someone who will mean nothing to me when it’s over. If I’m going to love, I want to be devastated when it’s over. I want to be like Miss Havisham.” She folded her arms on the table, resting her head on them and muttering, “I want to be like my mother?”

Delia chuckled. No daughter wanted to be like her mother. And most were just like them.

Gus said, “When my Dad died, she died, too. She had no reason for living. No reason to get out of bed in the morning.”

Delia lifted her eyebrows, looking at one good reason for a mother to get out of bed. “How old were you?”

“Ten. But I had Jack.
We
had Jack.”

Delia sat down on the couch, pulling her new dress into her lap and thinking Gus had been lucky to have him. Any girl would be lucky to have him.

Gus picked her head back up, her eyes wide. “I’m not ready to love like that.”

Delia said, “No one is ever ready. It happens when it happens.” Delia thought of Justine. “And then sometimes you think you’re ready and it doesn’t happen. It is uncontrollable.”

“I don’t think so. I can control some things. Like if I’m looking for a guy. Like how dedicated I am to other parts of my life.” She grimaced. “How dedicated can you be when you work in human resources?”

Delia laughed. “You could always go to college. Throw a dart in a map and go somewhere no one knows your name. Which, frankly, is anywhere but Boston.”

“San Francisco?” Gus grinned, “My mother would hate that.”

“Gus, you’ve got to figure out what
you
want to do.”

A flicker of panic crossed her young face and she said softly, “But I have no idea what I want to do.”

Delia made a face and nodded. “Welcome to the world, baby girl.”

No one knew what they wanted. Except when they did, and then it scared the life out of them.

Gus put her bowl in the dishwasher. “Are you going to be late for work?”

“Why are you even asking me that?”

“I meant later than normal.”

“I just need to grab some clean clothes. I showered at Jack’s.”

Gus turned away with a huff, waving that image away. “Can you please remember I’m his sister and try to keep the sexual images to a minimum?”

“I didn’t say I showered with him.”

“You didn’t have to say it.”

That was probably because Delia had been thinking about that long, hot, wet shower when she’d said it.

Gus said, “Eww. Stop it.”

Delia turned to her bedroom to get some new clothes for the day and said, “I haven’t forgotten you’re his sister. I haven’t forgotten you’re the one who told him my shoe and dress size.”

She closed her bedroom door and Gus shouted, “Hey, I was the one who picked your dress out! You should be thanking me!”

Delia stood in front of her mirror, wearing her shoes, holding up the most decadent dress that she would ever own in her life, remembering the best night of her life.

She didn’t like thanking people. No one had said thank you when she was growing up, everyone just knew that next time it would be the other way around. Thank you wasn’t necessary, you just helped each other when you could.

But she didn’t know if she could repay Gus for last night. Repay her for both the treachery and the wonder.

Last night had been a special kind of gift, and Delia whispered, “Thanks, Gus.”

Delia went to Sunday dinner again.

Catherine had simply said, “Hmm,” when she’d seen her. And then, “Perhaps you’d care to show Jack what you think should go on the dining room ceiling and what it will cost.”

Delia didn’t know whether to be happy or horrified. Happy for the next job lined up, horrified it was another ceiling.

Jack took her hand, leading her away and saying, “Yes, I’d like to know exactly what you’re planning on painting up there.”

Delia smiled, and when they were out of ear-shot of his mother said, “You’ll just have to wait and torture it out of me.”

He murmured, “I can’t wait.”

Neither could she.

She looked up when they entered the dining room, seeing the parchment, the thin ribbons of gold, the four dragons, one in each corner aging the parchment with their hot breath. Burning up those trying to hide.

Jack stepped in behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her close.

He said, “Remember, five times as much.”

“It’s a smaller ceiling than your office.”

“And will be coveted twice as much. A painted ceiling in an office is strange; a painted ceiling in a dining room is fashion.”

Delia said, “If you say so.”

“More importantly my mother says so. Expect some poaching.”

“Oh, really? Maybe I should just charge five times as much as the last ceiling every time someone new comes along. And then I can retire in a year.”

She might be happy to paint another ceiling if she’d be paid five times as much each time. And she might run out of people willing to pay her price before long.

Her guess was she’d run out of people after Jack’s mother. But she’d take advantage while she could, build up her savings. Heck,
have
a savings.

Delia turned in Jack’s arms. “Are you going to put it on the expense account?”

He smiled, shaking his head. “You’ll never catch me paying for personal expenses out of the company.”

She knew he never would. For a scum-sucking corporate shill he had an unbending sense of right and wrong.

She whispered, “I know. And not just because I couldn’t catch you.”

He slid his hands into her crazy, wild hair, pulling her mouth to his and she said against his lips, “Don’t mess it up, it takes me hours to get it to look like this.”

He laughed, his eyes melting into a puddle of chocolate goo and Delia sank against his chest. Hoping Gus and Catherine were somewhere far away from the dining room.

On the bright side, Delia was pretty sure she wouldn’t be painting any dining room ceilings if they walked in.

Gus propped the wall up with her shoulder and watched her mother. She sat, poised, her eyes glued to the door, waiting for Jack and Delia to come back.

Gus said, “You’d like her if you gave her a chance.”

Maybe.

Catherine said, “I think I’ll call Diane, have her stop by after dinner. If I’d known the painter was coming, I would have invited Diane. I 
thought
 Sunday was only for family.”

“Delia’s practically family. She’s living with Jack.”

Okay, not completely true. Delia had slept in her own bed one night. Gus had thought they might be fighting, but the next morning Delia had brought a small bag with her to work and hadn’t been home again since.

Gus had thought living alone would be great but really it was just boring.

Catherine turned a little more toward the door, tapping her foot. “I’ll give him a little while to get over this thing with the painter.”

“Even if he 
gets over
 Delia, he won’t ever want Diane Evans.”

“Why not?”

Gus folded her arms and lifted her chin. Told her mother what no wife wanted to hear about her husband, even if he’d been dead for eight years. Maybe especially after he’d been dead for eight years.

“Because she was with Daddy when he had his heart attack.”

“No, she wasn’t.”

“She was. She told me all about it.”

Catherine turned away from the door to face her. “He was at his club.”

“With a bunch of frat girls.”

Gus remembered Diane putting her arm around Gus’s shoulder and saying, “I’m so so sorry, Augusta. We were just having fun.”

And then describing what they’d been doing, what her father had looked like when he’d had his heart attack.

Gus had been ten. Horrified, stricken.

How could she have told her mother, how could she have told anyone?

Well, she’d told Jack. Years later, asking if it could be true. He’d put his arm around her shoulders and told her the truth, that he’d heard rumors. That it didn’t change how her father had loved her, how he’d even loved Mother.

Gus had asked, “How could she have done that with Daddy and still be friends with Mother?”

And Jack had wearily said, “Because she’s a liar.”

Because when you looked at Diane Evans, all you saw was a shell. Gus was sure one day they would find a painting locked in Diane’s attic that showed her ugliness and deceit.

See, Gus read. Just not when teachers told her to.

Catherine said, “I don’t believe you.”

Gus just felt sad for her mother. She’d loved Daddy, loved him so much that when he’d died, she’d mourned him for years.

When Gus found someone to love like that, she would be sure he was worth it.

Gus put her arms around her mother’s tight shoulders. “I’m sorry, Mother. Daddy loved us. I know he did.”

When Gus pulled back, Catherine’s eyebrows were pinched together. “But Diane. . .”

“Is a bitch.”

“Augusta!”

“She is, Mother. I’m sorry I had to tell you. But Jack won’t ever want her. I don’t think you’d want him to want her.”

Catherine stood, her hands fisted. “You must be mistaken, Augusta.”

Gus shook her head. “I’m not. You can ask Jack.” Just later, not when he was hiding in the dining room kissing Delia. She said, to distract her mother, “And I hate the name Augusta.”

“It’s your name. I’m not going to call you Gus.”

“I hate Gus, too.”

Her mother sighed. “Thank God.”

“I like Summer. It’s a happy name.”

Catherine blinked uncontrollably, then sat back down in her chair. Shocked into silence.

Gus said softly, “I’d like to be happy. Do you think it’s possible to be happy?”

When her mother could only stare at her, Gus. . .
Summer
 sat down across from her.

Summer. She felt happier just saying it.

Summer said, “Delia says the hardest thing to do in life is learn how to act like an adult around your parents. She said she couldn’t figure it out, she could only leave.” She took a deep breath. “I think I need to leave, for a little while. I don’t want to leave you permanently. Do you know Delia only talks to her parents once a year? I mean, they don’t have a phone, but still. I don’t want that.”

“I don’t care what that painter does.”

Summer shook her head because that hadn’t really been her point. “I’ve applied to Rose State College for spring semester.” At her mother’s blank face, Summer said, “It’s in Oklahoma.”

“Oklahoma!”

Summer muttered, “I threw a dart at the map. It’s open enrollment.”

Catherine gasped, bringing her hand to her chest. “Open enrollment?”