Testing Kate (20 page)

Graham waded into the water and then dove in with a splash. When he popped out, his hair was plastered down against his scalp, and his legs and red swim trunks were warped by the water, making him look like a Picasso painting. I saw two women, sitting at a table on the opposite side of the pool, watching him. One whispered something to the other, and they both giggled, never taking their eyes off my boyfriend. They were pretty, but in a hard, artificial way, and both wore tiny little bikinis to show off their surgically enhanced bodies. But Graham didn’t notice them. He swam a few laps, his arms cutting capably through the water, and then he stood up at the shallow end, shaking his head like a dog.

“Kate, you should come in, the water’s fantastic,” he called out to me. I waved at him but shook my head.

“No, thanks. I’m in the middle of an article about fall hemlines,” I said. “It’s riveting stuff.”

Graham laughed, and recommenced his laps. I glanced at the implant twins, who were pouting that he hadn’t paid them any attention and were now eyeing me jealously. I just smiled at them from behind my magazine.

That night we went down to the rocky beach to watch the sunset. It was fabulous, a symphony of pinks and corals, smudgy grays and pastel purples. Graham slid his arms around me, and for the first time since we’d gotten to Florida, I relaxed back against him. The gorgeous sunset, the white-capped waves roaring in toward us, the warmth of Graham’s chest…it was perfect, right out of a vacation brochure.

“I’ve been thinking about something,” Graham said.

“What’s that?”

I felt Graham’s hand move away from me as he reached into his pocket. And then he was holding an object out in front of me. I looked at it, confused.

A ring box.

“Will you marry me?” Graham’s voice was a low, warm buzz in my ear. I took the box in my hands and opened it up.

The ring was beautiful. Three princess-cut diamonds in a platinum setting, a large stone flanked by two smaller ones. With shaking hands, I pulled the ring out of its white satin box. The diamonds winked and glittered up at me.

It was heavier than I thought it would be.

I was quiet. A pelican soared just over the water, trailing his wings slightly against the wake. The sun continued to sink down toward the horizon. Graham wrapped his arms tighter around me and nuzzled his nose into the curve of my neck.

“You’re the one, Kate,” he said, so softly, I could just barely hear him over the surf. “I love you.”

I turned and snaked my arms around his waist, squeezing him tightly and burying my head against his chest. I kissed the triangle of skin bared by his polo shirt. He tasted of sunlight and salt.

I could see our life together unfolding so clearly, I could almost touch it. We’d have two blond children we’d take to the beach in the summer, and Graham and I would sit on low folding chairs, our hands clasped together absentmindedly, while we watched our kids romp around on the sand. Every Christmas we’d get a big tree, and the scent of evergreen would mix with the cinnamon from the holiday baking. We’d have a glass of wine together in the evenings and talk about our days. On weekends we’d plant flower beds and go out to dinner.

It would be a good life, a sturdy life.

A safe life.

I’d be a fool to pass it up.

I looked up. Graham’s face was close to mine, so close that I could see the web of faint lines by his eyes and the small mole on his right cheek.

“Yes,” I said softly. And I slipped the ring on my finger.

Chapter Twenty

L
ate Sunday morning, we drove back up to the Miami airport and caught our respective flights to Arizona and New Orleans. I made it back in time to meet the others for our weekly study group at the Rue, but I decided to pass. The last person I wanted to see was Nick. I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to see him again without remembering what he’d looked like leaning back on his couch, wearing only a T-shirt.

With everything down below sort of…hanging out.

No, I thought fiercely. No more thinking of Nick, naked or otherwise.

I was too restless to study, so I drove over to Armstrong’s house. The windows were dark, and his car wasn’t in the driveway. I rang the bell—the
William Tell Overture
rang out, making it sound like the Lone Ranger was galloping through the house—and when Armstrong didn’t answer, I let myself in with the key he’d given me.

When I walked in, Elvis the Guard Dog was asleep in the front hall, lying on his back with his feet sticking straight up. I’d never seen a dog sleep like that before, but Elvis could hold the position for hours.

“Hi, Elvis. Don’t worry, I’m not here to rob the place,” I said.

Elvis opened one eye, looked at me blearily, and then farted.

“Lovely,” I said.

I headed upstairs to Armstrong’s office and settled in to my work. We’d finally started on the book research, and since I worked irregular hours, Armstrong had gotten in the habit of leaving me a list of the articles he wanted me to pull off the Internet and skim for content. Elvis followed me up the stairs and found the climb so exhausting, he collapsed on one of the leather sofas with a loud sigh.

The work was interesting, but not grueling, and I felt my stress begin to melt away as I fell into the rhythm of reading through the research. The only distraction was Elvis’s constant gas. It got so bad, I finally had to throw open the French doors that led onto the second-floor balcony to air the room out.

“What has Armstrong been feeding you? Baked beans?” I asked Elvis.

“Butter pecan ice cream,” Armstrong said from the doorway. “Never again. He’s been windy for two days now.”

I hadn’t heard Armstrong come in, and the interruption startled me. I shrieked and threw my pen up into the air.

Armstrong raised his eyebrows. “Heavens, child, if you keep that up, the neighbors are going to call the police.”

“You scared me,” I said.

“So I gathered,” Armstrong said.

It was only then that I noticed that Armstrong was swaying from side to side, and he was slurring his words. I looked at him more closely. Definitely drunk. His eyes were red and unfocused, and his normally impeccable clothing was rumpled. I’d seen the man put away three bourbons straight up on an empty stomach without showing the slightest sign that the alcohol affected him. I couldn’t imagine how much he must have drunk to be swaying and slurring. I glanced at the clock; it was after midnight.

“God, how did it get so late?”

“Time has a way of moving on,” Armstrong said sadly. “One day you’re dancing with David Bowie at Studio 54, and the next you’re an old man living in a whorehouse.”

“You danced with David Bowie?” I asked.

“No. But it makes for a good story,” Armstrong said, collapsing on the sofa next to Elvis.

I stood up, stretching. “I had no idea it was so late. I’d better get home.”

“First tell me how your trip with the academic was. Wait—what’s that I see on your hand?” Armstrong demanded. His Southern accent got stronger when he drank. Right now he sounded like Foghorn Leghorn.

I looked down shyly at my ring. It still felt foreign on my hand, like a piece of borrowed jewelry.

“We got engaged,” I said.

“So I see. To the academic, I take it?”

“Of course,” I said. “And how can you disapprove of Graham when you’ve never even met him?”

“Who said I disapprove?”

“You keep telling me I should break up with him.”

“That doesn’t mean I disapprove,” Armstrong said. I looked at him. He shrugged. “Okay, so I disapprove.”

“At least meet him before you decide to hate him,” I said, as I gathered my keys and papers together.

“Have a drink before you go,” Armstrong said.

I hesitated. He looked like he’d already had more than enough to drink.

“We have to celebrate your pending nuptials,” Armstrong said, waving two empty glasses at me.

“Okay, one drink. And then I have to get home. I have class tomorrow,” I said.

I sat back down while Armstrong poured a bourbon for him, a glass of wine for me.

“If you’re going to live in the South, you’re going to have to learn how to drink bourbon one of these days,” Armstrong said, handing me my glass. “So tell me all about it.”

I filled him in on the trip, and Graham’s proposal, and how we’d gone out to dinner afterward for lobster ravioli and champagne. Graham—still enthralled with photography—had taken about a hundred photos, ensuring that the whole magical evening would be captured on film.

“It was perfect. Very romantic,” I said.

And it was. I remembered my mother telling me a story about how the daughter of one of her friends was proposed to while she and her boyfriend were watching a football game on television. At the commercial break, the boyfriend had turned to her and said, “So…wanna get married?” And she actually accepted. Ever since I’ve lived in fear that I’d receive a similarly dismal proposal. I mean, really. How can you marry someone who proposes on a commercial break?

“Ah, to be young and in love,” Armstrong said. The slur was becoming more pronounced, and his head lolled back on the sofa. “Have I ever told you about Hunter?”

“A hunter? Like the kind that killed Bambi?”

Armstrong gave me a dirty look. “No. That was his name: Hunter.”

“Oh…no. You’ve never talked about him.”

“He was the love of my life,” Armstrong mused. “And he broke my heart.”

I could feel the weight of his words settle between us.

“What happened?” I asked gently.

He shrugged. “Whatever generally happens. I was neglectful, he was bored. He resented my success. I resented his…indiscretions.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

Armstrong set his empty glass on the coffee table. When he leaned back against the sofa, he shut his eyes. People usually look younger when they relax into sleep, but Armstrong seemed to age. Without the usual vivaciousness lighting his face, his skin grayed and the lines fanning out from his eyes and mouth became more pronounced.

“Love is not so easy to come by, Katie,” he murmured. “Be careful with it.”

His breath slacked off into a low rumbling snore. I took a throw blanket from the back of a chair and tucked it around him, and then let myself out.

The next day I noticed that my engagement ring was starting to leave a rash on my finger. The skin under it was rising up in itchy red bumps.

Great, I thought, scratching my finger. I was allergic to my engagement ring. I hoped it wasn’t a sign.

I considered leaving the ring at home in my jewelry box, but it seemed disloyal. So I smeared some cortisone cream on the rash, slid the ring back on, and went to school.

I got in early so I’d have time to read Hoffman’s assignment before class. Even though it was gray and muggy, and the air was so humid my skin felt clammy, I couldn’t bear sitting in the airless library. Instead, I claimed a bench outside on the student-union patio, sitting cross-legged with my Con Law book open on my lap.

Just as I was finishing, two figures loomed in front of me. I looked up. It was Jen and Lexi, standing side by side and grinning down at me with knowing smiles.

“Hi,” I said.

“Is there something you want to tell us?” Jen asked.

“How did you find out?” I asked. I knew what the gossip network was like at the law school, but the only other people who knew about my engagement were Graham and Armstrong, neither of whom knew anyone I went to school with.

“I can’t believe you thought you could keep it a secret,” Lexi said.

“I didn’t. I’m wearing my ring, after all,” I said, holding up my left hand to show off the diamond.

“What?” Jen gasped.

“You’re engaged?” Lexi chimed in.

“To who?” Jen asked.

“Graham. Who do you think? Wait…what were you guys talking about?”

Lexi and Jen looked at each other.

“Nick,” Jen said.

I went cold. Nick told them we slept together? The idea that they’d all talked about me—that
he
had talked about me—made me queasy. I knew Nick’s reputation, of course, knew that he probably saw me as just another conquest, but
still
. I’d assumed he’d keep our interlude to himself for the sake of our friendship.

“What did he tell you?” I asked quietly.

“Nothing,” Jen said. My sick dread must have been reflected in my face, because she blanched and sat down next to me. “Oh, no, Kate. It wasn’t like that. He didn’t tell us anything. Nick was upset, so Addison took him out and got him drunk to cheer him up, and that’s when Nick told Addison what happened. Addison told me, and I told Lexi. We were just going to tease you about it.”

“Why was Nick upset?” I asked.

Jen and Lexi exchanged another meaningful look.

“What?” I asked.

“Kate, Nick really likes you. I think that he thought that after you two…well, you know. He thought you were going to get together. That you’d be a couple,” Jen said.

“And then you went off to the Keys with Graham,” Lexi said.

“No. You’re wrong,” I said, shaking my head. “Nick doesn’t like me. Not seriously. You know what he’s like. He’s a player.”

“Actually,” Jen said thoughtfully, “I can’t remember the last time Nick hooked up with someone. Well. Someone other than you, I mean. Lexi, can you?”

“Last semester, maybe?” Lexi said, furrowing her brow as she thought it over. “Addison was teasing him about it one night when we were all out. Nick said he was a changed man.”

“Oh, my God!” Jen exclaimed, so suddenly that I started.

“What?” I asked.

“What if you’re the reason why? What if he’s fallen so madly and deeply in love with you he’s given up all other women?”

I had to admit, it was a flattering thought. Flattering—but unlikely.

“I seriously doubt that,” I said.

“I’d ask you how your trip was, but I’m guessing it went well,” Lexi said. “Are you going to tell us what happened?”

“Yes, tell us everything! How did he propose? What did he say? What did you say? I can’t believe you’re engaged!” Jen chirped.

And just as the words were leaving her mouth, Nick appeared. I hadn’t seen him approach, because all of a sudden he was just
there,
standing in front of us. When my eyes met his, my stomach dipped and dropped. I knew he’d overheard Jen, but I couldn’t tell what he was feeling. Hurt? Surprise? Indifference?

“Nick,” I said. “Um…hi.”

“Hey. I’ve got to get inside, class is starting,” Nick said. He turned and strode off toward the law school.

“Damn. Shit,” I said. I pressed the heels of my hands to my forehead. “I didn’t want him to find out like this.”

“Oh, Kate. God, I’m sorry,” Jen said. She looked stricken.

“It’s not your fault. It’s just my bad luck again. And it’s getting worse. Do you see this?” I took out the lucky rabbit’s foot Armstrong had given me and waved it at them. “This doesn’t work. In fact, if anything, my luck has gotten even worse since I started carrying it. It’s probably cursed. I have the only cursed rabbit’s foot in existence.”

“You think it’s bad luck to have two great guys in love with you?” Lexi asked curtly.

I looked up at her, surprised by her biting tone. But then I remembered: Jacob. I’d been so caught up in my own drama, I’d forgotten all about hers.

“Oh, Lex, I’m sorry. I can’t believe I’m being so self-centered,” I said, grabbing one of her hands and squeezing it. “I heard about you and Jacob. Are you okay?”

Lexi paused, and then she slipped her hand from mine. She tossed her hair back, gathered it in a ponytail and secured it with a black elastic.

“Oh,
him,
” she said disdainfully. “He’s an asshole. I’m so over that.”

“You’re not upset?” I asked.

She laughed without humor. “Of course not. It’s not like I was ever that into him. Come on, we’d better go in. We don’t want to be late for Hoffman.”

I looked at Jen, and she shrugged and briefly shook her head, silently warning me not to push Lexi. However Lexi had really felt about him and the sudden demise of their relationship, the subject of Jacob Reid was closed for discussion.