“Who’s Pavarotti?”
Lindsay struggled to keep the surprise from showing on her face. Who hadn’t heard of the late, great Luciano Pavarotti? But she only replied, “Oh, just an opera singer.”
With that, she hurried off to change. When she returned a short while later, Miss Honi and Kerrie Ann were waiting by the door, Miss Honi decked in her evening finery: a long-sleeved ruffled silk blouse in the same shade of fuchsia as her lipstick and a full, peacock-feather-green taffeta skirt that rustled as she gave a slow twirl to show off her outfit. Her ersatz “diamond” necklace and matching earrings from QVC completed the look. The lone concession to age was sensible, low-heeled pumps. After being on her feet all day, she didn’t intend to spend the evening hobbling around in spike heels, she informed them.
Lindsay felt almost dowdy in her black cocktail dress and pearls. “You certainly know how to make an entrance,” she said, smiling at Miss Honi’s inimitable flair.
“Nobody’s going to be looking at us, that’s for sure,” Kerrie Ann complimented her. Lindsay sincerely hoped that would be the case. She didn’t enjoy being the center of attention, and her sister … well, the less she stood out, the better.
Soon they were making their way up the coast along Highway 1 in Kerrie Ann’s rented Hyundai. Pacifica was only a twenty-minute drive from Blue Moon Bay but a world away in some respects. Because it was close enough to the city to make it attractive to commuters, its population was for the most part upwardly mobile, whereas Blue Moon Bay’s was primarily working class. Every square inch of the waterfront, it seemed, was chockablock with pricey developments like the recently built condo complex Grant lived in.
When they were in sight of it, Lindsay began the ritual of ticking off in her head all the reasons not to move in with her boyfriend: (1) No privacy. Each of the attached townhouses had its own deck, which meant Grant had a view not only of the marina but of his next-door neighbors, who liked to sunbathe in the nude. (2) Too noisy. Lying awake at night listening to the sounds of revelers partying on their boats was a far cry from being lulled to sleep by the sound of surf. (3) No place to park, she thought, finally, as her sister circled the adjacent parking lot for the third time in search of a space.
Before she could think of a fourth reason, they were at the door, being ushered in by a smiling Grant. He gave Lindsay a light kiss on the lips, murmuring in her ear, “Mmm. Don’t you smell nice,” before greeting Miss Honi with a peck on the cheek. “And you must be the famous Kerrie Ann,” he said, turning to Lindsay’s sister with a wide, welcoming grin. “Grant Holbeck. It’s great to finally meet you. I can’t tell you what a surprise it was when Lindsay told me the good news. We’d just about given up hope of ever finding you.”
Speak for yourself, thought Lindsay. But her irritation was quickly swept away by her pleasure at seeing him. He looked handsome in his linen blazer and striped, open-collared shirt, his face tanned from yesterday’s sailing expedition and his blue eyes sparkling.
“Nice to meet you, too,” Kerrie Ann murmured as she shook his hand. Nervously she looked around at the sleek, contemporary surroundings, which were a far cry from Lindsay’s digs.
“I’m honored that you decided to come,” he said, taking her jacket. “I’m sure you and your sister have lots of catching up to do.”
Which we’d be doing right now if it weren’t for this party, thought Lindsay.
Kerrie Ann glanced at Lindsay, saying with an odd note of defiance, “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
“Well, come on in. The gang’s all here.” He led the way into the cathedral-ceilinged living room, where the other guests, a dozen or so, were seated with their drinks on the chrome-and-leather sofa and chairs or standing by the fireplace, nibbling on the hors d’oeuvres being passed around. “What can I get you ladies to drink? White wine, champagne?”
“You can pour me some of that bubbly,” said Miss Honi.
“Same here,” said Lindsay.
“Do you have any Diet Pepsi?” asked Kerrie Ann.
No sooner had Grant moved off toward the makeshift bar than Lindsay noticed a slight, stoop-shouldered man with deep-set brown eyes and a receding hairline making his way toward them. Her lawyer, Dwight Tibbet. He greeted Lindsay and Miss Honi, and Lindsay introduced him to her sister, with whom he briefly exchanged pleasantries before getting down to business. “Listen,” he said, leaning in toward Lindsay, his intensity, as always, a bit unnerving, “I spoke with Professor Lever today about a geological survey he did on a similar site up near Yreka, and—”
He was interrupted by Grant reappearing with their drinks. “Talking shop again, Tibbet? Take the night off. It’ll do you good,” he urged, giving his old friend a comradely slap on the back. Dwight flashed him a smile that seemed a bit forced. One of the things that must madden Grant’s colleagues, Lindsay thought, was the seeming ease with which he pulled off his wins. He put in as many hours as anyone but always breezed into the courtroom looking as relaxed as if he’d just stepped off the tennis court. The tactic worked: The few times she’d seen him in action, he’d had the judge and jury eating out of his hand.
Grant steered Miss Honi and Kerrie Ann off to meet his other guests, leaving Lindsay and Dwight to finish their discussion. Her lawyer had been successful in his bid to halt further movement on the resort until a full environmental study had been done and was now busy putting together a crack team. They talked about the merits of one biologist and botanist over another while Lindsay fretted inwardly about what all this was going to cost her.
When she looked up again, Miss Honi was holding court with several men, the youngest of whom had to be at least forty years her junior. Across the room, Kerrie Ann sat on the sofa next to an elegantly attired woman Lindsay recognized as Amanda Newsome, the wife of Grant’s partner, Paul. Amanda was attempting to chat her up, but from the looks of it, Kerrie Ann wasn’t making it easy; her bored expression was that of a teenager forced to make conversation with one of her parents’ friends. Lindsay was working her way across the room to rescue both when Grant summoned them to supper.
At the table, Lindsay was seated next to Amanda. Grant’s partner’s wife was a buyer for Saks Fifth Avenue, and over the first course—smoked trout on a bed of greens—they chatted about the latest fashion trends, Lindsay confessing, “I’m afraid I’m hopelessly out of step. I usually just wear what’s in the closet. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I went clothes shopping.”
“Meaning you can still fit into your old clothes, which is more than most of us can say. A couple of babies and there goes the waistline.” Amanda gave a rueful downward glance. “What about you? Do you see yourself having kids someday?”
“Sure, but first I’d need a husband.” Like most single women her age, Lindsay couldn’t ignore her biological clock, but unlike those for whom a husband or live-in boyfriend wasn’t essential in making a baby, she believed a solid commitment to a partner had to come first. She knew from close observation what it was like being a single mom and what it could do to your children.
“Speaking of which, when are you and Grant going to make it official? Paul says there’s an office pool betting on when you two decide to tie the knot.” Amanda’s brown eyes crinkled above the rim of her wineglass as she lifted it to her lips.
Lindsay felt her cheeks warm, though she was sure Amanda was being facetious about the office pool. She and Grant had discussed marriage, of course—maturely and intelligently, like two adults—but there were some major obstacles before they could take that leap. “Your guess is as good as mine,” she replied lightly.
She glanced over at Miss Honi, who was regaling the guests at her end of the table with the tale of how her car had been totaled after she’d unwittingly parked it in a construction zone. “It was the darnedest thing,” she said. “Foreman called me up to say how sorry he was, though anyone with eyes in their head could see it was my fault. Well, next thing I knew, he was introducing me to his widowed da
d. That’s how I come to know Charlie, the dearest, sweetest man who ever lived—God rest his soul. He’s gone now. Though it figures I’d find love at the end of a wrecking ball, given my history with men.”
The comment was greeted by a round of chuckles, with Miss Honi basking in the limelight. She was never more comfortable than when performing to a rapt audience. If only I could be more like her, thought Lindsay. Fun-loving and not shy about saying whatever was on her mind, even if it was to a roomful of strangers.
Just then she caught sight of her sister at the other end of the table, scowling at Amanda’s husband, who was seated to her right. In a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, she snapped, “No, I do not have a tattoo on my ass. And even if I did, you’d be the last person I’d show it to!”
An awkward silence fell over the table, and every head turned toward Kerrie Ann and the somewhat inebriated-looking Paul Newsome, whose face was the same shade as the plum-colored tablecloth. Lindsay heard a choked cry and turned to see Amanda’s face drained of color. Her heart sank.
Paul attempted to make light of the situation, flashing a grin and giving the shrug of the misunderstood. Which only served to anger Kerrie Ann further. “You know what pisses me off the most?” she went on in the same loud voice, her eyes glittering and hectic stripes standing out on her cheeks. “Dudes like you, that’s what. You think just ’cause you wear a fancy watch and went to college, someone like me is gonna fall all over you. Well, I have news for you, buddy—I ain’t interested. In fact, you can kiss my sweet ass, ’cause that’s the closest you’ll ever get to it!”
The even deeper silence that ensued spoke louder than any words. Some of the guests became suddenly preoccupied with what was on their plates while others cleared their throats and reached for their wineglasses. Lindsay just sat there, feeling as if she were trapped in a nightmare.
It was Miss Honi who took matters in hand, defusing the situation with a dose of Texas-style irreverence. “Sugar,” she drawled to Kerrie Ann, “if all men thought with the head on their shoulders, there wouldn’t be no call for us gals to get our dander up over every dumb thing a fella says when he’s had too much to drink.” She waggled a scolding finger at the “fella” in question. “Somebody get that boy some good strong coffee. Either that or we’ll have to hose him down.”
The tension broke, and a ripple of laughter went around the table. Miss Honi had effectively reduced the offense to that of a naughty schoolboy, thus making it possible for them to move on. All except the unfortunate Amanda, who stabbed at her smoked trout with her fork as if it were still alive and she needed to impale it before it could wriggle off her plate.
Somehow they made it through the rest of the meal, after which they retired to the living room for coffee and dessert. Miss Honi entertained some of the guests with more of her colorful tales. Lindsay managed to appear composed while fielding questions about various books currently on the best-seller list. Grant rallied as well, telling about a trip he’d taken to the Galapagos Islands the previous year at the special invitation of the Venezuelan government. No one appeared to notice Kerrie Ann, who’d retreated into a corner, where she sat sipping a diet soda and staring out the window.
Before long it was mercifully time to go. Wanting a moment alone with Grant before they took their leave, Lindsay followed him into the bedroom when he went to collect their coats. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for,” he assured her.
“But my sister—”
He cut her off before she could finish. “There’s no need to apologize for your sister. I’m sure Paul had it coming. He has a bit of a reputation, if you want to know the truth.” Grant drew her into his arms, dropping a kiss on the end of her nose. “Don’t worry, this will all sort itself out.”
She didn’t know if he was referring to tonight’s incident or the larger issue of her socially challenged sister. “How can you be so sure?” She stared down at the pile of coats on the bed, where the fuzzy white collar of Miss Honi’s decidedly un-PC rabbit chubby was sticking out from under a chic sky-blue trench coat with a Saks Fifth Avenue label.
“Because I know you,” he said.
It came rushing back to her once more, the years in which she’d had to shoulder the burden of caring for her little sister at an age when her only worry should have been getting good grades. She remembered how scared and overwhelmed she’d felt and was certain that if it hadn’t been for Miss Honi, she’d have been crushed by the weight of all that responsibility.
What she wanted more than anything right now was for someone else—Grant—to take charge. But that wasn’t going to happen. Besides, what could he do? Kerrie Ann was her sister, not his. Her responsibility. One way or another, she would just have to find a way to sort it out on her own.
CHAPTER FIVE
Kerrie Ann could tell her sister was pissed off. Lindsay sat stick-straight in the passenger seat as Kerrie Ann drove, her silence speaking louder than any words. Even the normally talkative Miss Honi, in the backseat, was subdued.
Finally the tension became too much.
“Will somebody please just say it?” Kerrie Ann burst out. “You think it’s my fault, don’t you?”
“No one’s blaming you, sugar,” said Miss Honi. “That fella had it coming from what I could see.”
Lindsay broke her tight-lipped silence to reply in a carefully measured tone, “Maybe so, but not everything has to be aired in public. Sometimes it’s better just to … overlook certain things rather than make a scene.”
Kerrie Ann couldn’t deny that her sister had a point, but she bristled nonetheless. “Oh, so when some creep’s got his hand on your thigh and is whispering in your ear that he’d like to see what’s tattooed on your ass, you should just compliment him on his tie?” she replied sarcastically.
“All I’m saying is that sometimes, in situations like these, you have to take other people into account.”
Just then her sister could have been any of the countless schoolteachers who’d reprimanded Kerrie Ann over the years—for sounding off in class, wearing a skirt that was too short, smoking in the girls’ bathroom, not handing in her homework assignment on time.
“I’m not saying the guy isn’t a … that he didn’t do those things,” Lindsay went on. “But he also happens to be Grant’s partner. And did you see the look on his wife’s face? The poor woman!”
“I know somebody who’ll be in the doghouse when he gets home,” piped up Miss Honi, sounding almost gleeful at the prospect. “Kibbles and bits, that’s what he’ll be eating from now on.”
“Why should I feel sorry for her?” Kerrie Ann’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel. “She married him, didn’t she? And I never met a guy like that whose wife didn’t know the score.”
“Even if that’s true of Amanda, she wouldn’t have wanted it broadcast to everyone at the table. She didn’t deserve that. She’s a nice woman.”
“Really? I thought she was stuck-up.” Kerrie Ann hadn’t really thought that, but she’d felt so hopelessly out of her depth around the other guests—people far more cultured and educated than she, who measured their lives in accomplishments rather than failures—that it was easier to portray them in a bad light than to admit to herself that she was a loser.
It didn’t help, either, that Lindsay was leaping to the woman’s defense while ignoring the insult to her sister. “How would you know? You barely spoke to her. Anyway, that’s not the point.”
The feeble voice of reason in Kerrie Ann’s head warned her to back off, but her temper got the better of her. “Yeah, but it kind of is,” she said. “See, that’s the thing. Here you are, all worried about her feelings, while I’m supposed to just suck it up?” She shook her head in disgust. “Story of my life. I was hoping it would be different with my own sister, but apparently not.”
Lindsay didn’t respond. But in the intermittent glare from oncoming headlights, Kerrie Ann took note of the grav
e look on her face and experienced a mild rush of panic. It was the same look she’d seen, growing up, on the faces of the adults in her life whenever she’d pushed one of them too far. Then it was So long, kid, and on to the next stop. Would Lindsay send her on her way, too? Before she’d even have a chance to tell her about Bella? Kerrie Ann felt panicky at the thought. But she probably deserved it. Already she was shaping up to be as lousy a sister as she was a mother.
But when Lindsay finally spoke, it was in a tone more hurt than accusatory. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said. “But honestly, I can’t imagine how I could’ve given you that impression.”
Kerrie Ann glanced once more at her sister, at the clean, uncluttered lines of her profile, the understated gold hoop earring peeking from the sheaf of smooth brown hair that lay across her cheek. So pretty, so composed … and so utterly alien. She shook her head and said, “Look, I’m not the cute little kid you used to know. So let’s do us both a favor and not drag this out. First thing tomorrow, I’ll be on my way. No hard feelings, okay?” Better to make a preemptive strike than to be on pins and needles for the rest of the drive home.
Lindsay cast her a startled look. “Why on earth would I want you to leave? You just got here.” She paused before continuing in a more conciliatory voice, “Let’s not blow this out of proportion. I’m sure after a good night’s rest, we’ll be able to put it in perspective and move on.”
“Amen to that.” Miss Honi reached over the seat to give Kerrie Ann’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
She felt guiltier than ever for having made such a royal mess of things—starting with having cornered Lindsay into taking her to the party in the first place. She should have known it would be a bust. She should have left well enough alone. “Sorry if I wrecked your boyfriend’s party,” she said. Apologies didn’t come easily for her, but she managed to inject a note of sincerity.
Woman in Blue Page 9
