Grady's Wedding

by Patricia McLinn

  His face seemed to tighten. “Don’t let it run too wild. They’re very prosaic scars.

  She opened her mouth to repeat that she didn’t need to know, didn’t want to know how he got them. But he seemed to feel a need to explain them to her.

  “I got them playing tag football.”

  “Oh, with your family?” That surprised her, and she had no idea why.

  “No.” He clipped the word uncharacteristically. “Tag football’s not their style.”

  “No,” said Paul. “Mayhem on the lawn is more my family’s style.” Despite his humorous tone, Leslie thought she detected a bit of protectiveness in his interruption.

  Grady said nothing. Without changing his relaxed position, he seemed to tighten. She wasn’t surprised Paul took over the conversation; it was clear the tense figure on the railing wasn’t going to continue.

  “We used to have marathon games in our backyard. Dad swears he never could keep grass until I left for college.”

  “Even after that,” said Michael. “I’ve played in some Thanksgiving Day games that came long after high school.”

  “And not just football,” Tris added. “Volleyball and badminton.”

  “Badminton! My sister’s a badminton fiend,” Paul said. “You met my kid sister at Tris and Michael’s wedding, didn’t you, Leslie?” She nodded. “Well, Judi may look like your everyday college student, but don’t ever get around her when she’s got a badminton racquet in her hand. She plays to the death.”

  “Look who’s talking,” Bette interjected, then turned to Leslie. “I never knew sailing could be a contact sport until I went out with Paul last spring. He told me we were going sailing with Grady, but what he really meant was we were in one boat and Grady was in another and then each tried his damnedest to sink the other. I was expecting skull and crossbone flags to be unfurled any moment.”

  “Just a little friendly competition,” said Paul, but with a grin lurking. “Right, Roberts?”

  The odd tension had left Grady. Even before he chuckled and started an anecdote of the boyhood competition he and Paul had indulged in, Leslie knew the conversational diversion his friends had constructed had served its purpose; he was back to being himself.

  She didn’t doubt that Grady had been disturbed. She didn’t doubt his friends had stepped in to both give him time to recover his equanimity and to direct the conversation away from whatever had triggered his reaction.

  She was surprised by his reaction. And she had no clue what had triggered it.

  * * * *

  She’d outsmarted herself, and Grady took full advantage of it.

  After a dinner that turned out surprisingly well despite the chaos of six chefs bumping into one another in a one-person kitchen, the rain-cooled air prompted them to settle in the living room.

  He deliberately chose a corner of the love seat, then watched Leslie pick a chair at the opposite end of the conversation area—not far in the compact arrangement.

  He recognized the exact moment she realized that sitting opposite him meant she looked right at him, and he looked right at her.

  But he refrained from making obvious eye contact as the talk flowed. From plans for the next day—all agreed to let the day develop as it would; “Paul’s favorite kind of plans,” teased Bette, “no plans.”—to the success of Paul’s exhibit to Michael’s work as an aide to a senator from Illinois to Bette’s arrangement to make her longtime assistant a full partner in Top-Line Temporaries.

  “It’s ideal. Darla says that with her youngest child going off to college this fall, she wants to go full steam ahead with her career so—”

  “But she’s too smart to work the kind of hours you were working,” interjected Paul.

  “Are you saying I wasn’t smart?”

  “I couldn’t ever say that, since you picked me. Let’s just say you were in need of some diversion.”

  “And you are very diverting, Cousin Paul,” contributed Tris, catching the peanut he tossed and popping it in her mouth.

  “To get back to what I was saying,” Bette resumed sternly, but with a smile, “Darla’s going to run Top-Line full-time the first few months while I stay home with the baby. After the first of the year, I’ll go in a couple days a week, and work from home through the computer linkup Grady’s setting up for us.” Grady was aware of Leslie glancing at him, but when he looked at her, she’d already turned back to Bette. “That way I can spend more time with the baby.”

  “Have you decided on names?” asked Michael.

  Grady slipped away from the current of the conversation. Was Leslie surprised he knew enough about computers to help Bette set up? Not very flattering. Even less flattering, was she surprised he would help?

  He stared at her, and gradually awareness of her discomfort surfaced. Too bad, he thought, tuning in enough to know the talk still centered on the baby. On the creation of a family that Paul and Bette were embarking on.

  A family. Paul and Bette having their own family.

  A sourness trickled through him. He’d never felt this before. He wondered, dispassionately, if this was what envy felt like. If so, he understood a lot better the bitter expressions of some who’d looked at his money, his looks, his lifestyle. Not a pleasant sensation at all.

  Not that he wanted to get married. He wasn’t ready. Far from it. Still, to have a family . . .

  He jerked his mind away from the thought. He waited until Leslie looked at him, a faint belligerence in her expression, then he let his eyes trail down her. Throat, curve of her breasts under the cotton shirt, slanted torso as she sat on one hip in order to tuck those long, slender legs to one side. From her bare feet, he started the return journey, noting this time that her right hand clenched the arm of the chair.

  When he reached her face again, he saw the expressive brows raised at him, the glint of anger in her eyes, and fought an urge to apologize.

  Too bad. He didn’t care. Better to focus on sexual flirting—something he knew a damn lot about—than to think about other things.

  * * * *

  After a swim the next morning, Bette retired to the shade of the porch, proclaiming an itchy sunburn was the last thing she needed. Grady started a ball going among the rest of them. When Paul added a Frisbee, their five-pointed catch became a real challenge, especially when the ball, the Frisbee and a wave converged on one person.

  Leslie felt something akin to relief that Grady seemed lighthearted, untroubled by whatever had caused, first, that odd moment on the porch and, later, that provocative survey of her. She’d been lost in her own thoughts—not of the cheeriest variety, either—when she’d caught his look.

  It had surprised her. First, because he looked at her the way she would expect a man with his lady-killer reputation to look at a woman. Then a second jolt because she was surprised—because it wasn’t something she would have expected from Grady, no matter what his reputation.

  Grady emerged, spluttering and streaming water from his body but triumphantly holding aloft the ball in one hand and Frisbee in the other.

  When she stopped laughing, Leslie announced she was going to sit out for a while. “I didn’t come to the ocean to spend all my time in the water.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Grady declared. “I didn’t come here to spend all my time drinking the water.”

  They slowly made their way to the shallows, pausing to brace for enthusiastic waves that broke around them.

  “Here comes one."

  Just as Grady spoke his warning, Leslie caught sight of a small boy a few feet in front of them. He didn’t look more than five; he seemed to be alone, and he was facing the oncoming waves with eyes wide and mouth open.

  “Look out!” she shouted as the wave hit her and rushed on toward the boy.

  The boy didn’t move, but the man next to her did. Halfway to the boy before the words were out of her mouth, he still couldn’t beat the wave.

  The force of the water caught the child, pulling him under and draggin
g him along in its race toward the shore. Leslie pushed her hair out of her face in time to see Grady scoop up the boy before he could be caught in the wave’s return trip.

  The child came up coughing the water he’d taken in. But in the seconds it took her to reach them, he’d cleared his lungs sufficiently to get down to the serious business of crying.

  Grady stood in water now placidly lapping his calves, holding the small body almost gingerly. The boy wasn’t as wary. He had his arms wrapped around Grady’s neck and held on with all his might.

  “Is he all right?”

  “I think so. I think he mostly got scrapes from being pulled along the bottom.”

  Leslie saw angry red marks on the tender skin and several scratches. “That and a huge scare.”

  “Brian! Oh my God, Brian!”

  They looked up to see a man and woman followed by an older boy racing toward them.

  “He’s all right,” Grady said, almost shouting to cover the distance and the panic. “He’s all right.”

  The man reached them first, splashing into the water and skidding to a halt.

  “Brian?” The boy lifted his head from where he’d buried it against Grady’s shoulder and stretched out his hands to his father without abating his crying.

  The woman arrived as they all reached the water’s edge.

  She ran shaking hands over the boy’s small body, reassured through touch that he was all right.

  The older boy came up, pale faced and anxious. “Is he okay?”

  “Yes, he’s okay,” his mother said firmly.

  “We don’t know how to thank you—”

  The man’s words ended in a deep gulp as his wife’s eyes filled and spilled over. Grady waved away the need for any words. The man shifted his son’s weight to one arm and reached out the other to shake Grady’s hand.

  “Thank you. You’ll never know— Thank you.” He swallowed. “C’mon, Brian, let’s get you dried out, okay?”

  As the family group started off, they heard the older boy say, “He was right there. I only looked away for a minute, Mom, honest!”

  The mother hesitated before she said very quietly, “We’ll talk about that later, Kevin.” But she put an arm around the slumped shoulders of her older son.

  Grady stared after them, his face unreadable.

  “Grady?”

  He didn’t blink, he didn’t respond, he just watched the family’s progress across the wide expanse of sand.

  Feeling as if she were prying, Leslie slipped away to where they’d left their towels and sunscreen lotions.

  She dried herself, then spread the towel and sat down. A glance told her Grady was no longer where she’d left him. She scanned the beach in the direction the family had gone without any sight of him. In the water, she spotted Tris, Michael and Paul grouped together, but no sign of Grady’s golden head. She turned and saw him. Jogging steadily, head bent as if in contemplation of his next footfall, in the opposite direction.

  She laid back and wondered what had been going on in Grady Roberts’s head when he’d stared after that family.

  She wasn’t sure how long she’d been lying there, but she was aware of the increasing warmth of her skin. As she turned over, she caught sight of Grady walking back along the water’s edge. Beside him was a young woman whose fall of shining brown hair hid more of her model-thin body than her bathing suit did. The young woman had her hand on Grady’s arm, and he was looking down at her.

  Tucking her own salt-stiffened hair behind her ear, Leslie turned away and rested her cheek on her arm.

  “Hey, Leslie, you’re starting to get pink.”

  She opened her eyes to see Tris toweling off and looking over her shoulder toward Grady and his companion.

  “Are Paul and Michael still in the water?”

  “Yeah, they’re swimming laps—as much as you can with the waves coming in. But I’ve about had it for this afternoon. I want to shower, wash my hair, then sip a tall drink on the porch. How about you?”

  “I’ve about had it, too. Your itinerary sounds great. Let’s go.”

  * * * *

  “Sometimes I could shoot Grady.” Leslie heard Tris’s voice, and hesitated before turning the corner that would take her into the kitchen. “He’s never going to change.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t see him, Bette.”

  “Actually, I did. I saw the whole thing from the porch, and it was the girl who approached him. And it didn’t take him long to head back to the rest of you. But by that time you and Leslie were nearly to the house.”

  Leslie backed up a couple steps, then scuffed loudly along the hall, emerging into the kitchen with a bright, “Hi. What’s everyone up to?”

  Tris gave her a wide smile. “Getting that drink we talked about and starting to talk about dinner. What do you think of shish kebab?”

  “We were talking about Grady,” Bette contradicted. “Of course there’s one thing you’ve got to understand about Grady.”

  Leslie could see Tris consider trying to override Bette, then decide to go full speed ahead. “Yeah,” Tris said dryly, “his emotional life’s like a firecracker. His relationships start off as if they’ve been shot out of a cannon, burst into their brief, shining moment, then fade out of sight, leaving only ashes.”

  “Very nice image, Tris.” Leslie knew her light tone was perfect, though it cost her some. “If you’re that good I’m going to start having you write your own news releases.”

  “Oh, no—”

  Bette ignored the byplay and said, "I’m not talking about how he’s dated in the past. I’m talking about something more basic. Grady has had the disadvantage of being handsome, wealthy, smart and successful.”

  Leslie fought the truth of that with dry humor. “We should all be so disadvantaged.”

  But Bette wasn’t sidetracked. “What do you think happens when someone like Grady meets people?”

  “They look at the package and not the person.”

  Both Bette and Tris stared, and Leslie deeply regretted her impulsive words. She didn’t want them thinking . . . well, what they both looked as if they were thinking.

  Bette recovered first. “Yes. That’s exactly what happens. People are so impressed with the outside, they don’t bother looking to the inside. I guess for some people that’s a blessing. But what happens when a person with a great outside also has an impressive inside? And day after day, year after year, nobody bothers to look for it.”

  Tris’s eyes lost their focus. “That’s exactly what it was like in school. All the girls who were crazy about Grady, none of them talked about what a great guy he was, how funny he could be, how nice. They only saw the looks and the charm. God, even me.”

  She blinked, and looked from Bette to Leslie. “Those years I had the crush on him, I wasn’t really looking at Grady. It wasn’t until the week we were all together before your wedding, Bette, that I saw him as a person, a friend. No wonder that’s when he started keeping in touch.”

  “That’s right. So is it any wonder that he’s conducted his relationships the way he has?”

  “Oh, now wait a minute, Bette. I think that’s going too far. Grady has a short attention span with women. He always has. I don’t mean the other might not contribute in a way, but I think it’s more an ego thing. That and the old male standby of fear of commitment.”

  “I’ve been right before, haven’t I, Tris?”

  Leslie knew a challenge when she heard it, though she didn’t understand this one.

  “Yes, but that was different. That was—”

  “That was Michael, whom you’d viewed in certain ways for too long to see clearly,” Bette interrupted firmly.

  “What are you two talking about?” At first Leslie had been glad to drop out of the conversation, but curiosity could itch like crazy.

  “Tell her, Tris.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “It’s not anything awful, Leslie. It’s just somethin
g I never told you about that week before Paul and Bette’s wedding, the week I realized how I feel about Michael.”

  “There’s a lot you never told me about that week, Tris. When you came back you weren’t talking at all.”

  Tris waved off that period of misery. Michael’s love had washed it away.

  “Bette was the first one who opened my eyes about Michael, to see him the way he is instead of the way I’d gotten in the habit of thinking he was. But—” She spun around to face Bette. “That was Michael. And this is Grady.”

  “Yes,” Bette agreed placidly. “But the question is, who is Grady?”

  * * * *

  They hadn’t come up with an answer to that one.

  They hadn’t even had time to try before Grady, Michael and Paul returned, ready for their turns at the showers. Before long all six of them sat on the porch sipping wine coolers Michael had concocted, building up the energy to fix dinner.

  “We could go out to eat, you know,” said Grady.

  “Too crowded,” objected Michael. “Saturday night everywhere’s packed.”

  “How about if we just eat cheese and crackers,” suggested Tris. “Then all we need is one volunteer to walk all the way back to the kitchen.”

  In unison the three men moaned as if in the later stages of starvation.

  “Okay, let’s divide and conquer this project. We need a fire in the grill so we can cook, we need the skewers threaded with all those goodies we’ve got in the fridge and we need a salad and rice. Then we need the table set and the wine poured. Sound about right?”

  Everybody murmured agreement with Bette’s assessment, happy to let her organize.

  “Okay, how about if we divide up into teams. One team gets the fire going, then sets the table and pours the wine. Another team threads the kebabs and cooks them. And the third team makes the salad and cooks the rice.”

  “Sounds good,” said Grady over the general assent. “Leslie and I will be team one, with the fire and stuff.”

  Even if Leslie wanted to object, which would have been making a big deal out of nothing, she didn’t have a chance.

  “Okay,” said Michael. “Tris and I’ll do the kebabs.”

  “Rice and salad, it is,” agreed Paul. “C’mon, Bette, let’s get to it.”