Some empathy. He'd really believed she'd listened to what he tried to tell her.
Instead she'd waltzed right in, schmoozed his parents, and now seemed to think she had answers to everything. One dinner. Hell. He not only didn't want to jump her, he didn't even
Her front door flew open again before he'd even reached the car. She charged toward him in bare feet though the sidewalk was midnight-cold.
'I forgot to thank you for the great dinner,' she said.
He wanted to roll his eyes-you'd think they were still kids in high school who had to dot those
It was less than a kiss. It was more a two-second lip-smash. The contact was barely enough to feel her breasts crush against his chest, her blue-and-white scarf flutter around his neck in the midnight breeze. Barely enough to feel the brush of her fingertips on his neck, see the tea-brown shine in her eyes, feel the satin of her mouth.
And then she severed the connection and went back down on her heels. 'Don't be mad,' she whispered.
'They're good family, Will. You don't throw good family away. I mean, it's not as if they're drug addicts or abusers or alcoholics or terrible people-'
'Kelly. Maybe we could talk about this five years from now on a Tuesday when we're on different continents. But right now-'
'I know. You're mad as hell at me.' She patted his cheek, had the bloody nerve to smile at him, and then turned on her heel. 'I'm freezing! I have to go in!'
'So go in!' And don't come back out this time, he thought darkly. Yet he stood there, long after she'd gone in the second time, long after he heard the door lock.
He didn't want to go home. He just wanted to stand outside her damned door in that damned decrepit neighborhood and pine for her.
He was turning into a lovesick goose. A complete fool. A mindless idiot who was so stupid he wanted to be around a woman who made him crazy and didn't even stand by him. She'd taken the enemy's side instead of his. She'd backed them up instead of him.
He was not only going to stop loving her.
He was going to leave a good long space before he saw her again.
SINCE WILL COULDN'T sleep, he quit trying around three in the morning, made some black-as-mud instant coffee and installed himself at his sister's prissy provincial desk with a phone. Maybe the U.S. was asleep, but it was working hours in France. He called Yves, who expressed surprise at hearing from him.
'I thought you were on holiday,' Yves said. 'Busy with family.'
'I am, I am. But I had a few minutes with nothing to do.' And Yves was helpless at certain things. Will knew. Like marketing. Costing out a new project and tax implications. International freight procedures and laws.
Nothing complicated, but Will knew details like that gave Yves anxiety attacks, and that was the point. He could talk Yves through those issues, sipping coffee with his feet up, playing Spider Solitaire on his laptop at the same time.
'How will I do all this if you don't come back?' Yves fretted.
'I told you I was coming back.'
'I know what you said. But I always knew you wouldn't stay with me forever.'
That was so French thinking. Yves was always the pessimist, not exactly a handwringer but always braced for bad news. After that hour-long phone call, Will finally managed to close his eyes and crash… but it seemed like only minutes later that he heard noisy pounding on the door.
The pounding stopped, but only because Martha barreled inside as if she owned the place. Which, come to think of it, she did. And being the disgusting, exasperating sister she was, she seemed to feel she had every right to pull the covers off him and tickle his feet.
'I wouldn't have to go to these lengths, you cretin, if you'd just answer your phone.'
'I didn't hear the phone.'
'That's the point. You were sleeping like the dead. I made a big breakfast, but it's not going to be hot if you don't come over this minute. Besides which, I can't leave Ralphie. So get your butt up!'
She slammed the door closed before he could answer. In fact, before he could take the pillow off his head and face the daylight. The apartment over the garage looked the same as it had yesterday, displaying Martha's latest decorating scheme-which happened to be purple and yellow and French provincial furniture. Every time he looked at the mustard yellow, he thought he had to get out of there. Soon.
But then he'd woken up grumbly, partly because he'd only had a few minutes' sleep. Mostly because he'd argued with Kelly in every damn dream.
He took his pitchy mood across the flagstone walk to his sister's kitchen. Martha, typically, looked ready to run the universe. Her hair, fresh out of the shower, had the artful messy look that probably cost her three hundred a month at a hairdresser. Her makeup was perfect, her white shirt had a collar turned up just so and her kitchen was blindingly clean-from the Sub-Zero freezer to the range big enough to feed forty-seven for lunch.
Martha's counters had never seen dirt. Will wasn't sure how she did it, but nothing ever stuck to her pans. Nothing ever spilled in her oven. Even his youngest nephew, Ralph, sitting in his booster chair with his cheeks stuffed with breakfast, had tidily tied shoes and an unstained junior-sized Ralph Lauren polo.
Martha's scene boggled Will's mind. More to the point, it scared him. She was a very scary sister, even when she charged over and gave him a loving peck before pointing the royal finger at where he was supposed to sit.
'All right, I admit I'm sorry I woke you up, but I just couldn't wait another minute. How'd the dinner go? Who's the girl? How serious is it? Were you decent to Dad? Did Mom like her? What'd she wear? What does she do? What did you all talk about?'
'Man, the price of breakfast is sure high these days.'
'Shut up and talk,' Martha said as she served him coffee, and then a plateful of…well, hell, he didn't know what it was.
Avocados? Papaya? Some kind of gourmet muffin that looked like a mix of tofu and grass? A few weeds? He looked at the weeds with some interest, but they definitely weren't
'Because you're my brother and I'm the boss of you.'
'Does that mean you're not the boss of your own son?'
Martha plopped next to her toddler and folded her arms. 'You start talking or I'll make you sorry you were ever born. You just remember-I beat you up when we were kids, and I could still take you on.'
'The only reason you ever beat me was because of the rules that I couldn't hit a girl.'
'I won. That's the point. Not what the rules were. Now talk.'
He'd have done anything for the coffee. To find out the real reason she'd yanked him over here, though, he realized he had to make a dent in the petrifying meal and come through with some gossip. The latter wasn't hard. He'd been handling his oldest sister from the day he came out of the womb. 'Went to Mom's favorite restaurant. Had the filets. Just as good as always. Dad and Mom were great to her. Her name is Kelly. Dad was fine. No, we didn't fight. No, no one fought. They loved her. And no, sorry, nothing embarrassing happened.'
Martha recovered from this utterly boring account and moved on. thankfully, to her real agenda. Ralphie let out a squawk when he'd stuffed in enough Cheerios. She wiped his face, let him loose, then sighed when he hit the floor running. 'He'll be filthy in five minutes flat. And he's got a playdate at nine.'
'A playdate? Does that mean he's authorized to play doctor with someone of the opposite sex already?'
But she couldn't be diverted from the next sneaky line item on her agenda. 'You know I've got the Sabre in Lake Michigan. A really nice slip in St. Joe. on Harbor Isle. It's not that far a drive, if you'd like to take her out for a sail while you're here.'
His eyes narrowed. 'Why are you being nice to me?'
'Because you're my favorite brother.'
'I'm your only brother.'
'I love you.'
