On Second Thought(53)

     



 

Ainsley got us some wine and cheese. I waved to Greta, the director, who  flashed me a huge smile. She was talking to someone but held up a  finger to indicate I was to wait.

Other than Greta, I didn't know a lot of people here, and the familiar  awkwardness fell over me. I smiled at a woman who taught computer  basics. We'd both taught here for years, but I couldn't remember her  name, and the window for asking had closed.

"Okay," Ainsley said, "I see four guys with teardrops. Are you sure it means what you said?"

"Very sure."

"Kate! Oh, my God, it's so good to see you! I was so sorry to hear about your husband."

It was Pierre, one of my less egregious parolees (no teardrop, in other words). We hugged, and I introduced him to Ainsley.

"So what did you do?" Ainsley said. "I know, I know, I'm not supposed to ask, but tell me anyway."

Pierre smiled. "I stole a hundred and seventeen cars. Chop-shopped them. Nice profit margin, I gotta say."

Then I heard Daniel's voice, and an unexpected rush of happiness filled  me. Yay for Ainsley for making me look hot and wear heels and a dress  that wasn't black. Daniel and I could talk and pal around, and I  wouldn't feel so strange.

Oh. He was here with a False Alarm.

Right.

I'd forgotten about them. And like all of them, she was young (it pained  me to think half my age, but we were getting there). A redhead, in a  skirt so short I had no idea how she'd sit.

Well, that was Daniel for you. This was what (and who) he did.

"Kate?" I turned. It was Paige. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

God, she was rude. Had it always been like that? "I'm supporting the  Re-Enter Center with both my money and my presence," I said. "And you?"

"I teach here now. A class on appeals. Daniel talked me into it."

Did he? I found that a little hard to believe. Then again, she was a  lawyer, and most of our clients could probably use some legal advice.

She turned to Ainsley. "Hi, I'm Paige Barnett."

"I'm Ainsley, Kate's sister. We've met at least ten times, and you never  remember me." Love for my sister and gratitude for her forthright ways  flooded through me.

"Have we? Well." Paige turned back to me. "You look...good."

I didn't respond with a similar compliment, just took a sip of crappy wine and stared at her.

She huffed. "Whatever, Kate." With that, she left, sauntered over to  Daniel and squeezed his arm. Tilted her head against his shoulder and  fake-laughed, her eyes on me.

"I always hated her," Ainsley said.

"You know what?" I said suddenly. "I'm starving. Are you starving?"

"I am indeed."

"Let's go somewhere." I waved to Greta, pointed at my watch as if I had  somewhere else to be, and a second later, Ainsley and I were out on the  street, walking down Flatbush Avenue toward where we'd parked. I glanced  over my shoulder. Daniel was not following us. Not that he even knew we  were there.

We got into the car, and Ainsley didn't ask questions, didn't grill me, didn't judge me.

"You're such a good sister," I said, looking out my window, a little  embarrassed at my statement. A second later, I felt her hand in mine.

"So are you," she said. The spike pierced my throat.

"Not really."

"Oh, yes, you are."

"I wish I could do it over," I said, swallowing. "I was so jealous of  you-Dad's favorite, the cute one, the boyfriend who adored you."

"Oh, my God, I'm so jealous of you! The smart one, the cool one, the one  who had a real career." She glanced at me. "Seriously. I was jealous of  Nathan, even. You got the best guy in the world."

There was the spike again. "I should've been nicer to you."

"I was the other woman's kid," she said. "You were allowed to have mixed  feelings." She was quiet for a minute, negotiating the streets with  ease. "You know, you never told me to bug off," she said. "It must've  been irritating, having a little kid always knocking on your door. But  you always let me in. You brushed my hair, you did my nails, you let me  tag along with you, you came to see me at college, you invited me over.  And I'm living with you! You're a great sister."

"I loved your mother," I said unexpectedly, and again, the tears that  were locked in my chest gave a mighty kick, wanting to get out.

"Really?" Ainsley smiled at me, delighted. "What do you remember? Oh,  shit, the guy almost hit me. Watch it, idiot! Where are we going,  anyway?"         

     



 

I directed her to a rooftop bar in SoHo where I'd photographed an  engagement party. The views of the city were breathtaking, and we  managed to get a table by some miracle. The crowd was too sophisticated  to be overly rowdy, so we could really talk.

"Should we call our worthless brother and see if he wants to come?" Ainsley suggested.

"Nah. Let's just have it be us sisters." I paused. "Do you think he's worthless?"

She shrugged. "Not really. Not to you."

It dawned on me that Sean was pretty worthless where Ainsley was  concerned. I started to apologize for him, then stopped, as always torn  between loyalty to my family of origin and sympathy for Ainsley, the  outsider.

"Ooh! A lavender martini! I'm definitely getting that."

For a very long time, I'd seen Ainsley's übercheer as a character flaw,  hiding some shallowness. Now, suddenly, I saw how thick her skin was,  how much energy and strength it took to be so forgiving, and so happy,  and so...nice all the time.

"This is so great," I said. "Thanks for making me shower."

We ordered a martini apiece and some appetizers. Tomorrow, I was  photographing a newborn baby and his parents in one of those let's all  get naked and remind this child how he got started and then hide the  portrait once he turns six shoots. I could use a drink.

The waiter brought our food, and we devoured it in true O'Leary fashion.  One of the things about grief-my appetite sucked, and I was looking a  little skeletal these days. But tonight, I was hungry, and the food  tasted like food.

"It's so pretty here," Ainsley said, looking over SoHo, the pretty  cornices on the building across the way, One World Trade Center looking a  bit like a narwhal, its antenna piercing the low-hanging clouds. "We  should do this more."

"We should," I said, and unlike a thousand times in the past when I'd  said just that, it felt real this time. Like we'd really do it.

"So. Tell me about my mom," she said, folding her hands.

I took a sip of my drink. "Well, she was really pretty, which you  already know. And so nice. She never bossed Sean and me around when we  went over, and she always made something fun for dinner." Was this the  first time I'd ever told her this? Shame on me.

"Like what?"

"Oh, macaroni and cheese, but the homemade kind, with these crazy curly  noodles. And she bought special place mats for us. Sean's had the solar  system on it, and mine had these cute chickens on it."

"Did she like you? I mean, she was pretty young to be a stepmom."

"She was great. She was like this cool aunt. Not like Aunt Patty, who  tells you about her irritable bowel syndrome the second she sees you."

"Yeah, I know way too much about her colon."

"Michelle really loved you," I said, remembering. "She'd hold you for no  reason, even if you were asleep. And she shared you. She let me play  with you and hold you, and she always took pictures of the two of us,  and the three of us, and the next week, there they'd be, in a frame."

"What happened to them?" Ainsley asked.

I frowned. "I don't know. I thought you had them."

"No. I don't think I've ever seen them."

We both sat in silence, thinking the same thing. Of course our father  didn't know. He couldn't find the butter without help. That left my  mother, and it was totally in her character to toss the photos from her  husband's other wife, other life.

Ainsley looked away. "I guess if Candy threw them out, I... I don't know. She'd have her reasons."

"No, she wouldn't. She'd find some way to justify it, but she'd only do  it because she was so jealous. Your mother was lovely, and it drove my  mom crazy."

Ainsley's eyes widened. That's right. I'd done it; jumped the breach and  said what was true. Because Ainsley had been so wonderful these past  horrible weeks. She didn't just say words; she came through, damn it. I  took another sip of my drink, enjoying the buzz and the honesty it  seemed to bring out. "I don't blame Dad for leaving."

"Don't say that," Ainsley said. "He cheated on Candy. That wasn't right.  And she took him back-and took me in. That was superhuman."

"She could've done better by you, Ainsley."

"She did well enough. I mean, she doesn't hate me. And I don't hate her." She paused. "I kind of love her."

"I loved your mom, too. And I love you, too. Even if you are Dad's favorite."