Testing Kate (19 page)

He was in the kitchen. As I walked through the living room, I saw that he’d already set the couch back to rights—straightening the cushions, busing our dishes away. Nick’s apartment was set up the same as mine, with his office and bedroom in the front two rooms, the living room and kitchen at the back. Four small rooms, stacked up in a row. I paused at the door to the kitchen and watched Nick. His back was to me, and he was washing out the popcorn bowl and rinsing the tomato sauce off the plates, then carefully stacking them on a dish rack at the edge of the sink.

“Hey, do you want to get some takeout? I’m pizza-ed out,” Nick said.

“No…I should get going,” I said. My voice sounded thin and artificial, the way it does on my answering machine.

Nick shut the water off and turned to look at me. “Why?”

I nodded. “I have to pack.”

“For what?”

“My trip. Remember?”

“Wait…you’re not still going to Key West?” Nick’s voice was incredulous, and he frowned at me, disbelief flushing over his face.

“I have to go,” I said, which was probably not the strongest argument I could have made, I realized too late.

Nick’s face changed. His eyes hardened, his jaw tightened. He looked at me coolly and shrugged.

“Well…have a good trip,” he said.

“Nick,” I began, but I couldn’t think of anything to say. I swallowed, hard, trying to push down the ache that had started throbbing in my throat.

“Bye,” I said quietly. And I left.

Chapter Nineteen

I
t took me most of my childhood to figure out that I had rotten luck. For a long time I thought I just suffered from the same growing pains all girls have to deal with, even when faced with the steady stream of incidents that proved me wrong.

So what if the clasp on my very first bra broke right in the middle of our square-dancing unit in gym class? Embarrassing, yes—particularly since the elastic snapped with a loud, audible
ping
right when I was dancing with Jason Baum, who later lied when he told everyone that he’d used the opportunity to feel me up—but not unheard of.

When I lost the election for high-school freshman-class vice president by one measly vote, I sucked it up and tried to be a gracious loser. Even though I knew that the Wells twins—Jessica and Jacqueline—would have voted for me if they’d been in school that day. It was just an unfortunate coincidence that they both had to have their tonsils out. At the same time. On election day.

No, it wasn’t until my junior year in high school, when I came down with the triple whammy of mononucleosis, strep throat, and bronchitis two days before the junior prom, that I realized something else might be going on. Bad juju, black kismet, whatever you wanted to call it, it all came down to one sour truth: I was really freaking unlucky.

But I couldn’t help but think there were even larger karmic issues than my congenital bad luck at play when my trip to Key West began with the airline losing my luggage and the car-rental company running out of cars. And then, after we’d finally found a sketchy independent company that agreed to rent us an ancient, sputtering Taurus, the car blew a tire thirty minutes after we left the Miami airport right in the middle of a downpour.

The universe was sending me a message: I was on its shit list for sleeping with Nick.

“It’s all my fault,” I said miserably, standing behind Graham in the rain as he changed the tire. He was getting covered with grease, and we were both drenched.

“Shit!” Graham yelped as he scraped his knuckles against the hubcap. A bright line of scarlet sprang up from the scratch.

“See? It’s my bad luck. I’m cursed. It’s probably not even safe for you to be near me.”

“I’m a scientist. I don’t believe in bad luck,” Graham said.

Just then an eighteen-wheeler thundered by. It barreled right through a huge puddle and, with a great swishing splash, sprayed me from head to toe.

“Ack!” I shrieked. I held my arms out in front of me as I stared down at the damage. I was filthy. My pink boat-necked shirt and jeans were soaked through with muddy water. Even my face was splattered; I could taste oily grit on my lips.

Graham looked at me solemnly. He looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh.

“See? Bad luck,” I said, through clenched teeth.

“You have a little mud right here,” Graham said, pointing to my cheek. I reached up to brush it off and only succeeded in smearing more dirt on my face. Graham couldn’t hold back his laughter any longer and began to snicker.

“If you need me, I’ll be back behind the car,” I said with as much dignity as I could muster.

“Everything okay? Besides the mud bath, I mean,” Graham asked, once he’d gotten the spare tire on and we were back en route. I’d used one of his T-shirts to wipe off as much of the mud as I could from my hands and face, although my clothes and hair were still a mess. At least the rain had finally stopped, and the sun looked as if it was trying to break through the heavy gray clouds.

“Just dandy,” I said.

“You’ve been really quiet,” Graham said.

It was a bland remark, but I cringed anyway and turned to gaze out the window of our rented Taurus before he could see my face.

“I’m sorry,” I said automatically. Guilt flooded through me every time I looked at Graham. I worried that he’d be able to sense that I’d cheated on him, maybe even smell Nick’s scent still clinging to my body. I’d showered three times—twice last night and once again this morning—but maybe I’d missed a spot on the hollow of my throat or the small of my back that was still imprinted with Nick.

“Don’t be,” Graham said, smiling at me. He reached out and took my hand, entwining our fingers together. He brushed his lips against my curved knuckles and then rested our hands on the seat between us.

The drive from the Miami airport down to Key West wasn’t what I had expected. For some reason, I thought that the entire trip would be over water, one long bridge stretching out across the ocean. But most of the interminably long drive south on U.S. 1 was over land. One key blended into the next, a blur of fast-food restaurants, kitschy hotels, and gas stations. “The Girl from Ipanema” hummed on the radio, and I stared out the window at the occasional stretch of teal-blue water and wondered for the umpteenth time what in the hell I’d been thinking of the day before.

“This should be fun. I’ve never been to Key West before,” I said, trying to force myself into the spirit of things.

“I was there once, but it was years ago. I’ve been wanting to come back ever since,” Graham said. He glanced at me. “Come on, tell me. What’s wrong?”

“Wrong? Nothing. Nothing’s wrong,” I said.

“I know you better than that. Something’s obviously on your mind.”

Great. I’d cheated on my boyfriend, and I was terrible at hiding things. Note to self: Learn how to lie.

After we checked in to the hotel, Graham went out to buy me something to wear to dinner, while I got in the shower and did my best to scrub the mud out of my hair. He was already back when I emerged from the steam-filled bathroom, wrapped in one of the hotel’s white, fluffy robes and feeling slightly more human.

“That was fast,” I said.

“There’s a T-shirt shop just next door. I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I just got you a T-shirt and shorts,” he said, handing me a red plastic bag.

“Great, thanks. I guess we won’t be able to go anywhere dressy for dinner.”

“The concierge told me there’s a really good casual Italian place nearby. I’m just going to hop in the shower, and then we can go eat,” Graham said.

As Graham showered, I emptied the shopping bag that contained my new outfit onto the bed. And I learned something new about my boyfriend: Either he was color-blind or he just had terrible taste. The shorts and T-shirt he bought me were a garish orange cotton knit screen-printed with sparkling blue fish. When I put them on, I looked like an eighty-year-old woman going on a cruise. Even worse, the only shoes I had to wear were the high-heel zebra-print mules I’d worn on the plane. The shoes were adorable with jeans, but when paired with orange cotton cabana-wear they made me look insane. I examined my reflection in the full-length mirror. It was even worse than I thought.

I need a drink, I thought. A
big
drink.

“I’m going to the hotel bar,” I yelled through the closed bathroom door.

“I’ll be out in a few minutes,” Graham called back.

The bar was poolside, forcing me to walk by a herd of glamorous bikini-clad women reclining by the pool. They looked me up and down and smirked.

Gah,
I thought.

When I reached the bar, there were two men sitting on bar stools. One was tall with thinning blond hair, and the other short and stocky with a wide nose and a thatch of dark hair. Both were sunburned. They were drinking frozen margaritas with salt around the rim and thick wedges of lime bobbing amid the melting ice cubes.

“Yeah, that guy is a prick,” the blond man said.

“No fucking kidding,” his friend agreed with a bark of laughter.

I slid onto a bar stool, careful to leave an empty stool between us.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asked, sliding a beverage napkin and small white bowl full of Goldfish crackers toward me.

“Gin and tonic, please,” I decided.

“Put her drink on our tab,” the dark-haired man said, leaning across the bar to get the bartender’s attention.

“No, that’s okay,” I demurred.

“I insist,” he said, waving my objections away.

“Oh…well, thanks,” I said, accepting the tall, sweating glass from the bartender. I took a sip and winced. It was a bit heavy on the gin.

“Are you here on vacation?” the blond man asked.

I nodded.

“Us too. Came down on a fishing trip. Left the wives and kids behind,” the blond man said, and I relaxed. Men who are trying to hit on you, no matter how loaded, normally don’t bring up their wives. “Where are you from?”

“New Orleans,” I said. My answer, although technically true, felt artificial.

“No kidding! The Big Easy, huh? I was down there for a bar convention two years ago. I got so drunk on those…whadyacallems, hurricanes, I don’t know how I got back to my hotel. I spent the night praying at the porcelain altar,” the dark-haired man said, guffawing at the memory. “I’m Larry, by the way. My friend here is Ray.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Kate,” I said. “So…you’re a lawyer?”

“We both are. We’re partners. We have a med malpractice in Grand Rapids,” Ray said.

“I’m in law school,” I admitted. “I go to Tulane.”

“Great school,” Larry said. “I wish I’d gone there; what a blast that would have been.”

“You’d have failed out the first semester,” Ray said.

“Yeah, probably. Ha! I would have ended up blowing all of my tuition money down at the French Quarter,” Larry replied.

I shook my head. “I think it’s pretty much like going to law school anywhere. You spend most of your time in the library.”

“Yeah, those were the days,” Ray said fondly.

“Are you crazy? It’s awful!” I exclaimed.

“You don’t know what awful is. Just wait until you start practicing. I’d rather be a law student than a law-firm associate any day. At least when you’re in school you get to see daylight once in a while,” Larry said. “When I was an associate, a whole week would go by when I didn’t see my wife awake. I’d leave for work before she got up in the morning and get back after she’d gone to bed.”

“I missed the birth of my son,” Ray said.

“You did?” I asked. “Why?”

“I was stuck at a deposition in Lansing, with no one to cover it.” He chuckled, and gave Larry a sideways glance. “Maribeth was pissed.”

“I bet. How’d you dig your way out of that one?” Larry asked.

“She got the new car she’d been wanting; I got to keep my testicles. All in all, I think it was a good trade,” Ray said, and they both guffawed.

“But now that you’re partners it’s better, right?” I asked.

Larry looked at me, the smile sliding from his face. He shrugged. “I guess. I know a lot of guys—and gals, excuse me—who are good at what they do and who earn a shitload of money. But I don’t know anyone who actually enjoys it.”

“You just live for the time off. And the satisfaction that you’re providing for your family,” Ray said, falling into the same melancholic state as his friend.

“Would you want your boy to go into the practice?” Larry asked.

“Hell no,” Ray said. “I’m trying to talk him into going to business school.”

“But the whole point of having a law degree is the security—it means that you’ll always be able to get a job, you’ll always be able to make a living,” I said. I wasn’t able to keep the shrill note of panic from my voice.

“Hey, honey,” Graham said, walking up behind me. He was wearing a linen shirt, shorts, and flip-flops, and his hair was still damp from the shower. Unlike me, he looked fantastic. Graham slid a protective arm around my waist, which I knew was meant to discourage Ray and Larry from any plans they might have to hit on me.

I introduced Graham to my new acquaintances. “They’re lawyers,” I explained. “They were telling me about their practice.”

“Let me give you some unsolicited advice,” Ray said. “Get out now, while you still can.”

And even though he smiled as he said it and held his margarita up in a mock toast, there was a desperate note in his voice that made me shiver.

On our last day of vacation, my luggage showed up. Finally dressed like a normal person, I went into town alone to browse through the tourist shops, where I bought T-shirts for my aunt and cousins and a perfect pink conch shell. Graham was by the pool, lying on a chaise longue and baking in the sun when I got back. He was bare-chested and slicked with oil, and I was struck by what good shape he was in. He smiled when he saw me, squinting up, one hand shading his eyes.

“That’s some hat,” he said.

I touched the brim of the pink sunhat I was wearing.

“I have a fair complexion,” I explained.

“Do you have on sunblock?”

“SPF sixty-five.”

Graham laughed. “That should do it,” he said.

“You should put some on,” I said.

“I have some oil on,” Graham said, pointing to the tube of SPF 4 lying on the ground next to his chaise.

“SPF four? I didn’t even know they made it that low anymore,” I said, dropping in the chaise longue next to him. “You’re going to get skin cancer.”

“You worry too much.” Graham stood up and kissed me. He smelled like coconut oil. “Want to go for a swim with me?”

“No, that’s okay. I’m going to sit here with the new issue of
Vogue,
and maybe even get one of those tropical drinks that come with a little umbrella,” I said, stretching out contentedly.