attorney, a gorgeous specimen. It was a far cry from his brainy nerd days. Three years older than Grace and two years younger than Michael, he’d never really connected with either of them—or her folks.
The transformation had happened during his stint at Harvard Law School. The country club was abuzz when he returned full of confidence and arrogance, eager to make up for time lost as a nervous wallflower, to use his family’s wealth and social standing to his best advantage.
“You look especially beautiful tonight, Grace,” he said reverently, his eyes roving her curvy shape, set to advantage in the tight red dress.
“I’ve pulled a neat trick,” she confided. “Mother jumped to the conclusion that this gown is an original Valentino gown, but I made it myself.”
He gaped. “You just can’t resist bucking the system, can you?”
Generally speaking, Grace felt she was actually being quite cooperative with the North regime. Though her business was a strange venture in contrast with the family accounting firm, she was actually making a go of it, turning a profit. And she was giving the favored Dickie a real chance, wasn’t she? It was possible that Dickie’s conservatism might add balance to her existence in the long run. And he did seem to enjoy showing her off as his exciting bohemian find, someone a bit different than the left brain type his associates favored.
She would be the first to admit she was still confused about what she truly wanted. That left her exploring her inner self, trying to adjust her priorities without selling out to everything her parents expected.
“So, have you spoken to Heather yet?” Dickie asked, perusing the room eagerly.
“No.”
“Well, I have. Just left her and Nate outside. We were trying to set up a tennis date and thought we better clear it with you.”
Grace compressed her lips. Dickie was taking too much on for a casual date. Heather was Grace’s lifelong best friend and therefore her territory. It was tough enough to accept Nate, Heather’s new husband.
“Wouldn’t it have been right to consult me first, Dickie?”
He was blindly dismissive. “Oh, Heather mentioned another engagement tonight, so I jumped in. C’mon, let’s find them.” He took her hand and slowly steered them through the clustered guests. It was protocol to speak to each and every attendee, so Grace pulled rank on Dickie and touched base with as many guests as she could along the way.
Heather and Nate Basset were out on a spacious deck facing Lake Minnetonka, sharing a smooch against the sunset. They made a nice-looking couple, Grace thought, tall, fair, athletically built. Unlike Grace, Heather had not a minute of doubt about her destiny. She made her parents consistently proud with all the right academic achievements in school, gladly worked for her family’s hotel, and married a man of similar social standing, a rising star in the real estate game.
Heather sensed their presence and broke free of Nate. “Birthday girl!” she lilted, scooting across the deck in her flouncy silver dress and heels.
“You’re just glad we’re both twenty-four,” Grace teased with a hug.
“It is a long month for me between our birthdays,” Heather admitted, “until you catch up.”
“It used to be a long month for me,” Grace retorted. “When we were kids, you took so much pleasure in being the oldest!”
Nate stepped up to give her a congratulatory handshake. Like Dickie, his hands were thin and manicured. Her thoughts strayed to Kyle’s strong, rough, capable hands, doing a variety of tasks around her house. Why, the elbow grease he’d put into buffing away all of Button’s shoe scuffs was masterful. But such thoughts were useless distraction, a fantasy leading nowhere. Kyle was far from the reckless mate she’d once imagined. He had burdens, responsibilities.
“What do you think, Grace?” Nate asked. “About duking it out at the club tomorrow?”
“Saturday? Guess that would be fine.”
Dickie gave a quick call to the club on his cell phone, then announced, “We’ve got a court for five.”
“Great.” Nate glanced at his watch. “Hate to break this off, but we have another stop to make tonight.”
Heather leaned into Grace, whispering in her ear. “Hear from Michael there’s a new man in town playing with your staples. Sounds kinky. Can’t wait for details tomorrow.”
Grace felt a tug of loss. Before her marriage, Heather would’ve called her within hours for details. So this was how they’d be kicking off the start of their twenty-fifth year, Heather cuddling up with Nate, she with her kitten. Grace hadn’t felt this empty since…the night of Kyle’s elopement.
The buffet dinner proved a lavish feast of salmon, salads and breads, her birthday cake a white tiered monstrosity of near bridal potential.
Over cake she was forced to endure boring remembrances of previous celebrations. Accuracy varied among the storytellers. One vivid account of a pool party drenching was not hers, but Michael’s. Another of her tripping headfirst into her own sweet sixteen cake was, unfortunately, her own. Another story followed about a clown gone haywire that was completely unfamiliar. But that’s what you got when you invited acquaintances to family affairs, muddled inconsequential memories.
Each year Grace made a silent vow that she would not inflict the same sort of traditions on her own children. Celebrations would be limited to family and close friends. People who gave a damn.
It was close to eleven o’clock when the guests began to drift into the cathedral-style foyer for coats and handbags, salutations and farewells echoing off the marble. Grace was at the door to personally wish everyone a safe ride home.
Soon thereafter only Dickie lingered with the family. Ingrid urged them into the study for a brandy and a look at all the gifts assembled there on a long table. She served the brandy herself, from a small teak bar in the corner of the room.
“To my lovely daughter.” Victor stood in the center of the room, lifting his glass in toast. “Many happy returns.” Applause rose as Victor bestowed a light kiss on Grace’s forehead. A man of stern character and stiff posture, it was all the intimacy Grace ever expected from him, a peck to the forehead, a light palm on the small of her back.
The interaction triggered a vision of Kyle handling his daughter Button at the very difficult moment that afternoon when she was laying claim to Kitty. He’d scooped her up in his arms with warm confidence, getting his way with a loving firmness. It had been nothing short of magic.
Perhaps she wasn’t feeling a reawakening of her crush after all. Maybe on some level she was just envious of their father-daughter bond. She recalled thinking that Victor North would have never allowed such impertinence from her even at age three, or encouraged such close contact. And it had stung a little bit to see another father doing the right thing. Yes, she could handle Kyle from that angle, as the kind of father every girl dreams of.
The group sank into soft leather chairs as Grace began to open her gifts. Her parents presented her with a lovely emerald necklace encrusted with diamonds. Dickie gave her a pearl necklace she’d admired while shopping with her mother. Grace was torn between gratitude and suffocation over the precision shopping.
Her friends contributed
