“He was spoiled from the get-go.”
“So who is going to be at this dinner?” I asked, and then held my breath to see if he would tell me.
“Someone who flew in just for it, apparently. I don’t know whether to be flattered or nervous.”
“You don’t know his name?”
“I was simply told it was a major stockholder in the trust involved. I’m beginning to think I’m deep in some tax-avoidance scheme. I was starting to suspect that this whole sweet deal was too good to be true. Anyway, don’t worry about it. It will all work out.”
“You used to say it would come out in the wash.”
“Yeah, but no one’s doing any washing in particular right now. Enjoy your dinner,” he said, then kissed me and started out.
He did look handsome, as handsome as I could ever remember him being, but I didn’t have to be a sophisticated, mature older woman to realize there was still something very important missing. There was a light, that joie de vivre that a truly happy man had. He had carried his sorrow too long. It had lost no weight and still put darkness in places where there should be none. It kept his enthusiasm for almost everything contained, chained to a sense of guilt, perhaps. How could he be happy without her? The moment he laughed, felt a smile break out on his face, let something exciting quicken his pace, he felt his loss, remembered she wasn’t there beside him to share in the joy. Every laugh, every smile, gave birth to another tear. He went to sleep apologizing for being alive.
I knew all this, and it broke my heart. Right now, it made me feel even guiltier about what Kane and I were doing. I had never kept anything this serious a secret from him. How was I going to explain it to him afterward? My fear was that I would not only hate myself for having done it but also hate Kane for encouraging me with his own obvious interest and excitement. Could I explain this to him and stop? Had we gone too far to stop? And would the effect on our relationship be the same? Would he now feel betrayed? Already, he had confided in me about himself and his family more than he had confided in anyone else.
I returned to preparing dinner, these thoughts like little pinpricks on my heart. I cut some onions for our salad, but the tears that came to my eyes were not a result of that. I tried to pull myself together when I heard Kane descending.
“You didn’t come back up,” he said.
“I thought I had better get started on dinner. I’m hungry, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, for lots of things.” I smirked, and he smiled. “I left a message on my mother’s cell and a message with Martha, the maid who looks after her things, which include me,” he added. “Your father left?”
“Yes. He hates business dinners.”
“My father has business breakfasts, lunches, and dinners. He once even had a business New Year’s,” he said, and leaned against the doorjamb.
“Oh, c’mon.”
He raised his right hand. “I kid you not. He invited all these car company executives and their wives to our home on New Year’s Eve, and they talked about business right up to the clock striking twelve. I was only eleven at the time, but I remember it well, because my sister and I were spying on the party just the way Christopher and Cathy were spying on their grandparents’ gala. We got bored, however, and returned to our own rooms. I remember thinking that if that’s what adults did to celebrate, I was going to remain a kid.”
“And you have,” I said.
He laughed. “I’ll set the table this time.” I looked at him, surprised. “Hey, I’m not spoiled. I’m corrupted but not spoiled,” he said. “I think I was two when my mother had me instructed on how to place silverware, fold a napkin, and organize the wine and water glasses.”
“Not two.”
“Well, close to it. I had to live up to being a prince, didn’t I?”
He went for the dishes and silverware, and I continued preparing our meal. Occasionally, we gave each other a look that reminded us of the passion that had just passed through us, but neither of us said anything. It was just dinner now and more discussion about what we had read of the diary.
“I really have to get to my homework this time,” I said, when we were cleaning up. “I have a test in history and a quiz in English tomorrow.”
“Don’t throw me out. I promise I won’t touch you,” he said. “I’ll just work on my own.”
“Why is it I get the impression you’re in no rush to go home . . . ever?”
“Maybe because I make it so obvious,” he said.
We returned to my room, and we did do our homework. Close to nine o’clock, he closed his books and declared that I was turning him into a better student. He couldn’t stand it any longer. We both laughed, and I let him kiss me, but he could feel that we were going no further. I was anticipating my father returning any moment, anyway.
“I’m off,” he said. “I’ll be in your driveway waiting for you
in the morning.”
“I’m going to forget how to drive.”