preppie nickname and a preppie pedigree was a thousand times worse.
Returning a disapproving glance to my reaction, Faye said, “So, yes, it would be a convenience if you would drive my car home.”
Convenience. Now I’m a convenience . I said, “But I thought the client was old .”
Now she laughed. “Well, yes, the artworks do belong to an old man. Or, more accurately, a dead man. They belong to the estate of Tert’s father, Krehbeil Secundus. In fact, they were purchased by the great scion of the family, ol’ Primus.”
“You’re making this up.”
She declared rather stiffly, “East Coast nicknames were often quite fanciful. Do you have a problem with that?”
“No …” But I have a problem with my best friend consorting with people who make me break out in hives .
Faye closed her eyes and put a hand to her forehead as if she had a headache. “Listen, I didn’t realize at first when Hector contacted me that he was talking about his brother and not his father. I didn’t even know his father had passed away. It’s been that long since I’ve heard from Hector.”
The thought of three Krehbeils all lined up—Primus, Secundus, and Tercius—had jammed unpleasantly in my brain. I wondered if they all had eyes as cold and gray as ice. “I suppose he’s good-looking,” I said, “but isn’t he kind of … remote?”
Faye straightened her spine and gave me a look. It was a look that said everything: It said, You’re jealous . It said, You don’t want me to be happy . It said, Go to hell .
So I drove home wondering what kind of lightning had just struck my not-so-safe little world. Wondered, in fact, if it was indeed still my home. Since Tom’s death, I had been staying at Faye’s, first to nurse her through the final weeks of her pregnancy, then to help her as she adjusted to the new life she had brought forth. Somehow, weeks had become months. I had been chief cook and bottle washer, marketer, and devoted nanny. Now I was just chauffeur.
It’s about a nine-hour drive between Cody and Salt Lake City by the route I took, so by the time I got back there, I was sufficiently tired that all I wanted to do was eat about five peanut butter–and–jelly quesadillas and go to bed, which is exactly what I did.
I did not sleep well, and awoke early. In the first pale fingers of daylight, I got up and began doing a few chores before starting to study for my classes. By daylight, the night’s self-pity dissolved into acute embarrassment at having reacted so strongly. Faye was right; I should want her to be happy. I was just jealous because Jack had been gone so long.
And yet I had real misgivings about this man Tert Krehbeil. There was something about him that genuinely gave me the creeps, and it wasn’t just the clash between our backgrounds.
As I went to plug in my cell phone to charge it up, I realized it was Faye’s. I had forgotten to give it back to her after her hurry to meet her … friend. I reached deeper into my duffel bag and found my own phone, which meant Faye had neither one. I couldn’t call her. I felt very much alone.
I stared at the phone in frustration, recalling the call from Hector the
actor, the man who had brokered the connections between Faye and his brother Tert. I dug through Faye’s desk for her address book, found a phone number for Hector and dialed. I knew better than to rely on the opinions of a drunk, but I wanted to know what Faye was getting mixed up in, and I told myself he might be able tell me something about his brother that would put my anxieties to rest. In fact, you’re so put out that you want to hear something awful , I told myself as the call began to ring through.
A groggy voice answered on the other end. “Hello?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “I thought this might be an East Coast number. I’ll call back at a more reasonable hour.”
“No. Wait. It is a reasonable hour here. I’m the one who isn’t reasonable. Who did you say you
Returning a disapproving glance to my reaction, Faye said, “So, yes, it would be a convenience if you would drive my car home.”
Convenience. Now I’m a convenience . I said, “But I thought the client was old .”
Now she laughed. “Well, yes, the artworks do belong to an old man. Or, more accurately, a dead man. They belong to the estate of Tert’s father, Krehbeil Secundus. In fact, they were purchased by the great scion of the family, ol’ Primus.”
“You’re making this up.”
She declared rather stiffly, “East Coast nicknames were often quite fanciful. Do you have a problem with that?”
“No …” But I have a problem with my best friend consorting with people who make me break out in hives .
Faye closed her eyes and put a hand to her forehead as if she had a headache. “Listen, I didn’t realize at first when Hector contacted me that he was talking about his brother and not his father. I didn’t even know his father had passed away. It’s been that long since I’ve heard from Hector.”
The thought of three Krehbeils all lined up—Primus, Secundus, and Tercius—had jammed unpleasantly in my brain. I wondered if they all had eyes as cold and gray as ice. “I suppose he’s good-looking,” I said, “but isn’t he kind of … remote?”
Faye straightened her spine and gave me a look. It was a look that said everything: It said, You’re jealous . It said, You don’t want me to be happy . It said, Go to hell .
So I drove home wondering what kind of lightning had just struck my not-so-safe little world. Wondered, in fact, if it was indeed still my home. Since Tom’s death, I had been staying at Faye’s, first to nurse her through the final weeks of her pregnancy, then to help her as she adjusted to the new life she had brought forth. Somehow, weeks had become months. I had been chief cook and bottle washer, marketer, and devoted nanny. Now I was just chauffeur.
It’s about a nine-hour drive between Cody and Salt Lake City by the route I took, so by the time I got back there, I was sufficiently tired that all I wanted to do was eat about five peanut butter–and–jelly quesadillas and go to bed, which is exactly what I did.
I did not sleep well, and awoke early. In the first pale fingers of daylight, I got up and began doing a few chores before starting to study for my classes. By daylight, the night’s self-pity dissolved into acute embarrassment at having reacted so strongly. Faye was right; I should want her to be happy. I was just jealous because Jack had been gone so long.
And yet I had real misgivings about this man Tert Krehbeil. There was something about him that genuinely gave me the creeps, and it wasn’t just the clash between our backgrounds.
As I went to plug in my cell phone to charge it up, I realized it was Faye’s. I had forgotten to give it back to her after her hurry to meet her … friend. I reached deeper into my duffel bag and found my own phone, which meant Faye had neither one. I couldn’t call her. I felt very much alone.
I stared at the phone in frustration, recalling the call from Hector the
actor, the man who had brokered the connections between Faye and his brother Tert. I dug through Faye’s desk for her address book, found a phone number for Hector and dialed. I knew better than to rely on the opinions of a drunk, but I wanted to know what Faye was getting mixed up in, and I told myself he might be able tell me something about his brother that would put my anxieties to rest. In fact, you’re so put out that you want to hear something awful , I told myself as the call began to ring through.
A groggy voice answered on the other end. “Hello?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “I thought this might be an East Coast number. I’ll call back at a more reasonable hour.”
“No. Wait. It is a reasonable hour here. I’m the one who isn’t reasonable. Who did you say you
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