Brazen Virtue

from her face. “I had a fight with my sister, that’s all. We’ve never been able to go more than a week without words. Usually my fault.”
    “Fights are usually two people’s fault.”
    “Not when they’re with me.” It would be too easy to open up and let it pour. He had the kind of eyes that spoke of comfort and understanding. But this was family business. Deliberately she turned to look at the house. “This is wonderful.”

    Grace looked beyond the peeling wallpaper and stacks of lumber to the size and scope of the room. She saw the height of the ceiling rather than the chipped plaster, and the beauty of the old hardwood floor beneath the stains and scratches.
    “I haven’t gotten to this room yet.” But in his mind’s eye, he’d already seen it finished. “The kitchen was my first priority.”
    “It’s always mine.” She smiled and held out a hand. “Well, are you going to show me?”
    “Sure, if you want.” It was strange, but usually he felt as though he swallowed up a woman’s hand. Hers was small and slim, but it held firmly in his. She glanced at the staircase as they passed.
    “Once you strip that wood, you’re going to have something really special. I love these old houses with all these rooms stacked on top of each other. It’s funny, because my condo in New York is practically one huge room, and I’m very comfortable there, but … oh, this is terrific.”
    He’d torn out, scraped, steamed, and rebuilt. The kitchen was the result of nearly two months of work. As far as Grace was concerned, whatever astronomical amount of time he’d put into it was worth every moment. The counters were a dark rose, a color she wouldn’t have expected a man to appreciate. He’d painted the cabinets in a mint green for contrast. The appliances were stark white and straight out of the forties. There was a brick hearth and oven that had been lovingly restored. There must have been old linoleum to scrape up, but now the floor was oak.
    “Nineteen-forty-five, the war’s over, and living in America couldn’t be better. I love it. Where did you find this stove?”
    It was strange how right she looked there, with her hair frizzed and flyaway and her coat padded at the shoulders. “I, ah, there’s an antique store in Georgetown. There was hell to pay to get parts.”

    “It’s terrific. Really terrific.” She could relax here, she thought, as she leaned against the sink. It was white porcelain and reminded her of home and simpler times. There were little peat pots in the window with green sprigs already poking through. “What are you growing here?”
    “Some herbs.”
    “Herbs? Like rosemary and stuff?”
    “And stuff. When I get a chance I want to clear a little spot in the yard.”
    Glancing out the window, she saw where he’d been working the day before. It was appealing to her to imagine a little herb garden springing up, though she didn’t know thyme from oregano. Herbs in the window, candles on the table. It would be a happy house, not stilted and tense like the one next door. She shook off the mood with a sigh.
    “You’re an ambitious man, Ed.”
    “Why?”
    She smiled and turned back to him. “No dishwasher. Come on.” She offered her hand again. “I’ll buy you a drink.”
    K ATHLEEN SAT IN HER chair, her eyes closed, the phone tucked between her shoulder and her ear. This one wanted to do most of the talking. All she was required to do was make approving noises. Nice work if you can get it, she thought, and brushed a tear from her lashes.
    She shouldn’t let Grace get to her this way. She knew exactly what she was doing, and if she needed a little help to keep from losing her mind, then she was entitled to it.
    “No, that’s wonderful. No, I don’t want you to stop.”
    She bit off a sigh and wished she’d remembered to fix herself a pot of coffee. Grace had thrown her off. Kathleen shifted the phone and checked her watch. He had two minutes coming. Sometimes it was incredible how long two minutes could be.

    She glanced up once, thinking she’d heard a noise, then gave her attention back to her client. Maybe she would let Grace take her to Florida for a weekend. It might be good for her to get away, get some sun. And stop thinking for a few days. The trouble was that when Grace was around she never stopped thinking about her own faults and failures. It had always been that way, and Kathleen accepted that it always would be. Still, she shouldn’t have snapped