Brazen Virtue

companionship.”
    “There’s no one I want to be with right now.” Then she laid a hand on top of Grace’s, which was as much as she had ever been able to give to anyone except her husband and son. “Except you. I really am glad you came.”
    As always, Grace responded to warmth when warmth was given. “I’d have come sooner if you’d let me.”
    “You were in the middle of a tour.”
    “Tours can be canceled.” Her shoulders moved restlessly. She’d never considered herself temperamental or arrogant, but she would have been both if it would have helped Kathleen. “Anyway, the tour’s over and I’m here. Washington in the spring.” She rolled the window down though the April wind still had the bite of March. “How about the cherry blossoms?”
    “They got hit with a late frost.”
    “Nothing changes.” Did they still have so little to say to each other? Grace let the radio fill the gap as they drove. How could two people grow up together, live together, fight together, and still be strangers? Each time she hoped it would be different. Each time it was the same.
    As they crossed the Fourteenth Street Bridge, she remembered the room she and Kathleen had shared throughout childhood. Neat as a pin on one side, tumbled and messy on the other. That had been only one bone of contention. There had been the games that Grace had invented, which had frustrated more than amused her sister. What were the rules? Learning the rules had always been Kathleen’s first priority. And when there weren’t any, or they were too flexible, she simply hadn’t been able to grasp the game itself.

    Always rules, Kath, Grace thought as she rode in silence beside her sister. School, church, life. No wonder she was always confused when the rules changed. Now they’d changed on her again.
    Did you quit marriage, Kathy, the way you used to quit the game when the rules didn’t suit you? Did you come back to where we started so you could wipe out the time in between and restart, on your own terms? That was Kathleen’s style, Grace thought, and hoped for her sister’s sake it worked.
    The only thing that surprised her was the street on which Kathleen had chosen to live. An efficiency apartment with up-to-date appliances and twenty-four-hour maintenance would have been more Kathleen’s style than this tired, slightly run-down neighborhood of big trees and old houses.
    Kathleen’s was one of the smallest homes on the block, and though Grace was sure her sister had done nothing to the little patch of grass other than trim it, some bulbs were beginning to push their way through along the walk that had been carefully swept.
    As she stood beside the car, Grace let her gaze roam up and down the street. There were bikes and aging station wagons and little fresh paint. Used, worn, lived in, the neighborhood was either on the edge of a renaissance or ready to slide slowly into old age. She liked it, liked the feel of it.
    It was precisely what she would have chosen if she had decided to move back. And if she’d had to choose a house … it would be the one next door, Grace decided on the spot. It was in definite need of help. One of the windows was boarded up and some shingles were missing from the roof, but someone had planted azaleas. The dirt was still fresh and patted into mounds at their base, and they were small, only a foot or so high. But the little buds were almost ready to burst open. Looking at them, she hoped she’d be able to stay long enough to see them flower.

    “Oh, Kath, what a wonderful spot.”
    “It’s a long way from Palm Springs.” She said it without bitterness as she started to unload her sister’s things.
    “No, honey, I mean it. It’s a real home.” She did mean it. With her writer’s eye and imagination she could already see it.
    “I wanted to be able to give Kevin something when—when he comes.”
    “He’ll love it.” She spoke with the confidence she carried like a flag. “This is definitely a skateboard sidewalk. And the trees.” There was one across the street that looked as though it had been struck by lightning and never recovered, but Grace passed over it without breaking rhythm. “Kath, looking at this makes me wonder what the hell I’m doing in upper Manhattan.”
    “Getting rich and famous.” Again it was said without bitterness as she passed bags to Grace.
    For the second time Grace’s gaze drifted to the house next door. “I wouldn’t mind having a couple of azaleas