LITMIR.BIZ

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fire with a tiny matchbook.”

      Grace sighed in resignation. It started out so casually with Dickie Trainor. She needed an escort for a leukemia fund-raiser at the Meadowlark Country Club. The sensitive artist she was dating at the time didn’t meet her parents’ club standards as he insisted upon meditating at odd moments in a high-pitched hum and limited his diet to brown rice and chopstick utensils. Henceforth, old reliable Dickie was tapped. A date for the opera followed, as did a basketball game with his law firm friends and a couple of dinners. Dickie was taking the initiative with increasing regularity. Just the same, it was still at the harmless stage.

      “Look out, here comes our proud papa with his catch of the year,” Michael teased. “Got ’em hooked right under the gills.”

      Grace smiled as the pair approached.

      “This is the end of the line for you, young man,” Victor North announced, clapping Dickie on the back.

      “Hello, Grace.” Dickie Trainor kissed her on the cheek. “Sorry I wasn’t here at the start. I was just telling your father, there was a glitch in the trial today. I had to meet with the whole legal team.”

      “That Freeman case makes the newspaper every day,” Michael observed politely. “Must be pretty exciting to be on the defense team of such a high-profile extortion case.”

      “Well, I’m pretty low on the totem pole at Frazer and Dupont, mostly in the background, doing fact checking in the law library.” Despite his protests, Dickie held a certain air of smugness.

      “Still, makes our accounting firm look like quite the snore,” Victor said, appraising Dickie as he might a humidor of fine Cuban cigars. “Don’t you agree, Grace? You’re always looking for zip out of us. Dickie must meet your standards for zip.”

      “Zippidy do dah,” she said with forced brightness.

      Victor moved away soon thereafter, drawing a hapless Michael along. Dickie plucked an appetizer from a waitress toting a silver tray and devoured it. “Skipped lunch. I’m starving.”

      “We’ll be eating soon,” she assured.

      He shook his head with wonder as he gazed upon Victor’s retreating figure. “Your folks are treating me like royalty these days. Can’t say it isn’t flattering. I suppose it’s because I make a better impression than I used to.”

      No doubt. Dickie had evolved into a polished 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.

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