Brazen Virtue Read Free

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 as well.” She linked arms with Kathleen. “Well, show me the rest.”
    The interior wasn’t as much of a surprise. Kathleen preferred things neat and orderly. The furniture was sturdy, dust-free, and tasteful. Just like Kathleen, Grace thought with a twinge of regret. Still, she liked the hodgepodge of small rooms that seemed to tumble into each other.
    Kathleen had turned one into an office. The desk still shone with newness. She’d taken nothing with her, Grace thought. Not even her son. Though she found it odd that Kathleen should indulge in a phone on the desk and another a few feet away beside a chair, she didn’t comment. Knowing Kathleen, the reason would make perfect sense.
    “Spaghetti sauce.” The scent led Grace unerringly into the kitchen. If anyone had asked her to name her favorite pastimes, eating would have topped the list.
    The kitchen was as spotless as the rest of the house. IfGrace made bets, she’d wager there wasn’t a crumb to be found in the toaster. Leftovers woud be neatly sealed and labeled in the refrigerator and glasses would be arranged according to size in the cupboards. That was Kathleen’s way, and Kathleen hadn’t changed a whit in thirty years.
    Grace hoped she’d remembered to wipe her feet as she crossed the aging linoleum. Lifting the lid off a slow cooker, she breathed in, long and deep. “I’d say you haven’t lost your touch.”
    “It came back to me.” Even after years of cooks and servants. “Hungry?” Then, for the first time, her smile seemed genuine and relaxed. “Why do I ask?”
    “Wait, I’ve got something.”
    As her sister dashed back into the hall, Kathleen turned to the window. Why was she suddenly aware of how empty the house had been now that Grace was in it? What magic did her sister have that filled a room, a house, an arena? And what in God’s name was she going to do when she was alone again?
    “Valpolicella,” Grace announced as she came back into the room. “As you can see, I was counting on Italian.” When