Waiting On You (Blue Heron #3)

Waiting On You (Blue Heron #3) Page 20

Ellen cried a little—hormones, she said, and apologized repeatedly. She’d been on antibiotics a few weeks before, and apparently, that weakened the birth control. He told her it wasn’t her fault, just biology. She admitted to being in love with him since freshman year but knowing that he had a girlfriend back home. She wasn’t asking him for anything, but he had a right to know that she’d be having a baby, and even though the circumstances were far from ideal, part of her felt blessed.

He looked at his hands for a long minute.

“Let’s get married,” he said finally, meeting her eyes.

She made some token protestation, but her eyes lit up at the prospect.

Besides, what else was he going to do? Be a baby daddy? Hopefully get some visitation rights? His father had gotten his mother pregnant with Steph, and they’d worked out okay. They’d been happy.

He’d been raised to be honorable, despite how things might’ve looked from the outside. He’d gotten a girl pregnant, and he’d stand by her.

Just how things had become so badly butchered between him and Colleen...he couldn’t think about that anymore. He was going to be a father.

CHAPTER TEN

“MOM, LET’S GO already!” Colleen bellowed up the stairs of her childhood home. “We’re gonna be late.”

“This is Satan’s plan,” Connor said mildly.

“Oh, yeah? Got any better ideas, brother mine?”

“You could set yourself on fire. That’d probably be more productive.”

Colleen narrowed her eyes at him. “Look. She’s finally interested in meeting someone else. Take a gander, Con. This place is a shrine to Dad.” She looked back up the stairs. “Mom! This place is a shrine to Dad, for the love of God! You should redecorate!”

“You’re right, Colleen. Maybe I’ll just burn the whole house down.”

“Is she serious?” Connor muttered. “It’s always hard to tell.”

“I don’t know. You’re her favorite.”

“Don’t burn the house down, Ma,” Connor said as Mom emerged (finally) from the bathroom. “And you look very nice.”

“Are you ready to go, Colleen?”

“I’ve been ready for forty minutes,” she said. Any outing with Mom tended to be like this. Suicide-provoking, in other words.

“Have fun, you two. You’ll be the prettiest ones there,” Connor said, securing his position as favorite.

“Thanks, Mr. Cutie Potatoes.” Mom beamed.

“You know what would be so great, Cutie Potatoes?” Colleen said. “If you came with us.”

“That will never happen.”

“Why? You’re single!” Mom said. “I want grandchildren. Now.”

“I’m not going to art class,” Connor said. “Is it even art class, or is it just a meat market?”

“It’s art class. Please.”

It was art class with a side of meat market. Singles art class, mind you, and yes, Colleen was trying to trick her twin into coming along. Granted, Colleen loved singles events. Loved them! Singles events were to her what Gaul was to Julius Caesar. She came, she saw, she conquered. Granted, her search for a sugar daddy had been fruitless thus far. The truth was, she had a soft spot for older men and liked to give them an ego boost by flirting with them. Sharing her gift with the world, that was all. Looking for a serious relationship...not so much.

Mom took a look in the mirror, hoisted a bra strap and sighed. “If only your father hadn’t had a lapse in judgment,” she began.

“Dad’s Lapse in Judgment,” Connor said. “Now in its tenth year at the Winter Garden.”

“Connor Michael O’Rourke, shut it,” their mother said. “You don’t have a love that was more than a love and not realize how special and wonderful it was.”

“So wonderful, the cheating and the lying,” Con said.

“Well, yes, there’s that,” Mom said. “No one’s perfect.”

“Dad’s not even close.”

“I’m aware of your father’s many flaws, Connor. I love him anyway. If he’d come to his senses...”

“Mom,” Colleen said patiently, “Dad’s been with Gail for ten years. A third of your children’s lives. Please get on with your own.”

“I’m trying, Colleen,” Mom said, sighing as only a Catholic could. “If you’d prefer, I’ll just be the stupid, aging rejected first wife, traded in for a whore, and I’ll start drinking and become a bitter, fat alcoholic. Would that be better?”

Connor and Colleen exchanged a look. “We could give it a try,” Connor said.

And that was the weird thing with Mom. She knew Dad wasn’t leaving the Tail. Then again, he might well trade her in for a newer model, now that Gail was staring down forty. But he wasn’t coming back to Mom, and Mom knew this...she just wouldn’t admit it.

Colleen looked at her watch. “Okay, Dad’s a cheating dog, and Mom’s a martyr, and Con, you and I are emotionally scarred for life. Can we get going? Let’s find you a new man to smother, Mom. Hopefully, he’ll be a good stepfather and get me that pony I always wanted.”

“I want season tickets to the Yankees,” Con said.

“Oh, me, too. And a pony. A black pony named Star Chaser. Also, the Barbie Dream Van.”

“And a Foosball machine. And new soccer cleats.”

“You two materialistic little monsters,” Mom said fondly. “As if I’ll meet anyone. Certainly no one as handsome as your father, because if there are men like that at this thing, they’re all looking for whores like Gail.” One more glance in the mirror, one more Catholic sigh. “Fine. Let’s go. I suppose it beats staying home and scrubbing the bathroom floor.”

“Does it, though?” Connor muttered, and Colleen smacked him on the back of the head as she passed. Yes, there were times when Colleen wished she and Connor had grown up in a nice clean orphanage. Dad was a complete jerk, but he was the only father she had. Not everyone got the John Holland type, those gentle, faithful, sloppy dads who still had his daughters sit on his knee and remembered not only their birthdays but how much they weighed at birth and what Santa had brought them for Christmas when they were five.

She got Pete O’Rourke.

But Mom was trying, or pretending to try, even if it was so she could have another failure on her list— Dating: A Complete Joke, Your Wretched Father Ruined My Life/If Only He’d Come Back.

Thus, Singles Art Class.

Yes.

MANNINGSPORT WAS HOME to the Wine Country Art League, whose offices squatted between the optometrist’s office and the pizza place in the strip mall over by the trailer park. Every year there’d be an art show, and since O’Rourke’s was one of the sponsors (as was every other business in town, you really couldn’t get out of it), Colleen would go, pretend to admire the crooked mugs and plates the same weight and thickness as discuses, the smudgy landscapes depicting—guess what—vineyards—and the still lifes of—guess what—wine bottles and grapes.

But it was kind of cute nonetheless.

And they offered classes. There were other singles things—Singles Shooting Night, which Colleen had gone to with Faith once; she’d had a very good time. Guns and romance, what could be better? There were a few singles wine events in the off-season, but Mom worked at Blue Heron in the tasting room and didn’t want to do something work-related in her free time. There was Singles Sailing (“A quick way to drown,” Mom said), and Singles Square Dancing (“Where the perverts go to meet”), and Singles Mixology, hosted by none other than O’Rourke’s and taught by Jeanette’s fabulous daughter (“I’m your mother and everyone will pity me”).

And so, Singles Art Class it was.

Paulie was coming, too. After the disaster and near injury of Paulie’s first attempt with Bryce and the trip to the shelter (Paulie had hyperventilated in the parking lot), Colleen thought that maybe Paulie needed to practice a little on the opposite gender.

They pulled into the strip mall; Mom waved to Edith Warzitz (whiskey sour, two cherries), who was older than God but apparently looking for love, too. The lovely Lorelei (sweet Riesling to match her sweet personality) waved and blushed...hmm. As soon as Colleen was done with Paulie, maybe she’d try fixing Lorelei up with someone. Gerard Chartier, maybe, because that goofball had been single long enough. Plus he was a firefighter, so all the women loved him. Firefighters seemed to make either wonderful husbands or become man-whores. Therefore, it really was Colleen’s sacred duty to fix him up, or he’d wind up dying of gonorrhea.

The Art League looked more like a nursery school than an artist colony, but that was largely because of the quality of the work hanging on the walls. A handprint turkey? Really?

“Oh, my God,” a man said, approaching Colleen. He wore a winter coat, despite the warm May evening, and had orangey teeth. His breath enveloped her in a toxic cloud. “Wow! I never expected to see someone like you at a thing like this! I would love to take you home and have sex.”

“Your game needs work, pal. And a little oral hygiene wouldn’t hurt,” she said.

“And after that, we can hook up?”

“Nope.”

“How about some dry humping?”

“Oh, my dear God,” Mom said. “Colleen! Do something!”

“Like what, Ma? Shall I castrate him?”

“If you don’t, I will.”

The man continued to stare. “I don’t want to be castrated,” he said, raising a tousled eyebrow.

“Then back off, buddy. My mother’s menopausal. You never know what might happen.”

“I had to try.”

“Nope, that’s fine. But you’ve failed.” She granted him a smile.

“Is this what dating is like?” Mom asked in horror.

Kind of, yes, Colleen thought. “No! I’m sure we’ll meet someone great for you, Ma.”

Paulie was just coming in, dressed in white leggings (who knew they made them?), a black tank top that showed off her muscular pectorals and a pink Thneed. It was almost cute, almost being the key word.

“What happened to that red sundress we picked out?” Colleen asked. Paulie had nice enough clothes; she just didn’t wear them.

“It gave me a rash,” Paulie said.

“It was cotton.”

“I know. Nerves. I had to go for comfort. Sorry, Coll. Besides, check out the sweater. You like the way I wrapped it?”

Colleen suppressed a Catholic sigh. “I do. You look great.” Too late for honesty, and Paulie needed the confidence.

Another man, this one dressed in black pants and a yellow turtleneck, approached. He was very pale.

“Ladies, good evening.” Based on the accent, Colleen would have to guess that he was Count Dracula.

“Hi,” Colleen said. Mom remained silent, clutching her arm in a python grip. “I’m Colleen, this is my mother, Jeanette, and this is my friend Paulie.”

“Jeanette, Colleen, Paulie, yes, yes, hello. I am so pleased to meet you.” He pushed back his hair, revealing a sharp widow’s peak. “You and Jeanette are mother and daughter? And both so luffly. I am Droog Dragul.”

The bizarre name sounded familiar. “Have you ever been to O’Rourke’s Tavern?” she asked.

“No, I heff not had pleasure. I teach at college. You are student, perhaps? Shall we heff date?”

“Oh, wait! I think you went out with a friend of mine. Honor Holland?”

“Yes! Honor, she is so luffly! And now marrying Tom, my friend! You are going to wedding? We can go as couple, yes?”

“No,” Colleen said. “But thank you.”