Waiting On You (Blue Heron #3)

Waiting On You (Blue Heron #3) Page 3

Connor and someone.

That one gave her the biggest pang. Granted, there’d been many times over the years when Colleen would’ve cheerfully sold Connor to the gypsies (and had, in fact, put him up for adoption when they were twelve and he announced the fact of her period in the cafeteria). When their parents went through their ugly, horrible, terrible divorce, she and Connor had become closer than ever. They often called or texted each other simultaneously. Saw each other every day.

It was strange, thinking of her twin married, a dad. She certainly wanted him happy, of course she did. It was just that she always pictured it in the happy, sunny future, in which she would have a great spouse and adorable tots.

But that picture always held a dreamlike quality, the image overexposed, as if the sun shone too brightly, and her husband’s face was blurred.

Once, she’d known exactly who the face belonged to, and it hadn’t been blurry at all.

CHAPTER TWO

“MOMMY SAYS YOU’RE emotionally shut down.” The voice came from the child standing in the doorway of Lucas Campbell’s office at Forbes Properties. A female child of the smallish variety. One of his four nieces, specifically.

“That’s adorable. I thought I banned you from visiting me,” Lucas said. He pressed the intercom to his assistant. “Susan, please call Security and have my niece escorted from the building.”

“She’s five years old,” Susan said.

“Have them send a team.”

Chloe grinned, flashing the gaping hole in her teeth. Too soon for dentures, probably. “Mommy says you’re constibladed.”

“I’d have to agree,” Susan said, then clicked off.

He leveled a stare at his niece. “The word is constipated. If you’re going to talk about me, you need to up your game. Why are you here? Didn’t I pay you not to bother me?”

“I spent your money.”

“So?”

“So give me more.” The kid had the soul of a Beverly Hills trophy wife. She skipped over to him and climbed onto his lap.

“Don’t think this show of affection will win you any points,” he grumbled.

“What are you looking at?” Chloe said, settling back against him.

“Mr. Forbes is building a new skyscraper,” he said.

“I want to live in the penthouse.”

“You’re broke. And you have no earning potential, I might point out. You can’t even drive. Not very well, anyway.” This earned a giggle, and Lucas smiled into his niece’s hair.

“Is that a princess you have there?” came a voice.

“Hi, Frank!” Chloe scrambled off Lucas’s lap and charged into Frank Forbes’s legs. “Uncle Lucas showed me your new skyscraper, and I want to live in the penthouse!”

Frank picked up Chloe and laughed. “Well, you can stay overnight before we sell it, how’s that? You and your sisters?”

“Hooray!”

“Little girl, whatever your name is, go see Susan and tell her to let you answer the phones,” Lucas said. “You can be her boss until your mom comes to get you.” Steph, Lucas’s older sister, worked in Accounting seven floors down, and often sent her youngest up to bother him. Chloe was in the after-care program that Forbes offered its employees. Cara, Tiffany and Mercedes—Chloe’s sisters—had all been in the same program, though they were now extremely mature at ages fourteen for the twins, and sixteen for Mercedes.

Chloe stampeded for the reception area, the promise of power the best bribe possible.

“When can we hire her?” Frank asked, sitting down in the leather chair in front of Lucas’s desk.

Lucas smiled and waited. Frank only came by to talk about one thing these days—why Lucas should stay with Forbes Properties and not leave, as he planned to, once the Cambria skyscraper was finished. But Lucas was done here, as grateful as he was. Frank Forbes, his boss and former father-in-law (and yes, a relation to that Forbes) had been good to him.

“I wish you’d stay, son,” he said, almost on cue. “There’s no need for you to leave.”

“Thank you. But I think it’s time. More than time.”

Frank sighed. “Maybe. It won’t be the same without you, though.”

The truth was, it was still hard for Lucas to believe he worked here—him, a kid from the South Side, taking an elevator to the fifty-third floor every day. He’d first worked for Forbes Properties the summer of his freshman year of college, doing grunt-work construction, mostly cleaning up after the union carpenters and electricians, schlepping supplies, then working his way up being able to drive nails and cut wood.

Four years later, he’d been given a promotion, a health care package and a title.

That’s what happened when you knocked up the boss’s daughter.

And despite the fact that Frank had forgiven him for that transgression, had treated him far better than he deserved, had truly made him part of the family—and not just him, but Steph and her kids, too—Lucas couldn’t stay anymore. His debt to the Forbes family was paid as much as it would ever be.

“Have you seen my daughter lately?” Frank asked now.

“We had dinner the other night.”

There was a pause. “She looks good, don’t you think?”

“She does.”

Lucas’s intercom buzzed. “A call for you on line three,” came Chloe’s voice.

“Did you get a name?” Lucas asked.

“No,” she answered. “Get it yourself.”

Frank smiled. “I’ll see you later, son.”

“Thanks, Frank.” He waited until Frank left; the guy would stop to talk to Chloe, no doubt, who collected souls like a tiny Satan.

“Lucas Campbell,” he said into the phone.

“Lucas? It’s Joe.”

“Hey, Uncle Joe,” he said. “How you doing?”

There was a pause. “I’m not so good, pal.”

Something flared in Lucas’s chest. “Are you okay?”

“Well...the tumor’s getting bigger, and I think I’d like to...you know. Wind down.”

The words seemed to echo. Lucas looked out his window, automatically noting the Sears building, the Aon Center. “What can I do, Joe?” he asked, then cleared his throat.

“Can you come home for the duration? Bryce...he’ll take this hard. And there are some things I’ll need help with.”

“Of course.”

For the past eighteen months, Joe had been on dialysis; once a week at first, then twice, and now every other day. The kidney disease made him tired, but dialysis would keep him going almost indefinitely.

Unfortunately, a routine scan had discovered something more ominous—stage IV lung cancer, which would take him long before kidney failure, and Joe wanted to die on his own terms, as much as he could.

Joe was his only uncle, the older brother of Lucas’s late father. Joe’s wife, Didi, wasn’t the nurturing type. Bryce, their son, was an overgrown kid, sorely lacking in pragmatism. Not like Lucas, though they were almost exactly the same age.

“Is Bryce still at the vineyard?” he asked. His cousin had gotten a job at one of the many small vineyards in the Finger Lakes area, where Joe and Didi lived.

“No, he left there. It wasn’t for him,” Joe said.

Ah. Lucas tried to remember if Bryce had ever had a paying job for more than three months and came up empty.

“I’d like to see him settled before...before long,” Joe added. “You know. Employed. Happy. Stable.”

Adult, Lucas thought. He’d spoken to Bryce a couple of weeks ago, but it was mostly about the White Sox.

Lucas hadn’t been back to Manningsport in years. It wasn’t as if it had ever been home—just a place he’d lived for four months.

“I’ll make some arrangements, then,” Lucas said. “Call you tonight, Joe.”

Very gently, he hung up the phone.

So he’d be going back to Manningsport. Once more, he’d do his best to look out for Bryce. Once more, endure his aunt Didi, who’d only found him worthy of attention when he’d married Ellen Forbes, and still hadn’t forgiven him for divorcing her.

And once more, he’d see Colleen O’Rourke.

CHAPTER THREE

“HEY, SUGARPLUM!” Colleen said as her little sister wriggled into the first booth at O’Rourke’s. “Nachos grande, coming up!”

Savannah’s face lit up, then avalanched. “Oh, no thanks,” she said, tugging at her formfitting purple shirt. “Maybe some water and a salad? Dressing on the side?”

Colleen paused. “You don’t like Connor’s nachos all of a sudden?”

It was a Friday evening tradition that Savannah came to the bar for supper while Dad and Gail went out on a date. Colleen, Connor and their sister would eat together, because even if Connor couldn’t stand the sight of their father and didn’t speak to Gail, he wasn’t an ass. Both twins loved Savannah quite a bit. Tons, in fact.

But it was fair to say that the universe had been paying attention to Gail-the-Tail-Chianese-Rhymes-with-Easy-Hyphen-O’Rourke when she was pregnant with Savannah.

Nine years ago, Colleen had been visiting her father and the Tail, despite her father’s infidelity and Gail’s fertility, and had overheard Gail saying this: If Colleen is pretty, imagine what our daughter will be like. Think it’s too early to call a modeling agency? Warm chuckles between the parents-to-be ensued, and Colleen had to stay in the cellar, where she’d been sent to hunt for a bottle of wine, until the bile surge subsided.

She imagined the baby would be beautiful. No such thing as ugly babies, after all. But she knew what Gail was saying. Colleen was pretty, something her father used to point out with great frequency...but Baby Girl 2.0 was going to be even better.

However, the karmic gods want to hear you praying for healthy children, not children with superior bone structure.

Savannah was not beautiful.

Colleen adored Savannah from the second she’d seen her at the hospital, with her little tubular head and snub nose. She changed diapers and took the baby for walks and rocked her and kissed her and sang to her, and Connor did the same, though with a lesser degree of fervor, being that he was a guy and all. But Colleen was in love.

Gail...not so much. Not enough, it seemed.

Savannah was wonderful and happy and funny, but she wasn’t beautiful. Not like Gail, who was a mere four years older than Colleen, and not like Colleen. Savannah was stocky and pale, whiter even than most Irish, which was saying a lot; while Colleen had creamy skin and rosy cheeks, Savannah was practically translucent. Her face was dotted with giant freckles, rather than a sprinkling of cinnamon, and her pale eyes were set close together. Instead of Gail’s Irish setter–auburn hair, Savannah’s was a pinkish strawberry-blond.

She walked heavily, despite Gail trying to teach her to tiptoe through the house, a strong, strapping girl with a low center of gravity that made her a great catcher on O’Rourke’s softball team, which Colleen managed in the town league. But she wasn’t what Gail had expected.

Gail wasn’t a bad mother. She made sure Savannah ate her veggies and got enough sleep, went to all her school activities and drove her to trumpet lessons, though Gail had petitioned hard for the flute or violin or something “more feminine.” It was clear Savannah confused her. She, after all, was a size two. Her hair was long and glossy and straight. Green eyes, of course. Perky boobs (Savannah had not been a breast-is-best baby) and a great ass. She bought micro-shorts and cropped tops for Savannah, who preferred Yankees T-shirts and sweats.

“A salad, huh?” Colleen said now.

“Mom says I should lose some weight.”

Colleen blinked. Savannah was solid. Sure, she had a little pudge. She was nine. Any second now, she’d shoot up five inches and things would balance out a bit more.