Waiting On You (Blue Heron #3)

Waiting On You (Blue Heron #3) Page 36

The water shut off in the bathroom, and he heard the sound of the curtain moving. “You hungry, Colleen?” he asked.

“No,” she said, cracking the door a little. “I ate before the game. But I’ll probably lay waste to some Ben & Jerry’s, even so.”

She came out a few minutes later, wearing white cotton pajamas and looking like a freakin’ supermodel.

“Feeling okay?” he asked.

“A lot better.” She checked her answering machine. “Ooh! Sixteen messages, and ten more on my cell. I feel like prom queen.”

Except she hadn’t gone to her prom.

The memory flickered across her face, too. Before he could say anything, though, she pressed the button to listen to her fans expressing their concern.

Her face fell with each message. She checked her phone, too. Then she walked over to her computer, touched a key and scrolled through her emails.

“Well. I guess I can return those tomorrow,” she said. There was a small note of sadness in her voice.

“Come sit down,” he said, taking a seat on her sofa. She did. Didn’t look at him, just curled into herself and stared straight forward.

He put his arm around her—dangerous, that—but he was helpless not to. Pulled her against him, even though she resisted a little.

She fit the same as she always had, the feeling old and new at the same time.

“That was quite a play you didn’t make today,” he said.

“You mean stopping the ball with my head?”

“I meant the one before that.” He kissed her damp hair. “You’re a good sister.”

He heard her swallow thickly. “Did my father check on me?” she asked in a small voice. “While I was out?”

Lucas hesitated. “He knew you were okay.”

“In other words, no.” Her breathing hitched. “Ah, shit,” she whispered. “I’m jealous of a nine-year-old. My father’s a prick, and I still want him to pat me on the head and tell me I’m a good girl. How stupid is that?”

“It’s not stupid. It’s human.”

“What’s wrong with me?” she asked. “I have this thing for men who reject me.” Her dog came over and put his enormous head in her lap. “Except you, Rufus.”

She wiped her eyes with her sleeve, then extricated herself from him and the dog and went over to the phone. Dialed in angry jabs. “Hi. This is the other daughter, the one who went to the hospital. Yeah. Whatever. Put Savannah on.” She took a shaky breath, then changed her tone to chipper. “Hey, sweetie! No, don’t cry, really. I’m perfectly fine. They don’t let you use your phone in the E.R. No, no. I’m home. Yep. Rufus is taking good care of me. I’m gonna eat ice cream and watch movies. Okay, honey. Hey. You did great tonight. I was so proud of you.” She smiled. “You bet. Nighty-night.”

She hung up and stood there for a second, looking into space. “Lucas,” she said carefully, “I can’t fall in love with you again.”

The words hit him hard. As if sensing that, the dog shifted his giant head to Lucas’s leg and licked his chops.

“And yet, I can’t stay away from you. You’re horribly irresistible. It’s very embarrassing.” She gave a half smile, but her eyes were serious.

He lifted Rufus’s head from his lap and went to her. “Colleen,” he began, and he didn’t know what would’ve come out of his mouth then, but his phone rang.

Damn it.

It rang again, and he pulled it out to silence it.

“Answer it,” she said.

“No.”

“It might be Joe.” She took a step back and picked up her own phone and started texting.

He sighed, took his phone out of his pocket and looked. Ellen. He glanced at Colleen, who was still tapping away at her phone. “Hey,” he said.

“Hi, Lucas. How are you? How’s Uncle Joe?”

“Holding his own, more or less.”

“Good.” She paused. “So I’m coming to town next week. I think I might have a lead on something for you, divorcewise.”

“Great.”

“Got any idea on where I might stay?”

He looked at Colleen. “I’ll email you some places.” He paused. “You okay to fly?”

“Sure, sure. So okay, I’ll let you know when I’m coming in. It’ll be good to see you.”

“You, too. Thanks for calling.”

He hung up. Looked at Colleen. Her face was neutral.

“The wife?” she asked, though it was obvious she knew who it was.

“The ex-wife.”

She nodded. “So. Back to what I was saying. Thank you for driving me home. But we shouldn’t...get involved. Even if you’re very gorgeous and so am I and all that.”

“I think we should talk, Colleen,” he said.

“Faith will be here any minute. Pajama party. Girls only, I’m afraid.”

“Colleen—”

“Lucas, you have a life back in Chicago. I have one here. It’s just stupid to get all tangled up. I...I can’t do that. I only have flings. Since you, I haven’t had a real boyfriend. Just flings. And that’s fine. I like it that way. I’m kind of a slut, in fact.”

He remembered her kissing that other guy, and the long-ago memory still ached, like a bruise that had faded but not quite healed. “I doubt that,” he said.

“Well, read the bathroom walls, then.” She swallowed, and shifted her gaze to outside the window. “But I don’t think I could have a fling with you.”

“Mía, don’t—”

“No, please. I mean, as irresistible as you are, I’d get hurt, you’d leave, I’d hate you again, and I don’t hate you now, and I’d rather not hate you ever again. Okay?”

The door to the apartment opened, and in bounded a golden retriever. “Did someone call a landscape architect and her faithful puppy?” Faith said. She came into the living room, cradling four pints of Ben & Jerry’s in her arms. “Oh. Hey, Lucas.”

“Faith.”

She looked back and forth between them. “Um...want me to go?”

“No,” Colleen answered. “He was just leaving.” She turned to Lucas. “Thank you very much for staying with me. See you around.”

She was right. He’d be leaving again. Soon. Whatever he found himself thinking whenever he was around her was just that. Thought. She was being the smart one here, and he should be grateful.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, and with that, he extricated himself from the golden retriever, who was attempting to mount his leg, and left.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“THIS FOOD ISN’T worth eating,” Joe said, pushing back his plate.

“Give it a try, unc. It’s not that bad.” He pushed the Cream of Wheat back, and Joe took a spoonful and grimaced.

“I’d kill for a Big Mac,” he said.

“And the Big Mac would kill you,” Lucas answered.

“But what a way to go,” Joe said. “All that gorgeous sodium.” He grinned, a shadow of the old Joe.

He was at Lucas’s rented apartment in the old opera house—a nice change of scenery, he’d said. But the climb to the second floor seemed to take the last of his energy. Dialysis was supposed to make him feel better, but better was a relative term when you had cancer on top of kidney failure.

Joe pulled out his pocket watch. Lucas used to love seeing it when Joe came to Chicago to visit, hearing the story of their ancestor and how he’d fought so bravely at Antietam, how the watch was given to him by the major whose life he’d saved. Being the older son, Joe had inherited it from his father. Too soon, Bryce would have the watch, who hopefully would have a son or daughter to give it to someday, as well.

“I need you to handle some things,” Joe said now. He frowned. “I called Ellen. Hope that was okay. I couldn’t remember if I talked to you about it.”

“She called me.”

“Good. Well. Didi’s idiot brother is our lawyer, and obviously I can’t trust him.” Joe idly stroked the pocket watch. “I sold an app a couple months ago, and I want Bryce to get it for a nest egg.”

“Good for you, Joe.” Lucas smiled.

“Yeah, it was fun. Remember ‘Rat-Whacker’?”

“How could I forget?”

“Well, this is slightly more sophisticated.” His smile faded. “Ellen said she’ll check on that for me. But about the funeral...Bryce won’t be up for it, and Didi will do whatever she thinks will win her the most social points.”

“What would you like done?”

“I love that old stone church. Trinity Lutheran. And for the eulogy, I thought it would be nice if...well. I want Bryce to do it.”

For a second, Lucas had thought Joe had been about to ask him. But obviously, his son would make more sense. “Of course.”

“And here are some songs I want played at my wake. None of those drippy hymns, okay?” He handed Lucas a list. U2, the Stones, Pearl Jam, and Lucas had to smile. Unc had great taste in music.

And now for the harder questions. “How do you want it to be at the end, Joe?”

His uncle sighed. “Well, as little pain as possible. I’d like you boys to be there. And I’d like Didi not to be.”

“What about Steph? She’d definitely come if you wanted her to.”

“No, that’s fine. She’s got the girls. You two will be enough.”

It was hard to answer.

“You know what I miss?” Joe said, looking out the windows. “Sailing. Big Macs and sailing.”

“Do you still have the boat?” Lucas asked.

“No, no. We sold that a while ago. Didi said...well, hell, I have what? A month left? Let’s not waste it by talking about Didi.” He was quiet a moment, listlessly stirring his bland lunch. Then he looked up at Lucas. “You look just like your dad, you know. Except for the eyes. Those are your mother’s eyes.”

Lucas gave a half smile.

“Do you remember her?” Joe asked.

“Not a lot.”

“Well, she was the most beautiful woman I ever saw.” He paused a second. “Guess I’ll be seeing both your parents before long.”

The words made Lucas’s stomach twist. He knew Joe was dying.

It didn’t mean it would hurt less to lose him, the last link to his father, his affable, easygoing uncle who’d only ever been kind.

“How’s Stephie doing?” Joe said, changing the subject. “She coming to visit?”

“She is,” Lucas answered. “You’ll get to see all four girls, too.”

Joe laughed. “Fantastic. They’re firecrackers, those girls. It’ll be nice to have you all together. You know what? I want to have a picnic, all of us Campbells. What do you think?”

“Great idea,” he said.

“Would it be all right to ask the Forbes contingent? I feel like they’ve been family these past ten years.”

“Sure.”

Joe took out his phone and dialed. “Hi, Didi. Yeah, sorry, whatever, I’m dying, what can I say?” He rolled his eyes. “Look, I want to have a picnic. Steph and the girls are coming to... No, I haven’t forgotten. Yeah. Fine. No, I thought just us... Oh. No, I— Yeah. Okay. Whatever. Hanging up now.” He put the phone down. “She says it’s too much work, we should just go out for dinner, and if we’re doing a family picnic, her pack of hyenas has to be invited, too. Though she didn’t use that phrase, exactly.”

“I’ll take care of it. I’m seeing another lawyer about your divorce tomorrow,” Lucas said. This one was someone who specialized in complicated cases. “Didi never deserved you, Uncle Joe.”