Waiting On You

“I’m gonna lay here for another minute,” Mom said. “But, Colleen, I was thinking. It doesn’t seem like your father is going to come to his senses any time soon. I thought That Whore was a midlife crisis, just a little fling—”

“They’ve been together for ten years, Mom.”

“And even after that child, I thought he’d come back to me.”

“Savannah, Mom. Say what you want about Gail the Tail, but be nice about Savannah. She’s my sister.”

“Your half sister.” Mom sat up, grabbed one of the attractively rolled facecloths and ran some water on it, then held it against her chest. “Anyway, John Holland has adult grandchildren, he’s in his sixties, but he found someone. I’m only fifty-four, and what do I have? Nothing. No grandchildren, not even a daughter-or son-in-law, and nothing on the horizon, either. What’s wrong with you and Connor?”

A familiar refrain. “What’s wrong with you, Mom? Why haven’t you given me a nice stepfather? I wouldn’t say no to Mariano Rivera, for example. Or George Clooney. Actually, I’d marry both of them myself, so take them off the list. Sean Connery, he’d do. Or Ed Harris. Why haven’t you married Sean Connery or Ed Harris, Mom?”

“Your father married That Whore. John Holland married Mrs. Johnson. Cathy Moore turned gay and married Louise. And here I am, sitting in a tub having a hot flash. On the tenth anniversary of your father leaving me, no less.”

“Well, you can get out of the tub, Ma.”

“Wait till you hit menopause. I’ll have no sympathy for you.” Mom sighed. “I’m tired of things being the same. I want a life. I want to get laid.”

Hail Mary, full of grace—

“Barb McIntosh said you told her you could fix up anyone. Does that include me, or don’t I count?”

Colleen’s head whipped around from where she was examining the showerhead.

In all the years since the divorce, Mom had not gone out once. Not once. “Really? You really want to date?”

“Yes. Why shouldn’t I? Your father has That Whore, and if John Holland can find someone, I probably could, too. I’m not disgusting, am I?” Her mother climbed out of the tub and scooped her hair off her neck in a regal move, one that Colleen had copied as a kid.

Danger, she heard Connor’s voice say in her head. He definitely was the logical twin. And yes, fixing up Mom could be the emotional equivalent of waterboarding.

Then again, Mom had waited years for Dad to come back to her. Denial, then bitterness as an Olympic sport. Maybe what she needed to get over Dad was another man. Certainly, Colleen had always thought so.

“And if I meet someone, maybe your father will get jealous and finally get his head out of his ass.”

Crud. Using people to make other people jealous...that never worked very well. “Mom, if you want to date, maybe find someone, I think that’d be great. But Dad’s not coming back.”

“You never know. So? Will you help me? I need to set up an online profile.”

Faith had done the same thing with her father last fall. It hadn’t been a particularly good experience, though all’s well that ends well. Also, Faith herself was sweet and naive.

Colleen was not.

If there was one thing she knew, it was men and how they thought.

“Oh!” Mom exclaimed, grasping Colleen’s arm. “And guess what else I heard? Guess! Guess!”

“The sound of a butterfly’s wings,” Colleen said.

“No. Guess again.”

“What, Mom?”

Mom let go of her arm, fluffed her hair and gave Colleen a triumphant look. “I heard Lucas Campbell is back in town.”

“I know.”

“Surprise! Isn’t it great?”

“He’s back because Joe Campbell isn’t long for the world, so I’d have to say no.”

“It is! It’s great because—”

“Don’t, Mom.”

“Because you never got over him.” Mom fixed her with a triumphant look.

“That’s debatable.” Granted, a debate she’d probably lose, but still. “Also, Mom, he’s married.”

“No. He’s divorced.”

Colleen blinked.

“Aha! I knew you didn’t know that!” Mom crowed.

“Are you two done up there?” Carol called from downstairs. “I have other people here who might actually buy this place, you know.”

“We’ll be right down. She doesn’t love it,” Mom yelled. Colleen barely heard.

Divorced?

No, he hadn’t mentioned that the other night. Questions surged into her head. Why? For how long? Was he heartbroken? Bitter? Had he cheated? Had she? Was he seeing someone?

Get a grip, she told herself. He broke your heart. He fell in love with someone else, and he left you. Just. Like. Dad.

“Colleen?” Mom asked. “You’re not really interested in this house, are you?”

“It’s almost perfect,” she said, clearing her throat. “But there’s not enough shade in the front.”

CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_84bcba55-72d8-5437-8196-102439265a6e)

A WEEK BACK in Manningsport, and Lucas had spoken to an attorney, who told him that a divorce for Uncle Joe was going to be just about impossible. Lucas wasn’t giving up on that just yet. New York divorce law was a tangled, Puritanical web, but maybe there was a loophole somewhere. Then there were Joe’s finances; he wanted whatever assets he had to go to Bryce. What exactly those assets were remained to be seen, because Didi kept a tight fist around the family funds.

In the meantime, Lucas found a short-term, furnished rental in a pretty building on the green, roughly two hundred feet from O’Rourke’s front door. He’d been avoiding the pub, not wanting Colleen’s panties to get into a twist (though thinking about her panties wasn’t the worst way to spend time).

Today, however, he was stopping by the Manningsport Animal Shelter to see Bryce, and hopefully get his cousin to commit to a plan of action for a future that included more than playing video games in his mom’s basement. Bryce loved animals; maybe Lucas could convince him to go to school to become a veterinary assistant or the like.

The shelter was a gray building on the outskirts of town, and Bryce’s Dodge Ram pickup truck was parked outside, along with a cute little Porsche and a mountain bike with a wicker basket on the handlebars. Lucas went inside. There was no one in the waiting room, but he heard voices coming from behind a closed door. Some female murmuring, then Bryce speaking more clearly.

“Let’s use a little lubricant, don’t you think, baby? Don’t be scared. I’ll just ease my finger in like that and squeeze, nice and gentle.”