by Sarah Hegger
“What happened?” Perhaps it’s salvageable.
“She left him.” Carl chewed the words out with relish. “He seems to have difficulty holding on to his woman, for all his fancy education and money. Makes you wonder why. What’s wrong with the man? You know though, don’t you, Lucy?”
“Carl.” Her mother tossed her sponge into the sink. “Richard Hunter is a wonderful young man and a good doctor. Don’t you start saying terrible things about him.”
True. Lucy grimaced ruefully. All-round, marvelous Richard.
“Ashley is crazy about Richard,” she said aloud. So crazy about him, it had ended years and years of friendship between her and Ashley.
“Shows how much you know,” Carl scoffed. “She walked out and is living above that shop of hers on Main Street.”
“What shop on Main?” And the surprises kept coming. Mom had been holding out on her.
“Ashley owns a shop now.” Her mother threw Carl a look loaded with meaning. Typically, he ignored her.
“Oh, yes,” he told Lucy. “Ashley is quite the career girl. Opening more and more shops and becoming some sort of fashion person.” He waved his hand in the air when the right phrase wouldn’t come.
“Shops?” Lucy’s eyes opened appreciatively. “Shops? As in more than one?”
“Three.” Mom gave it up with another glare at her husband. “Ashley has this shop on Main and two others. One at Lakeview Mall and another downtown.” She crossed her arms over her chest and thrust out her chin. “And she is about to open another one in San Francisco. Although why anyone would want to open a shop there, I cannot fathom.”
“What sort of shops?” While she had been screwing up her life and scrambling to get it back on track, Ashley had been busy shaping her world.
“Clothes,” her mom responded shortly.
“Rich women clothes,” Carl drawled. “Fancy stuff for women with nothing to do and too much money burning a hole in their pockets. You would love it. Why don’t you get that fancy man in Seattle to come here and buy you something?” Carl warmed to his theme enthusiastically. “In fact, you would enjoy that. Lording your rich boyfriend over your old enemy.”
Lucy grit her teeth. Ashley had left Richard? It didn’t make any sense. “She always loved fashion,” Lucy said out loud. Ashley loved fashion and Richard, those two things made Ashley’s world turn. She shook her head. Her mom was right. This really was none of her business.
“Now she’s busy and out of your hair.” Carl scented blood. “You can have another crack at her man.”
“You know,” Lucy let the impulse rip and smiled beatifically. “You’re absolutely right. I thought I might get started after my grilled cheese.”
Chapter Four
There were times when Carl’s rigid habits were a blessing. He insisted on his dinner at six-thirty, but it also meant he was in bed by nine-thirty. Nothing shifted her father from his stance. Not school recitals, Christmas, or New Year’s Eve. It didn’t even matter if the Cubs were finally in the play-offs and looked a sure thing to win. Carl went to bed at nine-thirty.
And he assumed the rest of humanity did the same. The rest of Willow Park could have told him different. Lucy had run wild from the time her father went to bed until somebody dragged her home. Most of the time it had been Ashley and then, later, Richard.
Now, it meant after the dinner dishes were put away and the kitchen cleaned, Lucy had her mother to herself. It was the opportunity she’d been waiting for most of the day.
“How is he?” Lucy asked, as she made her mother a cup of coffee.
“He has good days and bad days.” Her mother’s expression grew pensive. “Lately, the bad days are outnumbering the good.”
It was pretty much as the phone calls had suggested. Carl had never been an easy man to live with, but he was getting worse. Mood swings and vicious bouts of paranoia were taking over.
“Have you given any more thought to selling the house?” Lucy kept the tone light.
“He feels safe here.” Her mom got up and wiped down the spotless surfaces.
“I was thinking more of you.” Lucy caught her mother’s hands and held them still. “This house is a lot for you to manage.”
“He hasn’t left the house since he heard about that swine flu.” She gently removed her hands from Lucy’s and went back to her wiping.
“Never?” Lucy watched her mother. She wished her mom would put the stupid sponge down and talk to her.
“Oh, no,” her mom said, shaking her head vehemently. “When it’s sunny out, he will sit on that balcony upstairs.”
Lucy did a quick mental calculation. So, Carl had not been outside the house in about two years.
“Besides,” she rattled on. “This is our home. You grew up in this house.”
“But if you sell you could get something smaller.” Lucy waved an expansive hand through the air. “Something more manageable. It’s called downsizing and all the best people are doing it.”
“But where would we go?” Her mother didn’t smile at her silly attempt at a joke, but looked around the old kitchen nervously.
“Anywhere you like. Florida, like Dr. Barnes.” Lucy reached over the counter and touched her mother’s hands. Gently, she cradled one between her palms. Her mother’s hands were wrinkled and dried from years of hard work. Nowhere on Lynne did her age show as much as on those hands that had spent a lifetime being busy with the needs of others. “Or Glen Ellyn. Didn’t you always want one of those smart new condos they’re building? Somewhere close to the lake?”
Her mother thought about it for a second and then gave her a small, shy smile and her eyes danced. If Lucy showed very little resemblance to her father, there was absolutely no resemblance to her mother. Lynne’s eyes were a pale, pale blue that seemed to have faded with the years. She had been a medium blonde, but that color had all disappeared and Lynne would never justify the time or the money to have her hair colored. Lucy watched her mother process the information.
“Close to Lake Ellyn would be nice.” Lynne squinted at her as if the idea had never occurred to her. “Do you think we could find one like that?”
“Or you could have something similar close to downtown,” Lucy pressed as she took a sip from her coffee.
“I don’t like being downtown.” Her mom’s eyes widened. “There are far too many people. And, oh my, the crime. I was reading the other day—”
“The where is not important, Mom.” Lucy cut her off before the objection could gather steam. “You can go anywhere you like. The idea is to find something with virtually no upkeep.”
“Oh,” her mom said, nodding. “It would be nice to have a bit more time to do … things.” She sighed wistfully, as if Lucy were suggesting a trip to the moon.
You couldn’t rush Lynne and getting her mother to see there was life outside of the old house was probably going to be Lucy’s hardest task. Lynne was born in this house, grew up in it, brought her husband to her family home and had her own child here. It was as if her mother were grafted into the sagging, maple floors. And in this old house, Lynne had slowly had the life sucked out of her, first by her domineering father and then by her husband.
While Lynne had gone quietly, Lucy had put up a fight. The house and her father became twisted into each other in her psyche. She spent her teens rebelling. Her final act of rebellion had taken her not only out of the house and away from the suffocation, but all the way to New York. Not so smart, as it turns out. But twentysomethings are not, as a rule, known for their foresight—twentysomething alcoholics, not at all.
“I am sure you would get a good price for this place.” Lucy took another inch forward. “I spoke to a Realtor and they told me a lot of young families are buying up these old houses and fixing them up.”
“Like Richard?”
“Well, yes, like Richard.” It still seemed strange to say his name out loud. He’d existed in her mind almost constantly since she’d been away. One big regret she would do anythi
ng to change. No time like the present, nagged her conscience. Her conscience always sounded like Mads.
“I don’t think I could ever sell this house.” Lynne shook her head, her eyes troubled.
“Why can’t you?” It was hard to keep the impatience out of her tone. “When we spoke on the phone, you seemed keen.”
“Did I?” Lynne got up and bustled around the kitchen again.
“Do you think it’s the best place for Dad?” Lucy fired her best shot.
Lynne stopped her busywork and frowned. “I’m not sure.” She sat down again and clasped her hands around her mug. “He does struggle with the stairs. I thought of getting one of those stair lifts installed for him.”
“You could do that,” Lucy agreed. “Or you could leave the stairs to a young family with younger legs and find a condo all on one level.”
“I don’t know.” Lynne’s brow furrowed. “I can see your point, but it all seems so drastic.”
“It’s a big step.” Lucy packed her voice with reassurance. “But you don’t have to do this alone. That’s why I’m here, remember?”
Lynne made a noncommittal noise and took a sip of her coffee.
“I mean it, Mom.” Lucy touched Lynne’s wrist and her mother looked at her again. “I know I haven’t given you much reason to believe me, but I am here now and I will stay for as long as you need me.” She gave Lynne’s wrist a small shake. “And if you need to, we can talk about the past. It’s not something I’m proud of, but it happened and we can talk about it.”
“I don’t think I want to,” Lynne said, surprising Lucy. “I want to appreciate that you are here now. I was never one for jawing over my problems.”
“Then why don’t we do something about this house?”
“Like what?” Lynne narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
“Well.” Lucy took a bracing breath. Into the fray. “If you are even going to think about selling, the house is going to need a thorough going-over.”
“Are you calling my house dirty?” Lynne stuck her chin out.
“No.” Lucy chuckled. “All I meant was that any house, all houses, in fact need to be cleared of all the stuff that gathers over the years.” She added some enthusiasm to her voice. “It will be a sort of special project we tackle together.”
“Hmph.” Lynne looked as if she might balk. “It may be stuff to you, but it’s my stuff.”
Lucy did a lightning fast mental catalogue of the house. “What about my room?” Inspiration struck. “We could get rid of all those old posters and stuff.”
“But you loved those posters,” Lynne objected immediately.
Lucy felt an insane urge to start laughing hysterically. “I loved them when I was sixteen, Mom. I think I’m a bit beyond Hootie & the Blowfish.”
“Oh, you really liked them.” Lynne gave her a misty, nostalgic smile. “I still have all their records.”
“CDs.” Lucy fought down the incipient panic. It was a bit like fighting her way through cotton candy. “I’ve moved on since then.”
“Well, of course you have.” Lynne rolled her eyes and got to her feet. “You’re thirty years old now and I would think you’re way beyond that sort of thing.” Then, she stopped in the center of the kitchen and gave a soft, sad sigh. “Oh, but you did love to dance, didn’t you, Lu Lu?”
The cotton candy crawled up her chin and into her nostrils and gummed up the roof of her mouth. “Anyway, I think it’s time to clear out my room.”
“If you’re ready, Lu Lu.”
Lucy stopped the wince from showing. She hated that pet name. Lu Lu was a wild, drunken little girl full of rage and sadness so deep there wasn’t enough booze in the world to wash it away. Lucy pushed ruthlessly past the rising dark of memories.
“I think it’s time, Mom.”
“Okay, then.” Lynne smiled at her. “Like you said, it can be our special project.”
“Right. I think I’ll head up.” Lucy returned the smile, not able to meet Lynne’s eyes or her mother would see the smile for the lie that it was. “I’m tired.”
“Of course you are, darling,” Lynne said, going immediately contrite. “All that traveling is exhausting.” She gave Lucy a coy smile. “Would you like me to make you some hot chocolate? I got the kind that you liked and I still remember how to do it.”
“Sure, Mom, that would be great.” Lucy took the stairs two at a time. Across from her window, a light blinked on in Richard’s house. The curtains were thick and all she could see was a shadow against the fabric. She snapped her own drapes shut. It would not do to be caught peering into his windows.
Around her the house was nearly silent, other than the familiar settling sounds: the soft protest of wood and the metallic pop of the radiators as they pumped heat into the rooms. Lucy forced down another mouthful of hot chocolate. It was sweet enough to make the most exacting five-year-old happy. Her mother had left it with her before going to bed.
Her bedroom was a bizarre shrine to her youth. Posters stuck to the wall with Scotch tape curling up at the ends. A corkboard pinned above the simple pine desk, painted white and chipped where she’d scratched it. Lucy approached the board cautiously.
There she was, all long legs and attitude hair: Lucy Flint, teenage goddess, in all her various incarnations. Other girls got gawky or thickset as their bodies changed, but not Lucy Flint. Lucy Flint flowered like an exotic bloom. A beautiful child seamlessly transformed into a lovely young woman. Right beside her in most of the pictures was Ashley. Adolescence had not been as kind to Ashley. Puppy fat and braces conspired against her.
God. They were almost a caricature of themselves; the blond beauty and her plain, studious friend. Except it was Ashley who had first captured the prince.
And there he was, the prince in question. A couple of years older and carrying those two years across his broad shoulders with the tautly held dignity of a boy becoming a man. Richard. Lucy’s heart gave a little thump. He had certainly been beautiful. The years had been kind to him. She’d caught that much as her mind got busy trying to process the fact she’d nearly killed him.
Lucy chuckled. It was kind of funny. Actually it was very funny. And the joke was on her. She touched a strip-leather bracelet carefully pinned in place with heart-shaped thumbtacks. The first thing Richard had ever given her. Made, inexpertly, by his own hands and given to her with an offhand gesture and his heart in his eyes. Lucy’s heart gave another thump, even bigger this time. She may have stolen him from Ashley, but for a while there, it had been magic.
Beside the bracelet hung a photo and Lucy’s laughter died. Damn, she had loved him. It streamed out of the captured image. Him with his arm casually looped around her neck, his nose and mouth buried by her ear and her laughing. She’d been happy in that moment. True, wondrous, and unfettered happiness she’d thought would be enough to fix the aching cavern inside her. Reflexively she reached up and rubbed the place on her chest that still ached a little.
Chapter Five
“Ring the doorbell, Lucy.” She took another deep breath and dropped her hand. Richard was home. Lucy knew this because she had been watching his house for the last two hours. He had driven up, gotten out of his car, and entered the house without even glancing in the direction of her house.
So, here was her dilemma. She would reach up and press the button. Inside the house the doorbell would ring. She would wait and hear footsteps, perhaps a light would go on and then the door would open. And then? This was where things headed south for her. Her finger dropped away. With both hands wrapped protectively around her peace offering, she stood on Richard’s doorstep, getting colder by the minute and procrastinating.
“This is stupid.” She had to do this. If he was her father’s doctor, and he was, then she was going to be seeing rather a lot of him. They needed to establish neutral ground.
“For Christ’s sake.” Lucy leapt back a step as the door was suddenly yanked open. “Are you going to stand there all night?”
And s
he got her first good look at Richard. Her tongue got glued to the top of her mouth as she stood on his doorstep and stared. Holy Mary, Mother of God, but he looked good. He’d been a handsome boy, but he was so much more now. Her gaze roamed over features that had hardened around the edges, having lost the softer fullness of youth and been replaced by sharply hewn angles. His mouth was still the same, only the lines bracketing it were deeper. It was a stern mouth, but it always seemed to look as if there were a smile waiting to appear.
Except for now.
Now, it was drawn into a single, harsh line. Lucy realized he stood there and glared at her, his eyes colder than the February weather.
“My mother sent over some of her soup.” Lucy lifted the container to show him. Soup sloshed convincingly against the sides.
“Tell her thank you, from me.” His voice sounded a bit deeper and more gravelly. Or perhaps that was because he was thoroughly pissed off. It was still a great voice. She used to call him up just to hear him say her name. His father had been from Willow Park and his mother French Canadian. The accents mixed in Richard’s single-malt baritone like old friends. She wondered if his voice would still caress the two syllables of her name like a lover. Not likely, if the look arcing her way was any indication.
He reached out.
Lucy almost leapt back again before she realized he was going for the soup. Damn.
He raised an eyebrow at her and she gave him the soup. She felt stupider by the second. He stepped into the house again and the door started to shut.
“Um.”
“Yes?” Richard glared at her.
“May I come in?”
She could see him mentally battling that one. Richard had the manners his father ground into him and the natural chivalry of a born gentleman. He wanted to slam the door in her face. She could read it in his white-knuckled grip on the wood, but his good twin wouldn’t let him do it. With a grudging nod, he stepped back and made a brusque motion with his hand for her to enter.
He turned and strode down the corridor and Lucy trailed him obediently.
