Waiting On You (Blue Heron #3)(61)

Six years into their marriage, Ellen came home from her swanky office, took off her shoes and poured herself a glass of wine. “So, Lucas,” she said, very kindly. “I think it’s time to call it quits, don’t you?”

The sorrow he felt was more because he hadn’t been able to make it work, rather than because his heart was broken. She’d loved him a lot once, and he’d done his best, and it wasn’t quite enough.

The divorce was so amicable, it was almost shameful. He would’ve preferred some fighting or tears to the calm dissolution of their household. He took only a photo of the two of them; they’d taken his four nieces to the beach, and Mercedes had been fooling around with the camera. He and Ellen had been holding hands, and he said something to make her laugh. It was an indication, maybe, that he hadn’t been a bad husband. He hoped he hadn’t been.

It was just that his heart belonged to someone else, and they both knew it. They never spoke of it, but it was true just the same.

They went out to dinner the night before their divorce was final, to Alinea, her favorite restaurant, where the maître d’ knew them both by name. She ordered a martini; he ordered a beer. They talked about work and her parents, about Mercedes getting the lead in her school play. Ellen had assured the girls that she’d still be their aunt, and Frank and Grace had all four girls for a sleepover and said of course they’d still be Grandpa Frank and Nana Grace, because that’s just how they were.

Finally, Ellen took a deep breath. “I hope this won’t upset you,” she said, tilting her head the way she always did when she had something momentous to say. “But I’ve met someone.”

He put down his beer. “Really.” Should probably say more than that. “That’s good.”

She looked at the tablecloth, started to say something, then stopped. Her eyes filled with tears.

“What is it?” he asked, leaning forward and covering her hand with his own. She was still his wife, even if only for a few more hours.

She smiled and shook her head a little, blinked back her tears. “I don’t know if you remember this.” She took a deep breath, once again fully composed. “It was sophomore year, maybe? No, junior, because we had that class with Professor Hayden.” She smiled at someone she knew, then continued. “Anyway, we were eating in the dining hall, and your girlfriend came in. She surprised you, and you stood up so fast the table practically fell over, but you didn’t even notice. And she jumped into your arms and wrapped herself around you and you two were kissing like no one else was around.”

The memory stole his breath...Colleen’s exuberance, her unabashed happiness and affection.

“That’s how this guy makes me feel,” Ellen said quietly.

He picked up her hand and looked at it for a minute. She’d already taken off her wedding ring. His was still on. “Then I’m glad for you, honey,” he said. “I really am.”

Twelve hours later, they were divorced.

Frank took it the hardest. Lucas was the son he never had. Since the divorce, Lucas had stayed on to finish the Cambria skyscraper. But they both knew this was his last project with the company.

He wanted to stay in construction—not to make skyscrapers, but to make homes. He wasn’t an architect, but he’d taken several drafting classes over the years and had a good eye. He wanted to be a general contractor, to work on every stage of the house, from the cellar to the wiring to the walls. He wanted to make people the home they’d live in all their lives. He’d earn about a quarter of what he made as a project manager for Forbes, but he had the connections, the experience, the reputation.

That’s what waited for him back home. Back in the City of Big Shoulders.

But for now, it was awfully nice to be doing something other than sitting at Joe’s bedside or coaxing Bryce into a plan for his life.

That’s what he was supposed to be doing right now, in fact.

Instead, he was standing in a field, imagining the house he’d build. It was an occupational hazard; wherever he traveled, he tended to scope out a site. This one wasn’t far from the emergency services site; it was on a hill, the lake in the distance, vineyards roping their way down the slopes. The house he’d build here would have lots of windows, cedar planked exterior, a river-stone chimney.

Right. Well. Maybe he could teach Bryce some construction work. That, or gigolo, because the guy had a way with women, that was for sure.

Joe had dialysis, Didi would be denying amputees their claims, and Bryce was presumably home. Lucas got into his car and headed to Didi’s.

Both Joe and Lucas were aware of the fact that Didi would undercut any effort to dislodge Bryce from the family home. She gave Bryce an allowance and a credit card, despite the fact that he was thirty-one years old. Castrated him, in other words.

Lucas parked the rental car a few houses down from his aunt’s; old habits died hard. Didi hated cars in the driveway or on the street in front of her house; said it looked poor white trash (this with a significant look at Lucas, despite the fact that technically, he was Hispanic and not white).

Bryce’s car was in the driveway (Didi’s rules didn’t apply to him). Lucas knocked, waited and then went in the front door. From the basement, came the sounds of gunfire and explosions. Lucas let himself in and went down the cellar stairs. The apartment was surprisingly neat and airy. Chances were high that Didi had a cleaning woman come down here each week. Big leather couch, a pool table, a bar, a bedroom and a tiny kitchen that Lucas bet was never used.