Waiting On You (Blue Heron #3)(65)

Unfortunately, Harley was old and riddled with health problems, which was probably why someone had dumped him in the first place. Despite the myriad pills Bryce coaxed down Harley’s throat each day, despite the vet warning him that the cat wouldn’t see Christmas, despite the fact that the cat slept more and more and ate less and less, Bryce just didn’t believe the cat was sick. “He wouldn’t purr like this if he didn’t feel good,” he’d say, petting the cat’s head, and it seemed almost true.

Until the day the boys had come home from school and found Harley dead, curled up on Bryce’s bed.

Bryce had been utterly stunned. Lucas had heard him crying at night, despite his advanced age of sixteen.

It didn’t look as if things were going to be much different with Joe. And far, far worse.

“You should spend as much time with him as you can, Bryce,” Lucas said now.

“I already do. I mean, I live there, right?”

“Make sure it’s time well spent. That’s all.”

It would’ve been nice to have been able to do the same with his own father. To have said goodbye, to have held his hand in the last minutes.

But this time, he could be there for Joe. And Bryce, too.

* * *

ON WEDNESDAY, COLLEEN stopped by her mother’s house.

Mom had called last night to say she was having Dad’s study redone, and thank the baby Jesus. The tenth anniversary of Dad leaving had really lit a fire under her. First the nude modeling, now redecorating.

Colleen pulled her car onto the street. There was a pickup truck in the driveway and a stack of lumber piled alongside the house, as well as a Dumpster. Carol Robinson’s white Prius was parked on the street, too; Colleen recognized it from the many open houses she’d been to. Mrs. Johnson’s car, too, a monstrous Buick that Mrs. J. (piña colada) tended to drive down the middle of the street, striking fear into the hearts of every living thing.

“Hey, Mom!” Colleen yelled, going into the house. The sound of a power saw ripped through the air, then faded.

“We’re out back!” Mom called.

Colleen pushed through the door to the backyard. Carol, Mom and Mrs. Johnson—she was Mrs. Holland, technically, though no one called her that—sat in lawn chairs and were sipping something pink.

“Hey, ladies!” she said, bending to kiss each one. “What’s going on here?”

“Just a little healthy observation, Colleen dear,” Mrs. J. said. “We’re not dead yet.”

“Grab a chair,” Carol said.

Colleen obeyed. Looked up at the roof. “Is that Bryce?” she asked.

“And Lucas. His cousin,” Carol said. “Joe’s dying, you know. He has maybe six weeks left. Didn’t you used to date him?”

“I never dated Joe Campbell,” Colleen murmured.

“Hey, Coll,” Bryce yelled.

“Hi, Bryce.”

Lucas came into view.

Oh, wow. Wow. He wore carpenter shorts and work boots and a white T-shirt that made his skin seem darker. Blue-collar man and his big, strong...um...hammer. Wasn’t there a  p**n o about this? There should be. Someone should make one. Now.

Seeing her, he gave a nod. Maybe a smile.

“That’s right,” Carol said. “You did date Lucas. But he married someone else, right? Lucas! Are you still married?” she yelled.

“Not anymore, Mrs. Robinson.”

“I could be single in a few hours,” she called. “You like older women?”

“I love older women,” he answered, getting a chorus of giggles from Team Menopause. Colleen just swallowed drily.

“You gonna tap that, Colleen?” Carol asked. “Because I sure would if I was your age. Even if I was sixty again.”

“I’ll tell him that,” Colleen said. “But personally, I think I’ll pass. And where do you get off saying ‘tap that’?”

“He’s the only boy Colleen ever really fell for,” Mom said.

Colleen closed her eyes. “Is there alcohol in those glasses?”

“Not in mine, my dear,” Mrs. Johnson said. “Though when the clock strikes five, there’d better be. But yes, these two are drinking.”

“Just a little white Zin and 7-Up,” Mom said.

“That’s right. Stab me in the heart. Ladies, have some dignity. At least let me make you mojitos,” Colleen said.

“All right,” Carol said. “But oh, wait, Bryce is taking off his shirt. Do it, Bryce! Do it!” She giggled most adorably.

“I feel dirty,” Colleen said.

“Me, too,” Mom said. “Bryce, you make me feel dirty!”

“Jeez!” Colleen squeaked. “Come on, ladies! A little decorum.”

But she watched as Bryce took off his shirt, sure. She wasn’t dead, after all. He was pretty, no doubt about it. Washboard abs, nice muscles, she’d seen it all before.

“I’d give that an eight and a half,” Mrs. Johnson said.

“Nine,” Carol said.

“Nine,” Mom echoed. “Colleen, I think you and Lucas should get together again. Why not?”

“Hail Mary, full of grace, please make my mom stop talking.”

“I heard he kissed you in the bar the other night.”