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The words seemed to echo. Lucas looked out his window, automatically noting the Sears building, the Aon Center. “What can I do, Joe?” he asked, then cleared his throat.
“Can you come home for the duration? Bryce...he’ll take this hard. And there are some things I’ll need help with.”
“Of course.”
For the past eighteen months, Joe had been on dialysis; once a week at first, then twice, and now every other day. The kidney disease made him tired, but dialysis would keep him going almost indefinitely.
Unfortunately, a routine scan had discovered something more ominous—stage IV lung cancer, which would take him long before kidney failure, and Joe wanted to die on his own terms, as much as he could.
Joe was his only uncle, the older brother of Lucas’s late father. Joe’s wife, Didi, wasn’t the nurturing type. Bryce, their son, was an overgrown kid, sorely lacking in pragmatism. Not like Lucas, though they were almost exactly the same age.
“Is Bryce still at the vineyard?” he asked. His cousin had gotten a job at one of the many small vineyards in the Finger Lakes area, where Joe and Didi lived.
“No, he left there. It wasn’t for him,” Joe said.
Ah. Lucas tried to remember if Bryce had ever had a paying job for more than three months and came up empty.
“I’d like to see him settled before...before long,” Joe added. “You know. Employed. Happy. Stable.”
Adult, Lucas thought. He’d spoken to Bryce a couple of weeks ago, but it was mostly about the White Sox.
Lucas hadn’t been back to Manningsport in years. It wasn’t as if it had ever been home—just a place he’d lived for four months.
“I’ll make some arrangements, then,” Lucas said. “Call you tonight, Joe.”
Very gently, he hung up the phone.
So he’d be going back to Manningsport. Once more, he’d do his best to look out for Bryce. Once more, endure his aunt Didi, who’d only found him worthy of attention when he’d married Ellen Forbes, and still hadn’t forgiven him for divorcing her.
And once more, he’d see Colleen O’Rourke.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_285e2ac0-b68a-5a8e-8939-a171e8e69174)
“HEY, SUGARPLUM!” Colleen said as her little sister wriggled into the first booth at O’Rourke’s. “Nachos grande, coming up!”
Savannah’s face lit up, then avalanched. “Oh, no thanks,” she said, tugging at her formfitting purple shirt. “Maybe some water and a salad? Dressing on the side?”
Colleen paused. “You don’t like Connor’s nachos all of a sudden?”
It was a Friday evening tradition that Savannah came to the bar for supper while Dad and Gail went out on a date. Colleen, Connor and their sister would eat together, because even if Connor couldn’t stand the sight of their father and didn’t speak to Gail, he wasn’t an ass. Both twins loved Savannah quite a bit. Tons, in fact.
But it was fair to say that the universe had been paying attention to Gail-the-Tail-Chianese-Rhymes-with-Easy-Hyphen-O’Rourke when she was pregnant with Savannah.
Nine years ago, Colleen had been visiting her father and the Tail, despite her father’s infidelity and Gail’s fertility, and had overheard Gail saying this: If Colleen is pretty, imagine what our daughter will be like. Think it’s too early to call a modeling agency? Warm chuckles between the parents-to-be ensued, and Colleen had to stay in the cellar, where she’d been sent to hunt for a bottle of wine, until the bile surge subsided.
She imagined the baby would be beautiful. No such thing as ugly babies, after all. But she knew what Gail was saying. Colleen was pretty, something her father used to point out with great frequency...but Baby Girl 2.0 was going to be even better.
However, the karmic gods want to hear you praying for healthy children, not children with superior bone structure.
Savannah was not beautiful.
Colleen adored Savannah from the second she’d seen her at the hospital, with her little tubular head and snub nose. She changed diapers and took the baby for walks and rocked her and kissed her and sang to her, and Connor did the same, though with a lesser degree of fervor, being that he was a guy and all. But Colleen was in love.
Gail...not so much. Not enough, it seemed.
Savannah was wonderful and happy and funny, but she wasn’t beautiful. Not like Gail, who was a mere four years older than Colleen, and not like Colleen. Savannah was stocky and pale, whiter even than most Irish, which was saying a lot; while Colleen had creamy skin and rosy cheeks, Savannah was practically translucent. Her face was dotted with giant freckles, rather than a sprinkling of cinnamon, and her pale eyes were set close together. Instead of Gail’s Irish setter–auburn hair, Savannah’s was a pinkish strawberry-blond.
She walked heavily, despite Gail trying to teach her to tiptoe through the house, a strong, strapping girl with a low center of gravity that made her a great catcher on O’Rourke’s softball team, which Colleen managed in the town league. But she wasn’t what Gail had expected.
Gail wasn’t a bad mother. She made sure Savannah ate her veggies and got enough sleep, went to all her school activities and drove her to trumpet lessons, though Gail had petitioned hard for the flute or violin or something “more feminine.” It was clear Savannah confused her. She, after all, was a size two. Her hair was long and glossy and straight. Green eyes, of course. Perky boobs (Savannah had not been a breast-is-best baby) and a great ass. She bought micro-shorts and cropped tops for Savannah, who preferred Yankees T-shirts and sweats.
“A salad, huh?” Colleen said now.
“Mom says I should lose some weight.”
Colleen blinked. Savannah was solid. Sure, she had a little pudge. She was nine. Any second now, she’d shoot up five inches and things would balance out a bit more.
“Listen, sweets,” Colleen began. “Eating healthy is smart. Your mom is right about that.”
“I had a grilled pork chop for lunch. And broccoli,” her sister said. “And water. No carbs.”
For crying out loud. “Very nutritious. But everything in moderation, right? Nachos once a week isn’t going to ruin you. And life without nachos, you know? Why bother?”
Her sister’s smile lit up the room.
Ten minutes later, Connor set down the nachos and slid in next to Savannah, and all was as it should be. Savannah chattered happily about gym class and baseball (they were Yankees fans, of course). Connor let her come into the kitchen and drizzle sauce on the cheesecake desserts that were flying out of the kitchen, and Colleen let her take orders. All the regulars loved Savannah.
When Gail arrived to pick her up, she gave the girl a hug, then inspected the salsa stain on her shirt, shooting Colleen a dirty look.
“Nachos,” Colleen said. “It’s our girls’ night tradition.”
“Mmm,” Gail said. “Well. Good night.” Savannah waved, grinning.
So, yes. There was a personal parallel between her sister and Colleen’s other mission tonight: Paulie Petrosinsky and Bryce Campbell, Step One.
Like Savannah, Paulie lacked certain attributes deemed important by some. But it didn’t mean Savannah and Paulie were any less deserving of true love with the man of their dreams (though, yes, Savannah would have to wait quite a few years for that, thank you very much). Tonight’s mission: get Paulie on Bryce’s radar.
Speaking of Paulie, in she came, wrapped in what appeared to be a dirty sheet that went past her knees. Colleen had said “soft” and “feminine” and “bright” when Paulie asked what to wear. Not “gray.” She hadn’t said the word gray once. The word sheet had also not been mentioned.
“How do I look?” Paulie asked. “The salesman said these worked on every figure so I bought six of them.”
Colleen grabbed Paulie’s arm and hustled her into the office in the back. “Get out, Connor. Wardrobe emergency.”
“Then I should stay, don’t you think?” he asked, not even looking up from the computer, where he was doing God knows what.
“Is something the matter?” Paulie asked. “Crap. You know what? This isn’t gonna work. I think I’ll go home.”
“No, you’re not, no you’re not,” Colleen said. “Courage, my friend. Just let me fix your hair a little, okay? We’re going for a soft, gamine look, and you used just a little too much product.” Ow. Paulie’s hair was stiff with gel. Colleen broke through and tousled it a bit for a slight improvement. “Let’s ditch this, uh...this sweater, is it?” Colleen plucked at the gray fabric that swathed Paulie’s muscular figure.
“No! It’s a multi-look sweater,” Paulie said, clutching it closed. “I have six of them.”
“So you said.”
Paulie’s face was bright red, so Colleen reached across Connor to grab a folder and began fanning her, smiling encouragingly. “That’s fine. The sweater can stay. It’s...it’s an interesting piece.” Confidence, she well knew, was the key to true beauty.
“You can wear it seventeen different ways,” Paulie said. “Like this, my favorite, just sort of flowing—” And it did flow, almost all the way to the floor, since Paulie was about five-one. “And then you can take the ends and wrap it around your neck—”
“Why would you do that?” Colleen said. “To hang yourself?”
“And then you can make it even into a dress, see, like this. Or a scarf. Even a skirt.”
“‘It’s a sock, it’s a sheet, it’s a bicycle seat,’” Connor said in a singsong voice. “Remember that, Coll? The Lorax? What was that thing they made from the Truffula trees?”
“A Thneed,” Colleen said. “Here. Let me drape it...um...great. There!” Okay, it was a weird sweater, but if Paulie thought she looked good in it....
“It hides a lot of flaws,” Paulie said.
“You don’t have flaws. You’re very strong and healthy-looking.”
“I heard you can bench-press two twenty-five,” Connor said, earning a kick from Colleen.
“True,” Paulie said proudly.
“And that’s great,” Colleen said. “But tonight, let’s focus on femininity. No, don’t panic. We’re just planting the seeds, that’s all. Just planting seeds.”
“Or Thneeds,” Connor said.
“Shut it, Connor. Why are you still here, anyway? Go cook something.”
He obeyed (finally).
“No need to be nervous, Paulie,” she said more gently. “You’ve known Bryce for aeons—”
“Tell me about it,” she muttered, her face going blotchy.
“—and he already likes you.”
“He likes everyone.”
True. Bryce didn’t have a mean bone in his body. Or an ugly bone, either. Which was why women launched themselves at him like hypersonic missiles.
“Now tonight,” Colleen said, “you just want to get his attention, okay? As a woman, not as his buddy. Don’t talk about sports, don’t mention how much you can bench-press. Just say something like, ‘Oh, hey, Bryce! You look really handsome tonight.’”
From Paulie came the sounds of a dry heave.
“Now, now,” Colleen said. “It’s gonna be fine. Bryce is handsome. We all know that. So you just remind him that you’re here and female and fabulous. I want you to just brush against his arm, like this, just a little swoop of the breast, okay? A breast-swoop.” She demonstrated, pressing the girls lightly against Paulie’s shoulder.
“You smell great,” Paulie said.
“That would be a perfect thing to tell him.”
“No, I meant you. You smell really nice.”
Colleen paused. “Thanks. Now take a deep breath.” She looked down at Paulie’s kind, flushed face. “This is just the shark-bump test. Just to bring you onto his radar.”
“Got it. Shark. Radar.” She was hyperventilating.
“Breathe in for four, hold for four, exhale for four, that’s a girl. I know Bryce’s usual type, and guess what? They’re not right for him, are they, or else he’d be married right now. Just imagine that he’s been waiting for you all his life.”
“No need to sell it that hard, Coll.”
“It’s called confidence.” She squeezed Paulie’s hard shoulders. “I’ll be right behind the bar.”
“What if I screw up? What if he laughs at me? What if I puke and—”
“Calm down. Remember, you’re smart, you’re an executive at a successful company, you have what, an MBA? Everyone likes you, Paulie. Bryce just needs a little...strategy, and he’ll see you for the amazing person you are. And if you really love him, he’s worth the effort, right?”
“Yeah. He is.” Paulie stood up a little straighter.
“So let’s go. I hate to be cliché, but I want you drinking a martini or a mojito. No more Genesee.”
“Feminine, fabulous, martini, mojito.”
“Perfect. And next time, wear a girly color. Not gray.”
“It’s fog.”
“It’s gray, Paulie. You came to me, remember? I’m the expert. So no Thneed next time.”
Paulie cracked her neck. “What if—just putting this out there—what if I panic?”
“Um...I’ll give you a sign.”
“Really? That would be so great, Colleen!”
“I’ll do this. See?” She tossed her hair back in the time-honored fertility gesture women used to get men to notice how shiny they were. “Hair flip equals abort, abort. You pretend your phone is ringing and you just step away. Okay?”
“Roger that.”
Colleen took the shorter woman by the shoulders. “You’re special, and he’d be lucky to have you.”
Paulie smiled, even if her breathing was labored. She really did have a sweet smile. “Okay. Thanks, Coll. If you say so.”
“I do. Now get out there and make me proud. Don’t forget your lines.”
“Hi, Bryce, you smell so hot.”
“No, no, we don’t want him to think he smells like meat on a grill. It’s, ‘Hi, Bryce! Don’t you look handsome tonight.’”
