“I want her to be...” Gail’s voice trailed off.
“Pretty?” Colleen said.
“She is pretty! It’s not that. I want her to...belong. To be popular and happy and fit in. She’s overweight, Colleen, and you and Connor stuffing her full of nachos and pie and cheeseburgers doesn’t help. It just makes me the bad guy. Do you know the statistics on childhood obesity?”
Colleen felt a stab of guilt. “She’s not obese, Gail. She’s chubby.”
“Ten more pounds and she’s medically obese, according to her doctor,” Gail whispered vehemently. “You like to think of me as the evil stepmother, and you do it very well, but the truth is, I’m trying to keep my daughter healthy. I broil her fish and make her salads and take her for hikes and walks. We don’t all have your metabolism.”
“But you can’t make her into your image, Gail. She’s her own person.”
“I know that! I’ve taken her to gymnastics and tap and karate, and the only thing she likes is baseball, which isn’t exactly an aerobic sport. Cheerleading would get her moving, at least.” She grabbed another cookie. “And now she’s stress-eating. And so am I. These are fantastic.” Gail gave a muffled sob, spewing crumbs, and tears spilled over.
Colleen handed Gail a napkin and took out the next batch of cookies, moving slowly. Okay, yeah. Savannah was overweight, and maybe a little more than just chubby. And Colleen did like to spoil her with the food she never got at home (and so did Connor). Taking her for a swim now and again might be a better way to spend time with their sister, instead of just movies and popcorn and Milk Duds (though if you couldn’t have Milk Duds once in a while, what was the point of living?).
Still, she wasn’t used to being wrong. It was an itchy feeling.
“What can I do to help, Gail?” she asked as Gail polished off the last cookie.
Gail didn’t look at her, only folded up her napkin into a tiny square. “Maybe you could just...put in a good word about me once in a while. With Savannah. I don’t want her to feel like there are battle lines, the O’Rourkes on one side, and me on the other.”
Shit. That was exactly how it had always been, after all. Not that Gail had helped the cause, but still. Connor and Colleen had never befriended the Tail and never wanted to.
Maybe Gail had always clung to Dad not just to prove she was the hottest thing on earth, but because she didn’t have anyone else. And Colleen Margaret Mary O’Rourke, famed for being friends with every living creature in Manningsport, had never once offered friendship.
Colleen cleared her throat. “You bet. You know how much I love Savannah. I’ll make sure she doesn’t feel caught in the middle.” She paused. “And I’ll make sure we throw some vegetables her way, too.”
“Thanks.” Gail wiped her eyes and looked down at the table.
“But let her stay in baseball. She’s so good, Gail. She’s scholarship good. Drop the cheerleading—I’ll take her to kickboxing with me. Maybe Tom Barlow will let her join his boxing club, even though it’s for high school kids. I’ll talk to him.”
“I appreciate that,” Gail whispered. “Can I have more of these?” She pointed to the empty plate.
“Coming up,” Colleen said.
Yep. Savannah’s mother needed a friend, and even though it went against God and nature, Colleen was going to be that friend.
BUSINESS AT O’ROURKE’S was freakishly slow that night, and thank God for it because it had been mobbed for the past two months. Everyone needed a break. Colleen sent Monica home, put Annie behind the bar to serve the four people there, and poked her head in the kitchen. Her brother was cleaning the grill.
“Close up, brother mine,” she said. “And then come join the girls and me so we don’t have to talk about you behind your back.”
Faith, her sister Pru and Emmaline Neal were sitting at the Girls Night Out table, and Levi and Jeremy Lyon were in a booth, nursing beers, though Levi kept shooting his wife those hot sleepy looks of his.
“Levi, enough!” Colleen called. “The testosterone is choking me, okay? No wonder Faithie’s knocked up. Jeremy, can’t you distract him?”
“I’ll do my best, Coll,” Jeremy said.
“You should try working with him,” Emmaline said. “He calls her constantly. ‘How you feeling, babe? You need anything, sweetheart?’ It sickens me.” She smiled at Faith, then looked over at Levi. “You’re a horrible boss,” she added.
“Then quit,” he answered easily. “Jeremy would hire you in a heartbeat.”
“That’s true, Emmaline,” Jer said. “I pay better, too.”
“But can I carry a gun in a doctor’s office?” she asked.
“It does tend to send the wrong message,” Jeremy said.
“And speaking of love,” Faith said.
“Oh, are we gonna talk about Carl and me?” Prudence asked. “I have to say, doing it in a car was a lot more awkward than I remembered. My back started to spasm when he—”
Faith put her hand over her sister’s mouth.
“When he what?” Colleen asked.
“Don’t answer,” Faith said. “I wanted to talk about Paulie. What happened with her and Bryce, Colleen?”
Colleen sighed. “One of my rare failures.”
“Bryce Campbell?” Jessica asked.
“Yeah.”
“He’s kind of a slut, isn’t he?” Emmaline said.
“Yep.”
“Poor Paulie,” Faith said. “She’s so nice.” She sighed. “Well, how are things with you and Lucas, Coll?”
“Let’s talk about Connor instead, how’s that? Does anyone know who he’s seeing? Other than his blow-up doll?”
“I’m right here,” Connor said.
“Really. What a shock.” At that moment, her phone rang. She looked at it. “It’s Lucas. I’m going to make him wait because I’m just not the type to throw over my friends for a guy— Con, where are you going?”
“I’m leaving. I have to call my mystery woman.”
“I’m tapping your phone.
“I have to go, too,” Emmaline said. “Ink Wars is on. See you around.”
“Me, too,” Prudence said. “It’s RPG night at the Vanderbeek household. Abby’s sleeping over at Helena’s house, thank God.”
“What’s RPG?” Faith asked.
“Role playing game,” Pru said blithely. “Professor Snape and McGonagall.” She gave a lurid wink.
“Harry Potter? You’re ruining Harry Potter?” Faith yelped. “Is nothing sacred anymore?”
“Not ruining anything,” Pru said. “Enhancing.”
“I just threw up in my mouth,” Faith said.
“Have fun, Pru,” Colleen said as Pru, married for twenty-some-odd years, sauntered off. “You have to admire the creativity,” she added.
“I admire nothing,” Faith said. “So. You and Lucas. Spill. Why didn’t you take his call?”
“I’m mad at him.”
“Why?”
Colleen didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I just...I wonder if we’re only sleeping together because we’re in the same town. Because it’s convenient. His ex-wife’s in town, and I understand that she was part of his family for years, and he was part of hers, but I’m still seething with jealousy. Oh, and she’s engaged and pregnant, but she and Lucas are still best friends forever, apparently. She’s staying at his apartment.”
“Oh, dear,” Faith said.
“Exactly. That’s bad, right?”
“No, I was just murmuring over the seething part.” She paused. “Why is she staying with him?”
“Because the Black Swan double-booked.”
“Oh, yeah. They did that in January, when Liza and Mike came out for the wedding, remember? Anyway.” She took a sip of water. “Is he staying here after Joe...passes away?”
“No.” The thought of him leaving made her throat clamp shut.
“Would you move to—”
“No.” She took a shaky breath. “Not that he’s asked. I mean, we haven’t talked about it, because...well, shit, Faith, I don’t know. I’m afraid. The truth is, I’m ridiculously inexperienced with serious relationships. Tell me what to do.”
“Me? I’ve had two relationships, and they’re sitting in that booth over there.”
“Well, what do I know?” Colleen whispered. “I’m the queen of flirting but I haven’t had a boyfriend in years. I’ve fixed up dozens of people, and I give out advice like Dr. Phil, and what has that ever gotten me? I’m thirty-one years old, I’ve been in love once, and I’m utterly terrified that Lucas is going to break my heart, same as last time.”
And much to her surprise, Colleen burst into tears.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“UNCLE JOE, YOU handsome devil.” Stephanie bent down and gave Joe a big hug, then kissed his cheek and wiped off the red lip imprint. “Girls, remember Uncle Joe?”
The older girls gave out hugs with good-natured duty. Chloe, on the other hand, stared him down. “I’m sorry you’re dying,” she said solemnly.
Didi looked as though she’d just stepped in a Rufus-sized pile of dog shit. Joe, on the other hand, laughed. “Thanks, honey. For a minute, I thought I’d already died, because you girls are as pretty as angels. You, too, Stephie!”
Lucas’s sister and kids—and Frank and Grace Forbes—had flown in that morning and taken a limo from the airport straight here, to the park by the lake, where you could reserve picnic areas and grills.
“Frank, Grace, I would’ve been happy to have had this at our house,” Didi simpered, shooting Lucas a death glare. “If only I’d known you were coming. Of course, our place is nothing like yours, but we think it’s sweet, and I would’ve loved to have had you.” That hadn’t been the case when Didi thought it was just going to be the Campbells, of course, and Lucas had taken a small modicum of pleasure in denying his aunt the opportunity to kiss up to his former in-laws.
“This is perfect,” Grace said. “Ellen, honey, sit down and drink something.”
The girls ran and splashed; Lucas had bought some little balsa-wood boats at the hardware store, and in the face of good old-fashioned fun, the electronic devices were cheerfully forgotten. Didi cooed over Ellen and tried to act rich, mentioning her Coach bag and how you had to pay for nice things, of course Grace knew all about that, no, it wasn’t as if Didi and Joe were anywhere nearly as comfortable as Grace and Frank, of course not, but they did all right, not that she was bragging, but New York wasn’t a cheap place to live, and she was smart with her finances, not Forbes-smart, of course not, no, but she admired quality. Ellen caught his eye and gave the slightest grin; both she and her mother were too polite to do anything more than that.
Frank and Joe talked and laughed, Joe doing his best to act robust. He’d sleep like the dead after this.
An unfortunate choice of words.
“Get out of the way, little brother,” Stephanie said with an ungentle shove. “I always made these better than you.” She took the spatula from him and checked the foil-wrapped sandwiches he was grilling—chicken and ham and pickles, replicas of the cubanos Joe always used to get from Diego’s in the old neighborhood when he’d visit.
“Aren’t these bad for him?” Steph asked quietly.
“Yep.”
She nodded, and a tear fell onto the grill with a small hiss. “So how much time has he got?”
