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They were barely in the door before, one by one, they started drawing him aside.
“. . . worried about Cathy. She might be doing her bulimia thing again, and . . .”
“. . . ran up my Visa . . .”
“. . . need to talk to you about Don. I know you never liked him, but . . .”
“. . . obvious that the prof hates me . . .”
“. . . if I should change jobs or . . .”
“. . . all two-year-olds are temperamental, but . . .”
“. . . give communion, and the fact that Father Francis can consecrate the host, but I can’t . . .”
In little more than an hour, they got lipstick on his T-shirt, moved his favorite chair, snooped through his private organizer, borrowed fifty bucks, and broke the carafe on his Krups coffeemaker.
God, he was glad to see them.
Two of his sisters spent the night at the Drake, two more stayed with Mary Margaret at her place in Oak Park, and two stayed with him. Since he was sleeping like crap anyway, he gave them his king-sized bed and took the guest room.
As usual, he woke up a couple of hours after he’d fallen asleep and wandered downstairs. He ended up in the living room, where he gazed out at the dead leaves and branches scattered across his small patio. He envisioned Nealy, the way she looked after they’d made love, her hair tousled, skin flushed . . .
“We’re awful, aren’t we?”
He turned and saw Ann coming downstairs. She wore a god-awful gray robe that looked like the same one she’d taken off to the convent. Her springy hair stood out in mischievous curls from her round, chubby face.
“Pretty awful,” he agreed.
“I know I shouldn’t complain to you about church politics, but the other nuns are so conservative, and—” She gave him a rueful smile. “We always do this to you, don’t we? The Jorik girls are strong, independent women until we’re around our big brother, and then we fall back into our old patterns.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Yes, you do. And I don’t blame you.”
He smiled and hugged her. What a hellion she’d been as a kid. So much like Lucy . . . Pain shot through him.
“What’s wrong, Mat?”
“Why do you think anything’s wrong?”
“Because you should be on top of the world, and you’re not. You were part of the biggest human-interest story of the year. Everybody in the country knows who you are. You’ve got your job back, and you’ve had offers from the best papers and newsmagazines in the country. Everything you’ve wanted has happened. But you don’t seem happy.”
“I’m happy. Really. Now tell me about Father Francis. What did he do to piss you off?”
She took the bait, which spared him from trying to tell her what he didn’t want to explain—that he’d finally gotten exactly what he wanted out of life, and he hated every minute of it.
Instead of playing ice hockey, he wanted to go on a picnic. Instead of heading for the United Center, he wanted to put a baby girl in a sandbox and throw a Frisbee with her big sister. Instead of dating any of the women who kept coming on to him, he wanted to wrap his arms around a sweet, stubborn First Lady with eyes as blue as an American sky.
A sweet, stubborn First Lady who’d run off with his damn family!
Ann finally stopped talking. “Okay, buddy, I’ve given you some breathing room. Now it’s time to ’fess up. What’s going on?”
The cork he’d shoved so tightly into his self-awareness finally popped. “I’ve screwed up, that’s what.” He started to glower at his sister, but all the fight had run out of him. “I’m in love with Nealy Case.”
22
HE WAS IN love! Mat felt as if he’d taken a hockey puck right to the head. Of all the jerk-off, lame-brained, self-defeating things he’d ever done, taking this long to figure out he loved Nealy was the worst.
