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“But not for you.”
He couldn’t deny that. Or maybe he could. If he hadn’t left New Orleans, he wouldn’t have picked up a camera and taken the chance on a new career. Never would have seen the beauty of the Hill Country in Texas or tasted Angela Vera’s tamales or climbed through the canyons of New Mexico. His life would have been lesser if he’d stayed in New Orleans with a woman who didn’t love him. “I’ve made a life I’m proud of.”
“Your pictures?”
“That and I have a home, a place where I belong.”
“But no family.”
He didn’t have words for her. He had his parents, but rarely saw them. An occasional cousin passed through, and he had an aunt and uncle who sent him cards on his birthday. But he’d never been lonely. Not really. “Get some rest, take care of Ben, and call tomorrow. The kids will want to know their father is okay.”
“Not yet. Ben’s better tonight, but the doctors are cautiously optimistic. It’s the cautious part that scares me.”
“But soon.”
“Soon.”
Lucas hung up and turned out the lights downstairs before trudging up to the bedroom his brother shared with Courtney. When he’d first arrived, he’d balked at sleeping in their bed. Didn’t sit right with him. But there were no other beds to be had, and Lucas’s frame didn’t fit on the sofa. So he slept in their bed.
He tried not to think about the irony of lying where they’d made love, made the family that should have been his.
But he was a practical man. Mostly. So he sucked it up and placed his head on their pillows, trying not to think about how much it bothered him.
Of course, Lucas didn’t love Courtney anymore. Maybe he never did. She’d been his shadow during his childhood and then suddenly she was beside him. It was a natural progression, almost comfortable, to concede spending the rest of his life with her.
As he tugged off his clothes, he looked hard at the room his brother and sister-in-law shared. A collection of photos of their children cluttered the simple oak dresser. Hand-painted pictures drawn with little fingers were framed on the wall. Worn quilts he recognized from his mother’s house. The gun cabinet, holding his great grandfather’s rifle, locked and sitting in a corner. A rocking chair to nurse babies. All these things represented a life built between a husband and wife.
And then there was the canvas framed in simple silver stretching across nearly an entire wall.Sunset at Havasu Falls.He’d taken it the year after he’d graduated from art school. Rich orange and sunbaked yellow stretched by the shadows of the canyon where the clear waters poured into blue depths. It was an original piece sold in his gallery in Manhattan. Probably cost at least ten grand. Not an easy sum for an insurance salesman/National Guardsman and a realtor with three kids and a hefty mortgage.
Lucas snapped off the bedside table lamp and slid beneath the sheets, determined to shut his mind off and not think about the resentment he still held against him or the trembling in his gut when he thought about facing Ben again. Nor did he want to think about Addy and her silky hair and reticent smile and the fact she skirted around something more with him.
He wanted to think about nothing.
Darkness and quiet.
And then he heard footsteps… and a horrible noise.
He’d heard the same noise days ago when Charlotte had tossed her cookies in Addy’s flowerbed.
Dear Lord, no.
When Friday morning arrived, Lucas rolled over and blinked at the alarm clock. 6:00 am. He pressed the snooze and contemplated going back to sleep, but then thought better of it and struggled from the bed, marveling he’d actually been able to sleep the whole night through.
Tuesday night after Lucas had switched the lamp off preparing to block his mind and catch some zzzs, Chris had thrown up all over the hall floor. Then he’d been up all night sick. When morning had come, Michael joined his brother, clinging to the porcelain throne between the boys’ bedrooms.
The stomach virus had arrived for a spring visit.
Wednesday evening Charlotte started throwing up and the misery had lasted until Thursday night.
Lucas had never prepared for anything like three sick children, especially ones apt to launch their stomach contents all over carpet, bedding and, once, the cat. Mean Mittens probably deserved it, but Lucas hadn’t deserved having to bath a cat. Hadn’t been pretty.
He’d found cleaning solution and had done his best to clean the carpets. Washing quilts and comforters was a new challenge but he managed, and Addy was nice enough to go out for ginger ale and disinfecting spray, delivering it to the back door with a comforting pat.
“You want me to help with the kids?”
“No, I’m doing okay. No need for you to be exposed to the sickness.”
“So what do you think about this weekend? I can take the whole day Saturday.”
