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It took him a month to snap.
He took a bus to Manningsport and got there at nine-thirty that night with a massive headache from diesel fumes and the rose perfume of the old lady next to him, who hadn’t stopped talking since Terre Haute. He stood for a minute on the green, breathing in the clean air, the smell of the lake and recent rain. The town was quiet, and it took a minute for Lucas to acclimate from the roar of the Greyhound bus, the squeal of its brakes.
The Black Cat was open.
Despite thirteen hours of thinking of nothing else, Lucas suddenly wasn’t sure what he was going to say. Hopefully, when she saw him, she’d give him that smile and say, “It took you long enough, idiot,” and all was fine with the two of them, and yes, marriage now wasn’t the best idea, of course she’d wait. She loved him. And this time, he’d tell her the same thing.
Still, he hesitated, not sure if walking through the door was the best plan. From the green, he could see the bar was crowded. Probably, being May, there was some kind of wine thing in town, as there was most weekends during the spring and summer (and fall, and half of winter). Sure enough, there were plenty of out-of-state license plates on the cars parked in the street.
Maybe she wasn’t even there. Maybe he should go to her house and throw pebbles at her window, like he had the summer after high school graduation.
He’d take a look inside, see if he caught a glimpse of her.
The windows on the side of the bar showed the pool table and a little open area where people sometimes danced. And sure enough, Colleen was there, and his heart lurched so hard he staggered a little.
She was talking to some guy he didn’t recognize, and she was laughing, andGod,he’d missed her so much, he’d forgotten how beautiful she was even if he had a dozen pictures of her, and it was sostupidthat they’d gone twenty-nine days without—
Then she kissed him. The guy who made her laugh.
Really kissed.
As in,kissing.
Lucas stepped back. Kept looking, though.
The guy’s hand went to her ass.
She didn’t move it.
He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. He wanted to kill that guy, unleash his South-Side talents and go for it. Grab her by the hand and drag her out of there and remind her just who she belonged to, and yes, beg her to take him back.
She wasn’t supposed to need reminding. She loved him. So she said, anyway.
The kiss ended, thank God. Another smile. She laid her hand on his chest and said something, giving him that grin—the grin that promised so much, that Lucas had seen countless times, slightly knowing and...and...
Almost without realizing it, he was walking. Past the library. Past the other restaurant. Post office, candy store, antiques, antiques, bakery.
He wasn’t sure where he was supposed to go, really. Didi’s house was out of the question. He felt as if he’d been sliced open with a blade so sharp he was a little confused as to why his guts were spilling onto the street.Hey, where’s all this blood from? Are those intestines? That’ll leave a mark, won’t it? Band-Aid’s not gonna help that one, pal.
He spent the night on a bench in the little cemetery, a place where Colleen wouldn’t see him just in case she drove past. The sky was black, and somewhere nearby, a stream shushed gently, counting the hours as they dragged past.
The next morning, when the sky was just turning pink, he hitchhiked into Corning and caught a bus to Chicago.
He skipped his graduation ceremony the next week. Started both jobs he’d lined up for the summer. Took his nieces to the beach. Went running along Miracle Mile.
And then one day, he ran into Ellen Forbes, a classmate from college. Also a political science major, also from Chicago itself, though not a Southie, no way. A Cubs fan and everything.
He knew her, of course. Ellen was nice. One time this past year, she’d had a study group at her parents’ apartment—a two-story, massive penthouse overlooking the lake. Her parents had been away, but a maid or housekeeper set out trays of food: lobster macaroni and cheese, filet mignon sliders, Greek salad, sweet potato fries. Wine and microbrewed beer. Ellen was cool about it, neither embarrassed by her family’s wealth nor stuck-up about it. It was what it was. He mentioned that he worked on a Forbes Properties job the summer before; she said she hoped they treated him well.
She’d always seemed happy. Pleasant. Nice. They were friends, a little bit, anyway. Ate together occasionally, always with other people, too, and took a lot of the same classes. She always said hello and chatted, the kind of easy and graceful conversation he imagined they taught in finishing school, whatever that was. She was headed for law school, too, at Northwestern.
It was about a month after graduation when she came to the construction site where he was working. It was his third consecutive summer working for Forbes Properties, and there she was, talking to a silver-haired guy in a suit—Frank Forbes himself. Lucas waved.
“Hey, stranger!” she called, and he went over, wearing carpenter shorts and an aging T-shirt, hard hat in hand, and met her father.
“Daddy, this is a classmate of mine,” she said brightly. “Lucas Campbell, my father, Frank Forbes.”
“Good to meet you, son,” the man said, shaking his hand firmly.
