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Hold on. Hang on, it’s coming, the thing that will explain this. Yep, here it is.
He doesn’t love you.
No, no, of course he does.
You’re the one who wanted to get married. He wanted to wait. Wait for something better, apparently. You were too easy. Too obvious.
Colleen cleared her throat. “I guess I’m just like my mother, then. I hear what I want to hear. See what I want to see.”
“I’m sorry.”
She wanted to slap his face, but she seemed to be paralyzed.Get out of here,Connor’s voice instructed, so she turned and walked away, the grass soft, crinkling under her bare feet.
The tears wouldn’t come, jammed hard in her throat like a fist.
She walked fast, out of town. Thank God everyone was on the green. The asphalt burned her feet as she went up the Hill, past the Luces’ driveway, up to Blue Heron, into the fields, then the woods. A little down the path, and there it was, the place she and Connor had thought was the most magical place when they were little, a stream that led down to the lake, complete with small waterfall. The water was cool and gentle, balm on her dirty, burned feet.
Lucas was getting married.
What was the phrase Dad had used? Moved on. Lucas had moved on.
Wrong again. Wrong about Dad, wrong about Lucas.
And then she cried for the loss of her first love. Cried so hard it hurt, and she understood why they called it heartbreak, because it really did seem as if she was being ripped in half from the inside out.
CHAPTER TWELVE
COLLEENHADGONEto college to become a nurse. Yeah, yeah, it wasn’t what most would’ve guessed. But she’d always been good at taking care of people, she thought, and doing it in a way that didn’t make her seem condescending or irritable. Her grandfather had gone into a nursing home when Colleen was a teenager, and the staff there made Colleen want to scream sometimes. “Just lift your butt for me, hon,” one nurse said once without even waiting for Colleen to leave the room. Or even worse, “Great. Another dementia patient. Just what I needed today,” as if Gramp, who’d been an English teacher in his prime, chose to have his brain cells harden and die.
And so Colleen had started helping. Got her certificate as a nurse’s assistant when she was seventeen, volunteered and then worked at Gramp’s place. Called the patients “sir” or “ma’am,” or Mrs. Carter or Mr. Slate. Explained what she was going to do before she started, whether or not they understood her or not.
“Become a doctor,” Dad had said when she told her family of her plans. “Why be low man on the totem pole when you don’t have to be?”
She didn’t want to be a doctor.
She did graduate with a degree in biology, but by then, her family had imploded and she and Lucas were done. Their great-grandmother on Mom’s side died, and the twins inherited a pretty nice nest egg. Two weeks after Lucas slammed her with his news, Connor asked her if she wanted to buy the Black Cat, which was in foreclosure, and she said sure. Being near her twin seemed like the smartest move, and she sensed that Connor felt the same way.
They spent the summer gutting the place, and the hard work enabled Colleen to fall into a near-coma each night. The noise of saws and hammers (and the jukebox, one of their first purchases) kept other thoughts at bay. She’d be in charge of management and the bar, Connor the king of the kitchen.
And though she’d never thought she’d end up as a full-time bartender, Colleen loved it. People opened up to her; Connor said there was something about her face that made people spill their guts, and it was an honor, really. And yeah, sure, mixing drinks was kind of fun, too. Tasting wines from the local vineyards, beer from the breweries...before they’d been open six months, O’Rourke’s already had a reputation as being the place for the best spirits, best beer and best wine list. And the best nachos, too.
Dad and Gail were ensconced in their swanky new house. Mom was a wreck. Connor was clenched and angry and working sixteen hours a day. Gramp lost the ability to speak, and only Colleen seemed to be able to make him seem content. So she stayed in town, the cheerful one, the fun one. She knew everyone, liked everyone (more or less), remembered baby names and boyfriends, advised on romances, recommended people for jobs, and gave the lonely a place where someone, at least, would be a friend.
Then Savannah Joy O’Rourke was born, and it was love at first sight.
“Why are you still bartending?” Dad asked one night when Gail had gone to put the baby to bed.
“I like it,” Colleen answered. She was only here to see the baby and already had her keys in hand.
“You’re smarter than that,” he said, and the words caused a starburst of anger in her chest. His old mantra, how smart the two of them were.Guess I wasn’t smart enough to see who you really were, Dad.
“I’m half owner of a successful restaurant,” she said coolly. “And yes, a bartender. An excellent bartender.”
“I thought you were going to be a doctor,” he said.
“Wrong.”
“I wish youwerea doctor, hon,” Gail said, slapping on her doe-eyed stepmother smile. “We sure could use a pediatrician in this family! Savannah’s not even sleeping through the night yet! I get so tired out carrying her. I think she weighs half of what I do! Babe, maybe I need to start lifting weights, what do you think?” She held up her arm to be admired and fluttered her eyelashes, lest Dad forget that his wife was a Hot Young Thing, or, God forbid, have him focus his attention on his grown daughter.
