“Really. Why?”

“Because, Colleen,” he said irritably, not looking at her, “I’m trying to be a better father.”

“How nice. I accept expensive gifts. Cars, for example. Islands.”

“Can you be serious?” He sighed and ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “Look. I thought I was a pretty good father, up until the divorce.”

“Up until the cheating, you mean.”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

“You ever hear that expression? The best thing a man can do for his children is love their mother?”

“No. But let me finish, okay?” He fixed her with a look. “I was always very proud of you and Connor. You were good kids. Smart and funny. I guess I didn’t show that enough.”

“True.”

“It was hard to know how to deal with you after the divorce. I was afraid you’d cut me out of your life completely, so I tried to get ready for that. Connor did it right away, and I was steeling myself for losing you.”

Much to Colleen’s shock, her father’s voice broke.

“I know I disappointed you, Collie. I didn’t know how to deal with it. Gail was pregnant, and I had to focus on that.” He bowed his head. “I was always grateful that you took to Savannah. Babysat her and all that. I got to see you that way.”

“Dad...” She cleared her throat. “You can see me other ways, too. We can have lunch and go for a run and that kind of thing.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Connor...he still can’t tolerate me.” Her father’s eyes filled with tears.

Colleen reached out for her father’s hand. “Keep trying,” she said.

“I’m very proud of you two. I really am.”

“Thank you.”

Her poor father. Yep. Poor Dad. Emotionally strangled by testosterone and trying to be fabulous.

Nice that he’d been force-fed a dose of humility, and by Mom of all people.

“Want some ice cream?” she asked. “You can stay for the movie, too.”

He gave her a grateful look. “Don’t mind if I do.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

THREE WEEKS BACK in Chicago, and Lucas was still edgy and irritable. Sitting at his computer in the apartment he’d lived in since the divorce wasn’t as rewarding as he’d imagined it would be. His desk was impressive, his Mac expensive, his chair comfortable. The apartment was immaculate, thanks to the cleaning lady who came in once a week.

But aside from the photos of his nieces and a few of their drawings on the fridge, the place was...soulless, and Lucas wondered how he’d missed that. The furniture was fine, the walls were off-white, the kitchen counters were granite. Everything was new and still rather shiny.

Not like the opera house apartment, with its hundred-year-old floors and the smell of bread from Lorelei’s Sunrise Bakery. And not like Colleen’s old Victorian with the tall, narrow windows and crotch-sniffing dog. And red couch. And soft bed.

Yeah. No. Best not to think those thoughts.

He’d left Forbes Properties for good; the only thing left was the building dedication, and who really cared about that stuff? Lucas was proud of the building and how smoothly it had gone up, but he wasn’t the architect, and he wasn’t the owner. He’d always love the Forbes family; he’d always stay in touch, but his time was over.

Steph would be working for his new company, which would finally get his full attention now. He’d already been approached about general contracting a senior housing development and a corporate headquarters on the outskirts of town.

But it wasn’t what he really wanted to do. He wanted, simply, to build houses for regular people. Steph rolled her eyes at this because of course the big money was in bigger properties—strip malls and shopping centers. But strip malls wouldn’t be the kind of thing he would proudly point out to a future son or daughter and say, “See that Dunkin’ Donuts and the Supercuts? Daddy built that.”

Not that he was going to be a father anytime soon.

The image of the meadow back in Manningsport kept inserting itself into his brain, usually around two in the morning. Where the porch would face, the way the deer would wander through the yard. How he could build a slate patio in the back so sitting out there, you’d hear the sound of the river that led to Keuka. The maple tree that would be perfect for a swing.

There was no meadow on a hill in this area; there was only flatness. And heat. Two months away, and the heat of the Midwest got baked into him like never before, and he found himself thinking about the nights in New York when it had been cold enough to sleep with a blanket to keep you warm.

Or a woman.

Or a woman and her dog, more accurately.

And then thoughts of Bryce and her would slice through that pretty image.

His buzzer rang, and Lucas got up from the computer. Crap, it was already dark, and he still hadn’t eaten. “Hello,” he said in the intercom.

“Hey! It’s Bryce.”

Speak of the devil. “Come on up.”

Lucas hadn’t heard much from him since the funeral, other than his shock that he was now a wealthy man. If he was smart (and Lucas intended to make sure he would be), Joe’s money could keep Bryce modestly comfortable for life.

He opened the door, and there was his cousin.

“What’s up, bro?” Bryce said, hugging him.

Bryce had brought a six-pack, which was a first. “Sorry I didn’t call. I wanted to see you. Just jumped in the car and drove to the airport, grabbed a cab here.”

“That’s fine,” he said. “How are things?”

They ordered a pizza (“Nothing like Chicago pie,” Bryce said happily) and opened a couple beers. Lucas listened as Bryce told him his plans for the future; he was getting his personal trainer’s license and was thinking about possibly opening a women-only gym (which would be a frickin’ gold mine, let’s be honest). Still washing dogs and finding them homes. He and Paulie were still together, really happy, having lots of fun. Didi was back in Manningsport and kind of a pain, always dropping by unannounced, but Bryce hadn’t given her a key, so at least she couldn’t come barging into his place at the opera house.

“Sounds like things are good,” Lucas said, clearing their plates.

“Yeah, so I might need you to free up some money from my trust fund,” Bryce said. “For the gym. I’m working on getting a business plan. Paulie and her dad are helping me, and you’re smart about that stuff. Maybe you could take a look?”

“You bet,” Lucas said.

“Thanks.” His cousin paused. “So about...you know. Colleen. You over that, dude?”

Lucas looked at his beer and didn’t answer for a minute. “Did it ever occur to you that...” He broke off. That I loved her, he’d been about to say.

Bryce gave a sad smile. “Yeah. It occurred to me. But you were gone and married and living the life, right? And Colleen and I were still in Manningsport, and the thing was, I always liked her, from high school on. I mean, I’m a straight guy. Straight guys love Colleen. Gay guys, too, probably.”

“So you had no problem taking her to bed.”

Bryce sat back in the leather chair and looked at him. “You ever wonder what it was like to be your cousin? You were the smart one. The cool one. You were from the South Side, and that was all my dad ever talked about, the good old days, life in Chicago. I was some spoiled kid from the ’burbs.”

“My life wasn’t really that great, Bryce. Mother dead, father in prison, remember?”

“And still you were better at everything. I don’t know if you remember that first day of school in Manningsport, walking into that classroom. And there was the prettiest girl in town, and she was staring at you like she’d been blind up until that second.”

Lucas remembered, all right.

“She was the one mistake you made, wasn’t she? Leaving her, marrying Ellen?”

He didn’t answer.

“So yeah,” Bryce said. “I hooked up with her, but to be honest, I have no idea why she hooked up with me. Even then, it was pretty obvious she was still hung up on you. She just looked so lonely that night.”

The thought made his chest hurt. Colleen, who was always so bright and smiling—lonely, even with her twin, her friends, her sister. Lonely, because he made her that way.

His eyes stung suddenly.

“I’m sorry I did it,” Bryce said, and his voice was gentle. “I took advantage of her being sad. I think I just wanted to see what it’d be like to be you, just for a little while. Obviously, it didn’t work.”

Lucas looked at him, the cousin who’d always looked up to him, who’d always wanted what he had.

The cousin who had risked his life to save him, that day on the tracks.

“Are we okay, Lucas?” Bryce asked.

Lucas got up from the couch and hugged him. “Yeah. We’re fine.”

“Good. Because there’s another reason I’m here.” He reached into his backpack, pulled out a small box and handed it to Lucas. “This is for you.”

Lucas opened it.

It was Joe’s silver pocket watch. The Civil War watch, handed from father to son for five generations now.

Warm and heavy in his hand, the watch’s curling design was faint but still legible. Lucas opened it. The numbers were elaborate and old-fashioned.

On the inside of the cover, the engraving read To My Cherished Son from Your Loving Father.

“This is your watch, Bryce,” Lucas said, clearing his throat. Could his cousin honestly not want this? “It’s been passed down from father to son since the 1860s.”

Bryce pulled a piece of paper from his knapsack and handed it over. “About halfway down.”

Lucas took the paper, the sight of Joe’s blocky handwriting giving him a pang.

Lucas won’t need anything, but take care of him anyway. I want him to have the Civil War watch, Bryce. I hope you don’t mind, but he deserves it. He’s always been such a good son to me, and a wonderful brother to you.

Make sure you stay close with him. I always missed my own brother so much. Picture me with your uncle Dan, okay, son?

There was more, but Lucas couldn’t see it, because suddenly his eyes were full of tears.

Maybe Joe hadn’t sent him out of the room because he hadn’t wanted him there. Maybe Bryce just needed to get his father’s final blessing, when Lucas had had it all along.

* * *

LUCAS AND STEPHANIE took Bryce out for breakfast the next day at Lula’s, then put him in a cab to the airport.

“I love that idiot,” Stephanie said. “Granted, I couldn’t spend more than a day with him, but he’s sweet. Gorgeous, too. Man! We have an amazing gene pool, us Campbells.”

“Yeah,” he agreed.

His sister fixed him with an irritated stare. “What’s the matter? You look like the dog died, and you don’t even have a dog. This is about Colleen, isn’t it? So she screwed Bryce. Get over it.”

“It’s not just that.”

“Oh, God. You men. You irritate me. I’m so glad I’m a lesbian.”

“Are you?”

“I could be. By the way, I hate to tell you this, but I’m staying with Forbes. Frank doubled my salary and gave me a promotion. Sayonara, sonny.”

He threw up his hands. “Wow. Thanks, Steph. Family loyalty and all that.”

“Please. I’m a single mother.”

“Yes, I vaguely remember.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know how Frank is. The job offer includes college tuition for the girls and a month of vacation to start. I already have the Rolls Royce health benefits, that freaking amazing gym, and now a wardrobe allowance at Bergdorf. You can’t do that for me, youngster.”

“Mom and Dad would be extremely disappointed in you, you materialistic monster.”

“Talk to the hand. The face is planning to take the girls to St. Croix.” She folded her arms. “Besides, you don’t want me working for you. I’d take over in about half an hour.”

“True.”

“And now you’re free to leave and go back to Manningsport.”

He hesitated. “I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because (a) I hate it there, and (b) you’re here. You and the girls.”

“Well, (a) you’re insane, because that place is f**king paradise, not to mention much better weather, and (b) have they not invented phones? FaceTime? Skype? Planes? Trains? Automobiles?”

“I see you’ll really miss me.”

She hugged him hard. “Get out of town, Lucas. Go get married and make me an aunt, for crying out loud. I gotta run. Chloe has a half day. Love you, bye, sorry I took a better offer, call me from New York.” She pecked him on the cheek. “Oh, by the way, I thought of your new slogan.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Campbell Construction—It’s Time to Come Home.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

ANOTHER FRIDAY NIGHT happy hour at O’Rourke’s, and Colleen was doing her thing. Con was in the kitchen. They’d already sold out of the tuna tacos. The Hollands took up two tables, and the fire department was having another of their “meetings,” which seemed to involve a contest for the filthiest joke involving a hose or a pole or both. Jessica Dunn was ahead by a mile.

Connor had broken up with his mystery woman. He wasn’t heartbroken, and Colleen once again had high hopes for Jess. Even now, Connor was giving her the eye. About time he listened to his sister.

Mother Dear was on a date in the back of the pub (drinking her disgusting white Zin and 7-Up) and discussing art with Ronnie Petrosinsky. Poultry art, specifically, though Mom was still extolling the thrill of painting nudes. Savannah had just left with Gail; Gail was debating whether or not to take Dad back.