Waiting on You

by Kristan Higgins

  "Make-Mine-Miami Cuban Spice."

  Paulie's bedroom was a Maxfield Parrish-blue, deep and poignant. A dressing room bigger than Colleen's entire bedroom, filled with clothes.

  "Yeah, I don't wear much of this," Paulie said. "If you see something you want, take it. You know me. I mostly wear gym clothes." She was, in fact, now clad in spandex shorts that showed her ripped muscles in great detail, and a Cabrera's Boxing T-shirt.

  "You shouldn't. You have a great figure. Very girl-power strong. Here. Put this on. My God, it's Armani! Hello, gorgeous! Dog, don't chew on that," she added as one of Paulie's rescue dogs, this one looking like a dirty mop, began gnawing on a boot.

  A few minutes later, Paulie frowned at her reflection.

  "See how it hugs you here?" Colleen asked. "You look taller and leaner."

  "These shoes are killing me."

  "Offer it up to God. And this belt is funky and young and surprising. You look incredible!"

  "Are you sure? I feel weird."

  "It's just an adjustment, trust me. Where'd you get all these clothes, anyway?"

  "My dad. He does a lot of online shopping."

  "He's single, right?" Colleen asked. Hey. If she was going to have a sugar daddy, she was going to have one who bought Armani.

  "Yeah. Ever since Mom left, you know."

  Colleen squeezed her hand. "Okay, so on to Operation Flat Tire. This is how it's gonna go."

  "Oh, God. Will this really work?"

  "Of course!"

  The plan was simple. Bryce was home, a little benign stalking had shown. Joe was at dialysis, Evil Didi was at work. Lucas--not that she was thinking about him too much (pause for laughter)--was out at the public safety building, according to Levi, who'd come to the bar for lunch just half an hour ago.

  "So," Colleen said. "You get a flat tire, and heck, what's this? You're right in front of Bryce's house, and Bryce is home! What do you do?"

  "Change the tire."

  "No, Paulina. You don't change the tire." The pug barked, backing her up.

  "Why?"

  "Because Bryce is going to change the tire."

  Paulie frowned. "Oh."

  "You're going to be all feminine and helpless."

  "But I know how to change a tire."

  Colleen suppressed a sigh. "And that's great, Paulie. But today, Bryce gets to change the tire and help you, and feel very manly and smart, because men like to be tricked into thinking they're in control."

  "Oh. Got it." Her face started its amazing sunrise impression.

  "No panicking. Just do what I say, and Bryce and you can have a nice conversation."

  "What should I say? I feel a little sick. Do I really have to talk to him? Damn it, this stupid deodorant is supposedly extra strength and it's doing squat. Oh, I hate being in love!"

  "We all do at certain times, Paulie."

  Paulie threw herself down on her giant bed and covered her eyes with her hands. One of her cats jumped up and began kneading her thigh. "I can barely think about talking to him, let alone actually talk to him. What if I hurt him again?"

  Colleen pondered. "You know what would be great?" she said. "If I could somehow feed you lines. Like Cyrano and Christian. You have a Bluetooth, right?"

  Ten minutes later, Colleen pulled around the corner from Bryce's house, Paulie's adorable little Porsche purring behind her. Craftily, feeling a bit like Bond, James Bond, Colleen parked and got out, approaching Paulie's car.

  "Okay, babe, this is where you get a flat," she said. She opened up her Swiss Army knife and stabbed Paulie's tire.

  "Hey!"

  "Relax. Now just drive really slow to Bryce's house, then park, get out and stare at the car, helpless and feminine. That's your job--to appear helpless and feminine, helpless and feminine. Also, mention that you're throwing a party and you'd love for him to come. Now go. Into the car. Drive on, little sparrow!"

  With a dubious look, Paulie obeyed. "Can you hear me?" Colleen said into her phone when Paulie was almost there.

  "Yeah. Colleen, I don't feel so good." She made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a dry heave.

  "You're doing great," Colleen said in her most reassuring tone, the same one that got people who overindulged to hand over their keys. "Okay, stop. That's his house."

  "I know. I've probably driven by a thousand times."

  Colleen's heart tugged. "This will work, Paulie. Just try to relax and enjoy it."

  From where she stood, Colleen could see her client pull over. This ploy, while definitely on the points-for-difficulty end of what Colleen usually recommended, had worked on her cousin Monica just last year, when Monica had a "bike accident" in front of Fox Den Vineyard. Monica was now married to the Fox Den heir, thank you very much. Colleen had been a bridesmaid, her tenth such gig.

  Paulie got out of the car.

  "Walk slowly around the car, looking at the tires," Colleen ordered. "He'll be out any second." She glanced at the house. The day was the best of June, bright and lilac-scented. "Okay, squat down and take a look at the tire. Oh, dear, what's this? It's flat!"

  "Of course it's flat," Paulie said. "You stabbed it."

  "I know, but pretend to be surprised and dismayed."

  Paulie hesitated, then bent down. "Oh, shit!" she bellowed. "My tire's flat! What will I do?"

  Colleen bobbled her phone. "Down, girl," she said. "Easy on the melodrama, and the volume. You don't want just anyone coming along. And try not to swear."

  "Shit, I forgot about that. Okay."

  They waited. No one came out of the house.

  "He's not home," Paulie whispered.

  "His car is in the driveway," Colleen said. "He's probably watching TV or something. Hang on, I'll get his attention."

  She picked up a handful of pebbles and walked toward the house, sticking close to the shade from the neighbor's wide maples. There was a thick hedge of lilacs against the eastern side of the Campbells' place, and she eased into it, the clean, perfect smell of the flowers giving her a contact high.

  Bryce lived in the basement, she knew. Didi had made it into a full-scale apartment for her baby boy not long after he dropped out of college.

  She threw a pebble. Thanks to thousands of games of darts she'd played over the years, she hit the window on the first try, a satisfying tick against the glass. "Places, everyone," she whispered into the phone. "He should be out soon."

  A mockingbird called from a tree. The wind blew, brushing a lilac bloom across Colleen's cheek. Paulie appeared to be frozen in place. "Check the tire like you're trying to figure out what the heck went wrong," Colleen whispered. "And be prepared to repeat after me, okay?" Paulie squatted obediently, her short skirt fluttering against her thighs.

  Bryce didn't come out.

  Colleen threw another pebble. Waited. Nada. Another pebble. Nothing.

  "My legs are burning," Paulie whispered. "Please let me stand up."

  "Sure, sure," Colleen said. Paulie stood, groaning, grabbed her ankle and stretched her quads.

  "Put your leg down," Colleen ordered. "You're flashing Mr. Bancroft, and he's kind of pervy as it is."

  "Hey, there, Paulie!" called Mr. Bancroft. "Got a problem?"

  "Say no," Colleen instructed.

  "No! Go away!" Paulie barked.

  "Henry! Get in the car," Mrs. Bancroft ordered. "We're already late! Paulie, what's the problem?"

  "Nothing! Nothing at all," Paulie said. "I, uh, I...I have a bladder infection and had to stop. That's all."

  Mrs. Bancroft paused, shook her head and got into the car.

  "Let's cut the improv, okay?" Colleen said as the Bancrofts drove away. "Say only what I say. Now hang on. This time, I mean business." She looked at the pebbles in her hand, selected the biggest one and threw it with slightly more gusto.

  The window shattered.

  "Shit!" she hissed.

  "Shit!" Paulie echoed.

  But the broken glass did the trick. After a second, the front door opened
, and there stood Bryce, blinking in the sunlight.

  "Oh, my God, I see him. Oh, damn it all, he's here," Paulie said, her voice strangled.

  "Calm down, calm down. Deep breath," Colleen whispered. "It's showtime. He's a nice guy, you're a nice woman."

  "Hey, Paulie," Bryce said as he loped over to Paulie's car. "Everything okay here? Our window just broke."

  Paulie inhaled audibly, her breath hitching in her throat. "Oh! Wow. Hi. Your eyes are so...so...blue."

  Colleen winced. "Stop that."

  "Stop that," echoed Paulie.

  Bryce stopped and tilted his head.

  "Paulie, relax. Just...just say hi to him."

  Another shaking breath. "Hi, Bryce!" she said loudly. "What are you doing here?"

  Bryce laughed. "I live here. How about you?"

  A squeaky groan came over the wire.

  "I threw a pebble, I guess. I think I had a blowout," Colleen whispered.

  "I threw a pebble, I guess," Paulie parroted. "I think I had a blow job." She clapped her hands over her mouth. "Out, out! I didn't mean blow job. I never had a blow job. I meant something else. Out. I had a blowout."

  "Paulie, calm down," Colleen whispered. "Jesus."

  "Jesus, calm down," Paulie said, then wiped her forehead with her arm. "Uh...I...I have a flat tire."

  "Bummer," Bryce said, not freaked out in the least by Paulie sounding as if she were possessed by a demon.

  "Can you help me change it, Bryce?" Colleen asked.

  "Can you help me change it? Bryce? Please? Please help me."

  Dear Lord. This was going to be a long afternoon.

  *

  THE PUBLIC SAFETY building, half begun and currently stalled, was in a state of chaos. First of all, every one of the three agencies--police, ambulance and fire--felt that theirs was the most important. Lucas had already changed the plans so the police department office was situated between the fire and ambulance departments, because apparently those two fought the way his twin nieces did over who got to sit in the front.

  Besides that, the ventilation had to be specialized, and the alarm system was fairly complicated. It was tricky to make such a functional building also be attractive inside and out, and the builder who'd quit hadn't tried very hard. Lucas had requested the plans, then got to work on the design. He moved the back entrance so it didn't come right into the fire department kitchen, repositioned Dispatch to the back of the building and reinforced the walls, added some windows on the eastern side so the place didn't look like a crematorium. The town council was falling over with gratitude.

  It was nice to be needed.

  Funny, how much he really did love construction work. Never minded it a bit in the summertime during college, though back then, he thought it would be temporary.

  When Frank Forbes had first summoned him after learning that Lucas had impregnated his angel, it was fair to say that Lucas expected to be thrown from the fifty-fifth story.

  Frank Forbes was furious. Lucas couldn't blame him. "So you want to marry my daughter, do you?" he asked.

  "Yes, sir."

  "And why is that?"

  "It's the right thing to do."

  "The right thing." Frank shook his head. "How do you plan to support them, my daughter and grandchild? You won't be able to work if you're in law school."

  "No, sir. I withdrew and got a job with Windy City Construction. I start on Monday. I can join the union after a year."

  Mr. Forbes gave him a long look, his jaw knotty. The silence was leaden.

  Then he took a sharp breath. "Quit Windy City. You'll work for this company, on construction, because Johnny Hall says you're not bad. You'll earn what all people at your level earn, and you'll have a health care plan, same as all my employees. Windy City has an abominable safety record, and their work is shoddy at best."

  Lucas hesitated. "I'd rather make my own way, Mr. Forbes."

  "Yes, well, you should've thought of that before you got my daughter pregnant!" he snapped. Then he took another deep breath. "You and Ellen can live in one of my apartment buildings," he went on. "I don't want my daughter and grandchild living in a bad neighborhood, and that student apartment of hers isn't big enough for a baby. You, however, will support your family. You will pay your bills on time, and I will never bail you out financially. You will sign a prenup saying you'll never get a dime of Ellen's trust fund. I will pay for Ellen's law school; you will pay for your family's living expenses. You will give this marriage a real try. If you hurt, mistreat or cheat on my daughter, I promise you your body will never be found. I love my daughter. She's the most important thing in the world to me. Do you understand me, young man?"

  "Yes, sir. I imagine I'll feel the same way about my own kids."

  Because yes. He was going to be a father, and if some kid from the wrong side of the tracks knocked up his baby girl, he imagined he wouldn't be quite as civilized as Frank Forbes.

  Frank looked at him for a long minute.

  Then, to Lucas's extreme surprise, he sighed, all the anger seeping out of him like air from a balloon. He walked around his desk and hugged Lucas. "Welcome to the family. I don't like how it happened, but I appreciate the fact that you're owning up to your responsibilities. My daughter is smart, and she says you're honorable and decent. She loves you, and whether I like it or not, you're part of the family now."

  You could've knocked him over with a feather. Lucas had expected Frank Forbes to try to pay him off or threaten him. Possibly beat the shit out of him, which, Lucas admitted, he deserved.

  Instead, Mr. and Mrs. Forbes took him and Ellen out to dinner that night. They asked about his family, expressed their condolence over the loss of his parents, murmured sympathetically when he told them the truth about his father's criminal activity. In fact, Frank had already run a background check on him and knew full well how both parents died. And again, Lucas would've done the same for his daughter.

  A daughter (or son) who was growing in Ellen's belly right now.

  Lucas did all the right things. Held her hand, held her chair, asked how she was feeling, went to the obstetrician's office with her. He cooked for her, which she thought was charming, and listened to her when she talked.

  He'd always wanted kids.

  He couldn't think about Colleen. That was forbidden now. He was with Ellen, and they were starting a family. The only thing to do was be a man about it.

  Though it had been thrown together at the last minute, the wedding was at a huge downtown hotel with three hundred and fifty guests, five bridesmaids and an eleven-piece band at the reception. Frank made a speech and referred to Lucas as a fine young man who'd put himself through college, who knew the value of a hard day's work. Hugged him, reminded him to treat Ellen like the princess she was, and seemed to bear him no ill will whatsoever.

  Lucas went to work, worked hard, kept his head down and did what he was told. Came home to the beautiful apartment and talked with Ellen, who really was very nice. Put his hand on her belly and kissed her and smiled at her and slept with her, even if it still felt as though he was cheating on Colleen. If Ellen sensed something was off, she didn't say anything.

  And when they'd been married for six weeks, he got the call that Ellen was in the E.R. She wasn't quite at twelve weeks, and the second he saw her face, he knew the baby was lost. Then he gathered her into his arms and kissed her head as she sobbed.

  "It happens more than you might think," the doctor said. "I'm very sorry."

  He took her home and lay in bed with her, holding her close. "You don't have to stay married to me," she whispered. "I know it was only because of the baby."

  He looked at her a long minute. "I'm not leaving you," he said.

  He'd been willing to stand by her when she was pregnant with his child; he damn well wasn't going to leave her because of a cruel act of nature.

  He grew to love her. Not the way he loved Colleen, no. But Ellen was good and calm and smart. He loved her parents, too--Grace was funny and
generous and a little bit bawdy when she had a drink in her, and Frank...Frank was remarkably open and optimistic for a man who ran an empire. One newspaper article referred to him as "the Donald Trump of Chicago," and Frank said, "Kill me now," and laughed.

  No, the Forbes family seemed to embody all the good Midwestern qualities--generosity, kindness, optimism and a very touching sense of innocence. "I've found that if you expect the best of a person," Frank told him once, "you generally get it."

  "What happens when you don't?" Lucas asked.

  "Live and learn. Emphasis on learn."

  Lucas had always been a worker, ever since he collected bottles at the age of six to return for the deposit (that story had made Ellen cry). He worked harder and longer than his coworkers, hoping to show he wasn't just some schmuck who was being promoted because of who he was. And he was promoted, moving up through the ranks from construction worker to foreman to project manager.

  It was...well, it was good. But it was also hard; he was never far from the knowledge that he owed the Forbes family more than he could ever repay. That with one night, he'd changed the course of Ellen's life...and his, of course. But mostly hers. She was the one who'd endured twelve weeks of morning sickness, and the one whose body had to let go of their baby.

  Ellen didn't get pregnant again. She went back on the Pill, which was fine; she went to law school, and then got hired by a big firm. She worked long hours, as did he, and seemed to love it. They didn't talk about kids directly. Ellen didn't seem to want to pursue it just yet. That was fine. They were young. There was time.

  But it would've been amazing to have kids, Lucas thought, especially when he saw his nieces. He often thought of the baby who wasn't...how old his son or daughter would be now, what it would be like to have a little one come running into his arms. To tuck a child in at night, straighten out the covers, to kiss a little head and say, "Daddy loves you."

  Six years into their marriage, Ellen came home from her swanky office, took off her shoes and poured herself a glass of wine. "So, Lucas," she said, very kindly. "I think it's time to call it quits, don't you?"

  The sorrow he felt was more because he hadn't been able to make it work, rather than because his heart was broken. She'd loved him a lot once, and he'd done his best, and it wasn't quite enough.

  The divorce was so amicable, it was almost shameful. He would've preferred some fighting or tears to the calm dissolution of their household. He took only a photo of the two of them; they'd taken his four nieces to the beach, and Mercedes had been fooling around with the camera. He and Ellen had been holding hands, and he said something to make her laugh. It was an indication, maybe, that he hadn't been a bad husband. He hoped he hadn't been.