“Los Angeles.”
He stepped backward down off the step. A breeze would have knocked him over. “She left? I thought—”
“She’s just getting our stuff,” Sandra said. “She’s coming back.”
Light-headed he braced himself against the house. “When?”
“A few days. She was going to make some appointments.”
Doubt clawed at him. She was going to get back to her life, back to the work that made her who she was, and she’d forget about him. About the boys. About dating a man with nothing to offer but a dirty house and a hotel room once a week.
Stop. He squashed those thoughts. You have more than that. You are worth more than that, and the boys deserve better than your constant negativity.
She’d said she wanted to be chosen, probably because she’d already chosen them, warts and all.
“What’s your address in Los Angeles?”
She blinked, a smile sparking across her face. “You’re going down there?”
“I’m going to give it a shot, Sandra.”
She ducked inside and came back out with a scrap of paper she’d written the address on. A few directions off the southbound highway. “Look for the balcony with the roses. You can’t miss it.”
“Thank you Sandra.” In an expansive mood, he gave her a hug, which she returned with iron strength.
“Do you want me to keep the boys?” she asked. “They’re welcome—”
“No.” He glanced back at the truck where the boys were all piled in the front seat staring at him through the windshield. “We’re a family,” he said. “We go together.”
The condo had sold a few days ago, but she didn’t have to officially vacate until the end of the month, so Lucy grabbed some stuff from storage and moved back into her old bedroom for a few nights.
All of their furniture had been taken away, the sleek modern replacements a part of the staging. It was ugly and far, far from homey.
Meredith had reluctantly agreed to meet with her the next day. So Lucy dug through her boxes, looking for her notebooks. She still didn’t have any materials, which really probably made this appointment a moot point. Meredith wasn’t going to want to look at sketches. Meredith would probably laugh Lucy right out of her gorgeous, upscale boutique.
But Lucy was going to give it a shot. So she sat on the floor, her sketchbook on the glass-and-iron coffee table that she wouldn’t have bought, not in a million years, and she sketched.
An hour later she turned on the lamp, contemplated dinner, but decided to finish the details on the amber-and-garnet gold tiara. Ten minutes later the scent of Mr. Lezinsky’s cabbage rolls wafted up through the floor and her stomach howled in protest.
All right, she thought and stood, cracking her back, shaking out her fingers. Since she was only in town for a few nights she was going to get her fill of Rosita’s down the street. Her mouth watered at the thought of carnitas and tomatillo salsa.
There was commotion outside her door. When she opened it, all she saw were balloons and legs.
“Hey Lucy!” Casey ducked down below the red balloons and grinned up at her. “We found her!” he yelled at some other legs, and Jeremiah stepped forward, a bouquet of wilted gas station roses in his hands.
In her chest, her heart was inflating like one of those balloons. Every second looking at these men increased the danger of its getting too full, of popping. And yet she couldn’t look away.
“Hi,” Jeremiah said.
She opened her mouth but nothing came out.
“Can I let go of these balloons yet?” Ben asked.
“I’m letting go of mine,” Casey said, and a silver Mylar balloon wafted into the condo. It read Happy Birthday.
Jeremiah, studying her face, winced. “We let Casey pick out the balloons.”
“We brought chocolates too,” Aaron said, ducking past the balloons to come in and press a box of candy into her numb hands. “But Uncle J wouldn’t let us stop for dinner so I got hungry. The coconut ones are all that are left.”
Ben finally stepped in, pulling the balloons behind him. They crowded through the door, squeaking, but then they bent and shifted and popped in, and he let them go, and the red, blue, green and yellow balloons floated past her head, bumping into her nose, her hair.
This is a dream, she thought. I am dreaming.
But then the balloons bounced up to the ceiling. Strings rained down around them.
“What…what are you doing here?” she whispered, her eyes never leaving Jeremiah’s face. He seemed different, somehow, softer, as if something had perhaps melted or broken, some unseen wall had been torn down.
He looked young, nervous.
I love you, she thought.
“We’re on vacation!’ Casey cried, and he bounced on the highly uncomfortable couch and winced.
“Vacation?” she asked Jeremiah.
“We went to a counseling meeting and then stopped by the ranch to see you. Sandra said you were here and, well, the kids haven’t had a vacation in years. After their mom died I just kept them in school, trying to keep things normal, but I think maybe…maybe they could use some fun. Just a week. Their teachers said it was okay. I thought maybe we’d go to Disneyland or World, or whichever is out here.”