“A second chance?”
“What if we were on the same team, Lucy?”
Lucy shakes her head and closes her eyes. Her voice is faint. There’s no smile.
“You knew I wanted to buy that apartment, and you went ahead and bought it anyway,” she says.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Don’t lie to me, Dirk. Donna told me you did. She has inside knowledge and she never lies to me.”
“Nor do I.”
“But ...”
“O’Connell is a very common name, Lucy. Oh. Wait a minute.” My phone vibrates. “I’ll take this. Back soon.”
“Dad?” It’s Jamison, his voice thick with excitement, with enthusiasm, with something I haven’t detected in him for far too long – with hope.
“Yes, son?”
“Where are you? I’ve got news. I did what you said, Dad. I made a decision about the Franklin house money, a sensible one. I did it straight up, before property prices rose again.”
“You did?”
“It was a no brainer. I’d already done the research – for you, when Dee and I recommended Brighton Court to you. It’s a solid building in an up and coming area. It’s all about urban renewal. For people wanting proximity to downtown or the buzz of theatre and restaurants, you can’t beat your location. It’s already rented out, or I can live there myself for a while. Can’t go wrong.”
“Wait. You bought in Brighton Court?”
“Yeah. That place below yours. Made the winning offer this morning. All the paperwork’s come through now. It’s mine.”
“Ah.”
“Aren’t you going to congratulate me? I followed your advice, Dad.”
“Yes. In general, it’s good, son. Specifically ... Jamison. Can I call you back?”
“Sure, Dad.”
Lucy has sat up more in the hospital bed. She’s managed to comb her hair, and I breathe again, grateful she might still think I’m worth impressing.
Lucy Beston has always demanded my attention. My hand abandons my raspy chin and drifts through space to alight on her arm, smooth as alabaster, warm as the sun on my windowsill. I run my thumb back and forth against her creamy skin.
“You’re uncomfortable, Dirk. Pull up a chair. Or can’t you stay? Is this a passing effort, to appease your conscience?”
I’m not accustomed to Lucy being so still. Lucy’s a darter, a dodger – quick of mind and quick on her feet, always two steps ahead of everyone else. Lucy’s the element of surprise, the plotter and planner I never saw coming, the striker.
Even prostrate, Lucy’s striking. All five feet three of her. She wouldn’t take up much space but oh, how much color she has brought into my world.
Lucy’s earlobes are bare. No glitter today. Even without makeup, she’s eye-catching – those high cheekbones, and a strength behind the set of her head, even as it is, on a hospital pillow – a kind of pride. Lucy Beston is a survivor, a warrior. If I met her on the soccer field, I’d be wary, on my guard.
And something settles. I walked all afternoon. I haven’t been home. A new realization dawned that my visit has only confirmed. Lucy is awesome. She fills me with awe. With deep certainty, I know. If Lucy’s a player – and she is – I want her on my team. Always.
I go back down on my knee, but she blinks. For the first time, I fear she will turn her head away, dismiss me without a backward glance.
Lucy inhales and I am sucked forwards a quarter of an inch in the space between us. Her eyes are mesmerizing, liquid intelligence, full of soul. I can’t look away. It’s a standoff, even though she’s pretty much lying down. Her hair is fragrant – lime and coconut, a Hawaiian holiday.
I want more of that, more holiday, more Lucy, more Hawaii. We could go there, away from Dee and Jamison and Jill, and be on our own – together.
