“Yes, we do,” she said, yanking open the door of her Honda. “If you think of being married to me as a hassle, we do. Now, I’m sorry, but I have a ten-hour drive.”

“Colleen, don’t be irrational.” On such a roll tonight, really. But honestly, she couldn’t issue an ultimatum just because she was upset. That wasn’t how things worked.

“You had a choice. You made it. Goodbye.”

Nice. Did she think he was about to drop to his knees and say, “Yes, baby, whatever you want, just don’t leave me.” For the life of him, she looked as if she was about to rip his heart out of his chest and eat it like an apple. “You’re acting like an idiot,” he said.

“That’s great,” she answered. “Who could resist such tender and beautiful words? Really. I’m all choked up. Fuck you, by the way.”

She got in the car, slammed the door and threw it in gear, laying down some rubber as she left. Screeched around the corner.

He pulled out his phone and texted her. Slow down and call me later. We’re not done.

She may have slowed down. She didn’t call.

He called her the next day. When it went to voice mail, he hung up and called the house. Connor answered.

“Is Colleen around?” he asked.

“We’re kind of in the middle of something,” Connor said tightly.

“Yeah. She told me. Uh...can you have her call me?”

“I’ll tell her you called.” Connor hung up.

Fine. She was mad, he understood. She could call him when she wanted to. But he wasn’t going to marry her because she ordered him to or as some kind of Band-Aid; he’d marry her when they could have a good life together. That had always been the plan, and she knew it.

Colleen had never gone without. Lucas had. He remembered his sister at the age of sixteen, spending hours to get across town, taking three buses to the store that had double coupons once a month. He remembered knowing not to ask for seconds because whatever was left over would be tomorrow’s dinner, too. He’d been poor, and he’d seen what a lack of money had driven his father to do, and he was damned if he’d bring Colleen into that life.

As for the situation with her father...that was wretched. He knew this must be killing her, and the only thing he wanted was to help. But he’d called her, and she didn’t want to talk, so it was her move.

A week later, Colleen hadn’t called him.

Fine. She wanted to take a break, fine, that was great. Smart, even. She had shit going on, and so did he. Classes. Finals. He’d be going to Loyola for law school. Stephanie had found another, slightly nicer apartment and needed him to help her move. Maybe Colleen would realize that all or nothing wasn’t the way to play this. Maybe she’d miss him.

It took him a month to snap.

He took a bus to Manningsport and got there at nine-thirty that night with a massive headache from diesel fumes and the rose perfume of the old lady next to him, who hadn’t stopped talking since Terre Haute. He stood for a minute on the green, breathing in the clean air, the smell of the lake and recent rain. The town was quiet, and it took a minute for Lucas to acclimate from the roar of the Greyhound bus, the squeal of its brakes.

The Black Cat was open.

Despite thirteen hours of thinking of nothing else, Lucas suddenly wasn’t sure what he was going to say. Hopefully, when she saw him, she’d give him that smile and say, “It took you long enough, idiot,” and all was fine with the two of them, and yes, marriage now wasn’t the best idea, of course she’d wait. She loved him. And this time, he’d tell her the same thing.

Still, he hesitated, not sure if walking through the door was the best plan. From the green, he could see the bar was crowded. Probably, being May, there was some kind of wine thing in town, as there was most weekends during the spring and summer (and fall, and half of winter). Sure enough, there were plenty of out-of-state license plates on the cars parked in the street.

Maybe she wasn’t even there. Maybe he should go to her house and throw pebbles at her window, like he had the summer after high school graduation.

He’d take a look inside, see if he caught a glimpse of her.

The windows on the side of the bar showed the pool table and a little open area where people sometimes danced. And sure enough, Colleen was there, and his heart lurched so hard he staggered a little.

She was talking to some guy he didn’t recognize, and she was laughing, and God, he’d missed her so much, he’d forgotten how beautiful she was even if he had a dozen pictures of her, and it was so stupid that they’d gone twenty-nine days without—

Then she kissed him. The guy who made her laugh.

Really kissed.

As in, kissing.

Lucas stepped back. Kept looking, though.

The guy’s hand went to her ass.

She didn’t move it.

He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. He wanted to kill that guy, unleash his South-Side talents and go for it. Grab her by the hand and drag her out of there and remind her just who she belonged to, and yes, beg her to take him back.

She wasn’t supposed to need reminding. She loved him. So she said, anyway.

The kiss ended, thank God. Another smile. She laid her hand on his chest and said something, giving him that grin—the grin that promised so much, that Lucas had seen countless times, slightly knowing and...and...

Almost without realizing it, he was walking. Past the library. Past the other restaurant. Post office, candy store, antiques, antiques, bakery.

He wasn’t sure where he was supposed to go, really. Didi’s house was out of the question. He felt as if he’d been sliced open with a blade so sharp he was a little confused as to why his guts were spilling onto the street. Hey, where’s all this blood from? Are those intestines? That’ll leave a mark, won’t it? Band-Aid’s not gonna help that one, pal.

He spent the night on a bench in the little cemetery, a place where Colleen wouldn’t see him just in case she drove past. The sky was black, and somewhere nearby, a stream shushed gently, counting the hours as they dragged past.

The next morning, when the sky was just turning pink, he hitchhiked into Corning and caught a bus to Chicago.

He skipped his graduation ceremony the next week. Started both jobs he’d lined up for the summer. Took his nieces to the beach. Went running along Miracle Mile.

And then one day, he ran into Ellen Forbes, a classmate from college. Also a political science major, also from Chicago itself, though not a Southie, no way. A Cubs fan and everything.

He knew her, of course. Ellen was nice. One time this past year, she’d had a study group at her parents’ apartment—a two-story, massive penthouse overlooking the lake. Her parents had been away, but a maid or housekeeper set out trays of food: lobster macaroni and cheese, filet mignon sliders, Greek salad, sweet potato fries. Wine and microbrewed beer. Ellen was cool about it, neither embarrassed by her family’s wealth nor stuck-up about it. It was what it was. He mentioned that he worked on a Forbes Properties job the summer before; she said she hoped they treated him well.

She’d always seemed happy. Pleasant. Nice. They were friends, a little bit, anyway. Ate together occasionally, always with other people, too, and took a lot of the same classes. She always said hello and chatted, the kind of easy and graceful conversation he imagined they taught in finishing school, whatever that was. She was headed for law school, too, at Northwestern.

It was about a month after graduation when she came to the construction site where he was working. It was his third consecutive summer working for Forbes Properties, and there she was, talking to a silver-haired guy in a suit—Frank Forbes himself. Lucas waved.

“Hey, stranger!” she called, and he went over, wearing carpenter shorts and an aging T-shirt, hard hat in hand, and met her father.

“Daddy, this is a classmate of mine,” she said brightly. “Lucas Campbell, my father, Frank Forbes.”

“Good to meet you, son,” the man said, shaking his hand firmly.

“Likewise, sir.”

“You work for me?”

“Yes, sir. This is my third summer here. Johnny Hall hired me.”

“He’s good people, Johnny.”

“Yes, sir. It’s a beautiful building.”

Mr. Forbes smiled. “That it is.” He turned to Ellen. “Sweetheart, I have to talk with the building inspector. Give me ten minutes, okay, and then we’ll grab that lunch.”

“You bet,” Ellen said. Her father walked away.

“I should get back to work,” Lucas said.

“Oh, sure, sorry, Lucas, I didn’t mean to keep you.” She smiled. “We should grab a drink, since we’re both here for the summer. Talk about law school.”

“That’d be nice.”

“Are you free tonight?”

He hesitated.

“I meant as friends, Lucas,” she said gently. “I know you’re seeing someone.”

“No, no, I’m...not.”

Since he’d seen Colleen with that other guy, it felt as if a hard, wooden block had filled his chest, as if that hot, soft place that Colleen had created with her very first glance at him had petrified into something unbreakable.

A beer with a pleasant woman who’d never been anything other than nice? Why not? “Sure. Let’s grab a beer,” he said.

He met her at a bar near her place. They had a drink. They had another. Two beers for him, two glasses of white wine for her. He paid and walked her home, the smell of chocolate from Blommer’s thick in the air. Talked about mutual friends, professors, the usual.

When they got to her place, a town house on North Astor Street, she asked him if he’d like to come up. He said yes. When she offered him another beer, he took it. When she told him to have a seat on her sleek gray couch, he did. Then she kissed him, and he kissed her back, slightly drunk and feeling oddly surreal.

He hadn’t kissed anyone other than Colleen in four years.

Colleen, on the other hand, had already moved on.

Ellen was nice. She smelled good. Her lips were soft.

“Do you want to stay?” Ellen whispered.

“I don’t have anything with me,” he said.

“It’s okay. I’m on the Pill.” She smiled and kissed his neck.

So he took her to bed for the simple reason that she was nice, and she was uncomplicated, and he was almost unbearably lonely.

The hard place in his chest remained.

In the morning, he thanked her for a nice time and said he’d call her. She smiled, said she had a nice time, too.

Nice. It was the only word applicable. Ellen was nice. They’d had a nice time. He’d been nice, too.

Jesus.

She didn’t seem to have any expectations, and she didn’t seem needy or desperate. It certainly hadn’t felt like his heart might stop because he loved her so much. It had just been sex, and despite the reputation of the twentysomething American heterosexual male, Lucas was finding that just sex and making love were miles apart.

Because he didn’t want to be a dick, he called Ellen that weekend. They went to a movie and he held her hand, and when it was over, he apologized. He had to be at his construction job at 6:00 a.m., which was the truth. Maybe they could do this again, since it was all so nice. He kissed her quickly. She emailed him a few days later, saying she was going away for a while with her mom. Have a great time, he responded.

Three weeks later after they’d gotten that beer, she called him and said she needed to see him. It would be best if she could come over.

Before she even got there, he guessed. She waited until he’d gotten her a glass of water and sat across from her at his tiny kitchen table before saying the words.

“It appears that I’m pregnant. And I’m so sorry.”

“No,” he said. “It’s...it’s not...it’s fine.” There were probably better responses he could’ve made, but his mind was a roaring white space at the moment.