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Lincoln sat in his truck as cars rushed by. He'd pulled over to the side of the road. Something was wrong. Obviously. But whatever it was Kali didn't want him to be a part of it. And why would she? He was a stranger she'd lived with for a few months. Nothing more. Except he was more, or she was ... or they were, together. He turned to the mitts on the passenger seat. Kali and Theo had awakened something in him he didn't think could be awakened, hadn't wanted to be awakened.
But there it was.
He didn't want a normal life, the nine-to-five, the city, the streets, the people. But he wanted them. Kali wasn't about to live in a tree in the woods. She wouldn't want his life. But his friendship? She might want that ... if she could get over herself for ten minutes. That she might want or need.
Lincoln's heart pounded, strong thumps against his chest. And he wanted her, wanted them. If only as a friend, fine. That may be all he could manage.
He ran a hand through his hair. Maybe he was just lonely, or not as evolved as he thought. Maybe he needed someone and needed that person to need him too. And Kali and Theo catapulting into his life was just good timing, showing him that lack. Maybe, but he didn't think so.
Another question: did he deserve them?
What Kali definitely didn't need, what Theo didn't need, was someone who would flit in and out of their lives. They needed someone reliable, who would help take care of them, rather than someone who needed taking care of.
Her stances. Her resistance. Her offhand comments. She believed the world was out for itself. And besides that one act of kindness, had Lincoln ever given her a reason to think differently? All he did was live for himself. First in Montreal and now here. He'd run. He'd hid. He'd lied. He hadn't even kept his word to visit his mother.
Lincoln stifled a groan; His mother. He turned the car on. One visit had fallen to pieces today, but perhaps another one wouldn't.
Lincoln walked up steps so familiar he could jog them blind.
The door opened before he knocked. “You need a calendar?”
“Mom.”
“No, really.” She gestured behind her. “I have an extra in the den. You can take it. No charge.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Well, you're here now.” She winked then stepped aside so he could enter.
“How was the rest of your party?”
“Kind of died down after the prodigal son returned then vanished again.” She raised a hand then let it fall. “Not much could top that kind of excitement so no one bothered trying.”
“Prodigal son, huh?” He didn't think it was a good analogy, but he'd play along. “So where are my riches?”
“Ha.” Lincoln's mother walked to the kitchen. “You've got your riches if you want them.” She lifted the kettle. “Coffee or tea?”
“Green?”
“You bet ya.” Marilyn sat across from him. “So how'd you do it? Google maps? But sometimes you mentioned smells, tastes. You read other people's travel blogs?”
Lincoln set down his cup. “The girls told—”
“I'm not stupid.” Marilyn sipped her tea. “I know my boy.”
Lincoln looked away. His gaze fell on the assortment of framed photos on the wall, and lingered on a new one—Joseph and Lucy. “Really?”
Marilyn followed his gaze. “A Christmas gift.”
“That would look great in the attic.”
“It's my son and his fiancée.”
Lincoln closed his eyes.
“You didn't know?”
He shook his head.
“She's pregnant, too. About three months along.”
Lincoln's arms tensed. His chest tingled.
“I'm not trying to hurt you. I just thought you should know. Sooner than later. If you happened upon her when she was showing.”
“She know who the father is?”
“Lincoln.”
“What? She didn't last time. Once a cheater ...” His voice trailed off. He saw Lucy again in that hospital bed, so vulnerable. So aching. He'd gone after her that morning to tell her not to have the abortion, not if she didn't want to. To tell her he wanted the baby, career plans be damned. To apologize—for asking, for assuming. He should never have thought she'd want to abort it, to have told her she should abort it, that that's what made sense. So he chased after her to apologize, to say he'd changed his mind and he'd support her whatever she decided.
She'd called him an ass-hole, backing away from him, backing right down those steps. And the option of an abortion disappeared.
Not until he heard her say it, had it even occurred to him that the child might not be his.
“What they did was wrong.”
“Really? So you agree.”
Marilyn pressed her lips together. “But they're together now. And they seem happy.”
Lincoln stared at his mother. How much did she know? Did she think it was a one-time lapse? A moment of weakness? Or did she know it all? Know that Lincoln had shaped his life around Lucy. Done everything for her and what she wanted. Changed the course of his life for her, and what she thought was best.
Did she know that first night Lincoln brought Lucy home to a Sunday family dinner, after almost a year of dating—the night Lincoln had a touch of the flu and left before dessert—the affair had begun? Know Joseph's offer to drive Lucy home—so she could stay longer, get to know the family better—hadn’t been kindness?
Or the fact that several months later, when Joseph offered Lincoln a job at the Montreal office and Lucy decided to move with him, the expectation of stolen moments of lust and betrayal were almost certainly part of the equation?
Did Marilyn know that the first weekend in their new apartment, the apartment furnished with Lucy's taste and Lincoln's money, when Lincoln was late at work, trying to wrap his head around the business, the numbers that were such a struggle to conquer, Lucy was wrapping her legs around his brother?
Lincoln's heart pounded.
Did his mother know that so many of the nights Lucy encouraged Lincoln to work late, to make sure he was on top of the game, Lucy was on top of the wrong son?
What Lincoln couldn't figure out was why Lucy had stayed with him at all. Why not end it after that first cheating kiss?
Why not tell him she wasn't happy? Why move with him? Pretend she wanted a life with him, a future? Why mould him to be the man she wanted him to be, when the older, taller, more successful version already existed?
And why did Joseph let her? Would it have been that much harder to stab Lincoln in the front than the back?
He knew the answer. Guilt. Cowardice. Perhaps touched with a desire not to hurt him.
But they weren't idiots. They knew they couldn't keep up the facade forever. It must have been Joseph's idea, continuing the lie. And Lucy must have hated it.
It probably wasn't even your baby, she'd spouted, with hate and vindication, and something like revelry in her voice.
Then Joseph walked in and the angry, hurting revelry bloomed in her eyes.
Like a child, Lincoln had thought Joseph was there for him, to support him.
One look at his brother's face, at the way his eyes searched Lucy's, at how her anger at Lincoln turned to the sorrow of mutual loss, and the truth fell all around him.
Shattered.
Joseph had repeated the words, over and over—we never meant to hurt you. Lucy had stared at him, her eyes cold. The two people he loved more than anything. One full of hate and accusation, the other of meaningless words.
We never meant to hurt you.
But they had. And they'd meant it. You didn't accidentally fall into a person's pants. You didn't slip and, whoops, your penis was inside someone.
“Lincoln?”
He drew his gaze back to his mother.
“Why are you here?”
“You asked me to visit.”
“That's not what I mean.”
Of course it wasn't, but what was he supposed to say? He didn’t know why he was in Halifax, across the harbour from the family he wanted to avoid.
He could be anywhere in the world. But he was here. And Lucy was pregnant. Again. Lucy, forever, would have a tie to his family. To him. Even if Joseph and she broke up, the womb that was meant to hold Lincoln's child would now hold his brother's. He'd be the baby's uncle. Forever. Not father. Uncle.
So why was he here? Here, where he knew, eventually, he'd come back. Here, where he could happen upon Joseph and Lucy at any intersection.
“I don't know.”
“Lincoln.”
Did it matter where he was? People sucked everywhere, people, everywhere, couldn't be trusted. But the land. That he got. That he knew.
“It's home?”
She made that noise he couldn't describe, the noise that was decidedly her and full of her love, that sliced through him. He focused on her—her slight smile, her mussed hair, the crinkle around her eyes.
“I'm sorry, Mom.”
She nodded, the look that accompanied the noise still in her eyes. “I understand.”
“I shouldn't have lied to you. I should have at least told you where I was. I just needed—”
“I know.” She placed a hand on his. “It's been rough.”
He let out a little laugh.
“What have you been doing with your time?”
He told her about the tree house. He told her about Kali. He told her about Theo.
“Building a tree house in the woods.” Marilyn shook her head. “That sounds like the Lincoln I remember.”
“Hmm?”
“Using your hands. Creating. Not that business stuff.”
Lincoln rested his head on his hand. “You didn't think I should be doing the business stuff?”
Marilyn's eyes crinkled. “Not that you shouldn't, but I could tell it didn't come easy—that it was what you thought you should do, not what you wanted to do. You were doing marvellous, though. Joseph even said so, how impressed he was, how even if you weren't his brother you'd be rising through the ranks.”
“Really?”
“Really. But that doesn't mean it was right for you. You're a physical person. You always have been.” She squeezed his hand again. “Born to build. That's what your father used to say. From blocks to Lego, to using whatever you could find around the house or yard. You remember Rachel's dollhouse?”
“Uh ...”
“She wanted an extra room. You built a sun room with a walk-out porch above. You couldn't have been more than eight.” She shook her head. “Meant to create. Just like your father.” That smile again. “Joseph creates too, in a way. But building, that's what you're made for.”
Lincoln looked up at her as she walked toward the kettle. “You think so?”
Marilyn glanced back. “You don't need me to tell you. You just needed some time to figure it out.”
“And when the tree house is done?”
“Then you'll move on to something else.” She winked. “Maybe make others' tree house dreams come true.”
Lincoln looked away, his brow furrowed. He hadn't told his mother Kali's suggestion. The fact that his mother seconded it made the entrepreneurial spirit he'd seen in his father seem to leap inside of him. He didn't want to live on the family money, which now felt like his brother's money. And while he'd enjoy woodworking, he knew it wouldn't always be easy to bring in enough on that to survive—especially once he got older, or sick.
Marilyn poured the hot water into two mugs. “And this woman. Sounds like you were there for her during a rough time.”
“I guess.”
“Not everyone would do that, invite a single mom and her child into their home.” She glanced back with a smile. “No romantic element?”
“I had space. She needed some space.”
Marilyn nodded.
“And she's doing great now. Fabulous, she says. New job. New apartment. New life.”
“And you miss her.” Marilyn crossed her legs and put a hand to her chin, an action he'd seen her do countless times. “Do you love her?”
“Love?” Lincoln shook his head. “I barely know her.” He waited, but his mother didn't speak. “It's more like ... like ...” Lincoln stopped. “I can't even explain it. It's like she's worked her way into my pores.”
“Right.”
Lincoln shook his head. “Did I just say that?”
“I believe so.”
“At first I wanted her gone, them gone. They'd invaded my life, my space.”
“By your invitation.”
“I know.”
“And it could just be that you're lonely. It could have nothing to do with them specifically.”
Lincoln nodded, but that wasn't it. He knew for certain that wasn't it.
His mother's knowing look. “I doubt it. Try again. Maybe call this time. Go slow.” She set the mug of tea in front of him. “And build your house, whether you ever live in it or not. Get it done.”
Lincoln laughed and reached for the tea. “You're the first person who hasn't thought I was crazy.”
“Of course you're crazy.” She smiled. “But lots of amazing people have been crazy, and they've gone on to create amazing things.” She stood. “You build your house. Make it safe. Sturdy.” She laughed. “Insulated, please. Exquisite, too.” She paused. “That was the most amazing thing. How you always wanted to find the beauty in everything you built. Now some of that beauty was outside of my taste.” She gave him a wink. “But it was still beautiful.”
Love welled up in Lincoln. Guilt for staying away so long. “I'm sorry, Mom.”
“Another sign that you're not too far gone.” She leaned over and squeezed his chin between her thumb and forefinger. “Your dad would be proud too.” She looked away. “How he'd like to see you, all grown up, to know it was you. How he’d like to see that tree house.”
Lincoln closed his eyes, not wanting to go there. His throat clenched.
“You'll visit when you're ready.”
He looked up.
“I just hope for your sake you don't get ready too late.” Marilyn let out a small laugh. “My two sons. One in a mansion big enough for five families. The other in a cabin in the sky.”
“And your daughters?”
“Oh, they're both doing fine. Linda, anyway. Rachel's holding back. Something's just waiting to burst out, direct her life; she just hasn't discovered what it is yet, where it's meant to take her.”
“And do you know?”
Marilyn patted his hand and stood. “Your revelations are for you, Rachel's for her.” She walked to the fridge, still just as covered in photos of children and grandchildren and extended family as always. “You'll stay for supper.” It was spoken as a statement, not a question, yet she waited for a response.
Lincoln nodded.
“All right, then, let's see what we've got.”