17. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

T he service for Mr. Graham had been a perfect balance of celebration and mourning, all orchestrated and navigated by Miriam's deft touch. Lucy was, as ever, awed by her friend's aptitude for the very unexpected career path she had chosen. Lucy still remembered the day her tattooed friend had announced she would be starting seminary a few short months after their graduation from PSU. Lucy had been flabbergasted, unable to picture her friend in the role of a minister. But here she was, leading a grieving family through saying goodbye with grace and poise.

After the service, everyone gathered in Porter's home for a light lunch and conversation. At the service, Lucy had found it fairly easy to avoid Forrest. He was in the family rows while she stood in the back with non-family. Everything was formal, and there was no need for direct communication. Simply being present with Edith, Porter, and the Huberts had been sufficient. It was giving Forrest emotional support without costing herself too much pain.

She had spent the past three days drowning in her own sorrow, an entirely different variety than that expressed in a funeral. Laying on her couch, she'd eaten popcorn and chocolate while watching the least romantic movies she could find on Netflix, mostly of the apocalyptic variety. Clark rested his chin on the seat of the couch as asteroids struck and zombies took over, sensing Lucy's distress and offering what comfort he could. Seeing his devoted eyes raised in concern usually had the unintended effect of making Lucy cry all the more.

After driving back Friday and then all of Monday, Lucy had worked in the office. Thankfully, her frowns and slouches and sighs passed largely unnoticed with a cloud hanging over the whole office in solidarity with Forrest. Surely, no one suspected that she was spending her evenings crying because she might possibly be in love with a man with whom she’d just had the most passionate sex of her life, and he had deemed it all a giant screw-up. Oh, and that man worked in the same office as them.

As for Forrest, Lucy had received exactly two text messages from him: one on Saturday repeating how sorry he was, and one on Monday saying they should talk. Given the little he'd said at the hospital, Lucy had an uncomfortable feeling she would not want to hear what he had to say.

Despite everything, Lucy was incapable of being angry at him. He had looked so down-trodden sitting next to Gracie in front of his father's coffin, a hand raising every few minutes to wipe at an eye. And for the first time in a decade, Lucy found she couldn't fix whatever problem one of her professors was facing.

Now that they were all at Porter's house, Lucy was keeping her distance by helping. The caterers Porter and Charlotte had engaged were very efficient, but not so efficient Lucy couldn't find a few things to do in the kitchen. Forrest was on the front porch talking with family he hadn't seen in years, leaving the kitchen safe.

Just as Lucy was drying her second round of washed dishes, Edith swung around the corner into the kitchen with a determined scowl on her face. Lucy had no obvious reason to assume she was the object of Edith's brisk walk and searching eyes, but it was best to be cautious. Lucy bent over, opened a cabinet door, and pretended to be occupied with an urgent search for the perfect tea pitcher.

"Lucy O'Shields."

Damn it.

"We need to talk."

Double damn it.

Lucy crawled back from the cabinet and stood. Edith grabbed her hand and dragged her into the old butler's pantry tucked behind the kitchen. The tiny room was a relic with a small sink and cabinets still original to the house. But in the shelves were signs of a home with twenty-first century children: Jello cups, Goldfish, and pretzels abounded. The two women were squished into the space with no room for Lucy to run from the interrogation coming from Dr. Edith Rose.

"Yes, Edith?"

"For the past few days, it’s been obvious something is wrong. Our office has been musty because you haven't been doing all of those candle things..." Edith waved her hand, "you know, all the things you do to make it all nice and cozy. And Dr. Hubert snuck three brownies in Friday without you even noticing. I can only imagine his cholesterol right now. And worst of all, when I left for the faculty meeting on Monday, you forgot to tell me to be nice, which incidentally, I always thought was pointless, but it turns out, it actually makes me nicer. I made two accounting professors cry, Lucy. Two."

"I'm sorry?"

"And today, it is as clear as day, even to someone as emotionally stunted as myself, that something between you and Forrest has gone amiss, and that’s not okay. I can't handle that. So you are going to tell me what the hell happened. And we're going to fix it."

Lucy spoke before thinking, her impulse to make things seem okay greater than an impulse for truth. "I don't know what you're talking about, Edith. Forrest and I are fine. He's just busy with family, and I'm helping around here. Everything is fine."

Edith squinted her eyes and pointed a finger within two inches of Lucy's nose as she said, "Everything. Is. Not. Fine. You two have a way about you, a way of looking at each other that is as familiar to me as Hart Building or the feminist section of the library. And something has screwed it up. Lucy, you help me every single day. Let me help you."

A lump formed in Lucy's throat at alarming speed, and the impulse to paint a rosy picture abandoned her.

"How uncomfortable are you going to be if I cry?"

"Very."

"Well, if I tell you everything, I might cry."

Edith closed her eyes, took a fortifying breath, and said, "Okay, I'm ready."

"Okay. Here it goes." Lucy took her own deep breath. "Forrest and I slept together."

"Where?"

"At his childhood home, in the twin bed of his room."

"When?"

"The night before his father died."

"And was it good?"

"Edith!"

"I'm sorry, Lucy, but it matters. You know it does."

Lucy fought back a tear of sadness or frustration or anger. She wasn't sure what. "It was unlike anything I've ever experienced. Not being hyperbolic here, either. It was soul-crushingly amazing. At least it was for me."

"We need chocolate." Edith grabbed a bag of chocolate chips from the section of the pantry reserved for baking ingredients, ripped the bag open, poured some into her own and Lucy's hands, and started popping the small chocolates while staring at Lucy with a level of scrutiny that was unsettling.

"You know I love Forrest like a brother, right?"

"Yes."

"Then, Lucy, don't be offended by what I'm about to say."

"Okay."

"When it comes to relationships, Forrest is a dumb-shit. I mean, he dated Dr. Bugs for six months. She once suggested at a faculty meeting that the university erect a statue of a beetle. A beetle. Lucy, I can't even make this stuff up."

"And your point is?"

"If it really was that mind-boggling, and given the chemistry you two have, I have no doubt it was, Forrest isn't going to have a clue what to do. Because, as I said, he's a dumb-shit."

"So, I can't believe I'm asking this, but Edith, what do you think I should do?"

Edith's eyes bulged. Was that a dampness at the corner? She whispered, "No girl has ever asked me what to do about a romantic problem."

"Huh." Lucy didn't trust herself to not be sarcastic, so she stuck with nonsensical sounds.

"I know, right? I think it's because people are terrified of me."

For the first time in days, Lucy felt a hint of laughter - not enough to escape, but it was there. Lucy cupped her hands.

"More chocolate chips, please?"

***

Sitting on the front porch of Porter's home, Forrest was surrounded by family he had almost forgotten existed. It had been years since he'd seen his father's siblings and the multitude of cousins whose names he hardly knew. Multiple conversations were going at once, and he was in the center, trying to follow each strain. Thankfully, Gracie juggled seamlessly all of the condolences and stories of his father from his youth, stories from before alcohol took over and distanced him from his family. She kept the conversations easy and flowing with no help from Forrest.

Dr. Hubert was also on the porch, talking about the most legendary horses of past Kentucky Derbies with one of Forrest's more distant relatives. Mrs. Hubert was perched next to him, making sure caterers were waved away who brought anything near her husband that wasn't strictly low-cholesterol. The small plate of raw vegetables sitting on Dr. Hubert's lap had been untouched for at least a half-hour.

Forrest felt overwhelmed with gratitude for the presence of each of his colleagues, each one engaging in conversations with his family members that helped everyone feel welcomed. He was wholly inadequate to the task. For the past few days, Forrest had sat next to Gracie in meetings with lawyers and the funeral home and Miriam, nodding his head at whatever she said but not contributing near as much as he should.

The truth was, though, that his world had been flipped upside-down, and not only because his father had died. Yes, his father's death was enough to send him reeling. He went from making bologna sandwiches to gone with so little warning. But in addition to this blow, the solid friendship and camaraderie he'd shared with Lucy for so many years was likely gone. That knowledge left him unable to sleep or eat or remember the name of the cousin who had just asked him what their plans were for his father's house.

"We haven't made plans yet."

In Forrest's mind, that house was now associated with Lucy. Visceral memories of her hair and lips and smooth skin outshone the sepia-toned remembrances of his youth.

She looked beautiful today. She was wearing a fitted black dress that hugged each curve perfectly. Lucy had never been one to wear frumpy clothes. Everything was always nicely fitted, precise in the way she was always precise. But before, Forrest hadn't known the feel of each curve, the perfect weight each one held in his hands.

At the service when he had dared to glance at her, evidence of tears had been clearly written across her face, deepening the ache in his own wounds. Miriam's words in the service had been perfect, evoking for a moment the feelings he had been too overwhelmed to process. The emotions tugged his eyes back to Lucy. She'd removed her glasses long enough to dab beneath each eye. If she were sitting with him, he would hold her glasses for her.

Forrest realized another question had been directed at him.

"I'm sorry. What was that, Uncle Stan?"

"I asked how many years you've been at PSU now?"

"Oh, yes. Let me see here. I think I'm on my tenth year."

"We were afraid you'd never come back after all those Ivy league schools in the Northeast. And now you've stayed for a decade. That’s just wonderful."

"Yes, well, PSU has been a wonderful place for me. Wonderful people, really." Forrest felt a weight crushing in on his chest. "Excuse me. I need to check on something."

Forrest walked inside, looking every direction for Porter. He heard a crash and a deep voice yelling, "Boys, what have you done?" Following the path of Legos through the formal living room, Forrest found his friend in his small home-office, the walls lined with his collection of antique books. Forrest had always loved the space for the old-book smell. Porter was currently on his knees, not looking terribly professorial among his books. Although, he was at least delivering a lecture.

"Now, Billy and Luke, run along and play, but for goodness's sake, don't injure any funeral guests."

As the boys ran past Forrest to the door, Billy elbowed Forrest's thigh with a solid jab. "Hey Forrest, dude!" Luke copied the gesture and said, "Fowwest, dude."

As they left the room, Forrest looked to Porter and said, "Their acknowledgment of my grief is really touching." It was the first time Forrest had smiled since lying in bed with Lucy.

Porter groaned as he stood up from his knees. "I'm raising hooligans."

"Yes, but who wants boring, well-behaved children anyways?"

"Yes, that would just be awful."

Forrest stepped further into the room. "Porter, can we talk?"

"Of course. Is something wrong? I mean, other than the obvious?"

"Yes, something's wrong."

As Porter looked on expectantly, Forrest ran a hand roughly through his hair, and then thought of Lucy pointing out that he did that when he was stressed. Well, he was stressed. "Porter, I made an awful mistake, and I don't know how to fix it. I don't even know if it can be fixed."

"Okay?"

Forrest shut the door. When he made this confession, he would make it to himself, Porter, and a wall of books. Once cloaked in privacy, Forrest spit out the confession. "I slept with Lucy."

"Oh." Porter backed up to one of the two wing-back chairs in the room and fell heavily into the seat. "Oh."

Forrest sat down across from Porter, his elbows on his knees and his head resting in his hands.

"How did it happen?"

Forrest leaned back in the chair, gripping his knees. "It was the night we were in Mayfield. Gracie wanted to stay at the hospital with dad, but she insisted I stay at Dad's house and get some rest. Lucy and I went back to the house together. We ate and talked and drank wine..."

"You drank wine?"

"Rare, I know. But it had been a rough day. Anyways, when it was time to go to bed, I didn't want Lucy driving all the way back to Paducah that late, especially with the wine. So we decided she’d stay in Gracie's room."

"And?"

"And we went to our separate bathrooms and got ready for bed, but when I went upstairs and walked into my room..." The image of Lucy clutching the green shirt against her chest, apologizing, looking so soft and ethereal in the lamplight was lodged in his chest. He squirmed, repositioning in his chair. Hoarsely, he continued, "When I went to my room, she was there. The room perfectly preserved from my teenage years. She was curious, I think. She hadn't come there to seduce me or anything, Porter. What happened after that was all my fault."

"So you walked into your high-school room?"

"Yes."

"Among your posters of, I don't know, some hot 90s icons?"

"Gandalf, actually."

Porter's eyes registered his surprise. "We'll get back to that in a moment. So you walk in, and there is standing a gorgeous red-head who you've been pining over for years."

"Strawberry-blond, and no, I haven't."

"Close enough, and yes, you have. My point is, you didn't stand a chance. The most devout monk would have said, 'Screw celibacy,' in that situation."

"Pun intended?"

"Definitely."

"What do you mean I've been pining over her? I've had at least a dozen girlfriends while we've been working together."

"Dr. Bugs? Dr. Sweats-a-lot?"

"She liked working out."

"Dr. Laughy-Hacky?"

"Her laugh was legitimately awful."

"Like nails on a chalkboard. With a cough." Forrest cringed at the remembrance of that shorter-than-normal relationship. Porter continued, "Forrest, your never-ending capacity for going-nowhere relationships isn't because you're just having a good time. It’s because you're hung up on Lucy, but you don't think you can have her. Dr. Sneezy and the rest were just place holders so you can pretend you and Lucy don't have ten layers of sexual tension coming off of you at all times."

"That is patently false," Forrest could feel that he was flushing beneath his beard. He jumped up from his chair, but quickly realized the room was too small to pace. Grabbing the back of his chair, he said, "Porter, my admittedly sketchy dating past is the result of good old-fashion mommy-issues. It has nothing to do with Lucy."

Forrest wondered exactly how long Porter had been holding in all of the thoughts he was sharing, because they were sure flowing freely now. "Oh, sure, that's what was going on at first when you were young, fresh out of your doctoral program and just wanted companionship without responsibility. Sure. But for the past five years, you've been straight-up running from your own infatuation. Yes, I mean infatuation. With Lucy."

"That is absolutely insane."

"Really? Because Dr. Hubert and I have a drinking game where we take a shot of his bourbon anytime one of us catches you staring at Lucy for more than twenty seconds. I've taught more classes than I care to admit tipsy over the past few years."

To this, Forrest could think of no reply. "A drinking game?"

"Yes. It was the old man's idea."

"Dr. Hubert thinks I'm lusting after our secretary?"

"Dr. Hubert knows you’re lusting after our secretary."

"But I didn't know. Not until recently."

"Your lack of self-awareness is truly a wonder to behold."

"Ouch. My dad just died. You should be nicer to me."

"You didn't come in here for me to be nice to you. I happen to know you value honesty, even if you find it hard to be honest with yourself. Perhaps, because you find it so hard."

Forrest sat back down in the chair, closing his eyes and running both hands down his beard. Was five years of infatuation the answer to the questions that had been haunting him for the past few days? Any moment he had walked past his room at his dad's house while he and Gracie had been making arrangements or sat in silence in between meetings or tried and failed to sleep, the same questions had racked his conscience: Why, at almost 40 years old, had he just now experienced sex with the all-consuming passion and fire described in books and poetry? And why had it been with Lucy O'Shields?

***

As Lucy popped another chocolate chip into her mouth, Edith had the expression generally accompanied by a light bulb in cartoons. "I know what to do, Lucy. As I was saying, I'm terrifying. Why don't I just have a talk with Forrest, if you know what I mean?"

Oh dear. "Edith, I appreciate your willingness to help. I really do. But we can't force Forrest to be my boyfriend. It's mortifying even using that word in this context. Forrest is probably right. All of this was just a giant mistake made in the chaos of his dad being sick and us being in his childhood room. It was crazy. Normal Forrest and Lucy would never have done what we did that night."

Suddenly, the pantry door opened, and Miriam appeared, closing the door behind her. She jumped when she saw she wasn't alone. "What are you two doing in here?"

Edith held up the chocolate chip bag, and Lucy tilted her head towards it.

"Thank God. And when I say that, I actually mean it."

Edith poured a generous heap into Miriam's palms and said, "What are you doing here?"

"Some distant relative of Forrest's cornered me and asked if I thought our current president was the anti-Christ. I told him someone was calling me."

Edith looked mortified. "Do you get questions like that often?"

"Wearing this?" Miriam pointed to her tab collar. "Basically every day. But other than chocolate, why are you hiding? I clearly have a good excuse."

"I was telling Edith about my situation." Lucy wanted to kick herself. She was stuck in a very small closet with two of the boldest, most honest women she knew, and she was using euphemisms like my situation ? Lucy inhaled deeply and said, "You know, how Forrest and I had the greatest sex of my life and he said it was a horrible mistake."

"Yes, I suspected that was the situation to which you were referring." Miriam smiled primly. She knew it had cost Lucy to be so blunt.

Edith reached out and grabbed Miriam's forearm. "Mother Miriam..."

"Please, call me Miri."

"Okay, Miri. Can't you talk to Forrest and help him see reason. Like guilt-trip him or something."

"I could, if it weren't a breach of every ethical code known to ministry."

"Oh, yes. You have those in your profession, huh?"

"Afraid so. Ooh, but maybe you could talk to Porter about talking to Forrest?"

Lucy decided now would be the time to interject herself into the conversation about how to fix her life. "Ladies, I adore you both, and I appreciate your desire to help me. But this is between me and Forrest. I need to figure this out on my own."

"You know, Luce," Miriam said, "doing things on your own can be overrated. Itss okay to get help from the people who love you."

"I know. But Forrest and I made this bed..."

Edith interjected, "In splendid fashion by all accounts."

Lucy growled. "And we have to figure out how to live with it. How to live with each other post-sex."

A silence settled over the somber trio. Finally, Edith said, "I think I ate too much chocolate."

On this, they all agreed.

***

"So what the hell do I do, Porter?" Clearly, Porter was more aware of whatever was going on between Forrest and Lucy. Perhaps he could fix this mess, or at the very least, tell Forrest how to fix it.

Porter looked at Forrest pensively while his mouth tilted to the side in thought. If Porter was approaching a problem with this level of contemplation, Forrest really was in an awful situation. Porter was generally quick to act, intuitive in his decision making. It was a skill Forrest had always admired in his friend.

Just as Porter was opening his mouth, about to reveal the wisdom that would surely rescue Forrest from this mess of his own making, the door to the office opened.

"There you are, Forrest. I've been looking for you."

"Gracie, what do you need?" Forrest rose again, hoping his guilt wasn't written too plainly on his face. Gracie could always read him like a Bletchley code breaker.

"Just a quick word. We're about to leave, and I wanted to talk to you for a minute before we do."

Porter stood up. "Excuse me. I'm going to step out and assess what damage my kids have done since the last lecture..." he checked his wrist watch, "fifteen minutes ago."

Gracie caught his arm as Porter walked by. "Thank you, Porter, for the use of your home. This has been lovely."

"Of course, Gracie. It was our honor. I always liked your dad."

"I'm glad Forrest has you."

"Well, he does keep things exciting around here." Porter punched Forrest's upper arm in a brotherly fashion as he walked out, closing the door behind him.

Forrest rubbed his arm as he looked at Gracie. She'd been calm and strong through the entire ordeal, just as she had been through their whole childhood. "You amaze me, Gracie. It is like you were born with the maturity of a 40-year-old and have maintained that throughout all of the dysfunction that has been thrown your way. Honestly, Gracie, I don't know what I would've done growing up..." His voice cracked. He was so tired of being perched on the edge of tears.

"Oh Forrest. It's because I had you to take care of. I loved you so much, for as long as I can remember. I could never understand how Mom could have walked out on you. I don't know that I ever even wondered why she walked out on me. It was just so offensive she would walk out on you."

"I would argue that what she really missed out on was seeing you become the woman you are." Forrest noticed a box of tissues and got one for each of them.

Gracie blew her nose. "Geez, Forrest. You're turning into a sap."

"Dad was getting a little sappy there at the end."

"Yes. He was a surprisingly good grandfather the last few years, given his track record as a father."

"Are you angry at him?"

"Oh, no. I let that go years ago. The therapist’s name was Sandy."

"Not a very therapist-y name."

"Didn't make her cost any less, though." She snorted a laugh and wiped again at her eyes. "Forrest, are you taking care of yourself? Have you thought about a therapist or something to help you process, I don't know, everything?"

"I never really felt like I needed it. I had a more secure childhood than you. Because I had you. You were the one dealt with a sorry hand. I was useless."

"Forrest. Don't say that. Like I said, it was having you to love that made me turn out okay."

"So what you're telling me is that I'm the reason the world missed out on Gracie Graham's epic rebellious phase."

Gracie shrugged. "I could've made a pretty great Emo girl, I'm sure."

He reached out and squeezed Gracie's hand.

"George is putting the kids in the car. I'd better get out there."

"I'll come with you to send you off."

"Forrest, before we go, I just want to say one more thing. I don't know what is between you and Lucy, but I just want to say she seems like a pretty great person to lean on. She clearly cares about you. She wants to help. You should let her."

Gracie's concern for Forrest came from such a genuine place, he did not want to explain to her that what she was asking was impossible. Lucy was a pretty great person who did care for him, and for that reason exactly, he couldn't allow himself the luxury of leaning on her. He would only hurt her, burden her in the way he was quite sure he had burdened Gracie, even if Gracie was too good to see it.

"Let's go. I want to tell my magnificent niece and nephew goodbye."

She accepted his silence, and they headed out of the room.

***

Everyone was leaving, and Forrest was in the front yard telling them goodbye. Lucy dashed around the kitchen doing various chores before she would escape to her apartment and Clark, hopefully before Forrest came back inside.

Lucy was disgusted with herself for dodging Forrest instead of facing the situation head-on, but emotionally, she just wasn't there yet. And a few days after losing his father, she suspected Forrest wasn't there, either.

Better to keep her distance, lick her wounds, and start focusing on what she was going to do about the president's office job. Forrest would have a couple of weeks of bereavement. She'd already booked an adjunct professor to teach his classes in the interim. By the end of his leave, it was quite possible she would be working across campus for President Burke.

Lucy cringed at the possibility that she might accept a job offer because of man-problems. But perhaps, in one of life's serendipitous tricks, she was simply getting the nudge she needed to pursue something new and exciting. Somehow, though, the thought of not being in the midst of Porter and Edith and Dr. Hubert and, yes, Forrest was hard to force into a positive spin.

Porter came in and plopped onto one of the bar stools at the kitchen island. "Lucy, I'm so tired. My kids, I swear, were intent on making as many poor choices as possible before all was said and done."

"What did you expect? An English professor and a successful journalist procreate? Clearly, you're going to have over-achievers."

"I just thought they'd overachieve at reading freakishly early or something like that. Not at being relentlessly mischievous."

"Yes, but they're yours."

Porter glared. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Where does this spoon go?"

Porter stood up, walked around the island, and took the spoon. Then, he said, "Lucy, you're so busy worrying about everything and everyone around you. But, are you okay?"

The look on Porter's face might as well have been a flashing neon sign saying, "I know what happened! I know what happened!"

"Oh no." As mortification rose in a red blush from her neck to the roots of her hair, Lucy exhaled. "He told you."

"Did you tell Miriam?"

Obviously. "Fair enough."

"He's crazy about you, you know?"

"Perhaps, but not quite enough. Or at least, that is what I suspect. Other than a few words of abject apology, we haven't really talked since...well, you know."

"Lucy, dear," Dr. Hubert walked into the room. "Have you seen my glasses? Mrs. Hubert is waiting, rather impatiently I might add, in the car for me."

"Yes, sir. I found them earlier, and put them on the hutch for safe keeping."

"Oh, thank you. I don't know what I'd do without you, Lucy." Lucy tried and failed to ignore the voice insisting that she'd rather Dr. Hubert not have to find out what he'd do.

After retrieving his glasses, Dr. Hubert walked up to Lucy, his eyebrows crushed against the top of the glasses he had just put on. "Lucy, before I leave, I just want to say that Forrest will need all of us right now, but he'll need you the most."

Lucy blanched. Surely, Dr. Hubert didn't know, too. She looked over his shoulder to Porter who was shrugging and silently mouthing, "It wasn't me." The resemblance to Billy was uncanny.

"Yes, sir. I'll do my best."

"Well, on that note, I must not keep Mrs. Hubert waiting. I'll see you kids tomorrow at work." He shuffled towards the front. As he opened it, Lucy jumped at the sound of a horn and Mrs. Hubert calling out, "Come on, old man."

Lucy said to Porter, "It's a romance for the ages."

"The crazy thing is, it really is." It only took a few moments in the presence of the Huberts to see their devotion to each other.

Lucy wet and wrung out a washrag. "Do you have any idea what he meant by that, Porter? That Forrest would need me in particular?"

"I have an idea. But you probably don't want to hear it right now."

Lucy suspected he was right. She feared the whole office had invested in some sitcom-esque notion of what the future held for her and Forrest. First, they would fall in love with each other right under their noses, and that love would be enough to change Forrest's ways, reaching far beyond the usual six-month expiration date. He would bend down on one knee right at her desk and propose to her, confessing he'd stared at her from his office for years, yearning for her. At the wedding, each professor would give a toast filled with literary references and inside jokes, and all the guest would be in awe of their little tribe. They would spoil the curiously-articulate children Forrest and Lucy were sure to have just as they did Porter's, and it would further solidify the family unit they had formed in Hart Building over the past ten years. The plot played out in Lucy's mind, each twist more fantastical and beautiful and sentimental and desirable than the previous. Every bit stamped with the words, "Too good to be true."

Lucy finished scrubbing one last already-clean space of the counter and said, "I'm off, Porter. Clark is going to start howling for me soon."

"And you don't want to be here when Forrest walks in?"

She looked at Porter and shrugged. "Tell him I said goodbye, please?"

"If you say so."

Lucy walked out the door and across the yard to her apartment.