The Heart of the Matter
"Well, if you're going to wallow around in self-pity, I might just head home."
That biting tone in Jean's voice cut him to the quick. She was right, of course. He was wallowing in self-pity. But how could he not? Danny left. Mattie had one foot out the door. Nell died because he wasn't there to be her doctor. Li wanted nothing to do with him despite his best efforts to reunite with his child. And now Joy.
Oh, Joy. Endlessly clever and lovely and miraculously interested in him. Lucien wasn't so naïve as to think he didn't have appeal to a woman; he'd been able to keep himself rather fit despite his graying beard and penchant for alcoholism. And he hadn't been a monk since returning to Australia all those years ago. He had searched for his wife and had found comfort in meaningless encounters here and there. Nothing since living in Ballarat, though, heaven forbid. But Joy was different. She wanted to spend time with him, get to know him. She'd told him as much. She'd wanted to…to make life more bearable.
Standing there beside Lake Wendouree, Lucien contemplated the possibility of a romantic entanglement with Joy MacDonald. If she were still alive. He'd taken her out for a few drinks, but nothing more serious than that. But what if he hadn't been so obtuse, what if he'd tried a little harder and actually attempted to make real the insinuations he'd tortured Patrick Tyneman with?
But that was a moot point, for Joy was dead and gone. And Lucien had worried that this newest loss had truly snuffed out all care and kindness he'd hoped to find back home in Ballarat. This concern was disproved, however, when Jean—sweet, wonderful Jean—had come to the police station with some lunch for him. And in that moment, Lucien had wanted nothing more than to fall into her arms and weep. At least he still had Jean. Whatever would he do without her?
Now she had found him once more in his melancholy. But instead of providing the gentle sympathy he wanted, she was scolding him. He should have expected it, surely.
"Joy was there because she wanted to be. And the same goes for all of us," Jean continued. She paused, sighing in slight exasperation at him. "You think you have to do everything yourself. It's not possible. You do your best. And sometimes…well, sometimes it's not enough."
Those were words Lucien knew he needed to hear. And for that he was grateful. Or he would be, when he could get to a place in his mind to properly process what Jean was saying. Now was not the time, however.
Lucien redirected the conversation back to the deaths of the Lord Mayor and Joy, the similarities to them. Jean jumped right in to offer her opinion, to help him narrow down the possible theories. And god bless her, she knew just what direction to lead him.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Lucien knew he had Jean to thank for keeping him focused, keeping him alive, and keeping him sane. And once again, he found himself wanting to fall into her arms, though for a rather different reason this time. Perhaps he hadn't lost all interest in the possibility of romance.
