Andreno nodded and said, "Lucas, I'd owe you more than I could tell you."
Back in St. Paul that night, Weather asked if he were feeling better. He'd been shuffling around with his hands in his pockets, hangdog and moody. She'd been playing something light on the piano, maybe Chopin, and he'd been watching the tag end of a meaningless football game.
"I'm okay, really," he said.
"Okay for the real wedding?"
"Sure. Two weeks. I'm up for it-and the house. The house is looking good, if we could just get the goddamn parquet guys to put in the trim."
"Calm down."
"Yeah." He took a deep breath and exhaled, looked up at her perched on the arm of the couch. "I wouldn't want to do this again. Run into another Rinker."
"I don't think there could be another Rinker," Weather said. She bounced and smiled and said, "Ouch."
"What?"
"The kid just kicked me."
Lucas put a hand on her belly. "Matt, or maybe Sam. New Testament or Old. Emilie spelled with an i-e, like the French do, or Annie, with an i-e, like the English."
"But never Clara."
"Never Clara," Lucas said. "Clara's gone."