The View from Prince Street Read Online Free PDF Page B

squinted. “Okay. I’ll get back to you.”
    I traced the edge of the plans. “Thank you. I appreciate your good work.”
    As I walked him out to the front door, he paused, the plans held tightly in his hands. “That was a nice piece they wrote on you in the paper. Never occurred to me you were a matchmaker. I figured you were some kind of family counselor.”
    â€œI’m not a matchmaker.” I readied for a joke about my heart of stone. “But I’ve seen too many couples make tragic mistakes, so I offer sound advice.”
    He had the ability to look at me with an unwavering—and somewhat unsettling—intensity. “The article says you’ve matched up dozens of couples.”
    â€œNot really matched.”
    â€œHow many?” he pressed.
    â€œTwo dozen.”
    â€œThe newspaper article said that you have a ninety-two percent success rate. What happened to the other eight percent?”
    â€œOne divorced. They were not entirely truthful during their sessions with me. The other is in counseling.”
    â€œImpressive statistic,” he said as he opened the front door. “Can’t argue with it. I could have used your advice before I married, but then if I hadn’t married Janet, I wouldn’t have Eric. Sometimes mistakes carry blessings with them, I suppose.”
    If I could take back my mistakes and wish away the boy, would I?
    Would I wish away the boy?
    Hell, no.
    The answer came loud and clear. “I suppose you’re right.”
    He jabbed his thumb toward his truck. “Which reminds me, I have something for you. It’s in the truck.”
    Zeb jogged to the truck, his long legs crossing the drenched walkway easily, opened the passenger side, and tossed in his plans as he reached across his seat. A quick jog back and he held out a rock to me.
    I took the smooth stone from his callused palm. “What’s that?”
    â€œIt’s from your hearth. One of your rocks. The mason had a handful of rocks that didn’t quite work and were tossed aside. I loaded up what he didn’t want and thought of you when I saw this one.”
    The stone was lighter than I expected and had an irregular surface, with a vein of gray running through the center. But it wasn’t the texture that caught my attention as I turned it over, rather its shape. There was no doubt about its shape. A heart.
    â€œAh.” Margaret’s earlier parting comment barely registered with me, but this cold rock jabbed sharply in my stomach. “A stone heart.”
    â€œI had read the article just a couple of days before I visited the job site in Loudoun County.”
    I traced a small center crack with my thumb. “And you thought of me.”
    â€œYou have to admit, for a rock it’s an odd shape.”
    â€œWhat are the chances?”
    â€œYou don’t like it.” He shifted his stance. “I didn’t mean it that way. I thought you would find it amusing.”
    â€œIt
is
amusing.” Was he making fun of me or giving me a memento of a family relic? I tightened my grip on the rock. “I’m sure I’ll be getting a lot of mementos like this in the future. Perhaps I should incorporate the image into my logo.”
    He studied the stone and then my expression, which I purposefully kept neutral. “They have it wrong.”
    â€œHow so?”
    â€œYour heart isn’t stone.”
    â€œI come from a long line of women like me. We might begin our lives as emotional creatures but we always end up the same.” I held up the rock. “With one of these.”
    â€œWhy is that?”
    How many times had I asked the question of my mother? “I’m sure there’s some genetic anomaly.”
    â€œHave you ever tried to break the cycle?”
    Carefully, I shook my head. “I can see you’re a good man, Zeb. You care about people and you want to fix their lives as easily as you restore an old