The Saint

by Molly O'Keefe

  “You think I should?” I asked.

  Katie shrugged, the nine-year-old sage. “It’s a big move, Uncle Carter. A big move.”

  You don’t know the half of it, I thought. I picked my niece up and gave her a squeeze before throwing her over my shoulder and walking with her and two full plates of food over to the table.

  “So?” Savannah asked, picking at a piece of turkey. “How did you two meet?”

  I opened my mouth, a vague lie at my lips.

  “Your mother, actually,” Zoe said, digging into a pile of mashed potatoes.

  Savannah’s gaze was a knifepoint against my throat.

  “Do tell,” she said through her teeth.

  “Vanessa has a job?” Savannah asked after I had filled my sister in on our mother’s latest foray into our lives. Katie had been sent into the living room to watch TV and the plates of Thanksgiving Day food were growing cold in front of us. Even Zoe wasn’t eating. “She’s what, living here? In Baton Rouge?”

  Savannah looked dejected. As if just hearing about Vanessa hurt her, took away the armor of her age and her distance and turned her back into a little girl left on a doorstep.

  And this is why I did my best to keep her out of our lives.

  “I think so,” I said. “For the time being. But the good news is she doesn’t have the jewels and she’s given up on Margot having the jewels. So, hopefully this is the end.”

  “The end except that she’s bribing pregnant women to get you out in alleyways and showing up at your charity fundraisers.” Savannah shook her head. “I can’t believe this.”

  I hesitated a moment before putting my hand over hers. “She seems…different, somehow. Defeated a little.”

  “Good,” Savannah snapped and I flinched.

  Savannah’s eyes widened. “You’re buying her act, Carter. She’s suckering you in—”

  I shook my head, denying it even as I knew that, in a way, it was true. This was my mother and stupidly, I wanted to believe her. “I don’t think it’s an act.”

  “That’s how you know it’s an act!” she cried. “Mom’s a con! How can you forget that?”

  “I’m not forgetting anything, trust me. I’m just saying she seems changed. She’s broke. She owes people money. She’s alone. I don’t think she’s a threat.”

  “Don’t be a fool,” Savannah whispered, her voice charging the silence that followed. I didn’t have anything else to say, no words to justify the fact that I thought Vanessa was telling me the truth when she said she was out of angles.

  Right now, I felt how much I wanted to believe Vanessa. Wanted to have a mother that wasn’t going to use me for something. It made me nervous, since my entire life had revolved around keeping her away.

  “What is this hold she has on you?” Savannah asked. “Ten years ago when you were her alibi in that breaking and entering case—?”

  “What about it?” I asked, sick to my stomach.

  “I just can’t believe it—”

  “Are you accusing me of lying?” I snapped, sounding guilty to my own ears. I glanced sideways at Zoe, who watched it all with her heart in her eyes.

  “No, Carter,” Savannah sighed. “I just don’t understand and I want to. I really want to understand.”

  “There’s nothing to understand. She was at my apartment the night of the break-in. Why she was there, I have no clue, she just was.” My lies sounded cheap, and the silence my words fell into was so deep, so profound I thought we all might be drowning in it.

  “I’m so sorry,” Zoe breathed, sitting beside me looking slightly shell-shocked. Which, I supposed, was the right reaction when getting the greatest hits version of the Notorious O’Neills’ exploits. “I should have kept my mouth shut.”

  “No,” Savannah said, sparking to life, “you did the right thing, because Carter never would have told me. Would you?”

  I sat back, tired of dealing with this anger. “No,” I said. “I wouldn’t.”

  “Because you’re still being the protective older brother—”

  “No! Because what’s the point?” I stood. “Look at you, Savvy. You’ve moved on. You’re making a family. A new life. You don’t need this crap.”

  “And you do?”

  I was silent. The sounds of Katie’s TV show in the living room tinkled through the kitchen door—where she was probably standing and eavesdropping, despite being told not to.

  “She’s why you weren’t going to come back for Christmas, isn’t it?”

  “I’m busy,” I said, through tight lips.

  “You’re an ass.”

  “It’s really easy for you to judge me, Savvy, but everything I’ve done I have done to keep you guys safe. To keep her away from you.”

  “And I am telling you we are no longer kids. Tyler and I can take care of ourselves.” Savannah stood and put her hands on my shoulders, her damp blue eyes a weight on my heart. “I would rather have you in my life,” she said, “in Katie’s life and the baby’s life, even if it meant I had to deal with Mom.”

  “Last time you dealt with her she broke into your house, remember? Terrified you and Katie. Broke your heart all over again. That’s what you want?”

  “If it means I’d get my big brother back, then yes.”

  I didn’t have anything else to say, no words to make the years somehow right. I rested my head against hers.

  “He’ll be there at Christmas,” Zoe said, and I spun to face her as she clapped her hands over her mouth.

  14

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, looking pained and uncomfortable. “But look at you guys. You need to be home for Christmas.”

  “This is my life, Zoe,” I said, stunned at her audacity. “You can’t speak for me.”

  “I know,” she said and stood. “I know. You’re right. And I’ve done enough. I’ve—” Her eyes, those big green eyes, met mine and I saw too much. I saw her longing and her respect. Her sadness and her thousand-pound, happily-ever-after wishes. For all of us. “I’ve made a mess of things.” Her laugh was sharp and awkward and Savannah flinched against me. “I told you that’s the sort of thing I do. I’ll—” she gestured toward the door “—leave. Thank you for the food and…” Her swallow was audible, her blush florescent. “Last night.”

  Her eyes clung to mine again. “Thanks,” she whispered and then she was gone. Out of the kitchen and through the living room.

  Don’t go after her, I told myself, willing my feet to be rooted to the kitchen floor. You’ve done that already. It’s her turn.

  I needed some time to get things back in line and Zoe was counterproductive to all of that—it was better to give it some time, let both of us cool off. Let me get my life under control.

  But…

  “Wait,” I called and followed her, catching her at the front door, Katie’s big blue eyes watching every move.

  “You don’t need to chase me down,” Zoe said, turning away from the door. “You’re off Prince Charming duty.”

  “It’s not a duty, Zoe,” I said, wondering if anything I’d said—anything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours—had mattered to her. I felt like the stuffing was being pulled out of my life. Chaos reigned and I was letting it happen because that was Zoe’s natural habitat and I wanted her around.

  But if she didn’t want to be in my life, I wasn’t about to beg.

  “I’m going to let you call me,” I said, and her eyes went wide.

  “What?” she breathed.

  “Normally after a night like last night, one person has to call the other, and I think I’m going to let it be you.”

  “Thanks,” she muttered.

  “You know how I feel,” I said with a shrug, as if it was casual when it felt anything but.

  There was a long pause and my heart, on ice for the last few years, wanted desperately to crawl back to the freezer.

  I knew it. This tough, woman-in-control-of-her-life persona was just an ac
t. In the end, she was too scared to try. Too unwilling—

  “I’ll call you,” she said, and while I stood there, dumbstruck, she leaned in, kissed my lips and was out the door with a quick wave to Katie.

  Sunlight poked holes through the dark corners of my life, and I turned to find my sister and niece staring at me with giant smiles across their faces. They shared a quick, laughing glance, and I didn’t even care that they were laughing at me.

  “We like her, Uncle Carter,” Katie said, bouncing on my leather sofa.

  “So do I,” I agreed, rubbing the place on my chest where my heart beat so damn hard. “So do I.”

  JIM

  * * *

  Monday morning, I opened my e-mail and felt a crack in the world open up around me. Angels sang. Heavenly light spilled across my desk and computer. Even Noelle Gilbert in the cubicle beside me looked less dour.

  Carter O’Neill was holding a press conference on Wednesday night. There was not a question in my mind that Carter was going to announce his candidacy for mayor in the primary.

  A half hour later, when I got an e-mail notification that the mayor would be holding a press conference next week as well, I nearly did a jig.

  Mayor-President Higgins was going to endorse the Golden Boy.

  After the weekend I’d had, this was the kind of news to make a man want to sing. I’d applied some subtle pressure to the HR woman out at The Rouge about that blond dealer but I hadn’t gotten anywhere.

  It was beginning to feel as though this Carter O’Neill story was going nowhere, and my head hurt from beating it against a wall.

  But now, with Carter all but cinching the Democratic ticket, now the rats would come out of the woodwork. They always did.

  “Noelle,” I said, and she turned her mousy pointed nose toward me. “I’m in such a good mood, I think I’ll let you buy me a coffee today.”

  “Go to hell, Blackwell,” she sneered.

  Ah well, Noelle wasn’t feeling the love.

  “Jim?” Tom said, wheeling his chair out around the edge of his cubicle. “You got a minute?”

  I was even feeling okay about Tom. As okay about Tom as one could feel, so I said, “Absolutely,” without any sarcasm.

  “In the meeting room.” Tom stood and walked over to the glass door of the big conference room.

  “This about the press conference?” I asked, following Tom through the glass doors into the cool dark room. “Because I think—”

  “I’m giving the press conference to Noelle.”

  “You’re…what?”

  “You’re unglued, Jim. A loose cannon. I can’t risk you in that press conference.”

  “But Noelle doesn’t know the history. The angle.”

  “There is no angle. The only history is the stuff you’ve made up. You’re off the story. We’re going to put you on state politics.”

  “This is insane. I’m so close—”

  “The head of HR out at The Rouge called this morning, Jim.”

  I rolled my eyes. “So what?”

  “She called William.”

  Oh, I thought, something like worry creeping in. William was the Publisher and he had ties to The Rouge, protected that little cesspool like it was Baton Rouge’s second coming.

  “When you called to interrogate her this weekend, she thought you were doing a story on lax hiring practices, so when you hung up, she fired the blond dealer and put the pit boss on probation. After that, she called William to insist that there was nothing underhanded going on.”

  “The story isn’t about The Rouge.”

  “I know that.” Tom stood and stepped closer to where I was sitting. “I know that you don’t think much of me, and I’ve let you get away with a lot because of the work you did last year—but enough is enough, Jim. You’re leaving Carter O’Neill alone.”

  I sat back and stretched my arms up over my head, prepared to fight fire with fire. “And if I don’t?”

  Tom smiled, wide and bright like a kid on Christmas Day. “Then you’re fired, Jim. I don’t care about the awards you’ve won. You don’t stop chasing windmills, and I will so happily—you have no idea how happily—shit-can you right back down to a weekly somewhere in Nebraska.”

  Tom stalked out, leaving my good day and possibly my career decimated.

  You don’t own me. And you don’t own this story.

  ZOE

  * * *

  I stroked my thumb over the send button on my cell phone. One little push. Just a little tiny—

  I pressed the button, my heart hammering in my throat. It was too late. I couldn’t call him at eleven o’clock at night on a Monday. That was crazy. This whole thing was crazy.

  But he told me to call him.

  I looked up at Carter’s house, the windows alight, and felt like a sick, perverted stalker. That I had ginger cookies and salsa with me made it all a little worse.

  “Hello?” He said after the second ring, and the rough/ smooth quality of his voice sent every internal muscle quivering.

  I remember him! my body cried. I remember and I want him back!

  “Anyone there?”

  “Hi…ah…Carter,” I said and winced. “It’s Zoe.”

  His laugh was dark and rich, and I wanted to flop back on the ground and roll around in the sound of it.

  “Hello, Zoe. How was your day?”

  “Good,” I said. “Great actually. I met with Eric Lafayette.”

  “And…”

  “And, he’s going to help me with the academy. Money, help finding the building,” I paused, still feeling as if I were floating, and the meeting had been at noon. “Thank you, Carter.”

  “It wasn’t me, Zoe. It was you. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you. And how about you? How was your day?” This would be a very normal conversation if I weren’t outside his house. Maybe I should just leave. But I wanted so badly to see him.

  Ever since leaving the Lafayette offices I’d been thinking of Carter and sharing this news with him. More than telling my mother or even Phillip, I had thought of Carter.

  “Well, I’ve scheduled a press conference to announce my intentions to be mayor-president next term.”

  “Get out!” I gasped, and I laughed. “That’s fantastic, Carter. Congrats!”

  There was a long pause and I looked up at the bright window. “Carter? Are you okay?”

  “I think it’s just my mom being back in town. And Blackwell is all over my ass in the papers. I can’t make a single right move. I feel…”

  “Trapped.”

  His laugh was a short little huff. “Exactly, Zoe. That’s exactly how I feel. Let’s meet for a coffee, or…” I heard him fumble with something. “I guess it might be too late?”

  “No,” I squeaked. I took a few steps to his door and rang his doorbell. “Not too late.”

  “Hold on a second. Someone’s at my door.” I heard him thumping toward the front door on the phone and wondered if I was going to die of embarrassment.

  The door swung open and I held my breath, unprepared for the sight of him in sweatpants and a ratty Old Miss T-shirt. His feet were bare and they were probably the most handsome feet on the planet. Maybe the universe.

  Yeah! my hormones cried. Yeah for us!

  “Zoe!” he said, his smile bright and unguarded. He was truly happy to see me, and all my embarrassment fled the scene. Well, most of it—I still had a bagful of cookies and salsa to explain away.

  “This is great!”

  “Are you sure? I was so excited about my day, and it was so busy that by the time I thought of coming over here and celebrating with you, I didn’t realize what time it was. And it’s late. I mean…for me. But maybe for you, too. So anyway, we could do this another time—”

  He pulled me into his house, right into his arms.

  His kiss was sweet with just a little spice, and I sighed and melted right into him.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” he whispered against my lips, his fingers sliding un
der the thin hem of my shirt and finding the sensitive skin of my side, my back, the curve of my hips.

  “Me, too,” I said, dropping my bag, cookies and all, so my hands could return the favor. Muscles jumped and twitched under my fingertips and the sweetness of the kisses was soon consumed by heat.

  I kicked the door shut behind me and he laughed.

  “How do you want to celebrate?” he asked, his hands sliding across my stomach up to my full, aching breasts.

  “Take me into your bedroom and I’ll show you.”

  An hour later I got down to revealing my dirty secret.

  “You put the cookies in the salsa?” he asked. We sat at his kitchen table wearing nothing but moonlight and smiles.

  “Dip them, actually.” I showed him then sighed with bliss. I didn’t think it was possible, but they were even better after sex.

  “You know you smelled like ginger cookies the first time I met you?” he said.

  “When I stood on that chair?” I asked. “Really?”

  He nodded and dipped one tiny piece of cookie in the salsa.

  “Coward,” I teased.

  “Sweetheart, I mean you no offense, but there’s no way this tastes good. I’m only humoring you out of my sincere gratitude for the filthy things you just did to me.”

  I blushed. They had been filthy. He bit into the cookie and grimaced. “Not good,” he said. “At all.” He took another bite, this time just of cookie. “But the cookies are great.”

  We ate in a silence so companionable, so rich with mutual affection, that I did something foolish.

  “Do you like kids?” I blurted, and he stared, slightly dumbfounded, at me. “I mean, I guess I should know that, right? Unless, maybe you aren’t thinking you’ll be around or…whatever.”

  Yeah. That went well.

  “I like kids a lot,” he said solemnly. “I practically raised my brother and sister and even my grandmother is kind of a kid. And as for being around, I don’t know, Zoe. Neither one of us does, but if something happens and we break up—it’s not going to be because you’re having a baby.” He looked down at the salsa and cookies. “It might be because of your strange food addictions, but not because of the baby.”