Forever Mine: Callaghan Brothers, Book 9

by Abbie Zanders

  The bar was turning a decent profit, only because they’d all but put a stop to the renovations. Kathleen was squeezing every last penny she could out of the budget, hitting up the yard sales and farmer’s markets to ensure the boys had clothes on their backs and food in their bellies. She had even taken to making homemade baby food from the fresh fruits and veggies and freezing it in ice-cube trays to save money.

  He wondered how previous generations had managed with lots of kids and stay-at-home moms. Then again, inflation and the cost of living were much higher now than they had been. More women were working now, increasing the number of double-income homes. Prices got higher, because more people could afford to pay them. The sleepy town of Pine Ridge was ages behind the rest of the country, but they were feeling the pinch, too.

  “It’s not enough,” he breathed.

  “What’s not enough?” Kathleen looked over her shoulder as she chopped up the carrots, onions, and potatoes and tossed them into the cast iron pot, along with a few chunks of stew meat. The woman had a gift for making low-cost cuts taste like filet mignon. It wasn’t long before a savory aroma filled the kitchen.

  “Nothing. Just thinking out loud.”

  He took a good look at the flannel shirt she wore, nearly threadbare. She’d taken to wearing his things as her belly grew larger, arguing that maternity clothes were a waste of money when his shirts were roomy and comfortable. When was the last time she’d bought something for herself? Or better yet, when was the last time he’d bought something for her?

  His gaze went to the stacks of files and papers and account books lined up neatly on the pantry shelves. Three-ring binders in various colors, their spines bearing the names of local businesses in Kathleen’s precise, blocked script, held financial records; an assortment of shoeboxes in various sizes with color-coded, matching labels contained supporting receipts.

  Was he imagining it, or were there more than there had been? She’d told him countless times that she liked working, but it bothered him that she had to, to make ends meet.

  “Did you take on another client?” he asked bluntly.

  She snipped a few leaves from the small, hand-painted pots lined up on the windowsill (school art projects), and tossed some fresh herbs into the pot. After a stir or two, she covered it and came to sit beside him. “Yes. Two more, actually. Ackerman’s Hardware and O’Shea’s Butcher Shop.”

  “Why?”

  She exhaled. “Because Sandy Ackerman said they’d give us a discount on supplies, and Cam O’Shea’s throwing in a side of beef a year as a perk.”

  Bartering wasn’t uncommon in Pine Ridge. Local businesses supported each other, offering discounts and incentives to one another, but Kathleen had routinely turned away requests for her accounting services, saying she was already pushing the limits of what she could handle comfortably. The fact that she’d taken on more now, as well as the specific businesses she’d accepted, was telling.

  “You’re already working too hard. Things aren’t that bad, are they?”

  Her gaze faltered, falling to land where her hand covered his forearm. “I... had my checkup yesterday.”

  His heart skipped a beat or three. He remembered her mentioning that Erin was going to watch the kids while she went, but then things got busy and he’d forgotten to ask her about it. Guilt washed over him. He felt about two inches tall.

  “And? Is something wrong?”

  “Not wrong,” she assured him, choosing her words carefully. “But unexpected.”

  Jack’s brows drew together in concern. “Unexpected?”

  She bit her lip. “The doctor heard two heartbeats.”

  He blinked and leaned forward. She’d spoken so quietly, he was sure he’d misheard. “Come again?”

  She took a deep breath and rubbed her distended belly. “We’re having twins, Jack.”

  “Twins.”

  She nodded.

  “Holy shite.”

  “Holy shite,” Ian mimicked gleefully, having ambled his way over to the table without them noticing. “Holy shite, holy shite, holy shite.”

  Sensing the inappropriateness of the phrase, the other three boys stopped what they were doing and looked up in interest. Kathleen shot Jack a gimlet eye, but he was too stunned for it to have full effect.

  “Ian!” Kathleen warned him. “Say that again and I’ll be washing your mouth out with soap.”

  It wouldn’t be the first time. Their youngest had a knack for picking up words and phrases not intended for little ears, and took great delight in repeating them to anyone who would listen.

  Ian clamped his lips together, but his eyes glittered devilishly.

  The loud rumble of a delivery truck arriving reminded him that he had a Pub to be opening. “We will talk more about this later,” he promised.

  “Twins,” Brian whistled at closing time as he locked the Pub door and grabbed the broom. “No shit.”

  Jack looked up from the bar sink. “No shite.”

  Several hours later, Kathleen’s bombshell was still sinking in. At a time when the core American family unit was shrinking, theirs was growing. Having come from small families themselves, both had wanted lots of kids, often joking of having an even half-dozen.

  So far, they were well on their way. After four boys, news of Kathleen’s latest pregnancy was welcome, but neither surprising nor overwhelming. Each one had proven to be easier than the last, because they had all the essentials -—crib, swing, changing table, clothes, toys—– and knew what to expect.

  But twins, that was something new.

  “You’re a virile bastard, aren’t you? At least you don’t have anyone questioning your masculinity.”

  Jack felt for his friend. He and his wife, Adonia, had been trying for kids but so far, hadn’t been successful. Their family doctor suggested a fertility specialist, but Brian was stalling because the tests were outrageously expensive and not typically covered by basic health insurance.

  “No, but I am questioning myself and the ability to provide for my family,” Jack admitted. “Kathleen took on two new clients.”

  “How is that going to work?” Brian asked, echoing his thoughts. “She’s already got her hands full.”

  “Damned if I know.”

  “You know, I’ve been thinking.”

  Something about the tone of Brian’s voice had the hairs on the back of Jack’s neck going rigid.

  “Never a good thing.”

  Instead of chuckling as Jack had intended, Brian didn’t rise to the bait. “I called Sammy,” he said quietly.

  Jack paused for a moment before rinsing the heavy glass mug and setting it in the drying rack. “Sammy with a yacht? That Sammy?” he asked, remembering their conversation from years earlier.

  “Yeah. Look, Jack, I know you don’t approve, but Adonia really wants a baby, you know? And I like working for you, man, but tips aren’t going to cover it.”

  “What about your job at the paper mill?” Jack asked. It wasn’t glamorous work, but the plant was unionized and Brian made a decent salary and had good benefits.

  Brian scowled. “Word is we’re all getting pink slips instead of holiday bonus checks this year.”

  “No fucking way. Did you talk to your union rep?”

  “Who do you think I heard it from? The company is tired of dealing with the union’s bullshit. They are closing the plant down right after New Year’s and moving to fucking Mexico. Cheaper labor, or some shit like that.”

  “There’s got to be other jobs out there.”

  “Yeah? How’s Reaganomics working out for you?” Brian scoffed, referring to President Reagan’s latest economic policy. The theory was that by encouraging business growth, the profits would trickle down to those who needed it most. Unfortunately, that money wasn’t making it down far enough to benefit the citizens of Pine Ridge.

  “Besides,” Brian continued, neither expecting nor receiving a reply, “there is going to be a flood of local guys looking for jobs when that happens
, and I need something more than minimum wage.” Brian moved closer and leaned against the bar, dropping his voice. “I don’t want to move, you know? And what’s wrong with putting our skills to good use, huh? Damn it, Jack, the government trained us to be the best at what we do. To get the job done when no one else could. That didn’t stop just because we came home.”

  Jack understood what Brian was saying, he really did. But the US wasn’t some war-torn country. Even if it was a different kind of war Brian was talking about, Jack had no desire to return to that kind of life, and said so.

  “It’s not going to be like Vietnam,” Brian argued. “Sammy said we could pick and choose what we wanted, and have total control over each mission. In and out, like ghosts.”

  “And then what? Come back and pretend everything is normal?”

  “Yes! It’s just a job, Jack. A privately contracted, well-paying, occasional job. We do it, we get paid; we come back to our families and resume our normal, daily lives.”

  Jack shook his head, unconvinced. “Haven’t you learned anything? It can’t be that easy. They just want to use you to do their dirty work.”

  Brian stood taller and squared his shoulders. “Yeah, maybe. But this time, it will be on my terms, not theirs.”

  Brian lifted the dustpan and emptied it into the trash, then grabbed his jacket. He reached for the door, then paused. “I’m going to do this, Jack, with or without you.”

  “Without,” Jack said firmly.

  “Fair enough. I won’t be in for the next few nights. Declan’s boys are willing to pick up my shifts. I’ll see you when I get back.”

  With those words, Brian walked out. A gust of frigid wind carried a few snowflakes inside. Jack slammed the side of his fist down on the bar, offering up a quick prayer that Brian was right and he would see him again soon.

  Brian did return a week later, wearing a brand new leather jacket and proudly showing off the delicate gold watch he was going to give Adonia for Christmas. He didn’t offer any specifics about where he’d been or what he’d done to earn the money, and Jack didn’t ask. He was simply glad to have his friend back, unharmed and in better spirits.

  Jack offered up his official silent prayer of thanks for his friend’s safe return during Christmas Eve Mass, along with several more for the blessings of his wife and sons. They sat with hundreds of others in St. Patrick’s as Father Murphy recounted the story of the Christ child’s birth. The boys, scrubbed clean and looking downright cherubic in their holiday outfits, sat relatively still between him and Kathleen. In his peripheral vision, he noticed Kathleen fidgeting.

  He caught her gaze and lifted an eyebrow in question. She discreetly wrinkled her nose, reminding him of how the seasonal incense made her sneeze. Sure enough, within minutes, she was trying (unsuccessfully) to stem the succession of sneezes. Some women did so delicately, with only a slight “choo” sound to indicate they’d sneezed at all. Not Kathleen. When she sneezed, it was a full-bodied, window-rattling event. Even Father Murphy paused and wished a blessing upon her, the sentiment echoed among a good portion of the congregation.

  “You okay?” he asked on the drive home.

  “Yeah,” she exhaled, rubbing her belly. “Just a backache.”

  He felt for her. The hardwood pews were uncomfortable on the best of days, but they had to be even more so for her, pregnant as she was.

  “How about a massage when we get home?”

  “You are the best husband ever.”

  He chuckled, glad she thought so. By the time he carried in the sleeping boys to their beds, however, she was fast asleep. His promised massage would have to wait.

  Leaving her to rest, Jack crept into the living room. He pulled out the hidden, wrapped packages and put them under the tree. He was surprised by how many there were. Clearly Kathleen’s year-long efforts had paid off; rather than scramble for presents right before the holidays, she picked up things as she saw them on sale throughout the year and set them aside.

  When that was finished, he sat down with his toolbox and assembled the last remaining items, munching from the plate of homemade cookies and drinking the milk the kids had left for Santa.

  It was much later when he finally crawled into bed beside Kathleen. “I’ll be there in a minute,” she mumbled sleepily.

  “No worries. All taken care of,” he told her.

  “Best. Husband. Ever.”

  Jack smiled again and spooned against her back, his arm curling protectively beneath the babies resting there. Feeling incredibly blessed, he joined her in much-needed slumber.

  It seemed as if only mere minutes had passed before their bedroom door flew open and banged against the wall with great force. “Merry Christmas!” Ian yelled, squirming to get out of Kane’s strong-armed hold.

  Jack cracked open an eyelid as his boys launched themselves onto the bed. Reflexively, he turned his body to protect Kathleen from the onslaught, but her side of the bed was empty. It wasn’t unusual; by the sixth month she often got up to use the bathroom every couple of hours or so.

  “Merry Christmas!” Kathleen said, coming out of the bathroom, looking as if she’d had a rough night. Dark circles adorned her eyes; she looked paler than usual. She beamed at her boys, but Jack could see the effort it took to smile.

  A sense of unease crept over him, but he resisted the urge to ask again. If there was a problem, he trusted that she would tell him. Eventually.

  “Brush your teeth and wash your faces,” Kathleen commanded, “and your father and I will be out in a minute.”

  A chorus of “Aw, Mom,” made her laugh. “Go on, now. And no peeking till we get out there.”

  “Kathleen?” he asked the moment they were out of ear shot, his resolve to wait already gone. “What’s wrong? Is your back bothering you again?”

  “Yes, but it’s to be expected. I feel like I’ve doubled in size over the past month.”

  He stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, cradling her belly as he place a kiss against her temple. “I still owe you a massage.”

  “Aye, that you do,” she agreed, slipping into the brogue he loved so much. “But later, after the boys open their presents.”

  “And what of my present?” he teased.

  She grinned, her tired eyes sparkling. “That, too, will come later.”

  He laughed and patted her behind. Kathleen had the most wonderful ways of gifting him. “I can’t wait.”

  The niggling feeling of unease didn’t go away, however. Kathleen tried to hide it, ooh’ing and aah’ing over the boys’ homemade gifts, but he caught her shifting a lot and rubbing her back and protruding belly more often than usual.

  He wasn’t the only one. It had become tradition to have Christmas dinner with Kathleen’s parents. Kathleen’s mom went all out, taking over the diner’s massive kitchen to bake several hams and make all the fixings. Erin and Seamus were there, too, with their little ones. Under normal circumstances it was a lot of fun, but exhausting as well.

  “Are you okay, Kathleen?” Erin asked for the third time, looking at her sister with concern.

  “Yeah,” Kathleen breathed in small, measured breaths.

  “You look like you’re having contractions,” Erin pressed.

  “Just little ones.”

  “What?! It’s too early for that! The babies aren’t due for another three months!”

  Kathleen smiled and sipped her juice. “The doctor says it’s perfectly normal for twins. The contractions are just my body’s way of adjusting to accommodate the two-for-one special we have going on.”

  “I’ve never heard of that,” Erin said doubtfully.

  “How many twins have you had?”

  “Good point.”

  “Seriously. I’m keeping a close eye on them. They usually ease off when I get off my feet. If they persist for more than half an hour or get closer than five minutes apart, I’m supposed to call.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Jack asked as they were on their way
home later than night.

  “Tell you what?”

  “About the contractions.”

  “Because I knew you would worry,” she told him.

  “You’re damn right I’m worried,” he said a bit harsher than he’d intended. “From now on, you’re going to spend more time off your feet.”

  “Yeah?” she said softly. “How is that going to work?”

  “Damned if I know, but we’ll figure out something.”

  Jack carried each of the boys to bed and tucked them in. By the time he got back to their bedroom, Kathleen was freshly showered and waiting for him. She’d lit a dozen or so candles around the room, reminding him of their wedding night.

  He took a quick shower himself and snuggled into bed beside her.

  “Are you ready for my present?” she whispered huskily.

  “So ready. But I want to give you mine, first...”

  By the end of January, Kathleen had been hospitalized twice for premature contractions. Each time they gave her an I.V. to slow things down, and she was now taking medication to speed up the development of the babies’ lungs in case they couldn’t stop the contractions from progressing into full blown labor the next time. She insisted that everything was fine, but Jack watched her like a hawk, knowing her tendency to downplay things.

  Officially on bed rest with limited bathroom privileges, family and friends rallied around to help where they could. Kathleen’s mom and sister took turns coming over for a few hours every day to help with the kids, run errands, and assist with laundry and cooking, for which both he and Kathleen were extremely grateful.

  Even Adonia started coming by regularly. She would spend time with Kathleen while Brian worked at the bar. Jack knew that Brian really appreciated that. A native of Greece, Adonia’s shy and quiet personality made it difficult for her to make friends in the predominantly Irish community. Living beyond the town limits hadn’t helped much, either. Brian and Adonia had moved in with Brian’s aging mother, who had a nice-sized cottage and a decent parcel of land on the mountain.

  Everyone’s generous efforts paid off. On a snowy day during the first week of March, Sean and Shane Callaghan entered the world, only six days earlier than Kathleen’s original due date. Both boys were healthy, though relatively small compared to their older brothers. Sean was only eight pounds; Shane, seven and a half.