Hail Mary

by Nicola Rendell

  Wetting my thumb in my mouth, I rub at the greasepaint. It only makes it worse, smudging it badly and leaving my thumb black and slippery. From my purse, I take a tube of hand lotion and dab a little on a tissue. With gentle, careful strokes, I rub all the blackness from under his eyes.

  “I think you should really wake up now,” I tell him, after a long minute or two of nothing but his machines beeping, beeping, beeping, during which I get stuck in the loop that is the worst-case scenario. What will happen to Annie? Does he have other family? It doesn’t matter. I’ll take her, of course I will. We’ll make it work.

  But the tears start coming. Because I don’t think I can do it, not without him.

  I hear footsteps approaching, and turn to see Valdez filling up the doorway. He looks at me worriedly, and then back at Jimmy. “What’s the story?” he asks.

  I whisper, “I don’t know.” I grip Jimmy’s hand hard in both of mine.

  Valdez steps inside the room, cautiously placing one massive foot in front of the other, as if trying to be as quiet as possible. He puts a duffel bag on the floor with FALCONI printed on the outside. “That’s his stuff. I didn’t know what else to…” Valdez says, shifting his eyes from me to Jimmy, overcome with sadness.

  “It’s okay,” I whisper, reaching out one of my hands for his. “It’s okay. He’ll be okay.”

  “You don’t know that.” Tears fall from his big deep-set eyes. His hand is rough and cold in mine, not at all like Jimmy’s.

  Jimmy’s breathing is eerie and regular. I bring his knuckles to my lips and give myself just a few seconds of utter, profound, heart-breaking terror before forcing myself to be calm once again.

  Valdez lets go of my hand and turns to go. Outside the room, he’s met by Radovic. I watch them wordlessly come together, holding on to each other so tightly that it untucks Radovic’s shirt. Off to the right, Curtis watches me worriedly, his arms crossed and his jaw set.

  Using my foot, I pull the duffel closer, take it by the handles and put it on my lap. I know I shouldn’t snoop, but I don’t know what else to do. If I don’t keep my mind busy, I will fall to pieces. And I know enough about major head injury to know that he can hear me, he understands, he’s not sleeping. He’s in there. Somewhere.

  I keep his hand in one of mine, but with the other, slowly unzip the bag. Inside is one of the books I got for him at Barnes & Noble, The Mind of the Champion.

  Glancing around, I realize that unless I plan to read to him from Better Homes and Gardens, this is the best way to keep myself occupied for the time being. If I just start babbling, I know I’ll lose it. And I will not let that happen. So it’s going to have to be this.

  “Okay, so, let’s see,” I say, opening up the dust jacket.

  The first things I see are diagrams. Tantra diagrams.

  “What…?”

  I peek under the dust jacket to see Tantra for Lovers.

  “Oh, you,” I whisper, smiling utterly in spite of myself.

  With a glance over my shoulder to make sure the coast is clear, I thumb through the pages to one he’s marked with a dog-eared corner and a small neat line of pen next to one of the paragraphs.

  If there is such a thing as true love, trust yourself to know it. Do not doubt it when you feel, in your heart, that you have found the one who can heal you, and laugh with you, and teach you. Believe in what you feel, first and always. Let the light of your lover’s eyes guide you home.

  I wipe the tears away, and then something else in his bag catches my eye. A red velvet ring box.

  With the tip of my finger, I trace the lid, and then the seam where the two halves meet, the superfine brass hinges that hold it all together.

  I lower my head to the cold edge of the bed.

  “Please, please wake up, Jimmy. Please. Last night, I didn’t tell you this, but I thought I was pregnant.” I sniffle at my lap. I watch my tears patter on my jeans. Then I take the ring box and touch the soft, fine velvet with my fingertips again. I place it on my thigh and let his duffel slide down to the ground at my feet. “I even took a test. I’ve never taken a pregnancy test before.” I start to cry all over again, because I’m strong, but I’m not strong enough for this. My voice gets squeaky and changes pitch as my nose stuffs up and a tear lands on the box. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m so sorry I didn’t call…”

  It’s then that I feel a squeeze of my hand. It’s so faint at first that I think I’ve imagined it. I think it can’t possibly be real. But slowly, it gets firmer and more solid. My breath gets caught in my throat, and I lift my head. I stare at him. “Can you hear me?” I whisper. “Jimmy. Can you hear me?”

  His mouth moves into that beautiful, all-American smile.

  “Don’t be sorry,” he says gruffly, opening one eye.

  “Oh my God. Jimmy,” I gasp, looking for more signs of movement. I pull my eyes away from his face and look to his toes. They start moving, his feet shift, he stretches his legs. He entwines his fingers in mine and places his other hand over my palm.

  “Are you pregnant?”

  I shake my head at him. I can’t even speak. I’m so happy I can’t even move. But somehow, behind the sobs and the gasps, I manage to say, “I wish I was.”

  His big chest rises and falls, and the heart monitor speeds up slightly. “Fuck. So do I.” He smiles even harder, and straightens up in bed. “Will you do me a favor?”

  “Anything, let me call a nurse…” I reach for the little call box dangling on a reinforced wire from his bed.

  “Not yet.” He squeezes my hand and looks me in the eye. He reaches across his body and takes the ring box from my leg. Then he pops it open, revealing the prettiest, loveliest, biggest diamond I’ve ever seen in my life.

  He takes the ring from its plush velvet pillow and then holds it out to me between his thumb and forefinger. The ring moves down over my finger like it was made for me. It is too generous, it is too fancy, it is too everything. It is too perfect for words.

  “You have to stop crying before I can ask you.” There’s a little laugh in his voice.

  But I can’t. The joy, the happiness, the relief. The pure, simple gratitude for him, and this moment, and everything that waits for us. I sputter a sob and clap my hand to my mouth.

  “Are those happy tears or sad ones?”

  Somehow I manage a jagged, “Happy,” behind my palm.

  “So then, marry me, Mary Monahan. Let me make you so happy you cry every day, now until forever.”

  54

  Jimmy

  Three months later.

  As I walk through the revolving door of Chicago City Hall, I take off my Super Bowl ring and hand it to Valdez.

  “Got them?” Valdez says, taking my ring and putting it in his pocket as he adjusts his tie.

  I pat my own jacket pocket, where under my palm there are two small circles, her ring tiny compared to mine. Hers is rose gold, mine is white gold. Hers is fine, and mine is thick. But they were made by the same jeweler, engraved with our initials inside, and that quote from Rumi, modified.

  You have unfolded me.

  A one-of-a-kind pair. “All set.”

  Valdez takes me by the shoulders, straightens my lapels, and smooths my shirt collar. This is the same suit I was wearing that night I took her to Alinea. The note she left me in my door saying she’d meet me is still in my pocket, along with Annie’s final Certificate of Adoption from the state of Illinois.

  As Valdez fixes the rose pinned to my jacket, I fix his. Our eyes meet in the old familiar way that they would when he’d look at me before the snap. Serious. Focused. And intense. This moment feels just as important as the last snap of the last game, when the Bears became world champions at last.

  “You ready?” Valdez asks.

  That’s when I see her standing on the steps. To her left is Manny, who’s giving her away and is wearing a baby-blue leisure suit that would’ve made Elvis himself proud. To her right, Colonel Curtis in full uniform, with his hair e
xtra high and tight. In front of her is Bridget, touching up Mary’s makeup. In one hand, Mary holds a bouquet of white roses. In the other, she is holding Annie’s hand, who’s looking up at her and talking. Mary smiles, laughing at something Annie said. She looks down her cheek, without tilting her head, and says something back. Annie nods a huge nod so that her shiny corn silk hair bobs up and down along the back of her dress. Manny crouches down and puts a tiny wrist corsage on Annie’s hand, a single pink rose as big as a cupcake.

  “I’m ready,” I say, just as Mary spots me and gives me that big, perfect, beautiful, knockout smile. The smile she gave me when I woke up in the hospital. The smile she gave me from the sidelines as confetti fell from the ceiling of the Superdome. The smile she gives me every morning when she wakes up. The smile she gave me in the ring that day when my life changed forever with a single punch.

  She raises a finger to say one second and plucks her phone from her tiny purse. She looks so fucking beautiful; it takes my breath away. And the way she is with Annie is like something out of a dream.

  Her eyes meet mine as she puts her phone away. I start to walk across the busy lobby toward her, Valdez at my side.

  But then my phone buzzes in my jacket.

  Mary smiles again and lifts her eyebrows. There’s something there you need to see.

  I take it out. I open it up.

  And find a picture. Of a pregnancy test.

  With two perfect, beautiful lines.

  I don’t know if I hang on to my phone or drop it, because before I can think another thought, she is in my arms.

  “Are you?” I say against her hair, into the curve of her neck.

  “Yes!” she squeals as I twirl her off the steps. “I am.”

  “Is that okay?” I ask her, all choked up and really not even trying to keep it together anymore, because holy fuck the joy.

  She laughs into my cheek and then pulls back to look into my eyes. On the steps behind her, Annie reaches out for us, and I hoist her up in my arms.

  Mary’s eyes sparkle up at me, reflecting the light of the hanging chandeliers. She glances from me to Annie and back again. “I never knew I wanted it until you, Jimmy. But now I can’t think of anything else.”

  And just like that, she makes me the happiest man that ever was.

  THE END

  To get an alert when Nicola releases her next book, please visit http://bit.ly/NicolaAlerts

  Acknowledgments

  First, to the real Frankie Knuckles. I saw you spin at the Manhole in Chicago one winter, and then at the Paramount in Santa Fe the next. You were a familiar face on two very strange nights, a very unexpected thread running through two different parts of my life. The Frankie in this book is named for you and your memory.

  Thank you to my husband, who is my rock and my very favorite person on the planet. Lars Vyordich forever.

  To my parents, thank you for everything, as always. I wish you could be on this wild ride with me; I am so grateful to you for giving me the courage to do it.

  To Neda Amini, I am so lucky to have you at the helm. You are patient and wonderful, and I would be so lost without your guidance. Najla Qamber, you are incredible. Thank you for working under the gun and bearing with me and my font issues. Thank you also to Lindee Robinson and Matthew Engelke for taking my crazy idea for a cover and making it into something perfect.

  To my editing team: Eagle, Abbie, and Kiezha. If I frame the house, you all make it ready for sale, and there is no book at all without you.

  To my extraordinary betas. To Snofner, both Ben and Vince understand your fickle heart. Kate, you were my first reader and the first sign that this book was going to be a success. And to the team of betas at Duckman, all of your feedback helped me make this book what it is.

  To Sarah, Christina, and Serena, thank you for being my cheerleaders and watchdogs. Long live the triplets.

  To the Peaches and the Motherbitches! Thank you, ladies, for being so fabulous to me.

  To the bloggers who have supported my work in so many ways. There are now simply too many of you to thank by name. I find that both delightful and astounding. I look forward to celebrating many more releases with you all in the years to come. A special thank you to Rachel Blaufield for featuring my work on USA Today’s HEA, and for calling my words “flammable.”

  Celia Aaron, thank you for being the E to my I, and for being my shoulder to lean on. Dani Wyatt, you nailed it. I am so glad to have you in my life. Sybil Wilson, let’s never end our fever dream. Lauren Blakely, thank you as always for being my fairy godmother, and for your much-needed bursts of wisdom. Thank you also to the group of authors who supported Confessed; each one of you took the time to read my work and it remains absolutely astounding to me. Mara White and Ava Harrison, you have become like my big sisters in all this, and a better pair I couldn’t wish for. Jana Aston, thank you for answering my questions so patiently. Delaney Foster, as always, you are my delight. And Samantha Stroh Bailey, thank you for being you.

  Finally, to my readers. We are on this ride together and I couldn’t have better company. Thank you for supporting my stories and the work of all the authors you love.

  About the Author

  Nicola Rendell writes dirty, funny, erotic romance. She likes a stiff drink and a well-frosted cake. She loves to cook, sew, and play the piano. She realizes that her hobbies might make her sound like an old lady and she’s totally okay with that. She lives with her husband and her dogs. She is from Taos, New Mexico.

  @AuthorNRendell

  AuthorNRendell

  www.nicolarendell.com/contact