The Waiting Game

by J. L. Fynn

  Jim sat back down at the table and lit another cigarette. He took a long pull from the cup, but thankfully didn’t finish it all in one go like he had his first drink. My own cigarette wasn’t even halfway finished. I took a long drag, which combined with the whiskey, made me feel lightheaded.

  “So what’s the problem?” I asked. “You haven’t even met her yet. Maybe she’s pretty. Plus, she’ll probably have a sexy accent. You just might like her.”

  The look Jim shot me made my chest hurt. He dropped his freshly lit cigarette on the table without seeming to notice and buried his head in his hands. His shoulders shook, but he made no sound. I grabbed for his cigarette before it had a chance to burn the tabletop and dropped it into the ash cup.

  Jim and I had been close for a long time. I knew who he was and he knew that I knew, but it wasn’t something we ever talked about openly. In the Village, the men had their roles and the women had theirs. The rest of society might have begun to allow women to work or men to stay home, but Travelers would never accept that. Men had to be men, and women had to be women, no exceptions. Anything else wasn’t even a remote possibility.

  Still, Jim needed to hash this out, and I was his best friend. “You want to talk about it?”

  Jim’s head snapped up, his eyes red but dry. “Talk about what? There’s nothing to talk about. Pop said I’m getting married, so that’s the end of it.”

  “But I know you must—”

  “Look. I did my best to avoid getting married as long as I could. I have a sickness, and I have to get over it. It’s time I accepted my life the way it needs to be.”

  “It’s not a sickness, Jim. It’s just the way you are. It’s not that big a deal, really. Most men catch a bit of buffer ass out on the road—even the married ones, and they don’t get dragged. You just happen to catch a different kind of ass, that’s all.”

  I meant the last part to be funny, but Jim’s expression told me he was in no mood to kid around.

  “Don’t beat yourself up so much, is my point,” I rushed to add. “You’re a great guy. Any woman would be lucky to have you as her husband.”

  “Don’t beat myself up? If this ever got out, Michael Sheedy and his asshole friends would form a posse to string me up and kill me right in the middle of the Village just to show everyone what happens to pussies.”

  “I know,” I said, letting out a long breath. I didn’t know what Jim wanted me to say. “Have you ever thought about leaving the Village? I heard that Johnny O’Hara’s been doing pretty well ever since Pop ran him out. You could move to Arizona or New Mexico. Buy a house out there. I could come visit you every once in a while.”

  “I’m not leaving my family. How would that look for Pop? The clan leader’s oldest son running off? Anyway, I’m not giving up the game. I’ve worked too hard building up the reputation of ‘Wiley Jim’ Reilly. I’m not sacrificing everything I’ve built to go live with country people. Fuck that.”

  “What do you want me to say?” Jim was getting exactly what I’d always dreamed of, what all Traveler men dreamed of, and he wasn’t happy about it. I got why things were different, but it was still hard not to be a little annoyed. “Look, it’s an arranged marriage. It’s not like this is some sort of love match. You treat your wife nicely, that’s more than some men can say, and get yourself some on the side. Stop worrying about all these things you can’t control.”

  “I guess I don’t have much choice,” he said through gritted teeth.

  There wasn’t much more I could say. “I better start driving if we’re going to be home by tomorrow.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why don’t you stay back here in the trailer and get some rest while I drive.” I stood and stubbed out my cigarette, which I’d barely smoked anyway. I’d just made it to the door when Jim’s words stopped me as I reached for the handle.

  “Hey, Tommy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks. You really are a good friend.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “No, I mean it. I know I never say anything, but I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me. And not telling anyone about…” He let the sentence hang in the air.

  “Don’t mention it,” I said again, pulling the door open. “Maybe someday you’ll be able to pay me back.”

  “How?” he asked, tears filling his eyes.

  “You never know. Maybe some day I’ll need you to keep a secret for me.” I mustered as much of a smile as I could, then hopped out of the trailer.

  The statue of Jesus I’d glued to my dash stared serenely at me as I settled myself into the truck cab and started the engine. Jim had suggested I put him there to gain the trust of our driveway and roofing marks, and he did seem to have that effect.

  “Looks like it’s just you and me, friend,” I said to the figurine. “It’s going to be a long drive.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I PULLED OFF onto the unmarked road that led into the Village, both relieved and nervous. I’d been driving all night since Jim drank himself into a stupor. I didn’t mind letting him sleep it off. He would’ve done the same for me if things had been reversed.

  You had to have your friend’s back when you spent seven months out on the road together each year. We’d been through more scrapes than I could count, and I credited the fact that we’d never gotten pinched to how close we were. Jim’s younger brother John went out with us from time-to-time, but he’d been born with only one leg and even though he got around pretty well on his prosthesis, Pop Reilly didn’t like him going too far from home. So, usually it was just the two of us, which suited me just fine.

  I swung my truck around the pavilion and noticed a number of people staring intently out of their windows, probably trying to get one last look at Jim before he was a married man. Nosy bastards.

  I pulled my truck onto my lot and backed up the trailer until it was in place. Tomorrow I’d put the hitch up on cinder blocks for the rest of the winter, but right now all I wanted to do was crawl into bed. I’d been driving for almost twenty hours, and I was ready to turn in.

  I jumped out of the truck and went into the trailer expecting to find Jim asleep, but he was sitting up at the table, pulling on his shoes.

  “Thanks for driving,” Jim said. He sounded like he’d just woken up, which was probably the case. “I’ll help you get your trailer off the truck.”

  “No, it’s all right. I’ll do it tomorrow. I’m too tired right now. I’m going to bed.”

  “What are you talking about? You have to take me over to talk to my dad.”

  “It’s only a mile from here to your house. Can’t you walk?” A whiny tone crept into my voice, but I was too tired to care.

  “No, you have to go with me. I can’t face him alone. Please. Last favor, I promise.” Jim stared me down for a moment, then screwed up his face in the most pathetic and patently manipulative pout I’d ever seen.

  I couldn’t help it; I let out a chuckle. “Fine.”

  The two of us propped up the trailer on cinder blocks, then drove my truck over to Pop’s.

  There were only a few dozen houses in the Village—most Travelers preferred living in trailers, though few as small as mine—but Pop Reilly’s house was by far the largest. It had a tan stone facade with a cedar roof and almost a dozen arched windows on its face. Pop had it custom built and word was that it cost near seven figures—an astronomical sum, not because there weren’t other Travelers who could afford that figure, but because that just wasn’t where most Travelers put their money.

  Not until Pop had built his house, anyway. Now it seemed like there was an arms race to see who could build their McMansion faster, although no one had dared to build anything approaching Pop’s.

  We walked in the front door unannounced, and Jim threw his bag on the floor. The first thing I noticed—the first thing I always noticed—when I walked into Pop’s house, were the pictures of his late wife, Sarah. In the entryway alone there were at least half a dozen pi
ctures. Almost all Traveler marriages were arranged, and while marital discord wasn’t that much of a problem in the clan—the men knew their place and the women knew theirs—there were few couples who could be classified as passionately in love.

  Pop had obviously adored his wife. After she’d died, with his position in the clan, he could’ve married almost anyone in the Village, but in the last twenty years, he never had. It was the sort of thing that would make you worry he was soft. Or it would if he weren’t so damn intimidating.

  I doubted I’d ever find a woman I cared about that much. I’d be lucky if I could afford a woman that I even kind of liked.

  We walked back to Pop’s office and Jim knocked twice. “Come in,” Pop rasped from behind the door. Jim gave me a look that said entering his father’s office was the last thing he wanted to do, but nevertheless he turned the handle and led the way into the room.

  The minute Pop realized who we were, a huge smile spread across his face. Pop was a thin man, but imposing. His hair was already beginning to grey around the edges, making him look older than his late forties. His expression always made me wonder what he was planning on eating for breakfast the next morning because it was hard not to worry that it might be me. “Jim, my boy! Happy you made it home.” Pop looked genuinely happy to see his son, although he didn’t get up from his seat. “And Tommy. Glad to see you in one piece. How did you two make out this summer?” He’d find out soon enough at the back-from-the-road party, but this was always the first question Travelers asked one another as soon as they were back home.

  “Good. Good,” I said.

  “So tell me about this wife of mine,” Jim asked, straight to the point as usual.

  “She’s a beauty,” Pop said.

  “You’ve seen her?”

  “No, but I’ve seen pictures. I hear she’s intelligent and beautiful. Everything a man would want in a wife.”

  “That so?” He said, his tone bordering on disrespect. Jim got away with far more than anyone else in the clan, but Pop wouldn’t accept disrespect from anyone. Not even his son.

  “She’s coming in tomorrow night,” Pop said, ignoring Jim’s tone. “Bridget Sheedy’s going to pick her up from the airport.”

  “Tomorrow? I hadn’t realized—”

  “You know how these things work. You gotta marry her quick before someone tries to cut in with a better offer.”

  Jim let out a long breath. “When’s the wedding?”

  “Next week. Bridget agreed to handle the whole thing since your mother, Inoc na Dalyon, isn’t here to organize it. Maggie will stay with the Sheedys until the wedding.”

  “Maggie?” I asked without thinking. I didn’t know why I said anything. It really didn’t have anything to do with me.

  “That’s her name,” Jim said. “My soon-to-be wife. Maggie Downey.”

  I nodded my head and shot Pop an awkward smile.

  “I can’t believe you set this up without even talking to me about it first,” Jim said turning back to Pop. “What if I don’t like her?”

  “Oh, calm down.”

  “I should’ve had some input is all,” Jim said.

  “I wouldn’t have had to make the choice for you if you would’ve accepted any of my previous suggestions. I’ve been assured she’s a perfect Traveler girl. And she’s a bit old for getting married—just like you. Eighteen-years-old. You’ll make a perfect pair.”

  Jim ran his hands through his hair. He looked like a cornered alligator about to snap.

  “Look, you can’t talk to her before the wedding,” Pop said. “It wouldn’t be right. But how about if I have Tommy here meet her for you. He could report back. Tell you what a nice girl she is. Would that put your mind at ease?”

  “Well…” Jim said, trailing off.

  “I don’t know what else you want from me, son. You’re a man now, been one for a while in fact, and a man gets married and has children. Tommy can go with Bridget to pick her up at the airport and tell you all about her. But you’re getting married, and that’s final.” He slammed his palm down on his desk. “I’m not going to let you make me the laughing stock of the Village. There are more than a few people who’d love to take my place, and they’ll use any excuse to slander my name. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir,” Jim and I said in unison. Pop wasn’t even talking to me, but when Pop commanded something, my only instinct was to agree.

  When I finally got home, I laid down in my bed, and even though I was exhausted, I couldn’t manage to fall asleep. I just kept rolling things around in my head. I thought about Jim and how he must feel. How Pop would react if he ever found out Jim’s secret. And as much as I tried not to think about her, my thoughts kept returning to how Pop had described Maggie. What if she really was everything Pop had said: beautiful, smart, and sweet? I almost hoped she wasn’t because such a perfect woman would be wasted on my poor friend.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I PULLED MY truck into a parking spot in front of the New Orleans airport. Pop had given me the girl’s flight information and her picture so I could pick her out of the crowd. He was right. She was very pretty.

  My hands shook as I pulled the keys out of the ignition and made my way to the gate she’d be landing at. I didn’t know why I was so nervous. It wasn’t like I was the one she was promised to.

  Part of it was that I’d never been alone with a woman like this before. Bridget Sheedy was supposed to come along, but one of her boys had fallen on his fat head that morning and needed stitches. Pop had figured I couldn’t get in too much trouble in my truck in broad daylight and sent me on alone.

  I reached the appointed gate and saw the plane already parked, although based on the people milling around, apparently no one had come out yet.

  I wondered if any of these other people were there to meet a stranger who, in a few short days, would be marrying their best friend. Seemed unlikely.

  A few older people stepped off the plane, and I tapped my foot. I studied the picture Pop had given me one last time to make sure I knew who I was looking for, and when I lifted my head again, the girl from the picture was standing in front of me.

  Maggie looked nice in her picture, but she was stunning in person. Charcoal curls hung around her shoulders, framing her heart-shaped face. Her eyes were a striking green, and she wore a simple white cotton dress. Together her features gave her an ethereal quality that made my fingers itch to touch her just to check if she was real.

  I stood there gawking at her until it dawned on me that maybe I should say something. “Uh, umm, Maggie?” I stuttered, struggling to find the right words for the situation.

  “No one else,” she said in an airy Irish lilt that made my spine turn to jelly. Her accent was pure, holding none of the southern twang that we American Travelers had allowed to seep into our Irish accents over the years.

  “How did you know I was the one waiting for you?” I asked. Something about her threw me off balance. So much so that I glanced around for a place to sit.

  “I knew someone was coming, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out you were the one. Between you looking at that picture of me and the way you were staring, I made the connection.”

  God, she was beautiful.

  The thought occurred without warning, and I did my best to rein it in. This woman was about to be married to my best friend. Even if he’d never have the reaction to her that I did, it didn’t matter. She wasn’t mine and that was the end of it.

  She placed her hands on her hips and looked at me with her head cocked. I felt like an imbecile under her gaze, even though her expression was calm and friendly. Maggie wasn’t someone to mess around with; that was plain. “Well, are we going to stand around here all day, or are we going to get to where we’re going?”

  I inwardly shook my head to clear out the cobwebs. I needed to suck it up and stop acting like such a fool. “Don’t you have any luggage?”

  “I do. I need to pick it up.”

  “Follow me,” I said,
trying to project an air of control. I stepped out in front of Maggie and led her to the baggage claim.

  We retrieved her luggage—one medium-sized suitcase—and made our way to my truck. I threw her bag in the bed, then climbed into the cab beside her. I looked around at the candy wrappers on the floor and the dust on the dashboard and wished I’d had the thing detailed before picking her up. She was going to think I was a slob. “Sorry for the mess. I just got back from being out on the road.”

  “S’all right,” she said as I pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward I-10. “It’s cleaner than my granda’s.”

  “He’s the one who arranged this with Pop Reilly, that right?” I asked. I knew the answer to the question, but I wanted to keep the conversation going. I loved hearing Maggie speak.

  She let out a long breath and fingered the only piece of jewelry she was wearing: a silver pendant with three interlocking spirals hanging from a leather cord around her neck. I saw it sparkling out of the corner of my eye. Its simple beauty complemented Maggie perfectly. “Sure look it.”

  Her tone indicated she wasn’t all that pleased about the arrangement. “Jim’s great—your betrothed. He’s my best friend.”

  Maggie looked out the window and didn’t say anything for a long time. I tried my best to think up something else to ask, but everything I thought of seemed either too small or too big for the occasion. “Is Louisiana really one big swamp?”

  “What’s that?” Her question caught me off guard.

  “When my granda told me I was to come to Louisiana, I went to the library and looked it up. I can’t imagine a worse place to live than a swamp.”

  “There have to be worse places,” I said testily. “And it’s not like we live in the swamp. The Village is surrounded by woods.”

  “That’s a bit of a relief, then. I miss Ireland already. Its trees and thistle and rolling hills. The States are too new. There’s no soul here.”

  Most girls had to move to live with their husband’s family after they were married, but few had to cross an ocean to do so. I couldn’t imagine leaving everything I knew behind.