by J. L. Fynn
“Fuck it. We didn’t use our real names when we rented the damn thing. We’ll just ditch it.”
“That was way too close, man.” My knuckles were strained so tight around my beer can I was afraid they’d break through my skin.
“We made our money, though,” Jim said. “Five thousand dollars for three hour’s work ain’t bad.”
“Yeah, but we could’ve been arrested—or worse. I think maybe we better stick to paving or roofing scams. Sure we might only make a grand or so at a time, but at least we never get shot at.”
“Yeah, but with a scam like this, five grand’s only the beginning. Next time we could pull a bigger one. Ten grand—or even twenty.”
“We barely made it out alive with five and now you want to move up to ten or twenty?”
“Hey, we had an unlucky day, but something bad could happen no matter what game we were playing.”
“Granny’s not going to come outside and shoot at us because she realized we’ve done a crap job fixing her roof.”
“She could. Just southwest of here in the Ozarks even granny would shoot your ass with her trusty shotgun.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at the mental image. “Still, with roofing or paving, no one knows we did little more than roll on some black paint until the rain comes a few weeks later, and by that time we’re gone. Not much chance for them to shoot us. Let’s just go up to Minnesota and make our money the old fashioned way. Agreed?”
“Fine. But you gotta admit that was fun.” Jim shot me a wicked smile.
“Yeah, it was. And that gull deserved it. He was a joke. Did you see the look on his face when we were driving away? He was pissed!”
We both laughed and relaxed into our chairs. Jim went back through the highlight reel of our afternoon, and I took a minute to thank God I had him as my partner. He wasn’t perfect, but he was smart, fast, and I knew he always had my back.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I COULDN’T BELIEVE it was the end of October already. Even as we pulled back into the Village and saw the families who’d arrived before us unpacking their trucks and trailers, it hadn’t quite sunk in. Every day we’d been out on the road had felt like it would never end, mostly because I couldn’t stop thinking about Maggie. Thinking of our night together in my trailer, sure, but mostly about all the conversations we’d had since she’d moved to the Village. Every day away from her seemed like an eternity, but even though the days dragged, the weeks went by quickly and before I knew it, it was time for us to head back home.
Our score this year had been pretty big. Big enough that Jim would be able to chip in to buy that bigger house he liked and big enough that if I wanted, I’d finally have enough money for a dowry. But the idea of marrying anyone other than Maggie held no appeal, so I put it out of mind.
I drove my truck around the corner and pulled to a stop in front of Jim’s doublewide. “You want me to help you carry your stuff in?” I asked. He only had a couple of bags, but mostly I was hoping to see Maggie even though I knew it was dangerous.
“Sure,” Jim said. We got out of the truck’s cab and grabbed his stuff out of my trailer. I threw one large duffle bag over my shoulder and Jim hoisted another on his. We walked up the path to the front door, and when we were only a few feet away, Maggie pulled it open slowly.
The first thing I saw was her face. Her cheeks were a soft rosy pink, and her hair looked even thicker and shinier than when we’d left. Everything about her seemed to glow. I didn’t know how she’d done it, but she was even more beautiful than I’d remembered. She pulled the door open farther, revealing her full profile, and the source of the rosy glow was soon apparent.
Maggie was pregnant. Very pregnant. I wasn’t an expert in these matters, but she looked, oh, just about seven months along. I quickly did the math. We left for the road April 1st and it was now Oct. 31st, which was…shit.
Although, maybe it was Jim’s. He was her husband after all.
But I knew they’d never been together. The night she’d shown up on my doorstep in tears, she’d been crying because he wouldn’t even touch her. Which could only mean…
There’s no way he wouldn’t know that the child wasn’t his.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
My mind raced as I entered the doublewide, setting his bag in the entryway.
“Good to see you,” Maggie said to Jim, although I noticed she snuck a peek in my direction. “Glad you’re home safe.” She awkwardly put her hands on his shoulders and leaned in to give him a chaste peck on the cheek.
“Good to see you, too.” Jim’s features were pinched, his expression guarded, but he kissed Maggie on the cheek in return. What could he possibly be thinking right now? He’d have to know this wasn’t his child. Did he know something had happened between Maggie and I? Could he have figured it out?
But no. He was so normal when we were out on the road. Friendly, fun. Hanging out with me the nights he wasn’t spending with other people. I’d made it a point not to ask who or what he did when he went out. I hadn’t wanted a repeat of our fight at Snake and Jake’s, and, honestly, I didn’t really want to know anyway.
So he couldn’t have known all this time, could he? But then, why was he acting so damn normal?
“I’m surprised no one thought fit to inform me of your, uh, condition while I was away,” Jim said. “I could’ve come back early.”
“I told Bridget not to say anything to Michael or anyone else,” she said quickly. “And I’ve kept myself to the house when I wasn’t watching her kids. I didn’t want to…distract you from your work.”
“Why were you still watching her kids while Michael was out on the road?” Jim asked.
“Oh, Michael came back weeks ago,” she said. “He didn’t say why exactly.”
The news of Michael Sheedy’s early return from the road set off alarm bells, but I was too busy trying to process this new development with Maggie to give it any attention.
I knew I should say something. Jim obviously didn’t know I was the father. He was probably being so friendly with Maggie because he was trying to keep up the facade of the baby being his for my benefit. Or could Maggie have lied to me when she said they’d never slept together?
No. I quickly discarded the thought. There was no way that the emotion she showed the night before we left was anything other than genuine. Plus, I couldn’t imagine Maggie lying to me. I didn’t know how I was so certain of that, but I was.
A wave of guilt washed over me. I’d knocked up by best friend’s wife. But then another wave crashed over me, nearly washing away the guilt. Maggie—beautiful, kind, intelligent Maggie—was having my child. She’d been carrying my baby in her belly for the past seven months. She’d been feeling it move inside her—the baby that was mine. Part of me. The guilt was still there, of course. I’d betrayed my best friend in the most heinous way possible, but I had to admit that I wasn’t sorry for what we’d done. The love I felt for this child was instantaneous, and I knew I’d do anything to protect it and Maggie for the rest of my life.
“Well, you better get your trailer unloaded and ready for the party tonight,” Jim said, ripping me from my thoughts.
“What?”
“The Samhain party. The return from the road celebration?” Jim frowned. “Are you feeling all right?” Now he was looking at me with what seemed like genuine concern. “You don’t look so good.”
“No—no,” I said quickly. “I’m fine. Yeah, I’ll go home and get dressed. I’ll see you two at the party tonight.” I turned to leave, but then I spun back around and looked straight at Maggie. “Congratulations,” I said, then turned my gaze on Jim. “To both of you.”
“Thanks,” Jim said.
Maggie said nothing.
I turned back around and walked out the door, down the steps and around to the driver’s side. I climbed into the truck but didn’t put the key in the ignition.
Maggie was having a baby.
My baby.
And Jim had no ide
a.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I POURED MY sixth beer of the night from one of the kegs under the pavilion in the middle of the Village. I licked my lips and realized they were beginning to go numb. Good. Just the level of intoxication I needed to be.
I’d been thinking about Maggie’s pregnancy all day, and I couldn’t get around one inevitable conclusion: I had to tell Jim. I couldn’t keep something this enormous from him. I kept debating whether I should talk it over with Maggie first. Maybe I should ask her whether she’d want me to tell him. Every time I thought about it, though, I just kept coming back to the inescapable fact that I had to tell him. Whether Maggie wanted me to or not.
The risks to Maggie and the baby were low. Jim was unlikely to expose us since exposing us meant exposing himself. And not just the fact that his wife slept with another man, but also the fissures in their young marriage. It wouldn’t be long before people would start questioning why Jim’s new wife would want to stray, fair or not.
I walked back over to where Jim was sitting near one of the two huge bonfires that had been lit. The return-from-the-road party also doubled as our Samhain celebration. I forgot what the fires were supposed to represent, but it had something to do with the harvest. Samhain was an old Irish celebration, and even if we couldn’t remember the point of all of it, that didn’t mean we didn’t keep it. Travelers were nothing if not sticklers for tradition.
Pop Reilly sat in the middle of the pavilion in an ornate chair that looked suspiciously like a throne. All night, members of the clan went up to him and handed him their “sacrifice for a successful harvest” or some such. The money supported the clan’s needs. It went to the legal fund, keeping up the common areas of the Village, and looking after elderly members whose family were unable to care for themselves for one reason or another.
We didn’t believe in government assistance. Didn’t believe in government involvement at all, really. Someone could shoot and kill another person right in the middle of the Village, and no one would call the cops. And if the cops somehow made their way out here anyway, they’d find a hundred bystanders who didn’t see a damn thing.
The reason our “sacrifice” was done so publicly was to ensure everyone paid up. It was difficult for Travelers to hold back their full ten percent when, in order to do so, they’d have to tell the entire clan that they’d made less money that year than they actually had. Pride kept us all in line. If anyone ever lied, it was to embellish on how much they made, rather than to say they’d made less. Everyone wanted to impress everyone else with their large haul for the year, which suited Pop Reilly’s purposes just fine.
I took my seat next to Jim. The firelight bounced off his hard face, making it look almost grotesque. I wondered what he was thinking and followed his line of sight right to Maggie. A group of women were crowded around her, some touching her belly. This was her bump’s public debut, and all the women had to stop by and deliver their congratulations.
“I bet you’re happy to have a little one on the way,” I said by way of broaching the topic. I was trying to assess if Jim was in such denial that he thought the baby might be his or if there was a current of anger running below his placid surface.
“Yeah. It’ll definitely get Pop off my back. He’s gotta be proud that I knocked her up in my first go, if you know what I mean.”
A sick smile twisted his face and also twisted my stomach. His words were a little too right on, only they applied to me, not him. Did I really have to tell him? Maybe leaving the paternity of the child a mystery was best for everyone. Jim needed Maggie to be pregnant. Maggie and I needed to keep our fling a secret. Maybe I just needed to keep my trap shut.
But, that was the thing. My relationship with Maggie wasn’t just a fling. It wasn’t a dalliance, or a momentary lapse in judgment. The idea of never touching her again, never holding her again, made panic well in my chest. I felt like I might actually lose my mind if I couldn’t be with her.
And even more than that. I’d have to watch her with her child—our child—every day and never be able to claim him as mine. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it to Jim or myself. It was selfish. But sometimes even if you know things might be better left alone, it’s impossible not to mess with them.
“The baby? I know it’s not yours,” I said, then finished my beer. Gulping it down was meant to feel fortifying, but it only made my stomach churn more.
“What are you talking about?” he asked, his expression hard as stone.
“Before we left, the night before, Maggie came over to my trailer. She was upset. She was crying. Thought everyone hated her.”
“Yeah? So?”
“Well, she told me you’d never been together. Like that.”
Jim narrowed his eyes and leaned forward in his chair.
“I,” I went on before I could change my mind. “I—she and I. We slept together, Jim.” I looked down at my hands, not able to man up and say the words to his face. I was a coward. A fucking disloyal coward. “I’m in love with your wife, and I don’t know what to do about it.”
I finally forced my eyes up to his. They burned, but Jim didn’t move or say a word. “I’m really sorry, Jim. I—I don’t know what else to say. I’m a fucking horrible person. I’m—God damn it. I’m just sorry.”
Jim’s eyes moved from me to where Maggie stood, laughing with a fresh group of women.
He crumpled his plastic cup and dropped it on the ground before getting up and walking away. He didn’t jog or even walk quickly. He just strode toward his house, away from the party, and away from me. For all I knew, he was walking away from me—and our friendship—for good.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I BIT INTO my peanut butter and jelly sandwich and turned on the tiny TV in front of me. It only got a couple grainy channels, but I needed something to take my mind off the shit show that was my life. Maggie would be going into labor any day now, but I hadn’t seen her since the Samhain celebration. Obviously Jim was angry as hell judging by the fact I hadn’t seen him since then either. It was amazing how, if they were determined, people could manage to avoid one another even in such a small community. I hadn’t gone out of my way to see them either, but that didn’t stop me from thinking about them just about every waking minute, and quite a few of the sleeping ones too. Would Jim ever forgive me? And what would happen when it was time to go back out on the road? Did Maggie regret sleeping with me? Was she mad at me for telling Jim the truth?
I knew him well enough to know he wasn’t the kind of man who would ever hit his wife—let alone his pregnant wife—so he probably hadn’t done anything more hurtful than what he’d already been doing: ignoring her. But still, maybe she was embarrassed he knew. I wished there was a way I could talk to her, but going over to Jim’s trailer was out of the question, and she didn’t seem inclined to come to mine.
A pounding at the door startled me and made me drop my sandwich in my lap. “Shit,” I muttered to myself. I picked up the sandwich and stood, wiping crumbs and sticky lumps of jam from my legs, then stumbled over to the door. I felt disoriented, and I didn’t even know why.
I creaked the door open. I didn’t know who to expect. Maggie? Pop? For some reason it never crossed my mind that it would be Jim.
“Hey,” I said, holding the door only halfway open. I guess I was afraid he was there to punch me.
“Put on some shoes. Let’s go into New Orleans. I need a drink, and I don’t want to have it…you know.” He motioned with his chin toward the inside of my trailer. I knew what he meant. He didn’t want to talk in the place where I’d screwed his wife. Message received.
I threw on a clean pair of jeans and a fresh sweatshirt and met him at his truck.
The entire drive to New Orleans, he didn’t say a word. After twenty minutes, I reached out to turn on the radio, but he smacked my hand away. What the hell were we doing? The longer we drove, the more I questioned whether getting into a car with Jim was a good idea.
But he woul
dn’t hurt me. He wasn’t that sort of guy.
Right?
To be fair, I had no knowledge of how he’d handle his best friend sleeping with his wife. He’d never encountered that situation before.
We pulled off Interstate 10 and wound our way down a street lined with live oaks draped in Spanish moss. Any other drive I would’ve been distracted by the people bustling about or the whir of the street car, but not this time.
After another ten minutes, Jim pulled into a spot in front of a bar emblazoned with the sign “Ms. Mae’s.” It was on the corner of a larger building and only looked marginally more impressive than Snake and Jake’s had.
Although at least with Ms. Mae’s you could tell it was a bar.
“What’s your deal with strange uptown bars?” I asked, breaking our silence and, hopefully, the tension between us.
“Their drinks are cheap which means: one, no one will bat an eyelash at us while we drink our fill, and two, we won’t run into any other Travelers. They’d never come to a bar like this.”
He had a point. Anyone else would rather drink at one of the expensive places in the French Quarter. They’d want to throw their money around in a spot with lots of witnesses. Spending was one of the few activities Travelers liked having an audience for.
We walked in the door, and a squat bar greeted us. There were a few tables, a couple video poker machines, and two pool tables in the back. Or at least that’s what I thought I made out through the haze of smoke blanketing the place.
“Whatta you have?” the bartender asked after we’d walked the ten feet over to the counter. He was a painfully skinny man who looked like he got 90% of his nutrients from drinks he threw back right here.
“I’ll have a beer,” I said.
“No,” Jim cut in. “Two rum and cokes please. Make them doubles.”
“Sure thing.” The bartender made two small drinks in clear plastic cups and set them before us. “Four dollars please.” Jim handed him a ten, then waved away his hand when the barman tried to give him change. We sat down at a table in the back, and Jim handed me my drink.