The Waiting Game

by J. L. Fynn

  “Drinks here are two dollars? You said it was cheap, but dear Lord.”

  “No,” Jim said coldly. “Drinks here are one dollar. Doubles are two.”

  I briefly wondered how Jim was so familiar with New Orleans bars. He must’ve been coming in here a lot more often than I realized. Sure it was only a forty-five minute drive from the Village, but Pop looked down on us coming over here. He didn’t want to risk attracting attention to the Village.

  Jim downed his drink and went to the bar to get another without a word. He came back with new drinks for the both of us so I downed my first as well to keep pace. We kept going this way through four doubles until I couldn’t take it any longer.

  “So why am I here, Jim? You wanna kick my ass far away from the Village so no one will talk? That’s only fair. But can we go outside and get it over with already? I can’t stand the windup.”

  “I’m not here to kick your ass,” Jim grumbled.

  “Then what? You wanna tell me to stay away from Maggie? I haven’t seen her since the night we got back. She hasn’t approached me, and I’m not trying to see her. I’m not messing with your family any more than I already have. I have feelings for Maggie. I won’t deny it. But I’ll stay away.”

  “God damn it,” Jim said, finally showing the first hint of emotion. “You think I’m jealous because you fucked my wife? I mean, of course I was pissed when I found out. You’re my best friend and best friends aren’t supposed to fuck each other’s wives. But it’s not like I’m broken up about it. I sure as hell wasn’t going to knock her up, so if you hadn’t done it, I don’t know what Pop would’ve done. Eventually people were going to start asking questions. In a way, you did me a favor.” He took a sip from his drink but didn’t gulp it down like he’d done with the others.

  “So you’re not mad at me?”

  “Of course I’m mad at you! You fucked my goddamned wife!” A few heads turned our way, but they quickly returned to their own conversations. Apparently you’d have to say something a lot more shocking than that to keep the attention of anyone who frequented this place.

  “But I thought you said—”

  “It’s hard to explain, all right. I mean, sure I don’t want her, but that doesn’t mean I want you screwing her behind my back.” He inhaled sharply. “But I’ve been thinking about it. You’ve kept my secret for a long time. You could’ve outed me to everyone, and I would’ve gotten my ass beat so hard I’d probably never sit again, and that’s if I was lucky. I might’ve been kicked out of the clan, or worse.” He swallowed hard, and we both sat with the “worse” for a second before he went on. “I have to at least give you credit for that.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Plus, I have stuff of my own going on. Good stuff. I don’t need to spend my time being pissed at you.”

  I wondered what sort of stuff he was talking about, but didn’t think this was the best time to ask. There was a glimmer of hope that we’d be friends again, more than a glimmer, really, and I didn’t want to say anything to ruin that.

  “You’ve kept my secret, and now you have a secret. A huge secret. One that I could keep for you. And for Maggie.”

  My mind reeled as I processed what he was saying. Could he be suggesting…? No way. Was it possible that Maggie and I…? I couldn’t even finish the thought. It was too incredible. In every sense of the word. This couldn’t be happening.

  “Get your damn jaw off the floor. If the two of you want to have a go at—whatever this is. Fine. You have my blessing. But, if you ever allow anyone else to find out about it, I will never forgive you.” He took a sip of his drink and let his words sink in. “Although if anyone found out, my feelings wouldn’t matter much because we’d all be ruined. Including that kid of yours.”

  Jim lit up a cigarette and took a long drag, but I was too shocked to move or say a word.

  There was a way. A way for Maggie and I to be together. I wanted to hug Jim for the gift he’d just given us, but I knew it wasn’t the right gesture, so instead I walked to the bar and ordered us another round.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  AFTER A LONG cab ride from New Orleans, I stumbled into my trailer at nine o’clock the next morning. Around eight I was dead tired and ready to go home, but Jim decided to spend a few days in the city, so I found my own way home. I almost had the cabbie drop me off right in front of Jim’s house—I was so anxious to see Maggie—but then I realized I stank of cigarettes and cheap liquor, and I wanted our reunion after all this time to be nicer than that.

  I jumped into the shower and scrubbed myself clean. I hunted around the trailer for something decent to wear, but couldn’t find anything that seemed appropriate, so I hopped in my truck and drove to a local store. I hurriedly bought a nice blue button down shirt and a pair of black slacks. I paid for my items and changed into them in the store’s bathroom. On my way back to the Village, I spotted a flower shop and ran inside to get a large bouquet of daisies. Maggie had never told me what her favorite flowers were, but their simple beauty reminded me of her.

  I drove back to the Village and pulled up in front of Jim’s house, but then thought better of it. I drove my truck to my place and jogged back to Jim’s. I hid the flowers in a paper bag and hoped that if anyone saw me going into his house, they wouldn’t realize he wasn’t home.

  I knocked and within a second, almost as if she’d been waiting for me, Maggie opened the door. “What are ya doing here so early? Jim’s not home.”

  “Yeah, I know. Can I come in?”

  Maggie’s eyes scanned behind me, and she shooed me inside. We sat down on her spotless floral couch. Every inch of the house was perfectly clean, even down to the vacuum marks on the floor.

  “I have something for you,” I said, pulling the flowers out of the paper bag.

  Maggie looked at them and smiled, but the smile quickly vanished. “I don’t know when Jim’s gonna be home. He left last night and hasn’t come back, but you never know with him.”

  “He’s not going to be home for a couple of days. Last night we went to New Orleans, and we had a conversation. One that involves you.”

  “I’m not going to like what I’m about to hear, am I?” Maggie asked, lowering herself on the couch carefully. Her belly was now so huge that it almost looked like she had a beach ball under her shirt. God she was beautiful.

  I sat down next to her and put my arm around her shoulders but angled my body so I could look fully into her face, the flowers still in my free hand. “I talked to him about us.”

  “You did what?” Maggie asked, moving away from me enough to break our contact.

  “No, it’s okay. I told him about the baby soon after we got back, but now he’s had some time to think it over. Didn’t he say anything to you?”

  “He’s barely said a single word to me since he’s been home. So he’s in New Orleans getting good and drunk so he can come back and kill us all? That it?” Maggie clutched protective hands to her belly.

  “No.” I shook my head. “Not at all—”

  “Wait. I’m still trying to take this all in. You’re telling me that you went and talked to Jim without even discussing it with me first?”

  “I thought—”

  “You thought nothing. James Reilly is my husband. If someone was going to tell him about the baby, it should’ve been me.”

  “But you didn’t tell him.”

  “I didn’t tell him because he didn’t want to know. I could tell from the moment he got back.”

  “Jim…he’s—” I tried to find the words to explain about Jim without revealing his secret, but Maggie cut me off.

  “Look, I know there’s something different about him. I’ve known that since the day we were married. Do you really think I’m that thick?”

  “But, before we left, you said—”

  “Just because I know how he is doesn’t make it hurt any less that my own husband will barely look at me.” Maggie forced out a long breath.

  My hand went limp,
dropping the flowers on the floor. I was fucking this whole thing up. “Can I start over? I haven’t even gotten to the good part. Jim said he didn’t mind. About us. He said we could be together.” I gingerly placed my hand on her knee. She looked down at it, but thankfully didn’t pull away. “I think I love you.” The sound of my voice grated in my ears. I wanted my declaration to sound strong and sure, but it came out weak and wheedling. I was a wreck, nervous and shaking like a wet Chihuahua.

  “You barely know me,” Maggie said, but the fight had gone out of her voice.

  “I know you, Maggie.” I rested my hand on her belly, covering hers. I scooted closer to her and put my other arm around her shoulder once again. “I know you’re kind, and smart. I know you care about your family, and I know I want to be part of it. You’ll never be happy with Jim for reasons outside of anyone’s control. But you and I—we can be happy.”

  “But we can’t be together. Not really.”

  “We can be together enough.” I moved even closer and pulled her into my arms. She tensed for just a second, but then laid her head against my chest and melted into me. I could feel the tension flowing out of her body. After a few minutes of quiet, Maggie turned her face to look up into mine.

  “Tommy?”

  “Yes?”

  “Weren’t you planning on kissing me?”

  A huge grin covered my face for the split second before our mouths crushed together. Her fingers grazed the taut muscles of my shoulders, and my hands laced through her silky hair. Our kissing moved from hot intensity to a slow, sweet savoring of each other. Eventually Maggie pulled back and leaned into my chest again, squeezing me so tightly I worried about crushing the baby between us.

  “I’ve been thinking,” she said softly.

  “About?”

  “About what to name the baby.”

  “And what did you come up with?” Her voice was so beautiful and soft it was almost difficult to pay attention to the words she spoke. Her voice was the sort you could float away on.

  “I think we should name him James,” she said. “Regardless of what happens between us, he’ll still be Jim’s boy. In the eyes of the clan and in every way that’s important.”

  I kissed her lightly on the top of her head. “Jim is a wonderful name.”

  And a fitting tribute for what he’d given us, I added silently to myself. A gift I’d never be able to repay.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  THE WIND WHIPPED through my hair as the boat carrying Maggie and I sped toward the channels of the bayou. Houses on stilts were on our right with open water on our left. We hadn’t had time alone together since the baby’d been born almost three months before, so I’d talked Jim into letting Maggie and I spend a day together before he and I went out on the road again.

  I pulled Maggie tighter against me, trying to soften the bumpiness of our ride. She definitely seemed to be enjoying herself. The look on her face was one of pure, child-like joy, and it dawned on me that, really, Maggie was barely older than a child. It was easy to forget since she carried herself with the assurance of a woman twice her age.

  The boat slowed as we reached the narrow channel entering the mouth of the swamp. I’d been so excited this morning to surprise her with the nature tour. I knew she’d love it and seeing the excitement in her eyes was all the reward I needed.

  “Dis is my family’s stomping ground,” the tour guide said in a thick Cajun accent. He looked only about twenty-years old himself, but you could tell he’d lived in the bayou all his life, and he knew all the secrets it held. I’d arranged a private tour for the both of us, and as I looked around the empty boat, I was thankful we didn’t have tourists ruining our day together. “My family’s lived out here for at least six generations. I assume you want to see some gators?” He asked, though in his accent it came out more like “gate-uhs.”

  “Definitely,” I said, “but my…wife is also interested in the plants that grow around here. She’s a bit of an herbalist, I guess you could say.” It felt weird to call her my wife, but it wasn’t like I was going to explain the true nature of our relationship to some random tour guide.

  “I’m happy to tell you everything I know, but my mamere know a lot more than I do ‘bout plants. It’s rare to get a tourist dat cares much beyond gators and birds.”

  “Your mamere?” Maggie asked.

  “Oh, sorry. My maw maw. You know, my grandmother. After de tour’s over if you still have any questions, I can get you her phone number. She loves to talk plants.” The guide smiled. “I can tell you dat the mud ‘round here will heal any skin ailment you got, guaranteed.”

  Maggie nodded thoughtfully, glancing over the side of the boat into the murky water, and the tour continued. He pointed out some wildlife—turtles, egrets, pelicans, and then pulled out an old photo album that was beginning to fray at the edges and handed it to us. Inside were pictures of family members going back three generations, sometimes next to alligators they’d hunted or in front of their water shacks. I’d been living only a few miles away from these people my entire life, and had no idea about their strange culture. But then, they likely knew little about mine.

  “My family’s been hunting gator since we moved into the bayou. My pa did, like his pa before him, and his pa before dat.”

  “It’s legal to hunt alligators?” Maggie asked, brow arched.

  “Oh, oui. But we’re careful about conservation. We want to make sure dere be plenty for generations to come.”

  He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out what at first I thought was a large lizard, but quickly realized was a tiny alligator. It was only about four inches long, and he held it out for us to inspect. It was disturbing to think he’d had an alligator in his pocket ever since we’d gotten on the boat. There was something off about a man who could carry around an alligator without letting on about it. He’d probably be amazing at the game, except that he was clearly far too trusting.

  “I volunteer for a conservation group in my spare time raising gators. We make sure de baby ones aren’t eaten before dey have a chance to get out of the shell. When dey’re good and big, I tag ‘em and release ‘em back in the wild.”

  “So you don’t eat alligator, then?” Maggie asked, looking confused.

  “No. Alligator’s some good eating. I hunt, but no matter how big dey get, if I run across a gator with one of my tags on ‘em, I won’t kill ‘em. Dey’re like family to me.” He held out the alligator to Maggie, and she took it gingerly into her palms. “He’s happy to let you hold him, but don’t squeeze him too tight.”

  Maggie looked up at me with a smile that made my heart melt.

  “You wanna see a mama gator?” he asked.

  “I do,” Maggie said. She handed back the baby alligator, and our guide promptly dropped it back in his front shirt pocket. She took my hand in hers and squeezed it, sending warmth through my entire body. It was almost like we were real newlyweds. Like we were two country people on a date without a care in the world.

  “Ici. Ici,” he called out to the water. “Dat means ‘here’ in French,” he whispered, turning back to us. “All de gators speak Cajun French. It’s in de blood.”

  After a few more calls, a large alligator swam toward our boat. “She knows when I call her she’s getting fed,” he told us, throwing out some sort of unspecified meat to the animal. “She’s wild, but only just so with us coming round here to see her a couple times a day. Ain’t dat right mon chere?” The man gazed at the alligator like she was the love of his life. I cast a can-you-believe-this-guy look to Maggie, but her expression told me she was as in love with our guide as he was with his alligator. I might’ve been jealous if the look she fixed him with wasn’t so disgustingly cute.

  After the alligator swam off, our boat drifted back toward the way we’d come. “What are those pieces of wood sticking out of the water?” Maggie asked.

  “Oh, see, now dem are Cyprus knees. Dey grow up from the roots of the Cyprus tree. No one’s quite sur
e what dey do. Some people say dey give the tree more ability to breathe. Others say dey make the trees more stable. I think it’s a bit of both”

  “I like it,” she said, resting her head on my shoulder. “They seem disconnected, like they’re not even part of the tree. But without them,” she looked up at me and it was suddenly clear she was no longer talking about the Cyprus tress, “the whole thing would collapse.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  WE WALKED UP the wooden dock toward the next surprise I had for Maggie. The tour was over, and I was anxious to show her what I’d planned for us next. On either side of the dock were Cyprus trees with their knees jutting up from the still, green swamp water. In front of us you could just make out the small, red fishing house on stilts.

  “And what’s this?” Maggie asked.

  “You’ll see.”

  We entered the house, and before us was a table set with beautiful dishes, goblets, and cloth napkins. A steaming serving bowl of Irish lamb stew sat in the middle of the table with a bottle of wine chilled in an ice bucket.

  Maggie looked around the room as if she thought she might find someone else there. The cabin had a small kitchen, a bed, and the dining area all in one large room. When Maggie had taken everything in, she turned to me with a mischievous grin. “How did you do this?”

  “A magician never reveals his tricks,” I said and pulled out a chair for her. It was well after lunch, and we were both hungry.

  “Is that lamb?” she asked, sniffing the air.

  “Sure is.”

  “I haven’t had lamb since I left Ireland,” she said, her eyes beginning to well up.

  “I know. You’ve mentioned that,” I said smiling. It’d cost me a small fortune to set all this up—paying a chef not only to prepare the food but also to lay it all out at precisely the right time.

  I sat down next to Maggie—even being across the table from her was too far—and I spooned some of the stew into each of our bowls. I grabbed the bread and broke us each off a piece. Maggie took a bite of the bread and relaxed into her seat.