by J. L. Fynn
Jim laughed. “Come inside. It’s freezing out here. We can talk in the house.”
Now it was my turn to laugh. “Freezing” in Louisiana meant the temperature had dipped to an icy 50 degrees. “Why don’t you help me unhitch the trailer and we can talk in there.”
“Leave it,” Jim said, waving the idea away with both hands. “We’ll take care of that tomorrow. Or better yet, we can just trail it right to the scrap heap since you’re about to become a very rich man. You can stay at our place until you build your own.”
He took several steps toward the house, but I stayed were I was. Seeing Jim was one thing, but going into that house meant seeing Maggie and our son, and suddenly that was the scariest thing imaginable. “It’s late. Maybe I’ll just sleep off the drive and we can talk in the morning?”
“Don't be an idiot. There's no way Maggie would stand for that. I'm sure she's already got tea brewing for you, and I've got something you can add to it to make it worth drinking.” He bumped a conspiratorial shoulder into mine. “Come on.”
Jim started back toward the house, but I couldn't move. It was the first time I'd heard her name spoken out loud in so long. I rarely even let myself think it. Knowing she was just a few hundred feet away but permanently out of my reach was killing me.
“It'll be okay, Tommy.” Jim's tone had suddenly gone low and soft, like he was coaxing a feral dog to eat out of his hand. “Things are different than they used to be. None of that old shit is going to be a problem anymore. It's in the past.”
That pronouncement was even more disturbing than my own racing thoughts and active imagination, but I arranged my mouth into a tight smile, pretending he'd put me at ease. “How about that drink?”
Jim led the way back to the house, springing across the lawn in a way that made me wonder if whisky wasn't the only thing fueling his inner Jack Russell Terrier. I jogged to catch up and followed close behind as we entered the house.
“He's here,” Jim shouted.
My shoulders jumped in an involuntary cringe. I turned toward the kitchen doorway just in time to see her come through it. I sucked a sharp breath through my nose, but couldn't make my lungs expel it again. It just stayed there, locked inside with all the feelings I'd been trying to suppress. She hadn't change at all. Her hair was still a dark wave of curls falling over milk-white shoulders. Her cheeks were still flushed pink, and her green eyes still glittered, even in the dim light of the living room. “Maggie,” I breathed.
“Welcome home, Tommy,” she said, the hint of a smile tugging at one side of her mouth.
“It's been a long time. You look beautiful as always.” I hoped the sentiment sounded more “old friend” and less “hopeless fool in love” regardless of the truth of it.
“You look a bit scruffy, yerself.” Her smile brightened as she teased me, and all my muscles ached to pull her into my arms. Her mouth seemed to be the only thing I could focus on. I could still clearly remember what it felt like to kiss her, how soft her skin was under my fingertips.
I rubbed at the back of my neck, ruffling the hair that had reached my shirt collar. “I guess I could use a haircut, yeah.”
“Maggie can do it,” Jim offered. “But it can wait. Tonight we're celebrating.” He paced around the room, collecting bottles from different shelves and cabinets where he'd stored liquor like an alcoholic squirrel. I glanced at Maggie, who frowned at her husband. Apparently even she hadn't known he'd had quite so large a collection.
Jim set everything out on the coffee table. “Mags, get us some glasses, would you?”
“Jim, Tommy looks a bit knackered. Maybe the celebrating could wait for tomorrow after he's had a chance to shower and sleep.”
Jim rolled his eyes. “If you don't want to get them, just say so, “ he snapped. “I'll do it myself.”
Maggie flashed him a wounded look and moved out of his way so he could get past her into the kitchen. She took a few hesitant steps into the living room, but refused to make eye contact with me.
“Maggie, is—” I said, but lost my words when yet another person appeared in the living room, this one from the doorway that led down the side hall.
“Mam,” the little boy said, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his fingers. “I woked up.”
Maggie crouched down so she was nearer his eye level and rumpled his rust colored hair. Hair very similar to my own. “Is that so? And what was it that disturbed yer sleep tonight?”
The boy yanked at his pajama shirt, pulling it away from his trunk, then letting it fall back into place. “It’s my tummy,” he fussed. “It feels too much.”
Maggie frowned. “Well, that sounds very serious, doesn't it?”
The boy arranged his face to match his mother's. “I think it’s too full from supper.”
“Aye,” she said with a grave nod. “I’ve heard that can happen from time to time. But I think I might have something to fix it up. Why don't you wait here with our friend while I find it.” She looked over her shoulder at me. Jimmy Boy's gaze followed hers, and immediately he hid himself behind her shoulder.
I didn't know what to say. Truth was, my son made me as nervous as I apparently made him. Because really, he'd never been my son. But seeing him there, with his fingers tangled in Maggie's dark curls, and hair as red as mine, I wanted him to be my son as badly as I wanted his mother to be my wife.
I kneeled down. “Hey, kiddo. I'm Tommy,” I said. He leaned his head to look at me around Maggie, but still clung to her. “Want to come hang out with me while your mam finds something to make your tummy feel better?”
Jimmy Boy shook his head and buried his face in her hair. Maggie chuckled and pulled him into her arms as she stood up. She positioned him on her hip and disappeared into the kitchen.
“Why's he up?” Jim asked, banging a cupboard door shut a little harder than seemed necessary.
“He has a sore stomach,” Maggie answered. “I'm going to give him a bit of fennel to chew on, and then I'll put him back in bed.”
“You're spoiling that boy, Maggie. He doesn't need you fussing over him every time he gets a little tummy ache.”
“I appreciate your input, Jim.” A drawer slid open and slammed shut. “I believe the glasses you're looking for are in that cupboard there. Why don't you worry about your drink and leave the child-rearing to me.”
I retreated from the footsteps that moved back toward the living room and reached the sofa just as Maggie came through the doorway, our son on her hip. She still wouldn't look me in the eye as she crossed to the hall on her way to put him back to bed, but he waved at me over her shoulder. I waved back, my mouth twitching with a smile but my heart breaking with a soft crack.
“I swear, that damn kid never sleeps,” Jim said, returning to the room with two glasses in hand. “He's always whining about something.” He picked up a bottle of Bushmill's and filled both to the brim, then handed one to me. I gulped the amber liquid down in one go, ignoring the fire racing down my throat and into my stomach, and held out my glass for more. I was never going to make it through this night sober.
Jim chuckled and tipped the bottle again. “Now that's how it's done.” He flung himself into a chair, sloshing half his drink onto the arm as he sat. He either didn't notice or didn't care when the liquid spread, soaking into the blue fabric.
“He's still little.” I found my own seat on the sofa. “He'll grow out of it.” I had no idea if that was true. I didn't know the first thing about kids, but something in me felt the need to defend the boy.
“Well, I hope it happens fast, because it's way past being cute.” He drained what was left of his drink and reached for the closest bottle. When he'd refilled his glass, he put the bottle aside and rested his elbow on the sopping wet arm of the chair, still oblivious to the mess he'd made.
“So.” I cast around for something to say.
“Hey.” Jim sat bolt upright, spilling even more of his second drink. “Did Maggie tell you the news?”
I quirked an eyebrow at
him and shook my head.
“He's tired Jim. Ya don't need to get into it tonight.” Maggie had suddenly appeared next to his chair.
“Tell me,” I said even though I could sense this was news I wasn't ready to hear.
Jim grabbed Maggie's arm and pulled her into his lap over the wet chair arm. She squirmed against him, grimacing in a way that said she'd rather be anywhere else at that moment. “Go ahead, tell him.” Jim slipped his hand under the hem of her blouse.
She pushed it away. “Enough now.”
“Oh, don't be shy. Tommy is my best friend. I want him to hear our good news.”
The room had gotten about twenty degrees hotter in the last thirty seconds, and I hooked a finger around my shirt collar to pull it away from my rapidly closing throat. Something about the way he was pawing at her stomach. Something about the way she’d refused to look me in the eye since I walked through the door. It all pointed to one thing, and now I was sure I didn't want to hear their news.
But that didn't stop Jim from sharing it. “Maggie's pregnant.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I WAS PRETTY sure the ringing I heard was just in my head, but after a few seconds, Jim pushed Maggie from his lap and disappeared into the den to answer the phone. Maggie half-stood, half-hovered over the chair like she wasn't sure what to do now.
“Congratulations,” I managed to say without actually choking on the word. “That—that's great news.”
“It's terrible news,” she said, sinking down into the chair. She wrapped her arms around her midsection. “And I'm terrible for thinking that way. It's not this baby's fault his da is so troubled.” She stared at her knees, stone-faced, but then her hands flew to her face. Suddenly she was sobbing, her shoulders quaking with the effort, and I couldn't sit still any longer.
I pushed myself off the sofa and fell to my knees in front of her. I pulled her off the chair and into my lap. She twisted her fingers in my shirt. “I'm not even sure how this happened,” she whimpered into my chest.
“Really?” I did my best to hide the pain in my voice with a forced laugh. “You're how old, and you still don't know how this happens?”
Maggie half sobbed, half giggled. “Don't make jokes,” she said between sniffles. “You're not that funny.” Now we both laughed, and finally, mercifully, she looked at me.
Before I could stop myself, my mouth was on hers, and my hands were tangled in the curls at the back of her head. She tasted like salt and a hint of the black licorice flavor of the fennel bulb she must have chewed on to sooth her own stomach. She tasted like my past and my future all mixed up together in a kiss I couldn't bring myself to end. I didn't care that my best friend—her husband—was only a room away. I wanted her. I wanted every part of her.
But I managed to control myself. I slid her from my lap, then stood up and pulled her along with me. When she was settled in the chair and I was back on the sofa, I folded her hands in mine. “Tell me what's going on. How did this happen?”
We both knew there was a lot more to it than the birds and bees. And Maggie's pregnancy was really the least of it. Jim was a mess. He wasn't the same person anymore. He crackled like a downed power line, sparking and hissing, ready to lash out at anyone who came too close.
“After you left he tried so hard to be a good husband, and a good father. He tried to be you, Tommy. There were times it was like he was on stage playing for an audience.” She shook her head. “But trying to stuff all those things he was hiding about himself deep down ate him up from the inside out. And then when his da started feeling poorly—”
My back stiffened. “Pop’s sick?”
“Aye, his heart's been giving him trouble for awhile now. I've been making him drink so much Hawthorne tea ‘tis a wonder he hasn't floated away, but there’s no change, and the stubborn mule refuses to see a doctor.”
“He's been that way since his wife passed,” I said.
Maggie nodded. “I know, but if something happens—” Her voice hitched and fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. “Oh God, Tommy, if he dies, Jim will blame me. I know he will.”
“Of course he won't.” I wanted to believe that was true, but I didn't know this Jim, or what he was capable of. “He loves you Maggie.”
Her laugh was sharp with bitterness. “Loves me? Tommy, he despises me. The few—the very few—times we've been together...” She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head like she was trying to dislodge the memory.
Nausea clawed at my throat and pulled my jaw tight. I didn't want to think of Maggie with Jim or anyone else. I pushed a shaking hand through my hair.
“Everything's all set,” Jim said, scuttling back into the room. I let go of Maggie’s hands and moved several inches down the sofa. “We're meeting Michael at his place first thing tomorrow.”
I scowled at him. “Michael? Sheedy? What are we meeting him for?” I struggled to hold onto whatever love I felt for my best friend, but it was hard when Maggie's face was still red and swollen from crying.
She nudged her shoulder into her cheek to wipe away the evidence, then stood, her back still to her husband. “I'll say goodnight now, so you lads can talk.” She crossed the room toward the hallway but stopped in the doorway. “It's good to have you back, Tommy,” she said over her shoulder and then disappeared.
“He's got a job for us,” Jim said, ignoring his wife.
I blinked at him. “What?”
“Sheedy. He's got a job. A big one.” Jim flashed a maniacal grin. “We're going to be very rich men, brother.”
“Since when does Michael Sheedy send people out? Isn't that Pop's job?”
“It's not like that. It's just something he has a lead on, but he can't do it himself, so he's passing the payday along to us.”
“Why can't he do it himself?”
Jim groaned and yanked a bottle from the table, not bothering with a glass now. “Fuck, Tommy, why are you being such a hard ass about this? Who the hell cares what his reasons are? The facts are the same. We're getting the job, and we're getting the money.”
“So what's the job?”
“I don't know the details yet. That's why we're meeting him.”
“I don't feel good about this, Jim.”
“Fuck off.” He took another swig, settling back into the chair. His eyelids were getting heavy. “You don't know shit about it. You've been gone too long. You should be thanking me for bringing you in at all, and instead you're giving me shit.” He was having trouble keeping his head up now, and it lulled from one shoulder to the other. I wondered if a phone call was all he’d taken while he was in the den.
“You think Michael wants to just hand you a huge score?”
“He’s not handing it to us; we’re taking it. And anyway, he’ll be getting his cut.”
“Jim, I just don't want to see anyone get hurt. A big payoff means more risk, and this might not be the right time to get into something like that.”
His eyes fluttered open. “This is the only time, Tommy,” he said in a tone more wheedling than angry. “My pop isn't going to be around much longer, and Sheedy has built himself up as a pretty strong second. If I don't do something big, I'm not going to be the one who takes over when Pop’s gone.”
I winced. He was right. The Reillys had been on top for as long as anyone could remember, but Jim was way too messed up to take over, and as much as everyone loved John, his bum leg and sweet nature was enough to keep them from looking to him as a leader. Michael Sheedy had always had his eyes on the number one spot.
“I'm sorry about your pop,” I said. But Jim had already fallen asleep. Or passed out. Either way, he wasn't listening anymore.
I checked his pulse. It was steady, if a little slow, but he'd be fine once he slept it off. I arranged his legs so they were stretched out across the floor and shoved a throw pillow between his head and shoulder. He'd be sore in the morning no matter what I did, but it felt wrong to just leave him hunched in the chair.
I considered goin
g back out to the trailer to sleep, but the guest room and its bed with soft, clean sheets just a few steps away was too enticing. I’d always loved my trailer even when other Travelers were settling into permanent houses, but I’d gotten used to sleeping in a real bed when the Midwestern winters had forced me to rent the efficiency.
The guest room was the first door on the left side of the hallway, but the glow of a nightlight peering out from a cracked door on the right caught my eye. I inched it open and squinted into the dark room. Jimmy Boy was asleep on his back, his belly filling with air and then deflating again in a slow, even rhythm. He snored just a little, almost too quiet to hear from my position by the door. Maggie was curled around him. She lay on her side, her arm bent at the elbow and thrown over her face.
I needed to sleep, but I couldn’t make myself pull the door shut again. I sat, resting my back against the doorframe to watch them sleep. I wanted to crawl into the tiny bed and wrap myself around them both, to protect them from all the pain and frustration that permeated this house. I had to get them out of here, and it was clear now there was only one way to make that happen.
If Michael Sheedy had a big payday for us, I'd figure out a way to take it. Then I’d take Maggie and my son as far away from this place as we could get. I didn't care what Michael’s motives were, or what it might mean for the man passed out in the living room who used to be like a brother to me. If doing this job meant getting to spend my life with Maggie and our son, a real life, away from all the shit that was weighing us down, then I'd take it and never look back.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“MICHAEL WILL BE in in just a minute,” Bridget said. “Make yourself comfortable.” The friendliness of her tone was belied by her sour expression, but Jim and I nodded our thanks and sat where she'd pointed.
“He's the one who asked for an early meeting,” Jim said. “Where does he get off keeping us waiting?”
I shrugged but didn't answer. My back was stiff from falling asleep in Jimmy Boy's doorway, and Jim looked about a hundred times worse than I felt. I got the impression that his sickly appearance wasn't anything new, though.