Unable to restrain himself any longer, Michael slammed the spatula onto the counter next to the bread rolls forcefully enough to cause them to bounce from the cutting board. He turned around again, his narrowed eyes now an icy fire of rage. “Don’t EVER tell me that, Rob! Don’t you dare! He’s the reason I got back into this! Not humanity! Not the fucking greater good! Him!”
“Everything okay here?” a man’s voice cut in quietly. Both of them turned their heads to see Jim standing in the opening gap of wall between the kitchen and the adjacent hallway. “I was just checking to see if you boys needed any help with serving dinner.”
Michael turned from him, not wanting to let him see the serious look on his face. Moonie’s expression changed to a friendly one instantly. “Yeah, we’re good here, Jim. Can you just give us a quick minute?”
“Sure thing,” he said with an understanding smile, then quietly retreated out of view.
Minutes passed, with neither saying a word to the other as Michael finished with the cheesesteaks, keeping his back to his friend, while Moonie poured drinks. The dead silence in the kitchen served as a paradox of the eruption that had occurred moments before.
“I know that everything you’re telling me is good advice,” Michael finally spoke, having calmed himself completely. “If I were on the outside looking in, I’d admit you’re right, because you are. But Rob…” He turned around, making direct eye contact. Surprisingly, Moonie noticed his friend’s eyes somewhat moist, as if he were fighting to suppress years of pain and anguish. “I’m not on the outside looking in. I’ll never be. Not… not after… what he’s done.”
“I know what he’s done,” Moonie sympathized. “But Mick, I don’t want you to let your past endanger your future. Endanger their future.” He nodded his head toward the direction of the doorway, indicating the general area of the house where Alex and Emily were watching television.
Michael hung his head, supporting his weight with his hands pressed upon the counter behind him. “He took her from me, Rob. I watched the whole thing in that video they sent. What I saw… that’ll never leave me. It keeps playing in my mind… in my nightmares, as fresh as the night I watched it. There’s no letting that go, man. I can’t let it go. I won’t.”
Moonie remained stone-still as Michael spoke. Finally, he nodded that he understood. As much as he wanted his friend to heal from the wounds of his past, he could see how those wounds had taken too strong a hold of him. They practically possessed him, and there was no easy fix for it. “Look,” he said quietly. “We’ll need a plan if you’re so hell-bent on finding this maniac. No need to go in unprepared.”
“Yeah,” Michael nodded. “You’re right. Sorry I got irritated.”
Moonie raised his palms to him as if to tell him to forget it. “Let’s just focus on what needs to be done now. Y’know, cleaning up the mess they left. One thing at a time, pal.”
“Okay,” Michael agreed. “One thing at a time.”
Chapter X
The party paid little attention to table manners as they feasted greedily on the savory cheesesteaks at the kitchen table, which was a large, rectangular structure with a sturdy metallic top decorated in a gray marble pattern. Its texture made it easy to clean, and its bulky size provided enough room for the six occupants. Megan sat in between her father and Emily on one length, Michael, at what Moonie was sure to label the foot and not the head, and Alex sat next to him at the other side, with Moonie next to him.
Though their appetites drove them to eat quickly, much time was spent at the table as they were full of chatter. Moonie occupied most of the conversation, boasting that his Italian heritage awarded him the gift of gab, but Michael was thankful for it as his friend had a way of bringing laughter out of everyone else.
“So how’d you get the nickname ‘Moonie’?” Megan asked him with pleasant curiosity.
“Oh man,” Michael whined cheerfully, “you had to ask…”
“It’s cause his head is shiny like the moon!” Alex chimed in, laughing at his own wittiness. Though naturally reserved, he had his moments once he started warming up to the new company. He still eyed Miss Megan with slight suspicion. Especially every time Dad shared a glance with her. For some reason, the way he looked at her made him not want to like her, but she was too nice not to like. And when she laughed so hard at his comment about Uncle Moonie’s bald head, that she almost spilled her iced tea, he approved of her just a little bit more.
Everyone else laughed too. “Aw, you’re a funny guy,” Moonie said as he muffed Alex’s hair. “You better hope you’re as handsome as me when you get to be my age.”
“If I look like you, Uncle Moonie, I’ll be pretty mad at my barber.” More laughter filled the kitchen, which pleased the boy, who was beaming at everyone’s approval of his jokes.
“Okay,” Megan started again after everyone settled, “so tell me…”
“Nah… Megan,” Michael tried to stop her in between his own chuckles. “Don’t go there.”
“Well,” Moonie began anyway, “it was back in middle school…”
“Great,” Michael issued a mock complaint. “Here we go.”
“Sixth grade I think,” his friend continued. “So me and my friends were walking home from school…”
“My friends and I,” Michael corrected.
“Oh will you stop stealing the show?” Moonie criticized.
“Shush, Michael,” Megan said almost at the same time.
“Yeah, Dad,” Emily jumped in, “I wanna hear the story!” Michael raised his hands in defeat as he shook his head.
Moonie went on, “So we pass these goody-two-shoes girls from the private academy not too far from our own school. We hated them because they were so privileged and snobby. So, me being the class clown… naturally… my buddies dared me to drop my pants and moon them, just to make ‘em blush.”
“I’m guessin’ you obliged,” Jim said goodheartedly.
“Absolutely!” Moonie boasted proudly.
“Wow!” Alex blurted with uncontrollable laughter. “You mean you showed your butt to a bunch of girls?”
“You ever try something like that,” Michael said directly to him, “I’ll ground you for a year.” His smile betrayed him of any sincerity however.
“And then what happened?” Alex asked, ignoring his guardian.
“And the girls ran screaming in terror and had nightmares for the rest of their lives,” Michael said in his dry-humor tone. Moonie gave him a look while Megan let out a snort of a laugh. “Couldn’t help myself,” he apologized with a smirk.
“And the rest is history then?” Megan concluded, prompting Moonie to continue.
“Not quite yet,” Moonie replied. “See, the girls did run away, and me and my bud… my buddies and I cheered and shared high-fives all ‘round. But the next morning we’re hanging outside our school in the sixth grade waiting area. It’s where you stay if you get to school before the first bell rings. Next thing I know, the disciplinarian, Mr. Hannigan, walks right up to us in the courtyard. His eyes are set on me the whole time. So he comes up and says, ‘Mr. Cirillo. I just happened to be driving down Emerson Street yesterday on my way home, and I had the very unpleasant opportunity to bear witness your after-school activity…’”
“‘And I’m not talking about Little League!’” both Michael and Moonie said in unison.
“Man, I was a deer in headlights!” Moonie continued. “We all were. You could hear a pin drop. So then Mr. Hannigan said, ‘Let’s take a walk to my office and talk about it.’ When I didn’t move, I was too scared to, Hannigan looked at me and said, ‘Let’s go, Mr. Moonie.’
“As I followed him to the school building, my buddies couldn’t hold it in anymore. They all burst out laughing to the point of tears. Mr. Hannigan turned around and shot them a look, and they stopped, but as soon as we went through the school doors, we could hear them laughing again.” Moonie took a long sip of his beer and put it down, almost triumphantly. “And the rest,
as you said, is history.”
Jim looked over at Michael with an amused look. “And I thought you were the fruitcake.”
The exchange of banter and further stories of good humor continued among the six well after they had had their fill of cheesesteaks, with none anxious to leave the table. But time passed quickly from the enjoyment of each other’s company, and before long, Alex and Emily expressed their desire for root beer floats, offering to help with clearing the table as their bargaining chip. Michael, knowing that Moonie would expect him to take charge of cleaning the kitchen, accepted their offer graciously. Upon his agreement, the children wasted no time in clearing the dishes from the table and bringing them to the sink, prompting the four adults to end their session of sharing jokes and anecdotes.
Moonie and Jim left for the back porch to finish their beers and enjoy a couple smokes, while Michael, having complimented Alex and Emily’s thorough job in clearing and wiping down the table with a cleanser and two sponges, gave them leave to go play while he finished with the rest of the chores. Megan had gone out to the truck to retrieve Michael’s and her things and set them against the wall in the hallway. When she returned to the kitchen, she was alone with him. Though he told her it wasn’t necessary, Megan insisted on helping. The pair teamed up, side by side, against the dishes. She washed, he dried and put them in their assigned cabinets and drawers. They worked together well, but she noticed he was unusually quiet with her.
“I like him,” Megan noted, forcing out a little leftover giggle residing in her voice, trying to spark conversation with him.
“Moonie?” Michael clarified. “Yeah, he’s a character.”
“He’s very entertaining,” she added. “And outgoing. I can tell you two are good friends.”
Michael gave a half shrug as he dried the long pan used to fry the steaks. “He’s my best friend.”
“Funny,” she remarked. “Your personalities seem so different.”
Michael didn’t contribute any further to the conversation she had started. She didn’t want to push, but she still felt a sense of strain on their newly formed relationship, as undefined as it was already. He showed no indifference toward her in front of the others, but she couldn’t help noticing a hint of the tension that had thickened between them during the last stretch of their drive to Toms River.
“Your children are beautiful,” she said, making another attempt to break through as she handed him a dish to dry.
“Thanks,” he said plainly.
“You’re adopted children I mean.” He said nothing. “So. If you don’t mind my asking…”
“How did I come to adopt them?” he finished for her.
“Yes,” she affirmed.
Michael finished drying a plate and placed it on the counter without making eye contact. “Their mother and I were… close.”
For a brief second, Megan’s methodical circles she used to scrub the next plate paused. “Close?” She cleared her throat. “How close?”
“Pretty close,” he answered. She thought he would leave it at that, but her eyes remained fixed on him as she shut the water off, prompting him to elaborate. What he said next in the sudden silence of the kitchen was just above a whisper. “She was my wife.”
Megan nearly dropped the plate. “You’re… you were married?”
He said nothing, and in her shock, she felt a little angered as she turned the water back on and continued washing the next dish.
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” she finally asked, pushing a wet dish at him.
“I hadn’t considered it necessary to,” he said almost coldly as he accepted the dish.
She tried to hide the sting of his comment, but her newly hardened face betrayed her. “We talked about so many things since last night,” she said in a scolding tone. “You didn’t think it might be something to at least mention?”
He stacked the next dried plate on top of the others he had finished. “Yeah, we talked a lot,” he replied in a similar tone with a more audible volume than before, “but I wanted to keep the focus of our topics more about you than me. At least as much as I could.” Then his voice softened. “And it’s not something that’s easy for me to talk about.”
The expression on her face eased a bit as her mind pieced things together. “It was her,” she concluded aloud. “She was the one they took from you.”
He looked away. “She died,” he confirmed, “because of them.”
There was another silence underneath the running water. Michael, having temporarily paused in his chores, suddenly resumed his drying with a little more elbow grease than before.
“I’m sorry,” she sympathized. When he didn’t respond, she asked, “What was her name?”
Michael drew in a deep breath. “Heather. Her name was Heather.”
For a few minutes, the two continued with the cleaning in silence. Finally, it was Michael who broke it. “Go ahead,” he prompted as he set the stack of dried dishes into their designated cabinet. “You can ask me what’s on your mind.”
Megan shrugged coyly as she wiped down the now empty sink. “Not much left to ask I guess. Just that the kids… you said they’re your adopted kids.”
“Well,” he admitted, “more accurately, my stepkids.”
“I see,” she said softly. “So your wife was married once before?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Ex-husband was her high school sweetheart.”
“And when she… passed, he didn’t get custody?”
Michael shook his head. “Didn’t want ‘em,” he answered. “He hasn’t seen them ever since the divorce. He actually fled the country to avoid paying child support.”
“That’s terrible!” she claimed. “How could someone willingly abandon their children like that?” As soon as the words left her lips, she regretted them, afraid Michael would relate them to his own situation, having not only been left at an orphanage, but also left with no memories to boot. She figured she just blew any chance of getting him to open up to her again.
However, his demeanor did not change. Either he hadn’t related what she said to himself, or he knew that she understood his situation was different than that of his late wife’s ex-husband. “The guy’s a deadbeat I guess,” he replied to her. “If you ask me, he doesn’t know what he’s missing.”
“I agree,” she said, passing him a handful of washed utensils. “They’re wonderful kids. Do you know what caused the divorce in the first place?”
“Yeah, but it’s a long story, and I’d rather not get into it.”
There was no doubting it. He was being short with her. Maybe she couldn’t read him like she could the night before, maybe it was just female intuition, but maybe there was still a small residue of their connection. Just maybe, it would never completely burn out, but leave one tiny ember that gave them both a clouded blur of sensing each other’s moods or feelings. Nothing more than that, but enough. At any rate, they finished with the dishes and moved on to wiping down the stove and counters, neither speaking any further to the other.
When they had finished, Michael opened a cabinet door above the counter and brought out tall glasses. “There’s vanilla ice cream in the freezer and root beer in the fridge. Can you get them out for me?” It was the first thing he said to her after the long silence.
Megan found the items quickly and set them on the counter while Michael pulled a box of plastic straws from the pantry in the corner. “Anything else?” she asked.
“Ice cream scoop in the drawer to your left. You might have to dig a little; Moonie’s not the most organized.”
He was right about that, she noticed as she pulled open the drawer to find random utensils sliding freely around inside the space. Regardless, she found the scoop rather quickly and handed it to him. “So… changing the subject… what happens now?” she inquired.
“Floats for the kids, and anyone else who wants one,” he said innocently.
“I mean what happens with me and my dad?” she specified with t
he tone of a school teacher losing her patience with a student playing dumb on purpose.
Instead of responding, Michael moved to a small panel on the wall nearby with a speaker and a series of buttons labeled with masking tape. He pressed one that was marked “BP.” “You guys want floats?”
Within a few seconds, Moonie’s voice replied through the speaker. “Nah, but can you throw on a pot of fresh coffee?”
He returned to the counter. “You?” he asked her.
“After two weeks of stale sandwiches and bottled water,” she commented, “I can spoil myself.”
“Root beer float it is,” he complied.
“Extra ice cream,” she directed.
He readied another glass. Just when she thought she would have to prompt him again, he spoke, “I guess you figured you can never go home. You or your dad.”
“Yeah,” she said somberly. “It’ll probably be harder on him. He’s lived in that house in Meadville since before I was born.”
“Moonie’s already explained everything to him,” Michael told her. “He’s accepted it well enough.”
“So where do we go?”
“We’ll set you up in a new location. Far from here, I’m afraid. But you’ll have everything you need. We’ll see to that.”
“You can do that?” she said with little surprise.
“We can do quite a bit,” he assured her. “By the time you leave, you’ll both have new surnames, new I.D.’s, socials… those kinds of things. Moonie is quite skilled with hacking into databases. He’s going to pretty much erase your entire electronic history. Even any record of your fingerprints will be removed.”
“It’ll be like we never existed,” she said with an apprehensive sigh.
“He has the equipment to make that happen, yes. It’s for the best, Megan.”
She nodded. It was a lot to take in, especially considering how quickly everything had happened since the night before. But part of her was looking forward to starting over. She hadn’t made much of her life in Lancaster, and now that Sonny had turned out to be more than just Mr. Wrong, her manager a conspirator against her, and Ryleigh now gone, there was nothing much to go back to anyway. Besides, now she had her father back. Something that wouldn’t have happened if not for everything else. With all the dark events that had wrecked the stability of her livelihood, her best option right now, for the sake of her own sanity, was to appreciate the silver lining that came with it.
The Paladin's Redemption (The Keepers of White Book 3) Page 21